The Golden Key (Book 3)

by Robert P. Hansen

  They were halfway up when Angus opened his eyes.

  For Friends and Family

  1

  The soldier’s garb they made Embril wear was hideous. It didn’t fit at all well and chafed in the worst possible places. The cloth was rough and itchy, not at all like the fine silk of her robe, and she would have preferred to wear that, instead. It didn’t matter to her if the fishmen knew she was a wizard and made her a target in battle. She planned to hide! Her robe was comfortable, and it had the pockets exactly where she needed them to be. The uniform had pockets too, but they were not easy to access. How was she supposed to go to the bathroom, anyway? The flap was in the wrong place. At least with her robe she only had to hold up the hem and squat.

  Then there was the hat. Even with her long, thick, red hair braided into tight coils, it didn’t fit beneath the hat very well. Instead, the hat perched atop her head like an inverted redbird’s nest. It was an ugly hat, too, but it was the one Commander Garret had chosen. “The point is to make you look like a man,” he had said when she had protested, “not to make you look pretty. With this hat on, no one will look very closely at your face.”

  She pushed the uniform and hat out of her mind as she approached the lift. The others were already assembled, and Lieutenant Jarhad had his long arms crossed. He glared at her with his deep-set brown eyes for a few seconds, then turned and said, “Let’s go, men.”

  The soldiers led their horses onto the lift in a single file, and half of them were already on board the lift when she stepped into the lift area. Darby was there, but he quickly fell into line and disappeared inside the lift. “Your horse, Sir,” a young soldier said, holding out the reins for her. He had sandy blonde hair and a thick, short beard. His soft brown eyes stared at the top of her head as she took the reins.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He jumped and looked at her face for the first time, opened and closed his mouth, and then nodded. A moment later, he turned away and led his horse toward the lift. She clicked her tongue at her steed, a chestnut mare that eyed her suspiciously, and led it into the lift. She was the last to enter, and as soon as she was inside, the lift doors were closed and locked. A few seconds later, they were being lowered to the ground outside the wall.

  As the lift descended, she looked at the horse with trepidation and did her best to conceal her uncertainty from the others. They didn’t need to know that she had never ridden a horse, did they? As part of her preparation for this journey she had read all about horses in Barnham’s Animal Husbandry for Wizards. It would have been so much better if she didn’t have to go at all, but Angus wasn’t back yet, and the time had come. She would have to ride the horse, but it was much taller than she was, and her foot didn’t reach the stirrup. Since she had never mounted a horse before, she didn’t know how to compensate for the deficit and reached up for the saddle horn and prepared to make a jump for it. Fortunately, the soldier next to her—the same one who had handed her the horse—noticed her difficulty and reached out a hand to stop her. He nodded toward the wall of the lift, and in the dim light she saw a bench ringing the interior. He led his horse close to it, stepped on the bench, and slid easily into the saddle.

  Embril smiled at him, tugged on the reins, and led the horse to the bench. She stepped up onto it, and turned to the horse. “Stay still,” she said as the horse shifted on its feet. When it was almost stable, she put her left toe in the stirrup, balanced herself, and flipped her right leg over the saddle. Her momentum almost took her all the way over the saddle when the horse shifted under her, but she caught hold of the mane and steadied herself. Then she tried to figure out how to get comfortable in the saddle.

  Her first ride was short. They rode at an easy walk out of the lift and down the north road for about a mile. She felt Lieutenant Jarhad’s eyes on her the whole time and did her best to manage the horse’s movements. Then the soldiers lined up side by side, four deep and five to a row. She was the odd one out—the twenty-first “man”—and didn’t know where to put herself. So she guided her horse to the end of the front row and tried to get it to stand still next to the man in the corner. The horse fidgeted, and she nearly tipped off the left side before her right hand caught hold of the saddle horn. When she settled back into the saddle, she saw Lieutenant Jarhad was watching her from his position in front of the ranks. He shook his head and moved closer. His voice was steady and loud when he spoke:

  “Men,” he began, nodding to them. “As you know, Hobart’s banner encountered fishmen in The Tween just before winter. We are going to where he fought them. This is a reconnaissance mission. We are not to engage the enemy. If they are there, we are to assess their positions, approximate their number, and find out if there are others assisting them.”

  Some of the men grumbled, and he held up his hand. They fell silent, and he continued. “I know that is not what you wanted to hear. All of us would sooner slit a fishman’s throat than to leave him standing, but we must not engage them. If they are there, the time for battle will be upon us soon enough, and we’ll all get our fill of fishmen blood.” He paused and lowered his voice. “The fishmen disappeared from the Death Swamps last year. They may be where we’re headed. All of them.”

  A few of the soldiers gasped into the silence that followed. Embril understood those gasps. If the fishmen were all there, they would number in the tens of thousands, but she didn’t expect to find that many of them. They needed water, and a lot of it. The river Angus had mentioned would support some of the fishmen—perhaps a few thousand at most—but not all of them. Her horse shifted again, and she slid to the left and had to grab the saddle horn to steady herself. She looked down at the beast and frowned. From what she had read about horses, it shouldn’t be acting like that.

  “Now,” Lieutenant Jarhad continued. “As you may have noticed, we have a guest. She—” there were startled glances her way “—is to be treated as a member of our patrol. Her duties will be light, and I will assign them personally. Let me be clear: she is not to be disrespected. Her—” he paused and emphasized the word “—skills will be essential to our success.” A few of the men chuckled, and a couple sneered at her, but none of them said anything. She blinked at that; had she really given them that impression? All she meant to do was to convince them that she could be useful, not essential. “From this point onward,” Lieutenant Jarhad continued, “you will address her as Sir or Elmer, whichever is appropriate to the situation. You will not address her as a woman, nor will you speak about her as a woman or treat her as one.” He paused again, and then finished in a stern voice, “You know what fishmen do to our women.”

  She blinked as the soldiers grumbled and shifted angrily in their saddles. What did fishmen do to women? And why were they suddenly angry again? Then her horse tried to dump her to the ground, and she had to work to stay in the saddle. She glared at the back of its head, wondering what was wrong with it. The three books she had read suggested they were usually friendly beasts, but this one seemed to be upset with her. Then she glared at Lieutenant Jarhad. He was supposed to get her a docile beast.

  The man next to her leaned close and whispered, “Don’t grab the saddle horn; use the mane.”

  Before she could ask him why, Lieutenant Jarhad finished his speech. “We will ride easy today,” he said and then turned abruptly to lead them down the road at an easy gait. The men fell in behind him as if they had practiced the maneuver dozens of times, and Embril tried to work her way in among them. She had memorized the movements and words for directing her horse, but it didn’t seem to want to obey her. As she struggled, Darby rode up beside her.

  “She’s been trained for patrol duty,” he said. “We rely mostly on our legs and rarely give verbal commands that can be heard by the enemy. Guide her with your legs and pull on the reins as needed. For left…” He rattled off the commands for moving left, right, forward, back, walk, trot, gallop—any direction that she might need. She listened intently, absorbing them as he said the
m. They were almost the same as the ones in the Barnham’s, but there were almost no verbal commands and the use of the reins was minimal. As he finished his quick overview, her horse lurched to the right. She wasn’t expecting it; his instruction had distracted her, and she would have fallen if he hadn’t leaned over to catch hold of her belt. He frowned, but she ignored him as she resumed her precarious perch in the saddle.

  “I thought this horse was docile,” she complained.

  Darby’s frown deepened, and he nodded. “She’s the calmest beast we have. I’ve never seen her that jumpy before.” Then he looked ahead of them and said, “We need to catch up with them. You and I should never stray far from the center of the ranks.”

  Before she could ask him why, he was already moving away. She gripped the reins firmly, squeezed her thighs the way he had told her, and the foul beast lurched forward. The suddenness of the movement wrenched her back before she recovered her balance, and the horse quickly caught up with Darby, passed him, and bounced recklessly toward the men. Before it reached them, she gave the signal to stop, and the wretched creature stopped so suddenly that it nearly threw her over its head. By the time Darby caught up with her, she had her arms wrapped around the horse’s neck, and it was trying to shake her free.

  “Easy, girl,” Darby said, moving his horse in front of her and taking hold of the reins. He held them firmly until Embril reluctantly settled back into the saddle, and then shook his head. “A quick walk,” he said, “not a trot. The movements are similar, but—”

  Embril glared at him and said, “I did not make a mistake.” Then she pulled the reins out of his hands and made the same sequence of movements with her thighs, and the beast moved forward at an easy walk. “See?” she said. “That’s what I did before.” Then she turned away from him and urged the horse to a slightly faster pace.

  Darby joined her, and when it became apparent that she was managing the horse well enough, he urged them into the center of the men. They settled into place, and as they rode through the morning, he explained how the patrol functioned, how the men were organized, and what her role would likely be. She listened closely—and almost fell from the horse twice before he finally decided to stop distracting her. At least his silence made it easier to focus on the stupid horse as she rode, and that helped her keep her balance.

  They came to the old road branching into The Tween shortly before noon, and continued down it for about an hour before Lieutenant Jarhad called for a rest. A number of the soldiers dismounted and stood at the side of the road to relieve themselves, and Embril felt the same urge to pee. But she refused to squat at the side of the road to do it! She would wait until there were trees to hide behind, or at least some rocks. She looked at the road ahead of her and wondered how long it would take to find a suitable place. It was mainly granite mountainside and a bit of scrub. Even in the valley, there was little concealment.

  All of the men dismounted, but she remained on her perch. She was confident she could get down easily enough—she could fall off if nothing else—but she wasn’t sure she could get back up again. Then her horse jostled her, and she decided not to stop the slide. Instead, she adjusted her position and jumped clumsily to the ground. Then she hobbled to the front of the horse. Her thighs were sore from the constant battle to stay in the saddle, and she shook her finger at its eye. If she spoke horse, she would have scolded the beast for the rough ride. The spell was in Barnham’s, but she hadn’t primed for it. She hadn’t thought it necessary to clutter up her magic with it. But now she wanted to know why her horse hated her.

  It was a short break, and there was barely time to eat the clumps of bread and cheese that one of the soldiers handed to her. Lieutenant Jarhad had stayed away from her the whole time, but when it was time to go, Darby came to help her into the saddle before mounting his own horse. “Lieutenant Jarhad would like to ride a bit faster,” he said. “Are you up to it?”

  She winced as she settled into the saddle. “If my horse lets me,” she said. “It hates me, you know. Every time I get comfortable in the saddle, it jostles me about.” As if on cue, her horse sidled to the right, jarring her back as she twisted to stay in the saddle. “See?” she said. “Every time.”

  Darby turned and gave a sharp whistle and when he had the attention of the men near the front, he waved and called “Tobar!” One of them turned his horse and rode toward them. When he came to a stop at their side, Darby asked, “Did you saddle this horse?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Tobar said. He was a young, wiry soldier with barely a whisker on his chin and wide, blue eyes—a sharp contrast to Darby’s portly form.

  “Did you notice anything wrong with her when you did it?”

  “What do you mean, Sir?”

  “She’s as jumpy as a rabbit,” Darby said. “Something has gotten under her skin, and I thought you might know what it was.”

  Tobar frowned and shook his head. “No,” he said. “She acted like she always does.” He looked pointedly at Embril and said, “Maybe it’s the rider?”

  Embril met his stare with defiance, but there wasn’t any maliciousness in the blue eyes that met hers. He wasn’t being snide; he was just suggesting a possible answer to the problem at hand.

  “Possibly,” Darby agreed. “Why don’t you ride with us and watch Elmer’s technique. You know more about horses than the rest of us, and you might see something I don’t. It looks to me like the mare is jittery.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he said.

  “Leave it,” Lieutenant Jarhad said as he approached. “We’re going to ride hard for the rest of the day. Chatter when we camp for the night.” He didn’t wait for a reply; he went down the rest of the line and told them of his decision. On the way back, he paused beside them, looked at Tobar, and asked, “What’s the problem?”

  “My horse hates me,” Embril blurted out. “Will you please ask it why?” It seemed to her to be a reasonable request; she had read all about talking to horses in Barnham’s grimoire—or, as she liked to call it, Barnham’s groomoire, even though most people didn’t understand her joke.

  Lieutenant Jarhad’s deep-set brown eyes stared at her for a long moment, and his lips thinned to a flat line beneath his bushy moustache. He shook his head slowly, and turned away without comment. As he rode by, Embril thought she heard him grumble, “Women,” but she wasn’t sure. He could have grumbled wizard instead.

  A minute later, the horses were moving at a much faster rate than before, and she had to devote all of her attention to keeping in the saddle. She didn’t even have enough mental energy left to concentrate on the mantra to stifle the pain as it grew. The horse frequently shifted position, and it was all she could do to keep from falling off the left side of the horse. She was adjusting to the horse’s motion, and with each adjustment her recovery time quickened. It wasn’t enough, though; she could feel the sores welling up on her thighs and backside with every jostle, jerk, and jarring movement of the horse, and her back was in constant torment. She gritted her teeth and glared at the beast, but she refused to cry out as the pain mounted. She didn’t want to give the horse the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort.

  2

  Little Giorgie clung to Momma’s hand as she talked to the fat woman who smelled like baked bread. He liked baked bread, and he hoped Momma would buy him some. They were talking with words he didn’t understand, funny words that were light and fluffy with lots of laughing sounds. His mother didn’t sound happy though; she was sad. The fat woman wasn’t happy either; she was angry. Her voice got loud and unfriendly, and Momma got stubborn. Momma always talked through tight lips when she was stubborn, and that was what she was doing now.

  “Enough!” Momma said in her voice that meant that he was going to be in big trouble if he didn’t stop what he was doing. He hadn’t done anything except hold her hand really tightly, so he let go and rubbed it, looking up at her with his pouty, sorry eyes. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was scowling under her eyebrows at the fat woman. “Yo
u owe me,” she said. He didn’t know what the fat woman owed Momma, but he was sure it was a lot; Momma never used that tone unless he did something really bad.

  The fat woman put her hands on her hips. They were big hips, and she kept a coin purse tucked in the apron covering them. It was too high for him to reach in and get it, but his little knife could slit the fabric below it as he walked by and it would drop into his palm. But he wasn’t supposed to take things that weren’t his unless he needed to and the people he took them from didn’t need them. It was a stupid rule, but Momma insisted upon it, and whenever he took too much, she would pinch her lips together and make him take it back. He didn’t like that, though; it was a lot more difficult to put something back in a pocket than to take it out. Sometimes he got caught, so he tried really hard not to take too much.

  The fat woman looked down at him, and her eyes were big and brown and mean-looking. “Fine,” she said, but she wasn’t barking at him. Then his mother held out his bag and the fat woman took it.

  As she opened it, Little Giorgie tried to grab it out of her hands but Momma wouldn’t let him. This time, her hand was squeezing his hand too tightly, pulling him back to her as she knelt down and looked into his eyes.

  “Giorgie,” she said, “this is Auntie Fie. She’s going to be taking care of you for a while. I want you to behave yourself.”

  He looked into her eyes, and they were filled with tears she wasn’t crying. He didn’t understand that, but he reached up to touch her cheek anyway. “Momma sad,” he said. She smiled and hugged him close to her for a long, smothering minute, and then pushed him back from her.