Reader and Raelynx (Twelve Houses)

by Sharon Shinn

He laughed at her. “Just because you would rather die than come to my bed doesn’t mean every woman feels the same way.”

  “Then I would rather see her dead or dispossessed than have to endure your touch for half an hour,” she retorted. “There might be a chance you could put your son forward and have him considered as a candidate. But if you are the only suitor from Gisseltess, I can promise you no marriage will occur.”

  He was still intensely amused. “But I need a wife, Senneth, now that the bitch who bore my sons has run off—finding shelter with your brothers, if the gossip I hear is true. You owe me for that, I believe, for I know you were instrumental in her escape. I have made you this offer before. Become my wife. My son will marry Amalie. Together we will offer the young king and queen our seasoned counsel and our loving example. That would satisfy me, I think. That would cause me to lay down my arms.”

  Tayse hadn’t said a word, and she doubted if his stony face had showed any change of expression, but she could feel the fury radiating from his coiled body. Forcing herself to speak calmly, she said, “I have a husband. And am not inclined to shed him for convenience’s sake.”

  “But, Senneth,” Halchon purred, “he could so easily be dead.”

  Behind the Riders, someone shouted. Suddenly there was the pound of hooves, the scrape of swords. “Behind us!” one of the royal soldiers cried out, and then there was a furious clash of weapons. Halchon raised his arm and drove his fist through the air, and the men with him charged toward the hill.

  Wheeling her horse around, Senneth reached out a wild hand and felt Ellynor’s fingers close around her wrist. She heard the cries of astonishment behind them, which meant she must have disappeared from view as completely as she’d hoped. Unseen, she and Ellynor swept up the hill and through the ranks of defenders. A line of enemy soldiers had crept up behind them while Halchon and Senneth engaged in insulting debate—just as Tayse had predicted.

  “Leave them! Follow me!” Senneth cried, though, of course, none of the defenders could see her to follow. But they all managed one or two more devastating blows, then turned their horses and came thundering after Ellynor and Senneth. They had identified a low tumble of shrubbery as a meeting spot, and the two women reached it half a minute before the others. Ellynor released Senneth and muttered something that Senneth hoped meant an expansion of her magic. For a moment, they waited, strung with tension, holding their horses ready to gallop forward again. Their own soldiers plowed into the rendezvous point at a dead run, the attackers hard on their heels, and they all plunged forward again at a headlong pace. Only now their whole group was invisible.

  Behind them, again, sounded more cries of confusion and fury. Senneth could hear Halchon’s voice. “You fools! It’s magic again! After them, after them!” There was the sound of tentative pursuit, but the hoofbeats were slower, the riders clearly mystified.

  “Which way? Straight ahead?”

  “What kind of magic is this? Fire and—and—vanishing? There’s no sorcery like that in Arberharst.”

  “Quiet! Can you hear hoofbeats?”

  “There—I think—something crashed through that line of bushes.”

  The attackers charged after them, but too late, too disorganized, too uncertain. Senneth and her escort drew away as rapidly as they could, flinging themselves toward the larger band of soldiers waiting on the other side of Ghosenhall.

  The enemies could not see them, but inside Ellynor’s protective circle, they could not see each other, either. They had not had much time to practice how they would ride close together at a very fast pace without treading all over each other. It was also difficult to see out of the dark haze Ellynor had summoned to hide them. Fortunately, the horses seemed less spooked than the humans. Maybe nothing was changed to them, Senneth thought. Maybe their eyes were so different that they were not blinded by magic.

  She heard a big-boned animal edging ahead and, even before the rider spoke, guessed it was Tayse moving to the lead. “Answer quietly,” he called in a low voice, “but everyone sound off.”

  “Justin” was the immediate first response.

  “Senneth.”

  “Ellynor.”

  The other soldiers reeled off their names. Senneth spared a moment to wonder, almost hysterically, whether an enemy soldier had managed to infiltrate their ranks and was even now continuing along invisibly with them, clever enough to remain silent during this roll call. She could not imagine such a spy would long survive the dissipation of magic.

  “Anyone injured?”

  There was a chorus of no’s.

  “I think that went superbly!” Senneth exclaimed, allowing herself a moment of exuberance even while she was fleeing for her life. “We surprised them, we destroyed a few of their men, we confused them, and we escaped!”

  “And we learned something else,” Ellynor added. She sounded a little breathless. Senneth wondered how much energy she was expending to wrap twenty-five individuals in a cloak of darkness. And what kind of headache Ellynor might have when it was all done. Senneth’s own skull was echoing with each hoofbeat, but on the whole she didn’t feel as bad as she had at Danan Hall. She’d managed to keep her anger in check; that was always the key to enduring the most punishing spells. “Even Halchon Gisseltess cannot penetrate Lirren magic.”

  “I don’t think I handled him very well, though,” Senneth added. She sighed and tightened her hand on the reins. “I never do.”

  “I couldn’t decide which of his offers was more attractive,” Tayse said, his voice smooth but his anger palpable. “The one to marry Amalie or the one to marry you.”

  Senneth sighed again. “If I cannot bring myself to marry him to avert a war, I cannot ask her to marry one of his surely repulsive sons for the same reason. I think, ‘Gods, the lives that could be saved!’ And yet—and yet—”

  “And yet Gillengaria would die a slow death under his reign,” Tayse said firmly. “I absolutely believe it.”

  “Well, he would have killed all of us just now if he could have, even though he had agreed to parley in peace,” Justin said practically. “That gives you some idea of the promises he would make and keep if he became king.”

  “He is not going to be king,” Tayse said. “That is why we are going to war.”

  ELLYNOR had lifted her magic by the time they met up with Coeval and the others. Justin, Senneth was interested to see, had somehow managed to locate Ellynor despite the inconvenience of not being able to see her and was now riding beside her. He caught Senneth’s eyes on him and grinned.

  “All well here?” Tayse asked Coeval.

  “Yes. You?”

  “As planned. Let’s break for a meal and ride out.”

  Senneth was glad she didn’t have to rely solely on Riders for her conversation.

  They were on their way again in fifteen minutes, traveling at a steady but somewhat less brutal pace. As always, Tayse rode ahead of the column to scout for trouble, and Justin dropped behind to watch their back trail. What was new was that Ellynor stayed with Justin. Senneth smiled to watch them until they abruptly winked from view. An even more effective rear guard, she thought—an invisible one. No chance any enemy would catch them unaware.

  They rode late, camped for only long enough to give the horses a rest, then were on their way again before dawn. Senneth felt bleary-eyed and dull-minded, and her headache hadn’t been helped much by the insufficient sleep. A few of the royal soldiers were yawning in their saddles, and Ellynor looked about as weary as Senneth felt. But none of the Riders appeared fatigued, and no one else dared complain.

  Two more days of traveling, two more nights of uncomfortable and oh-so-brief repose. “Do Riders never sleep?” Senneth demanded of Tayse the next morning before he kicked his horse ahead of the rest.

  He affected surprise. “Weren’t you just sleeping? For at least three hours?”

  “I will be too tired to make a fire, and then you’ll regret your haste.”

  He smiled. “An army move
s slowly, but it will be moving all the same,” he said. “I want to join up with our own forces while there is time to prepare.”

  “We’re a day ahead of Halchon by now, surely.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe. We can’t count on more than twelve hours.”

  “Then let’s ride.”

  But she cheered considerably a little before noon when two spring hawks spiraled down out of the sky and landed gracefully alongside the road. Senneth pulled her horse aside and waited as Kirra and Donnal materialized.

  “Tayse pauses for no one, so tell me your news quickly so I can catch up,” she greeted them. The rest of the soldiers had already moved past her, traveling at a steady clip.

  Donnal grinned. “I don’t have anything to tell, but Kirra wants to visit.” In his breathtakingly rapid fashion, he transformed himself into a sleek black horse, complete with reins and saddle, and Kirra swung herself onto his back.

  “You look bedraggled and cranky,” she observed cheerfully as they jogged after the others. “Is that the result of hard travel or a failed mission?”

  “Hard travel,” Senneth answered sourly. “Please tell me we’re close to Amalie, so I can lay down my head and die.”

  Kirra laughed. “Another hour away, perhaps. Cammon told us you were near, so Donnal and I came to greet you.”

  “And is our army deployed?”

  Kirra nodded. “Acres and acres of soldiers. The Brassenthwaite troops found us yesterday, and Kiernan and Harris arrived straight from Danan Hall. Good news, though, you’ll only have to deal with one of your brothers, since Kiernan is about to send Harris back to Brassen Court to assist Nate. Romar’s got everyone very nicely organized—or so it seems to me, but you know battle strategy isn’t my strong suit—and you’ll like this a great deal. He’s ordered Cammon to stay with Amalie at all times in some little pavilion they’ve set up at the back of camp. But, of course, the regent wants to be on the front line, and he wants to communicate with Amalie—and he wants to communicate with Kiernan, and the captain of the Kianlever guard—and how do you think he proposes to do that?”

  “Magic,” Senneth said.

  “Magic, indeed! Romar has conscripted your old friend Jerril, who doesn’t seem to quite know what’s happened to him, and Jerril’s parceled out the Carrebos mystics who are particularly strong readers. None of them is as good as Cammon, of course, but he can hear all of them, and they can hear him, so he has been practicing relaying complicated messages all across the battlefield. We’ll see how well that holds in the stress of combat,” she added, “but it does seem like an advantage Halchon won’t have.”

  “He has plenty of others,” Senneth said gloomily. “A few thousand Arberharst soldiers, for instance, who can ride right through my fires.”

  “But they couldn’t see Ellynor, could they?”

  Senneth brightened. “No.”

  “Then you’ll like this news, too. This morning another couple hundred recruits showed up—from the Lirrens.”

  Senneth felt both excitement and dread at that news. “Really! That’s wonderful—and terrible. If the Lirren men fall in a war that is not their own—”

  “Donnal and I watched a few of them take an hour’s combat practice,” Kirra interrupted. “I can’t imagine any of them falling. Donnal said they’re not as good as Riders, but, Wild Mother watch me, they were pretty damn close.”

  “I wonder if Ellynor’s brother is among them,” Senneth said. “I met him—I liked him—but what a brash young man he is.”

  Kirra was grinning, and her blue eyes were alight with mischief. “Oh, her brother is here—two of her brothers—but what’s even more significant is that her cousin has also ridden to war.”

  “Significant why?”

  “Apparently Valri had something of a history with this young man before she crossed the Lireth Mountains and got herself named queen,” Kirra drawled.

  “Really! A broken romance in Valri’s past! Well, it’s almost worth going to war to see how this will play out.”

  Donnal tossed up his head till his mane flew, offering an equine laugh.

  “Now all we have to do is hope Halchon dies in battle so that your brother Nate can marry Sabina Gisseltess, and everyone will be happy.”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention it. Halchon and I managed a brief exchange of civilities just before Ellynor made us all vanish and we went racing off to find you,” Senneth said in a hard, bright voice.

  “Did he renew his offer of marriage to you?”

  “He did. Though when he thought about it, he decided it would put him closer to the throne to marry Amalie instead.”

  Kirra choked and then pantomimed gagging over Donnal’s shoulder. “Someone really has to kill him,” she said when she had recovered.

  “If he ever gets close enough to Tayse, I think it’ll happen,” Senneth said.

  “And Coralinda? Was she there?”

  “I saw her at the head of the troops, but I didn’t attempt any conversation,” Senneth said. “I sometimes wonder how that would work, you know. Halchon wants to marry me, but his sister wants to kill me. Do you suppose I would be murdered on my wedding day?”

  “Well, many women equate marriage and death,” Kirra said blithely. “Why should you be different?”

  That made Senneth laugh so hard that she almost gave up on conversation altogether.

  Half an hour later, they came upon the royal armies of Gillengaria.

  The sight was truly impressive, Senneth acknowledged, reining up to get a good look at the ranks of soldiers spread out over the rocky plains south of Brassenthwaite. Halchon might have assembled more men, but somehow these looked more beautiful to her—more earnest, more righteous, more passionate, more invincible. They were arranged by affiliation, grouped under their individual banners. The royal soldiers in their black-and-gold uniforms were deployed in the front. Behind them were the Brassenthwaite soldiers in dark blue, Merrenstow men with their black-and-white checkerboard sashes, Helven troops in their green and gold, Kianlever troops wearing sashes of plaited blue and green. Amid this welter of tents and banners, Senneth could not immediately pick out the royal pavilion, the cluster of Lirren warriors, the small blocks of mercenaries and individuals who always showed up for battles, offering their swords. She just saw the grand spectacle of an army preparing itself for war. It was the most awe-inspiring, the most heartbreaking display she had ever seen.

  CHAPTER

  34

  AND then war came.

  Spies had ridden in every hour to update the regent on the position of the enemy forces, but for days before they actually arrived Cammon had felt the march of thousands of feet. There were too many—he could not sort most of them into individuals—but a few broke through and made distinct patterns in his mind. Coralinda Gisseltess was as clear to him as if she stalked through the royal camp, her long black-and-silver braid streaming down her back. Twice he thought he actually saw her, standing amid the ranks of Riders, glancing around, counting up men. When he looked more closely, she was gone.

  He did not have nearly as clear a picture of Halchon Gisseltess, but the force of the marlord’s desire was so strong he projected an intense and smoldering hunger, and Cammon was always aware of him.

  There were others—possibly Rayson Fortunalt, possibly some of the captains of the various armies, or maybe just particularly fervent soldiers who lived for battle. Except for tracking how close the army was coming, Cammon tried to shut them all out.

  And then the soldiers arrived, and it was impossible to think, to feel, to know anything except violence and rage.

  That first day was horrific. He and Amalie had promised Romar that they would stay far behind the line of combat, and so they loitered near the pavilion that had been set up to accommodate the princess. Amalie could not sit still. She paced through the sprays of new grass, she swung herself onto one of the horses that had been saddled for her—in case she needed to make a hasty escape—and tried to force her ey
es to understand the ebb and flow on the battlefield.

  “What’s happening now?” she asked him every three minutes, jumping back to the ground.

  He told her what he could piece together, but there was an onslaught in his head. Nightmare images chased each other through his mind—bloody swords, crashing bodies, horses trampling inert forms, whole lines of men giving way to a berserker wedge of attackers. He could not always be sure who was the enemy, who was the friend. He could not tell who was falling, who was fighting back. Battle lust settled like a red mist over both gathered armies; it was impossible to distinguish between them.

  His responses were incomplete and halting. “Your uncle has successfully beaten back an attack…. Tayse is surrounded on all sides—no, Justin is there to aid him…. A troop of Brassenthwaite men is givingway to an assault from—I’m not sure—it must be the soldiers from Arberharst….”

  “But are we winning? Are we losing?” she demanded.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t tell.”

  Frequently he heard Jerril’s voice in his head, strangely composed, conveying information from Romar to Amalie. Once he received an urgent but shaky message from the mystic assigned to Kiernan Brassenthwaite, sending an alarm about a flanking maneuver that was allowing enemy soldiers to breach a thin line of defense. Cammon didn’t know how to respond, so he broadcast the cry for help to all the Riders. He felt Justin and Tayse charge through the clashing ranks of soldiers and instantly engage.

  He got no more pleas from Kiernan Brassenthwaite.

  “What’s happening now?” Amalie asked a few minutes later.

  “Riders have redeployed on the—the north side, I think. Holding the line there.”

  “Where’s Senneth?”

  He pointed. “There’s another spout of fire.”

  Senneth’s day had been as rough and disjointed as Cammon’s. He could feel her frustration, her exhaustion, and her fury, all rolled into a hot ball of magic. She had known that her form of sorcery would only work intermittently on this particular foe, but he could tell she had hoped to have more success. Almost certainly in a move to thwart her, the Arberharst men had been strategically interwoven with the Gisseltess and Fortunalt forces; their imperviousness to magic had made it very hard for her mystic fires to take hold. Early in the battle, she had conjured up a line of flame right through the middle of the oncoming enemies, and that had caused turmoil for a short time. Yet somehow the Arberharst men were able to put the fire out, or hold the fire back—they created portals in the conflagration that allowed Gillengaria soldiers to pour through. So she let that fire die down, studied her ground, and flung up another one a half acre away.