Mystic and Rider

by Sharon Shinn

  “I don’t think anyone knows the whole tale,” Senneth said at last. “Ask your father, when you return home. He might remember it all.”

  “He’s married now, though,” Kirra said. “Halchon is. But I can’t remember his wife’s lineage.”

  “From a minor house of Gisseltess,” Senneth said.

  “One of his own vassals,” Kirra said in a brooding voice. “So there are not likely to be any irate in-laws if he starts making a feint for power.”

  “Surely a better match for Halchon than Brassenthwaite, wouldn’t you say?” Senneth said. “If he was looking for complacency in his family connections.”

  Tayse heard Kirra sigh. “Yet we might be fabricating this all out of whispers and wind puffs. What we know is that Halchon Gisseltess is hunting mystics on the advice of his sister, who’s styled herself some kind of leader of the Daughters of the Pale Mother. That adds up to discontent but not necessarily to war.”

  “But we are not the only ones who are alarmed,” Senneth said in a gentle voice. “And we are here, after all, to learn more about rebellion. I do not think we are so far off the mark.”

  “On to Rappen Manor, then,” Kirra said.

  NOT two hours after they’d met with Darryn Rappengrass, the skies began to fill with snow. Tayse, by now some hundred yards in the lead, slowed down when the first flakes began to fall. He sat in the saddle a few moments, gazing up, trying to determine how long the snow might last and how heavy the accumulation might be. The skies looked to be an unending white, mountains of clouds shaking bounty from their cold shoulders. He pulled on the reins and turned his horse back to rejoin the others.

  Kirra had her hands outstretched to catch crystals on her gloves. “Look at this,” she said happily, peering upward till flakes tangled in her lashes. “I missed the year’s first snowfall at Danalustrous. Nothing is ever so beautiful.”

  “Beautiful and deadly,” Tayse agreed. “Let’s wait here till Justin catches up. I don’t want us separated.”

  Senneth gave him an inquiring look. “The road’s not even covered yet,” she said.

  Tayse shrugged. “Snow’s one of those things I don’t take chances with. It could be nothing—it could change the whole face of the world. We’ll stay together.”

  Justin jogged up at that moment, not surprised to see them halted on the road. “I’ve been trying to remember,” Justin said. “I don’t think there are many towns directly ahead of us. No place to shelter for the night.”

  “It’s just a little snow,” Kirra exclaimed. “Where did you cowardly boys grow up?”

  “I don’t take chances with snow,” Tayse repeated. “Pay attention, and if it gets worse, start looking for cover.”

  He glanced at Donnal, thinking that the northern man might greet his caution with the same kind of scorn Kirra was showing. But Donnal had his face tilted up, speculatively eyeing the heavens.

  “I don’t think it’s going to stop,” he said quietly. “And you can feel the wind blowing in from the west, colder. We have a hard road ahead of us.”

  “We’ll go on for a while,” Tayse said. “See how it goes.”

  They went forward as a party of six. Tayse still took point, and Justin still took the rear, since Justin was the only one Tayse could trust not to wander off, seduced by the beauties of nature. The snow came down more and more densely as they rode, till the air itself was thick with it, almost unbreathable. Faster than he would have believed possible, the road was obliterated. The horses were stepping with more and more caution first through one inch of snow, then two, then straining to lift their feet and set them down again in a world made of ice and white.

  “This is turning into a blizzard,” Tayse called back to the following riders and pulled his horse across the road to force them to stop. Through the curtain of falling white, he could still see Kirra’s hair, glowing like a yellow flame at the heart of a winter campfire. Her face was hard to make out, but at least she was starting to look a little worried. “We don’t want to get separated.”

  “Will we do better to get off the road now?” Senneth asked. “Just pull to the side and wait it out?”

  “We might have to,” he replied. “But I’d rather find shelter of some kind. Donnal was right. It’s getting colder. If we don’t find a place we can build a fire, we’re going to pass a pretty chancy night.”

  “Surely there’s a farmhouse or something along the road eventually,” Kirra said in an encouraging voice. “Maybe a wayside tavern. This is a well-traveled road.”

  “Though you notice no one has passed us for a good hour,” Justin pointed out. “Which means we’re probably riding into the worst of it.”

  Tayse played out a length of rope, something he always kept coiled across his saddle. “Tie yourselves together one by one,” he directed. “And if you somehow get lost or separated even so, call out for help.”

  In the few minutes it took them to loop the rope around their waists and resume their journey, the air had chilled considerably. Or else the very fact of stalling to confer on the road had brought home to them just how cold it really was. Tayse, in the lead, bent his face against the driving sleet of the storm. He felt his skin redden and then grow numb. His fingers were icy even in his gloves, and he had long ago lost much sensation in his toes. Senneth might have been right; it might be better to simply pull off the road, draw the horses in a circle, and huddle together for whatever warmth they could manufacture.

  He heard a faint curse behind him and instantly wheeled around. “What? Who is it?” he demanded.

  “Sorry. My hands—I lost the reins and my horse was pulling away,” came Donnal’s voice. He sounded faint with exhaustion. Tayse could barely see him, four riders back, a ghost in a ghostly world.

  “Your hands are frozen?” Senneth asked sharply. “Here—give them to me.”

  Because of the rope binding them to a certain place in line, it took some maneuvering for Senneth to draw her horse alongside Donnal’s. When she did, she pulled off her gloves and held out her hands to him.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she said, a breath of humor in her voice. “Just take your gloves off and give me your hands.”

  He complied somewhat slowly—less from apprehension, Tayse thought, than because his fingers would not obey the dictates of his will. His hands looked cramped and white as he extended them toward Senneth. Her own fingers closed over his, and she held on for a long, quiet moment.

  The strangest look crossed Donnal’s face, one of bewilderment and wonder. He actually smiled so widely the expression could be seen through the broken screen of snow. “That’s incredible,” he said.

  The others crowded a bit nearer. “What? What did she do?” Kirra demanded. “She warmed your hands up?”

  “She warmed all of me up,” he said, still smiling. “To my toes. I can’t describe it.”

  Instantly, Kirra’s own gloves were off. “Well, I could use a little body heat myself,” she said. “If we aren’t going to stop any time soon.”

  Smiling, Senneth took hold of Kirra’s hands, and the transfer of power seemed to occur again. Kirra laughed. “You’re amazing,” she said. “Every time I think I know—you’re just amazing.”

  “Do you have enough energy for me?” Cammon asked in a faint voice, and Senneth reached out for him.

  “Always,” she said. “I wish I’d thought to do this sooner.”

  Tayse’s eyes sought out Justin, sitting stiff and proud in the saddle and trying very hard not to look envious. Tayse had no idea how much longer their ride in the elements would last. “Justin. You next,” he ordered.

  Justin looked mutinous. “I’m fine.”

  “My command,” Tayse said gently, and Justin shrugged.

  “Oh, very well,” the younger Rider said, and stripped off his gloves with an ungracious snap. Tayse watched his face as Senneth closed her fingers over his, saw him try to hold back his astonishment and relief. Better than a good fire, it seemed, or a shot of new whiskey.
Better than a night under clean blankets beside a warm body.

  Senneth released Justin and turned toward Tayse. She was smiling. “And you, King’s Rider?” she asked. “A mystic’s touch to warm you on your winter ride?”

  He bit back an answering smile. He had already pulled his gloves off. His hands were so cold he couldn’t even tell the difference. “Whatever tool comes to hand on an afternoon such as this,” he said and reached out to her.

  Her fingers were warm as they closed over his, and that in itself was enough to make him feel grateful on this bitter day. But a strange thing happened as she clung to him, though her grip did not tighten and he felt no particular burning in her hands. The ice in his veins melted backward, down his wrist, past his elbow; heat flowed across his shoulders and through his spine. It was as if someone had taken a fresh coal and brushed it against his skin, up one arm and down the other, then paused to apply some warmth to his knees and ankles and toes. It was a gradual but generous heat, never fiery or uncomfortable, and he felt his mood and his body hearten as the cold was vanquished.

  “Well,” he said, sure that he looked as impressed and ridiculous as the others. “That is quite a welcome skill on a cold day.”

  “I think I’m strong enough to ride another four hours,” Kirra said blithely.

  Tayse glanced up at the sky, trying to judge the temper of the heavens, before it occurred to him to drop Senneth’s hands. “I’m not sure we’ll last another four hours,” he said. “This may not stop till tomorrow morning.”

  “Can’t she stop the snow?” Justin blurted out.

  They all looked at him. “You mean, can I stop the snow?” Senneth repeated. “Why would you think that?”

  Justin waved one of those recently warmed hands. “Start a fire. Shoot some heat up into the heavens. Heat up the whole world.”

  Senneth laughed soundlessly. “I don’t think my power is strong enough to stretch to the clouds,” she said. “I could melt the snow ahead of us on the road, but what a quagmire we would be riding through then! If we come to a halt for the night, I can try to keep us warm—but I can’t stop the snow from falling. It might turn to rain above our heads, but I don’t know that we’d be much better off.”

  Tayse nodded. “Not a good option,” he said. “Let’s ride on.”

  CHAPTER 12

  THEY had been riding for about an hour before Senneth’s little spate of magic began to wear off. Even then, Tayse thought, neither his hands nor his feet were quite as painfully cold as they had been before. But he was beginning to feel chilled throughout his body, down his back, through to his lungs—and he knew that if he, who could go on forever, was beginning to feel weary, the others must be close to dropping straight out of their saddles. They would have to stop then, in the middle of nothingness, and try to build a shelter of their own bodies. He hoped Senneth’s power would be able to keep them all warm during a night that promised to be frigid as the Pale Mother’s breath.

  He had just lifted his hand to signal a halt when Cammon spoke up, his voice shaky and breathless. “What’s that? To the left? Is that a building?”

  Tayse strained his eyes but could make out nothing except the white haze of snow and the occasional desperate limb of a buried tree, waving as if to call for help. “I can’t see anything,” he said. The others murmured their agreement.

  “There is,” Cammon said stubbornly. “It’s a building. I can tell it’s there.”

  Senneth had turned to look at him. “Are there people in it?” she asked gently. “I didn’t think you could sense things.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t—no, I don’t think so. Maybe there used to be people there.” He glanced around the group, his eyes lingering on Tayse’s frown. “You don’t believe me.”

  Tayse transferred his gaze to Senneth, willing her to make the call. This was her recruit; she must judge how far to trust him. She met his eyes thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded.

  “Let’s see,” she said. “Can you lead us there?”

  Not really, no, because of the rope, but his soft, uncertain voice gave Tayse directions. Straight left—no, a little to the right of that—yes, past these two trees—even farther—right over that hill—

  And there, the Mother be damned, stood a small, dilapidated building of stone and wood. The door was rotted half through, but the walls and roof were mostly intact, and the windows had been boarded up long ago. They spurred their horses forward, calling out phrases of encouragement to each other, words of praise to Cammon. It was still something of a fight to get the horses through the last few snowdrifts to the broken door, but here they were, shelter at hand at last.

  Tayse pulled up hard on the reins and unknotted the rope around his waist. “Justin,” he said, but Justin had already freed himself and was on the ground, dagger out, hand on the door.

  “What do you—” Kirra started, but Tayse interrupted.

  “No telling who or what might be in there,” he said. “The two of us are going in first. Don’t follow until I call you.”

  She rolled her eyes but settled back in her saddle. The others did not seem disposed to protest. He pulled his own weapon, then nodded at Justin, and the two of them burst simultaneously through the door.

  They were instantly in a single dim room, maybe twenty feet by thirty, that smelled of disuse and dust and cold snow. It was hard to see anything in the overcast light through shuttered windows, but there seemed to be nothing in here but afternoon shadows and a few odd pieces of furniture. Nonetheless, Tayse jerked his head at Justin. He went one direction, the younger Rider went the other, feeling their way around the circumference of the room. The wall felt like broken plaster beneath his gloved fingers. The floor had once been very fine, planed wood with perfectly mortised joints. Here there was an overturned chair, ornately carved and large enough to serve as a throne. Against this wall, a cabinet with one door hanging open. Tayse glanced inside just to make sure nothing dangerous lurked behind the door. He thought he heard a mouse squealing, but nothing more menacing appeared.

  “Empty,” Justin said, meeting him in the middle of the room along the far wall. “What a stroke of luck to find this place.”

  Tayse grunted. “Luck or magic,” he said. “We seem to be having the good kind and the bad kind of both.”

  He called to the others, and they tumbled in, bringing snow and shadows with them. Within minutes, someone had lighted torches, and they could see what they were doing as they tried to assess their find. Justin took charge of the horses and herded them all toward the back of the room, where they might or might not stay bunched up for the evening. Cammon and Kirra and Donnal strolled around the perimeter of the room, looking at hieroglyphics on the walls that were revealed by the influx of firelight.

  Senneth stood by the door, waiting, until the raelynx sauntered in.

  Tayse watched for a moment, his breath caught; he had actually, during the battle with the snow, forgotten about the raelynx for the afternoon. The creature looked like wildness personified, like death and beauty and remorselessness in one lithe package. It sank to its haunches just inside the door and regarded the lot of them with a close and personal attention.

  Tayse made his way cautiously to Senneth’s side. “Is it safe to bring that animal in with us?” he asked in a low voice. Not low enough, apparently. The raelynx turned its dark eyes his way and considered him as if for his tastiness.

  “Safe as it was having him slink beside us all morning,” she said, almost smiling, “and sleep not far from us last night. He is no more dangerous now than then.”

  “Not entirely comforting,” he said. “But I trust you to know the limits of your magic.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad there is something about me you trust.”

  He tilted his head back. She was a tall woman, and it pleased him that he could still look down at her from a somewhat more lofty height. “And your headache?” he asked.

  “Completely gone, thank you,”
she said. “I am feeling quite good, actually.”

  Justin crossed the room to join them, giving the raelynx one quick, disapproving glance. “I don’t know if I can find any dry wood,” he said. “But we’re going to have to try a fire.”

  Senneth turned her smile on him. “Justin,” she said in a mocking voice, “haven’t you paid attention to anything that’s happened since we’ve been on the road together?”

  And, while Tayse watched her and Justin frowned at her, she stepped to the middle of the room and seemed to stop and consider. She didn’t raise her hands in any kind of dramatic gesture, or move her lips to speak an incantation, and the expression on her face was simply thoughtful. If this was magic, it came without visible effort. But rapidly and thoroughly, the room temperature began to rise. In a few moments, they did not merely cease to be cold; they started to feel truly, blissfully warm.

  Tayse reached up to unbutton his coat. “Well,” he said to Justin, “I guess we don’t need a fire.”

  “What if we want to cook a meal or boil a pot of water?” Justin grumbled. Tayse flicked him a look that said, clear as words, Don’t be ungrateful.

  Senneth, apparently, had overheard Justin. “Fire you shall have, then, since you are set on fire.” She glanced around, picked her spot, and knelt on the dusty wood floor. More as a visual marker than as a source of fuel, Tayse thought, she swept a few twigs and dried leaves into a small pile and touched them with her finger. Instantly, a bright gold flame sprang to life and danced through the gathered debris. “Cook over it, warm your fingers, merely watch it burn,” she said, coming to her feet. “It will last all night.”

  Justin merely scowled, since it wasn’t in him to be gracious. Tayse was grinning, but before he had a chance to say anything, Kirra called out.

  “Sen. Come look at this.” She and the others were still standing against one of the side walls, examining marks left in the plaster.

  “What is it?” Senneth asked.

  “I don’t have any idea.”

  Tayse joined Senneth as she crossed the room, and together the five of them inspected what was left of the pictures on the wall. The circles and lines meant nothing to Tayse, and he could not make out any kind of pattern in the colors, faint but still discernible in the crumbling plaster. But he could tell they meant something to Senneth. She put her fingers out almost reverently to trace a circular design that rose over a low horizon of darker figures.