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KARST WATCHED THE BACKS of the two men. Medraut, or the road man, as he titled the other man in his mind, was keeping to the letter of their instructions. Medraut's horse walked nose by nose with the gelding Gault rode. Neither animal moved quickly enough to raise any dust.
He bit back a curse. Despite his suspicions that Medraut was the cause of missing food, he could not prove it. The other man had not done anything untoward, not caused any trouble that he could be blamed for. And I have not yet had a chance to compare notes with Trelleir. Something about Medraut also bothered him.
"I still don't like the road man," Karst snarled. He would not have come on the scouting trip to make sure the path was still good if Feldt hadn’t asked him to join Gault. But when the clan leader said Medraut was also part of the exploration party... Then I would have joined the advance party just to keep an eye on Medraut.
The breeze brought a hint of dust along with the fragrance of the knee-high grass covering the meadow. They had only been on the trail for a candlemark and Karst was ready to challenge Gault to a boxing match. The bouts held after the evening meals provided entertainment and allowed some of the younger men to show off their fighting skills. When we fight, Karst vowed. It will not be for show. Gault will bear bruises for days.
A thought that had dogged Karst for days surged forward with a frightening ferocity. If I don’t kill him.
Medraut hadn’t helped tone down Gault’s attitude, either at the camp or on the trail. If anything, Karst decided, Medraut seemed to incite the rider to increasingly more outrageous behavior.
Eventually the smooth gait and the warmth of the midday sun lulled him into a half-sleep. Rhythmic hoof falls helped calm nerves stressed by the actions of his two companions. Tensing of the horse beneath him pulled Karst from the trance. Looking around showed movement farther up the meadow and he held up a hand to signal Gault to stop.
The other scout scowled at the command. "You’re not my boss."
Ignoring the man’s obstinance, Karst stood in the stirrups and scanned the area. A pair of massive, tan horses walked into view. Their manes and tails, black colored on one and a deep gold on the other, swayed with their movements. Ears forward, they stopped several wagon lengths away. Tension radiated from their frames.
"Gault, on our right," Medraut hissed.
Despite the softness of the warning, both horses turned their heads. Whinnies between them sounded to Karst like the animals were discussing the watching men.
Gault untied the rope he had placed on the saddle when the caravan leader told the outriders to expect a pair of horses and shook out a loop. "I’ll get one. Medraut, you catch the other."
"No, we have our orders." Karst tilted his head at the watching horses. "They are not ours."
Gault’s look made clear his opinion of Karst’s reminder. "Those orders aren’t worth the breath to speak them."
Medraut’s sneer mimicked the other man’s words and showed his disdain for both Karst and the caravan leader. "You might not want one of those horses, but I do." He nodded to Gault.
A kick and their horses leaped forward. The outrider put his rope into action first. Two whirls of the rope above his head and the loop flew through the air toward one of the watching horses.
A snort and the animal danced out of the way.
"Nice, but not good enough," Gault snarled. Quick movements pulled back the rope and reformed the loop. A whirl and he threw it at the nearer of the stallions.
Karst who had watched the two men’s interplay reacted. A kick and yell of, "Go," and his horse rocked back on its haunches, then leaped between the other man and his target.
The change of position disrupted the toss. Instead of the loop landing over one of the stallions’ necks, it sailed over Karst’s head. His upraised arm snagged the rope in mid-air. Two quick wraps secured it over the saddle horn.
"Whoa." Karst squeezed his legs against the saddle and grabbed the saddle horn. As he intended, the horse beneath him braced its front legs.
The rope tightened and unable to stop his forward motion, Gault went flying over his mount’s head. Dust rose when he measured his length in the grass.
Shock chilled Karst. The way the rope was tossed could only mean one thing. I was the target.
Reining in his horse, Medraut looked at the rope lying on the ground, then over at the man lying spread-eagled in the grass. "You idiot, now see how it’s done." He turned to face the closest of the tan horses.
Karst swore a fog seemed to rise from the grass. It reminded him of the morning mist at his grandparents’ cabin in the singing valley. No sooner did it come, then the sensation vanished. He searched for what might have changed. The flower-filled grass seemed the same, the far side of the meadow just as distant. Only the horses appeared bigger.
A strident bugle rolled across the meadow. Although it was a single sound, Karst had the feeling that it was much more. That it was a command. In response. Medraut’s mount kicked out. Its rider off balance from the maneuver, the animal jumped, all four hooves leaving the ground. Before it landed it twisted in a desperate attempt to unseat Medraut.
"Behave yourself, you stupid animal."
The horse ignored its rider and repeated its frantic maneuvers. The third time around, the horse spun in a tight circle, then reversed direction in a tight corkscrew.
His arms flailing, Medraut left the saddle and landed on his back with a thud. His breath gushed out in a moan.
Deft movements freed the end of Gault's now limp rope from Karst's saddlehorn. A toss sent it flying to land beyond the other man's reach.
Karst shifted his focus to Medraut. "Well, what are you going to do now?"
Anger mingled with disappointment on the other man’s face. Curses filled the air.
I shouldn’t enjoy this, Karst thought. But I am. He fought down a smile.
Medraut pushed himself to his knees, then wincing rose to his feet. "Karst, bring me my horse."
"Or what?"
Where before there had been mixed emotions on Medraut’s face, now Karst saw nothing but pure hatred. "That pretty little nurse of yours will serve me." Lips that had been tight from pain spread in a leer.
Fear froze Karst’s throat. He didn’t dare retaliate. Brial and I are not yet handfasted. She is free to choose who she will. Resolve grew in his heart. Brial will not be alone with Medraut. I will see to it.
Movement in the corner of his eye changed his attention.
The tan horses trotted toward him. Each of the stallions held the reins of a riderless horse in their mouths. The slightly taller of the pair stared at the scowling Gault, while his companion glared at Medraut.
"Sorry, Medraut, Gault, I think your horses are spoken for." Addressing the newcomers, Karst added, "My apologies, spirited stallions. Those two on the ground will not bother you again." He waved at the backtrail. "If you will come with me, your masters await you at the camp."
Despite the reins held in its mouth, Karst swore the horse’s snort was a mirthful laugh.
He gave a respectful nod to the watching stallions and turned his mount’s head to the trail leading to the caravan. "Spirited stallions, please follow me." As the impromptu caravan moved out, Karst looked over his shoulder. "Gault, Medraut, don’t worry. I will send a trundle cart back for you."
MEDRAUT LOOKED AT THE orange sun kissing the horizon, paced the length of the wagon, then rechecked the sun’s position. "Gault's time to get me the information I need is almost up. He's had three sevenday, and all I have are two women," Medraut groused. "He hasn't found anything of use." His lips tightened. "If I want something done, I have to do it myself. And I know just how."
Untying the swaybacked mare that served as his mount from the wagon wheel, he led it to the picket line. As he knew she would, Deneas groomed one of the tan stallions. A final tug on the reins and the mare moved into an empty spot on the rope opposite the tan stallion. Just as I planned, Medraut thought.
The stallion looked up from the bucket of feed. A foot stomp and bared teeth served as both greeting, and Medraut knew from past encounters, a warning.
Slow and friendly, he reminded himself. As if someone intent on their task, he ignored both Deneas and her horse and walked to the feed bin and the basket of brushes on the ground next to it.
Three scoops of feed clanked into the bucket. Since there was no outcry or comments about hogging the feed, he dumped in another scoopful and picked up a brush before returning to his waiting horse.
As it had every time, he got close to it, the mare shied away.
"Easy, girl," Medraut cooed. "Have something to eat." He kept to himself the comment, "It may be your last if you don’t smarten up."
Each brush stroke provided an opportunity to observe Deneas. Each of her movements was gentle and precise. Yet she seemed in full control of what everyone was calling a wild stallion. Conflict filled his mind for several moments. When no answer as to how a mere woman could subjugate a wild horse, he used the frustration to boost his powers.
Assured that the woman was absorbed in her work, he cast a narrow probe in her direction. The initial response didn’t come from her body, but from what appeared to be a necklace hidden beneath her tunic.
A dragon’s tear might give off such a signal, he decided. But I need to know more.
"That is a beautiful red jewel in your necklace."
Deneas’ hand went to her throat. Her eyes narrowed. The words shouldn’t startle the woman that much. She is hiding something. And I will find out. "I am sorry to startle you. I just caught a flash of red while you were brushing your horse." He waited until her expression straightened. "If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get it? I am looking for a present for a friend."
"My mother gave it to me."
"And she got it?"
"She didn’t say." She returned to brushing. "Now, Medraut, if you don’t mind, I need to finish brushing Nightbolt."
She knows more, Medraut swore. I know it. She is being evasive. A deep breath fought down the anger that wanted to burn. "Maybe your friend Trelleir might know." He stretched to his full height. "Like him, I too am a scholar. I just have been too busy advising Feldt to look Trelleir up."
"That’s nice."
The flat tone of the words added to the building anger. Enough. This "female" needs to be taken down a peg. She won’t tell me what I want willingly, so I will take it. It won't impact my plan to remain in the background until I take over the caravan. A smile twitched his lips. If the magic has some after-effects, too bad—for her.
Medraut held up his hand, palm up. A glittering crown rose from it and floated on a single breath across to where Deneas knelt on one knee cleaning dirt from one of Nightbolt’s hooves. The crown settled on her head, encircling her brow. "What is your secret," he hissed. "You must tell me!"
The wait for her answer lasted for a breath, then two, then ten. Slowly, he curled his fingers tightening the shimmering threads of the crown until it disappeared beneath the dark curls. "You will obey."
Still, the woman did not respond to the demand. If anything, she appeared not to even recognize the ethereal crown. "If you will excuse me," Deneas said, "the girls are waiting for their lessons." A toss sent the brush into the bucket. She gave a nod, patted the stallion’s muzzle, and turned away. Quick steps took her toward the wagons.
Surprise at his spell’s failure chilled Medraut's soul, but did nothing to cool the now white-hot rage. She should be under my control. And she will be. He grabbed the anger, using it to supplement his power. A flick of his wrist cast a magical net over Deneas' head. Once again, he commanded obedience. "Stop. Return to me. Obey!"
Deneas took two steps, then stopped as if suddenly remembering something. "No. Nightbolt is groomed. Trelleir awaits." A shake of her head and she continued on her original path.
"No," Medraut cursed. Not only did Deneas fail to obey the command, but first one, then another of the lines that made up the net started to unravel. Before he could pull on the trailing edge of the net to drag Deneas back to him, the rope snapped. Without the connection to his magic, the knots vanished and the holes widened until the net slid off her shoulders into a pile around her feet.
Fire raced through his veins. How dare a mere human, and a female at that, break his spell. He knew that in a heartbeat real flames would be dancing on his skin. Forced deep breaths cooled his skin enough that he didn’t feel like the heat would set his clothes on fire.
Never mind, he thought to himself. I will get my revenge later. I will find out more at the dance. The music will make the woman more susceptible. One dance and she will tell me everything. And by the end of it, the magic in her tear stone will be mine. His lips contorted in anticipated pleasure. Then it will be Brial’s time to dance. It has been some time since I had two beautiful women. As a warrior woman, Deneas should have extended stamina.
As the images danced in his mind, he felt the fire rising up his back. Long drags of air failed to cool his skin until he had to walk away from the wagon and forcibly push the pictures away.
Even then, the night air didn’t have the desired effect. Instead, it mingled with the growing dampness and clung to his skin as a thick mist.
THE PROSPECT OF ADDING the offspring of Deneas' and Trelleir’s stallions to the caravan’s herd spread through the caravan. It didn’t take long before it reached Karst on Brial’s wagon. No sooner had the messenger moved on than Gault and Medraut rode up. Their comments didn’t center on the upcoming meeting but on their plans for the tan stallions.
They want me to hear them, Karst decided. And there could only be one reason. To see if I run to Feldt, giving Gault another excuse to demand my expulsion from the caravan. Although Gault was supposed to be riding drag behind the herd of goats, extra saddle stock, and any hauler beast not under harness, he always managed to hide whenever the head groom looked for him. "And," Karst muttered, "ended up at Medraut’s side."
Which was not too bad, he decided. Keep your enemies close. He couldn’t claim the former patient as an enemy by actions, but in his heart, he knew Medraut meant no one in the caravan any good. He never failed to avoid hard or unpleasant work. Every time there was trouble in the wagons, Medraut was the instigator.
Medraut’s agitated voice pulled Karst away from his ruminations. As they had too often of late, the pair rode far enough from the wagon that there would be no repercussions. The current conversation centered on the tan stallions ... and their frustrations at being unable to claim them. From Medraut’s comments, Karst realized the other man had encountered the animals before and had come out the loser.
Still, Karst admitted, not a single man could resist the barrel chest and majestic head of the animals. Every morning there was a race to see who would claim the two stallions as their ride for the day. Until they discovered the horses would only accept Deneas and Trelleir in the saddle. Those who tried measured their length in the dirt. Unable to use one of the stallions as their private mount, the traders took a different tactic. One by one, all those who owned a mare tried to borrow the stallions for stud service.
With all the competition it is a good thing I don’t have a mare to worry about, Karst thought. Having Tywyll to care for is enough. Although, he did admit, the helwr was pretty self-reliant. After all, he had lived for years without any human assistance.
Karst watched the men fall back to check on the next wagon in line. "Good riddance," he muttered. Wherever Brial was, either Medraut or Gault, or both, could be found. It was becoming harder and harder to keep them away from her.
"They gone?" Brial separated the curtains separating the bench from the back of the wagon and peeked out.
A quick look down the caravan reassured Karst that the other men had not doubled back. "It’s safe to come out."
Two steps brought Brial to her usual location. If she wasn’t caring for man or beast, she sat on the cushioned bench. And since she had made her wishes clear, if he wasn’t scouting the trail ahead, or walking at the head of her team, Karst rode alongside her. He had even gained her trust enough to work the reins.
Seeing Brial had brought her handloom, he didn’t offer her the reins. She deserves a break, he thought. Humming a tune to herself as her fingers wove the shuttle through the threads of the handloom laid across her lap, her joy increased Karst’s own. Ever since their first meeting when Clan Vreis camped in the singing valley, he had relished her presence.
A snort from the lead hauler beast jerked him from his reflections. It flicked its ears and Karst saw what the animal had. Tywyll rode the thermals in circles above the caravan. A squawk and the helwr flew off. Although it never went far when the wagons were on the move, it did occasionally go off for food. This time however, instead of diving into the waving stalks to catch a long-eared jumper or some other small inhabitant of the grass scurrying on the ground, the bird circled in one spot. It dipped a wing, repeating its circle and signal before returning to the wagon to perch on a hauler beast's harness.
The bird projected satisfaction. It folded its wings and cocked its head. Its message was clear. I know something you don’t know.
Hoof falls announced Feldt’s ride down the line of wagons. "Karst, I saw the helwr signal. What did it find?"
A quick review of the bird's mannerisms provided few hard facts. It would be so much easier, Karst thought, if I could read Tywyll's mind.
Before he could answer, the helwr leaped skyward. Following the path of its flight, Karst could just see a shape in the distance which quickly resolved into a horse and rider. The speed and dust trail said the horse was in a furious gallop. No weapons were visible, but the rider appeared to be carrying something on a stick that moved back and forth.
"If that is a flag we saw, he must be a messenger." Feldt stood in the stirrups, peering at the trail ahead as if he could see through the hill the rider had disappeared behind. "But from whom? Betrys already sent word no more people had come down with the fever and she was safely home. The other clans should hold their business until the gathering." He acknowledged the watching helwr with a nod. "Thank you, Tywyll, for your timely warning. I'll take over now."
A bob of its head, a chirp, and the bird started preening its feathers.
Karst waited for Feldt to order him into the saddle, but the clansman just whistled. Two scouts galloped up in response and after a few brief words, the trio galloped to the top of the hill, paused at the crest, and then disappeared down the other side.
Before the wait became unbearable, the small group reappeared. Karst couldn't see the older man's features, but he radiated tension. The scouts trotted down the grassy slope. Moments later they split up going from wagon to wagon.
It didn't take long for the orders to travel through the line. "Making camp early. Meeting of all men and women after the meal."