Inheritance (47 page)

Lynan felt whole for the first time since being taken by Jes Prado. Around him were his friends, including Gudon. They were all fed, all mounted on fresh horses—six mares, all sisters—and all equipped with saddle packs filled with food and water, as well as a felt gorytos for Gudon, holding a reflex bow and a quiver of arrows. Lynan had his sword back, carried all the way to the Strangers’ Sooq for him by Ager. Well, not his sword, he reminded himself, remembering how he had won it in the encounter at the ford with Kumul, but a good weapon at least. And best of all he was rid of his clothes, worn thin and encrusted with grime, dirt, blood, and sweat. Kayakun had dressed them all in Chett garb, with linen trousers and shirts, heavy ponchos and wide-brimmed sun hats made from boiled leather. The only garment he had kept, stored in one of his saddlebags, was the green coat given him by the forester Roheth and carried all this way by Ager. Lynan had to admit they must have looked a strange sight getting ready to ride out of the Strangers Sooq in the middle of the night, with Kumul’s poncho barely covering his shoulders and Ager’s looking as lopsided as a drooping flower.

The moon overhead was nearly full and cast enough light to read by, so when Lynan took Kayakun’s hand and thanked him for all his help, he could easily see the lines of concern creasing the Chett’s face. Kayakun gave the full bow the Chetts seemed so fond of. “Travel well, your Majesty.”

Kayakun said brief farewells to the rest of the group, lingering only with Gudon, who leaned over his saddle so they could talk privately.

When they were finished, Gudon turned in his saddle to face the others. “We go now, my friends. Quickly as we can for the first hour. The farther away we are from the sooq, the safer we will be.” He waved to Kayakun and spurred his horse to a trot, the others following close behind.

As they left the sooq, Gudon picked up the pace. The horses fell into a ground-eating canter, their manes fluttering like pennants.

Lynan felt he was entering a dream world. If the Oceans of Grass had captured his imagination under the light of the sun, under the light of the moon they captured his soul. It no longer seemed like a vast plain covered in grass, but a real ocean with real waves. It seemed to him they rode godlike across water, and underneath he sensed the heartbeats of great creatures, solitary and somnolent, never disturbed by the goings-on of lesser creatures. Above him, the dark sky seemed like smoked glass embedded with glittering gems. Like the ocean, the plains had surges and troughs. Gentle hills rose and disappeared as they rode by.

At last, Gudon reined back the pace and the mares happily continued at a quick walk. As both riders and mounts recaptured their breath, Lynan started to hear the sounds of the plain. There were so many crickets chirruping that the sound became a single melody; above them, he could hear the occasional hooting of an owl and the flapping, skittering wings of bats. And then the call of a kestrel. For a moment that seemed perfectly normal. Kestrels flew above all the world’s oceans.

He pulled up his horse. For a moment the others rode on, unaware he had stopped; when they noticed he was no longer with them, they halted.

“What is it?” Gudon called back to Lynan.

Lynan motioned for them all to keep silent.

And there it was again. The call of a kestrel. He had not imagined it.

“I have never heard that sound before,” Gudon said. Using his left leg to support his weight, he stood in the stirrups to survey the sky and land around them.

“And you never will away from the sea,” Jenrosa added.

Lynan caught up with them. “Rendle?” he asked.

Gudon ignored the question and kneed his horse closer to Jenrosa. “Lynan tells me you are a magicker.”

“A student magicker.”

He put his hand in one of his saddlebags and retrieved what looked like slivers of diamond. “Can you cast?”

“I know the theory,” Jenrosa said warily.

He gave the slivers to Jenrosa. “These will help, but hurry. We have not much time.”

The urgency in his voice discouraged any more questions. She held up her palm to see better what Gudon had given her. Silvery translucent wafers shone softly with moonlight. She dredged from her memory the incantation for casting; it was one of the more ludicrous series of phrases, but she closed her hand around the wafers, shut her eyes, and recited the lines. Her hand tingled, but there was no finish, that relief that flooded through her when a magic was performed properly. She breathed deeply and tried again, but with no more success. She opened her eyes and found Gudon staring straight into them.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Wait,” he ordered. He drew his short, bone knife from its sleeve behind his neck and used it to cut a long line in the palm of his hand. He placed his hand over her fist. “Now, try again.”

Jenrosa nodded, closed her eyes and started the incantation a third time. She felt the Chett’s warm blood creep over her fingers. As she recited the words they seemed to vibrate in her mind, grow in size. She opened her mouth and the words poured out like a river of water. She felt the wafers in her hand writhe and move, and would have let them go if Gudon’s own hand was not wrapped tightly around hers.

For the others, watching, nothing at all seemed to happen at first, but as the incantation grew in power and Jenrosa’s voice grew stronger, the air above her seemed to distort and waver. For an instant, Lynan thought he saw the shape of a huge wolf twist in the sky, but then the image was gone as quickly as it had formed and he convinced himself it was his imagination.

Jenrosa finished, the last word almost a shout, and a wave of exultation and exhaustion washed through her. She slumped in the saddle. Gudon held her up and forced open her palm. The wafers were all gone.

“Good. The cast was made. Help will come.” He looked up again to survey the terrain around them. “I only hope it will come in time.” He lifted Jenrosa’s head. “Are you well enough to ride?”

She nodded wearily, but to prove her point, she pulled away from him and sat erect in her saddle.

“Over there!” Kumul cried, pointing north. Between two low hillocks about halfway to the horizon they saw dark shapes flitter along the grass.

“We cannot outrun them,” Ager said darkly. “Rendle’s company are mounted on good cavalry stallions. They will chase our mares from here to the other side of Theare or drop dead in the attempt.”

“We must try!” Gudon cried. “These horses were born and bred on the Oceans of Grass, and there are no more sure-footed creatures on this world.” He flicked the reins, and his horse immediately broke into a gallop. Without urging from their riders, the other mares followed.

The wind blew in Lynan’s face, stinging his skin and making his eyes water, but his heart was filled not with fear but exhilaration. His excitement was sensed by his mount and she seemed to fly across the grass. Time seemed to stand still, and it was the world that passed under the mares’ hoofs, turning on its axis with their speed. Whenever Lynan spied the enemy, they seemed no nearer.

But the enemy was equally relentless in the hunt. Eventually time started again, the mares slowed, and the black figures pursuing them began to close. The moon, which had seemed so high and bright, now hung near the horizon and the night grew darker and colder. With his crooked fate once more catching up with him, Lynan’s exhilaration ebbed, replaced by a rising dread.

Gudon had been leading them west the whole time. Directly ahead in the distance Lynan could see a hill that rose higher above the plains than any other, and knew that the Chett must be taking them there for a last stand. He looked northward but saw no sign of the enemy. Then something made him look behind him, and there they were, slapping their horse’s flanks with the flats of their swords. He counted five of them, then ten, then more. Their war cries, filled with a terrible blood lust, reached his ears and made his skin crawl. He looked ahead again and realized they would never reach that hill, would never have a last stand. They would be struck from behind like mice fleeing a cat.

Gudon cut sideways so he could shout instructions to Jenrosa, but the wind took his words away and Lynan could not hear him. He saw Jenrosa nod, rein back enough for Lynan to draw beside her. She looped the reins around her wrist and then grasped the manes of both their horses. She quickly uttered six words. The effect was instantaneous. Their mares gained fresh energy and seemed to leap forward. They quickly overtook the other three.

“Now the others!” Lynan shouted to Jenrosa, but she did not seem to hear him. “Jenrosa, help the others!”

She looked at him, and the grief he saw in her eyes turned his heart to ice. He looked over his shoulder once more and saw Gudon, Kumul, and Ager turn their horses. For a moment they paused and he knew with utter certainty they were looking at him for one last time, then Gudon drew out his bow and fitted an arrow and the three of them turned their mounts around and charged toward the enemy, their war cries so loud the stars in the sky seemed to shake.

“No!” Lynan cried. “No!” He pulled back hard on the reins and the mare screamed as the bit jagged in her mouth. As she broke from her gallop, he started turning her around.

“No, Lynan!” Jenrosa shouted at him and grabbed for his reins. Tears filled her eyes. “There is no other way! They’ve given you your last chance! Don’t let them die in vain!”

Lynan turned on her with all his anger. “And what about you? What is your sacrifice for Prince Lynan?”

She pointed to the hill. “There is where I make my stand. What little magic I have I will use to protect you as you ride farther west. Gudon says help is on its way, and if we can slow the enemy long enough, you will reach it before they reach you.”

His anger bled away. “I don’t want you to die for me!” he cried. “I don’t want anyone to die for me anymore!”

“What makes you think the choice is yours?” she asked, her voice almost scornful. “None of us had any hand in this destiny, but Gudon and Kumul and Ager won’t fly from it, and neither will I.” She grabbed him by his shirt and pulled his face next to hers. “And if you had one tenth the courage of your father, neither would you!”

Lynan pulled away. “I don’t choose this destiny!” he shouted back at her, and kicked his horse into a gallop, back toward the enemy.

“Oh, fuck,” Jenrosa breathed and drew her sword from its saddle sheath. In her present state of mind it would probably do as much good as any magic she might raise. Her friends were going to die, and she knew with a strange satisfaction that she did not want to live without them. She waved the sword experimentally above her head. It whistled in the air.
That’s a good sign
, she thought, and spoke a word in her mare’s ear. The horse shook her head, whinnied, and broke into a gallop, doing its damnedest to catch her sister.

Lynan had by now drawn his own sword. He leaned hard over the saddle, the blade parallel with the horse’s head, and prayed to God his courage would hold. He saw his three friends engaged in a confusing melee with at least five of the enemy, their weapons rising and falling, their horses wheeling around each other. Another three or four of the enemy lay dead around them, all with arrows sticking from throats or eyes. More of the mercenaries were joining in as they caught up with the fight, but they were too disorganized for their greater numbers to truly tell. His friends used the enemy as shields, and their nimble mares let them maneuver more easily in the mass of stamping, champing horses.

Lynan shouted no war cry but hewed straight in. His first target was a mercenary circling the melee searching for a way to get in, and Lynan’s swinging sword caught him on the side of the head, taking off his helmet together with an ear. As he passed Lynan swung the blade back and felt it sink into the man’s face. He jerked it free and straightened his arm, pointing the sword directly to his second target, a mercenary who had already lost his helmet. He kept the hilt in line with his face, just as Kumul had taught him, and bore down on the man. Six inches of steel slid through the mercenary’s neck and spine. The collision jarred Lynan’s arm, and as he pulled the blade free from the falling enemy, he cursed himself for not bending his elbow before the sword point struck home. He had not remembered all of Kumul’s lessons.

By now more of the enemy had ridden up and, seeing Lynan, were determined to disarm and capture him. Lynan saw only one way out. Or, rather, in. There was a gap in the central mass of struggling horses and men, and he spurred his mare through it. He caught a glimpse of Kumul’s horrified face when the giant saw him, but had no time to shout a greeting. A sword seemed to come from nowhere, probably aiming for Kumul. The constable was too fast, however, and easily deflected the blow. Lynan was not fast enough, and the flat of the blade whacked him in the ear. He shouted in pain, riposted, and felt the blade strike something solid.

Another mercenary was going for Kumul, swinging a short mace above his head. Lynan twisted his horse around and lunged, sending the tip of his sword through the enemy’s armpit. The man screamed and fell, but quickly scrabbled to his feet. As Lynan was about to swipe at his face the man was knocked down by a horse. He screamed one last time as a pair of hoofs trampled his chest and head.

Lynan found himself squeezed between two mercenaries, his sword arm jammed against his side. The mercenary on his right raised his own sword and used its pommel to strike against Lynan’s skull. Lynan heaved sideways, unbalancing the man, and as he righted himself, he whipped his head forward, breaking the man’s nose with his forehead. The mercenary pulled back on his horse’s reins and was swallowed up in the melee. His sword arm free, Lynan now struck at the enemy on his left but missed. His opponent, made aware of the threat, tried to punch Lynan away, but then Ager appeared beside him. The crookback’s short sword made a single thrust and the man slumped over his saddle.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ager demanded angrily, but Lynan’s horse was carried forward in a sudden surge and he had no time to reply. He swung his sword to left and right, hitting leather armor and steel helmets, but making no effective strikes. Suddenly the area around him cleared and he found himself outside of the melee.