Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (16 page)

Yar fished in his pocket. He'd bought a twist of candied nuts before lunch, and there were one or two left. He shook one out onto his palm and offered it to the bay. "My name's Yarro," he whispered. "I think you know me, even if you don't want to admit it."

The bay snuffled the nut, lipped at it, and then took it. His teeth grazed Yar's palm, but didn't actually bite. That was progress, wasn't it? Yar smiled at him.

"There you are. Shall I take that halter off? You're a proud fellow, aren't you? You don't like the halter, I can see that. It's rubbing your ears, isn't it?" While he murmured to the horse, Yar worked his fingers up around the stallion's ears and loosened the halter, then slipped it off the horse's head.

"What are you doing, idiot boy?" the swordswoman called. Yar ignored her. He put his hand through the halter and pushed it up on his shoulder.

The stallion pressed its head against Yar's chest as he stroked carefully around its ears. The right one was raw. "Do you mind if I ride you?" Yar whispered. "Just a couple of times around the ring?"

The stallion didn't answer. He didn't really expect him to. Horses couldn't talk or anything, could they? Then again, just because the horses he'd known in the past didn't talk, that didn't mean none of them ever could. This horse seemed very intelligent. And after all, Yar had Voices in his head. Maybe horses could talk, and just chose not to most of the time.

Yar couldn't mount this horse like he had the dun. He coaxed the bay over to the fence, where he was able to clamber up and get a leg over. The bay snorted, his head coming up. His legs locked in place, his muscles rigid. One ear swiveled around towards Yar, who crooned nonsense sounds at him.

Yar wasn't sure how long he sang-talked to the bay, but he felt him gradually relaxing the longer he did. Yar wasn't really a patient man, but he'd lived his life without any sense of time passing. What was an hour if you lost it to listening to the Voices, after all? So what was an hour spent singing to a horse? Still, he relaxed himself when he felt the stallion's legs unlock.

"Come on," Yar murmured. "Just twice around the pen?" He tightened his legs and the stallion moved forward instantly, too fast. Yar rocked backwards, but kept his seat. He let the stallion do it his way, though. They went around the pen at a fast trot, every step jouncing Yar's backside. When the stallion was resigned to the fact Yar wasn't going to fall off, he slowed to a more comfortable, rambly trot. Two more circles later, he was walking. Yar guided him with leg nudges and shifting weight, and when they came to a stop in front of the horse trader and the swordswoman, both of them were watching, mouths hanging open.

The woman whistled. "I'd never have thought you could get him to go without reins or even a halter."

Yar shrugged and slid down, his boots raising puffs of dust when he landed. The stallion whuffled and rested its nose against his hair. Yar suspected he would find horse slobbers there later, but he did his best to ignore it for the moment.

"You're bossy," he told the woman. "What's your name?"

She propped her hands on her hips again. She dressed like a boy, in wide, unbleached linen trousers tucked into her boots and a silk blouse under a brown vest. "Aevver," she said. "What's yours?"

He swallowed. He didn't want the trader to know, but he wasn't going to lie to the swordswoman from his vision. "I'm Yar," he said. "And this is Firefoot. He's my horse now." He gave the trader a hard look. The trader shut his mouth with an audible click. Firefoot—where had that come from? But it felt right.

Aevver smiled. "Well met, Yar. Narda, I think you've got a bargain to seal."

***

Azmei watched from the paddock as Yarro Perslyn and Narda dickered over the price of the bay hellion. She wouldn't have thought the boy could ride anything as strong and spirited as the bay, but then she had based her impression of Yarro mostly on what Orya had said of him. There was probably a lesson in that—perhaps it was a bad idea to believe anything you were told by a woman who was trying to kill you.

She glanced back at the horses milling about in the paddock. She had liked Firefoot herself, when she first spotted him. Then she'd seen him flatten his ears at another horse that was a little too close for his liking. And then she'd tried to reach for his halter, with Narda smiling and urging her on. The bay had bared his teeth, and if Azmei hadn't been quicker than the horse, she might be an eight-fingered ex-princess right now.

Narda had been all apologies and oozed compliments about how he'd thought she would like his spirit and he'd been just sure she could handle him, but Azmei had given him a few sharp words about warning a person next time they got within ten paces of that horse, and he'd subsided.

But Yarro had done something that got the horse's attention, and even when the boy had been trying out the dun gelding, that bay horse had watched him like a hen with its first chick. Magic, Azmei would have said if she were more superstitious. Whatever it was, Yarro had set his heart on that bay horse, and the bay horse had, apparently, set his heart on the tall, skinny boy.

"Firefoot," she muttered, and shook her head. She had once been as fanciful as this boy. Not so long ago, some might say, but to Azmei it felt like a lifetime. When was the last time she'd had time to read an adventure story? Then again, she'd lived an adventure herself, and found it a bit less to her liking than she'd always expected.

She wondered if she could ever live up to the Amethirian name she'd chosen for herself when she left her life as Princess Azmei Corrone behind. Aevver had been one of the Four Daughters of the Storm, she and her sisters among the most famous and powerful women in all of Amethir's history. The stories Azmei had read about Aevver while studying her betrothed's culture had been moving and exhilarating. The stories she read after her life was turned upside down in Ranarr had been equally moving, but somehow less exhilarating.

It was hard to be thrilled about a powerful woman defeating and humiliating her enemies when you were having a difficult time doing that same thing yourself.

Behind her, hooves thumped gently against the packed dirt of the corral. Azmei turned and watched the dun gelding approach. When he got close enough, he dipped his head for a scratch, which Azmei obligingly provided. "We've both been forgotten, I think," she told him, rubbing the soft edges of his ears and pressing the palm of her hand against his huge, flat cheek. The gelding shoved his nose against her chest and Azmei laughed and looked back at the horsetrader's shelter.

Yarro was handing over some coin, though from this distance Azmei couldn't see how much. They'd agreed on a price, and after that he might have no business left in Meekin. Would he leave right away or wait until morning? The sun was low in the western sky. The Dry Gate would still be open, but would Yarro want to travel in the dark? Azmei wouldn't, in this unfamiliar territory. Yarro, though, probably had little or no experience with traveling. He could hardly help but make a few stupid mistakes while he was running away from home.

Did he know his grandfather was dead? But then, how could he? There might be turmoil inside the Perslyn house, but none of it was yet showing from the outside. He would probably wish to get as far from Meekin as quickly as he could, fearing the Patriarch would be after him. Or did he think the Patriarch wouldn't miss him? But if Azmei could find him, Kesh could find him.

Azmei ran a frustrated hand through her chin-length hair. There were just too many unknowns! Where was Yarro running to? Why had he chosen to run now? Would he leave town immediately? What sort of supplies had he put in that pack of his?

And, she wondered, how long would he be coherent?

"Still here? I hope you aren't angry about my selling the bay to the lad. He was so keen on him, and you didn't seem to be interested." Narda's voice turned self-deprecating at that last.

Azmei laughed against her will. He was a merchant first and foremost, no arguing that, but he had a sense of humor that invited others to laugh with him, and that made her like him despite his motivation to earn coin. "He hurt my pride by scorning my suggestion," she said, "and I think he hurt the dun's feelings as well. I'd like to give this fellow a try myself."

The dun gelding really was a beauty. He followed her knee signals and picked up on her slightest cues. She liked his coloring for traveling unnoticed, and he was big enough to earn her some respect without being too large for her to ride comfortably. She was not a tall woman. Her instinct as a child had been to gravitate immediately to the tallest horse in sight, but she had learned how much better it was to have a comfortable one.

She tried a brown mare and another gelding, but she quickly settled on the dun. He was the best behaved, and after all, her pride
was
hurt. She'd picked him for the boy and he'd scorned her choice. Now she had to prove to herself that the dun was a good horse.

"Will you take him with you tonight?" Narda asked after they had settled on a price that was lower than he'd wished and higher than she had wished.

"It's late in the day for that. Are there inns that might take him? I know the inn I've been staying at by the university isn't equipped for horses."

Narda laughed. "Good luck even getting him there. Horses don't like the walkways much."

"I had noticed you don't see many of them deeper in the city."

"We're happiest out here where the air is a bit better and the hills a bit closer," Narda said. "And where there are inns with stables." He smiled at her. "I just sent your new friend down towards the street with his best chance of finding one. You might follow him there."

Azmei made a show of considering it, then shrugged and shook her head. "Perhaps you would keep the dun one night for me? I'd consider it a concession to the fact that you grossly overcharged me." Her grumbling was just for show, but it seemed to please Narda.

"I'll be happy to keep him one more night. You'll be back first thing in the morning? I'd hate to get confused and sell him to someone else." He winked.

"Ah, but then you'd have to replace him with another of your stock," she pointed out, "and I might choose that big black next time." She pointed at a horse that was clearly too big for her, and clearly of better stock than her pleasant but undistinguished new horse.

Narda laughed and waved her out of his stall. Azmei went on her way pleased with the day's work. She had found Yarro and purchased a horse, and she now knew he would be one more day in the city, since he'd asked Narda about an inn. She was reasonably confident that Yarro wasn't sophisticated enough at subterfuge to realize he should only ask about an inn if he didn't mean to stay there.

She would come back early tomorrow and keep an eye on the gate. For tonight, she had a job to finish.

Chapter 13

The first two inns Yar tried had no stables for horses. Finally he found the One-Eyed Pony. The inn was on a side street almost to the gate. From the side street an alley ran east, dead-ending against the city wall. Yar wasn't sure about it; there were weeds growing up between the paving stones of the alley, and one of the shutters on the inn hung cockeyed. But there was a stable, and two noses stuck out of the horse pen.

He led Firefoot to the flagged stable yard and paused. He looked around, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn't have to wait long, though. At the first sight of Firefoot, one of the inn's ponies whinnied a greeting. A skinny child about ten years old came out of the inn. She took one look at Yar and Firefoot and darted back inside, yelling for her Ma.

The woman who came out wore a patch on one eye. She dusted flour from her hands.

"A real horse, indeed. Effa's not big enough to groom that brute."

"He doesn't need it. We'll only be here one night." Yar tried on a smile, though it pulled his lips too tight.

"Well, you can stable 'im yourself, once you've paid for yer room. I'm the landlady, Sertis. We've black soup for supper and bread and dark ale. Laundry's extra. We send it out."

"No laundry," he said. "I'll eat in my rooms."

Her eyebrows flew upwards. "Only if you pay for an unshared room. They're three sovs."

"That's a lot of silver for one night."

She shrugged. "You don't have to stay here. There's the Dancing Rat close, if you'd rather, and they're a sight cheaper, but you don't get hot supper."

"I didn't mean that," Yar protested. "I have the coin. I just expected it to be more—affordable." He glanced at the cockeyed shutter.

"My hired man's gone to be with his wife and their new baby." Sertis crossed her arms. "Will you stay or will you go?"

The sun would set soon, and Yar didn't relish the thought of wandering the alleys of Meekin after dark. He had always been safe when he was with Orya, but he knew there was a harder side to the city. He might as well spend the money. He had no idea how far he would have to travel to find the Voices, but he would just have to trust that they would guide him there, money or no money.

Yar fished through his coin purse until he had the exact coins. As he handed them over, her good eye narrowed. He wondered if he'd made a mistake. Had she seen how much money he had? Maybe he should have paid in copper instead of silver.

"Effa will show you around the stable." Sertis turned and went inside, while the little girl danced in front of him.

"This way," she said. "The ponies will like the company."

Yar followed her into the stable. Effa carried buckets of water and a scoop of feed while Yar unsaddled Firefoot and brushed him. He frowned down at his pack, wondering if he should take it into the inn with him. A private room should be secure, and after all, he wasn't planning on leaving it. Then again, if Firefoot had been as difficult as Azmei and the horse trader had said, he wouldn't let anyone into his stall except Yar. The pack and saddle could stay out here, bundled into the corner furthest from the door. The coin purse would stay on Yar's belt.

When he went into the common room of the inn, Yar had to pause. The gloomy interior made it difficult to see where he might find an open table. Once his eyes adjusted, he realized he didn't have to worry. Most of the tables were empty. Two men played cards in the corner, and a group of men and women sat laughing around a large table in front of the fireplace. Aside from that, the room held only Sertis. She nodded to him and gathered a tray of food.

Yar followed her as she carried the tray upstairs and showed him his room. "There's no lock on the door, but you can bar it from the inside. Privy's down the end of the alley. No chamber pots." She set the tray on the tiny table in his room and tramped off. Yar listened to the wooden stairs thump under her feet.

He sighed and slumped onto the bed. "What am I doing?" he muttered. How could he have thought it a good idea to leave home? At least there he had good food to eat regularly, and nice clothes. His grandfather had threatened to put him in assassin training, but he'd never actually gone through with it. Why couldn't he accept that Orya was gone?

But then there were the Voices. They would never leave him alone if he didn't come to find them as bidden. They might not leave him alone if he did obey, but at least he would know. Orya wasn't coming back for him. He would accept that, and he would go forward with his own life. Whatever it became.

He ate quickly, sopping up the black bean soup with his bread and washing it all down with the ale. Stronger than any he'd had before, the ale made his eyes water. It was good, though, and soon his tray was empty.

He was tired, but he needed the privy before he tried to sleep. He wish he'd known there were no chamber pots. He would have gone before coming up to his room. With a sigh, he picked up the tray and carried it back downstairs with him. Sertis raised an eyebrow when she saw him, but he set the tray on the nearest table and ignored her. He just wanted to have a piss and go to sleep. He was exhausted. He'd spent too much time talking to people all day. He needed a few hours of oblivion.

The alley was dark. The sun had set while he was inside. A single lamp burned on a free-standing post near the stable entrance. That would have to do. He headed for the privy.

After he'd finished his business, he started for the inn. A whinny from the stable caught his attention, though. Was that shrill scream Firefoot? Why would he be upset? Yar ran to the stable door and peered in. Two men were at Firefoot's stall, one of them nursing a hand.

"Demon beast bit me!" he snarled. "Kill it so we can get the pack."

Yar's eyes widened as the second man unsheathed a short sword. They would actually kill his horse just to steal from him? "No!" he shouted, before he'd thought it through. As both men turned to face him, he realized he had no weapon. Maybe someone would come from the inn if he shouted for help. He reached out and grabbed a hay fork just in case.

"You going to stop us, boy?" said the man with the injured hand. "Your demon beast ought to be put down. Safer that way, like." His companion walked towards Yar. Yar lifted the hay fork.

"Leave him alone. He's done nothing you didn't ask for." Yar's voice was shaking. What did he think he could do to stop them?

"And you'll get nothing you didn't ask for, either."

YOU COULD ASK US FOR HELP, whispered a Voice in his mind. Yar shuddered.

"That's right, boy, you should be scared," said the first man, misunderstanding. "Puit here has the thief mark, and I've killed men for looking at me crossways. But if you give us your gold, we won't kill you."

"You won't kill me anyway," Yar said. He wished he sounded brave, but to his own ears, it sounded more pleading than anything. "Firefoot won't let you."

"Ooh, Firefoot is it? A dead horse is no protection, fire or no," Puit turned towards the horse, but Firefoot knew a threat when he saw it. He reared, hooves flashing as they drove through the air. Cursing, Puit ducked, and then Yar had to quit watching because the man with the injured hand was swinging a club at him.

Yar ducked, lifting the hay fork to block the man's swing. Wood crashed together, jolting his arm to the shoulder and stinging his palm. He cried out, but swallowed it and poked at the man with the tines. Sneering, the man dodged and swung at him again.

"Little fool! I'll cut you into ribbons for a girl to braid!"

CALL ON US, growled a Voice. WE WILL HELP.

"No!" Yar hissed.

The man thought Yar was talking to him. He laughed and swung his club, striking Yar's shoulder. Yar's arm went numb. "You must have piles of gold to fight this hard for it," he said, and swung the club overhand at Yar's head.

ACCEPT OUR AID! thundered a Voice in Yar's head, and his vision grayed out. Panicked at his sudden blindness, Yar tightened his grip on the hay fork. He felt something jolt against his hands. The man shouted and wood smashed against Yar's knuckles. He tried to let go of the fork handle as pain exploded in his hands. Instead his fingers tightened around it and he jerked his arms back. The man screamed.

He was the dove, stabbing his beak at the eyes of the serpent. He stabbed and stabbed, trying to put the serpent's eyes out and protect his nest. His wings flapped and thrashed. His vision went red and then black again.

Yar's ears were filled with growling and the rumble of thunder, almost so loud it drowned out everything else around him. But he heard Firefoot's angry neigh and the horrible wet thud of hooves against flesh. Then wood squealed as the horse threw himself against it.

Yar's arms jerked back and thrust. The man in front of him grunted. Something wet spilled across Yar's hands. He tried to let go of the hay fork, but his fingers were locked around the wooden handle. The man was coughing, so close Yar felt the breath hit his face.

Through the grayness, black smoke roiled up, flooding his vision. Then slowly, piercing the darkness, two burning golden eyes, each of them bigger than Yar was tall, stared through the smoke at him. He could see nothing but those eyes, feel nothing but the heat of their gaze. His skin felt like it would crack and peel off his face. His arms were moving again. He stepped forward again and again. The fork swung in his grasp. Yar stumbled over something and went sprawling headlong onto his stomach.

His breath whooshed out of him at the impact. His hands flew open and he heard the hay fork skitter away from him across the dirt floor of the stable. Yar sucked in a breath and sucked in dust and hay and horse muck with it. He choked, coughing into the dirt until he could get his hands and knees under him and shove himself up. When he did, he felt himself tipping, reeling, and then his vision cleared and he realized it had been his interior world, not the actual one, that tipped around him.

Then he realized what he was staring at, and he screamed.

***

Azmei didn't waste any time when she got back to Perslyn House from the horse market. She slipped past half a dozen guards with little effort. Inside the house she knocked out a guard who was
almost
as short as she was. Wrapped in the guard's cloak, she walked confidently through the halls.

She found Rith in his room. He was passed out in a chair, the floor around him littered with empty wine bottles. The bed was unmade, one of the blankets trailing down to the floor. There was blood on the sheets—not much, but enough that Azmei could tell Rith had been celebrating his ascent to power in more ways than one.

She stepped past the bed, lip curling in disgust. He was a boor, and worse, he was cruel. There would be no negotiating with Rith. He didn't stir as she catfooted to stand in front of him. She watched him sleep for several heartbeats, one hand on her hip and the other on her dagger. Then she shook her head, let out a regretful breath, and slit his throat.

She wiped her dagger on the sheets. No sense in creating more work for the servants than necessary.

From Rith's room, she made her way back outside, but she wasn't finished with Perslyn House. She climbed back to the roof, and when she reached Kesh's rooms, she let herself in a window in the darkest corner of the antechamber.

She wasn't surprised that Kesh had company—she had wondered if Kesh would be upset about the missing Yarro, and Kesh seemed the sort to comfort himself with physical intimacy. But it very quickly became clear there was nothing like that between Kesh and his companion. At least not tonight.

He was sitting on a low couch, facing the window where Azmei had come in. If she hadn't discarded the guard's cloak, he probably would have seen her, but her dark clothes and hood hid her well.

"I'm not sure why I'm sorry," Kesh was saying. His voice had the softening around the edges that told Azmei he'd had something to drink, but was still coherent—possibly more coherent than he would like to be. "He was a cruel, manipulative jackal."

Tish was sitting next to him. She watched him with compassion in her eyes, but she sat straight, without touching him. "He was still your grandfather."

"For whatever that's worth," Kesh said. He slumped forward, resting his face in his hands.

"Orya would have grieved, I think." Tish's voice was soft and sober. "She tried to please him, to earn his approval, even though she feared him."

Kesh snorted. "Orya wasn't afraid of anyone."

"Not for herself. But he threatened Yarro."

Kesh hunched his shoulders. "See? A jackal. I ought to hate him." He rubbed his hands over his face a few times and sat up. "Father was nothing like him."

Tish put her hand on his shoulder, but she still held herself apart. Azmei didn't think there was anything between them besides the affection a sister might have for a brother. Which might be for the best, considering what she suspected of Rith. At least he wouldn't be a problem for Tish any longer.

Kesh sighed. "Maybe that's why Father never came back."

Azmei reached behind her and pushed the window open again, letting a draft in. Then she took a single, deliberate step forward into the light. Tish saw her first and cried out, her voice choking on the cry. Kesh leapt to his feet at the sound, his gaze finding Azmei instantly. He jumped between Azmei and Tish, drawing his dagger smoothly.