Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) (33 page)

‘Is she not magnificent?’ N’ril demanded. ‘Like a thunderstorm made flesh!’

‘She’s superb.’

Gair took a cautious step towards the horse. Shahe backed away, watchful. One ear fixed on him whilst the other swivelled back and forth and she blew gruff warnings through her nostrils.

‘Shahe,’ he crooned. ‘Shahe.’

Both ears snapped upright, the tips curving to attention. Gair took another half-step, holding out his hand, alternating calling her name and clicking his tongue.

She snorted, and that was all the notice he got. Her head snaked towards him and he had to snatch his fingers away as her teeth clacked together barely a hair’s breadth from them.

‘Perhaps I should have warned you,’ said N’ril. ‘She was sired by Lord Kierim’s warhorse.’

‘Is she yours?’

‘She is now. She belonged to my brother.’ Something in the desertman’s tone made Gair look his way. ‘My brother is dead.’

Goddess
. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,
sayyar
.’

N’ril smiled and dipped his head but his eyes remained sad. ‘You honour me, and my brother’s name,’ he said. ‘Shahe was the pride of his stable.’

As if she had heard him, the mare threw up her head, lips curled back from her teeth. Gair took another careful step towards her, hand extended again. She arched her neck, restless feet scraping on the cobbles.

Only a few more inches and he could touch that satin-black hide. She really was stunning. Anxiety twitched and skittered over her shoulder and she tossed her head again, huffing hard.

‘Easy, girl,’ he murmured. ‘Easy now.’

Her ears slashed back and forth. She lifted her chin, staring down her nose at him as his fingertips drew closer. An inch more and he was able to put his palm on her neck.

‘There. Not so bad, is it? Not so bad. Good girl.’

He patted her, ran his hand down her high-crested neck. She snorted and feigned a nip at his arm, then stood more quietly as he walked slowly around her to admire her conformation, always keeping one hand in contact with her so she knew where he was.

The mare was a fine example of her breed, straight-backed and deep-chested, and carried herself as if she knew it, too. When he came around to her head again, she fixed him with fiercely intelligent eyes and dared him to find fault with her. And he couldn’t.

He scratched under her jaw, utterly captivated. She tried to bite him again, but he was half-expecting it from her now and pulled his hand away in time. ‘Is she saddle-broken?’

‘She is,’ N’ril said. ‘Do you think you can ride her?’

‘With your permission, I’d love to try.’

‘She was mild as milk for my brother, but I am unsure how she will take to another hand on the rein.’

Gair tried to keep the disappointment from his face, stroking Shahe over and over. ‘Of course. Forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘I think you misunderstand, my friend. I intended my words as a warning!’ Now there was laughter in N’ril’s voice. He lifted a bridle down from its hook outside Shahe’s stall and brought it to Gair. ‘Try not to hurt yourself when she throws you.’

Gair grinned back. ‘I’ll try not to hurt your pride when she doesn’t.’

Holding the bridle down by his side with his right hand, he murmured soothingly to Shahe. She stared along her nose at him but stood firm. He brought his left palm slowly towards her muzzle and held it steady whilst she sniffed then lipped at his fingers.

‘Good girl,’ he told her.

He offered his hand again, this time with the bit flat across it. Shahe dipped her nose and in a smooth movement he slipped the bit between her teeth and the crown of the bridle over her ears. She tossed her head, mouthing at the bit, but let him fasten the throat-strap and lead her back to N’ril, who waited with a saddle over his arm. It was elaborately finished in the desert style, with silk tassels and silverwork across the high saddle horn and cantle, all red and black to match the bridle.

When Gair set it on her back Shahe aimed a lazy cow-kick at him, then sucked air in as he fastened the girths. He prodded his fingers into her ribs. ‘Stop that.’

She grunted and blew out, letting him tighten the girth a couple more notches. Moving around to hold the opposite stirrup, N’ril chuckled. ‘That trick is not new to you, I think.’

‘My first pony used to do the same thing. He dumped me on the ground regularly until I worked out why the girth kept slackening.’

Reins gathered loosely, he grasped the saddle horn and set his foot in the stirrup. He mounted slowly, carefully, but the mare still took exception to his weight on her back. She reared and whinnied as soon as his rump touched the saddle, then crabbed her way across the yard, jerking at the reins. Gair didn’t try to stop her. He kept a light rein and let his body move with hers until she settled and allowed him to walk her around the yard.

‘You know horses,’ N’ril said, sounding impressed.

‘I grew up around them, and when I joined the Knights I worked with them almost every day.’

Gair stroked the mare’s neck to soothe her as she danced sideways. Powerful muscles bunched and flowed under him; she was strong, and restive from being stabled too long. He let her work out the kinks for a minute or two then nudged her back towards her stall with a squeeze of his calves.

N’ril smiled his approval. ‘A daughter of the sands responds best to a gentle hand,’ he said. ‘But you knew that already, yes?’

Gair’s fine mood evaporated like dew. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your
zirin
– it is inscribed in Gimraeli, but the other pattern is Leahn, is it not? I assumed it signified the union of two houses, that your wife—’

‘She wasn’t my wife.’ Pain knotted itself around his heart, made it hard to speak, hard even to breathe. He fixed his eyes on a fragment of chaff in the mare’s mane, willing it not to blur. ‘What did Alderan tell you?’

‘That you were mourning, nothing more.’ N’ril rubbed Shahe’s nose. ‘Forgive me. I did not think before I spoke.’

Gair blinked the sting from his eyes. It wasn’t N’ril’s fault. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. It’s still a little raw, that’s all.’

‘I understand. My brother went to the Goddess over a year ago and my heart remains broken.’ Folding his arms, N’ril stepped back a pace or two and looked Gair and Shahe over, from crown to hooves. ‘You look well on her,’ he pronounced, with a firm nod. ‘I have no heart to ride her myself, and it is cruel to keep her in a stable. She belongs out in the wind.’

‘I’d love to try her paces,’ Gair said. Impulsively, he added, ‘And I’m going to need a mount.’

The desertman tilted his head, considering. ‘You know something of horseflesh,’ he said. ‘What do you say she is worth?’

There was still a goodly amount of silver in Gair’s purse. ‘Twenty marks.’

‘Twenty? If we were not friends, I would be insulted. A hundred talents and not a copper less.’

‘Twenty-five,’ Gair countered and N’ril threw up his hands.

‘Outrageous! I cannot take less than seventy, in gold.’

‘Then you’d beggar me.’

‘She is pure-bred! Her lineage is better documented than the Emperor’s.’

‘That’s not difficult. Men take more care with their bloodstock than they do with their own seed. Thirty, in silver.’

‘Bah! Sixty-five.’

‘Thirty-five.’ Gair tugged one of the oakmarks from his pocket and tossed it to him.

‘These? No money changer in the city would take them.’

‘Holy City marks are the least-adulterated coins in the Empire. Almost pure silver.’

‘Too many here remember the wars, my friend.’ The desertman scrutinised the Lector of Dremen’s face and the Oak stamped into the obverse, then sighed. ‘Fifty, though it will break my mother’s heart.’

‘Forty, and you can throw in the tack.’

There the price hung, for a long, long moment. Ears pricked alertly, Shahe seemed to be waiting, too. Then N’ril asked, ‘Have you travelled the sands before, Gair?’

‘Never. Why?’

‘Because you haggle like an Isfahan carpet-seller.’ A brilliant smile lighting his face, the desertman flipped the coin back. ‘Forty.’

He held out his hand to seal the contract. Gair reached to take it and a monstrous concussion shook the morning air. Shahe shied, snatching their hands apart as dozens of smaller, sharper detonations punctuated the rolling boom. Above the rooftops, thick black smoke stained the sky, spangled with blue and silver sparks.

‘What the hell was that?’ Gair had his work cut out not to be unseated as the horse reared and plunged. Another barrage of explosions sent more sparks showering down. ‘Are those
fireworks
?’

‘I think so,’ said N’ril, shading his eyes to study the drifting smoke. ‘Coming from the docks.’

With gentle pressure from heels and hands, Gair gathered Shahe up and reined her in circles around the yard, though her laid-back ears and jinking gait told him she remained deeply unhappy.

Behind N’ril the houseboys crowded into the yard to chatter and point. A shirtless Alderan pushed through them, a towel around his neck. A shrill whistle made him look up just in time to see a scarlet flower blossom across the deeply blue sky.

‘Fireworks?’ he exclaimed.

A small face craned over the edge of the roof of the main house, shouting in Gimraeli. The speech went far beyond Gair’s store of simple phrases, so he looked to N’ril.

‘A warehouse at the east dock is on fire,’ he translated.

Alderan mopped his dripping face and frowned. ‘The east dock is the northern merchants’ enclave,’ he said. ‘And barely a day after three Cultists ambush a lone
ammanai
in the souq. They’re escalating.’

Unease prickled down Gair’s spine. ‘Are we in danger?’

‘Not immediately, but I’d say we’re less safe than we were yesterday. N’ril, how quickly can you get those supplies ready?’

‘A few hours. Tomorrow at the latest.’

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, Alderan tugged at the towel around his neck. ‘Sooner would be better.’

‘I will see what can be done.’ With a quick bow, N’ril hurried out of the yard.

‘Maybe I can help.’ Gair made to dismount, but Alderan shook his head.

‘N’ril has enough to do without watching your back as well.’

‘They jumped me – it wasn’t my fault, Alderan!’

‘Not for what you did, no, but for what you are.’

‘
Ammanai
.’

‘And with your height you stand out like the maypole on a village green. Even if you hadn’t killed those men, you draw attention.’ Alderan shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Gair, but there it is. Until we can make you look more like a desertman, it’s best if you stay out of sight.’ He stroked Shahe’s velvety nose. ‘I see you’ve found yourself a horse. I suggest you spend some time getting to know her. Once we’re out of the city your life might depend on her.’

19

ASTOLAR

Tanith slid open the screens and stepped onto the slate-flagged terrace behind her house. The day was barely begun, skeins of mist still drifting across the face of the Mere, the hills beyond pale shapes in the haze. On the silver water, tightly furled lily buds stood ready for the day like spears above shields of leaves. Far out on the lake, a grebe dipped something from the water and shook its head, scattering pearly droplets in the air.

Astolar. She had missed this place. She had grown up listening to the sigh of the birches, the gentle thunder of Belaleithne Falls, and throughout her five years on the Isles she had filled her room each evening with memories of her homeland. Deep moss beneath her feet instead of carpets, arching trees above her head instead of beams and stone, all had eased the pain of separation.

Yet five weeks ago, when she’d stepped off the jetty onto the earth of her people, there’d been no jolt of connection. On the long ride inland from the port to Carantuil she’d recognised the deep lakes, the wide-hipped roofs and layered towers rising above the trees, but all at a remove, as if seen through thick glass. Even there, standing on the terrace of her own house on a sweet spring morning, she felt more like a stranger than one of the White Court’s daughters come home.

A breath of a breeze ruffled the lake and she shivered, pulling her silk robe more closely around her. Five years she had spent amongst humans, learning to be a Healer. She had become accustomed to the world of men; perhaps too much so. Perhaps that explained why Astolar’s touch on her soul still felt so cool, so distant. They would have to learn to love each other again.

Behind her, she heard the careful tread of her housekeeper, the chink of porcelain on the glass-topped table as her breakfast was laid out, but she didn’t turn. She had no appetite. Next week she would stand before the Ten as House Elindorien’s heir and the butterflies that had been multiplying in her stomach since she took ship from the Isles left no room for food.

Without a sound, a sleek head broke the surface of the lake. Smaller than a child’s and covered in dark fur, the creature had a broad snub muzzle and tiny ears towards the back of its skull, almost hidden in its pelt. Wide black eyes watched her.

Lady?
enquired a voice in her mind.

‘Good morning,’ she said.

Lady!
The head disappeared and re-emerged moments later, close to the edge of the terrace.
Lady has returned!
Several more heads popped out of the water and crowded around the first.
Pretties? Did you bring pretties, lady? We like pretties! We like you. We missed you!