Read A College of Magics Online

Authors: Caroline Stevermer

A College of Magics (33 page)

BOOK: A College of Magics
4.28Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“A perfect morning, I said.”
“Perfect for sleeping. Still, this is better than shooting. If we keep moving, we may keep warm.”
As they spoke, they had followed the rest of the hunt from the forecourt of Crail, the ambassador's extremely ugly country house, down a lane of rhododendron. Far ahead, the hounds muddled along under the supervision of the huntsmen. Far behind, the hunt servants brought spare horses along at a sedate amble. Reed and Tyrian were among them, to Faris's secret relief.
“Do you hunt much here?” Faris asked, in hope of advice about the terrain.
The ambassador's wife shuddered elegantly. “I intend to follow the others as far as the first likely lane, where I shall detect some lameness in this poor animal. I'll be back before they've cleared the breakfast dishes.”
A familiar voice spoke, deep as a bassoon but as penetrating as an oboe. “We'll tell your husband you said that.” The king had ridden up behind them. He greeted the ambassador's
wife and Faris and rode beside them companionably. His hunting clothes were almost unexceptionable. Almost. Instead of the customary buff waistcoat and scarlet coat, both waistcoat and coat were the same shade of bottle green. The fabric of the waistcoat reminded Faris of the interior of the state coach, as it might have looked when new.
“You won't surprise him,” predicted the ambassador's wife.
“And you won't alarm him, we hope. We are here to enjoy ourselves, after all. We'll accompany you and young Faris. It never hurts to have a faithful cavalier to manage the gates for you. And to summon assistance if necessary.”
Faris regarded him narrowly.
Wrap your legs up like a bolster and see how you fare,
she thought. Aloud, she said, “How is the country here about?”
“Fine high banks and lots of them. We should have excellent hunting—if this pack ever finds.”
“What crops?” Faris inquired. “Are the fields fallow now, or should we keep out of the plowing?”
The king looked surprised. “We came to hunt, not farm.” At the sudden change of expression on Faris's face, he added apologetically, “We should have said we are here to relish the hunt. And we know we shall, in your company. Don't worry about missing the death. We will simply do the best we can and divert ourselves together.”
So, it's do the best we can, is it?
Faris kept her eyes on the space between her bay's ears and tried to sustain a pleasant expression.
Fox and hound and horse willing, I shall do the best I can to leave you in a ditch, you care-for-nothing.
Patronize me, will you?
Anger washed nervousness away and for the first time since her arrival in Aravill, Faris felt wholly herself, at ease and annoyed. “Do you get much hunting?” To her own vast surprise, she sounded perfectly civil.
“It's been a bit off these last few seasons, but we get out when we can. The doctors tell us the fresh air does us good.”
They reached the covert and drew rein. Across the rocky patch of shrubbery the huntsmen worked the hounds with care. The other riders in the field ranged themselves around the covert. Positions were chosen partly in accordance with etiquette, for it would be very bad form to interfere with the huntsmen and their hounds, and partly in accordance with strategy, for a good start could make all the difference to a run. Protocol, for once, didn't seem at issue. Precedence meant nothing to the master of the hounds.
Faris let the king choose his spot and settled her bay at his side. She had already grown accustomed to the crutches of the borrowed sidesaddle. The bay's manners were good and she had his rhythm now, in her spine and her wrists.
“We try to get out two or three times a week in season,” said the king. “It makes a good excuse to ignore those tiresome administrative briefings, for one thing. For another, it makes a good impression with the people, taking an interest in sport.”
“There speaks the true king,” muttered Faris. Luckily her words were lost in the squeal of the huntsman's horn. The hounds struck off at full discordant cry, an urgent babble that put Faris forcibly in mind of a flight of wild geese.
“Gone away!” shrieked the ambassador's wife.
“Stay close to us,” said the king to Faris. “We'll see you come to no harm.”
Eyes narrowed with disdain, Faris gave her bay his head and left them both behind. It was time, after all, to do the best she could.
 
F
aris followed the field across a rocky pasture beside the covert and through an open gate. There were riders behind her so she left the gate as she found it. Beyond the gate lay another pasture, a stone wall, and yet another pasture. Faris waited her turn at the stone wall and the bay took her easily over. Far ahead, she could see the pack of hounds, very white against the brown grass, as they surged ahead of the huntsmen. She could not glimpse anything of the fox.
The thunder of hooves and the rush of the wind in her ears could not drown the wild cry of the pack. Faris forgot her annoyance in the exhilaration of the ride. In the chaos of the field, she was alone. In the confines of her impractical riding costume, she was free.
At the far side of the far pasture was another stone wall, a little higher than the first. The hunt spilled over it. Faris followed. Her bay let her pick the approach and sailed over the fence with perfect nonchalance. In the fifteen minute run that followed, the bay gained ground on the huntsmen with such speed that Faris drew him in a little. It would not do to go thrusting herself before the rest of the field.
The bay humored her until they reached the first fine high bank. There he took no notice of Faris's preference for a
more modest approach. He simply vaulted to the top at the highest point, changed feet as easily as a stag, and scrambled down into the lane beyond, giving Faris the sense that she had just been kicked gracefully downstairs. She recovered herself and let the bay forge on in the wake of the huntsmen. A glance back showed her the rest of the field encountering the bank. She did not see the king in the melee.
The hunt led her along the lane and across a field planted to turnips and swedes. Faris's agricultural soul forbade her to follow and she persuaded the bay to flank the field and rejoin the chase at the far side. The rest of the hunt tore heedlessly through the crop. Faris sneered happily and sent the bay on at a pace that pleased him.
Twenty minutes later, Faris came down off another big bank and splashed across a muddy stream. Some of the morning mist was still hanging in the little hollow where the stream ran. Faris had to blink to see the best footing up the opposite side.
Once out of the mist, she drew rein. The hunt was out of sight but not out of earshot. She could hear them ahead and a little to her left. From the splashing, she judged not all the field had managed the stream as neatly as her bay. Faris smiled grimly.
Ahead lay a long stretch of rolling meadow, no rocky pasture, but carefully tended turf. Faris concluded that a hunt that would ride across crops would not stick at riding across a lawn. She gauged the pack's progress by their noise and sent her bay after them.
The groomed turf led her up a hill. Faris and the bay
topped the rise and saw the hunt to the left. Behind the hunt and beyond them, the stream curved past a dense cluster of oak trees. To the right, the hillside swept down to the river the stream was meandering to meet. Before her, centered in gardens of mathematical precision, lay a manor house of ocher brick, roofed with slates like blue-gray scales.
Faris gazed across the gardens, and winced at the thought of the damage the hunt would do. The gardens held a harmonious network of privet hedges, an avenue of statuary, and a fountain, fed by a diverted stream. At the heart of the gardens, the network of privet hedges became a maze of walls, doubling and redoubling into a labyrinth. Eve-Marie's warning came back to Faris, for this, surely, must be Sevenfold.
The hounds had been hunting loudly along a strong scent. At the edge of the garden, they checked. The huntsmen tried valiantly to rally their pack. But from every shrub—it seemed almost from every shadow—ran foxes. Not one fox, not one dozen foxes, but thirty foxes or forty.
The hounds went mad, each after its own particular fox, and forgot they had ever heard of huntsmen. The foxes scattered and the hounds scattered with them. The huntsmen cursed and followed, hooting and tooting in vain. The rest of the field found the foxes' sudden appearance and equally sudden disappearance unsettling. Their horses scattered too. Faris held her bay firmly and watched the chaos unfold.
In a few moments, she had the garden to herself. The last huntsman was no more than a dwindling sound of hoof
beats in the mist beyond the stream. It did not occur to Faris to turn and follow.
The empty garden held her motionless. There was something more than foxes here. She watched the symmetrical grounds as intently as the huntsmen had scanned the covert but saw nothing. There was a pattern to the garden, a pattern that brought back memories of her dreams. If she could walk it awake, could she not walk it in her dreams?
Minutes passed. The bay tossed his head until his bit jingled. Faris found that small noise comforting in the utter stillness of the garden. No fountain, no river, no stream could be heard. She sent the bay toward the house at a walk. Except for the slow, even beat of his hooves, there was no sound.
As she rode down into the garden, Faris felt the mist close in around her. It was chill and she thought it held a faint acrid scent, unpleasantly like that of a fox's earth. By the time she reached the labyrinth, she could hardly see the avenue of statuary, white against the mist beyond the avenue. As all sound but the bay's passage faded, so all sight but the walls of privet faded.
From the saddle, Faris could see her way through the maze but the rest of the world was lost. The bay turned and doubled as their route demanded. At the center of the maze, as the passage widened, the bay came to a halt.
With a lack of surprise she usually experienced only in her dreams, Faris recognized the girl who waited, cloaked and hooded, at the center of the maze. The girl, small and slenderly made, put her hood back and smiled mockingly up at Faris.
“So the gossips had the news right after all. I didn't think it was possible. You've come to seek your fortune in Aravill,” said Menary Paganell.
Faris held the bay steady. She would not retreat. She could not go forward. Unless she trampled Menary. Part of her thoughts busy calculating the merits of trampling, Faris countered, “I see you still like gardens.”
Menary studied Faris intently. A faint line appeared between her brows, as though she suspected another meaning beneath the words. “Oh, yes, better than anything. Almost anything. If you have come to pay a social call, you should dismount. We will walk together. I will show you my garden.”
“No, thank you. I'll stay where I am.” She looked at Menary more closely and realized that she wore a wig. It was beautifully made and simply styled. Faris, no judge of such matters, would never have guessed at the artifice had it been made in Menary's own blonde. Instead, it was a shade of red very close to her own. She wondered if it was an obscure insult and since she felt obscurely insulted, she decided it was. “Is it your garden? I rather think it belongs to your father. This is Sevenfold, isn't it?”
“It is. My father has decided I should have it. He means to make amends for summoning me home from Paris. I was having a nice time there. I conducted some business. Perhaps you met some of my hirelings? I instructed them to call on you. You must have left Paris before they could.”
With an effort of will, Faris held her hands perfectly still. She wanted to make fists, but feared confusing the bay. “I don't know if I met them or not. Who are they?”
Menary's enjoyment of Faris's discomfiture was unmistakable.
“Oh, I don't know their names. I dealt with an agency. All they asked for was an accurate description and an abundance of cash. I gave them a little something I thought might prove useful, but apparently they neglected to use it properly.”
Faris thought she held herself motionless but the bay shifted uneasily. “A little something like a horsehair?”
“It looked like a horsehair. I might have known I'd have to take matters into my own hands. They had better refund my money, since they've failed to execute my commission.” Menary smiled up at Faris as she spoke, and put special emphasis on her final three words.
Faris laughed. The bay started slightly at the sound. Menary's eyes widened and her smile faded.
When Faris could speak, she told Menary, “One of your hirelings isn't going to execute anything, ever again. Do you know why? My uncle.”
Menary's eyes were wide with annoyance. “What are you laughing for? What about your uncle?”
Faris shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing.” She managed to stop chuckling.
A half-grown fox cub, orange as a tabby cat, slipped through the privet hedge and sat down at Menary's feet, panting cheerfully. Menary bent to scratch its ears. It shed a few stiff hairs on the hem of Menary's black cloak. Faris eyed it distrustfully. It
looked
like a fox cub.
BOOK: A College of Magics
4.28Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Jack of Diamonds by Bryce Courtenay
Charlotte by Keane, Stuart
The Sisters Grimm: Book Eight: The Inside Story by Michael Buckley, Peter Ferguson
Wonder Boys by Michael Chabon
To Scotland With Love by Patience Griffin
Rebel, Bully, Geek, Pariah by Erin Jade Lange
Dead Ringer by Lisa Scottoline
Sequela by Cleland Smith
Black Marsden by Wilson Harris