Hunting (13 page)

"So, the Rhoi hurries his law through.
You try to meet all the potential candidates for Rhoi. I'll ask the
– some friends of mine to scratch about for any details about the
people who have gone missing."

"That would be best left to Verel."
Thornaster was frowning at her. "Don't put your friends in way of
danger."

"Given that most of the disappearances
I've heard of have been people their age, I think my friends are
already in danger." Ash weighed tactics to keep the Huntsmen from
racing into trouble. "Don't worry, I won't say anything about the
old Sun. Not sure they'd believe me on that one, anyway. Do
seruilisi get days off?"

Thornaster didn't respond, attention on
a fast carriage as he guided Arth into the flow of the Great River
Road. Ash didn't push, mentally composing a note to send to Lark.
It would be best for the Huntsmen to get about in pairs when they
went into the Shambles, but even in their home territory of the
Commons there needed to be a better watch kept. The disappearances
she'd heard about had been put down to family squabbles, or the
usual departures from Montmoth after winter, when all of the rest
of the world seemed so much better an option.

They climbed to the Deirhoi District,
but instead of following the road through grassy estates to the
palace, Thornaster drew Arth to a halt on the first flat verge.

"Ash, this situation is more hazardous
than I anticipated. You were right in suspecting I could be a
target and, particularly once Arun starts passing the Smallholdings
law, there may come some form of direct attack. I'm going to be
sending word to my Rhoi, and having you take the message will give
him a direct witness to add detail, and see you safely disposed of.
And...you are pulling the most remarkable face."

"It's not often I hear such idiocy,"
she said, not hiding her scorn. "You think I should run away
because it might get dangerous? When I know dozens of people who
will pass on to me city gossip they'd never give you or
Investigator Verel? When I'm the one with the background in
herbalism, and can keep an eye out in the Mern? You think I have
less reason to risk myself than you? Show some sense."

The Aremish man looked stymied,
searching for a counterargument. But then dancing good humour
returned to his eyes, bringing with it a provoking grin.

"And you thought you didn't want to be
a seruilis. Not a week's gone by and already you're refusing to
leave my service."

"The way I see it," Ash said bluntly,
"you're the one serving my purposes."

She shook her head at his laughter and
touched her heels to Cloud Cat's sides, but didn't resist her own
smile. All this talk of Karaelsur did not change the day's glorious
reprieve. Genevieve reborn, not damned. Even stopping a god seemed
a little thing beside that.

Chapter Twelve

Two days later, at the edge of a swirl
of horses and riders, Ash turned over the problem of getting closer
to the Veirhoi. Carlyon kept her to separate lessons in the Mern,
and even on occasions such as this, amidst the confusion of half
the Landsmeet turned out for a hunt, she had little chance of
breaching the wall of seruilisi who surrounded the boy.

Still, there were advantages to
standing back. Already she had gained a better sense of the Mern's
undercurrents, watching her new peers clumped to one side of the
gathering. Among the older seruilisi she'd already noted Marriston,
Lirindar and Kittihar as a clear sub-group. Carlyon and Vendarri
were friends. Gibrace seemed to be the one the uncertain Veirhoi
consulted most frequently, while Pelandis jittered unhappily around
the edges. Could he form an opening?

Cloud Cat snorted tremendously in the
crisp dawn air, and then pretended to be startled by the clouds of
steam. Stroking the mare's neck, Ash shifted her attention to the
general crowd, searching for faces from her own past. Kiri. Where
was her old friend? Had the Arpesials not returned to the city in
spring?

"Ready to face the chaos?"

"Frog!" Ash turned as the boy led up a
raw-boned bay. "I was starting to wonder if you'd left the Mern for
good."

"It's not that easy to get rid of me,"
Frog said, grinning lopsidedly before adding: "My father's been
ill, so I was roped in to help until he was back on his feet." He
darted a conspiratorial glance at Ash. "And probably learned more
in the last week than all my time following Setsel Crimmorne
about."

"You're not convinced of the benefits
of standing at a Luinsel's elbow while they eat or play board
games?"

"I can live without dubious lessons in
humility, and standing attendance rarely comes close to the
detailed instruction of the Mern. Who would be fool enough to do
any real business in front of a seruilis?" Frog shrugged. "But
enough about me; I'm all over with curiosity. A Yurefaen? Really?
Who in the world was your aunt? What was so important for her to do
she warranted being reborn?"

"I wish I knew." Ash sighed with
genuine frustration. "I guess it's something in Khantar, but unless
years from now she chooses to contact me, I don't see any way to
find out. Maddening. And everyone keeps asking and acting like I'm
hiding something. Except the other seruilisi, who for some reason
are even less inclined to talk to me than ever."

"That's because you've made it
worse."

"What? How?"

"Well, while it's not easy to be close
to a fellow like Lauren Carlyon – teeth-grindingly virtuous as he
is – it's also hard not to respect him. And you – you not only
acted like damnation was hereditary, but you end up with the very
opposite of his situation. It's a salt in the wound thing." Frog
surveyed the other seruilisi critically. "Don't worry about it too
much – Carlyon's too just to keep you entirely on the outer, and
they'll inevitably fall in line just because he wants them to. It's
only a matter of time."

"You don't like him."

"Why do you say that?" Frog flicked a
hand in light dismissal, but then shifted uncomfortably. "Or, well,
no and yes. Did I mention the teeth grinding? All that talent in
one person is the kind of insufferable thing you can only endure.
Have you seen him at sword practice yet? There's none in the Mern
to match him. Let's not even get into how hard it is to keep a
girl's attention when he's in the room."

"He sits a horse well, too," Ash said
mildly. "But Lauren Carlyon's not my current concern. What are we
supposed to do on this hunt?"

"Well,
you
just ride along in
back and try to keep up." Frog eyed Cloud Cat. "Though it looks
like that won't be a problem. Thornaster hasn't stinted with your
mount, has he? Don't fall off, because we likely won't even notice,
let alone stop to point and laugh."

"Why is everyone so convinced I can't
ride? I used to work in a stable!"

"And that prepares you for fast work
over rough ground? I suppose you've never hunted before?"

"Not on a horse."

"What? Don't tell me you're a poacher?
Anyway, after Turing Dell the seruilisi let the main body of the
hunt go ahead, but that doesn't necessarily mean we'll miss the
action since the stag could break back past the leading edge." Frog
nodded at an unstrung short bow strapped to his saddle. "It's not
easy to shoot from horseback, and given what I've heard of your
archery skills it should be no surprise you're just along for the
ride. I, on the other hand, am aiming for the prestige of first
blood. Carlyon might look good on a horse, but I'll make up for it
with luck and charm." Running a hand over his hair, Frog puffed up
his chest and paraded a few steps.

A short horn blast sounded, warning
that the hunt was soon to leave, and Ash hoisted herself into the
saddle. "Good luck. While you're decorating yourself with glory,
I'll just enjoy the ride."

She glanced around for Thornaster, who
she'd left trying not to laugh at sidesaddles, and spotted him now
talking to a bluff, ruddy-skinned woman. They seemed to be
discussing Arth, whose pricked ears and pluming tail announced the
stallion's opinion of the morning.

The woman was Setsel Ormsley, one of
Montmoth's two female Luinsel, and the owner of the horse stud
they'd visited. Not on the long list Thornaster had written up of
Luinsel he needed to meet personally to check for taint, but
perhaps a good person to ask about likely candidates for Rhoi.

"...go all day. No problems," Vendarri
was saying as Ash worked her way into earshot of the seruilisi.

"I don't see why half these people
start out," the Veirhoi said. "This is a serious hunt, not a
picnic, and even if it weren't, half of them won't get past the
first ridge. Look at Bardolphin there. His horse is almost as round
as he is, and breathes as easily. He'll turn back within a
quarter-measure. Why does he bother?"

"Their participation hurts no-one,"
said Carlyon. "So long as they take care and don't hinder the other
riders."

The first seruilis stood in his
stirrups, taking a quick count of those around him. The red
highlights in his dark hair only gleamed a little in the cool light
of morning, but the muted colour did little to diminish his good
looks. Ash pushed queasy reaction aside, and focused on favourably
comparing Cloud Cat to the other seruilisi's horses. The Veirhoi's
honey-gold palomino and Carlyon's blood bay were both nice pieces,
but Ash's mare, jittering in anticipation of the run, would still
be her choice.

"Keep your mounts in hand," the first
seruilis added, with a possibly coincidental glance in Ash's
direction. "Those who have been permitted to carry weapons, use
them only when your line is clear."

"Thornaster's not carrying anything?"
Frog asked Ash. "Whyever not?"

"I don't know," Ash replied. "Maybe he
shoots as well as me?"

Thornaster, egotistical creature, had
actually been confident of his chances, but had laughed and said
that Arth would much prefer not to be distracted from the run by
petty concerns such as making concessions for his rider's aim.

"Most likely considers himself above
proceedings," said Marriston.

Ash returned wide-eyed incomprehension
to this abandonment of the policy of ignoring her. She was willing
to bet she wasn't the only one who'd been comparing horseflesh.

"Really, Carlyon, it's too bad,"
Marriston went on. "I guarantee you our day will be spoiled because
this gutter trash is over mounted."

The boy was as subtle as a baited bull.
No longer weighed down by thoughts of Genevieve's impending
damnation, Ash decided to change tactics as well. "I'll outride the
lot of you," she advised them cheerfully.

Frog's snort of laughter was the only
positive reaction, but not all of the rest looked at her with
anger. Carlyon, however, took back control of the scene before it
could escalate.

"Marriston," he said, hazel eyes flat
as a cat's, "if you do not wish to participate, you need only say
so. Don't put me to the trouble of punishing you for your
behaviour."

The blond seruilis checked a hasty
reply, and cast a fulminating glare at Ash, but nodded. "I
apologise. You will have no trouble from me this day, Carlyon."

"Good," the first seruilis said. "I
expect the same from everyone here," he added, raising his voice so
that it could be clearly heard by the entire group of tabard-clad
youths. "We are seruilisi of the Mern and will conduct ourselves
accordingly." Then his stern face softened. "That, of course,
should still permit you to enjoy yourself thoroughly."

And a well-timed speech, as a second
signal sounded on the horn, and riders and horses began to shift,
to form a stream following a leader Ash couldn't see. Carlyon held
his group back, then set them off at a slow trot, behind a mass of
movement and colour, with the dim yelping of dogs to the fore.

The sky clearing to a thin blue above,
it was a fine day for a hunt.

Chapter Thirteen

Ash found herself quivering almost as
much as Cloud Cat, and controlled herself before the mare took her
excitement as a signal to surge ahead. This was not the time to
race, but simply to travel in a mass out of the Deirhoi Valley,
around the northern face of Eastwall to the flat-topped hills of
the Rhoi's Preserve.

More used to the fields and lanes of
the Southern Valleys, Ash kept to the back of the pack and
concentrated on her surroundings, matching them to the Rhoi's
description of the ground they would cover. It was primarily wooded
on the slopes and flat hilltops, with wide grassy stretches over
low-lying areas. The valleys were higher than Luinhall's, and the
streams not glacial like the Milk, but still swift and chill with
late snowmelt from deeper in the mountains.

One stream drained into a small valley
thick with knee-high grass: Turing Dell. Here, servants waited
beneath the scattered trees with food spread on groundsheets.
Carlyon sent the seruilisi to tend their various masters, so Ash
waited at the edge of the swirl of confusion until she spotted
Arth's proud head near one of the central trees.

"Enjoying yourself, stripling?"
Thornaster asked, handing her Arth's reins as she led Cloud Cat up.
The stallion greeted her also, a rough buffet which he usually
reserved for the Visel. She found this delightful, though it nearly
robbed her of her footing.

"I'd like to ride here without the
hunt," she said, smiling. "It's nice."

"Nice!" cried Hawkmarten, on
Thornaster's far side. "One of the least-spoilt hunting grounds
I've ever covered deserves a less feeble term than
nice
!"

"Well, I own I think it nice too,"
Thornaster said, eyes dancing.

"Not too backward for you,
Visel
?" asked a new voice. "I hear hunts are out of fashion
in Aremal."

Arn Marriston, Setsel of Strathaden,
whose son obviously took after him in temperament as well as looks.
Picking pointless fights for the sake of it. Unimpressed, Ash
didn't wait to hear Thornaster's response, leading Arth and Cloud
Cat to the stream. Testing the water, she decided it was too cool,
and followed the lead of another rider a short way downstream,
where the water widened and became shallower, trapping itself in
eddies by the shore for the high sun to warm. After drinking
herself, she moved well to one side of the clearing.