Hunting (3 page)

"What would being your seruilis
involve?"

"Running my errands, attending to my
equipage, serving me at table, doing whatever else I require of
you. Attending the Mern and listening for anything useful."

"I'm not likely to be very good at it,"
she said cautiously, summoning up vague childhood memories of
harried seruilisi running to and fro and enjoying themselves very
little indeed. "They'll think you strange to have a seruilis like
me."

"You will learn to be good at it," he
said, in an uncompromising tone of voice. "And 'they' seem to think
anyone not born to this Rhoimarch strange."

"Is there someone you suspect?"

"Nothing beyond complete guesswork.
You?"

"Not yet. If you hit me I will hit you
back."

"I doubt it. I do have limits to my
patience. And I am, as you pointed out, somewhat larger than you.
No, you will act as my seruilis and you will do your job well in
order to increase your chance for revenge. If you please me, I will
teach you swordplay, though you are late come to the art."

The man obviously considered that a
high treat, and Ash wondered whether to tell him she couldn't be
less interested. Knives were her weapons.

"Are you any good?"

Her exaggeratedly dubious tone only
made him laugh. "Stop trying to provoke me, boy. What's your full
name?"

"Ash Lenthard. What's yours?"

"Rion Thornaster, Visel of
Pembury."

Visel meant he was the lowest rank of
the Luinsel, with just enough property to drink from the Well of
the Heart and be judged on his worth as a steward of the land, one
of the Luinsel who strove to keep a Balance between the needs of
Luin's children and Luin's own health. But it was the man's name
that gave Ash pause. Thornaster, one of the foreigners behind the
Rhoi's review of Montmoth's laws, and focus of far too much
attention to be comfortable.

They had reached the mid-section of the
river, where water tinted white by powdered rock thundered down
from the ridge called Luin's Table. Since the bridges around the
Bowl – the circular pool at the fall's base – were the busiest part
of the city, Ash kept her silence as Thornaster crossed the Milk
and headed beneath the natural stone arch which guarded the climb
to the Deirhoi District. The stallion briefly shifted from a walk
to a trot, and Ash firmed her grip on the man's robe, thinking
through the complications of deception. She had changed a great
deal, but her pretence would be put to the greatest test if she
stayed with this man.

"Where did you live before you came to
your aunt?" Thornaster asked, oblivious to the hurdles she
faced.

"Khantar."

"Which part, Ash Lenthard? Don't be
obtuse."

"I lived in the third house from the
west end of the main street of the village of Cadoken in the shire
of Meeps in north-west Khantar. It rained every second day and we
saw the sun for a good ten hours every year. It smelled of mud and
rot." Ash had never been out of the Rhoimarch of Montmoth in her
life, but Genevieve had brought Cadoken to life for her. Ash had
long since cherished a heartfelt desire never to go there. "I was
only nine when I left," she added.

"How old are you now?"

"Seventeen. Almost." Twenty-one in a
few weeks, but no one would ever believe that to look at her. Not
without beginning to wonder at her beardless cheeks and slight
build. "Where's Pembury?"

"Southwest of Crown of Stars."

Crown of Stars was the capital of
Aremal, a sprawling Rhoimarch on the far side of Montmoth's
neighbour's neighbour. When pieces of the shattered moon, Yurefaer,
had rained down on Luin, it had been at Crown of Stars that two of
the gods – Luin and the new Sun, Astenar – had manifested to still
the trembling in Luin's depths and clear the skies. When the worst
had passed, the two gods had lingered to leave behind three
children who had become the rulers of the great Rhoimarches –
Aremal, Firuvar and, on the far side of Luin, Araslea. The Estarrel
line descended from the child Astenar had born to Luin.

Montmoth – like Ash – had issues with
the god who had become the Sun, but the link to Astenar had
certainly benefited Aremal, which remained the most powerful and
stable Rhoimarch of the region. Montmoth's old Rhoi had sent the
current one there for some form of advanced schooling, and he'd
stayed away for almost two years, until his father had died
unexpectedly at the end of autumn.

Arun Nemator had returned in time to be
judged, however, and brought this Thornaster back with him. Someone
who would be the focus of a lot of attention among the pale grey
towers of the palace in the centre of the sheltered Deirhoi Valley.
It would be a gamble for Ash to show her face there, but not truly
a great one, surely. Eight years had passed, and there were few who
had actually known her.

"What's Pembury like?" she asked,
needing to distract herself.

"Hilly."

"You're a real wordsmith. You should
consider a career as a player."

"And you would make a remarkable
diplomat, Ash. I shall recommend you. Now close your mouth and, if
you cannot master your tongue, say nothing."

Ash snorted, but kept quiet as they
followed the hedge-lined side road to the Inner Stables. The
stallion came to a restless halt and Ash hopped lightly to the
ground, watching Thornaster as he dismounted. This was the second
time someone new had arrived just as her world had turned sideways.
But Ash was no longer a child and did not feel any need to confide
in this foreign Landhold. He was not Genevieve. He plainly saw her
as a potential spy, with useful herbal knowledge, but if he led her
to Genevieve's killer she would owe him her thanks. Until then, she
would play the part he had assigned her, would even make a game of
it.

And consider her own opinions on
vengeance.

Chapter Three

The Inner Stables, which housed the
most important Luinsels' horses, was all bustle and dash with an
underlay of dust and dung. The foreign Visel took her books out of
the saddlebag, handed the reins to the nearest stableboy and, with
barely a glance to see if Ash was following, headed into the
palace.

For a short time Ash tried to imitate
the easy glide of his walk, but couldn't quite manage it. Genevieve
had coached her on how to walk, talk, look at people, hold her
hands, eat and laugh and do a host of things which subtly led
people to see her as male, but she had not been able to alter her
bone structure. Giving up the attempt, Ash's attention was caught
by the group of the people they were passing.

An angular, bony man in lead pretended
to flick some speck of dirt from the sleeve of his dusky purple
coat, then raised stony eyes at the last moment and greeted
Thornaster with the merest fraction of a nod as he swept past, a
half-dozen followers and attendants trailing in his wake all taking
their cue from their master.

Schooling her face not to reveal her
sudden interest, Ash took in the surreptitious glances over
shoulders, the guardsman whose mouth turned down suddenly, the
woman who checked at the sight of Thornaster and developed a sudden
interest in her hands, while her companion blushed and preened.
Fascinating. Thornaster was certainly not popular among the
Landsmeet, few reacting with pleasure at the sight of him striding
along. Not terribly surprising, given all the rumours of his
influence over the Rhoi, and their plans to remake Montmoth in
Aremal's image, but she hadn't expected people to show their
feelings so openly.

Preoccupied, it was possible the Visel
didn't even notice.

Thornaster opened their way, finally,
into an equally surprising apartment. Unless there was a
considerable space shortage, these small rooms were an insult to a
man of his rank, let alone a good friend of the Rhoi. A desk and
brazier barely fit in the first. The other contained only a couple
of chests, a pair of narrow side tables, and a bed that lacked even
bed curtains to cover the ceiling-scraping frame. Her own room, in
Genevieve's house, hadn't been much smaller.

A cloth covered the wall at the foot of
the bed, and the Visel tied this back to reveal an alcove about
three feet deep and a little less than a body-length long. A couple
of leather bags were piled down one end. These he lifted out and
replaced with three blankets from one of the chests.

"Do all seruilisi sleep on the floor?"
Ash asked, eyeing these arrangements dubiously.

"Seruilisi sleep wherever is convenient
to their masters," Thornaster replied. He picked up one of the
bed's two pillows and dropped it on the blankets, then added one of
Ash's books to the pile. "You don't have a Khanteck accent."

"I can do one, if you really want me
to," she retorted, with her best imitation of Genevieve's slightly
lilting turn of phrase. "I've not forgotten how to speak. Genevieve
liked to use Khanteck about the house." It was becoming slightly
easier to say her benefactress' name. There was still a catch in
her throat each time she formed the word, but not as noticeable.
"How do you know the tongue?"

"It helps to be conversant when you're
in my position," he replied absently, turning through the pages of
her book of tales.

His position as Visel, or as a relative
of the Rhoi of Aremal? The Rhoimarches of Northern Arabaya had once
shared a common language, which had evolved into distinct dialects,
but Khantar was not part of that group, or a neighbour of Aremal.
Perhaps because it lay on the major land route to Firuvar, and sent
out so many traders?

"This is a very valuable book,"
Thornaster told her, looking up from an illustration of a makki
cat. "Extremely old, in remarkable condition. A teaching text in
the Old Tongue and Khanteck both."

"I know," Ash replied, shortly.
Genevieve had brought it from Khantar, like the Herbal. Turning
away to hide the tears once again springing to her eyes, she headed
for the single, rather poky window. The little table before it was
dusty. "Don't you have any servants?" she asked crossly. "You're a
funny sort of Luinsel."

"I'm travelling light," the man
replied, neither angry nor amused now. A little wry, perhaps.

"You've been in Luinhall for months.
That's not travelling. No wonder they don't want to greet you." The
tears were being obstinate, threatening to spill no matter how she
worked to keep them back.

"Greet me?" Thornaster echoed,
understandably a little lost.

"The people in the corridor. Wondering
if they should be polite or snub you, not knowing if you're even
really a Visel. You should collect two or three retainers to
impress people with your importance."

"Well, you could say I've made a start.
For now, stay here while I go speak with Arun."

He moved to the door, but didn't leave.
Ash could feel him looking at her stiff, unhappy figure, but for
the moment couldn't summon a stalwart display.

"There's no shame in mourning, lad," he
added. "Honour your dead."

Ash waited till the door in the next
room had opened and closed, then, with a choking gasp, dropped to
her knees and, for the second time that day, wept till she was ill
and empty, numb beyond action. She was not given to tears, but she
had failed Genevieve, who had most particular reasons to postpone
death as long as possible.

Thornaster's prolonged absence gave Ash
the space to recover, and then to search his belongings. Two
rapiers, two sabres, and the weapon he'd been wearing, which seemed
to be some compromise between rapier and sabre. Two long daggers,
and some smaller blades, but no revelations, though there was a
locked box, heavy and flat, which might give her more information
if she could find the key. That done, she leaned against one post
of his bed and decided whether or not to be there when he came
back.

What chance that anyone would look at a
wiry and sun-browned boy and recognise a sallow slip of a girl
thought to have died eight years ago? Cutting off her
unsatisfactory braids had made an enormous difference, with her
short brown hair lifting in a near-curl, but the pointed shape of
her face had not changed. Still, her features were not particularly
unusual, and Genevieve had taught her to school the individuality
from her expression.

With her father dead, and her mother
remarried and living in the Folding Valley, only Kiri posed any
real risk. Childhood neighbour and friend, she had known Ash's
former self best, and was the only person who Ash had given any
hint that she lived. Once, Ash would have been completely certain
Kiri would not betray her, but it had been years.

Surely Genevieve was worth the
risk?

By the time Thornaster returned Ash had
herself in hand, and was weighing different plans of action. The
Visel looked at her sharply as he came in, and seemed to nod to
himself.

"Very well. Your duties here are to
keep my rooms clean, to ensure that there is always water available
for my use, to receive callers, lay out my gear, assist me in
dressing, and do anything that looks like it needs doing, all of
which should be performed without calling attention to yourself or
disturbing me in any way. Is that clear?"

Ash supposed that by remaining in the
room she had made some sort of implicit agreement to act as this
man's servant. She hadn't even thought of his departure as a test,
but there had been nothing to stop her leaving.

"Who helped you get dressed up till
now?"

"No one," the man replied, his
expression flickering. Ash realised that, whatever his motives had
started as, part of the reason the Visel was doing this was because
he found Ash entertaining.

"Then why do you need me to help you do
it now?"

"I don't, boy. But it is part of the
duties of first seruilis when there is not a servant specifically
employed for wardrobe, so you will do so."