Mystic: A Book of Underrealm (30 page)

Who posts guards just for horses?

Think
.
What would Mennet do?
 

But that was no help. No doubt Mennet would place a charm of sleep upon the guards and ride out unopposed. Or mount a horse and cloak it in shadow, with no one to hear him as he rode silently through the tent lines. But Loren was not Mennet and had none of his magic. She had only a black cloak and a dagger.

A dagger. Her fingers sank into her cloak to caress its hilt. “You have often been my salvation in danger,” she muttered. “If you have any power of your own, show me what to do. For I am lost.”

Mayhap it heard her, for a scheme sprang to Loren’s mind. A mad plan, to be sure, and if she could have explained it to Annis or Xain they would have thought her a fool and laughed in her face. But they were not here. And the horses were bound to pickets with leather ties—no wooden fence to constrain them.

I suppose if Xain can do his part to alleviate the siege of Wellmont, Nightblade can do no less.

She smiled in the darkness, giddy from the madness of her plan.
 

First, though, she would have to get past the guards. Loren crept ever closer until a single tent remained between her and the horses. Before her was a man, and his nearest companions were many yards off. Loren stooped and found a small rock at her feet. From behind the tent, out of view, she reached back and flung the stone towards the horses, away to the right. She heard a sharp
thunk
followed by a mare’s frightened bray. Like lightning, Loren stuck from her hiding place, and as the guard turned towards the sound, she ran behind his back and vanished amongst the horses.

Loren remembered something Bracken had once told her:
Sometimes, simple tricks are best.
But now she would have to be careful if she hoped to stay alive.

The horses had been neatly lined, unlike the tents, with rows so close that even if a horse pulled free of its tether, it could not escape the press of other mounts. Loren would have to work from the inside out.

She pressed between the beasts’ heavy, sweating flanks until she was near their center and knelt to untie a tether. But the knot was well worked, and her fingers fumbled in the darkness.

Loren drew her dagger and slashed at the leather. Her fine blade split it, and the tether fell away. The horse nickered but could hardly move, so close were the other mounts.

She did the same with the horses on either side, then all the ones in front and behind. She went in a circle, spiraling outward until the freed mounts were many. Some whinnied, and a few champed at her, but they were disciplined beasts and did not try hard to move.
 

Soon, Loren was but a few ranks from the pickets’ edges. She stopped and surveyed the steeds. One caught her eye: a slender but shapely beast of midnight black, like Loren’s cloak, excepting a star of white fur on its forehead, which practically shone in the moonslight.
 

She went to it and the horse beside it, a larger specimen of chestnut brown. Their tethers hung from their bridles, each almost as long as Loren was tall. She tied their ends together, hoping the leather would not make the beasts collide.

The black horse pressed its nose at Loren, and she took its muzzle into her hands. It did not bite, and she took that as a good sign. She reached up and scratched its ears. The horse pressed its nose into her chest.

“If we escape from this, and I do not lose you in the flight, I will give you a name,” she whispered. “But I will not risk our luck by doing so now. The world itself has ears and hates the prideful.”

The horse nickered and stooped to pull free a mouthful of grass.

Now came the affair’s most dangerous part, and Loren hesitated. But she had come too far to stop. Again she drew her dagger, and went to the horse beside the one she had chosen.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “But it will only be a small cut.”

With that she slashed the blade across the horse’s flank, and in the same moment she gave a great cry. Then she whirled and seized her mount’s neck and jumped, swinging around and clinging to its back for dear life.

The cut horse reared in terror and gave a great whinny of fright. Then it set off careening into the horses around it.
 

The beasts went berserk in a panicked mass, screaming and fighting to flee each other, bolting in every direction and crashing every which way. Few could fall over—they were too tightly packed—so the mass merely undulated in fear. But the commotion spread swiftly to the edges, and when the scent of fear reached the farthest horses, they reared and bucked and tore at their tethers.
 

Up and down the rows Loren saw the horses break free, and they galloped off into the night, many right into the tents.

The camp was in chaos. Men emerged wide-eyed from their tents and dove out of the way as horses ran through the lines. Many horses ran south into open land beyond, but some galloped into the camp’s now-swiftly beating heart.
 

Loren heard a great cry and an erupting tumult. Guards with torches ran for their lives.

Her steed galloped south, followed by the great chestnut horse. Together, they ran, keeping pace as if they had been trained in a harness together, while she gripped her mount’s neck and begged the sky above to spare her life.
 

They burst free as part of the stampede, off into the night. Horses fell away on either side, running west and east, but Loren’s kept south, riding until the camp was a memory.

thirty-seven

THE SKY HAD GROWN GREY in the east. They crested the southern hills and came swiftly down the other side. Only then did Loren raise her head and try to regain control of her galloping mount. She reached out and seized the tether holding the horses together. But their bucking heads ripped it from her grasp and nearly pitched her from the back.

She reached for the black steed’s bridle and pulled. Its head reared back, and it began to slow. Soon, the chestnut horse felt its tether tug and slowed as well. Eventually, both horses came to a stop, chests heaving with deep and ragged breaths. Lather had formed on their flanks.

“Well done,” Loren whispered and reached up to scratch the black horse’s ears. She could still hear the braying steeds amidst panicked shouting and hoped that no one had been seriously hurt in their flight—she had not thought so many would charge into camp.
 

But she had lost track of her whereabouts. Surveying her surroundings, Loren found herself far to the west of where she had left Annis and Xain. She slid down from her horse’s back and with a slash of her dagger parted the tethers that held them together. Then she climbed back up, holding onto the black horse’s tether as a rein with one hand while tugging on the chestnut’s so it might follow. ’Twas awkward, and she was unused to sitting upon a horse with no saddle, but somehow Loren got them both going east. Their tread was slow, and Loren grew ever more nervous as sunrise drew nearer.

The sky was blushing by the time she spotted the dell tucked between two hills. She nudged her heels into the steed’s sides and rode towards the hollow space in the rocks.

At first, it seemed empty, and Loren’s stomach tumbled in her gut. Then she spotted a small shape in the dim light, and the back of Annis’s new cloak. For a heart-stopping moment, Loren feared the worst until she saw Annis wriggling at her approach and heard a few muffled grunts as the girl fought to roll over.

“Annis!” Loren jumped from her horse and ran to the girl’s side, forgetting to hobble the steeds in her haste. She seized her shoulder and rolled the girl over. Her wrists were bound and she was gagged with cloth torn from her cloak.

Loren ripped the gag free and slashed the bonds. Annis gasped and spit in the early morning air. “Where is he?”

“You mean Xain? I know not. Who took him? What did they do to you?”

Fury lit in Annis’s eyes. “No one took him, Loren.
He
did this. The wizard trussed me up and fled the moment you left.”

The ground was gone beneath her. “What? No. Why would he . . .”

Annis parted her cloak, and Loren saw her empty interior pocket. “He took the magestones. All of them. That conniving, double-faced, forked-tongued . . .”

Annis fell silent, too angry for words. Loren sank back on her heels and sat hard on the ground. She felt lost and alone, practically freezing despite the summer morning air. Those stones were all they had. Without them, their dreams were finished. No longer could she promise Annis and Gem a good life in the outland kingdoms. A thief she might be, but Loren did not wish to scrape a meager living robbing pennies from tradesmen. Those magestones could have let her become something more, something great.

Anger and sorrow washed through her, and then they were gone. In their place Loren felt something else—an icy burning, a raging fire that yet left her cold. Her pulse thundered, this time without fear.
 

“He cannot do this again,” she said, almost to herself. “To leave me alone and unaided upon the King’s road is one thing. But I will not let him steal my fortune.”

“There are few words for men such as he,” agreed Annis. “But at least he has gone. I had hopes for those stones as well, but mayhap we are well quit if it means that the wizard is gone with them.”

“
No!
I said he
cannot
do this. Those stones were not his to take. They are mine, and I will have them back.”

“What do you mean to do about it? He is gone and the stones with him. He is a wizard, Loren. Even if he were here, you could not hope to steal his prize.”

“Aye, he is a wizard. A fool and a poor wrestler. A hopeless woodsman, quiet and quick as a blind cow. He has his talents, but the man is mad if he thinks he can evade me.”

Annis paled. “You cannot mean to pursue him.”

“I do.”

“Loren, he will
kill
us! We shall return to Wellmont and flee its doom with Jordel. At least then we will be away from danger.”

“You said the same when Auntie took my dagger in Cabrus,” said Loren. “My answer has not changed.”

“This is not the same! Xain is mad and far more powerful than she. He has already proved himself willing to hurt us. I do not think it will take much more for him to see us dead.”

“We shall see. Come.”

“I will not!” Annis stood, stamped her foot on the ground, and glared. “You will not drag me into death by the wizard’s fire. Too long have I walked by his side. He is gone, and I will not seek him again.”

Loren looked at Annis, held her gaze, and nodded. “Very well. You are right. I cannot ask this of you.”

“What?” Annis looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. You have gone farther than I could expect from any friend, and with no more assurance than your faith in me. I will not ask you to take another step when I am certain that great danger is waiting. See yourself safely to Wellmont. Take the chestnut horse.”

Loren turned to her steed. But Annis scuttled behind, lifting her skirts to keep them free from dewy grass.

“You will go alone? That is twice as foolish. How do you mean to find him?”

“I told you he is a poor woodsman. Even now, I can see where his tracks lead out of the dell. I will follow them, slowly to see if I must, for I am mounted and he is not.”
 

Loren grabbed a handful of mane and pulled herself onto her horse. It sidestepped, nearly unseated her, and then calmed.
 

“And what do you mean to do once you find him?”
 

“I will make him give me the stones,” said Loren. “By whatever means I can. If words will not work, I will twist his arm until he squeals like the pig he has shown himself to be.”

“He is a
wizard!
He will set you ablaze!”

“I do not believe that, even with all he has done. He might have killed you rather than leave you here bound but breathing. Then you could not have told me where he was headed. But he left you alive, Annis. He is not a murderer, only a stupid, stupid man.” Loren pressed her heels to the mount, and the horse walked slowly forwards. With a gentle tug on the tether, she led it towards the bent grass due east along the line of hills.

“Wait!” Annis scrambled for the chestnut horse, who had wandered out of the dell and was now many paces away. “Wait for me!”

Annis mounted her horse—an impressive feat, for it stood at least a hand taller than Loren’s—and kicked it forwards.

“You spoke well before. You should stay. This is my choice, and no one should have to share it.”

“Oh, still your flapping lips,” snapped Annis. “Of course you cannot ride off into danger on your own, you sow’s ear of an idiot. Did I when we fled my mother’s caravan?”

“You did not. But this is not then.”

“Yet I am the same,” said Annis. “And this is the single stupidest thing I have ever seen you do—an impressive claim considering our time together so far. I will not let you enter such madness without someone sensible to advise you. If nothing else, I will tell you when it is time to run.”

Loren gave Annis a grim smile. “And I thank you for such a valuable service. But you have never seen me fight Xain. You may find him more eager to flee my company than the other way around.”

Annis looked at Loren askance. “You have fought him before?”

“More often than you might believe, and I tumbled him every time. His magic might be a bear’s trap, but the body behind it is a rusted hinge.”

Annis pursed her lips and turned her eyes forwards. “I pray you are right.”

In truth, Loren hoped the same. She had taught Xain a lesson or two in their time together. But the man they pursued was unlike the wizard she had met in the Birchwood.

Loren held a single hope—that Xain was not a killer. But even as she thought that, Loren remembered his form crowned in light atop Wellmont’s south wall. He had rained fire and lightning upon the other side, and though she did not see the result, a tiny voice nagged inside her.
 

What do you think he was doing? Do you not think his flame and his thunder claimed many lives?