Blood Red (9781101637890)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  “You have proven yourself tonight to be a valuable and entertaining guest, and as you master Society, the Count will expose you to those who would be more critical of your behavior than this lot. Rest assured, you shall have plenty of opportunities to be the toast of gatherings as long as the Count is alive,” Marie said with a wink. “And probably well beyond that, as long as you are willing to come out of that benighted forest of yours.”

  “The Schwarzwald is not benighted!” Rosa protested, stung at the implied insult to her home, and rushing to its defense.

  “Any place where one cannot have a single meal without being stared at by beheaded beasts is benighted,” Marie replied with a shudder. “I shall never forget that so-called hunting party the Count attended with his mistress five years ago—it was hunting, in the sense of pursuing deer and boar rather than magical foes. It was being held by the Count von Willensdorf, and intended as a retreat for several powerful men and their mistresses.”

  “Really?” Rosa blinked. “They do that?”

  Marie nodded. “Generally, the wives are sent off to the spa towns to be pampered and fussed over, so that the men are free to enjoy a week or more of discreet dalliance in the company of other men and their mistresses. The Count’s inamorata of the moment was someone who had never been outside a city, and had no idea what a ‘hunting lodge’ looked like—and neither did I! Even the bedrooms had dead deer in them! Fortunately the lady had hysterics and demanded we all go home, and the Count has never again ventured to do such a thing.”

  Poor Count, she thought, then laughed at herself. Of course if the Graf actually wanted to go for a game-hunting trip of that sort, he could. All he needed to do was to go without his mistress, or find a mistress for whom such things were more to her taste. It wasn’t as if he had to please anyone but himself!

  “Well we are not in a hunting lodge, we are in the Count’s manor. If this were anything but a party of magicians, I would now be telling you everything the other servants said in downstairs gossip, in order that you could learn everything I could glean about the other guests.” Marie continued. “That, however, is not necessary. Instead I will tell you what tomorrow’s daytime entertainment will be. Have you ever played at Hounds and Hare?”

  Rosa laughed with delight. It had been one of her favorite childhood “games”—although it was as much training for her position in the future as it was a game. “Of course! Who hasn’t, among our kind?”

  “The Count would like you to provide a real challenge to the adults, and play the Hare for them. Markos will be the Hare for the children. Whichever group catches their Hare first, wins a prize.”

  Now, by this point, Rosa had walked or ridden over nearly every inch of the Graf’s grounds since she had arrived here, and she beamed with glee at Marie at this news. This was going to be great fun!

  She didn’t know how familiar Markos was with the property, but he would be leading the children a chase, so not knowing it well would only give him a little bit of a handicap to make it a fair contest.

  Marie smiled back. “I thought you would like that,” she said. “The Count will announce it at breakfast. It is a good thing that you decided to retire early—you are going to need your sleep!”

  Rosa was prepared for the surprise, dressed in her Schwarzwald gear, when she came down to breakfast. The Graf smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye when he saw her and recognized that Marie had told her what was to come. When all the guests had assembled for breakfast, and knives and forks were busy, he stood up and called for their attention.

  “My good friends,” he said. “For your edification and enjoyment, I have organized a competition of Hare and Hounds, divided between the children and the adults. Markos Nagy will play the Hare for the children, and our good friend Gunther will supervise the children’s group to help them if they become truly stuck. Rosamund von Schwarzwald will play the Hare for the adult group, and I expect her to challenge your tracking abilities. If anyone wishes to sit the game out, I will provide a fire-scrying overview of the progress of both groups.”

  The enthusiasm with which this announcement was met left no question as to whether anyone was going to remain behind. “The children will be mounted, and I have had ponies brought up for them,” the Graf continued, when the hum of conversation had stilled a little. “The adults may have the choice of being mounted or going afoot. I expect you to work together this morning on your Hunting Party and strategy, and selecting your Hunt Master. Gunther will help the children do the same. After luncheon, we will give the Hares their start, and the Hunt will begin.”

  The prospect of doing something Hunt-like without the danger and risk of a real Hunt was almost always appealing to the magicians associated with White Lodges. It was the fellowship and challenge of the Hunt, without the prospect of someone dying, or the need to work with fellow mages you might not particularly care for. As a result, everyone except Markos and Rosa hurried through their meal and adjourned to the library for the adults, except for Gunther, who took himself to wherever the children were being assembled.

  “Well, my lady,” said Markos, when the dining room was deserted by all but a lone servant, waiting for a signal that they wanted anything else. “What do you think our plan should be? I am very familiar with the Count’s estate.” Although she knew he had gone to bed later than she, he looked just as well rested, and quite cheerful at the prospect of entertaining the children of the group.

  “Ah good! I am as well. And you should call me Rosa, fellow Hare.” She smiled at him as she moved to sit across from him and cleared objects away from the tablecloth between them. “In that case, I think, for maximum confusion, we should deliberately cross our trails several times.”

  Markos chuckled; it was the first time she had heard him laugh, and it was a pleasing, low-pitched sound. “That is an excellent plan. So . . . let us let this butter dish represent the manor, here—and let me outline the gardens with these knives.” He placed the dish, and between them, they soon had a tolerable map laid out on the table as they plotted their paths.

  The servants were very patient about not taking away the breakfast things until they were finished—even though it was nearly lunchtime before they were satisfied. The Graf’s estate was not only the palace and grounds, but included several hundred acres of farms, forest, grazing, and an entire village. There had been plenty for them to work with. By the time the chase was over, everyone should be weary.

  They were able to join the others wearing satisfied smiles, which invoked answering smiles from some, rueful expressions from others. But everyone was ready; the others had taken the opportunity to change into clothing suitable for riding or walking across rough land. Which, as Rosa knew, was prudent. While Markos was not going to subject the children to anything like a punishing Hunt, Rosa had no such intentions, and there were plenty of places on the Graf’s property that were nearly as wild as her own Schwarzwald.

  “Rosa, Markos, are you ready?” the Graf asked them, when a light luncheon had been cleared away.

  “We are,” Rosa replied, after a glance at Markos, who nodded at her.

  “Very well. Rosa, your group will be riding, so please go to the stables and choose your mount first. You may leave as soon as you are ready.” The Graf gave her a little bow, and she ran off to do as he directed. She did wonder about Markos for a moment, and why the Graf had not directed him to choose a mount, but now was not the time for her to think about anything but her own Hunt.

  There was a lively young Arab mare that was her favorite in the Graf’s stables, but she passed by her stall and went straight to another—a big coldblooded hunter, a heavily dappled gray gelding. There were times when her path was going to double back on itself and she might find herself waiting in cover until the hunting party had passed. If that happened, she needed a horse that would blend into the bushes. With that dapple pattern he would look like sun on leaves.


  One of the stable hands tacked the gelding up for hunting, and with a saddle for riding astride. The man knew better by this time than to offer her a sidesaddle, a mounting block, or a hand up. She mounted up on her own, chirped to the blunt-headed gelding, gave him a touch of the heel, and they were off. She left a clear trail at first, galloping down the Graf’s beautifully manicured lane at a brisk pace, just enough to let the horse work off his initial impatience. Once the tree-covered lane reached a little stone bridge over a stream, she sent the gelding plunging down the bank of the stream and into the streambed. Willows overhung it on both banks; here it was part of the landscaping for the Graf’s palace. She could not bring herself to think of so vast a building as a mere “manor.” But eventually, it would lead her into the part of the property where “grounds” became “farms and forest” without the need to find a gate in a fence or a wall.

  The Hounds would be following not scent, but the traces of Earth Magic she was deliberately throwing out behind her. But these traces worked just like scent, and running water confused or washed them away.

  Markos would be doing the same as she, but he would be leaving a clearer trail, and nothing near as lengthy. Her trail would cover most of the many hundred acres that were personally owned by the Graf. His would stay mostly inside the grounds. This was not only a game for the children, it was an educational exercise. One day, perhaps sooner than their parents would like, they would be on a real Hunting Party, and what they learned today might bring that Hunt to a successful conclusion.

  The water splashed around the gelding’s knees, and he snorted, but not in dissatisfaction. He plowed willingly upstream until they came to a fence that ended on either bank. Once past that, she signaled him to climb the bank and work his way along a path on the bank barely wide enough for him.

  She caught neither sign nor sound of Markos, and she wondered where he was. If he was riding, he’d have to choose a much slower horse than hers, or even a large pony, to make the Hunt fair for the children, but surely he wasn’t going afoot, was he?

  Well, it was possible. He certainly looked supremely fit. He was Hungarian, but she didn’t know which part of Hungary he was from. If the plains, well, the plainsmen were practically born in the saddle, but if he was from the mountains he might well be accustomed to going afoot.

  A path led away from the one along the bank, and she followed it until they broke out of the trees into the open. Here, there was an open meadow around a ruin—most would take it for artificial, but its real age cried out to her as she and the gelding galloped past. The Graf had left this meadow to grow freely rather than mowing it, and long grass swished just below her feet as the gelding surged through it. She threw out a particularly strong trace in the direction of the ruin as she passed it; they might waste time looking for her in the ruin when she was long gone.

  By now the horse was well into the spirit of the exercise and responded instantly to whatever she asked of him. This was the other reason why she had chosen him; the mare sometimes turned contrary, and she didn’t want to have to fight a sudden fit of contrariness at a bad time.

  Back into the woods on the other side of the meadow they went, working their way to the eastern border of the estate lands. When they struck the orchard, she took a path that wove among the trees in a deliberate pattern that she had worked out ahead of time. She knew the pattern; her pursuers wouldn’t, and as she crossed and recrossed her own trail, she knew she would be confounding them. She skirted the edges of the orchard in several places so when she exited, it wouldn’t be obvious. This was a tactic that one of the werewolves she had hunted in the Schwarzwald had used—while it was a truism that the more a shifter went to the beast, the more of the beast took over the man when he took beast form, this particular magician had retained a high level of human reasoning. He had been particularly hard to Hunt, and in the end, she’d employed not only her own senses, but the help of a pack of Earth Elementals to decipher the trail. They were much better at seeing the “age” of a trace than she was.

  The trees were full of little green apples, and there was a very, very faint apple scent in the air. She finished her pattern and exited at the south side of the orchard, but neither in the middle, nor at the corner. Then she took a straight gallop across another open space, a field left to go fallow with a fine flock of goats grazing on the weeds. From there, she galloped along the edges of a planted field, staying far enough away from the actual plowed and planted rows of rye that there was no risk any of the crop would be trampled by those behind her.

  Back she dove into a little copse of trees, jumped the gelding over a hedge back onto the grounds of the palace, then she hit the first place where her path would cross the one that Markos was laying.

  There was no outward sign of him, but she immediately detected a trace of Earth Magic, weaker than hers, but distinct. She was astonished. How had he gotten so far ahead of her?

  Well good for him that he had. There was no way for her to tell how long ago he had passed; it could have been mere moments or a quarter of an hour. In either case, he was surely leading his young pursuers on a merry chase. She reined in her horse a moment and strained her ears, and sure enough, she heard, faint and far, childish shrieks and wild laughter in the distance. She sent the gray on his way, jumping back and forth over the hedge three times before striking a road that led through a proper gate in the hedge. She didn’t bother with the gate, since the gelding was having no problems with jumping the hedge. Instead, she made a final leap, and ended up on the “farm” side.

  The Hunt was supposed to last all afternoon, and she and Markos had determined to make sure that it did. They had minimized the amount of time they would be on open ground, but there were some places where that would work to her advantage. And one of them was coming right up.

  She sent the gelding onto the road and trotted right into the Graf’s village, where those who worked his farmlands lived. In the old days, before the Graf’s ancestors had replaced it with the palace, the castle that guarded and ruled these lands had stood here; now there was a ruin on a hill in the midst of the village. Watching carefully for children darting out in front of her, she trotted around the village as she had trotted around the orchard, and then through as much of the ruins as she could, leaving liberal samples of magic and encountering Markos’ traces more than once. Clever! The village wasn’t that far outside of the grounds, and using it would give the children a challenge.

  Once clear of the village, she galloped across another meadow filled with dairy cattle, startling the cows who gazed at her in astonishment, heading for the wildest part of the Graf’s lands. She didn’t bother to confuse her path this time—the fact that the hunters would have to search for widely-separated traces would be difficult enough. This corresponded to a place where the quarry was running away, and it would be a good exercise for those following her. The faster a hunted thing ran, the lighter its mark on the land.

  She was heading for the woods at the farthest southern edge of the Graf’s property, a substantial tract of primeval forest, carefully preserved by the Graf’s ancestors for centuries. She expected to encounter a host of excited Earth Elementals here, all eager to help her with the Hunt.

  But as she plunged into the shadow beneath the trees, without warning everything changed.

  It felt as if she had plunged into icy water, but it was water that wanted desperately to murder her.

  There was not a trace of any Elementals about, and the instant they had crossed the invisible boundary and the inimical power touched them, her horse screamed in panic and fought her, rearing and bucking furiously. Whatever was in that power had sent him mad with terror, and she had no more than a second to react.

  She kicked her feet free of the stirrups and leapt free of him, aiming for a clear patch with a forgiving juniper bush in the middle of it. Whatever had been lying in wait here had gotten into place, here on the Graf�
�s farmlands, without the Graf or his people detecting it. Its animosity felt intensely personal, and she didn’t need to have to fight a hysterical horse at the same time something was trying to kill her!

  As well that she made her leap off the horse, for as soon as she left the saddle, a spear of ice lanced through the air where she had been and shattered on a tree-trunk. She tumbled out of the prickly branches of the juniper bush and whirled to face the direction from which it had come.

  She found herself face to face with a woman.

  A blond woman, all in white, whose expression was distorted with fury and a hint of madness. A woman who stood in the middle of an iced-over pond in which undines struggled frantically to escape from ice closing around their waists. Rosa barely had a chance to register both Air and Water, and the impossible presence of a second spirit beside—or was it inside?—the woman, when she found herself dodging more icy daggers.

  The pain and fear of the trapped and tortured undines added fuel to the woman’s magic, and her accuracy and speed kept Rosa from bringing up the shields that might protect her from the attacks. All she could do was tumble and dodge, and curse herself that she had come out here unarmed. If only she had her knives, or her coach gun, or even her crossbow!

  She dove and rolled between two trees, and the bark scraped bits of wool from her jacket as another ice-dagger shattered over her head, raining shards down on her. Chill pain lanced her face as one of them cut her, but she kept rolling into the temporary cover of some bushes. Her heart raced, and her breath burned in her lungs with cold. Air and Water . . . Air meant lightning!

  A moment later, she felt the earth beneath her cry with jagged agony, and she lurched out of that cover and into the open in time for a lightning bolt to slam down where she had been.