by C. Night
Rode had his hand on Cazing’s shoulder, persuading him to stay for dinner. “Come on, Cazing, I know you, and I can guess you’re hungry. And I definitely know you’re thirsty! Come on back to my place and have some supper. Hell, stay the night! You can leave for Avernade in the morning. One day won’t make much of a difference.”
Cazing sighed and shook his head. “Rode, you had me at hungry. But what about the other horses?”
Rode let out his booming laugh. “You’ve just bought the last one! I’ve been here for weeks, and then the Academy called for two. I only had a few left, and I sold another one this morning.”
“But what are all these, then?” Cazing asked, waving his hand over the dozen or so horses padlocked outside the tent.
“Ar, those are just some of the vendors’ horses. I charge them a slight fee to keep them here during the day, and since there is no other place to keep horses…” Rode trailed off, gesturing around the busy street. Indeed, there was simply no other place to keep the horses. Rode’s tent was pressed up against the stone side of an enormous building. He had clearly staked a huge portion of the available stalls, and with a wagon of hay to spread over the cobbled street and feed the horses and a trough bursting with water, it was an ideal place for merchants to board their animals for the day.
Cazing laughed. “A slight fee? Since you are the only vendor with a stall large enough for horses, I’m sure you’re charging slightly more than slight!”
Rode grinned without a trace of guilt on his face. “What can I say? It’s good business. Now, come on. My tent is outside the city, and I have a new wife for you to meet.”
But they didn’t leave right away. Instead, they waited there, Cazing and Rode congenially gabbing, until the end of the business day, when the vendors came to collect their horses. Then, in no time at all, the three were outside the city walls. Rhyen had walked beside his horse through the cobbled stone streets, in part because of the heavy traffic flow, but mostly because he didn’t know how to get on her back. Fortunately, Rode’s two stable boys, or whatever they were, saddled both Cazing’s new golden palomino (called Brefen, said one of them) and Rhyen’s brown mare (Lukin) so he didn’t have to embarrass himself fumbling with the saddle straps. He was pretty sure he could identify the saddle blanket and bridle, but was altogether grateful that he was relieved from the duty of saddling the horse.
But now that the road turned to heavily packed earth, Rode and Cazing, who had been talking cheerily all the while, swung onto their horses. Rhyen flushed. How to get into the saddle? The cinnamon colored horse turned her head and appraised Rhyen, as though she was expecting something. Rhyen put his hand uncertainly on top of the saddle. Should he just jump?
“Have you ever ridden?” Cazing called, amused.
Rhyen gritted his teeth, but decided honesty was the best policy.“Not since I was a child…and even then only with help.”
Rode was smiling, a genuine smile that lacked mockery. “It’s alright, Rhyen. You just put your foot in the stirrup—no, the other one—and hold on to the horn. See that handle thing at the front of the saddle? That’s what you grab on to. You’ll get the hang of it.” Rode dismounted and demonstrated. “Nothing to it.”
Rhyen hesitated. “Will I hurt her?”
Both men laughed. “She’ll barely feel you,” Rode assured him.
Rhyen slipped his foot into the stirrup, dubiously took hold of the horn, and launched himself into the saddle. He was too enthusiastic, and almost tumbled over the top of the horse, but Lukin sidestepped daintily and he regained his balance. “Thank you,” he mumbled to Rode, his face still ruddy.
Cazing trotted Brefen up beside him and adjusted the reins in his hands. “Steady on, Rhyen. This is a good horse, she knows what to do. Just give her a little kick when you’re ready to ride,” he said under his breath. He clapped Rhyen on the back and turned Brefen around. “After you, Rode.”
Rhyen gingerly squeezed Lukin’s sides with his heels. She started easily and kept pace neatly behind Rode and Cazing. At first Rhyen was uncomfortable with the feeling of swaying side to side as she stepped along, but once he became accustomed to it, he was able to relax his grip on the reins and enjoy the ride. He liked how the sunlight caught the gold and red hues in Lukin’s hair. “Good horse, good girl,” he murmured, and bravely took a hand off the reins to pat her neck. Her ears flicked back at him. It seemed to Rhyen that she liked hearing him speak. He glanced around. Rode and Cazing were laughing and talking ahead of him. The two stable boys were far behind, driving the hay cart with the laden packhorses tied behind it and the awning and banners from the market broken down and tied to the top. Hesitantly, Rhyen began to talk to his horse.
“You’re a good horse, Lukin…I don’t know what your name means. It sounds foreign. It’s too manly and harsh for a beautiful girl like you. I’m going to call you Cinnamon, all right? Do you like Cinnamon?” Rhyen was enjoying talking to his horse. Her ears flicked and twisted and she bobbed her head. Rhyen nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes. Good girl, Cinnamon.”
He checked to make sure that the other riders were still out of hearing, then continued to speak quietly to Cinnamon. It was nice to have someone to talk to. “Sorry I don’t know how to ride you, but I’ll have plenty of time to learn. It sounds like Avernade is far away.” This reminded Rhyen that he had just apprenticed to a sorcerer. He nervously watched Cazing ride in front of him.
The sun was low in the sky. It was that magic time of day, just before sunset, where colors shine truest and the light gleams sleepily golden while the dust hangs suspended in its rays. The road from Ikha was bordered on one side with acres and acres of farmland, wheat stalks pleasantly yellow and plump, waving gently in the breeze, corn husks vibrant green and upright. The sky was a dark blue, and low behind them. It would rain again tonight.
And then a curious feeling came over Rhyen. He stiffened and turned his head slightly, scanning the tree line to his left. The forest bordered the road on that side, set back a few hundred feet. The trees were tall and the underbrush thick. Rhyen peered at the trees. He did not know what he was looking for, but the crawling feeling that caused the hair on his neck to rise was unmistakable: Someone was watching him.
He pulled slightly against the reins, and Cinnamon halted. Rhyen continued to gaze at the tree line. And then he saw it—a armored figure, hooded entirely in black, upon a dark horse, just visible among the shadow of the trees. Rhyen inhaled sharply. They looked at each other for a long moment. Rhyen knew this figure—there was unmistakable familiarity—but from where, or who it was, he did not know. Then the figure’s head tilted ever so slightly, acknowledging Rhyen’s gaze. After a heart’s beat, Rhyen returned the nod. There was a static feeling in the air, like before a lightning storm. Chills ran over him, but he unblinkingly regarded the rider in black.
“Rhyen! What’s the hold up?” Cazing shouted.
Rhyen whipped his head around, startled. His master and Rode were turned in their saddles in the distance, watching him. Rhyen blinked and turned back to the trees. The figure was gone.
Chapter 4
His heart was pounding, and the hair on the back of his neck was still standing on end. He squeezed his feet, working to steady his breath, and Cinnamon started forward. Rhyen saw Cazing and Rode shrug their shoulders and continue west. They fell back into conversation.
Rhyen rode along, thinking. The figure was familiar. He could now remember several times where he had felt the same creeping, crawling feeling of someone watching him throughout his life. As a boy, when his sister left for the Academy, Rhyen had stood outside, watching her leave. In the shadowy recesses of his mind, he recalled that a person, armored in black and hooded, had also been watching from the end of the street. The figure had been there as well the first day Rhyen had ever used magic. He had watched a little girl topple into the city well, and Rhyen, trying to save her, somehow caused th
e well to geyser a hundred feet into the air. He had caught the little girl as she tumbled down from the massing spray of water. Rhyen toppled himself under her weight, and together they had spilled to the ground. The girl’s anxious twin brother had pulled them both upright, and Rhyen distinctly remembered seeing a stranger behind the boy’s shoulder, cloaked in black, watching him from the darkness of a hood. Rhyen furrowed his brow, remembering. The figure had never moved. It just stood there, watching Rhyen, until it had been swallowed up by gathering the crowd. And the day he was sent to the Academy, Rhyen clearly remembered the same dark rider, watching him from a hilltop. Rhyen had been seated in the front bench of a wagon, alongside a merchant travelling to Ikha who agreed to his parents to grant him passage. Rhyen had looked up just outside the town walls to see the figure, seated upon a black warhorse, gazing down as though considering him.
But this was the first time the figure had acknowledged Rhyen’s gaze. Why now? What did that mean? In a way, Rhyen felt as though they had completed some sort of ritual, this hooded shadow and himself, but what for, he couldn’t guess. Something was off about the rider, some other-worldly creepiness that clung to the very stillness of the figure, and though Rhyen’s skin tingled with the very eeriness of their meeting, he did not feel threatened, but enthralled.
He licked his lips, considering. He had never breathed a word about the figure to anyone before this. It was a secret he guarded in his heart, and in a split second he decided he would continue to do so. The dark rider scared him deeply, chilled him to his very bones, but Rhyen knew—although he could not say how—that the rider feared him just as much. He knew this would not be the last encounter. This knowledge gave Rhyen power in their strange relationship. He would be ready when next the figure appeared.
He hadn’t been paying attention to the road, and was surprised when Cinnamon came to an easy halt. Rhyen looked around. They were just beyond the acres of farmland that surrounded the city, and had arrived at Rode’s house. Rhyen was astonished. It wasn’t a house at all, but rather an enormous tent, with many peaks that served as turrets. The cloth was golden and red and dark blue, and tiny strips flew as flags from the multiple tips.
They dismounted and handed off their reins to more stable boys. Rhyen patted Cinnamon farewell and turned his attention to the grand tent. More servants poured from the entrance, bowing low before Rode and his guests, holding the flaps open so that they could enter. Rhyen was impressed. Rode must be very wealthy indeed to command such a horde of servants.
The outside was palatial, but paled in comparison to the interior. Rhyen’s mouth opened in amazement as it bore no resemblance to the pitiful camping experience he had had as a child, and where his tent had been thought fine by his friends. No, the inside of Rode’s home was fit for the king himself. It was lavishly decorated, with fine gold and silver trappings displayed on heavy wooden tables that were set low to the ground. Velvet rugs were piled several deep in various shades of purple, and golden lanterns hung suspended from the frames of the tent.
The servants bowed them to a pile of cushions and decorative pillows that served as a couch. Rhyen eyed Cazing out of the corner of his eye. Cazing had flung himself on the couch with a groan, stretching his legs out in front of him. Rhyen hesitantly followed suit. A serving woman came and removed Cazing’s boots. Fascinated, Rhyen watched the strange custom. Another servant handed her a deep basin of water, and she gently but professionally inserted Cazing’s feet into it.
Rhyen had to stifle an urge to kick out. Another woman was giving his feet the same treatment. She skillfully removed his boots and plunged his feet into a basin of warm water. He hadn’t been expecting it, but he barely had time to register his surprise before the woman, without looking at him, deftly rolled up his pant legs and bowed away. The water actually felt very good on his sore feet, and so, with a glace at his master, Rhyen relaxed, leaning into the sturdy cushions at his back and flexing his toes in the hot water.
Rode grinned, watching him. “Nice, isn’t it? I think Faadi puts something in the water to make you relax, but she won’t tell me.”
Faadi, the woman waiting on the host, smiled slightly, keeping her eyes averted. Rode put out a hand, and the woman handed him a golden goblet, handed to her by yet another servant. Rhyen worked hard to keep his face smooth. Luxury like this was undreamed of, yet both Cazing and Rode seemed completely at ease.
Rode sampled whatever was in the goblet, considered for a moment, then nodded at Faadi. She bowed, and immediately two more goblets were produced and offered to Rhyen and Cazing. They were filled with a pleasantly spicy sort of drink Rhyen had never tasted before. A handsome wooden box was displayed, and Rhyen leaned forward with curiosity. Rode took out a thick, long roll and sniffed it. “Cigar, Cazing?” he asked, breathing in the scent.
“I’ll stick with my pipe, but won’t say no to tobacco,” was Cazing’s easy reply. Instantly another box appeared, full of aromatic tobacco leaves. Cazing pulled his pipe from his jacket pocket and filled the bowl. He lit it and inhaled deeply.
Rode lit the cigar. “Suit yourself,” he laughed, sucking in the smoke. “You’ll take one though, Rhyen?”
Rhyen had never heard of a cigar. He didn’t want to be rude and refuse, but the smoke issuing from the tip of Rode’s cigar smelled nothing like the comforting smoke of Cazing’s pipe. It smelled like burnt bread and rotten crops. How to refuse without being rude?
Fortunately, Cazing saved him. “He doesn’t smoke, Rode. Barely drinks, either, so expect humorous things from my apprentice as the night goes on.” He winked at Rhyen, who in his awkwardness took another gulp of the spicy drink.
Rode grinned at him. “Then he’ll want to be careful with that Melden. It’s much more potent than the average table wine.”
Rhyen remembered the sickness he felt after consuming so much of Cazing’s wine and frowned. He glanced suspiciously at his cup while Cazing and Rode talked and determined that he would drink it slowly.
After Rode’s foul-smelling cigar was smoked to little more than a brown stub, and after Cazing had refilled his bowl several times, Rode stood and stretched. “Time for supper,” he announced.
Rhyen gratefully left the couch. His stomach had begun groaning about halfway through Rode’s cigar. Instantly, as though from midair, the servants appeared to dry their feet with luxuriously soft towels. They slipped their feet into cloth shoes, so thin they were almost socks. He smiled at the woman and tried to say his thanks, but she bowed away so quickly that Rhyen doubted she’d heard him.
He and Cazing followed Rode across the cavernous tent, where servants held another flap open for them. They entered into a smaller cloth chamber, where a lantern was hung low over a long, dark table. There were no chairs surrounding it, but cushions and pillows were scattered attractively along all sides. Rode settled at the head of the rectangular table, and Cazing took a seat at his left, as gestured by yet another bowing servant. Rhyen lowered himself next to his master. He had never eaten a meal at a table with no chairs, but found that the rugs were layered so thick beneath him that it was quite comfortable. He maneuvered a pillow to the small of his back, and was very relaxed.
“Ah, here they are! My beautiful wives.”
Rhyen turned his head so quickly that he cricked his neck. Wives? As in, more than one? Sure enough, three women entered, smiling at Rode and their guests. Cazing and Rode stood as they arrived at the table, and Rhyen scrambled to his feet, his knees knocking the table with a smarting whack in his haste.
They were all very beautiful, but like Rode, they gave off a queer sort of air, and all of them were wearing strange clothes. Their feet were visible in golden slippers, and they all wore pants instead of skirts—pants that billowed out with what must have been yards of extra fabric, and that swung attractively when they walked. Rhyen gasped—to his surprise, they all showed their midriff. He had never seen a woman’s stomach or back be
fore. Their tops were small, only covering their breasts, although a considerable amount of those still spilled appealingly over the top. Rhyen flushed with intense embarrassment. He had never seen a woman in such a state of undress, and he wasn’t sure where to look.
“You remember Olpha and Renna, Cazing?” Rode nodded at the brunettes. One was pale with rosy cheeks and sky blue eyes, made bluer by her clothes, and the other, her opposite, with dark smooth skin, cocoa eyes, and a mountain of black curly hair.
“Of course!” Cazing murmured, stepping over and taking one of their hands in each of his own. “Renna, you are looking even lovelier than I remember you in my dreams,” he said, brushing his lips over her dark hand. She lifted her chin and smiled down at him, tossing her curls. “And Olpha, you beautiful creature, motherhood suits you! You were expecting your first little boy when last we met.”
He kissed her hand as well, and she shyly giggled. “His Name day was last week, Cazing. He’s practically grown!”
“Is he, now?” Cazing asked, grinning at her. “Time certainly flies.”
“And this,” Rode said, gesturing to the smallest of the women, “is my Soti, the newest member of our family.” In Rhyen’s opinion, she was the fairest of them, with skin like fresh snow and long hair the dark red of falling leaves. She had a mocking sort of smile and mischievous green eyes that glittered appealingly in the lamplight and were amplified by the green of her wardrobe. Rhyen noticed that her pupils were more diamond than circular, and were dilated in the lamplight. She was hypnotic to watch, but, embarrassed, he tore his eyes away.
