Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses)

by Sharon Shinn

  “Yes, indeed, indeed, many of our clients prefer to have familiar swords nearby,” he said. “We have just the suite of rooms to suit you—I’m sure you’ll be happy there. Shall I have food brought up? Wine? Is there any other service I can do for you?”

  “Indeed. If you would,” Kirra said, stepping through the door that he held open for her and not even looking to see if the others were still following. “Martin Helven—I have a message for him. I wonder if he is in town?”

  “Ah, marlord Helven—I will have a boy run ’round with a note. I believe he is at his estate, but I will certainly have an answer for you before nightfall.”

  “You’re too good.”

  The proprietor led them up one set of stairs and down a wide, airy hall painted a gleaming white. Tayse counted doors and hallways so he could have a sense of how many people might be present to contend with if some mishap occurred; Justin, he could tell, was doing the same. Cammon looked around with barely restrained delight at the high ceilings and painted ornamentation. Tayse wanted to nudge him but didn’t want to draw any attention to the boy. Of all of them, Donnal seemed least impressed by their surroundings. But then, Tayse assumed, he had seen even greater magnificence at the Danalustrous estate—where, from what Tayse had been able to piece together, he had spent some time as Kirra’s playmate or fellow student in the mystic arts.

  The women were ushered into a room of grand proportions and great heavy furniture; the men stood outside at strict attention. Tayse was close enough to the door to see Kirra glance around once. “Yes—very pretty,” she said, still in that bored voice. “We shall be here at least two nights. Please have supper for two sent up right away. Oh, and—something for the men to eat as well.”

  The proprietor bowed himself out of the room. “Yes, serra Kirra. Right away.”

  He did pause to unlock a door down the hall that led to a much smaller but still quite attractive room with three bunk beds pushed against the walls. Tayse’s eyes immediately sought the connecting door and placed where it must be situated in Kirra’s room. He slipped the innkeeper a silver coin, because it never hurt to stay on the good side of your host, and the man winked at him as he pocketed it.

  “I’ll send up some ale with that dinner,” he said. “Good stuff, too. My son makes it.”

  “That will be most welcome,” Tayse said gravely. He waited for the other three men to file in, then shut the door behind them.

  Kirra was already knocking on the door between their rooms. “I can’t get this open!” she called. “Is it locked on your side?” Within moments, the two women had slipped through the door, and they had all disposed themselves on the furniture throughout the men’s chamber.

  “But you’d better not let him catch you socializing with your personal guard, or you’re going to raise some eyebrows,” Tayse warned her. “The last thing we want to do is attract attention.”

  Justin had climbed to one of the top bunks and was looking down at the rest of them with the air of a brooding vulture considering what to eat. “You certainly play the part to perfection,” he commented.

  Senneth glanced up at him. “She’s not playing,” she said. “Born to it.”

  Tayse asked, “So then is she playing when she acts our comrade on the road?”

  Kirra gave him one bright, indignant look. “When I think how friendly I’ve been to you all this time, and how you’ve never been anything but hateful in return, it makes me want to spell you into a toad, it really does.”

  Cammon’s dark eyes grew big. “Can you do that?”

  “No,” Kirra said with a sigh. “I can change other things from one shape to another, but I can’t change people, except myself. It’s very limiting.”

  Half-smiling, Tayse glanced up at Justin. “At any rate, she says she can’t,” he murmured.

  Justin nodded. “I’m on my guard.”

  “So what next?” Donnal asked. “Except dinner.”

  “And a bath,” Senneth added.

  “And a good night’s sleep on clean sheets,” Justin supplied.

  Kirra shrugged. “I think we wait until we hear from Martin Helven. Until then, I suppose, we just relax.”

  THE food was delicious; the bath, which the men took in the shed downstairs where common folk cleaned up, was hot and welcome. The relaxing came a little harder for men of action. Tayse and Justin played at card games, grudgingly allowing Senneth to join them—and then, when she asked, Kirra.

  “You don’t know how to play,” Justin said.

  “Well, at least I’ve got money,” she said. “If I lose, you’ll be all the richer.”

  “Deal her in,” Tayse said.

  Justin shuffled but didn’t look happy about it. “She’ll trick the cards,” he said. “Her and Senneth both.”

  “I will not! I don’t care enough about a stupid card game to go to the trouble,” Kirra said.

  Senneth gave Justin one long, measured look. Tayse couldn’t tell if she was truly irritated or not; her unshakable calm was one of the things he found most perplexing about her. The only time he had seen her rattled was when they found those dead mystics, and even then she had not broken down and cried as so many women would have. Kirra had, when she’d arrived a few minutes later. Not Senneth.

  “I wonder why it is,” Senneth said now in a thoughtful voice, “that you always expect a mystic to be worse than your other comrades, instead of better.”

  Justin tilted his chin with habitual defiance. “Why would I think you’re better?”

  “Justin thinks every man has more potential for evil than good,” Tayse explained. “The more powerful you are, the more likely you are to turn bad. And mystics have a certain power. Hence—”

  “You could murder me in the middle of the night while I was just peacefully sleeping,” Justin said.

  Senneth shrugged and picked up the cards he’d dealt her. “What’s to stop you from doing the same to me?”

  Justin scowled. “Honor! I’d never fight someone who wasn’t wide awake and facing me.”

  “And why can’t mystics have the same sense of honor? Why wouldn’t we, too, scorn to attack a man who was helpless and unaware of danger?”

  “Maybe you would,” Justin muttered, “but you haven’t proved it to me yet.”

  Tayse couldn’t help grinning at the two women. Kirra was shaking her head, not even interested in arguing with someone so hopeless. Senneth merely looked thoughtful. “In fact,” Tayse said, “the only people Justin truly trusts are other Riders. And unless you attain that rank and status, I’m afraid he’s never going to view you with anything but suspicion.”

  “Then I have my life’s goal before me,” Senneth said. “To become good enough to be a king’s Rider and win Justin’s heart.”

  They all laughed, even Cammon and Donnal, lounging on their beds. Senneth laid down a card, and play resumed, and after that most of them lost interest in conversation. Kirra might have hexed the cards after all, for she won more than her share of hands, but Justin did almost as well, so he was appeased. Tayse did poorly, and Senneth won nothing.

  “I hope my mistress pays me a living wage,” Senneth commented as Tayse announced he was done for the night. “Or I won’t be able to afford to play with you fellows anymore.”

  Which reminded Tayse to look at her face again—which was her own face, lively and untroubled. “You dropped your disguise,” he said.

  She nodded. “I’ll resume it again tomorrow when Martin Helven arrives, but it probably doesn’t matter. Now that everyone considers me a serving maid, they’ll see me as such, no matter what look I have on my face. But I may as well resume the veils tomorrow anyway—in case—” She shrugged.

  “In case someone recognizes you,” he said.

  She and Kirra both laughed at that. “Yes,” Senneth said, “for exactly that reason.”

  THE morning passed slowly, as time without activity was wont to do. Tayse sent the other three men off to run errands: procure food, take the ho
rses for shoeing, and generally see if they could pick up any useful information in the streets of Helven. He stayed in the suite, prepared to give consequence to Kirra whenever Martin Helven arrived.

  Which he did around three in the afternoon. Tayse had taken up a post at the only window in his room that overlooked the street, so he saw the expensive coach pull up, a gold-and-green crest painted on the side. He knocked on the connecting door and announced, “He’s here, for those of you who need to put on your false faces,” and then stationed himself in the hallway outside Kirra’s room.

  In a few moments, the fawning proprietor was back upstairs, the marlord of Helven at his heels. Tayse kept his hands folded on his sword and his eyes facing straight forward, but he was able to take in some details. Martin Helven appeared to be in his mid-fifties, portly and well-dressed. He was mostly bald except for a fringe of brown hair, and he was panting a little as he took the last few steps. No danger in this man, especially not with Senneth inside the room. Even Kirra could probably fend him off if he showed some inclination to attack.

  “Would you be so good as to announce marlord Martin Helven to your mistress?” the proprietor asked, so Tayse rapped smartly on the door and passed the information along. Quite soon, the innkeeper had disappeared back downstairs, Martin Helven had seated himself across from Kirra on some highly decorated furniture, and Tayse was standing on the inside of the room with his back to the door. Kirra had told him the Helven man would not think it strange if he stood guard even during a private conversation, and so he had chosen to listen in—impassively, of course. Senneth sat on the window seat, appearing to embroider something. He found himself wondering if this was a skill she really had and, if so, what particular pattern she was working on. She had resumed her maid’s identity and looked as plain and unmemorable as a woman could look.

  “Marlord Martin. It is so good of you to come visit me upon such short notice,” Kirra was saying in a warm voice. “Would you like some wine? Some tea? The innkeeper brought me these wonderful little cakes earlier today—he’s really the kindest man.”

  The nobleman beamed at this praise. “I’m glad you find him accommodating. I own the hotel, you know, and the man works for me. He’s always seemed to do a good job, but I’m glad to hear you’re pleased.”

  “Ah, I wasn’t aware that you owned this place!” Kirra exclaimed, though Tayse was instantly certain that she had known it and had picked the establishment for that very reason. “Well, you’ve done a most excellent job. You’ve such a good head for business. My father has often remarked at how any enterprise you turn to is invariably a success.”

  “Well, here in Helven, we have only crops and commerce, so we do what we can,” the marlord said in a voice that he tried to make sound modest. “I’ve long envied you your coastline and fishing ventures—but then, it is always fashionable to envy Danalustrous!”

  Kirra laughed merrily. Tayse was pretty sure she was flirting with the marlord in the way that a young woman always seemed to know how to flirt with an older man—meaning nothing by it except to smooth her own way. “Danalustrous thanks you,” she said. “So tell me! What’s the news from the middle of the kingdom? I have been up north so long I feel I’m completely out of touch with this part of the world.”

  They gossiped for a good half hour, trading names and exclaiming over events that seemed so numerous and so trivial that Tayse could hardly conceal his stupefaction. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at Senneth once or twice, to see if she was exhibiting any discreet signs of boredom, but all her attention was on her needle and thread. She never even looked out the window while Tayse watched.

  Kirra, though, was subtler than Tayse had given her credit for. One name got idly tossed into the conversation, and then she hesitated for a moment, and then she said in a low voice, “But she’s—didn’t I hear—there was a rumor that she might be showing signs of being a mystic.”

  Martin Helven actually glanced around the room, but seeing only a guard and a maid—in short, nobody—he seemed to feel it was safe to speak. “Yes, and her father was quite upset about it at first, but he has tried to show forbearance. It is not—forgive me, serra Kirra—it is not what one prays for when one’s daughter is born, that she will grow up to wield magical power. It makes life so hard, for the girl and all her family. And especially so these days—” His voice trailed off as he glanced around the room again.

  Kirra leaned forward conspiratorially. “Yes, please, what can you tell me about the prevailing attitudes farther south? I had planned to continue my travels down toward Fortunalt and Rappengrass, but I have been starting to feel—well—less welcome than I always have. Is it my imagination, or is it my magic that is turning old friends against me?”

  “I would never turn against you, serra Kirra,” the marlord said solemnly, “but your instincts play you true. There have been odd reports coming out of Nocklyn and Gisseltess—tales of mystics hunted down in the middle of the night, and turned out in the streets—or worse. I don’t want to upset you, but there have been—deaths—murders—terrible stories of mystics who have been found mutilated in their own homes. Even in Rappengrass—where, you know, mystics have always been tolerated—I have heard stories of men and women who have met terrible ends. It is all very distressing.”

  Kirra’s eyes were as wide as if she hadn’t witnessed such a massacre for herself only a couple of days ago. “But what is causing such animosity toward the mystics?” she cried. “Have these people done anything—said anything—to earn such enmity?”

  Helven shook his head. “I believe it is all Coralinda’s doing. She has a great deal of influence in these parts, you know.”

  Kirra fell back in astonishment against her chair. Across the room, Tayse saw Senneth look up from her embroidery and lay her glance very briefly on Martin Helven’s face.

  “Coralinda Gisseltess?” Kirra repeated. “But—but what—I thought she left her brother’s House some twenty years ago to take vows in the Pale Mother’s order.”

  Martin Helven nodded. “Indeed she did! She was the most illustrious member of society to join the order, and you know she brought it no little cachet. Young noblewomen in the south started becoming novices by the hundreds once Coralinda joined and made it fashionable. Then they began calling themselves the Daughters of the Pale Mother and going around proselytizing. And Coralinda herself has been named head of the order. Some fancy title—the Luster or the Lestra or some such thing.”

  “Yes—Daughters of the Pale Mother—that’s what they used to call the converts,” Kirra said in a faint voice. She was still leaning back against the chair, and all vestiges of flirtation had left her pretty face. She appeared to be thinking, and thinking hard. “There are convents up in the northern parts, too, but they only get a handful of applicants. My father has supported one for years, because he says all people need some form of faith in their lives, even if it’s something they choose not to follow. Just to know it’s there. Just to know there might be a power somewhere stronger than you and willing to knock you down if you don’t behave.”

  The Helven marlord smiled primly. “That sounds very like Malcolm.”

  Kirra’s attention returned to him. “But explain this to me! So you’re saying that Coralinda Gisseltess has been named head of the Daughters of the Pale Mother—and she has something to do with this sudden new persecution of mystics? Why would that be?”

  “Oh, well, the Pale Mother disapproves of those with magic powers,” Helven said with a touch of sanctimoniousness. “Coralinda says that anyone who possesses magic is possessed by darkness. She has made it stylish—necessary, even—for members of the nobility to wear moonstones as part of their daily attire. She has been known—she, personally—to ride into a house where suspected mystics reside and expose them to the neighborhood. I have not actually seen her preside over one of those awful killings, but she—shall I say—she has seemed to feel such murders were justified to rid the world of a terrible scourge. Her
views are extreme,” he added, “but others in the southern Houses have taken them up. I think you will find your way difficult if you continue on much farther.”

  “Yes! I can see that I might!” Kirra murmured. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you have told me all this. Because just think what might have happened to me if I rode, all unaware, onto the prohibited streets in a Gisseltess city—”

  Martin Helven nodded. “Very dangerous. Very dangerous indeed,” he said seriously. “I assure you, that is not how we feel in Helvenhall—but—well—perhaps some of the residents of the city are beginning to echo Coralinda’s words. It is very distressing to me. I have stopped such talk when it is said in the open, but there is no controlling what people whisper to each other at night.”

  “Indeed, there is not,” Kirra said. “Once again, I must thank you for your information. Helven has always been a good friend to Danalustrous, and so it is again.”

  They talked a few minutes longer, but it was clear even to Martin Helven that Kirra was through with him for the day. He did offer to have her to dinner the following night—“My wife and daughters would be overjoyed to see you”—but she gave him a smiling refusal. She would be on her way again in the morning; she was very sure she would turn back to Danalustrous. But she would carry kind words about him to her father, and she sent with him all her love for the women of his family.

  As soon as Tayse had saluted the Helven lord out of the room and closed the door behind him, Kirra leapt to her feet and stared at Senneth. Senneth stayed seated where she was, but she had dropped her sewing to the bench beside her, and she was staring back.

  “Coralinda Gisseltess orchestrating a persecution of mystics!” Kirra exclaimed. “Senneth, did you know anything about this? How can this be happening without every mystic in the land crying out the news?”