The Horse Master of Shanhasson (Blood and Shadows)

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  I must wrest the High Throne from Theo soon, before one of his assassins succeeds in killing me.

  King Valche bellowed, his face dark with fury. Shamefaced Guardsmen crowded closer, their swords at the ready. More soldiers raced down the street led by the always reliable Sergeant Fenton. The baker across the way poked his head out the door.

  Firm but polite, Sergeant Fenton brought the baker outside his shop. “Do you know this man? Did you see anyone about this morning?”

  Shannari pushed the assassin over onto his back with her boot.

  The baker recoiled and shook his head, wringing his hands in his apron. “No one, sir, other than the King when he passed right at dawn. I heard the guards about at The Slumbering Lion, but nothing else.”

  Turning her attention to the body, Shannari dismissed the witness with a nod.

  The assassin stared upward with glazed brown eyes. He was perhaps thirty years of age with nondescript features. She didn’t recognize him. His brown coat and breeches were clean and cut from quality cloth but not extravagant. His boots were serviceable and scuffed but well made. He wore no jewelry or insignia. Anyone could have sent him.

  So many enemies, so much blood on her hands. Her ribs ached and she resisted the urge to hunch over in pain. Wincing, she bent down and wiped her sword and hands on the dead man’s coat. At least the blood hadn’t splattered her leather pants too badly.

  “Are you hurt?” King Valche’s voice quivered with rage. “Should we cancel the meeting?”

  She stood and sheathed her sword. “We can’t wait, Father. We need the Duke now more than ever.”

  “This attempt could very well be his doing.”

  “He won’t assassinate me before he learns how much we might offer. I’ll do whatever is necessary to secure this treaty.”

  “I wish there was another way.” King Valche stared down the street at The Slumbering Lion, his jaw clenched. “I’ve delayed with every tactic I know. High King Rikard has every right to demand your presence in Shanhasson. If we don’t gain enough support, he’ll send an army large enough that we’ll be forced to accept his terms. Allandor is strong, but could we stand against the entire might of the Green Lands?”

  He turned his tired, concerned gaze to Shannari. “I did my best. The betrothal bought us a little time, but I wish I could keep you from bartering away your life and your hand in marriage for a crown, even the Rose Crown of all the Green Lands. Your mother chose me and our love instead of the High Throne. I hoped you could have both. I failed you, Daughter, just as I failed to keep her safe.”

  Years ago, Shannari had almost made the same mistake as her mother. She’d foolishly believed that love's power would make her magic invincible. Instead, she now bore the vicious scar that proved love could never be trusted. “Oh, Father, we haven’t failed. Father Aran said Our Blessed Lady will provide a way. We have to believe.”

  “What I believe is that Theo would rather see you dead than beside him on the High Throne.”

  The pulse of ice through her veins echoed the assassination warning and confirmed her father’s fears. Shannari hardened her voice to steel. “Then Lady help me, I’ll see him dead first.”

  Stephan waited in the inn’s private dining room. Sitting across from him at the wooden table laid out for breakfast, Shannari scrutinized the Duke of Pella and Allandor’s sworn enemy.

  Every inch the nobleman, he was dressed smartly in a dark blue coat and breeches, his hands well manicured, his fingers bearing several expensive but tasteful rings. His dark shoulder-length hair was neatly pulled back in a queue.

  Despite his gentlemanly appearance, fierce cunning glinted in his light gray eyes and his mouth reflected a hard slant of cruelty. He didn’t rise when she and the King of Allandor came into the room.

  His message was clear.

  Her palms dampened and she carefully kept her hand near her sword when she sat down at the table. This man was dangerous in ways that Theo would never comprehend. No doubt Stephan had a knife or two hidden on his person, while she’d be forced to clear the table before unsheathing her sword if he attacked. She hated the disadvantage but couldn’t bring herself to carry a knife. Not yet. Murderers carried knives, assassins in the streets, shadows in the hallway leaping out to kill her mother. She wasn’t quite ready to stoop so low, but with Stephan sitting smugly across from her, she was sorely tempted. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, my lord Duke.”

  Stephan inclined his head slightly. “Princess, Your Majesty.”

  With such blatant disdain, the situation required a full-on assault. A quick glance to her father confirmed the change in plan.

  No one performed the political waltz as well as King Valche. “You and I have shared many disagreements over the years, Duke, mostly over this very port. In exchange for meeting with us today, I propose to sign Dalden Bay completely over to Pella.”

  Stephan leaned back in his chair and propped his boot in the chair beside him. He took a long drink from the heavy cup in his hand—his own, of course, for he would never trust anyone enough to allow unknown food or drink to pass his lips—before answering. “You must desire a very great boon from me.”

  Ignoring the fluttering of nerves in her stomach, Shannari matched his flippant tone. “I desire the High Throne, and I want you to help me.”

  “Marry the Crown Prince as you agreed two years ago and the High Throne is yours.”

  “I will rule the Green Lands alone.”

  A small smile played about his lips. “What you speak of is treason.”

  Damn him. Her lips compressed, and she fought to keep her calm, political mask. He knew exactly how crucial his country’s support would be in her bid for the High Throne. “Treason? When I am the Blessed Lady’s Last Daughter; when more royal blood flows in my veins than in those of the Crown Prince Theo?”

  “I care nothing about Leesha’s Last Daughter or how much of Her blood you might claim.”

  “What do you care about?” King Valche demanded. “If Shannari’s on the High Throne, she’ll be a true protector of the lands, not simply a royal brat with too many perversions to count.”

  “I am loyal to my liege. He has rewarded me richly over the years.”

  Her laughter wiped the smugness off his face. “Come now, Duke. You and I both know who your true liege is.”

  Stephan paled. He reached for the cup again and his hand trembled.

  She spared a quick glance at her father and he shook his head imperceptibly. Interesting. Where else did Stephan owe allegiance? “Pella and the North Forest have long been allies. With King Challon’s support, the entire north would follow.”

  Stephan’s tension eased and his mouth quirked with amusement. “If I present your cause to my great uncle, I’m sure he would seriously consider giving you his support. What you ask is unreasonable, though, without a great deal of protection and assurances. I’ve been a loyal subject to the royal family and to Crown Prince Theo personally for many years. What can you do for me that the Crown Prince can't?”

  Clenching her jaw, Shannari wanted to punch the arrogant smirk off his face. All he cared about was more power, always more power, while people died and their homeland slid a little further into Shadow with each passing day.

  She slammed her palms flat on the table and pushed to her feet. “The High Priest publicly refuses to coronate Crown Prince Theo, and Leesha’s Temple in Shanhasson is closed. If we sit back and allow Theo to rule the Green Lands, we doom our people to disease, starvation and suffering unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. How can you—”

  A queer look flickered across Stephan’s face. “Why Princess Shannari, whatever do you have on your hands?”

  Following his gaze, she glanced down. Blood crusted her fingernails and stained the grooves of her knuckles. She shrugged and raised her gaze back to Stephan’s. “Someone tried to assassinate me.”

  His chair scraped on the floor and he rose slowly to his feet, his gaze still locked on her h
ands.

  Cold chills raced down her spine, raising goose bumps on her arms. Dread rolled in her stomach like a cold ball of lead. The Lady’s warning screamed through her a hundred times more desperately than before. She felt ill, as disgusted and terrified as when Theo had touched her at their betrothal. She snatched her hands off the table and took a wary step backward.

  Stephan raised his gaze to her face and she recoiled. Lust darkened his eyes. “How much blood is on your hands, Shannari? How many men have you killed? I look at your hands and see blood dripping to the floor. An endless ocean of blood, all from you.”

  She unsheathed her sword and pointed it warningly at his chest. The table’s width was suddenly quite inadequate. “Touch me and die.”

  “I’m yours. Make your offer and Pella will become your closest ally. I’ll defy Crown Prince Theo and the High King. I’ll bring King Challon to your side. All I ask...”

  Panic flooded her heart, racing so hard and fast that black spots floated into her vision. She hated using herself as chattel. She hated arranging her marriage like some stablehand plotting a breeding program for a blooded mare. She hated the thought of living her entire life trapped with a man like Stephan or Theo, cringing each time he touched her. Rubbing her skin raw afterward in a futile attempt to remove his stench and foulness. Hating herself more and more every day.

  “Marry me instead of Theo. I'll even kill him for you if you wish, although it will be much more entertaining if you do it yourself.” Stephan leaned across the table, the ghastly light from his pale eyes flashing like blades. “And for that, my lovely High Queen, I want to taste the blood on your hands each time you kill.”

  Horror roared in her ears and she swayed. Shadow threatened to overwhelm her, always waiting for her to stumble, to relax her guard for just a moment. Blood and darkness already stained her soul, but she would never murder for the sole desire for blood.

  Would I? Will all the killing—even in self defense—add up over the years until I’m as corrupt as Theo and Stephan both?

  Her father tugged on her arm, trying to remove her from the room, but all she could do was stare at the hunger on Stephan’s face. Stare and wonder if the same foulness would someday twist her soul as well. She tightened her fingers on the sword, adjusting the hilt in her sweaty palm. I’ll kill him before he touches me.

  If she killed him, she would lose everything. King Challon would never support her claim for the High Throne. Even the full might of Allandor’s Guard could not stand against Crown Prince Theo if the North Forest and Pella both supported him.

  She was good with a sword, but not that good. Eventually, the assassins would succeed. Without enough allies, Allandor would be razed to the ground.

  Stephan licked his lips, and she shuddered. Desperation squeezed her throat and lungs so tightly she couldn’t breathe.

  There must be some other way. Blessed Lady, help me!

  Sergeant Fenton charged into the room and went to one knee before her. “Captain, Dalden Bay is under attack by the Sha’Kae al’Dan!”

  King Valche tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her toward the door. “What, here? The barbarians haven’t left their Plains for generations!”

  Stephan came around the table toward them. “I brought three hundred of my finest soldiers with me.”

  Yanking her arm free, Shannari gripped the sword before her with both hands. Stephan didn’t carry a sword and his men waited outside. She could eliminate him in one blow. “Get out of the way, Fenton, so I can end this.”

  The grizzled Sergeant looked into her face and paled. Instead of moving aside as she ordered, he stood and took position before her.

  “Shannari, please.” Stephan smiled, holding his hands up before him soothingly, well away from the jeweled dagger at his waist. “Accept my troth and I’ll drive these barbarians from your land. Then we’ll march to Shanhasson and the High Throne will be yours. My life on it.”

  Fenton drew his sword free, his voice carefully polite. “You will refer to her as Princess Shannari or Our Lady’s Daughter.”

  Stephan sneered. “You call her Captain, do you not? We ridicule the Allandorian Guard for letting a woman lead them.”

  “She is the finest Captain in the Green Lands. Under her leadership the Guard has never been defeated, yet we’ve certainly defeated your pitiful excuse for an army numerous times. Remove yourself from Dalden Bay, or I’ll personally skewer you and save her the trouble. My life on it.”

  Mocking her with a full court bow, Stephan exited through the opposite door, but tension still screamed through her body. Shannari rolled her shoulders to loosen some of the strain. One enemy retreated but would inevitably regroup with the Crown Prince, while a foreign army advanced on her country.

  Waiting until she could no longer hear the Duke’s retreat, she turned to Fenton. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad, Captain. Two hundred barbarians mounted on massive warhorses. I don’t know how long our infantry lines will hold.”

  “I expected trouble, but not from the south.” King Valche rubbed a hand over his weary face. “How many troops did we bring?”

  “Five hundred.” Sheathing her sword, she headed for the door with Fenton. Ordinarily she would scoff at the odds. Fenton didn’t exaggerate the Guard’s fame and success. If he was worried, then they faced one hell of a battle. “I want the front line doubled with half our men in reserve behind them.”

  “Shannari, please, don’t lead the Guard today.” Shedding his normal regal reserve, King Valche clutched her hand. “If you’re killed in battle, the Green Lands are doomed.”

  Shocked by his plea, in front of witnesses no less, she drew herself up proudly. “You made me Captain, Father. You enabled me to learn and practice strategy and battle techniques all these years. You’ve never once tried to keep me out of battle. Do you suddenly doubt my ability to protect our homeland?”

  King Valche sighed heavily and released her. “I’ve just been reminded of exactly how twisted our enemies are. You’re precious to the Green Lands, but you’re my daughter, first. Lady help me, I wish I could spare you from all danger.”

  Shannari smiled but she feared it was a grim look of expected death and agony. She needed no one to remind her of her responsibilities as the Blessed Lady’s Last Daughter, least of all the father who’d drilled her ceaselessly in politics and strategy ever since she could remember. “If Allandor falls to barbarians then all our work over the years is for nothing. I know my duty, Father, perhaps better than you. I’ll do what I must.”

  No matter the price.

  “Have you ever seen such green grass?”

  Shaken to silence, Rhaekhar, Khul of the Nine Camps of the Sha’Kae al’Dan, could only answer his nearest Blood with a nod. Instead of rolling hills of tall golden-brown grass, startlingly brilliant green fields stretched as far as he could see, dotted here and there with squares of rich black earth. As brightly colored as the emerald memsha about his hips, the grass must also be flavorful. His warhorse took every opportunity to snatch a muzzle full each time he loosened the reins.

  “Even the air smells strange and foreign,” Varne continued, a frown creasing his forehead. The other eight Blood fanned out around them. “I hope we don’t tarry long in these Green Lands.”

  To his left, Gregar asked, “Where, Khul?”

  “In a dream.” Rhaekhar cleared his throat, his mouth dry. He never knew which would be quicker, Gregar’s mouth or his blade, so the last thing he expected was solemn reverence on the Blood’s face. “I saw bright green grass like this in a vision from Vulkar nearly twenty years ago.”

  A trick of the sunrise made flames dance in the Blood’s dark eyes. “A green valley with a special tree?”

  Rhaekhar’s heart pounded so loudly that his ears roared with rushing winds. He’d never forgotten the wondrous things he’d seen as a fifteen-year-old lad camping alone in the foothills of Vulkar’s Mountain. Details of the dream had faded over the years, but the sense of
hope remained with him always. “A tree with a bone-white trunk and leaves both black and red.”

  The Blood rode closer, his low voice pitched for Rhaekhar’s ears alone. “And the lake of fire in the heart of the Mountain?”

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he saw again the fiery lake, smoldering black rock, and the Great Wind Stallion wreathed in flames. “Aye.”

  “What did He give you?”

  Glancing again at Gregar's serious face, Rhaekhar hesitated. He’d never told anyone but Kae’Shaman about the vision’s promise. Besides, it was the Dark Mare, not Vulkar, who had shown him the green fields, shimmering white walls and the garden inside where he would find his own beloved. “A Rose.”

  The Blood smirked, his eyes flashing as he lightly touched the wicked six-inch knife sheathed on his hip. “All I found was my ivory rahke.”

  “Where is this thing?” Varne demanded.

  “I don’t know exactly.” Truth be told, Rhaekhar had almost despaired of ever finding the Rose. The permanent dwellings lining the bay before them didn’t resemble the protective white walls of his dream. “I suspect I shall find the Rose somewhere in these Green Lands.”

  “I would rather have Gregar’s rahke.” Varne stole a longing glance at the blade on the other Blood’s hip. “I shall win it from you yet.”

  Gregar laughed softly. “I would take the Rose in a heartbeat.”

  “You speak of a woman?” Varne gave the other Blood a dark look of irritation. Gregar only laughed. “Khul, I don’t know who you might find here, but surely you don’t expect to take an outlander woman home to the Plains. There’s already enough dissent among the Nine Camps. An outlander woman would split the Sha’Kae al’Dan asunder!”

  Rhaekhar tightened his grip on the reins, but he couldn’t dispute the Blood’s words. His enemies were quite vocal in their disapproval of this journey to the Green Lands. Bringing home an outlander mate would be like oil cast on wildfire. “The Great Wind Stallion promised me a love like no other. The Rose of Shanhasson will be my Khul’lanna. I simply must find her first.”