Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3)

by Stephanie A. Cain

  "You're soaked to the skin and probably bloody as well as dirty, idiot," he muttered aloud. Then he looked up at Firefoot. "Did anyone see me?"

  The horse just watched him. Yar climbed out of the water to stand, shivering, next to the horse. The night air was cool. Yar peered up at the sky. It must be very late. How many hours had he lost to the—the—

  CALL IT A VISION.

  All right then, how many hours had he lost to the vision? He had been out of control and unaware of his surroundings. But Firefoot had come with him. And the pack was tied to the saddle. That was good, since Yar'd apparently slaughtered two grown men to keep them from stealing it from him.

  His mind quivered and he shoved the thought away.

  BE STILL, LITTLE MOUSE, slithered a Voice into his thoughts. YOU COULD LET ME GUIDE YOU AS I HAVE BEEN.

  "No!" Yar exclaimed, horrified.

  THEN BE STILL. YOU PROMISED TO FIND US. WE WILL ALLOW NOTHING TO HINDER THAT. WE WILL ALLOW NOTHING TO HARM YOU. COME TO US.

  Yar swallowed. "I'm a monster," he whispered. Firefoot nickered and Yar reached up automatically to rub his velvety nose. "A monster."

  But whether or not the horse agreed, he allowed Yar to lean against his flank, drawing comforting heat from his skin. Yar let himself sob into the horse's mane for a few minutes, but when he choked on the snot and began gagging, he told himself he had to regain control.

  "Me, not the Voices," he rasped. "Me."

  He put his pack on, shuddering at the way it pressed his clammy clothes against his back. Then he grabbed at Firefoot's mane and swung up onto the horse's back. He might as well ride; if no one had noticed him wandering around bloody and dazed, surely they would overlook him riding.

  Not knowing where he was, he allowed Firefoot to have his head. The horse wouldn't go back to the One-Eyed Pony, he thought, since it had been such a frightening place for them both. It might take him back to Narda's corral at the horse market, since it had spent so many days there. That would be fine. Yar could find his way to the Dry Gate from the market.

  And eventually that was where they ended up. Twice Yar nudged Firefoot into the shadows to avoid being seen by a guard, but soon enough he recognized that the horse was taking him to the horse market. He got his bearings then and redirected Firefoot to take a more direct route to the Dry Gate. It would probably be closed, this late, but they could hide in the shadows nearby and slip out at first light.

  Yar wanted nothing more than to be away from Meekin, away from this city where he had spent his life in a dream world, where he had murdered people to obey the commands of the mysterious Voices that ruled him.

  He found a place that was sheltered. Then he stripped off his outer clothes and hunched against Firefoot's body, shivering for a long time. When he was warm enough to lie down, he dropped into an uneasy doze.

  The Voices woke him. He jerked upright and awake in the same instant, staring around him. His heart was pounding, but he saw nothing except a few shadows moving through the dim predawn light. The traders were beginning to trickle towards the market, and travelers were drifting towards the gate, where the guards were preparing to change shifts.

  Yarro watched as the new roster reported for duty and the old rotated out. Words were exchanged, news and gossip shared, and the night shift wandered home, yawning and rubbing sore limbs. "Wake up," Yarro whispered to Firefoot, who was already awake. Yar stood and stepped back to give Firefoot room to get himself up. The horse rose with a lurch. He whuffled at Yarro's hair and shook himself all over. Yar wondered if Firefoot's stomach was rumbling the way Yar's was.

  With a clank and a groan, the Dry Gate heaved open. Guards took up their positions on either side of it. Yar could see the shanties outside the walls. Smoke drifted in through the open gates, and the smell of frying bread and fish wafted to his nose. He pushed a fist against his stomach, hoping he hadn't lost his coins. No, there was the purse, shoved down inside his breeches.

  The first of those leaving the city had come to the gates now. Yar swung up onto Firefoot's back and nudged the horse in that direction. A few people looked at him, but they turned their attention away again, so he supposed he either looked normal enough that they weren't curious, or he looked dangerous enough they didn't want to ask. He hoped it was normal. He didn't think the guards would let a dangerous-looking person pass through.

  "Fall off your horse?" one of the guards greeted him, laughing, as he reached them.

  Yarro gave what he hoped was a rueful smile. "He's mean as a scorpion. But my uncle says we deserve one another." He had no idea where the lie had come from, but it fell naturally off his lips.

  The two guards hooted with laughter. "I'd say you need either a new horse or a new uncle, boy," said the woman on the left.

  "Or both," said the dark-haired man on the right. "Be careful out there, lad. Joking aside, if you can't handle the horse—"

  "I can, honestly," Yar interrupted. He wondered at himself. He would never have dared interrupt at his grandfather's house. "I was sleepy and Firefoot knew it. I got what I deserved."

  The woman grinned at him. "At least you learn from your mistakes. All right, then. There's been reports of bandits to the south of the pass road. If you're heading that way, find some others to travel with."

  "Thank you," Yarro said. "Give you good day."

  "And you, young sir," said the man with a bow that looked teasing. Yarro wasn't sure what to make of it, but he closed his legs around Firefoot's flanks and let the horse carry him out of the city.

  He didn't look back.

  ***

  The morning after she met Yarro, Azmei rose early. She watched the Dry Gate until she saw Yarro join the line of people waiting to get out of the city. She quickly settled her bill with Narda, swung into the saddle, and joined the line some distance behind Yarro.

  The road outside the gate took her between shanties and a few market stalls whose owners didn't want to pay the city's trading fees. She paused once to buy fry bread and honey, which she licked from her fingertips as she rode. When she judged she had gone far enough that the guard had forgotten her entirely, she guided the dun off the road and looked around.

  It wasn't difficult to find a hiding place from which she could watch Yarro choose his direction away from the city. Avoiding notice wasn't much trouble either. People who lived in the shanty towns outside the walls might look out for each other, but they also didn't seem to care about minding other people's business, so long as it didn't mean trouble. Azmei didn't make eye contact with anyone and carefully ignored everything about her surroundings except the boy on the bright bay stallion.

  As soon as Yarro had vanished from sight, Azmei guided her dun after him. She waited until some of the traffic had dropped away, turning towards the mountain trade route. Then she stopped to eat lunch and let Yarro get ahead of her. She would wait until this evening to catch up with him. Hopefully it wouldn't look as suspicious if a fellow traveler asked to share a fire. She spent the rest of the day traveling at a leisurely pace, stopping to look at a flower if it caught her attention, or watching the little stripey brown birds flitting in the bushes along the track.

  What had made Yarro choose this trail? It was barely more than a single horse wide, threading its way southward through the low bushes and trees that dotted the dry landscape. But where did it lead? She had purchased a good map of the region during her stay in Meekin, and she was certain there was nothing of note between here and Rivarden, down in the desert. Could Yarro be heading there? But why? Did he know someone there? Was he just trying to run away to a place where no one would look for him? Azmei sighed and looked around her.

  It was pretty country, if a bit desolate. The rolling terrain meant the walls of Meekin were soon out of sight behind her. To her left the Scarim Mountains loomed, seeming close enough to touch, though she was certain she had read it was several days' ride to reach the pass that led through the mountains east of Meekin to the Long Coast on the other side. With sp
ring stretching out ahead of her, the day was pleasant and sunny, though she suspected the night would be cold out here away from city walls.

  Midway through the afternoon, Azmei stopped to give the dun a rest and practice her sword forms. She didn't want to alarm Yarro by practicing in front of him, but she couldn't let her skills drop by not practicing at all. If she got in some practice now, she could skip tomorrow in the interest of building rapport with him. Then the day after she would be able to practice without scaring him. Hopefully.

  Provided he agreed they could travel together for a while. She hoped he would tell her where he was going so she could tailor her own destination to his. It would be inconvenient to follow him without his permission when she could be traveling alongside him and getting to know him better. She was a better judge of character now than she had been when she met Orya, or at least she hoped so.

  As she ran through the various swings, thrusts, parries, and blocks that formed the basis of all her other sword work, Azmei wondered if she should tell him who she was, or at least that she and Orya had once been friends. Her instinct was to keep that a secret until it was most advantageous to reveal it. But she also sensed that everyone around Yarro had probably operated with that same philosophy. Perhaps it would be better to be open with him. Then again, perhaps it was better to go with what he was used to. Then again, he was running away from what he was used to, so perhaps it would be best to...

  She abandoned the circular thought process and focused on her form. She had more room here in the wilderness than she had had in her room at the inn in Meekin. She threw in a few leaps and tumbles, envisioning what her imaginary opponent might be doing to provoke such moves. If he thrust low, she could block it and sweep his sword down as she leapt closer to him. If he swung wide, she could duck under it and roll closer, coming up inside his reach and stabbing just so.

  When she was breathless and felt her heart racing in her chest, she slowed her movements until she was moving fluidly through each stance in turn. It was a slow form of the moves she had been doing, but Master Tanvel had taught her using these forms, making her master the form before showing her how each stance could be used against an opponent. He had ignored the skills she already had with sword and dagger until she had mastered what he taught her. Then, in a lesson that had shattered her preconceived notions, he had shown her how to tie all of her skills together to become a whirlwind of death and defense.

  At last her heart and breathing slowed to their normal rhythm. Azmei bowed in respect to her imaginary opponent and sheathed her blades. She was not good at communing with the god of peace, but she had learned to channel all of herself into the sword forms. She could take any emotion, any confusion, any doubt, and give it all to the form dance. When she finished, she might not have an answer to the question that was plaguing her, but she inevitably felt better for it. It was, in her opinion, better than prayer.

  I am a horrible Aspirant, she thought, going to tighten the dun's girth. Perhaps Tanvel was right to suggest I marry Vistaren after all. It can't have escaped his notice that I've never communed properly with the god.

  She vaulted into the saddle and guided the dun back to Yarro's trail. "I ought to give you a name," she told him. "What suits you? Sand? We're surrounded by enough of it, for certain. Sandy, maybe. What about that?" The horse made no response, but she decided it was a good name for him. It wasn't fancy like Firefoot, but it was a solid, dependable name for a horse that was shaping up to be a solid, dependable mount.

  Master Tanvel had told her about the desert, but of course neither of them had known she would actually be traveling through it and into the foothills. She hadn't realized how very bleak and beautiful it would be. Harsh, she had expected; Tanvel had called the desert unforgiving. Azmei had known there was little water in the desert, but this utter lack of moisture, where even the plant life was tough and sharp-edged, was hard on the body.

  They rode for perhaps another hour at a comfortable walk, Sandy picking his footing through the scrub and Azmei content to let him. Yarro's tracks were plain ahead of them, and she didn't think the boy would stop until it was dark. Tanvel had taught her about traveling in the wilderness, but the first time they had done so, he had allowed her to make the decisions. That first night, still a princess used to having a handful of servants always within call, she had traveled until it was too dark to see the road clearly. She had ended up setting up camp single-handedly in the dark, while Tanvel sat by the fire and waited for her to finish. She had learned then to stop while there was still light to set up camp, but she didn't expect Yarro to know enough to do that. Soon enough, she would catch up with him.

  ***

  Yarro let Firefoot pick their pace once they were out of Meekin. The Voices whispered in the back of his head, urging him on, but he wasn't inclined to listen closely to them after what they'd made him do in the stable of the One-Eyed Pony. Besides, he knew enough to realize he would have a sore butt at the end of today's ride. He didn't think there was any reason to make it worse by trying to trot or even canter on their first day. There were a lot of things he didn't know, but he wasn't stupid.

  ARE YOU SURE? asked the hissy, sibilant Voice he liked least. PERHAPS YOU ARE JUST STUPID ENOUGH TO NOT KNOW HOW STUPID YOU REALLY ARE.

  "Maybe so," Yar said aloud. "I'm stupid enough to listen to you lot."

  UNGRATEFUL BOY. WE SAVED YOUR LIFE.

  "Maybe. But maybe you just like killing. I could have run away." But Yar knew that was oversimplifying things. He couldn't have run away without letting Firefoot be killed by those thieves. He had fought to save his horse as much as to save his possessions or his own life. He had bought Firefoot, but he was under no illusions that he owned the horse. This was not a creature to be possessed. He was a companion who allowed Yarro to ride along with him, nothing less.

  They traveled at a slow pace, the Voices working harder and harder to get his attention. Yarro stubbornly pushed them away, focusing on Firefoot's ears, his mane, the gentle sway of his walking gait. He tried to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his right side, the light breeze that ruffled his hair. But eventually it became too insistent to ignore. Yar drew Firefoot to a halt, but before he could dismount, the vision was on him.

  The woman from yesterday, with her golden eyes and daggers and wry grin, was staring at him. She had her hands on her hips and a look on her face that he couldn't read. She turned and shouted at Firefoot, who turned and ran away. When Yarro tried to intervene, the woman drew her dagger and her sword and shouted at him, too. Yarro tried to get away, but he tripped over his own feet and fell. She came towards him, her sword lifted above her head. She was going to kill him!

  But she darted past him, her blades raised against some threat he couldn't see. Was she defending him? Or had she invited the attack? Yar craned around, trying to see what she was fighting.

  Yarro's body outside the vision lost its balance and fell off the horse. He didn't come back to himself until the ground jolted him back. He lay staring up at Firefoot's belly and the darkening sky beyond, unable to breathe in or out, his eyes wide as he struggled for air that wasn't there. Finally he managed to suck in a short breath. He took another breath and another and rolled over onto his belly, away from Firefoot's huge hooves. The horse wasn't moving, but Yar didn't want to risk it.

  What were the Voices trying to tell him? Was the woman going to kill him? Or was she part of the war the Voices talked about? Yarro shivered. Either way, she was dangerous. He was glad he had gotten away from Meekin when he had. Wherever the Voices were leading him, he was at least away from her.

  Leg muscles screaming, Yar managed to climb to his feet. It was almost completely dark now. He should have stopped sooner so he would be able to see where he was sleeping. He must have lost hours to that vision. Cursing himself, he wound his fingers in Firefoot's mane and started looking for a good place to spend the night.

  He stubbed his toe and yelped in surprise. Only his grip on Firefoot's mane
kept him upright, though he had to scramble for his footing. The horse didn't seem to appreciate being used as a prop; he snorted and shifted away from Yar, which made him lose his balance entirely and fall to his knees. He stayed there for a while, feeling tears sting his eyes. It wasn't fair. He hadn't asked to be different. Why couldn't he have just been like his brothers? Why did he have to hear Voices? If he'd been normal, he wouldn't be out here stumbling around in the dark like a blind man.

  ISN'T THAT WHAT YOU ARE? hissed the most slithery of the Voices. A BLIND MAN WHO CAN'T SEE ANYTHING CLEARLY, EVEN IN HIS OWN MIND.

  "Shut up," Yarro choked. Was that really one of the Voices, or was it his own thought? Did it matter? "I hate you."

  He pushed himself to his feet and stretched his hands out in front of him. He transferred his weight to the back foot and slid the other forward slowly, sweeping it from side to side until he was sure the way was clear. Then he stepped onto that foot and repeated the process with the back foot, bringing it forward in a tentative step. After a few halting steps like that, the movement got easier. He still couldn't see much, but at least he didn't think he was going to fall over something.

  He almost jumped out of his skin when his fingers felt something. He realized before shouting in terror that it was his horse. He swallowed his alarm and said, "Hello, Firefoot."

  The horse whickered at him and stayed there, letting him touch without actually supporting him. That was okay. Yarro was just glad the horse hadn't run away and left him all alone.

  NOT ALL ALONE, whispered the Voice. YOU HAVE US.

  "Some comfort," he muttered to it. He closed his eyes, just to see if it made any difference. He quickly opened them again. There wasn't much light, but there was some. A glow in the east told him the moon was beginning to rise. He looked around, trying to see if he could tell what was nearby.