Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

  He arched his back as he untucked himself. Legs stretched and toes pointed, his arms reached outward like a bird. All the way around he somersaulted, until his feet came under him again. What a marvel to feel such freedom and such exhilaration! What must it be like to fly?

  The cliff walls sped past. He brought his hands down, elbows pressed tight to his sides just the way Tasan had taught him, and sucked in as much air as he could. Had Chakkan come back with them? He hadn’t thought to check.

  He knifed into the water, the shock of impact stealing away a portion of the breath he held. Deep and sudden silence enfolded him. The entire world might have ceased to exist. His descent continued, slower, slower, yet his feet did not meet the pool’s floor. He loosed his breath in increments, tiny bubbles disappearing as soon as they left his nose. Slender beams of light glimmered all around, bright and beautiful. His hands went right through them. He looked down to see if they revealed any of the pool’s secrets, but saw only darkness. No mystic spell tugged at him, no strange creatures lurking in the depths nibbled at his toes.

  The gloom grew; the silence seeped into his bones.

  An involuntary shiver shook him.

  Instinct spurred him to action. He kicked upward and pulled at the water with his hands. Like heavy silk, it stroked over his body, head to toe, cool but not cold. The gleaming sky beckoned, stained to gray through the watery lens. He kicked harder, aching now to breathe. The water distorted distance, and he had no idea how much further he needed to go.

  Shadows loomed on the edges of the light. A muffled thud came to him, distorted voices from a distance, then a hand wound around his arm. A tug dragged him to the surface. One of his brothers shouted, far too loud after the encompassing silence, but the light, and oh, the air! He gasped, inhaled water, choked. Imitoru pounded his back, nearly sending him under again.

  “That was beautiful!” Imitoru exclaimed. He beamed as wide as if he’d been the one to make the dive.

  Sherakai caught hold of a sturdy shoulder and gave him a quick, crooked grin. Dizziness and breathlessness made him glad for the support.

  “It was crazy!” Tasan contradicted. He’d stripped off the weapons belt he always wore. It lay at a careless angle against a boulder while he stood in the edge of the water in his boots, his tunic half undone.

  “Crazy beautiful.” Imitoru’s dripping hand lifted, illustrating an arch.

  “Sherakai, what were you thinking?” Fazare, safe and dry atop a boulder, stood arms akimbo. It would have been a good place to jump from had a rescue required it, but he still had his boots and tunic on. “Don’t you ever listen?”

  Sherakai wiped water from his face, but Toru answered for him. “Obviously he does. He made the jump and controlled his position the way Tasan taught him.” He tapped his own chest. “Kept his head up the way I taught him.”

  “It was reckless,” Tasan said again, stern-faced in spite of palpable relief.

  Sherakai looked from one to the other. A pale, clean light suffused each of them, hovering most brightly around Tasan. He blinked, thinking his eyes played tricks on him, but the light remained. He had never beheld such a thing before. Oblivious, the others carried on their conversation over his head.

  “You’re just jealous that you never had the nerve to do such a thing. I know I never did.”

  “Of course I didn’t,” Fazare shot back as he vaulted from his perch. “I like my legs and my neck whole, thank you.”

  “Don’t even think about doing it now,” Tasan ordered.

  “But if our little wisp can do it—”

  “I am not a wisp,” Sherakai cut in. Deliberately, he skimmed a hand across the surface. The wave splashed into Imitoru’s face and set his brother to spluttering.

  “Can’t be,” Fazare agreed, both hands on his hips. “He sank like a rock. Come on, Toru, get him out of there.”

  “I am not a rock, either.” Sherakai made his way to the edge of the pool. One hand balancing him against the boulders, he looked up at his diving platform. So high, and such a perfect place to leap from. Next time he would try more twists and flips, but for today—The other hand came up out of the water in a fist, proclaiming his victory with a whoop of glee.

  Imitoru laughed and echoed him as he swam up alongside. “You did very well, little dragon,” he pronounced, and heaved himself up out of the pool. Water streamed from his fine braids and over his broad shoulders.

  The byname usually riled him, but Sherakai refused to let it ruin the moment. “Thank you.”

  “You did,” Tasan agreed, “but never do that again.” He splashed and squelched along the edge, then leaned down to offer his hand.

  Sherakai took it, braced his feet against the side, and let Tasan pull him up. He might as well be a wisp for all the effort it took. “Why not? It was glorious. Like flying.” He smiled his thanks and pulled his braid over his shoulder to squeeze some of the water from it.

  “We could keep an eye on him next time, be here in case something goes wrong.” Imitoru gathered his own braids and twisted them, leaning out over the pool. A fierce red blotch marked his ribs where he’d received his latest injury, the result of a hammer biting into his chain mail. It was not the only mark he bore.

  Sherakai didn’t like to look. When his brothers came home to heal from their battle wounds he could scarcely bear to remain in the keep, so sensitive was he to their agony. Papa had taught him how to shield himself a little, but it never seemed like enough.

  “There will be no ‘next time.’ Either of you.” Tasan’s grip tightened and the furrow in his brow deepened.

  Tension clotted the air, and below that something keen and somehow desperate. It took Sherakai’s breath. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said, gaze to the ground.

  “You put yourself in danger time after time, and it scares me. Watching you fall off that cliff and knowing none of us could do a thing to prevent you getting hurt made me—” He pressed his first two fingers against his thumb to gesture between himself and Sherakai helplessly. “If you cannot concern yourself with your own welfare, I wish you would at least think of what your actions do to others.”

  “But I’m fine.” All of this fretting over a simple dive into the water! “You taught me to dive, and I did it perfectly. Tell me I did not. The three of you train every single day so you can go to war and get yourselves killed on purpose. But if I do anything outside of that, I’m the reckless one. I can ride and swim and dive and dance. I can sing and read and write. I can make your babies stop crying, Tasan, and yours, Fazare, but if I’m not swinging a sword, I am—”

  Frustration choked off his words. He didn’t want to be a warrior. Why was that so difficult to understand? All three of them stared at him in varying degrees of surprise and puzzlement. “I’m not you,” he managed. He brushed past Imitoru to collect his pants. Yanking them on over wet skin, he tied the cord with crisp, efficient movements.

  Fazare followed Sherakai but stopped several feet away, folding his arms across his chest. Like the other two, he enjoyed an enviable breadth of shoulder and strength of muscle. The Tanoshi family had a tradition of big, strapping men and tall women. Sherakai could not even claim decent height. He couldn’t even claim to look like them. He and his little sister took after their mother with her black hair and green eyes. Everyone else was a copy of their father with his golden-brown hair and bright blue eyes.

  “You are right,” Fazare said. “You are not us, but you are Tanoshi, and the Tanoshi are warriors.”

  “Be quiet, Zar,” Tasan ordered in a low voice.

  Fazare tossed his chin like a horse objecting to the bridle. “What will he do if he is not a warrior? Father expects his service. The king expects it.”

  “Not all men are warriors, and there are other ways to serve both Father and king.”

  “How?” Fazare demanded.

  Tasan strapped his belt on, weapons clattering. “Whether he becomes a cook or a diplomat, the decision is between Kai and Fath
er.”

  “But the House—”

  “Will suffer no shame for his honest endeavors.”

  Imitoru slipped between the pair to head off an argument, wet tunic slung over one shoulder. “Oh, I think he’d make a better astrologer than a cook. Or perhaps a harper.”

  Sherakai couldn’t play a harp or any other musical instrument to save his life, but the idea amused them. “I would like to work with the horses,” he said.

  “Yes.” Tasan squeezed Sherakai’s shoulder, half approval and half steering him toward their mounts. “You’d be good at that.”

  Jansu Tanoshi bred and raised the rare Indimi-o per’la Tojitu—the Children of the Wind. Not even he had the ability with horses that Sherakai did.

  “I’ve got it—a basket weaver!”

  “A cheesemonger!” Fazare declared.

  “I like cheese.”

  “You are cheese.”

  The pair’s attempts to come up with the most unlikely career choice brought a reluctant smile to Sherakai’s face, but he wasn’t ready to laugh yet. “I’ll race you home,” he said, settling onto his stallion’s bare back. The creature tossed his pretty head and danced in place.

  “Bareback? Not even a bridle?” Imitoru shook his head.

  “I can outride any of you any time, anywhere.”

  “Ha!”

  “He probably can,” was Tasan’s opinion.

  “Without tack? No, the advantage is ours.”

  “Zar, the lines you think in are too straight. Little Brother doesn’t even see them.” Tasan’s outstretched arm brought them into position. “We’ll start here on my word.”

  “Why’s it always have to be your word?” Imitoru complained, eyes sparkling, ready for the race whether he won or not.

  “If you were honest, it would be yours!” Sherakai shot back, grinning.

  Fazare leveled a warning finger at him. “No using your magic tricks on my horse, or I’ll rearrange your pretty face.”

  “I won’t need to. I’m going to win.”

  Saddles creaked as the others mounted.

  “You got coin to back that up?”

  “No, no coin, but when you lose I get that new hunting horn of yours.”

  “What? You don’t even like to hunt!”

  Sherakai shrugged. “I like the carving on it.”

  “Artwork!” Imitoru snickered. “Just goes to show that one man’s tool is another man’s treasure.”

  “And if you lose?” Fazare pressed.

  “I don’t know, you’ve already stolen everything that appeals to you.”

  “Won! I won everything legally and honestly!”

  Tasan and Imitoru exchanged a look, and the latter rolled his eyes. The brothers were forever challenging each other, but Fazare liked to make things interesting. Sherakai didn’t always make the wisest wagers, but he was learning.

  “How about that silver ear cuff that looks like feathers? You were admiring it just last week.”

  “That’ll do nicely,” Fazare nodded, looking pleased with himself and perhaps a little possessive.

  “Fine, but it will never happen.” Sherakai guided Aishe to the starting line. “Your horn, though, will look very handsome on the mantel in my room. Especially after I fill it with wax and make a candle out of it.” An insulting proposition to be sure.

  “On your marks,” Tasan cut in before Fazare could protest. “No pushing, no cheating. This will be a clean race, current handicaps excepted.” He looked dubiously at Sherakai, then nudged his own horse forward. “First one to the gatehouse.”

  “Touching?”

  “Touching,” he nodded firmly then leaned forward. “Three. Two—”

  With a noisy whoop, Imitoru dug in his heels and leaped ahead.

  Chapter 3

  Fazare and Tasan cried out in useless protest.

  Sherakai didn’t waste the time or breath, but urged his horse into motion. Aishe flew. A strong start and long legs quickly put distance between them and the sudden stragglers. Now to catch up with impetuous Toru…

  Behind or not, sheer, unadulterated joy pounded through Sherakai. He loved the speed and the rhythm. He loved the powerful muscles working beneath him and the thunder of hooves on the hard earth. But most of all he loved that Aishe loved to run.

  In all the world, there were no other horses like the Indimi-o per’la Tojitu. Tall horses with long, mile-eating legs, they bore unique coloring and markings. Their brindled coats of gray or dark brown gleamed like metal in the sunlight. Manes, feathered feet, and high-set arching tails were the shade of rich cream. Graceful as dancers, they were born to run, and fast as the wind. Fiercely intelligent, they were not always the easiest mounts to control. If one could foster a relationship, their loyalty knew few bounds. They bred true, but not as often as other horses. And, if one believed in the rumors, magic ran in their blood.

  The four of them sped over the landscape, through a stream where they kicked up shimmers of silver, and beneath the leafy trees. Out onto the hard-packed road they flew even faster.

  By the time they cleared the wood, Aishe was only half a length behind. Imitoru kept looking over his shoulder, laughing and shouting. Sherakai narrowed his focus to the single task of passing him.

  Imitoru’s horse glided around a farmer and his cart.

  Aishe swept along at his side. A thunder of hooves swallowed the farmer’s holler.

  Just beyond the cart a boy led a pair of cows across the road. One behind the other, they presented a barrier impossible to avoid. Imitoru edged to the left to dash along the verge, right in front of the boy.

  Sherakai shifted a fraction, leaned forward a little further. Aishe’s muscles gathered. Tasan shouted in alarm behind him. Then horse and youth flew over the back of the startled cow, landed neatly and kept running. The cowherd screamed. The wind stole anything else that might have followed.

  Neck and neck now, he and Imitoru pounded around the corner. The many buildings that made up the keep came into view. All four riders clattered over the outer moat's wooden bridge, rattling the foundations. The way before them laid straight if not completely clear. Shouts came from ahead this time. The villagers and guardsmen were used to the frequent races and yelled encouragements or oaths.

  The horses sprinted pell-mell up the incline, not slowing for an instant. Around a beautiful carriage drawn by four much less refined equines they sped. Then past a startled looking man coming the other way on a tall gray horse. People gathered at the gate. So many! Sun and moon, the wedding guests! He’d forgotten all about them.

  They pounded past a pair of hunters with a boar strung between them. Ahead, people and animals hastened to clear way.

  A glance to the side showed Aishe leading Imitoru’s horse by a head. “Fly, my beauty! Fly!”

  Aishe stretched his nose out a little further, reached a little deeper… Sherakai felt the surge of power like a gust of wind.

  The bridge over the inner moat sounded like thunder when they crossed. It always sent a thrill up Sherakai’s spine and today was no different. House rules declared no racing past the gates and into the courtyard; it was uncivilized and dangerous. The big stallion ran full tilt until the last possible moment. Skidding and pawing, he reared up within inches of the stone wall. Sherakai didn’t have to get down to run the remaining distance, he just reached out and slapped the rock.

  His brothers were right behind him. Impetuous Imitoru almost collided into Aishe. The other two leaped from their saddles, laughing and shouting congratulations. The guardsmen added their voices, too, and people gathered at the gate, trying to discover if they were under attack, or who had won, or if some momentous news had arrived.

  Tameko dan Yasuma himself pushed his way through the confusion. “What did I tell you boys about racing during the wedding?!” he bellowed, gleaming blue eyes belying his apparent ire.

  With a grin, Imitoru slung an arm around his father’s shoulders. “No racing during the wedding, but we’ve days before it
starts, and we did stay out of the courtyard. Besides, Sherakai’s won a fine new hunting candle.”

  “A hunting candle! Well, then! That is cause for celebration.” Tameko’s weathered brow creased in question. “What, by the Saints, is a hunting candle, and who lost it?”

  “Zar bet his new horn that he could win a race against Kai.” Tasan looked as pleased as if he’d won the contest himself. “He seems to have forgotten that our little brother has won the last several races in a row. Kai wins by a bigger margin every time.”

  “He cheated,” Fazare argued.

  “He did no such thing.” Tasan tugged Sherakai’s wet braid. “That was some excellent riding.”

  “Did you see, Papa?” Excitement lit Sherakai’s countenance.

  “I certainly did.” One big hand clasped Sherakai’s shoulder and the other enveloped his hand. “Congratulations on your new candle, son.”

  “Argh,” Fazare growled, but he couldn’t hide his smile.

  Imitoru punched his shoulder and grinned. “Diving, flying—What’s next?”

  “I am impressed, Sherakai,” an unexpected voice interrupted. Bairith Mindar, Jansu Chiro, and husband to Tameko’s eldest daughter, stepped free of the crowd of onlookers. A bright hunger lit his eyes. “Your brothers are superb horsemen, and yet you beat them. Well done.”

  “Thank you, sir,” he smiled, then his eyes widened. If Bairith were here that meant his sister was home. “You’re here!”

  “Indeed.” He inclined his head. Aloof, beautiful by any standard, and a bit unworldly, he possessed an air others preferred to avoid. A jansu in his own right, he administered Chiro District to Tanoshi’s southwest. The means by which a creature half man and half elf had come into such a title remained a mystery. “And yes, of course, Mimeru is inside.”

  “And yes,” Tameko added with twinkling eyes, “you can all go see her. I advise you to wash up first.”

  “Some of us are really clean already.” Imitoru grinned and hooked his arm around Sherakai’s neck. Their wet braids and Tasan’s boots testified that they’d been in the water.