Reader and Raelynx

by Sharon Shinn

  “And she says she’ll be sending troops to Ghosenhall,” Senneth added. “And part of me thinks, ‘Defend yourself! Even if the royal city falls!’ It’s what Malcolm would tell her. But I’m afraid we’ll need her troops.”

  “Don’t leave again,” Cammon said to her.

  She gave him a sad smile. “Not to save Brassen Court itself. I am here till the city surrenders or triumphs.”

  They spent part of the afternoon with Jerril and some of the shape-shifters Senneth had recruited from Carrebos. Jerril was pleased with their progress and told Senneth three times how they had sniffed out Ellynor even when she was cloaked deep in Lirren magic. “What about the others?” she asked him. “Are they trainable?”

  Jerril gave her an affable smile. “Indeed, they have both ability and eagerness. If I had a year—”

  “You might have three days,” she interrupted.

  “They will be at your disposal whenever you need them.”

  Cammon had spent some energy cloaking his own thoughts from Jerril, but that didn’t stop the older mystic from giving him a few curious looks. Jerril was sensitive enough to pick up the gist of the story, Cammon thought—and smart enough not to ask questions in front of Senneth.

  “I’m not entirely sure how one deploys a mystic army,” Senneth said.

  “I imagine you tell them broadly what you wish they would accomplish, and then let them go,” Jerril replied. “It’s not like you can send them into battle in formation.”

  “What do you think about this?” Senneth asked him, and launched into a discussion of strategy.

  Cammon stopped paying attention. He heard a door open on the far side of Ghosenhall. Or—not exactly. He felt a brush of wind as if someone had walked past him at a rapid pace. That wasn’t it, either. There was a moment of silence in a crowded room. There was a glint of metal from a weapon smoothly drawn.

  There was nothing. No sound, no movement. Just a cool day on a brown field where a few green stalks of grass were pushing their way up through the hard ground.

  When Cammon focused on his surroundings again, Jerril was watching him strangely. “What is it?” the other mystic asked.

  Cammon shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Jerril’s question had caught Senneth’s attention. “What? Did you sense something?”

  “Not exactly. At least—I can’t identify it.”

  “Danger?” she asked. “A new assassin come to town? That would make sense, from Halchon’s point of view.”

  Cammon spread his hands. “Usually I can sense violent intent, but—did a stranger just ride into Ghosenhall? I don’t know. Something slipped, that’s all I can tell you. Something shifted.”

  “Something magical?” Jerril asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Something anti-magical, perhaps,” Senneth said. “That’s what happens when Halchon Gisseltess touches me. I lose all my power. It’s like he cancels me out. Maybe something like that?”

  “Maybe,” Cammon said uncertainly. He looked at Jerril. “Did you feel anything?”

  Jerril shook his head. “You’re far stronger than I am. If you can’t read it—”

  “But you have more experience than I do! Just concentrate. It seemed like—a door opened. Or closed. Or someone walked by. Somewhere in the city.”

  Jerril turned his hands palm upward, then took a deep breath and let his mind expand. Cammon mentally followed that journey, tagging along beside the older mystic, peering around the corners and down the alleys that caught Jerril’s attention. There it was again—a silence that filled with echoes, a scent that dissipated too quickly to be analyzed.

  “That,” Cammon whispered. “Did you catch it?”

  Jerril nodded and let his mind snap back. Senneth was watching both of them with her gray eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what it is,” Jerril admitted. “I don’t even know if it’s dangerous.” He glanced at Senneth. “If I were a hare, I’d say the shadow of a hawk had passed over the ground.”

  “I’m telling Tayse that something alarming has come into the city, but nobody knows what,” she said, already striding off. “We will act as if the city is full of enemies.”

  Cammon was left staring at Jerril. “But it might not be.”

  Jerril shrugged. “But it will be soon enough.”

  WITHIN the hour, the Riders had mobilized. Two each had been assigned to stand over Baryn, Valri, and Amalie; twenty had been dispatched to roam the streets of Ghosenhall, looking for anything untoward. The rest of them roved over the palace grounds like guard dogs let loose, randomly and ceaselessly patrolling.

  Naturally, it was impossible for Cammon to creep to Amalie’s room or hope she might sneak up to his when she was being constantly guarded by Coeval and Janni. Janni even spent the night inside Amalie’s room, wide awake, watching at the window.

  Everyone was edgy the following morning, even the imperturbable Milo. “Make yourself useful in some fashion,” Milo said when Cammon asked for orders, and then he stalked off.

  Cammon found Valri, Amalie, Belinda Brendyn, Justin, and three other Riders preserving an uneasy silence in the rose parlor. Amalie sent him a look of mute appeal when he stepped inside, but Cammon stopped first to speak to Justin.

  “Nothing happened? No news?”

  Justin shook his head. “Tayse walked the grounds all night and found nothing but your shape-shifters awake. He’s sleeping for a few hours now, but he’ll be up again around noon.”

  “Maybe I imagined something. Maybe—I just can’t tell.”

  Now Justin gave him that cocky grin. “You saying trouble might be coming is like Donnal saying he can turn himself into a wolf. It’s true. It’s guaranteed.”

  “Who’s with Baryn?”

  “Tir and Wen.”

  “Are you guarding Valri or Amalie?”

  “The princess.”

  “Maybe we could go outside. Walk around the grounds for a bit.”

  Amalie heard that and broke off a low conversation with Belinda to answer. “Oh, yes, please, can we go outside? I think I’ll start screaming if I just sit here any longer, imagining terrors.”

  “They’re not imaginary, Majesty,” Justin said.

  “The real ones could hardly be worse than the ones in my head.”

  Amalie fetched a cloak while Justin eyed Cammon with disapproval. “Where are your weapons?”

  “I don’t keep a sword. I always borrow one from the Riders.”

  “Well, you need to be armed. All the time. Even in the palace.”

  Amalie arrived in time to hear that. “Then let’s head down toward the barracks.”

  Hammond led the way, while Justin and Cammon marched on either side of Amalie as they picked their way through the sunshine toward the training yard. It was strange to be so close to the yard and not hear the incessant sound of blades striking and voices shouting. But all the Riders were either on duty or resting after their watches the night before.

  Cammon fastened on a sword and selected a backup dagger as Amalie lifted her skirts to show the Riders the sheath belted at her knee. “Let me see you use it,” Justin said, so she feinted at him with one quick lunge. “Not bad,” he said. “A little more force, if you can manage it, or you won’t kill an attacker outright.”

  “She just has to slow him down long enough for a Rider to arrive,” Hammond said.

  “Sometimes help isn’t as close as you’d like,” Justin said. “Show me again.”

  Soon enough they were back outside, heading toward the sculpture gardens. “Look, you can see it’s almost spring,” Amalie said. “There are buds on some of the trees, and there are whole patches of green grass where the lawn is always in sunlight.”

  Justin didn’t voice his thought, but Cammon caught it anyway. This year, spring means war. Amalie bent down to brush aside dead weeds that covered the curled leaves of a crocus, poking its way up through the hard ground. Still leaning over, she turned her head to give them all a lovely sm
ile. “Almost spring,” she repeated.

  Cammon heard a sound. Felt a flutter. He jerked around to peer behind him, swung his head as if to discover the source of an unpleasant odor.

  “What is it?” Justin demanded.

  “I don’t know. I think—Justin, I think someone has breached the walls.”

  Instantly, Justin’s sword was in his hand and Hammond had half-drawn his. The soldiers crowded closer to Amalie. “Back toward the palace,” Justin ordered, and the four of them hustled through the ranks of scowling marble royalty. “Cammon, wake Tayse. Call in the other Riders.”

  “I don’t know if the others can hear me,” Cammon said breathlessly, jogging alongside Justin.

  “Just do it. Send an alarm. Even if they can’t hear you, they’ll be uneasy enough that they’ll come in from the city. Riders are used to following their instincts.”

  Cammon glanced around. They were free of the gardens now and could see the wide expanse of the front lawns, empty and serene, rolling straight to the high stone walls surrounding the palace. “It might be nothing—”

  “Do it.”

  Cammon flung his thoughts out like water tossed from a half-filled cup. He felt Tayse start from a sound sleep and roll to his feet, his weapon in his hand before he had even put on his boots. He felt the other Riders startle, pause, look around, and then set out running. Those already on the palace grounds headed for the main building. Those quartering the streets of Ghosenhall raced back for the compound.

  Those guarding Baryn and Valri pulled their blades and shifted closer to their charges.

  Senneth, Cammon called. Kirra. Donnal. Trouble is coming. I can’t tell what. But trouble is coming.

  Almost as soon as he thought the words, a runner of fire darted along the very top of the wall, till the whole stone fence was topped by a ragged crown of flame. Justin slowed to a walk, looking pleased.

  He said, “Well, that’ll stop anyone who—”

  And three men slipped through the partition of fire and dropped gracefully to the ground.

  CHAPTER

  29

  THE intruders were dressed in black, from their closely hooded heads to their polished boots; they moved like dancers. Each of them carried a long blade in one hand and a short blade in the other, and their belts were heavy with an array of other weapons.

  Justin loosed an inarticulate cry, and ten Riders raced toward the wall with their swords held high. “To the palace!” Justin cried.

  Before they could take another step, twenty more invaders glided through Senneth’s fire and landed on the palace lawn. Motion caught Cammon’s eye and he swiveled around to see another ten—another twenty—swarming up the walls of the palace itself, breaking through panes of glass and diving through windows. Another dozen were storming the main door. From inside came the sounds of hysterical voices and clattering metal. More Riders charged in through the gates and instantly engaged the attackers. Cammon could hardly breathe. The odds against the defenders were horrible.

  “No!” Amalie shrieked and picked up her skirts to run. Justin grabbed her arm and jerked her back.

  “There’s no safety in the palace!” he shouted in her ear. “Back to the gardens! We have to hide you.”

  Amalie kicked at him, beating his chest with her free hand. “No! No! My father’s in there! Let me go! I have to find him!”

  Justin didn’t sheathe his sword but, one-handed, he shook Amalie so hard her hair tumbled in her face, and then he started dragging her very fast back toward the sculpture park. Hammond and Cammon loped along beside him. “Majesty! My orders are to protect you! Whatever happens to anyone else, I must keep you alive.”

  Amalie moaned and twisted in his hold. Cammon caught her other arm and helped Justin half carry her toward what was only the most dubious kind of safety. “Amalie, he’s right,” Cammon said quietly. “There are others protecting your father and Valri. We must keep you alive.”

  They ran, but all of them kept looking back over their shoulders. More of the black-hooded attackers—more. “At least two hundred,” Hammond estimated as they ducked inside the sculpture park and lost sight of the battle. “More coming.”

  Justin strode through the lines of statuary, looking for a place to hide or a place to make a stand. “Foreigners,” he said. “That’s why Cammon couldn’t feel them, that’s why Senneth’s fire didn’t stop them. Impervious to our kind of magic.”

  “Not impervious to Kirra,” Cammon said with a dark kind of gladness. “She just ripped someone’s throat out.” Even as he spoke, he could feel Donnal make a leap for an enemy soldier and bring them both crashing to the ground. “Not impervious to Donnal.”

  “Good.” Justin had found a spot that appealed to him, a giant curved slab of white marble carved to resemble a shell. Before it, a black granite pedestal held an oversized and extremely forbidding woman carved out of more white marble. “Majesty, you stand with your back to the wall. Cammon, in front of her.” He and Hammond took up stations on either side of the stone queen. “They’ll have to kill us to get to you, and they’ll have to come at us one at a time,” Justin said. “We can hold off an attack for a good long while.”

  “Can you tell what’s happening?” Hammond asked Cammon.

  He nodded numbly. He was trying very hard not to get sucked into the vortex of the action through the eyes of his friends—he needed to keep his focus here in case the battle turned their way. But he couldn’t help absorbing some of their rage and fear and ceaseless motion.

  “Three Riders have fallen, but I can’t tell which ones,” he said. “Not Tayse. There are close battles up and down the halls of the palace, and it’s hard to tell who’s winning. Kirra and Donnal and the other shape-shifters are tackling the ones who are still outside, trying to prevent them from getting into the palace. A few Riders are still on the lawns, too.”

  “My father?” Amalie demanded. “Valri?”

  “Alive,” Cammon said.

  “Senneth?” Justin asked.

  “Fighting with a sword instead of fire.”

  “Where’s the city guard?” Hammond asked.

  “Massed on the outskirts of the city to keep away an army,” Justin replied. “I’m guessing no one had time to run for them. But the fire on the walls should alert them that there’s something wrong! They’re probably on their way.”

  “Why didn’t—red and silver hell!” Hammond exclaimed. He pointed with his sword. “One of them just peered around that statue and saw me. Probably saw the princess’s hair. He ran off, but I’m betting he’ll be back with friends.”

  Justin nodded curtly and shifted his stance.

  In less than two minutes, they heard the sound of running feet, and more than a dozen invaders came weaving through the statues. They moved with a curious and well-trained grace; they held their swords as if the heavy weapons weighed hardly anything. As they drew closer, Cammon could see that their black hoods were really close-fitting caps sewn with scales of metal. Their chests were covered with similar protective garments, gleaming blackly in the sun.

  “Hard to kill,” Justin commented.

  “One at a time,” Hammond said.

  The enemies descended.

  Amalie screamed as the blades engaged. Cammon’s own sword was out, but Justin and Hammond beat back the first wave of attackers with relative ease. Still, it was clear that they would soon be overmatched. The slim black-clad soldiers pushed closer, attacked in pairs, tried to squeeze past the tall statue. One of them had leapt to the pedestal and was climbing up the queen’s skirts as if he would scale the statue and launch himself at Amalie from above. It didn’t take much imagination to picture two or three others swarming up the back of the marble shell with the same intention. Justin thrust his sword straight through one attacker’s armor-plated throat and shoved him aside. A new one leapt over the growing pile of bodies and presented a fresh blade.

  Cammon was awash in Amalie’s terror, could practically feel the smooth cold stone a
gainst her hands as she pressed her body to the wall. He was almost dizzy with so much motion, so much blood. He could sense every swing of Tayse’s sword, every thrust of Senneth’s, even as he watched Justin and Hammond strike and hammer. Kirra swooped; Donnal leapt. Everywhere was violence, danger, and destruction.

  Hammond cried out and staggered to one side, and an attacker charged through.

  Amalie shrieked. Cammon didn’t even feel his sword hand come down as he severed the soldier’s head at the shoulder. There was a spray of blood, then the falling body, jingling with metal as it crashed to the ground. Hammond had forced himself upright and was now wielding his sword with his left hand, but he was gravely wounded. Cammon doubted he would be able to fight another ten minutes, even another five.

  Justin cut down another soldier and instantly took on the next.

  “Hammond!” Justin shouted. “Hammond, what’s your damage?”

  “Deep,” the other Rider shouted back.

  “Cammon, you’ll have to take his place!”

  The soldier who had climbed the statue now swung over the queen’s head and dropped lightly to his feet right in front of Cammon. This time there was no single lucky blow. This time, Cammon had to slash and parry and slash again, panic and adrenaline making him crazed. He had never been a skilled swordsman; he had always relied on his uncanny intuition to know where his opponent was going to land the next blow. But he could read nothing from this man’s mind, had no advantage whatsoever except a year’s worth of intermittent training with the best fighters in the country.

  It was enough, at least this time. Cammon thrust suddenly and hard, breaking through the protective layer and opening the man’s heart. With a strangled cry, the soldier fell. Cammon stepped back, gasping for breath.