Cethe (43 page)

“Real ones or false?” Stefn asked irritably. “I’l be back by lunch.”

In the stables, a groom brought him a horse. Stefn mounted it and headed down the hil toward the main gate and out onto the

windy plain.

Where to go? Stefn reckoned he should steer clear of the vil age where his curse was wel known. Instead, he turned toward

the northeast and gave his horse its head.

Stefn forgot about everything at once, caught up in the exhilaration of the wind on his face and the sun on his skin. He

gal oped, ful out, until he reached the hil s. Then he left the road, slowing his horse to a walk across the muddy fields. Reaching the

trees, he found the path leading up through the woods.

Here, beneath the dense firs, snow stil lay thick where shadows were deepest. He soon reached the rocky spar. Leaving his

horse, he climbed onto it.

The vista was stil dreary with winter’s browns and greys. Here and there, pools of water from the snowmelt reflected the blue

sky, but theirs was the only color to be seen anywhere. It was warm in the sun, however, with nothing more than a fitful, skittering

breeze. He lay back, arms pil owing his head, and looked up into the arch of pale blue.

He remembered his last visit here, how he and Michael had sat and laughed and, later, made love on the sunwarmed rock. If

Michael was here now, would the same thing happen? Stefn’s body tingled, imagining it — Michael rising up on his elbow to look

down at Stefn; Michael kissing him softly and deeply. He would open Stefn’s shirt, or…

Eyes closed, Stefn slid his own hand under his shirt, licking his lips as he teased and pinched his own nipples. In his mind’s

eye, it was Michael who rol ed them between his long, graceful fingers, who licked and sucked at them until Stefn’s breath came in

rapid gasps.

Then, as Stefn hung on the cusp of pain and pleasure, Michael would reach down to the hard column of flesh pushing against

Stefn’s breeches; he would seize it and begin a slow, exquisite stroking. He would tease the head with his thumb, forcing whimpers

from his eager, panting cethe.

Stefn groaned, his hand moving frantical y, unaware when he unfastened his breeches, only wanting to reach climax. The

image hanging in his mind smiled lazily, lasciviously, and bent toward his rigid, aching cock. Stefn imagined Michael taking it into his

mouth and, in that moment, lost control. He came with a hoarse cry, then lay stil on the rock, arms and legs splayed wide, cool

breeze fanning his heated face, while the images faded.

He wanted Michael. He wanted Michael to come back to Shia, to share his bed, to ride with him across the plains, to make

passionate love to him!

What a slut he was! What a whore! How could he have these feelings? He was a man and a human!

The lethet! Desperately, Stefn seized on the col ar’s presence, sitting up and clawing at it in miserable fury. This was the

reason! Nothing else!

The crackling of brush and the whinny of a horse brought him out of his bitter self-castigation. He did up his breeches hastily

and rol ed over onto his bel y. Below the rock, a handful of horsemen appeared, riding slowly and careful y through the trees. They

wore no uniforms, but they were armed and armored.

When they disappeared from sight, Stefn slid down the rock. Mounting his horse, he rode after them, careful to keep wel

back. A few hundred feet onward, a pile of massive boulders barred his path and a mass of tangled thicket. As he approached the

obstruction, however, he heard them again, louder. At once he stopped and dismounted, seeking the concealment of several tal

spruces, their drooping branches forming a hut-like shelter.

A bandit appeared on the largest boulder, climbing to its highest point. Stefn’s eyes narrowed, watching the man lift a spyglass

to his eye, sweeping it across the plains. Closer now, Stefn noticed the man’s clothing. Unlike the rags and skins worn by most

outlaws in this part of the country, this man was dressed uncommonly wel . He was clean-shaven, too, with his brown hair pul ed

neatly back in a ponytail.

Another of the mysterious riders appeared on the rock. Stefn was further mystified to see he carried a notebook. The first man

lowered his glass and said something to the newcomer, who produced a mark-stick and wrote something down.

These weren’t bandits! They were spies!

Taking his horse’s reins, Stefn led it out of the trees, careful to keep as much cover between him and the men on lookout as

he could. Alas, as he rounded a dense tangle of blackberry bushes, he came face to face with another of the party busily answering

the cal of nature. They stared at each other in surprise, then the man shoved his cock back into his breeches, shouting a warning.

Stefn scrambled into the saddle and urged his horse to a gal op. They came after him at once, shouting to each other to cut

him off. Bursting out of the trees after him, the riders fanned out across the field. Stefn bent lower over his horse’s head, urging it to

greater speed. Shia seemed an impossible distance away.

They gained on him slowly. From the corner of his eye he saw the bandits to his left and right begin to draw ahead, preparing

to close the net. They would have him before he got to Shia unless — abruptly, he swerved sharply to the left, directly toward the

end rider. He heard them whooping as they swept forward, sensing victory.

He had no weapon! This was idiocy! Even as the smal voice in his head screamed common sense at him, he raced onward.

He saw the end rider rise in the saddle, lifting his sword, triumphant. Praying his old skil s hadn’t faded too much, Stefn pul ed back

on the reins, jerking his startled horse to a sudden, clumsy halt. It reared wildly, front hooves lashing out. Stefn had a confused

glimpse of the rider trying to avoid being struck and losing his balance in the process. Man and sword flew from the saddle while

Stefn regained control of his own horse and spurred it on toward Shia.

Angry shouts fol owed him. He didn’t look over his shoulder, didn’t dare. Instead, he pressed himself close to his horse’s neck

and urged the unsettled beast to greater speed.

Unexpectedly, more riders appeared ahead. His heart plunged, but an instant later, he saw the blue and gold of Severyn’s

guard! And leading them was none other than Marin!

The bandits saw them, too, and the mocking cal s behind Stefn turned into shouts of consternation. The thundering of hooves

faltered and slowed. Ahead, the guard patrol saw Stefn and his pursuers.

“Spies!” Stefn shouted, half rising from the saddle and pointing behind him. A dozen soldiers flashed past him. Marin paused

only long enough to shout, “Are you unhurt, my lord?”

“Go!” replied Stefn.

The big h’nar nodded and dashed after the soldiers.

The battle was joined in a clash of steel and the screams of horses and men. Stefn rode around the knot of combatants, intent

on cutting off any rider attempting escape. A riderless horse ran past; Stefn saw the sword strapped to its saddle and went after it.

He’d just caught up to the animal when another of the spies broke away and rode hel -bent for the hil s. Stefn managed to

fumble the sword free. He caught up to the bandit, shifting his balance as the man snarled and jerked his horse around, reaching for

the sword at his back.

The stranger was skil ed, but not skil ed enough. Stefn met the man’s blade with his own, keeping his balance in the saddle,

and turning the force of the attack back on the attacker. The man fel from the horse, his sword spinning away, and hit the ground

hard. He tried to get up and stumble away, but Stefn was there, guiding his horse this way and that to cut off al avenues of escape.

The guards outnumbered the spies and made quick work of them. Afterwards, Marin returned to Stefn and his sul en,

breathless prisoner.

“Excel ent, my lord. You’ve kept one alive.”

Stefn looked around. Al that remained of the strangers were their horses. He wrenched his eyes from the blood-soaked field.

“I found them in the hil s,” he said, pointing.

“Good work,” replied Marin.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” Stefn said. “Next time, I’l listen to your advice.”

“It would make my job much easier,” confessed Marin. “I should hate to face Lord Michael if something were to happen to you.

”

Stefn was tired. His body remembered how to fight, but al those months of being cooped up inside had left it woeful y out of

condition. The notion of a hot bath and a cup of t’cha appealed mightily. He nodded. With their prisoner stumbling along in front of

them, he and the soldiers returned to the castle.

Stefn was not present during the lone survivor’s interrogation, but the next day, after dinner, Forry told him what they’d

learned. “Hunters, al right,” he said. “We’ve not been as discreet as we’d thought.”

Stefn didn’t want to think about how Forry had extracted that information. Nor did he ask about the spy’s whereabouts. From

Forry’s and Marin’s grim looks, he figured he knew wel enough.

“What shal we do?” he asked. “If they don’t return, won’t the Church send others?”

“Assuredly.” Forry looked over at Marin who had dispensed with protocol for the evening and joined them in the parlor. “At

least we’l be ready for them this time.”

“Why were they here?”

“Their orders were to investigate the area. Locke may have told Severyn the Church was glad to be rid of Shia, but it would

seem he wasn’t completely honest. Our good Archbishop is not as stupid as we might hope. He sees Severyn’s acquisition of Shia

as a threat. We were lucky you decided to go riding yesterday, Eldering, else we’d stil be ignorant of their interest.”

Marin said, “Someone must tel His Highness.”

“I know.” Forry poured himself another glass of port. “But I’m due to go to Withwil ow as soon as Erich arrives. You’l have to

go, I’m afraid, Marin.”

“I could take the books to Withwil ow,” Stefn offered.

Marin cleared his throat. Forry shook his head regretful y. “If it was up to me, Eldering, I’d say yes, but it isn’t. Besides, I’m also

picking up supplies at the same time.”

Stefn swal owed his disappointment. He couldn’t help thinking, had Michael been there, they might both have gone to

Withwil ow instead. After a few minutes, he excused himself and retreated to his tower sanctuary. There, he tried to forget his lot in

the pages of his latest selection from the restocked library, a travelogue of scenic places on the Eastern coast. He told himself he

had his books, at least, but for some reason, that comfort seemed less so these days.

Marin left that very day for Tantagrel and, a few days after, Forry prepared to go to Withwil ow, the unbound copies of the true

Chronicles tucked among boxes of other books and marked as a donation to one of the city’s libraries. Natural y, several days

before he planned to set out, it began to rain, a steady, cold downpour showing no sign of letting up.

“Maybe there’s something to the damn cleric’s predictions of gloom and doom,” he griped at dinner the night before. “The

exercise yard is ankle deep in mud! If this goes on, we shal have to train sailors, not soldiers!”

“This isn’t the first time Tanyrin has suffered from inclement seasons,” Stefn said. “Just before the naran war, there were

twenty years of drought in the east while the north and west suffered from cold and too much rain.”

“Real y? I’d not heard such a thing.”

“I read about it in the First Chronicle, the true First Chronicle. Even the naran estates suffered. The lords who led the war

against humans were among those most affected by the unpredictable weather.”

Forry appeared much struck by the information. “If so, it doesn’t bode wel for us these next few years. Did any part of Tanyrin

escape?”

“The south,” replied Stefn. “Until the rains came, those lands had been drier than they are today and useless for anything but

grazing.”

“Like Shia today.”

“Aye.”

Forry looked thoughtful and, for a while after that, said little, poking at his custard in silence.

Be it known that the House of Lothlain and the People of Tanyrin have, from this day, a Covenant with the House of Arranz.

In recognition of its loyalty to the freedom and well-being of all men, Arranz will forever be held as our most beloved Vassal and