Mercedes Lackey - Kerowyn's Ride

“In the middle of the night?” the old woman retorted. “Dressed in men’s clothing? Carrying a weapon?” She moved out into the middle of the path, blocking it, but still in enough shadow that Kero couldn’t see her as anything other than a cloaked and hooded shape. “What kind of fool’s errand are you on, girl?”

Kero tightened all over with anger, inadvertently making Verenna rear and dance. When she got her mare and herself under a little better control, she told the old woman of the raid, in as few words as possible, though she wondered why she was bothering. “I’m going to ask my grandmother for help,” she finished. “Now if you’ll please get out of my way—”

“Dressed like that?” The woman produced a short bark of a laugh, like a fox. “I think you have something else planned. I think you reckon to follow after these raiders, and try to rescue this girl they took.”

“And what if I do?” Kero retorted, raising her chin angrily. “What business is it of yours?”

“You’re a fool, girl,” the old woman said acidly, then hawked and spat in the dust of the path just in front of Verenna’s hooves. “You’re a moonstruck fool. That’s a job for men, not silly little girls with their heads stuifed full of tales. You’re probably acting out of ignorance or out of pride, and either one will get you killed. Go back to your place, girl. Go back to women’s work. Go back where you belong.”

Every word infuriated Kero even more; she went hot, then cold with ire, and by the time the old woman had finished, she was too angry at first even to speak. Verenna was no help; she reacted both to Kero’s anger and to something the mare saw—or thought she saw—under the trees. As Verenna danced and shied, the mare’s panic forced her to calm herself down in order to control the horse. She finally brought Verenna to a sweating, eye-rolling standstill a scant length from the old woman.

Whoever she was, the old hag was at least as foolhardy as she accused Kerowyn of being, for she hadn’t moved a thumb’s length out of the way during the worst of Verenna’s antics.

“What I do or plan to do has nothing to do with pride,” Kero said tightly, through clenched teeth, as Verenna tossed her head and snorted in alarm. “There’s no one left down there that’s capable of riding out after her. No one, old woman. Not one single man able to ride and lift a weapon. All that’s down there is a handful of frightened servants and pages, and two old, arthritic men who never learned to ride. If I don’t go after Dierna, no one will. If I wait until that so-called “proper” help arrives, she’ll be dead, or worse. People who intend to ransom a captive don’t ride in and try to slaughter every able-bodied adult in the place. I don’t have a choice, old woman.”

She wanted to say more, and couldn’t. Fear stilled her voice in her throat. She was right—but— Everything I said is true—and—everything she said is true. This is going to get me killed, but I’ve come too far to turn back now. I made my choices back at the Keep.

“I made my choices, and I’m going to live or die by them,” she finished, hoping she sounded brave, but all too aware that she probably sounded like a foolhardy braggart. “And I’m going to see my grandmother whether you bar the way or not!”

She touched her heels to Verenna’s sides, and the mare bolted forward. The old woman stepped adroitly aside at the last possible moment, and they cantered past her and were out of sight or hearing in a few moments.

Kero reined the mare in as soon as she’d run out some of her nerves; the path was still just as dark and potentially treacherous. And the last thing I need is for Verenna to break her leg within sight of the Tower. I should be in sight of the Tower by now, she thought, looking upward through the branches of the trees. That old woman—in tales she’d either be a demon sent by the mage that took Dierna to turn me back, or a creature of Grandmother’s, sent to test me. If she’s a demon, the next thing will be a whole swarm of them after me —

The back of her neck crawled at that thought, and she could not resist the temptation to stop, turn, and look down the path behind her.

Nothing. Just the moving shadows of tree limbs, and an owl winging silently across the road. Even Verenna seemed calmer, no longer fighting the reins, no longer sweating.

So much for the tales, she thought, a little embarrassed by her wild fears. Sometimes a crazy old woman is just a crazy old woman.

The Tower was exactly as Kero remembered it; or at least, the little of it she could see in the darkness was exactly as she remembered. Halfway up the side of the cliff, a single light burned beside the door. There might have been a fainter light coming from a curtained or shuttered window above that, but it was too faint for Kero to be sure it was there.

Verenna whickered inquisitively as she dismounted. The trees and brush had been cut away for several lengths at the bottom of the cliff, leaving a wide expanse of meadow. Not a carefully manicured and tended meadow though; this one was knee-high in grass and wildflowers, and looked very much like a natural clearing.

The moon shone down on this swath of grass unhindered by brush or trees, making it possible for Kero to see quite clearly. There was a hitching post beside the beginning of the staircase; a steep, narrow, open stone stair. Not even a Shin’a’in-bred horse was going to be able to negotiate that; it was barely wide enough for a single human.

And it’s a good thing I have a head for heights, she thought soberly, eyeing the stair dubiously. Oh, well....

She tethered Verenna to the hitching post, giving her enough lead-rope so that she’d be able to graze a little. It’s too late for wolves, and too early for mountain-cats. I hope. Once again she looked back down the path, and once again saw and heard nothing out of the ordinary. She turned and started up the staircase, with one hand on the rough stone wall, resolutely looking at the steps and not over the open side. The stone beneath her hand was still warm from the afternoon sun. She forced herself to hurry as much as she dared, taking the relatively shallow steps two at a time; she’d have run, but the footing was too uncertain and the light was deceptive.

By the time she reached the top, she was feeling the strain in her legs. She paused for a moment to square her shoulders and lift her chin, then hefted the cold metal ring set into the door, and knocked. The first blow sounded dull, as if the door was a lot thicker than it looked.

The door began to open before she had a chance to finish the second knock. She released the iron ring hastily, before it would be snatched out of her hand.

A lantern she had not seen bloomed into life beside the door as it opened. The soft yellow light fell on a silver-haired, green-eyed woman who bore a strong resemblance to Kero’s mother Lenore. Except for her hair, she showed few signs of age; she was as slim and erect in her soft blue-velvet gown as any girl, and moved gracefully, if slowly. There were a few crow’s-feet around her eyes, concentration-lines on her brow, and smile-lines at either corner of her mouth, but otherwise her face was unwrinkled. She was exactly as Kero remembered her—which was eerie. She should have shown some signs of increasing age....

“Kerowyn?” The sorceress frowned. “I knew there was something wrong, but—never mind. Come in.”

Kero edged cautiously past her grandmother, careful not to touch her, and tried not to stare. There was no telling what she’d take offense at, and Kero had to keep repeating to herself that this strange, ageless woman was her grandmother. I can’t believe she still looks like this. Mother looked older, and not just because she was so sick. Kethry turned away to close the door, and Kero took the opportunity to glance around while her back was turned.