Mercedes Lackey - Kerowyn's Ride

:Cooking ruins the flavor,: Warrl replied haughtily. :Some of the most civilized beings in the world eat their fish raw.:

“Dear Goddess. No wonder they die young. Yes, I’m going after her. I just want to find out what Keth has in mind for both of us.” Tarma reminded her mare with a touch of her heels that she was supposed to be trotting. The mare grunted, and grudgingly increased her speed. “Have you picked up anything more from Keth’s mage-alerts down on the Keep?”

:No.: Warrl, creature of the magic-riddled Pelagir Hills, had some mage-abilities of his own; how much, he’d never told Tarma or her partner. He’d been able to throw off magical attacks in the past that would have killed a man. He’d once managed to feign death, pull Tarma out of a demon-sent trance, and smell the presence of mage-energy. He was also able to speak mind-to-mind with Tarma—which meant, she assumed, that he could do so with anyone he chose.

She’d been quite grateful for those abilities in the past, and never more so than tonight. She’d actually been within a couple of leagues of the Tower, returning from her annual visit to Clan Tale’sedrin, when Warrl had sensed the alarms Kethry had placed on the Keep sounding a danger-signal. They’d pushed their pace, knowing Keth was going to need them—only to have Warrl sense the girl riding hell-for-leather straight for the Tower herself. He knew her, of course; he knew all of Kethry’s children and grandchildren, whether or not they knew him. He’d played spy for Kethry often enough; Rathgar didn’t know of the kyree’s existence, and what he didn’t know about, he couldn’t forbid. Ward’s excursions to the Keep were often the only things that kept Kethry from violating her sworn word.

They’d stopped Kerowyn easily enough; even a Shin’a’in-bred horse didn’t readily pass something as large and carnivorous as a kyree. Tarma had played a part then; testing her while she and Warrl extracted information from the girl’s words and mind. Tarma had sensed the despair in her voice, the fear she had been trying to cover with bravado.

Poor child, the Shin’a’in thought, wishing she was already guarding the “child’s” back. Wishing she’d dared to be sympathetic. She wasn’t ready for this.

:I’m glad you intercepted her,: the kyree said, evidently following her thoughts. :She still might have tried something like this if she’d been as feather-headed and stuffed full of tales as you accused her of being. If she’d been like her mother—:

“She isn’t, Star-Eyed be thanked.” Tarma had very little use for Lenore, living or dead. But then, while Lenore had been alive, the antipathy had been mutual. Contempt on Tarma’s side, fear mingled with disdain on Lenore’s. Warrl teased his mind-mate by calling her a barbarian; Lenore had meant it. “Lenore wouldn’t have done anything other than faint, though. And have hysterics. Girl’s well rid of that father, though the boy has promise. We’ll get her through this one, then we’ll see she finds out about her kin and Clan—then she can make up her mind about what she really wants to do with herself.”

:Get her through this one first,: the kyree interrupted. :She is brave, and resourceful, but—:

“But, my rump. I did more with less at her age.” Tarma said, with more certainty than she felt. She’s what, sixteen, seventeen? No real weapons’ training? Dear gods, I was trained all my life, then retrained by the leshya’e Kal’enedral —

Uncomfortable thoughts. Best to get all the plans straight, then go see that the girl survived this quest of hers. She nudged the mare again, bringing her up to a canter. The mare knew every pebble of the way from this point, and Tarma didn’t want to waste any time getting on Kerowyn’s backtrail. Warrl barked once, then put on the wild burst of speed of which his kind was capable, and sprinted ahead of her toward the dark, craggy bulk of the cliff housing the Tower.

When Tarma pulled her mare up at cliff-side, Warrl was nowhere in sight, which meant he’d gone on ahead. :The lady is saddling up,: came his mental call, thinned by rock and distance. :We are in the stable.: Light from a full moon directly overhead showed that the path here curved around the side of what looked to be sheer rock face, heading toward the stair that led to the Tower itself. The rough granite gave lodging-room here only to occasional scrub trees and bushes, and a little moss. There was no sign whatsoever of a stable.

Which was, of course, exactly as Kethry intended.

The mare tossed her head, as Tarma dismounted stiffly, her right hip aching a little from the long ride. It would have been nice if this mess had managed to happen some time next week, she reflected wistfully, trying to flex some mobility back into her legs. Give me a chance to get a hot bath ... my own bed for a few nights....

Ah, I’m getting soft in my old age.

As often as she pulled this trick, the mare still balked when it came to going through the hidden entrance. Tarma pulled off the scarf that had held her hair out of her eyes all day, and blindfolded the mare with it.

And walked into the side of the cliff, leading the docile horse.

This trick wouldn’t work for just anyone, of course; only those Keth had keyed into the spell. For anyone else, that granite cliff-face wasn’t illusion, it was real, and solid enough to climb. Tarma still hadn’t made up her mind about it, and like the mare, she didn’t much enjoy passing through it. She kept thinking that one day something was going to go wrong, and she’d get stuck halfway through.

Three steps through absolute darkness, then she and her mare emerged into the tunnel that led to the Tower’s stables. The tunnel, the stable, and the “door” were the only extravagances Keth permitted herself in the way of magic. The tunnel and stable had been carved from the living rock by magic, and were illuminated by permanent witch-lights. The rock walls of the tunnel were planed and polished until the granite shone like marble, and the yellow globes of witch-lights brightened just ahead of her and dimmed after she had passed. “Austere, but attractive,” was what Warrl had called it. It gave Tarma a case of claustrophobia.

Her footsteps and the mare’s echoed up and down the tunnel, announcing their arrival. Oddly enough, the Tower—which everyone seemed to think Keth had magicked into place—had already been here when they’d first had their schools at what was now the Keep. Besides the obvious way in, there’d been an escape route down through the cellars. That was what Keth had enlarged into the stables and tunnel, and had concealed with her magic.

The end of the tunnel was considerably brighter than the tunnel itself; Tarma blinked a little when she led the mare out into the stable proper. As Warrl had advised, Kethry was already at work; she’d already saddled her mount and loaded it with packs of medicinal gear. Kethry was no fool; she’d changed into one of her old traveling outfits; knee-length hooded robe and breeches, both of soft, but sturdy beige wool. Now the sorceress had gotten her gray warsteed to kneel so that she could mount the mare’s saddle. While Tarma might still be able to mount unaided, these days Keth couldn’t, and made no pretenses about the fact.

Poor Keth. She moves so gracefully no one ever guesses how much her bones ache.

:We are not what we were, mind-mate,: Warrl acknowledged ruefully. He had flung himself down beside the cool stone wall where he lay panting after his run. Now that he was in the light, he was even more impressive; not even a wolfhound or the grasscats of the Dhorisha Plains could best him for size. He could—and had—snapped a man’s leg in half with those formidable jaws.