Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

“Hundreds,” Senneth said. “We will be profoundly grateful for her services. I’d be happy to have her ride with me, but I’m about to head out right now.”

Sosie glanced around, smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know where she is. She might already have ridden for your camp. But if I see her again, I’ll tell her that you need her as soon as she can arrive.”

Senneth nodded and swung back onto her borrowed mount. “Then I will look for her, and I will look for you as well. I know it is a war-but-try to stay safe.”

Sosie waved good-bye as Senneth pulled the horse around. “You, too.”

Senneth grinned. “And good luck with Ariane.” She waved, clucked to the horse, and took off at a steady gallop.

The day was fair, a little chilly, but spring had definitely arrived in this rocky, undulating land that led straight toward the foothills of the Lireth Mountains. As if overnight, the brown winter grass had put on a green coat; the early bushes had already flowered and lost their petals, while the late ones were sprinkled with color. Patches of wildflowers waved their bright heads in the cool air, turning their faces toward the sun. Even the hard earth had softened up. Her horse’s hooves scarcely jarred against the packed ground as they raced along. It was so easy to imagine the frenetic life unfolding just under the topsoil-the busy insects working through clumped dirt, the sleepy moles nosing through their clever tunnels, the clenched roots of trees and bushes uncurling and stretching toward water.

Senneth almost laughed at herself, for she was not in the habit of thinking in such poetic terms. She thought perhaps the mystic Lara had ridden this way just an hour or so before her, leaving a trail of spring magic in her wake. That would account for Senneth’s strange fancies; that would explain her sudden and unjustifiable lift of hope.

She rode steadily, stopping once to water the horse and eat a quick meal. She estimated she could be back at the royal camp before nightfall-in plenty of time to spray a few sparks across the enemy lines, perhaps even disable a whole regiment. Just the thought caused her blisters to ache, made her hands tighten on the reins.

But fire was what she had to offer the princess, and fire was what she would deliver.

It was about an hour before sunset when she pulled close enough to pick up the muted roar of battle. The terrain was just hilly enough to prevent her from seeing the clash of opposing armies, but she could hear faint sounds of voices shouting and weapons ringing, catch a slight whiff of smoke. Dread settled back over her heart, and fear as well. What terrible events might she have missed in the day and a half that she had been gone? Nothing too awful, of course-Donnal or Kirra would have brought extraordinary news. But that left a whole range of ordinary terrors…

The thought had barely passed through her mind when she saw a rider racing her way, dressed in Brassenthwaite blue. The feeling of dread intensified; she urged her horse to a gallop. The messenger was clearly looking for her. He pulled his horse up in a spray of loose dirt as they intersected.

“What? What is it?” she demanded.

“Serra Kirra,” he panted.

Kirra? If Kirra had been injured, there was no way Donnal would have left her side to find Senneth. But why hadn’t Cammon sent out a frantic cry? Sweet gods, could there be so many other things happening at the battlefront that Cammon didn’t even know ? She kicked her horse into a run and called over the hoofbeats, “What happened? How badly is she hurt?” It was inconceivable that Kirra could be dead.

The messenger, pounding along beside her, could scarcely get his breath. “She had-changed shape-lioness. Gisseltess man-got off a lucky shot. Brought her down.”

Senneth’s stomach cramped. “Where is she now?”

The Brassenthwaite man was having a hard time keeping up. Indeed, if she hadn’t wanted the rest of his information, she would have left him behind. “That man of hers-”

“Donnal?”

The messenger nodded. “He was able to-bring her to safety. But her-her wounds are deep. She wasn’t-conscious-”

More and more terrifying. Now Senneth’s lungs were seizing up, while her stomach was still tightly clenched. “Is she with Ellynor?” Has Lara arrived yet? Oh, Bright Mother, bring all the mystics to camp right now to save Kirra…

“I don’t know-who’s with her, serra.” He gasped. “Your brother sent me after you.”

Senneth nodded and leaned lower in the saddle, coaxing more speed from Ariane’s horse. Senneth had a rough-and-ready sort of healing power herself, and it worked well on injuries. If she could get there in time-if she could lay her hands on Kirra’s wound-oh, surely, surely, she could save that bright girl’s precious life-

“This way,” the Brassenthwaite man called as Senneth turned her horse toward the east, following the path that would take her around the worst of the fighting. “There was a skirmish there-this morning. I don’t know-if enemy soldiers are still in place.”

She let him take the lead on a more indirect route, though every nerve in her body was screaming to go faster, cut straight cross-country, never mind the obstacles. She had completely forgotten any fancies about hope and spring. All she could see now were barren hillocks, stripped trees, the unfriendly and stony terrain that lay between her and her goal.

They swept around one of those low hills to find a handful of men scattered across their path. Scavengers, Senneth thought first, for they wore no identifying colors from either army. And then, with even more contempt, Traitors. For one of them wheeled his horse right in front of her, pulling a sword to bar her passage. She saw a flash of topaz on his finger. A Storian man.

She lifted her hand to fling fire, to scorch her way through this roadblock, but just then the false Brassenthwaite man crashed his mount against hers, sending them careening off the road. Her horse bucked and skidded; the fight to stay on its back momentarily diverted her from magic. Before she could raise her hand again, one of the other riders swooped close enough to grab her left wrist and practically yank her from the saddle.

She felt all her nerves arc with shock and then go dead.

“Ah, Senneth,” Halchon Gisseltess purred in her ear. “How careless of you to fall into my hands.”

THEYrode for perhaps an hour. Wherever he was taking her, it wasn’t back to his army’s camp. That was about the only coherent thought Senneth could form while Halchon Gisseltess carried her before him on his horse.

He had caught her. He was taking her somewhere. She was powerless against him. He was touching her, and he might well be planning to rape her, and she could do nothing to stop him; and she would rather be dead.

She tried to force herself to take in details, to guess which direction they were headed. West and a little south, she thought. She had a terrible suspicion they were on the way to Ghosenhall. He had always said he wanted to install her as his queen in the royal city. He had to know she would not consent to such a farce-that the minute he released her, she would turn on him with fury and fire. Perhaps he did not intend to release her until she had been well and truly immobilized. Perhaps, while they had been fighting at the tip of Brassenthwaite, a regiment of his soldiers had marched through Ghosenhall and occupied the palace. Perhaps he had already prepared a bed of moonstones to be her bower, had fitted a room for her with shackles and chains. Perhaps, after all, she was doomed to be his lover and his queen.

She had been afraid of him her whole life. From the day she had first met him, his touch had wiped her clean of power, had filled her soul with depression and her mind with utter bleakness. When she was seventeen, she had broken with her father in the most drastic fashion to avoid an arranged marriage with Halchon Gisseltess. She could not bear to think, after all her travels, all her adventures, her life had brought her back to the same desperate point.