Ships from the West

The trio set off out of the north-west postern in the city walls and kicked into a swift canter, Gebbia's palfrey bobbing like a toy in the wake of the two larger horses ahead. Mirren's marmoset clung to her neck and bared its tiny teeth at the fresh wind, trying to lick the air with its tongue. The riders avoided the wagon-clogged Kingsway, and struck off towards the hills to the north of the city. Not until the horses were snorting and blowing in a cloud of their own steam did Mirren rein in. Baraz had kept pace with her but poor Gebbia was half a mile behind, the palfrey still bobbing simple-mindedly along.

'Why a court lady cannot be made to ride a decent horse I do not know’ Torunna's Princess complained.

Baraz patted his sweating mount's neck and said nothing. He was regretting the King's momentary interest in him, and was wondering if he would ever be sent to a tercio to do some real soldiering. Mirren turned to regard his closed face. 'You sir, what's your name?'

'Ensign Baraz, my lady - yes, that Baraz.' He was getting tired of the reaction his name produced, too.

'You ride well, but you seem more put out even than Gebbia. Have I offended you?'

'Of course not, lady.' And as she continued to stare at him, 'It's just that I was hoping for a more - more military assign­ment. His majesty has attached me to the High Command as a staff officer—'

'And you wanted to get your hands dirty instead of escort­ing galloping princesses about the countryside.' Baraz smiled. 'Something like that'

'Most of the young bloods are very keen to escort the galloping Princess.'

Baraz bowed in the saddle. 'I am uncouth. I must apologise, lady. It is of course an honour—'

'Oh, stow it, Baraz. It's not as though I blame you. Were I a man, I would feel the same way. Here comes Gebbia. You would think she had just ridden clear across Normannia. Gebbia! Clench your knees together and kick that lazy screw a little harder or you'll lose us altogether.'

Gebbia, a pretty dark-haired little thing whose face was flushed with exertion, could only nod wordlessly, and then look appealingly at Baraz.

'We should perhaps walk them a while to let them cool down,' he ventured.

'Very well. Ride beside me, Ensign. We shall head up to the hilltop yonder, and then maybe I'll allow you to race me.'.

The three horses and their riders proceeded more sedately up the long heather and boulder-strewn slope, whilst before them the sun rose up out of a roseate wrack of tumbled cloud on the undulating horizon. A falcon wheeled screaming out of the sun towards Torunn and shrank to a winged speck within seconds, though Mirren followed its course keenly with palm-shaded eyes. The marmoset gibbered unhappily and she shushed it. 'No Mij, it was just a bird is all.'

'You understand him?' Baraz asked, curious.

'In a way. He's my familiar,' and she laughed as his eyes widened. 'Didn't you know that Dweomer runs in the blood of the Fantyrs? The female line, at any rate. From my mother I gained witchery and from my father the ability to ride any­thing on four legs.'

'You can cast spells then?'

'Would you like me to try?' She wagged the fingers of one hand at him and he recoiled despite himself. Mirren laughed again. ‘I have little talent, and there is no one to tutor me save Mother. There are no great mages left in Torunna. They have all fled to join Himerius and the Empire, it is said.'

‘I have never seen magic worked.'

Mirren waved an arm, frowning, and Baraz saw a haze of green-blue light follow in its wake, as though trailed by her sleeve. It gathered on her open palm and coalesced into a ball of bright werelight. She sent it circling in a blazing blur round Baraz's astonished face, and then it winked out like a snuffed candle.

'You see? Mountebank tricks, little more.' She shrugged with a rare sadness, and he saw at once her father's face in hers. Her eyes were warmer, but the same strength was in the line of the jaw and the long nose. Baraz began to regret his assignment a little less.

Mirren stared at him with the sadness still on her face, then turned to her lady-in-waiting.

'Don't try to keep up with us, Gebbia; you'll only fall off.' And to Baraz: 'Ready for that race?'

Without another word she let out a yell and kicked Hydrax on. The big bay sprang into an instant canter, then quickened into a full-blooded gallop, his black mane flying like a flag. Baraz watched her go, startled, but noting how well she sat, sidesaddle or no, and then dug both heels into his own horse's flanks.

He had thought to go easy on her, and let her stay a little ahead, but he found instead that she was leaving him quickly behind, and had to ride in earnest, his grey dipping and rising under him on the rough ground. Once he had to pull up hard on the reins as the gelding tripped and almost went headlong and it took every ounce of his skill to draw level with her as they reached the broad plateau at the summit of the ridgeline, and she slowed to a canter again, then a trot, and finally a slow walk.

'Not bad,' Mirren told him. The marmoset had wrapped itself around her neck and was as bright-eyed as she. 'Now Mij, ease off a little there; you'll have me strangled.'

There was a rough upland track here on the ridge, and as they walked their horses along it they could look down on the sprawl of the capital behind them. They were some five or six miles out of the gates, and poor Gebbia was a mere dot on the land below, still trotting gamely upwards.

They passed the ruins of a house, or hill croft, its roof beams long since fallen in like charred ribs in the crumbling shadow of its walls.

'My father tells me there were many farms here in the hills outside the city before the war. Then the Merduks came and—' Mirren coloured. 'Ensign Baraz, I am so sorry.'

Baraz shrugged. 'What you say is true, lady. My people raped this part of the world before your father threw them back at Armagedir. It was an ugly time.'

'And now a descendant of the great Shahr Baraz of Aekir wears a Torunnan uniform and takes orders from a Torunnan king. Does that not seem odd to you?'

'When the wars ended I was a toddler. I grew up knowing that Ramusio and Ahrimuz were the same man. I have worshipped alongside Ramusians all my life. The older men remember things the way they were, but the younger know only the world the way it is now. And it is better like this.'

'I certainly think so.'

They smiled at each other in the same moment, and Baraz felt a warmth creep about his heart. But the moment was broken by the urgent squeaks of Mirren's familiar.

'Mij! What in the world is wrong?'

The little animal was clambering distractedly about her shoulders, hissing and crying. She halted her horse to calm it and Baraz took her reins as she bodily seized the tiny creature and stared into its face. It grew quiet, and whimperingly climbed into the hollow of her hood where it lay chittering to itself.

'He's terrified, but all he can show me is the face of a great black wolf.' Mirren took back her reins, troubled.

'There's someone on the track ahead of us,' Baraz told her. He loosened his sabre in its scabbard. A tall figure was standing some way in the distance, seemingly oblivious of their presence. He was motionless as a piece of statuary, and was staring down at the walls of the capital, mustard-coloured in the morning light, and the blue shine of the estuary beyond where the Torrin widened on its way to the sea.

'He doesn't look dangerous,' Mirren said. 'Oh, Baraz, stop topping it the bodyguard. It's just a beggar or vagabond. Look - there's another one, off to one side. They seem lost, and old, too.'

They rode up to the men, who appeared to be absorbed in the contemplation of the city in the distance. One was sitting with his back to a stone and a hood which seemed like a monk's cowl was pulled over his head. He might have been asleep. The other was dressed in a travel-stained robe, buff-coloured with dust, and a wide- brimmed hat which hid his face in shadow. A bulging haversack hung from one bony shoulder.

'Good morning, fathers,' Baraz greeted them as they ap­proached. 'Are you heading for the city?'

The man on the ground did not stir, but the other answered. 'Yes, that is my goal.' His voice was deep as a well.

'You've a fair step to go then.'

The man did not reply at once. He seemed weary, if the sag of his shoulders was anything to go by. He looked up at the two riders and for the first time they saw his face and gasped involuntarily.

'Who might you two be then?'

‘I am Ensign Baraz of the Torunnan army, and this is—'