Hunting (32 page)

"I'm glad Daere could have a friend
here." He pulled up a third chair, and took Ash's hand, putting
business aside to briefly exchange pleasantries, but then said:
"Sera Arpesial–"

"Kiri."

"Kiri. It seemed to me that when you
asked about the need for a ritual that you had some other question
in mind."

"In a way. It was what you said about a
human life being little more than a candle." Kiri's heavy lashes
swept down. "If you light enough candles at once, they'll still
make a bonfire."

ooOoo

It said something for Ash's wedding day
that while her new husband spent his afternoon trying to boil a
well, she found herself stuck in a lumbering coach opposite a young
man who might as well have edited her out of existence, and a boy
who had given up on a similar attempt to instead outright glare at
her.

Heran, having stewed over the
revelation of breasts ever since the banquet, was overdue an
opportunity to shout at her, but Ash merely smiled at him vaguely
and sat apparently lost in thought. Alone, she could probably have
made some progress with an affronted Veirhoi, but she was reluctant
to have that conversation in front of Lauren. His wounds were too
deep, and freshly exposed.

Her presence in the coach at all was
due to Farpatten. When she'd mentioned an intention to check in
with her Huntsmen, the Guard Captain had suggested she travel down
with the Veirhoi, putting the coach at her disposal for the return
journey. For a moment Ash had suspected Thornaster of becoming
immediately and excessively protective, but then realised this was
a different impact of her marriage. Farpatten had reclassified
her.

The unhappy prospect of being a matter
of consideration for a Rhoimarch's security detail kept Ash
occupied during the short trip to the Lower Commons. And in
Montmoth she was merely married to a foreign personage. What would
it be like in Aremal? Ash knew she loved Thornaster, and would be
spending a great deal of her time happily thinking back to what
they had done together that morning. But she hadn't been able to
predict all the consequences of marrying him, and was finding them
increasingly difficult to swallow.

The coach rumbled to a stop as Ash told
herself for the tenth time that Thornaster and the possibility of
horse races would likely make up for a reasonable amount of being
guarded. She rubbed her left hand, which was tingling
uncomfortably, then shivered as a chill ran down her spine.

"Did it just get colder?"

Heran's startled words were followed by
an exclamation from Lauren, and the first seruilis drew his feet up
and snatched at Heran as patterns of frost raced across the coach's
floor. Ash hastily followed suit, the soles of her second-best pair
of boots making a cracking noise. Balancing on the coach's seat,
she reached for the nearest door, but pulled her hand back at the
last moment as a filigree of ice and a strong desire to keep her
fingers warned her off.

"Kick it out!" Lauren ordered, and
shifted to make good his own words, only to hastily grab for a
firmer hold of the seat as the coach lurched into motion. The
driver was shouting, urging the horses to greater speed.

"He's sprung 'em!" Ash gasped, her
breath misting.

Everything bounced, and Heran and
Lauren both tumbled to the floor, Lauren's rapier whipping against
Ash's legs as he tried to avoid the frost. But already the
unnatural cold had faded, breath no longer marking itself with
mist, and the pair merely slid on melting ice.

Being away from the cold did not
necessarily mean they were out of danger, particularly if the
driver continued to corner at a speed to make the coach slew and
skip. Ash clung to her seat, trying to make sense of the noise
outside, and hoping the coach wouldn't overturn. Was that pursuit,
or simply Farpatten and the other Guard who'd been accompanying the
coach on horseback?

"Stay down, Heran," Lauren said, as the
Veirhoi tried to haul himself upright. "Brace yourself, but try to
be ready to move."

They rounded another corner, and then
raced breakneck along a downward slope, a circumstance that had Ash
certain they were going to crack up at any moment. But as they
bounded onto flatter ground the pace dropped, and the driver began
to haul up.

Ash slid open the nearest screened
window and made a cautious survey, then relaxed when she saw
Farpatten still mounted. He caught her eye and made a belaying
gesture, so she simply double-checked her knives were in easy
reach, and waited till the coach came to a stop. Lauren and Heran
picked themselves up, and Lauren drew the rapier that had added to
their tangle.

"I'm going to put 'inconvenient in
bouncing coaches' down on the negative side of learning swordplay,"
Ash said, and was not in the least surprised when he ignored
her.

The glossy flank of Farpatten's bay
blocked the window, and the Guardsman leaned down to glance inside.
"Any injuries?"

"No. What happened?"

"You know almost as much as we, Ser
Carlyon. We arrived at the safe house and the coach started to
freeze. If Vishen had hesitated at all before driving on, I don't
doubt we'd still be there." Farpatten glanced in the direction
they'd come, and then restively at a dung-gather and a pair of
riders who'd paused to stare. "There's been no sign of pursuit, but
then we didn't see the attacker in the first place. Hold fast –
we'll head to the nearest Watch House."

"They knew where we were going," Heran
said, as the coach began to move again. "We only decided on this
less than two decems ago and they had time to set up an ambush with
a mage powerful enough to kill the lot of us. What's to stop them
from coming to this Watch House and doing exactly the same
thing?"

"Nothing," Lauren said crisply. "But I
doubt we'll stay there long. It may be that we'll head out of the
city altogether."

"If they're moving this openly against
me, what are they doing to Arun?" Heran asked, but then closed his
mouth on any further questions and said instead: "Can I have one of
those knives of yours,
Lenthard
?"

"No."

Heran might possibly have anticipated a
refusal, but nothing so tersely flat. Momentarily stymied, he
wavered, then snapped: "Just sit here and be protected, is that
it?"

Unable to resist a smile, Ash shook her
head. "Borrow a sword off one of the Watch, if you want one. But
there's no sense me giving you a weapon you've never used while
leaving myself half-armed."

At this point Heran remembered he
wasn't talking to her, and firmed his mouth, but since they'd
reached the Watch House Ash was already halfway out the door. That
would be the last time she'd agree to ride in a coach when a horse
was available.

The Lower Commons was not home, but
she'd ridden through it often enough exercising mounts for Reeders
Stables. The day had already shifted to halflight – the period when
the sun had passed into the shadow of Westgard, but had not yet set
– and most folk would be returning home, or preparing dinner. It
was also shift change for the Watch and, barring a flop-eared dog,
the yard of the Watch House was empty.

"Captain." Ash joined Farpatten in
checking again for any sign of pursuit. "Send them with me."

Farpatten gave her a brief glance.
"We're not yet at so desperate a pass."

"I can put them somewhere reached by a
rooftop path known only to friends who have no Luinsel
connections," Ash said.

The Guardsman simply shook his head,
and Ash made no attempt to push the point further, following him
into the Watch House. But she could see the idea take hold as
Farpatten tried to organise sufficient Watchmen to send back to the
safe house to investigate. The attempt on the Veirhoi could only
have been arranged by someone deep in the confidence of the Rhoi's
Guard. Until Farpatten had discovered the traitor, any arrangement
he made was at risk. And all this while he had no idea whether his
primary charge, the Rhoi, was facing a similar attack.

"What guarantee?" he asked, turning on
Ash almost mid-sentence.

"None. But I'd give odds he'd be safer
with me than back at the palace."

Farpatten was a decisive man, quickly
making arrangements for contact. Ash then had a helpful discussion
with the Watch Sergeant, borrowing a few stray items of clothing,
which she handed to Lauren and Heran.

"The rapier will make you stand out a
little, but I guess it's safer to keep you armed. Luckily it's
getting on for dark."

Heran looked at the oversized cap she'd
given him, sighed, and pulled it on. Then he glowered at her
reaction, even though all she'd done was widen her eyes and keep
her mouth firmly closed.

"You're truly obnoxious, you know
that?"

She grinned. "You're not the first to
mention it."

"Can't you take this seriously? Someone
just tried to kill us!"

"This is me taking this seriously,
Heran," Ash said, surveying Lauren doubtfully. A worn coat was not
going to make him look less upright, and the bruised temple stood
out like a brand. "Let's get moving in case they did try to follow
us. We'll go over the back wall, Captain."

Farpatten nodded, and came to offer
them a leg up. "Don't make me regret this."

Ash nodded. "Tell Thornaster–" She
hesitated, then said, "Tell him I'll see him soon."

Chapter Thirty-One

"Wait, we're going into Mockhold
Valley? That's your idea of a safe place?"

"It's my idea of a place that people
who usually ride around the Deirhoi District would be more likely
to get lost than to find us."

"And what do we do about the locals?
How do we avoid getting mugged – or worse – while we're hiding from
assassins?"

"I told you, remember? Roof running.
This way."

There were hundreds of routes to the
roofs of the Shambles, but with two beginners, one of them tall and
reasonably solid, she'd be using the safest. First an easy climb up
an old wrought iron fence onto a stone wall that had once circled
one of the original large estates. The wall had been used as a
support for dozens of less solid buildings, but still provided a
safe crossing to a tight row of three-story houses which were
better quality than most, and from there to the estate's manor
house, a solid core in a sea of lesser structures.

Ash took them up on the wall, pausing
to survey the terrain and play lecturer.

"Three rules. First, walk light and
keep your mouth shut. These are people's homes, and we don't want
to damage them any more than we want them to know we're running
around on them. Second, walk where I walk. I'll be going slow,
giving you time to watch my feet and my hands. Third, if I yell
'jump', leap in whatever direction I'm heading and grab for
anything that looks solid. That shouldn't happen on this route, but
it's still the Shambles, after all. Any questions?"

"If we are separated?" Lauren asked,
voice lowered but as crisply correct as ever.

"Get up as high as you can and wave at
anyone around my age who happens by. There are a few who do use the
roofs outside the Huntsmen, but most of them will head the other
way if they spot you. Just tell them Ash wants you stashed, and
they'll look after you."

Without further ado she led them up and
along a far more convoluted route than she'd usually bother with.
But Ash was glad of the need, aware – though Thornaster had no
plans to leave for months yet – that this was the start of a long
goodbye to a life she'd loved. The beginning of the end of Ash
Lenthard.

During the late afternoon and early
evening the Shambles was at its liveliest. Cats that had dozed
during the day stirred, eyeing off the flights of birds choosing
their roosts. Voices rose in chatter or shouts, dogs barked for
table scraps. The deep streets were already disappearing into
shadows, but the halflight made for easy navigation of the roofs.
Ash walked the sky as the broken moon rose, and thought the world
glorious.

Heran and Lauren kept to her rules, and
just past sunset she had brought them to the building opposite the
Huntsmen's headquarters. A trio of spare staves were tucked against
the base of the chimney.

Ash collected one and murmured: "I'll
go across and swing over a walkway for you two," and immediately
put words into action.

The walkway – two boards lashed
together – had been useful for outfitting the attic with a few
larger items. Ash set it carefully in place, and then stilled,
staring along the street below. Then she snatched up her staff and
said tersely, "Go inside and wait. There are candles and a
tinderbox on the table immediately to your right. I'll be – I'll
try not to be long."

Before either of her charges could
respond, Ash left them, hurrying toward the crossroads at the end
of the block of buildings. Lit by an open taphouse door, it had
offered her a brief tableau of three figures – two male, and one
much smaller, kicking at the legs of the tallest of the three as he
carried her.

Five winding streets connected at the
crossroads, all alley-narrow. Two were possibilities, and with no
means of choosing between them Ash had to rely on speed, racing
quickly along one, and then finding an easy roof and attempting a
light-footed sprint to the ridge. A dangerous risk – new routes did
not mix with speed – and a tile slid down behind her as she
balanced on the roof's apex.

It shattered in the first street as she
crouched gingerly above a none-too-stable piece of guttering, but
the noise usefully drew the attention of someone well ahead of her
in the street below. She couldn't make out more than a suggestion
of a shape, but it was a shape that made a noise – a question – and
was briefly answered.