Sasharia En Garde (52 page)

I know nothing about
Damedran and some mission. Will try to find out. I don’t like this coincidence
.

Owl turned over the paper, took from his pouch his drawing
chalk, and wrote,
I’m at the inn. They
say they know nothing. Do you really want me riding on, weeks behind the last
sign of her?

He put the note in the case, sent it, stowed the case, and
then ate supper while one of the teens brought in his gear from the stable and
carried it upstairs.

He’d expected an answer right away, but none came. One never
knew when Jehan could get the freedom to visit his rooms.

At sundown four young musicians came in, bearing
instruments. Mistress Innkeeper opened all the windows and set lamps on each
sill. The music drifted out onto the streets and before long the place was
filled with custom, drinking, eating, dancing, singing, talking. Owl sat in
isolation, too tired to care when the dancers, maneuvering for space, bumped
him with hip or elbow. When he caught himself falling asleep right there in the
chair, he trod upstairs to the third floor and down the hall to where someone
had chalk-marked “Owl” on the door.

The door shut out most of the noise. Someone had lit a lamp,
which cast weak light on a bed, a small table with his saddlebag directly below
it, a window opened to the cool night air below the slanting beams of the roof.

He pulled the gold case out and removed the tiny scrap of
paper on which Jehan had written in careful letters that betrayed not haste but
a long period of reflection:

Return to Vadnais.

Though he suspected Jehan was bitter with disappointment for
several good reasons, Owl sighed with relief and fell into bed.

His mood was as sunny as the weather the next morning. After
a long sleep, a long soak in the bath and a long breakfast, he slung his gear
over his shoulder, paid his shot and sauntered out to the stable to retrieve
his mount and start the journey south. This time he needn’t hurry.

He was smiling to himself, mentally planning a route that
would include as many good inns as possible, when he noticed the head stableman
watching him in an uncertain way. A stealthy way, even.

Owl checked shoes, saddle, feedbag, then mounted up, and
couldn’t resist a single glance back. The man shook his head slightly and
turned away.

“What is it,” Owl said, suspecting he would hate whatever he
was about to hear.

The man turned around again, this time scanning in both
directions. But all the stable hands were busy, out of earshot.

He stepped to Owl’s stirrup. “The mistress is a good one,
few better. But she does like a gold coin, and she also is partial to a young,
handsome face.”

“What?” Owl knew this could not possibly refer to him, as he
had offered no one gold, he was no longer young, and had never been handsome.

“Boys in cadet gear here yesterday.” The man looked around.
“Girl told me they offered six golds for information, and for Mistress to keep
quiet. But no one saw fit to pay
me.
”

At that subtle hint, Owl dug into his pouch. “Guards?”
Damedran?
Here?

A nod, then the man leaned up and muttered, “Lookin’ for a
tall woman. Light hair. Named Lasva. Carried a letter from Master’s cousin at
an inn downriver. Girl in the kitchen overheard it all.”

Owl gaped. Damedran Randart had been
here
. Not at the garrison, on some fool army task.

There was only one explanation for him being here. He was
hunting Sasharia. What had happened? Owl could have sworn Randart had no
suspicions when he left the
Dolphin
.
Well, of course not, or he would have used that force to take her.

The man sneaked another look around. “I’d swear that boy on
point was a Randart. To say no more, a certain relation o’ his being one of the
reasons I no longer serve in the guard,” he added sourly.

Owl handed down a fistful of silver coinage, which was the
highest worth he carried. “She say where she was going?”

Another look. “Mistress drew her a map to go west
cross-country. They said west of Colend. But she asked about Larsca territory.
And when she rode out, she didn’t turn west or north, but right down the south
road.”

Owl slapped the rest of his silver into the man’s hand.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “And . . . I’d not mention this
conversation.”

The man gave him a wry smile. “I never even saw you.”

Owl paused once, again at a corner where he couldn’t be
seen, and wrote a fast note to Jehan. Without waiting for an answer he started
galloping down the south road.

“Lasva, there’s a couple of lookers here to see you,” one
of the younger girls said to me, eyes wide with interest and curiosity.
Probably the more-so since I hadn’t been among those going off for long walks
in the woods during those evenings, or dancing until past midnight.

“For me?”

My first thought was Jehan.

I scoffed at myself. How would he possibly know where I was,
after all these weeks? And second, more to the point, if he was here, they
wouldn’t say “a couple of lookers,” not with that white hair, and the
inevitable outriders and hoopla. They’d be going nuts over the sudden
appearance of a royal prince.

So I shrugged, and hefted my bag as I’d been heading toward
the stable anyway. Probably someone who wanted to hire me for my great reach.
Like for apple picking or something.

When I reached the stable yard, two of the younger of my
dorm mates were flirting with a pair of teenage guys. The one with the red hair
was flirting back. I couldn’t hear the words over the noise in the yard, what
with horses coming and going, shouts of workers, and conversations everywhere
as our former olive-picking mates began their departures.

The redhead laughed, leaned down, and tugged teasingly at
one of the girls’ braids, to get his hand slapped away with a pretense of
anger. The other one, cuter by far, was tall, with a long, serious face and
thick waving brown hair worn clipped back. Both wore ill-fitting summer tunics
over their shirts, and brown riding trousers tucked into blackweave riding
boots much like the military wear. They each had swords at their saddles and
knives at their belts.

I walked up. “Looking for me?” I asked, relieved I didn’t
know them.

The dark-haired one regarded me with an expression
impossible to interpret, but the redhead wiggled his brows. “Oh, I do hope you
are Lasva.”

The girls laughed, and the shorter, blond one (the biggest
flirt in our dorm) cast me a mirthful glance. “Good luck winning a kiss out of
Lasva! She’s far too picky. You’re better off with me.”

“If they’re hiring for kissing, you are the expert. But if
it’s apple picking,” I said, making a show of looking down on her, “you’re
hopeless.”

The girls and the redhead laughed. The other boy leaned
forward to pat his horse’s neck, as the animal was restless, ears flicking,
weight shifting from one leg to the other, head tossing. His hand was big,
strong, and callused across the palm.

“Apple picking?” The redheaded guy pretended surprise. “How
ever did you know?”

“Because I’ve already worked a week over the quota on
account of my size,” I retorted. “What did they give you at the front, a name
of all the tall ones who don’t spend their time chasing after kisses?”

“Hey! I was a good presser,” the blonde protested.

“Yeah. When Tavan was around,” her friend retorted, rolling
her eyes.

“Am I as handsome as Tavan?” The redhead smoothed back his
tousled hair.

“No.” All three of us women shook our heads.

Both of the guys laughed this time.

The redhead said to me, “Well, will you come apple picking?”

“Is it really apples? How amazing is that?” I said.

“How . . . amazing . . . is
what?” The dark-haired one looked puzzled.

The blonde said, “She talks funny. But she’s a sailor.” As
if that explained everything.

“We have an orchard.” The redhead waved a hand in a vague
circle. “Actually, several fruits and things.”

I shrugged. “How long and where? I do have somewhere to be.”

“Oh,” asked the redhead. “Where is that?”

The dark-haired one sent him a frown, but the redhead
shrugged.

“Tser Mearsies.” I gave them one of my lies, surprised a
little that they would ask.

“This won’t take long. Not a large orchard.” The redhead
grinned.

“All right.” I shrugged, thinking that the fewer of those
jewels I had to use on my journeys, the less attention I garnered. And anyway
my father might need them back. “Let me get my mount.”

The blonde grinned at me. “We’ll keep them occupied. Take
your time.”

As I trod to the stable, the teasing, flirting, and laughter
promptly started up again behind me.

I found my mare. She was fresh and ready to go, her head
tossing, eyes alert, nostrils flaring. The stable hands had already saddled
her, and my sword was intact, so all I had to do was tie on my gear and lead
her out.

The short time I’d been gone, several more of the younger
girls had gathered round. As I led my mare up, I was informed by the girls that
my escorts were named Red and Ban.

“Call me Lasva.” I mounted up. My riding muscles twinged.
Weird, how quickly you lose it if you don’t use it.

Everyone exchanged farewells and the fellows led the way out
of the place where I’d spent so pleasant a stay. My earnings jingled with
satisfying weight in my little belt pouch.

We proceeded at a walking pace toward the crossroads on the
other side of the hill from the farm. They did not angle toward the big main
road, rutted from all those wagon runs to and from the duke’s row of farms and
orchards, but toward a smaller side road. We cut through all the traffic of
wagons, riders, and walkers.

The boys had fallen silent. I was fine with that, busy with
my own thoughts. Like, how I could get to a map without raising any
questions—which meant lying. Which, of course, promptly threw right back at me
all the self-righteous yap I’d given to Jehan about his lies.

Of course
my
cause
is good, I instantly told myself.

But I could hear him insisting he wanted my dad back. If so,
why didn’t he just come out and say so, as Prince Jehan—why the purple pirate
secret identity? Could it be for the same reasons I was lying? But he was a
prince! Princes had power.

Or did he? On the yacht, Randart sure hadn’t behaved
like . . .

I sighed sharply, causing my mare to sidle.

The boys looked over at me, Ban concerned, Red confused.
“Anything wrong? Uh, Lasva?”

“No. Just, next time someone tells me something, I’m going
to listen,” I said with fake cheer. “Instead of boring myself afterward with
trying to imagine what they would have said.”

Now both looked confused. I sighed again and looked around.
While I’d been arguing with myself for the thousandth time, we’d gradually left
the other travelers behind. We were completely alone on a road that had
narrowed to something little wider than a worn footpath. “Where are the
others?”

Ban said with a tight expression, “Others?”

“Hirelings.” I motioned upward, as if picking an apple from
a tree. “You cannot tell me I’m the only one hired from that place. I could
name you at least a dozen who were faster and better than I. Taller, too.” I
meant the last as a joke, and belatedly Red laughed, but it was a strangled
sort of laugh, and Ban’s smile was more of a wince.

I stopped my mare. “Um, what’s going on here?” I asked. “You
two look like you swallowed glass. There’s nobody else around—”

I was interrupted by the thud of horse hooves from beyond a
rocky outcropping.

From the other side of the scree, five guys in cadet brown
emerged, followed by two more guys with a string of horses. The first rider was
familiar—hawk nose a lot like my own, generous, curving lips, black eyes, long
glossy black hair—

“Damedran Randart?” I squeaked.

His mouth dropped open. “How did you know that?”

I swung my horse around. “All I know is,” I ripped my sword
free, “I am not going
anywhere
with a
Randart!”

I whapped the mare’s sides. Her muscles bunched. She was
very ready for a run.

The others closed round me, their faces determined.

None of them were armed. Yet. I whirled around in the
saddle, and swung my sword so fast it hummed. Whizz—snap—whoosh! I cut through
the reins on three of their mounts. The horses panicked, and the boys couldn’t
control them.

That was enough to win me a gap in their circle. I gave the
mare the knees again. She, rested for weeks, loved the opportunity to gallop,
and took off like a rocket. I bent low over her head, bushes whipped past—

A darkish blur thundered up on one side. A flash of
silver—Damedran Randart brought his sword down toward me.

I slewed, whipped my blade up. I was already off-balance. I
had never fought on horseback and feared my block would be weak, so I rose up
in the stirrups the better to brace against his killing blow.

Which was a feint. Damedran snapped his blade to a low flat
thrust under my thigh. He flexed his wrist, and whoop! I tumbled right off the
horse.

Only my martial arts training in falling saved me from
breaking at least an arm, if not my neck. I tucked under, rolled over what felt
like 345,679 jagged boulders, and momentum propelled me to my feet.

My sword had tumbled in one direction as I dropped in the
other. I couldn’t see it, so I shifted into kenpo mode. When Damedran flung
himself down from his horse, I whipped up a foot, kicked his blade clean out of
his hand, followed up with a whirl and a sidekick to the knee, and he yelped,
falling right in Ban’s path.

I ran.

Got about three steps before two big, brawny boys came at
me, arms out. No swords. I feinted toward one, and when his hands jerked up to
block, I gave him a nasty palm-heel strike to the solar plexus, blocked a reach
from the other, and snapped another side-sweep to the knee. He went down first,
the other whooping for breath as he stumbled after me.