The Mountain's Call. Caitlin Brennan

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СКАЧАТЬ wind began to blow, stinging her many scratches. She turned her wrists in her rescuer’s grip. He let her go. She started to cover herself, but it was a little too late for that.

      Mutely he took off his coat and held it out. She took it just as wordlessly. As plain as it was, it was beautifully made, of leather as soft as butter. The shirt he wore under it was fine linen, and clean. She caught herself admiring the width of his shoulders.

      Her stomach turned over. She barely had time to toss the coat out of the way before she doubled up, retching into the grass.

      She was beyond empty when she could finally stand straight again. Her head felt light, dizzy. She started to reach for the coat and staggered.

      The dark man caught her before she fell. Her skin flinched at his touch, but she made it stop. His lips tightened. “Sit here,” he said, pointing to his coat where it lay on the ground.

      He had a deeper voice than she had expected, speaking imperial Aurelian with an accent so pure it sounded stilted. He must be from the heart of the empire, from Aurelia itself.

      She did not consciously decide to do as he told her. He let go of her, and her knees would not hold her up. She crumpled in a heap.

      He turned his back on her and walked away. She stared after him in disbelief. Anger drove out a storm of tears. How could he—what did he think—

      She was shaking uncontrollably. Her stomach had nothing more to cast up. If she could find the horse, she would get to him and mount somehow and escape before her rescuer came back.

      The horse was dead. Maybe she had felt him die. She did not remember. He lay not far from her with his neck at an unnatural angle. Flies were already buzzing around him.

      The other horses were still in their line as if tied. She supposed she should wonder at that, just as she should grieve for the horse who had served her so well. She would, later. She was in shock. She knew that dispassionately, from the training her mother had bullied into her. She needed warmth, quiet and a dose of tonic.

      The sun was not too cold. It was quiet where she lay. None of her attackers had moved, but they were breathing. She could hear them. They must be asleep or unconscious.

      The dark man swam into view above her as he had before. This time she simply stared at him. He carried a bundle that unfolded into a shirt as fine as his own, a pair of soft trousers, and a pair of boots. The boots were for riding.

      He dressed her as if she was a child. These clothes were better than the best she had had at home. They fit much better than her brothers’ hand-me-downs.

      When she was dressed, with his coat over the shirt, he filled a wooden cup from a wineskin and made her drink. She swallowed in spite of herself, and choked. The wine was so strong it made her dizzy. There was something in it. Valerian—hellebore—

      She pushed the cup away. “Are you trying to poison me?”

      “So,” he said. “You can talk. No, it’s not poison. It’s something to calm you.”

      “Not for shock,” she said. “That makes it worse. Plain water is better. And rest. If there’s an herbalist in the town—”

      “I’m sure there is,” he said. “Can you ride?”

      “I can ride anything.”

      That was the wine making her giddy. He arched a brow but refrained from comment. “I meant, can you ride now?”

      “Anything,” she said. “Any time.”

      “If you say so,” he said. He turned toward the line of horses. One of them shook its head as if he had freed it from a spell, and walked docilely toward him. It was a handsome thing as they all were, coal-black with a star. Its trappings were crimson and green.

      He smoothed the mane on its neck, grimacing at the ribbons, and said to Valeria, “We’ll get you something less gaudy in Mallia.”

      “You’ve been very kind,” she said. “You saved my life and more, and I’m very grateful. But now I think—”

      “Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t be charged with stealing the horse. It’s due you as compensation—and not only for rape. This is one pack of hellions that won’t be terrorizing these parts again.”

      She stared at him. “Again? This isn’t the first—”

      “They’re notorious,” the dark man said. “And, unfortunately, too well born to be brought to account. The emperor’s justice is not as well administered here as one might hope.”

      “But that means—you—I—”

      “Their hunting days are over,” the dark man said. His voice was as soft as ever, but something in it made her shiver.

      Valeria’s sight was blurring again. She had meant to say something more, but what it was, she could not remember.

      While she groped for words, he lifted her and deposited her lightly in the saddle. He was a great deal stronger than he looked. She was almost as big as he was, and he had not shown any sign of strain.

      She clung to the high ornate saddle and tried to stop her head from whirling. The horse was quiet under her. It found her weight negligible after the well-fed lordling it had been carrying, and her balance even in this state was better than his.

      Her rescuer made no move to claim any of the horses for himself. He walked through the field of the fallen. Most he left where they lay, but he paused beside one. When he turned the man onto his back, Valeria recognized the face. It had hung above her just before the earth shook and flung them all down.

      The man’s breeches were tangled around his ankles. His thick red organ flapped limply. Her rescuer bent over him. There was a knife in his hand.

      Valeria’s throat closed. She knew the penalty for rape. Except that this man had not quite—

      She meant to say so. The words would not come. She watched without a sound as the dark man made two quick, merciless cuts. It was just like gelding a colt. He flung the offal with a gesture of such perfectly controlled fury that her jaw dropped. Before the bloody bundle could strike the ground, a crow appeared out of nowhere and caught it and carried it away.

      When the man turned back toward her, his eyes were so pale they seemed to have no color at all. He lifted a shoulder just visibly.

      The horse on the end of the line left the others and trotted toward him. Now that she saw it apart from the rest, she realized that it was different. Its saddle and bridle were as plain but as excellently made as the rider’s clothes. The horse was very like them in quality, a sturdy grey cob with an arched nose and an intelligent eye. It was neither as tall nor by any means as elegant as the others, but Valeria would have laid wagers that it would still be going when they had dropped with exhaustion.

      The dark man mounted without touching the stirrup. With no perceptible instruction, the grey horse turned toward the town. The black followed of its own accord.

      The movement of a horse under her did as much to bring Valeria back to herself as anything she could have done. Her stomach was a tight and painful knot, but she had mastered it.

      She СКАЧАТЬ