Hunting Read Free

manicured, but not ragged with continual work, either.
His boots were more than fine. If he wanted a seruilis, did that
mean he was Luinsel?
    Not that it mattered. She had no
intention of playing servant-apprentice. Biding her time, Ash
scooped her clothing back into its bag.
    "I'll send word about the funeral
arrangements," Captain Garton said
    Ash blocked her mind from thoughts of
what that funeral would mean and nodded, then let the stranger lead
her outside.
     

Chapter Two
    A curious, watchful crowd had gathered.
Nervous strangers, and a few familiar faces, made distant by fear.
Luinhall was dealing not only with murder, but also a spate of
disappearances. Nerves were on edge, and if Ash tried to abandon
the Landhold here, there was a fair chance that they'd catch and
hold her.
    Fortunately, the Landhold led her down
the side alley to speak to yet another Watchman, this one in charge
of a collection of horses. If she went over the wall into Renus'
garden...
    "Can I have my books back, please?" she
asked as he returned, and then was distracted by the animal he
led.
    The equipage was plain and serviceable,
but the horse itself was the finest she'd ever seen. Black with one
white sock, more than eighteen hands high and close to perfect in
form. A stallion, which was chancy for a riding animal, but this
beauty looked to have been trained out of any immediate displays of
temperament. Ash found herself rechecking his points in the hope of
spotting some narrowness of the shoulders or splaying of hooves. As
if aware of the inspection, the stallion curved his fine, muscular
neck, stepping smartly.
    The Rhoi's mount probably didn't show
better than this, and Ash reached out involuntarily to offer her
hand. The stallion condescended to whuffle at her skin, ears
pricking back and forth, obviously excited by the too-near presence
of the crowd.
    The Landhold unbuckled a saddlebag, and
slid her wrapped books inside instead of returning them as asked.
"Much as Arth here would like a run, I've no wish to spend what's
left of the morning chasing you down."
    It had been too much to hope that he
was stupid, but maybe he could be talked out of this impulse.
    "I'm not going with you," Ash said,
bluntly, and followed his glance to the Watchman, who wasn't quite
close enough to hear what they were saying, but was gazing at them
in obvious interest. "Find yourself another seruilis."
    "I don't recall offering you a choice,"
the Landhold said pleasantly. He mounted, splits in his robe's
skirt showing it was designed for riding, and held a hand down to
her, bronzed fingers parted. His bangs flopped into his eyes,
spoiling the authority of the gesture.
    Looking at the outstretched hand, Ash
made a face. Well, she'd just have to run off later rather than
sooner. After she'd ridden this extremely magnificent piece of
horseflesh and stolen her books back.
    Wishing she had her knives, Ash handed
the man her bag, gripped the saddle and sprang up behind him. He
passed her bag back, waited till she'd taken a light hold of his
robe, and then nudged the stallion into motion.
    The black had an easy gait, but giving
in never did Ash's temper a great deal of good, and she spent her
energy on glowering at the Landhold's back and being annoyed at his
height as he negotiated the press of people, skirted a nightsoil
wagon, and oriented on the towering statue of Luin which rose out
of the River Milk. But by the time they joined the flow of morning
traffic on the Great River Road Ash had recovered her equilibrium,
turning her mind seriously to the possibility of making use of the
man, or giving up on her books and running.
    She made a quick survey – from the side
valleys and heavily planted slopes of Westgard to the abrupt,
fern-bedecked rise of Eastwall – seeing nothing unusual in the city
packed between the two mountains. Luin's stone face, carved with
careful ambiguity to match a god's dual aspect, offered no
guidance.
    "Where are you taking me?"
    The Landhold