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  "That's because you've made it worse."

  "What? How?"

  "Well, while it's not easy to be close to a fellow like Lauren Carlyon – teeth-grindingly virtuous as he is – it's also hard not to respect him. And you – you not only acted like damnation was hereditary, but you end up with the very opposite of his situation. It's a salt in the wound thing." Frog surveyed the other seruilisi critically. "Don't worry about it too much – Carlyon's too just to keep you entirely on the outer, and they'll inevitably fall in line just because he wants them to. It's only a matter of time."

  "You don't like him."

  "Why do you say that?" Frog flicked a hand in light dismissal, but then shifted uncomfortably. "Or, well, no and yes. Did I mention the teeth grinding? All that talent in one person is the kind of insufferable thing you can only endure. Have you seen him at sword practice yet? There's none in the Mern to match him. Let's not even get into how hard it is to keep a girl's attention when he's in the room."

  "He sits a horse well, too," Ash said mildly. "But Lauren Carlyon's not my current concern. What are we supposed to do on this hunt?"

  "Well, you just ride along in back and try to keep up." Frog eyed Cloud Cat. "Though it looks like that won't be a problem. Thornaster hasn't stinted with your mount, has he? Don't fall off, because we likely won't even notice, let alone stop to point and laugh."

  "Why is everyone so convinced I can't ride? I used to work in a stable!"

  "And that prepares you for fast work over rough ground? I suppose you've never hunted before?"

  "Not on a horse."

  "What? Don't tell me you're a poacher? Anyway, after Turing Dell the seruilisi let the main body of the hunt go ahead, but that doesn't necessarily mean we'll miss the action since the stag could break back past the leading edge." Frog nodded at an unstrung short bow strapped to his saddle. "It's not easy to shoot from horseback, and given what I've heard of your archery skills it should be no surprise you're just along for the ride. I, on the other hand, am aiming for the prestige of first blood. Carlyon might look good on a horse, but I'll make up for it with luck and charm." Running a hand over his hair, Frog puffed up his chest and paraded a few steps.

  A short horn blast sounded, warning that the hunt was soon to leave, and Ash hoisted herself into the saddle. "Good luck. While you're decorating yourself with glory, I'll just enjoy the ride."

  She glanced around for Thornaster, who she'd left trying not to laugh at sidesaddles, and spotted him now talking to a bluff, ruddy-skinned woman. They seemed to be discussing Arth, whose pricked ears and pluming tail announced the stallion's opinion of the morning.

  The woman was Setsel Ormsley, one of Montmoth's two female Luinsel, and the owner of the horse stud they'd visited. Not on the long list Thornaster had written up of Luinsel he needed to meet personally to check for taint, but perhaps a good person to ask about likely candidates for Rhoi.

  "...go all day. No problems," Vendarri was saying as Ash worked her way into earshot of the seruilisi.

  "I don't see why half these people start out," the Veirhoi said. "This is a serious hunt, not a picnic, and even if it weren't, half of them won't get past the first ridge. Look at Bardolphin there. His horse is almost as round as he is, and breathes as easily. He'll turn back within a quarter-measure. Why does he bother?"

  "Their participation hurts no-one," said Carlyon. "So long as they take care and don't hinder the other riders."

  The first seruilis stood in his stirrups, taking a quick count of those around him. The red highlights in his dark hair only gleamed a little in the cool light of morning, but the muted colour did little to diminish his good looks. Ash pushed queasy reaction aside, and focused on favourably comparing Cloud Cat to the other seruilisi's horses. The Veirhoi's honey-gold palomino and Carlyon's blood bay were both nice pieces, but Ash's mare, jittering in anticipation of the run, would still be her choice.

  "Keep your mounts in hand," the first seruilis added, with a possibly coincidental glance in Ash's direction. "Those who have been permitted to carry weapons, use them only when your line is clear."

  "Thornaster's not carrying anything?" Frog asked Ash. "Whyever not?"

  "I don't know," Ash replied. "Maybe he shoots as well as me?"

  Thornaster, egotistical creature, had actually been confident of his chances, but had laughed and said that Arth would much prefer not to be distracted from the run by petty concerns such as making concessions for his rider's aim.

  "Most likely considers himself above proceedings," said Marriston.

  Ash returned wide-eyed incomprehension to this abandonment of the policy of ignoring her. She was willing to bet she wasn't the only one who'd been comparing horseflesh.

  "Really, Carlyon, it's too bad," Marriston went on. "I guarantee you our day will be spoiled because this gutter trash is over mounted."

  The boy was as subtle as a baited bull. No longer weighed down by thoughts of Genevieve's impending damnation, Ash decided to change tactics as well. "I'll outride the lot of you," she advised them cheerfully.

  Frog's snort of laughter was the only positive reaction, but not all of the rest looked at her with anger. Carlyon, however, took back control of the scene before it could escalate.

  "Marriston," he said, hazel eyes flat as a cat's, "if you do not wish to participate, you need only say so. Don't put me to the trouble of punishing you for your behaviour."

  The blond seruilis checked a hasty reply, and cast a fulminating glare at Ash, but nodded. "I apologise. You will have no trouble from me this day, Carlyon."

  "Good," the first seruilis said. "I expect the same from everyone here," he added, raising his voice so that it could be clearly heard by the entire group of tabard-clad youths. "We are seruilisi of the Mern and will conduct ourselves accordingly." Then his stern face softened. "That, of course, should still permit you to enjoy yourself thoroughly."

  And a well-timed speech, as a second signal sounded on the horn, and riders and horses began to shift, to form a stream following a leader Ash couldn't see. Carlyon held his group back, then set them off at a slow trot, behind a mass of movement and colour, with the dim yelping of dogs to the fore.

  The sky clearing to a thin blue above, it was a fine day for a hunt.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ash found herself quivering almost as much as Cloud Cat, and controlled herself before the mare took her excitement as a signal to surge ahead. This was not the time to race, but simply to travel in a mass out of the Deirhoi Valley, around the northern face of Eastwall to the flat-topped hills of the Rhoi's Preserve.

  More used to the fields and lanes of the Southern Valleys, Ash kept to the back of the pack and concentrated on her surroundings, matching them to the Rhoi's description of the ground they would cover. It was primarily wooded on the slopes and flat hilltops, with wide grassy stretches over low-lying areas. The valleys were higher than Luinhall's, and the streams not glacial like the Milk, but still swift and chill with late snowmelt from deeper in the mountains.

  One stream drained into a small valley thick with knee-high grass: Turing Dell. Here, servants waited beneath the scattered trees with food spread on groundsheets. Carlyon sent the seruilisi to tend their various masters, so Ash waited at the edge of the swirl of confusion until she spotted Arth's proud head near one of the central trees.

  "Enjoying yourself, stripling?" Thornaster asked, handing her Arth's reins as she led Cloud Cat up. The stallion greeted her also, a rough buffet which he usually reserved for the Visel. She found this delightful, though it nearly robbed her of her footing.

  "I'd like to ride here without the hunt," she said, smiling. "It's nice."

  "Nice!" cried Hawkmarten, on Thornaster's far side. "One of the least-spoilt hunting grounds I've ever covered deserves a less feeble term than nice!"

  "Well, I own I think it nice too," Thornaster said, eyes dancing.

  "Not too backward for you, Visel?" asked a new voice. "I hear hunts are out of fashion
in Aremal."

  Arn Marriston, Setsel of Strathaden, whose son obviously took after him in temperament as well as looks. Picking pointless fights for the sake of it. Unimpressed, Ash didn't wait to hear Thornaster's response, leading Arth and Cloud Cat to the stream. Testing the water, she decided it was too cool, and followed the lead of another rider a short way downstream, where the water widened and became shallower, trapping itself in eddies by the shore for the high sun to warm. After drinking herself, she moved well to one side of the clearing.

  With Arth trying to eat her hair, and Cloud Cat pulling to the length of her reins in an attempt to explore, Ash pondered the advisability of adding the pair to the general picket so she could grab breakfast, but was spared the decision by Kittihar, who ungraciously thrust a meat-stuffed roll at her and quickly made off. Should she thank Carlyon's determination to be correct?

  Using her kerchief to wrap half for later, Ash munched while she watched Rhoi Arun trying to enjoy his own hunt. Thornaster had told the Rhoi of Karaelsur's possible presence, and recommended investigation behind a guise of business as usual, but while Thornaster chatted and mingled the Rhoi a little too obviously looked around him for a monster.

  Ash looked herself, but saw only people. Marriston running attendance on thin, scholarly Decsel Enderhay. Lauren Carlyon with a man who could only be his older brother, Eman. Vendarri talking earnestly with a girl who looked away from him, while Frog watched and smiled. Which of them? None? More than one? It could be an alliance of Kinsel, or someone completely unconnected with the Luinsel. Or Enderhay, the obvious suspect, though if his reputation was to be believed, the most unlikely.

  When the hunt split, a full third returning to the Deirhoi District, it was a subdued but still excited group that headed into the tablelands to the northeast, where the stag had already been tracked to harbour. Ash, again keeping to the rear, shivered as the scent-hounds' cry was followed by the mournful call of a horn. Somewhere ahead, the stag was hearing that noise. Alerted to dogs and men, it would begin its run.

  This was sport? A day of pleasure, something to boast of after?

  Ash had only once allowed her own Huntsmen to chase down their prey. One of the skarl – the shadow wolves of Naggol – had strayed into the Shambles, providing a problem that couldn't simply be trussed and delivered to the Watch. That had been a hunt to the death, too dangerous and too wild, and the exultation and shame of the kill had stayed with Ash for months afterwards. Only an animal, but it had fought to live. Had Genevieve remembered every one of her kills? Would Ash feel pleasure, or only sick, when she flushed her guardian's murderer from cover, and the chase began in earnest?

  The stream of horses curved up into woods on top of one of the flat hills, and the riders separated into clusters of two and three, following multiple paths. Ash found herself suddenly alone. The trees were not close-set, mostly evergreens surrounded by blankets of needles, and she slowed to a walk to cross one of Montmoth's inevitable small streams, looking for movement, her eyes tricking her into seeing hunters in every direction.

  The horn sounded again, and Ash oriented on it, breaking out of the trees above a dry, grassy valley. The main body of the hunt was well ahead, but immediately below was a loose cluster of tabard-clad riders, picking up speed.

  "That's more my kind of chase," she murmured. "Let's show them what you can do, Cloud Cat."

  Cloud Cat needed little encouragement, bounding down the gentle slope. Kittahar was the laggard of the group, and Ash and Cloud Cat passed his grey as if he were standing still. Then came a clump: Marriston, Gibrace, Pelandis and, surging ahead, Lirindar. They were more of a challenge, but it was the three frontrunners who were her real difficulty. Carlyon and Vendarri's mounts, and even Frog's raw-boned bay, all had a fine turn of speed, enough that Cloud Cat couldn't simply prance past them. It would be a matter of taking advantage of the terrain, choosing the best path among the tussocks.

  Ash grinned when Vendarri responded to a glimpse of her by urging his roan to greater efforts. Frog didn't glance her way, all his attention focused on Carlyon, and Carlyon...was alight. Low to the withers, eyes bright, lips parted: for once first seruilis abandoned. Ash laughed at him as she came abreast, and liked the nod he gave in return even as he urged his blood bay to greater efforts.

  But even in that brief instant, Ash's eyes had gone beyond Carlyon to a laggard animal well behind, just faltering down the slope. A palomino, riderless.

  In her shock she reined in, scattering the riders in her wake into confusion as they struggled to avoid her. An angry, exasperated shout rose, but she'd already turned, urging Cloud back the way they'd come.

  "Lenthard!" Vendarri's voice, and Marriston's, unified in fury.

  "Keep them going, Vendarri!" Carlyon's shout was cold. "I'll fetch him."

  Ash rode, ignoring for the moment the hoof beats behind her that told her that Carlyon was in pursuit, searching instead for the riderless horse. And there he was, limping through a scatter of saplings. She dropped down a pace so that Carlyon could draw up to her, and reflected that anger improved him more than was fair.

  Before he was close enough to speak, she pointed to the palomino. "It's the Veirhoi's horse, isn't it? Heran's horse?"

  Her expression probably got through to him more than her words. He followed the line of her finger, then slewed in his saddle and stared back at the seruilisi, who lingered in a disordered mass. The Veirhoi was noticeably absent.

  Grey-faced, Carlyon gestured to Vendarri, a 'follow' signal, then urged his blood bay forward. They intercepted the palomino, bracketing him between them to bring him to a stop. Foam-flecked, covered in scratches, and clearly lamed.

  Ash dismounted as Carlyon snatched the trailing reins, but before she could speak a thicker line marring the fine gold coat caught her eye.

  "Carlyon." She pressed fingers high on the palomino's left hind leg and lifted them away red.

  "What?"

  "I think he's been shot."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carlyon dropped the foreleg he had been examining, ducked under the palomino's head and stopped short, staring at the telltale line.

  "A score mark," he breathed. "A graze, but the shock must have driven him beyond Heran's control. If he hadn't an arrow in him as well. How could I not have noticed?"

  "It must have been when we all split up," Ash said, glancing towards the rapidly closing cluster of seruilisi. "There were a few slow riders behind us, weren't there? It wasn't just the seruilisi?"

  He stared at her, then abruptly took command of himself. "Only a few." He frowned at the slowly oozing wound and at the rapidly approaching seruilisi. "There's no way to hide this from them. Blast. Blast it all."

  Not sure why they wanted to hide it, Ash turned to Cloud Cat, stroking her neck to soothe the mare before extracting her kerchief from the remainder of her lunch and wadding the cloth against the palomino's side. The gelding flinched, but had spent himself and only hung his head again, sides heaving.

  "He's got plenty of other scratches," she told Carlyon, as the rest of the seruilisi reached them. "This is just a big one. He must have run madly."

  Carlyon's hazel eyes met hers, measuring and judging, then he handed her the palomino's reins.

  "Vendarri!" he said, as the dark-haired youth practically leapt from the saddle. "Per's thrown the Veirhoi." He gazed up the pines at the top of the slope. "We'll have to set up a full-scale search. How winded is Nerance? Do you think you can intercept the main body of the hunt?"

  Vendarri nodded and was back on his horse in an instant. "I heard the horn sound for the kill, so they'll have stopped," he said, breathlessly. "I'll be as quick as I can."

  Carlyon turned from his retreating figure immediately, studying the rest of his shocked audience. "Lirindar," he said, decisively. "Can you locate the point where we emerged?"

  The boy nodded, face grim.

  "Good. There's no guarantee that Per didn't career off in some other direction, but we c
an use it as a starting-point. We have to do this systematically or we could miss him. Gibrace, you stay here with Lenthard, see if there's anything you can do for Per. He's badly lame and completely cut-up." A glance at Ash told her that Gibrace was allowed to see the wound.

  "We're wasting time here talking, Carlyon," fretted Frog, no cheer at all on his worried face.

  "Then we won't waste any more," Carlyon replied, mounting and gesturing to Lirindar, who apparently had a keen sense of place, leading them directly to the spot they had emerged.

  Ash watched them go in silence. She had failed the task Thornaster had set her. Now it was a matter of learning how badly.

  ooOoo

  Gibrace muttered darkly when he saw the arrow wound, but didn't speak to Ash, turning instead to carefully examine the hoof the palomino was favouring. He found and removed a stone, then turned his attention to the swelling bruise that decorated the front of the other foreleg. Ash handed him some salve from her saddlebags, which he took automatically and, after smelling it, began to apply to the leg. Obviously someone who knew horses.

  They moved to the long, still-bleeding score next. Ash washed it clean with water from her canteen. "D'you have a needle?" she asked.

  The other seruilis shook his head. "Keeper will. Leave it to them."

  She nodded. "It'll scar," she said, sparing a moment's regret for the palomino's fine coat, then gazing along the valley. Had Vendarri reached the hunt? All she could see was distant trees.

  "He loves this horse," Gibrace said. They glanced at each other and away. Loves or loved?

  "When did you last see him?" she asked.

  "Before we went into the trees up there."

  "Same here." Ash distinctly remembered seeing two black tabards, but had been so caught up in the chase she hadn't even noticed the absence when she reached the valley. She stared up to where Carlyon stood marking the entry point, obviously foregoing his own desire to search in order to coordinate, and tried to estimate the area they had to cover. The hill formed a long rectangle, and they had crossed the breadth. She had moved over it at a slow trot. How far could Per make at a gallop?