Acceptance

By Rhobin Lee Courtright

Responsibility and duty drove mercenary Kissre Pierce to find her sister in Cygna, the land of witches. Her journey to insure her sister’s safety will pit sister against sister, country against country and force Kissre to face her own frightening nature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781590884362

Book preview

Acceptance

Afterwards she went and checked Carillon. The mare had been freshly groomed and stood contentedly munching hay. Dovel approached while she fussed, talking to Carillon in reassuring nonsense. She watched him with wary eyes. Hello.

Nodding, he patted her dog’s head and thumped his sides but his face remained expressionless. There’s a meeting.

Kissre snorted in disgust. With whom?

Ranor and Aurelias.

You?

No. I’m out of it now. Just the messenger. They want to see you. Now. He turned and started walking away.

Dovel. She threw the brush she held in a bucket of paraphernalia. He stopped but didn’t turn. I don’t want you out of it. She took a step and stopped. I can’t say the words you want to hear, not because I don’t want to, not because I don’t feel them. She waited for any response. There was none. You frighten me. What I feel for you frightens me.

He turned at last and looked at her. His inexpressive face unable or unwilling to show anything. They want you now. Aurelias’ tent.

Kissre nodded and watched him walk away.

Table of Contents

What They Are Saying About Acceptance

Acceptance title page

Dedication

Chapters

Meet Rhobin Courtright

Works From the Pen of Rhobin Lee Courtright

What They Are Saying About Acceptance

A fascinating step into a land of magic, of Talents and characters that spring to life from the very pages. A strong heroine who never falters in her beliefs, and a hero who stands by her side. Adventure, war maneuvers, battles, politics and intrigue—what more can you ask for, especially when it’s all deliciously combined with romance? I loved it! If you’re wanting more than the average fantasy romance, then Rhobin Courtright’s Acceptance is for you.

—Angela Verdenius

Soul of a Witch

Acceptance

Rhobin Courtright

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Fantasy Romance Novel

Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Copy Edited by: Elizabeth Struble

Senior Editor: Elizabeth Struble

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Rhobin Lee Courtright

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2005 by Rhobin Courtright

ISBN: 978-1-59088-436-2

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS 67114

Dedication

For my sister Patty…

my confidant, supporter and cheer-leader

One

Unobserved on a footpath high above the river valley, Kissre pushed wind-blown hair from her face and watched the wagons below her. The wind squalled down the valley’s walls with a cold wail and the sting of icy air. It came at her from ever-changing angles, pushing her both forward and back, urging her to any direction. Ever obstinate, she remained immobile.

Her mother’s caravan wove through the rutted path along the river’s edge. The ox teams appeared cantankerous in the erratic wind. She recognized the single outrider, Jebe. He scouted the route, but for him, muck and mire created a more imminent danger than any covert observer.

Always dangerous, Seer Pass worsened at this time of year. Receding high spring waters allowed uncertain travel along the rocky track strew with boulders dislodged from the gray cliffs by winter’s ice.

Bother pulled against Kissre’s rein-filled hand, signaling his restlessness. He stomped, digging a hoof into the gravelly soil, then shook his head with a spine-bouncing shiver that ran down his back. When she held him at a halt, he gave a deep, nostril-blowing snort, and heaved his sides in a sigh of resignation.

From Bother’s offside Fudge yawned with a funny dog sound. Even sitting, his shaggy brown head reached well above her stirrup. Catching her gaze he wagged his tail. Both animals reacted to her procrastination. A glance showed the lazy roan packhorse stood behind Bother with eyes closed, apparently asleep and unfazed by the wind.

Her eyes returned to the wagons. Naomi still employed Jebe as guide. Kissre huffed her contempt. He rode ahead of the three wagons checking the terrain, but never looked up, never noticed anything above his restricted view.

Naomi and Tyna were down there; her mother and sister. The anticipated family reunion did not engender felicitous expectation. Only Tyna’s plea in her last letter had brought Kissre this far. A visit put off far too many months by the requirements of duty, plausible excuses, then sheer evasion.

I’m a coward, she told Fudge. The huge walnut-brown dog rose to his feet. His lean Gazehound body stood poised to move and his whip-like tail waved, oddly dissimilar from his shaggy coat. It hit Bother on the flank. The horse sidestepped from the buffeting with a low nicker of warning and a hind foot lifted in threat. Fudge’s tongue lolled, smile-like, from a mouth hidden beneath an umber moustache.

Switching the reins to her left hand, she reached down to caress the wiry fur muzzle. His rough tongue licked her hand. Grimacing, she wiped her hand on her leather-covered thigh. Bother snorted at her shifting, off-center weight, so she stroked his wheaten neck in apology.

Facing an army in the field is easier than meeting my ‘gifted’ sister and Naomi. Thoughts of heading back into Kaereya flitted among possible alternatives. Bother sensed her indecision. She felt him tense through the saddle. His head bobbed and twisted, pulling at the bit. He wanted to go.

Kissre sighed and urged her horse down the steep embankment. No sense in putting off the inevitable.

~ * ~

Eldin stepped from where he hid in the shadows of the wagon, his withdrawal initiated by recognition of the huge buckskin horse. The rider was a known mercenary working for Kaereya. Unsure whether she would recognize him, he sought the safer route of concealment.

Watching the bay horse stop before Jebe, he listened as the caravan’s leader told Kissre of her mother’s death and Tyna’s abandonment of the caravan. Kissre settled back in the saddle with a blatant expression of disbelief. Jebe stammered into more stories. Kissre asked something, but Eldin couldn’t hear her.

No! Jebe’s explosive negation burst through the air at nearly the same time Kissre’s buckskin rose on his hind feet. Jebe’s horse shied and the fat man wasn’t able to move fast enough to stay in the saddle. He fell with a loud splat in the mud. Kissre followed her advantage and leaped upon him, her falling weight forcing the wind in an audible whoosh from his large frame. Before Jebe could collect himself for a counterattack, one of Kissre’s blades graced his throat. The few men working the caravan stopped their activity and watched, but like Eldin, none cared enough to interfere in the altercation, at least not with the huge dog on alert.

Eldin grinned. Jebe outweighed Kissre by several stone and stood a full head, maybe more, taller. A trained fighter, and once a captain in Keaerya’s Royal Guard, Eldin thought he could take Kissre, but the cowardly blowhard she fought could not.

Kissre questioned Jebe thoroughly on his illegal acquisition of the caravan, and demanded purchase payment. Jebe whined and cried, but Kissre pulled him to his feet, her knife biting into the flesh of his neck, and marched him to the main wagon. It appeared she knew where Jebe kept the strong box.

Her appearance brought Eldin memories of a redheaded friend and an exile’s longing for home. Traitor. He stopped his mind from going there and concentrated on this new development.

A Kaereyan agent riding through Seer Pass? To where, and for what?

Hooves pounded away interrupting Eldin’s thoughts. In his inattention, Kissre must have finished her business. Her horse moved off at a fast canter followed by the menacing dog. His glance followed her until the caravan’s leader approached, throwing his arms in anger and swearing,

Jebe sputtered in fury, his loose jowls shaking with his anger. The bitch stole two years’ profit. I’ll kill her.

Eldin smiled. Only if you hire someone to do it. The man’s smell would alert anyone to his presence. Huge, unkempt and ungainly, the caravan leader continued his denunciation. The thought of him killing a mercenary like Kissre Pierce amused Eldin. His mismanagement of a profitable caravan and his misjudgment of Eldin based on his short, slight build, revealed Jebe’s perception.

What did you owe her? I know her reputation. She would not steal from a traveling merchant.

She claimed her sister’s share.

Tyna?

Yes. The caravan should have come to me when Naomi died. I did all the work. I made all the profit. Women! Jebe shook his head.

So you stole it?

No! Tyna gave it to me. She chose to stay in Cygna. She told me to take the caravan, wanted me to make her profits. Supposedly she stayed to open a market, but like all women, it was about a man.

You cut your ties with her? When you had entry to Cygnese markets? Eldin asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice.

A mistake, Jebe said, seemingly abashed, but I have the caravan now, free and clear. He spoke as if the lost market paid for his theft.

Eldin hid his amusement. Jebe didn’t like humor at his expense. And Mistress Kissre is on her way to Cygna?

Yes. To visit her sister. Jebe swore. May the witches strike her dead, unnatural mannish woman.

After Jebe left to get the wagons moving, Eldin looked in the westerly direction the mercenary had taken. Kissre traveled to Cygna, the legendary land of magic and witches? His King Clement desired the power of that magic. Was this Kissre’s original destination, pure chance or was Kaereya’s King Warrick seeking alliance with Cygna? An interesting development he could report. Whatever her purpose, it could work for him.

Within those supposedly impervious borders, Eldin knew discontent fermented. He helped keep the brew simmering as his liege ordered. It was easy. A word of dissatisfaction, a piece of gossip, an unexplained loss, bad luck or other injury could twist opinion. If some accident befell an emissary from Kaereya, would not Cygna be held responsible? Conservative, reclusive Cygna, where strangers seldom found welcome?

Perhaps his hard-won contacts within Cygna could make a fitting welcome for this guest, this threat to Pertelon. His new liege would surely find this development of interest, a threat that needed elimination. King Clement hoped to pluck Cygna before even the witches knew of his plans. Kissre and her Kaeryean influence could spoil that design.

~ * ~

Riding away from the caravan, Kissre took the track that led to Cygna. She gave a sour laugh at her earlier trepidation. The inevitable turned into a future eventuality. Her mother was dead. For Naomi’s passing, she didn’t know what she felt, maybe an uncertain sorrow, but not grief. She’d deal with it later, maybe. Cygna. By the Holy One, what was Tyna thinking? Perhaps she had no choice? Perhaps the Cygnese witches coerced her? Those disturbing thoughts drove Kissre onward.

One physical obstacle slowed Kissre’s entry into Cygna. She knew the road twisted a few leagues along a swift river before coming to a shallow, but still dangerous, ford. Cygna never put out a welcome sign, let alone a bridge. Kissre chose an even more dangerous passageway, a shortcut remembered from a previous, hurried journey of departure long ago.

A path led off the road to a scenic waterfall. It was not hard to find, even from the road the roar of falling water reverberated. That path continued beneath the falls, and if still there, would cut the travel distance by many leagues. It had been years since she had traversed beneath the falls. Erosion might already have destroyed the way.

Dismounting, she found the path shrub-free, so knew it was still used. This close, the deafening noise of the water made all other sound vanish. She walked the path first. Part of the rock ledge under the falls had given way, probably very recently. The breech was only a wide step’s width. Kissre considered Bother’s weight near the crumbling stone edge. She knelt on the damp mossy surface and looked over the edges. The supporting rock seemed secure. She straightened and looked around her. Spray from the cascade ran down the cliff’s back forming shallow pools in depressions filling the ledge walk. Rivulets from overflowing pools poured off the edge to join the downward torrent, but the floor wasn’t so slick that hooves would slide.

She led the blindfolded roan through the tunnel first with no trouble. She paced the horse so her gait would naturally span the broken ledge, except the beast stumbled as she neared the breech. Kissre slapped the animal’s rear, making her jump forward across the break. Kissre made the jump at the same time, but one lashing rear hoof knocked a chunk of rock from the ledge. The roan panicked. Pulling on the lead Kissre ran, forcing the mare forward. On the other side she tied the rangy horse to a tree and returned.

Bother easily followed her between the rocks that led to the short tunnel entrance. Fudge followed at the horse’s heels. They emerged under the curtain of water and started across the ledge. Bother followed her calmly, stepping over the gap until one back hoof found only air. Startled, he stopped in mid-stride with his leg suspend in air. White lines appeared around his eyes and his head popped up in alarm. His rear leg stretched back finding solid ground. He backed in a rearing motion.

Kissre, pulled off her feet, hung onto the reins, and managed to grab a stirrup as she fell. Her scrabbling feet found no purchase on slippery wet stone and her legs went off the edge into the void of missing stone. She hung there, dangling from two thick strands of rein leather and a stirrup. Below her water crashed on rock, swirling and splashing in angry torrents. Releasing the reins she tried with one hand to grab the stone, but her fingers couldn’t find purchase on the slippery edge and slid further into the abyss. She was suddenly jerked up as Bother backed from the edge. Quickly she threw her upper body on the ledge and let go of the stirrup. Through her stomach she felt the ledge vibrate with Bother’s steps. He needed to get off the rock immediately.

Jump, Bother, jump, she screamed over the roar of the water.

She heard him snort and screamed the command again. Piercing barks penetrated the rampaging fall of water. The rock vibrated as Bother charged forward. She closed her eyes and winced, waited for the ledge to give way, waited for one of Bother’s huge hooves to graze her head as he jumped the missing section. No blow came. She opened her eyes. Follow, Fudge. The dog was quicker.

With some gyrating maneuvers she pulled herself onto the ledge as crumbling rock widened the gap. Once upright, she glanced across the open space. Bother and Fudge had continued on, leaving her alone on the wrong side of the gap. That break now extended a considerable distance. Swearing, Kissre walked backward. Taking a deep breath, she started running and leaped at the opposite rock edge. One foot slid on landing. Her arm whirled, and she fell.

Landing on her knees she thrust her body forward to splay along the rock. A crumbling sensation beneath her made her crawl, sprawl, and drag herself forward. Once safe on firm rock, she slowly rose to her feet. Shaking her head, she cursed—all to save a few leagues.

Emerging into the bright sunlight outside the tunnel, she found Fudge sat next to the grazing horses, waiting. His rough bark at the sight of her sounded like heckling and his dangling tongue conveyed laughter at her appearance. She looked down at herself. Slime, mud and mist droplets covered her. Her gaze rose to the dog.

All right, it was a bad idea.

He made grumbling noises and rolled in the grass. The two horses continued munching spring’s first green blades of grass.

Inside her saddlebags she found a cloth. A small pool near the falls provided wash water for her muddy hands. With the cloth she dried her hair and wiped her leathers clean. The short jack showed a few minor scuffs and a tear along one sleeve’s seam, but the leggings didn’t fare so well. Sighing, she remounted and continued on the main road.

Entering the country of her birth brought neither déjà vu, forbidding portent, nor sense of kinship. The earth still greened beneath the previous season’s winter-browned stalks, the slow incline of the road stayed as twisted and rocky, and the budding leaves hung in a chartreuse lace against dark green firs.

The few people she passed seemed suspicious and belligerent at once, but unafraid. She put their reaction down to her outlander appearance. Cygnese women didn’t wear a mercenary’s leather jack over trews and riding boots. They wouldn’t know the deep mist-purple color of the jack’s soft, near immutable leather was the natural skin color from a wild ox found in the mountains south of the distant Zankiri Peninsula. The fawn leather trews, when not scuffed and scratched, were practical alternatives for a woman rider. The Cygnese would only see the foreign dress and short hair. The chin length strands tended to tangle in wild loose curls and waves, a style even more unlike the fastidious, conservative local fashion.

With most of her weapons safely packed, except, of course, her boot knives, which had come in so handy with Jebe, Kissre felt her appearance largely unthreatening. Her dress might catch the natives’ attention, but it was the glitter of gold at her ears and right brow that raised Cygna suspicions and widened their eyes, sending them scurrying away after a long look. Kissre supposed it just as well that the serpent-bird tattoo wrapping her right wrist and snarling down her hand remained hidden under gloves she had pulled on for warmth.

She hadn’t traveled five furlongs beyond the border before two riders bore down on her, authority implied in the brown uniforms and superior attitudes. One lawman seemed much older than she, one much younger. Their small, but rugged longhaired mountain ponies pulled up before Bother. It was absurd. Bother topped both shaggy gray beasts by at least three hands, maybe more.

She suspected them unfamiliar with warhorses, animals trained to dispose of small obstacles barring their rider’s way. She squeezed her fingers gently, backing Bother two steps. The roan packhorse pulled up close to her right leg before stopping. Fudge growled and she warned him. Out. His head swung toward her, then back to the officers. He sat. A prolonged yawn exposed a fine set of incisors before his long tongue wiped his muzzle and hung in a light pant.

Officers? Kissre asked and greeted in her tone.

State your business in Cygna, sir! The younger one spoke first, all self-appointed aggression.

Kissre stared at him, and when his hand clasped a small hilt, decided escalating the provocation would get her nowhere. She rested her hands on her saddle’s pommel. Visiting. My sister. I was told she was in Sidih.

The man looked at her not only in obvious disbelief, but also contempt. You have relatives in Cygna? Patent skepticism lined the words.

Just so.

Your name? His voice added insult to the request.

Kissre straightened in the saddle at his tone and looked down on him from Bother’s greater height with a look that worked well on new and recalcitrant recruits. Her fingers gave a subtle twitch on the reins and Bother did his part. His head rose from his relaxed stance, his nostrils widened as if he smelled trouble. The young man’s tension showed as his pony protested the sudden jerk of reins.

Cygna does not easily welcome strangers, sir, the older officer said in a mollifying tone. Kissre turned to look at him. Obviously the senior officer, but she couldn’t tell from any insignia on their uniforms. Kissre cursed Tyna silently. She considered abandoning her visit and returning to Kaereya, but knew herself too stubborn to retreat before this hurdle.

Tell your youngster, she said, looking at the senior officer as she nodded toward his companion, that inflammatory gestures are a clear challenge to any mercenary. In response, I have restrained my mount from crushing his pony, and my dog from ripping out his throat or hamstringing his animal. If that is not a sign of peaceful intent, I don’t know what is. Exaggeration, but the youngster wouldn’t know.

The older officer didn’t move but she noticed humor glint in his eyes. The younger man’s hands moved abruptly from his sword. He backed his pony out from under Bother’s nose. Kissre relaxed back into the saddle and Bother’s head lowered with a soft snort of air.

We still need your name, sir. The man was good, his voice conciliatory, but the attitude unyielding.

Kissre Pierce. I’m trying to find my sister Tyna. She brought a trade caravan in about a year ago. And it is ‘mistress’ not ‘sir’.

Both men started at her comment and Kissre cursed under her breath at their assumption or insult. At that moment, the roan packhorse, with a quick toss of her rust head, bit Kissre’s thigh. Cursing in crude soldiers’ terms, Kissre snapped the ends of the lead rope over the mare’s nose.

The roan snorted, threw her head up and backed, pulling on the lead. Fudge rose to bark and nip at the packhorse’s hocks. The surly animal bucked, and kicked at Fudge before careening forward into Bother. Kissre jerked on the lead, grabbing the halter in a pain-inflicting action. The mare froze, her attention on her pinched nose.

Kissre yelled at Fudge, but by then, his loud barks and spiral jumps had spooked the officer’s mounts. The men had their hands full of shying ponies.

It took some moments to restore order.

Only Bother stood quiet, swishing his tail in annoyed impatience, his chin drawn to his chest, one foreleg pawing the ground. As the mare settled, Kissre released the halter’s pressure and sat back in her saddle.

My apologies, officers, for the disruption. Chagrin replaced her anger. She rubbed the spot afflicted by the bite just below her buttock. I bought the nag before leaving Kaereya. She’s a good beast with a few bad habits.

The older officer openly grinned, the younger she couldn’t read. That’s a fine vocabulary you have, Mistress Pierce. Sorry to have delayed your journey, but I think you no harm to Cygna. Just doing our duty, you understand. Good traveling. In unison the two twirled their mounts and cantered away.

With an exasperated look at Fudge, she said, No welcome at all. Fudge barked one low woof she took for agreement.

~ * ~

After that she encountered few problems. Entering an inn’s courtyard that evening, the hostler refused to approach Bother. Dismounting she released the girth on her saddle and tied the reins to the hitching post. Doing the same for the roan, she ordered Fudge to guard. The road had been a steep incline all day, and both horses were too tired to cause trouble, but precautions were in order.

Walking inside she massaged the roan’s bite on her thigh, then stopped, realizing it looked like she rubbed her ass to the small group watching her. She ignored those eating at the establishment’s tables as she entered. So many patrons spoke well for the food. Removing her gloves, she asked for a room. The bald man behind the desk looked wary, even frightened. His expression changed as she signed the register.

Ahh, Mistress Kissre Pierce, he said, too loud. We thought it might be you, but so close to the border, there is always some unease. The man turned out to be the inn’s owner. He nodded to the patrons staring from all the tables in the room. Captain Tyna’s sister. His attention returned to her. You must be proud to have such a Talent Adept in your family. Only her surprise at their knowledge stopped her blurting, in equal surprise, ‘Captain’?

Adept. The word triggered a memory of Naomi, packing and rushing, screaming to hurry. No Adept will test my baby. They’re all witches! Witches!

Witches or adepts, they flourished in this land, communicating with the ease of thought. That’s why Naomi smuggled Tyna out in the first place—afraid the witches would take her baby from her.

The hostility all around faded into formal but accepting nods and the resumption of interrupted conversations.

May my dog sleep in my room? Kissre asked. The owner gave her every assurance, his eyes furtively scrutinizing her tattoo.

I’ll look to my horses before I go upstairs. She handed over the coin payment for her room and stabling. It was an expensive extravagance but she wanted to sleep in a bed. Besides, the suspicious country people might mistrust her camping along the road and draw crazy conclusions about her purpose.

The owner agreed and told her the dinner menu. She handed over more coins. Two dinners. Give me a half a candlemark.

Easing past gawking villagers in the doorway, Kissre ignored the sound of multiple chairs scraping the wood floor and the movement at the windows and murmurs of, Did you see...

A few steps took her to Bother. She grabbed up his reins, and the hostler, who took the roan’s lead, led her to the stable. Bother, his head bobbing above hers nibbled her hair as they followed. She brushed his attentions away with affectionate irritation. ‘Bothersome brute,’ she complained. The stalls were well kept, deeply bedded in straw, but for Bother, on the small side.

He’s a Sunderlune isn’t he? Heard they got big, just never saw one up close, the hostler said running an appreciative hand over Bother’s rump.

Actually, I was able to buy him because he is small for the breed, and of course, his color is off. The breeder wanted bays and blacks only.

Well, buckskin or not, he’s a beaut. Fine head, good eye, can see he’s well made. Stall’s a bit close for him, but I’ll keep an eye he doesn’t cast himself or get in any other trouble. He approached Bother’s head and reached up to stroke the wheaten forehead where a small white streak stretched from between the eyes and down into the black of the muzzle. Bother lowered his head permitting easier access. Hey, he seems gentle enough.

Once his girth is loosened, he is perfectly safe. Since the saddle remained on his back, the man backed off, saying he’d see to the pack animal. Once she removed Bother’s tack, and seen both horses rubbed down, fed and watered, she and Fudge returned for dinner.

From the owner’s expression, she guessed he hadn’t expected a dog near the size of a native mountain pony. Luckily, Fudge was well trained. Heeling the dog the moment they entered the door, he sat as she stopped to drop her saddlebags. A startled waitress cast frightened eyes at Fudge and pointed Kissre to her table.

As the owner approached the table with the two plates, Fudge rested his head on the tabletop and watched the man with entreating brown eyes. The innkeeper placed the plates on the table and reached a hesitant hand to stroke the fur on Fudge’s chocolate head. Kissre smiled. At the open invitation, Fudge licked the hand and let his ridiculous tongue drape over his chin in a way that could only be called a smile. His nose nudged the hand into another stroke. Emboldened, the owner started talking to Fudge, who, true to form, put on his ‘I’m wonderful’ act. Kissre snorted softly.

The second dinner is for Fudge, if you have an old plate he could eat from?

No need, he can use this one. Good-boy, Fudge. You like the house stew?

Fudge waited until the hands withdrew from the plate before delving into the food. At the man’s words he turned from bolting his dinner to bestow a grateful lick on the nose bent over him. The man sputtered, wiped his face, then grinned, slapping the dog’s side in loud thumps. It was appalling how a dog could manipulate not only one, but a whole roomful of people. It allowed Kissre a chance to eat her dinner in peace. When a third plate of table scraps appeared for Fudge, she had to draw the line.

The damn animal gave her the same look of reproach as everyone else. No really, he’s fine, she reassured and commanded Fudge to lie down. He huffed and groaned, even moaned, as he obeyed, but laid his head over one of her booted feet with a sigh. Another tankard of ale appeared on the table, which Kissre took her time enjoying.

~ * ~

The unexpected hospitality at that first stop forecast her trip. As she traveled further into Cygna, the less alarm she engendered. Like magic, she seemed expected. Hostlers waited and approached only after watching her loosen the saddle girth. They would then carefully remove Bother’s saddle, take the reins and lead both horses to the stable. Innkeepers welcomed Fudge. She knew her journey’s progress was reported by the damn Adepts communicating between themselves. Comments were made on her likeness to Captain Tyna. She smiled and made no comment such as: ‘Yeah, like salt and vinegar. Both sting in an open wound, but it all ends there.’

The covert side-glances at her unusual appearance never ended, but were at least, politely disguised. Word seemed to have spread about the tattoo, for she noticed people looking for it with appalled expectation as she removed her gloves.

Their fashion confounded her. She’d never seen a more conforming dress in a population. Men always wore a long coat, over a tunic, topping trews and long boots. Women wore the same style tunic top over a long skirt and slippers. Clothes varied in fabric and dark color, usually brown or gray, but always the same cut. Their only extravagance seemed jewelry, which inevitably consisted of rings, at least one on each finger, usually more. Sometimes a color patch appeared on a sleeve, mostly solid blue, but sometimes striped in blue and red. Other than that, she occasionally saw a necklace or broach decorating a citizen, but rarely. Decidedly no gold pierced any skin.

Used to anonymity and paying her own way, becoming the center of interest for so many made Kissre uneasy. A mercenary usually spawned fear and wariness; they seldom received any sort of privilege, especially on price. She did not imagine the eyes following her. They came to the roadside to watch her pass on the mountainous road to Sidih, the Cygnese capital.

Three days from Sidih, a small troop met her. From their manner Kissre identified them as military men, not Talents. It hadn’t taken long to realize the colored sleeve patches indicated Talent, or to learn ‘nulls’ were non-Talents, like her. These three were soldiers, also like her. While they initially seemed wary of a woman, it wasn’t long before introductory talk of the road, the weather, and her trip turned to anecdotes of other journeys, then of funny, stupid or dangerous situations their business precipitated. None of her company had ever fought outside Cygna, or even in anything other than border skirmishes. Her own tales of Pertelon, the Eastern Empire, the Doane Desert and Kaereya openly delighted them. She knew they thought her a magnificent liar.

The sergeant, Tomel, and his two men were cheerful company. Tomel, noticing her guith on the roan, proclaimed himself a good tenor with