To Ride in Shadow

By G. F. Kaye

The ages-old prophesies had nearly been fulfilled. It should be a time of rejoicing, but Avondeira, more commonly known as Dera, also Branna, among the clans of the steppes, seeing the frown on her daughter’s face, asked, concern apparent in her voice, “What seems to be troubling you.”
Kasela, Sela, for short, shrugged. “I was wondering what I should do with my life once this is finished, mother,” she sighed. “I’ve been a spear sister and, more recently, a tavern wench all my life. Basically, I’ve been female all my life. I’m not sure I would even know how to be anything else.”
“Do you foresee that being a problem?” Dera asked, quite seriously.
Sela sighed. “I can’t foresee anything. I don’t have that gift, despite you referring to it as a curse, most of the time. Maybe that is the problem. I mean, suppose we fulfill the last of the prophesies next week? What then? Where do I go? What do I do?” She shrugged. “What’s next? I’ve never had to concern myself with thoughts of the future, mother. I was always the fated one,” she muttered, sarcastically. “I did what I had to do. What I thought never mattered. Well, okay. It’s almost finished. So. What’s next, mother? I’m a wizard; a quite strong one. The future can be a very long time for me.”
Dera sighed. “I do not know. I wish I could help, but I cannot. The future is always shifting. I’ve wondered the same, if you must know, and I’ve tried to see, but it seems everything depends not only on the prophesies being fulfilled, but how they are fulfilled. Beyond that, everything is clouded - uncertain.”
“How they are fulfilled?” Sela yelped, rounding on her mother. “The good guys kill the bad guys. Isn’t that the whole point? What else is there?”
Shaking her head, Dera threw her arms out, but didn’t say a word. There was nothing she could say, really. It had been that way all Sela’s life; a life ruled by prophesy. Everything had been ruled by prophesy, and it had started at her birth. She’d been born male; unfortunately the son of a wizard that had a centuries long history of systematically killing his male children, he was that jealous of anyone else having the power. In her case, however, her mother had been a seer, whose gift of foretelling had told her, in no uncertain terms, her child must survive. So, survive ‘she’ had, her sex carefully hidden under skirts until her power had awakened. At that time, she’d been able to make herself look physically female, at least, making it that much easier to keep her true sex secret. She couldn’t simply make herself completely female, of course, since, by doing so, she would lose the power only a male could wield. She’d also taken on the life of a spear sister, so the women’s counsel of the Kamaranthi tribal group they’d settled among wouldn’t saddle her with a husband, who would, of course, expect children she was incapable of providing. It'd become inevitable she’d come to think of herself as a woman, however. She’d been living as one almost her entire life; since puberty, anyway. It'd been very frustrating at times. She was fated to live as a woman until all of the prophesies, including the last, were fulfilled, but she could never have the everyday rewards a natural woman might have, should she choose; a loving husband, a home, children. All of the cursed prophesies but the last had been fulfilled, however, and, when all of them had, what next?
It was no question for the faint-hearted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. F. Kaye
• Release date: Dec 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370652020

G. F. Kaye

G. F. Kaye lives in Grand Rapids, MI, in a lovingly restored 1839 farmhouse. The work was all done personally, including the exterior, which is shaked in the traditional New England style. This has been listed as a "dying American Art Form. The author also paints in most media, and is a neighborhood preservation activist and avid gardener. Of Eastern European descent, the author has always felt a close affinity with the soil and growing things. Writing has been a lifelong off and on affair, with serious efforts being made since 2002. The author has since completed numerous works, and is in the process of final editing them and publishing them as e-books. "I only write when I'm having fun doing it," is the author's credo. The belief is that if the author is having fun writing the works, then people will also have fun reading them. This is reflected in the author's 'tongue in cheek' style, which has been referred to as a cross between the works of John Steinbeck and Mickey Spillane.

Book preview

To Ride in Shadow

The Tale of the Reluctant Wizard

G. F. Kaye

* * * * *

This is a work of fiction. All physical locations are fictional, as are events described, and exist only in the mind of the author. Any resemblance of characters contained herein to any specific person, persons, or beings, living, dead is purely coincidental.

To Ride in Shadow

Copyright 2017, G. F. Kaye

All Rights Reserved

No part of this e-book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means; mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission from the author.

In plain English, this e-book is licensed for the original buyer’s personal enjoyment only, and may not be legally re-sold or given away. If you feel the need to share this book, please purchase additional copies for each recipient. If you’re reading this book, and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased solely for your use, then please go to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

First Published by G. F. Kaye at Smashwords. Also by G. F. Kaye @ Smashwords

Stories of the Marlowe, Inc., Crew:

The T-bone Affair

Murder at Tiffany’s

Liberty Shrugged

Also:

Ikon

A Witches Tail

Chapter One: Into the Night

Sudden flash of moonlight on dark eyes, a swirl of hooded cloak, dark on dark in shadow. Between an eye-blink and the next, nearly soundless, a mere whisper of butter-soft, leather slippers on stone, she was gone. She would need sturdier footgear before the night was out, however, and sturdy boots hung by their laces from her belt, beneath her cloak. There they would stay until she was well past hearing from within the keep, or, once outside the walls, by the many patrolling guards. There was a slim, bright, sliver of moon, and she avoided its light where she could. Being a daughter of wandering caravan folk that had, in their journeys, conveyed goods throughout the known world for ages uncounted, Avondeira, or Dera, usually, was loathe to make her escape on a night with any moon at all. In her heart of hearts, however, she knew she could not, dared not, stay. The wizard had called her from his hareem tonight, as he was wont to do often of late. Tonight, though, Camis had actually made love, rather than simply having his way with her, confessing to having deeper feelings for her than most. She’d, by his own admission, become his favorite, and he’d plied her with tender words, then rich gifts. With everything the status of favorite might bring, however, something else had happened. It was why she stole through the shadows. A troublesome gift she’d had since her passage into womanhood had awakened her with the foretelling of it, and she knew she dared not stay.

She snorted, silently, eyes never leaving her path.

Troublesome gift, indeed. Dera was a seeress . . . of a sort. She wasn’t a true oracle, thank the goddess, but she had a gift for being able to tell what may happen, or, in some cases, what must be allowed to happen. The ‘may happen’ part of her gift was both a boon and a problem, she’d found, but not of major concern. The ‘must’ part, however, truly frightened her. She’d had reason for that fear, too, even young as she was. The gift had come with the onset of her womanhood, so, despite tender years, she’d had much experience of it. All in all, it’d been quite the coming of age present.

She’d never admitted it to Camis, of course. ‘Why ask for trouble when enough is already there,’ her mother had once said. Snorting quietly, she froze, realizing that, however slight, she’d actually made a sound. No sound of alarm was heard, however, so she returned to her path and her thoughts.

The onset of her gift was no different than for a wizard, she supposed. According to old lore, a wizard also came into his power on reaching the threshold of his manhood. No one could know, until then, if a man-child had the rare gift, however. That, indeed, was the reason she was fleeing a comfortable existence as the favorite concubine of one who was indisputably the most powerful man in the region known as The Southland. She sighed, silently. Not everyone believed in the seer’s art. She was leaving comfort and safety for the darkness of uncertainty on what some might call a whim. Pausing to catch her breath, she reconsidered her decision. A wizard, according to ancient lore, could only be male. Coupled to that, the inborn talent for being able to work sorcery - or so Camis believed - could only be passed from father to son. Such a legacy might not be a problem for most men, she thought, again pausing briefly to listen, but Camis was not most men. According to other folklore, Camis had been around for a long time; a very long time. How long? Long enough that no one was entirely sure. What Dera was sure about was that Camis was insanely jealous of his power, and had thusly, as long as anyone could remember, slain male offspring at the moment of birth, not even waiting for them to grow old enough to be able to tell if they actually had the talent. That was why she fled into the darkness. Awakening her in the night, her gift had told her she’d not only conceived, but that the child would be a son, and he must survive. Since the wizard would kill him at birth, and, more importantly, make doubly sure she couldn’t leave the keep once he knew she was with child, that meant she’d had no choice.

She’d have to leave.

Now.

Pausing again to listen, she tucked more thoroughly into her cloak, taking special care to assure herself none of her pale, outland skin showed. After listening again, she ventured on. Stopping beyond the few rows of houses comprising the village that eventually sprang up around any keep, even a wizard’s, she considered changing her footgear before shaking her head. It would be best if no one remembered hearing her footsteps. Hoping her slippers would last until she’d left the village well behind, she aimed, hugging the shadows, for the main road east and - Goddess be praised - lucked into a dray-wagon just on its way out. Stealing behind it, she leapt onto the thick board that served as a step for loading or unloading. Finally donning her boots, but keeping the slippers, she wrapped her thin body so she’d blend with the bundles of unused tarp tied there for the journey. Thus she made her way; slowly, steadily, and, most importantly, untraceably - even by Camis’ hounds - into the night.

Once from the village, the team sped up rather noticeably! She hadn’t counted the horses - not being able to see them all from behind. Frowning knowingly, she estimated the team to be an eight-hitch at least - thus carrying either high priced or perishable goods. That fact told her another thing; she needed to stay doubly alert for signs of slowing down - as express wagons were known to quite often carry guards. In that case, there’d have been a guard riding behind the wagon, though, wouldn’t there? She frowned, puzzled at the oddity, before shrugging. Different places, different ways. There would’ve been a trailing guard on any of her family’s express drays, but this wasn’t one of those, was it? Also, being the mid of the night, the wagon-master might not have expected a stowaway. She shrugged, dismissing it from her mind. An express wagon was an express wagon. It’d cover the leagues in a hurry. Trailing guard or not, there could still be a roamer, however. Tuning her ears for the possibility, while thanking the Goddess for the lift, she kept alert for trouble.

It was a couple of hours, at least, before the wagon began to slow; enough time to need to water the team. Quickly stretching to loosen stiff muscles, she dropped lightly from her perch, making her way into the tall grass beside the road, running beside the wagon as it slowed to a walk. Avoiding holes and such in the faint star- and moonlight, for which she was now grateful, she overtook the rig on its right, out of sight in the tall grass, while trying to disturb the seed heads as little as possible with her passing. At the speed the rig was still moving, she knew she’d not arouse the curiosity of the team or the drover. She still needed to keep a sharp lookout, though, for the possibility of an outrider. She’d not heard one come back, but a guard may have been up ahead the whole time, scouting for trouble. Riding on the tailboard, she’d not have known. Knowing horses, however, she knew she definitely needed to get well ahead of them before they’d stopped and the team had nothing else to listen to.

Or smell.

Pausing, she held up a dampened finger, feeling a slight breeze from her left. That put her downwind, which was good. She silently chastised herself for not having thought of it sooner. It proved she’d been away from the caravans way too long! Her luck seemed to be holding, however. She needed to concentrate, however, she realized, leaping a small stream in the darkness, seen at the last moment.

Not pausing, she raced on, silently berating herself again. That’d been too close. The water was more than likely what the driver was looking for, however, and she didn’t need to be here when he found it. Well ahead of the wagon before it did stop, and, thank the Goddess, still downwind of the road, she tucked into the grass, struggling to keep her breathing quiet as possible. She could dimly see the ford, and watched as the drover got down, tended his team, and, once they were watered, let them rest while he walked around, inspecting rig and load. Shifting closer to the road while he was on the far side, she took a good look as he came up the near side, noting him automatically - from long habit, no doubt - but attentively checking tarps, axles, brakes, and the team’s harness as he passed, more by feel than anything else in the dark. She nodded at her wise decision to depart the tailboard. This man obviously took every care with his wagon and team. Even in darkness, he’d have noticed an unsecured tarp.

Situating herself in the shadows near the road ahead, where a tree line came close, she settled in to wait. With any luck, she’d be able to tuck back into the bundles on the tailboard when the drover left the watering hole. Even checking everything, it didn’t take long. In relatively short order, he climbed back onto his perch and clucked quietly to his team to proceed - at a walk at first, so as not to shift the load. He speeded them up after a bit, but not before Dera had regained her perch.

With no outriders to worry about, she stayed with him through two more such stops. At the second, he unhitched the team, tying them to graze in a small clearing, well off the road, just as the sky was silvering toward dawn, and she decided it was time for a rest, herself. They’d left the main road after the first stop, passing several side roads during the night - enough that, without a scent trail, someone would have a great deal of difficulty figuring out exactly which way she’d gone - even the wizard. No longer overly worried about being found, she assumed there’d be enough noise to wake her when the wagon and team were being readied to leave. Relaxing somewhat, she found a sheltered spot, ate some of the dried fruit and journey-bread she’d brought, and nestled in; improvising a shelter for her head by propping the end of her cloak with a stick. The dun gray of the oiled fabric, especially once she’d strewn some grass over it, was barely noticeable in the shade under the trees. It did occur to her, just as she was dropping off, to hope she didn’t snore. After a long day and night, however, she was soon sound asleep.

The drover began reassembling his team in mid-afternoon. She’d awakened before him, actually. Going well into the bushes to do her waking business - downwind, naturally - she’d breakfasted on more of the dried fruit before he’d stirred. She watched with practiced eye as he expertly reassembled his rig, checking the shoes on his team and running his hands over them before backing them into the harness, one at a time, settling them in with kind words for each. Of the fact that he cared for his animals, and had worked this particular team a long time, there was no doubt. She respected him for that. She’d seen too many drovers work a team to the bone, not seeming to realize, or care, that it was their meal ticket they were abusing. This man seemed well aware of that. The team will take care of the driver, as he takes care of the team. Hearing her father’s words in her mind while watching, she wondered if he was still alive - or where. She’d been so very young when their caravan had been taken by bandits. A comely girl, she’d been taken away by one of them. That rogue had eventually met death at the hands of the wizard she’d just escaped, whose goods, it turned out, had been among those stolen. The band had certainly picked the wrong caravan to pillage that day, she observed, waiting for the drover to get his wagon into motion. She wondered if she might’ve been better off with the bandits, however. A moment later she sighed hugely, but quietly, shaking her head.

Bandits! She would have to think of bandits!

She looked around nervously. They were still relatively close to Camis’ keep, however. After what he’d done to those with the temerity to take his goods, there should be none to worry about. She had other worries at the moment, she sighed, returning her attention to the rig. Chief among them was being able to resume her perch on the tailboard unobserved. It was daylight, and would be so for some time. That meant there was more chance of being seen. If she was noticed, someone would, no doubt, run up and tell the driver, hoping for a reward.

Finally, clucking to his team, he got them into motion. The eight-hitch of big dray animals resumed its distance-eating trot after she’d barely settled into place. She blended in with the unused tarps as before, but with more care. In broad daylight, it’d be much easier for a stray hand or foot to be seen. Her luck held, though, as after who knew how many bone thumping miles, and not nearly enough rests, she grumped, easing sorely tried buttocks from the board, he stopped, just before mid-night, she estimated. She’d calculated his driving and resting times, though, and, once settled in, herself, a short distance away, thought he might be just outside a town. Drovers she’d known in her youth tried to time their arrivals after people were awake, but early enough that they’d have the time to get their goods in order before opening their shops for the day. She didn’t know this part of the world that well, though, and hoped it was so. Sighing quietly, she gently rubbed one of the several tender spots the day’s ride had left on what had turned out to be a not nearly well padded enough backside, no matter what Camis and his guards had thought. If not, she’d have another hard day of travel before her. Worse yet, she could be stuck in the hills, alone, should she over-nap and miss her ride. Still, she remembered to thank the Goddess that she’d found a wagon going the way she wanted, thinking that if she hadn’t, she’d likely have very sore feet by now, or, worse yet, she’d be back in the keep facing, at best, a form of house arrest. At worst? That she didn’t want to think about. Not at all.

It was important the driver not know of her, too. After all, one can’t spread tales, even coerced, about those one doesn’t know of or about. She had no way of knowing how often this particular drover might do business in either the keep or the village, or if he passed through regularly. She suspected the latter, judging by his seemingly easy familiarity with the countryside. Even more reason to stay hidden, she thought grimly. She’d heard Camis’ inquisitors in action - who within earshot of the keep hadn’t - and the drover seemed a good man, judging by the way he treated his team. Considering who she was, the mage could very well decide to take a personal interest in someone who may know where she’d gone. She wanted to think about that even less.

She was awakened by the snorting of the team as they were being rounded up. Scrambling quietly to get in position, regaining her perch, she was barely settled when she peeked around, as it was getting silvery light, and began to see houses here and there; not country estates, either, but outlying townhomes. Deciding it was probably time, she quit her tailboard, as a town would be more likely as not to have people about, even now. Also, if it was a sizeable enough town, there was the possibility of a night watch to consider. They’d been known to routinely stop and inspect early arrivals in their domain. Stretching first, she took a chance on wrapping her cloak around an arm, as the team was still moving at a brisk trot. Standing backwards on the tailboard, she dropped off running, as when still a child, hitching rides on her father’s wagons. Quickly slowing to a walk, however, she shook out her cloak, drawing it over her shoulders. There were two reasons for that. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself running down the street, of course. She’d also opted for a long sleeved leather jerkin and long breeks on leaving the keep. Beneath the jerkin, she wore one of her finer blouses. The combination was actually typical, for her, but she didn’t know how dress that might be common for a south coast woman would be welcomed anywhere else. Once covered to her satisfaction, she studied her surroundings with interest while walking briskly, as if she had purpose. That it was a sizable community, she had no doubt. Thinking that maybe she’d be able to lose herself here for a time, she’d let herself become somewhat distracted, and was startled by a sudden voice; one obviously aimed in her direction.

Excuse me? she replied, stopping, suspiciously eying a husky woman who’d addressed her, and who was obviously waiting, hands on hips, for an answer. It seemed, however, that she’d spoken in a different tongue than was commonly used in this region.

I asked what a spear sister was doing walking, but you aren’t Kamaranthi, are you, now that I get a better look at you, the voice stated in the common tongue, the face frowning. Who might you be, a slip of a girl at that?

I’m Suki, she replied, hurriedly giving her older sister’s short name, not wanting her own bandied about for a wizard’s man to hear. After using it, she idly wondered if Suki was still alive. My horse took lame out of town, and I had to put it down. I’m - uh - I was just traveling through - uh - where am I?

Aswell, the voice grunted. For whatever that’s worth, and it’s not much. Put a horse down yourself, eh? More like a spear sister than you know, then. How far out? How long have you been walking?

Seems like forever, Dera smiled, recognizing genuine concern.

Only that far? came a grunted reply, but she heard humor in the voice. Then you’d better come on in and put your feet up. The woman finally smiled, hands dropping from her hips. You’ll give me someone to talk to while I get the place ready for business. Gwun’s baking in the kitchen, but I swear that woman hasn’t spoken in years. Give me a hand with the shutters?

Uh, sure, Dera replied after a moment, having forgotten what common courtesy was like after the curtness of the keep. There, everything was stilted and formal, mainly because no one trusted anyone. Stepping up on the wooden walkway that fronted the building, after studying them a moment, she began undoing lashings, pushing shutters open and refastening them so they stayed.

What made you think I was Kamaranthi? she asked the woman after a minute or so.

The long, dark hair and slim build, the woman shrugged, pausing for a moment. That, the leathers, the ‘blend in with just about anywhere you lay down to sleep’ traveling cloak - and just the way you carry yourself. You looked for all the world like a sister of the spear when I first glanced up. Well, ‘cept for the being afoot part, she chuckled. Then there’s the hair, of course, which, now that I look closer, would be in a single braid all the way down, rather than just gathered with a short plait, then left loose. I’ve not seen that before. Where are you from, anyway?

Originally? The south coast, Dera shrugged. I may look Kamaranthi, but I don’t know of them.

Long way from home, then, the woman frowned. Shaking her head, she added, I’m Lessa. My husband went and got himself killed years ago, taking a half-broke pony for a very short ride, it turned out, so I run this place. The only thing he left me, it turns out, since we figured we’d have plenty of time for kids later. She shrugged. So much for plenty of time later, eh? I’ve been so busy with this Goddess-forsaken, broken-down inn that I never did remarry. Hell, she cackled, by the time I got this place in the black, my looks were gone anyway.

Dera looked her over in the increasing light. Except for being a little heavy, her face still looked pretty enough under acres of loose, wavy, blonde hair, and she told her so.

Huh! Lessa grunted, shaking that thick mane back with a toss of her head, but grinning when she did it, revealing straight, even, and obviously well cared for teeth between full lips. That’ll get you a warm breakfast, anyway! I’m too old for most, though, and any that’ll have an old innkeeper I wouldn’t have, anyway. You know what they’re after. Lay about while I do all the damned work. It’s not that I lack for a man when I want one, you understand. She winked bawdily. I just don’t want to support ‘em the rest of my life, is all.

You may have the better idea at that, Dera giggled, and the innkeeper clapped her on the arm while giggling, herself.

You know, that’s the first good giggle I’ve had in a while! the blonde cackled. Listen! I’m short a girl right now, due to the seasonal ague. Why don’t you stay and help for a few days. Get a couple of solid meals in. Chance to put your feet up on something other than a log, eh? Make enough in tips - and there’s no reason a pretty l’il thing like you wouldn’t - you should be able to talk old Bandy up the street out of a nag, too. Sure beats walkin’ she chuckled, hands back on her hips.

Sure I wouldn’t be a bother - taking up space and all, the seeress said with an unmistakable sigh of relief.

Look, I got smaller rooms in back that I never use, Lessa snorted. This is a working man’s pub, not a prime spot for travelers. It’s not close enough to the center of town, she waved a hand around, and surrounded by works, including a couple of cobblers, saddle makers, and such. Most well-off travelers take one whiff of the hides when the wind’s right and keep on going. I do my business from the working men at lunch, supper, and when the day’s done. I got plenty of room. Be good to have somebody besides old Gwun around, to tell you the truth. Did I mention the old woman don’t say much?

I believe you did bring it up, Dera smiled.

Like talking to a pile of rocks, she is, the blonde grunted, shaking her head disconsolately. Nedra’s not much better. Oh, she’s pretty as hell, which brings ‘em in. She gets the mugs, meals, and sandwiches out there in short order, which keeps ‘em coming back, but that girl’s dumber than a post, she is, the innkeeper complained, and Dera got the impression that having someone around to talk to was what the woman was really after.

What would I be doing?

General help, the blonde grinned, feeling a taker. You’d help Gwun before lunch, Nedra during the rushes, and me at the bar when needed. Clean up as we go. We, meaning the dining room crew, start about mid-morning. I close the kitchen just after suppertime. After we close the dining room, we all eat in the kitchen, clean up, and you’d be off the rest of the evening. Sound okay?

A couple days from the road sounds pretty good to me, and a new horse wasn’t something I’d planned on, Dera grinned, only stretching the truth a little. Sure. Where do I toss my stuff?

That said, the blonde let out a whoop of joy and motioned her in. Dera looked around curiously. The place was neat and tidy; certainly not ‘broken down’. There was a short bar to the left after a small entry and cloakroom, with a smallish room filled with trestle tables across from it, a fireplace at the far end. That was typical. What was a little unusual was the paneled wall down the far side. A staircase led up beside the far end of the bar. That was good. It let the barkeep see who was going up, she nodded. The innkeeper led her up these, and to a door about halfway down a hall that was directly opposite another stairs going down the other way.

Those go down to the kitchen, Lessa indicated with a wave. My room is the first one on this side of the front stairs. Lets me be handy to anything needs tending to. Anybody needs a room, we put them between here and there. Keep an ear out for noise. If anybody gets rowdy, just tell ‘em to pipe down, she said, adding with a grin, If they don’t, come get me and my stick!

Yes, ma’am, the seeress giggled.

You think I’m kidding! the blonde laughed.

No, ma’am, Dera chuckled. "I’ve known innkeepers. I do believe you have a stick. I also believe it’s very solid and