shouldn’t complain.
But he still missed Shan. If the stallion were here, he’d be telling Shan his problems. Shan couldn’t answer, of course, but he nodded in all the right places. And somehow, talking to Shan helped Linden get things sorted out. Linden wondered just how much the stallion did understand. Ah, well. He’d just have to make do.
A half mile or so ahead a smaller track met the main road. It went east, which meant he’d be riding with the sun in his eyes, but there was no one on it for the distance that he could see.
Moved by a sudden urge to explore, Linden turned his horse onto the new road when he reached it. That it was deserted appealed to him; he wanted to get away from any reminders of the overwhelming press of humanity that was Casna. Kief would likely blister his ears for him, going off without bodyguards or even his greatsword, Tsan Rhilin. But the company of even one or two silent guards would have been unbearable that morning and the greatsword was too noticeable.
Still, the thought of Kief’s—and Tarlna’s, too, no doubt—fussing was enough to blacken Linden’s mood. He urged the gelding into a canter.
To his surprise, the rangy, pied gelding’s canter was a pleasure to ride. The long, easy stride flowed along the road. It certainly made up for the stiffness of the gelding’s trot and its slouching walk. A pity he couldn’t canter through the city streets.
The sun rose higher in the sky. After a time, Linden slowed the reluctant gelding as the road veered south. He smelled the tang of salt air and guessed he was nearing the coast.
He held the gelding to a ground-eating trot. While the sun no longer shone into his eyes, it was now high enough to be uncomfortably warm. The road turned due east again. Linden debated whether to follow it or strike off to the north and cross the wide swath of fields and meadows to the woods he’d seen from the air the day they’d arrived in Casna.
He was certain the road would run along the sea cliffs at some point farther on; perhaps there was a beach he could climb down to. The idea of swimming decided him.
He rode on. And soon wished he’d thought to bring food and wine with him. Or even a flask of water. The sun and salt air made him thirsty.
The road passed within a quarter mile of a circle of standing stones on a headland that jutted out into the water like the prow of a ship. He turned off the road to investigate them. They sat peacefully in the sun, one trilithon with nine single stones in attendance, their shadows tucked around their feet with the nooning. Beyond them sparkled the sea.
Linden wondered who had raised them, and why. There was such an aura of eternity about the stones that he felt young in comparison. He tied the gelding’s reins to a scrubby, wind-dwarfed pine, loosened the saddle girth, and went among them.
The stones were easily twice his height. He paused by the trilithon in the center and rested a hand on one of the uprights. The stone was cool to his touch. But from deep inside it came a faint pulsation that spoke to him of magic. It was like the hum of the lowest string of a harp—yet no harp could resonate so deep. He felt it, faint and clear, in his bones, a magic born of the earth as his own was.
This magic slept deeply inside the grey stone. Even so it comforted him somehow. He leaned his forehead against the cool, lichened roughness, letting all his frustrations at the council and his worries for Rann come to the surface of his mind. He imagined they drained away into the stone.
For a moment he thought the pulse within the upright changed. He pressed both hands to the stone, seeking with the magic that bound his soul and concentrated. No; no, there was no difference—he thought.
He pushed away from the stone, continued through the circle to the cliff. There he saw that while there was a rough path to the beach below, it was hellishly steep; line it with sword blades and it could be the path Gifnu, lord
But he still missed Shan. If the stallion were here, he’d be telling Shan his problems. Shan couldn’t answer, of course, but he nodded in all the right places. And somehow, talking to Shan helped Linden get things sorted out. Linden wondered just how much the stallion did understand. Ah, well. He’d just have to make do.
A half mile or so ahead a smaller track met the main road. It went east, which meant he’d be riding with the sun in his eyes, but there was no one on it for the distance that he could see.
Moved by a sudden urge to explore, Linden turned his horse onto the new road when he reached it. That it was deserted appealed to him; he wanted to get away from any reminders of the overwhelming press of humanity that was Casna. Kief would likely blister his ears for him, going off without bodyguards or even his greatsword, Tsan Rhilin. But the company of even one or two silent guards would have been unbearable that morning and the greatsword was too noticeable.
Still, the thought of Kief’s—and Tarlna’s, too, no doubt—fussing was enough to blacken Linden’s mood. He urged the gelding into a canter.
To his surprise, the rangy, pied gelding’s canter was a pleasure to ride. The long, easy stride flowed along the road. It certainly made up for the stiffness of the gelding’s trot and its slouching walk. A pity he couldn’t canter through the city streets.
The sun rose higher in the sky. After a time, Linden slowed the reluctant gelding as the road veered south. He smelled the tang of salt air and guessed he was nearing the coast.
He held the gelding to a ground-eating trot. While the sun no longer shone into his eyes, it was now high enough to be uncomfortably warm. The road turned due east again. Linden debated whether to follow it or strike off to the north and cross the wide swath of fields and meadows to the woods he’d seen from the air the day they’d arrived in Casna.
He was certain the road would run along the sea cliffs at some point farther on; perhaps there was a beach he could climb down to. The idea of swimming decided him.
He rode on. And soon wished he’d thought to bring food and wine with him. Or even a flask of water. The sun and salt air made him thirsty.
The road passed within a quarter mile of a circle of standing stones on a headland that jutted out into the water like the prow of a ship. He turned off the road to investigate them. They sat peacefully in the sun, one trilithon with nine single stones in attendance, their shadows tucked around their feet with the nooning. Beyond them sparkled the sea.
Linden wondered who had raised them, and why. There was such an aura of eternity about the stones that he felt young in comparison. He tied the gelding’s reins to a scrubby, wind-dwarfed pine, loosened the saddle girth, and went among them.
The stones were easily twice his height. He paused by the trilithon in the center and rested a hand on one of the uprights. The stone was cool to his touch. But from deep inside it came a faint pulsation that spoke to him of magic. It was like the hum of the lowest string of a harp—yet no harp could resonate so deep. He felt it, faint and clear, in his bones, a magic born of the earth as his own was.
This magic slept deeply inside the grey stone. Even so it comforted him somehow. He leaned his forehead against the cool, lichened roughness, letting all his frustrations at the council and his worries for Rann come to the surface of his mind. He imagined they drained away into the stone.
For a moment he thought the pulse within the upright changed. He pressed both hands to the stone, seeking with the magic that bound his soul and concentrated. No; no, there was no difference—he thought.
He pushed away from the stone, continued through the circle to the cliff. There he saw that while there was a rough path to the beach below, it was hellishly steep; line it with sword blades and it could be the path Gifnu, lord
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