The Mountain's Call

“I suppose if anyone can teach you, the masters there can.”

“So everyone hopes,” Euan said. He paused before he cast the dice. “My name is Euan. And yours?”

“Valens,” she said.

That was a man’s name. Euan was careful not to comment on it. “I take it you’re for the Mountain, too. School of War?”

“I’m Called,” she said.

She spoke as if he must know what she was talking about. It took him a while to understand, then to realize what, in this case, it meant. He almost said, “But surely women aren’t—”

He caught himself just in time. This was beyond interesting. It was a gift from the One God.

He would have to play it very, very carefully. He bent his head in respect, as he had heard one should, and let her see a little of his fascination. “You’re the first I’ve seen,” he said. “No wonder they’re transporting you with the treasure.”

Her lip curled. “That’s not because I’m Called. It’s because of Kerrec.”

She spoke the name as if it had a bitter taste. She had not forgiven the man for abandoning her to the caravan. That too Euan could use.

He put on an expression of wry sympathy. “Your brother?” he asked.

“Not in this life,” she said.

Ah, so, he thought. “He’s too protective, is he? Or not protective enough?”

“He’s too everything,” she said. She spun on her heel. “I’m hungry. They always feed me too much. Would you help me with it?”

“Gladly,” he said, and he meant it.

Once more her mouth curved in that enchanting half-smile. “I’ve seen what they’ve been feeding you,” she said. “You shouldn’t have to be eating soldier’s rations here.”

He shrugged. “They don’t love us. We’ve killed too many of them—won too many battles, too, even if we lost the war. We can hardly blame them for taking what revenge they can.”

“You have a great deal of forbearance,” she said. She sounded a little surprised. “I had always thought—”

He showed her all his teeth. “Oh, we’re wild enough. We take heads. We eat the hearts of heroes. That doesn’t stop us from understanding how an enemy thinks.”

“Of course not,” she said. “The better you understand, the easier it is to find ways to defeat him.”

Euan’s heart stopped. The Called were mages. He had let himself forget that quite important fact. Many mages could read patterns and predict outcomes. Mages of the Mountain could do more than that. Even one who was completely untrained and untested might be able to see too clearly for comfort.

He shook off his sudden fit of the horrors. It was a lucky shot, that was all. She showed no sign of denouncing him as a traitor to the empire.

Her dinner was certainly better than the one his kinsmen would be getting. He was not fond of the spices these people poured on everything, but the bread was fresh and good. There was meat, which he had not had in days, and it was not too badly overcooked. She left him most of that. He left her all of the greens and the boiled vegetables. “Horse feed,” he said.

That half smile of hers was a lethal weapon, if she wanted to use it that way. “I do want to be a horse mage, after all,” she said.

He saluted her with a half-gnawed bone. “I hope a cavalryman is allowed to eat like a man, then, instead of a horse.”

“You eat like a wolf,” she said. “They must be feeding you even worse than I thought.”

“It’s not what we’re used to,” he admitted.

She nodded as if in thought. There was a line between her brows. When she spoke again, it was to change the subject. “Tell me about your country.”

“In the south and west we have forests like yours,” he said. “Beyond that, past the spine of mountains, it’s a broad land of heath and crag. Rivers run there, too fast and deep to ford, and cold as snow. The wind cuts like a knife and sings like a woman keening for her lover. The bones of the earth are bare as often as not. It’s a hard country, but it raises strong men.”

“My father said there are fish in the lakes there that are as big as a man, with flesh so sweet that the gods could dine on it.”

“Your father has been there?”

“He fought there,” she said. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” he said. “War is life. A man is only a man if he’s fought well. I suppose your father did if he was in the legions. Which was his? The Valeria?”

She started as if he had stung her. Aha, he thought. So that was her proper name. She recovered quickly. “Yes. Yes, that was his legion.”

“We call them the Red Wolves,” he said. “Mothers terrify their children with the threat of them. They’re the great enemy. It was the Valeria that took us in the last battle and brought us into the empire.”

“You don’t hate them,” she said. “I’d think you would.”

“They’re a worthy opponent,” he said. “War has its balance. Someday we’ll defeat them and lead them in halters through our camps.”

“You are different than anything I expected,” she said slowly.

“Is that a good thing?” he asked.

It took her a moment to answer. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

Euan thought he might be in love. This was not his first imperial woman, by far, but it was certainly the first who had wanted everyone to think she was a man. He would have liked to see her hair before she chopped it off. He would have liked even more to see what she was like under the sexless clothes she wore.

He was sure it was love when he came back to the rest of the hostages and found them lying back, replete after a feast identical to the one he had just finished. Someone had put in a word, it seemed. He could guess who it was.

They were all in her debt, and Euan made sure they knew it. He did not tell them her secret. If they had eyes to see, then they could. Otherwise, he would enjoy the field without a rival.

Chapter Four

The dark man’s name was Kerrec. He never actually told Valeria that himself. She heard it from the commander in Mallia.

That was her first grievance. By the time he packed her off with the caravan, she had a dozen more. He seemed determined to keep her from being grateful for her rescue, and equally determined to make her dislike him intensely. He was cold, arrogant, secretive, and intolerably condescending, and he had not a speck of charm.

The worst of it was, she could not hate him. She could never hate anyone who sat a horse like that.

Only one other thing almost persuaded her not to despise him. He had told the commander in Mallia nothing of her sex, only that she had been assaulted by the infamous pack of lordlings that had been preying on travelers and the odd local. The commander, like everyone else who heard the story, had been delighted with its ending, and more than pleased to grant her whatever she needed, horse and clothes and provisions and all.

Kerrec had not betrayed her to the caravan master, either. Both the caravan master and the commander had deduced on their own that she was Called, and treated her accordingly. Whether intentionally or because he simply did not care, Kerrec had done a great deal to help her on her way.

She found his perfect opposite in the barbarian prince who rode with the caravan. She had seen sacks of meal that rode better, but he did try, especially after she offered a suggestion or two. He was the biggest man she had ever seen, though not the broadest. He was still young and a little rangy, with long legs and big square hands. His hair was as red as copper.