Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses) Read online

  “The king’s raising an army,” Justin said in a casual voice. “If you wanted someplace to go.”

  Kelti almost dropped his trowel. “An army . . .” he said, his voice trailing off.

  Justin shrugged and kept shoveling. “Lot of people think there’s a war coming. King Baryn is one of them. He needs recruits. Some of them are training up by the palace in Ghosenhall and some are on the regent’s lands in Merrenstow. Steady work, good pay, something you can be proud of doing. Defending your king.”

  It would never have occurred to Kelti to think of such a career, but now, the instant the words were out of Justin’s mouth, it was something he passionately wanted to do. But. “He wouldn’t have me—the king wouldn’t,” Kelti said bitterly.

  “He hates the Lestra and she hates him. He’d never take me after he learned I was in the guard for the Daughters.”

  A sort of hooting laugh from Justin. “Well, it’s not the king you’d be answering to, not if you join the soldier ranks, but I think any captain would be happy to hear you knew the layout of the Lumanen Convent and were willing to share the information. As for whether or not they’d take you—” Justin shrugged. “Many a man has started out on one side and found it wasn’t as just as he’d thought. Mind you, you’d have to be loyal. You can’t keep switching sides, or no one will ever trust you. You have to find the cause you believe in, or the man, and stick to it, no matter what comes. If you can’t be faithful, you’ll never be any kind of man.”

  Rostiff had said similar words when he’d come recruiting Kelti and other boys in the village, and they had sounded good then, too. “How do you know?” Kelti said, almost stammering. “How do you know it’s the right cause or the right person? I’ve never met the king. Why is it any better to be killing for him than killing for the Lestra?”

  Justin nodded, as if that was a question worth asking. “It’s hard to know. And killing should always make you sick. But it should make you sicker to stand by and watch it being done than to stand up and hit back. You should always feel like you’re fighting on the side of someone who only fights when he has to.”

  Kelti dropped one trowel and rubbed his muddy hand across his eyes. He was suddenly so tired. What a night of tragedy and radically shifting emotions, of hard labor and even harder thought. And not done yet, for the injured woman would need care all through the night. “I don’t want to fight for the Lestra anymore,” he said in a small voice.

  Justin nodded. “Then go to Ghosenhall and sign up with the king.”

  “Is that what you are?” Kelti asked a little nervously. Justin’s reluctance to have the Lestra know he was in the area had made him think the other man was here in some kind of disguise and might not appreciate questions. “A king’s man?”

  Justin laughed aloud. “Yes,” he said, “that’s exactly what I am.”

  And so swiftly that Kelti might almost have imagined the motion, Justin put up a hand to his black coat and pulled it briefly open. Within seconds, he had covered himself again, but in that instant Kelti had seen the golden insignia proudly rearing across a black field, the royal lions parading across a dark sash. He sat back on his heels, staring, his hands lax on his tools, his mouth agape. No wonder Justin was such a skilled swordsman—no wonder he spoke so eloquently about loyalty and grand causes. He was a member of a handpicked cadre, one of fifty elite fighters, chosen to guard the royal house and do anything his monarch bid him.

  He was a King’s Rider.

  CHAPTER 2

  JUSTIN and Cammon rode into Neft shortly before noon, having camped beside the road and slept in late. Justin was usually a light and restless sleeper, particularly when he was traveling and no guard had been posted. But he trusted Cammon’s extraordinary senses to wake them both if trouble came prowling, and so he had allowed himself to relax enough to fall into a deep and dreamless slumber. They were both exhausted after the events of the night before—rescuing a mystic from the Lestra’s men, engaging in desperate swordfights, digging graves until well past midnight, then traveling on by moonlight. Still, Justin had been annoyed to see how late in the morning it was by the time he finally rolled over and sat up.

  He was annoyed about this whole trip. Annoyed wasn’t the right word, not strong enough. Angry was too strong. He had objected strenuously when Tayse suggested him for this assignment: setting himself up as a footloose laborer in the city of Neft, so close to the Lumanen Convent. He was to watch the comings and goings of the convent guard and see if he could discern any pattern. Was Coralinda Gisseltess raising an army? Making alliances with noble marlords from the Twelve Houses? Was she, as some reports had whispered, sending her men off in the middle of the night to burn down the estates of individuals who were sympathetic to mystics? In fact, was Coralinda Gisseltess—the noblewoman who had given herself the fancy title of Lestra as she took over the religious order known as the Daughters of the Pale Mother—plotting against the king?

  Important work, Justin agreed, to be spying on her. But he didn’t want to be the one doing it. He wanted to be in Ghosenhall, where armies were being trained and decisions were being made and all the action of planning for a war was centered.

  He did not say that he disliked the assignment because he would be alone, dependent on his own wits, far from his friends and fellow Riders. Tayse suspected it, but Justin would not admit it aloud.

  “It must be you,” Tayse told him. “You know the city, you have some familiarity with the convent, and you have a healthy respect for Coralinda Gisseltess, so you will not be careless enough to fall into her hands.”

  “No Rider would be so careless,” Justin grumbled—then remembered that Tayse had been just that careless about six months ago. He hesitated, saw Tayse’s ironic smile, and grinned. “No other Rider,” he amended.

  “I also think you have the ability to pull off a disgruntled air that some of the other Riders cannot manage,” Tayse added. “Yes, that one. That very expression. Anyone would believe you’re a malcontent who left some rich man’s employ because you could not get along with your captain. No one will think to question you too closely.”

  “Moxer and Brindle can be just as loutish as I can,” Justin said. “Send one of them.”

  “I trust you more,” Tayse said, and that was the end of it. Since Tayse had recruited Justin a little more than twelve years ago, there had been nothing Justin wanted more than to earn Tayse’s respect. Though he was sworn to protect the king and to put the king’s interests and well-being above any other consideration, Justin knew that it was Tayse for whom he would die, Tayse whose opinions and judgments drove his own efforts. If he ever had to choose between saving the king’s life and saving Tayse’s, he would save the king’s, but only because that would be what Tayse would expect of him.

  “You won’t be alone the whole time,” Tayse told him next. “I’ll send messengers now and then so that you can safely courier information back. And you can take someone with you for the journey down.”

  “I don’t mind being there alone,” Justin said.

  Tayse grinned and didn’t answer that. “And Senneth thinks you should learn something within a couple of months. You won’t be gone that long.”

  “I don’t mind,” Justin insisted. He had not been on his own, of course, for practically more years than he could remember. Even when he was running with packs of thieves on the streets of Ghosenhall, he’d had friends at his back. Once he’d joined the ranks of Riders, five years after Tayse found him, he had not spent a day or a night by himself.

  “None of the Riders likes being on his own,” Tayse said seriously. “I don’t, either. You get used to having a comrade you can count on. You get used to someone validating your plan. But I think you have to be solitary on this mission. We have drawn too much attention in the past. We need stealth. Someone who will not excite any interest.”

  Justin snorted. “You couldn’t send Senneth then,” he said, making a joke of it. “She’d set the place on fire.”

/>   “And Coralinda Gisseltess would recognize her,” Tayse said, smiling faintly. “And she would recognize me. And you are the one I want to send to Neft to spy on the Lestra.”

  And so Justin had gone.

  He could have taken any of the other Riders with him, all of them his friends and all of them willing to make the journey. But he had asked Cammon instead. It was strange. Since the trip last winter with Tayse, Senneth, Cammon, Kirra, and Donnal, no other friendship quite measured up. If he could be with one of the other five—even Kirra, who was the most infuriating woman he’d ever met—Justin would always make that choice before looking for other companions. He did not bother to analyze that too closely. He tended not to think too much about his own emotions. He was just glad Cammon had been happy to come along.

  Cammon was riding beside him now, glancing around Neft with interest. It was a crowded, bustling place, bigger than the average market town, though by no means the size of Ghosenhall. “Doesn’t seem to have changed much since we were here last,” the young mystic commented. “See that? There’s the shrine to the Pale Mother we saw last time. And I still see moonstones hanging in the windows. Look, there’s even some novices from the convent stopping travelers on the road.”

  Justin glanced up the slight hill to see four young girls, clad in white robes, standing on the side of the main road and calling out greetings to passersby. Some travelers stopped, clasped the girls’ hands and accepted the benediction of the Pale Mother. Others nodded curtly or hurried on by, not interested in the goddess’s attention. Last time they’d been here, Justin remembered, convent soldiers had massed behind the novices, paying strict attention to who received the Pale Mother’s blessing and who did not. The four mystics in their group had excited quite some attention when they refused to give their hands to the novices. But all of the Daughters of the Pale Mother wore bracelets and rings made of moonstones, and mystics could not bear the touch of those gems.

  “Better stay back,” Justin said abruptly. “You don’t want them burning you with their stupid jewels.”

  Cammon grinned. “I think I can stay clear of them,” he said. “It’s pretty hard for anyone to take me by surprise.”

  “Someday someone will surprise you,” Justin said, grinning back. “I hope I’m around to see it.”

  They picked their way through the crowded streets, getting a feel for the city. Most of the commerce was clustered around the crossroads of major thoroughfares, and here the corners were packed with shops and taverns and inns. North and west of the commercial district were residential streets lined with one- and two-story houses, and even farther out were smaller houses, mostly unadorned and in need of repair.

  “What kind of work do you want to take up? Where do you want to live?” Cammon asked, as they circled back toward the crossroads after investigating the outlying neighborhoods.

  “Not sure,” Justin said. “At first I thought I’d try signing on as a guard if there were any nobles living here, but that would restrict me too much. And, well, the first time I worked out, someone would start asking questions.”

  “You could try to fight badly,” Cammon said.

  Justin laughed. “I don’t think I could pull it off. No, I’d probably have better luck working in the stables. Or maybe hiring on as a laborer if there’s some kind of industry. Looked like a shipping yard back there. I could haul barrels and load wagons. I’m strong enough.”

  “Moonstones in all the windows at the freighting office,” Cammon observed.

  “Maybe, but they won’t burn me.”

  “Still, do you want to work for someone who’s that devout? You might get into trouble quicker.”

  “‘Quicker,’ ” Justin repeated. “Like you think it’s going to happen sooner or later anyway.”

  Cammon gave his quick, boyish smile. He’d worn relatively new clothes for this trip, had his hair cut, and shaved every day on the road, but he still looked like a gutter urchin without a copper to his name. “It always seems to,” he said, “with the six of us.”

  “Anyway, I might get a moonstone of my own,” Justin said. “So I blend in a little. I don’t know where I go to get one, though—I mean, do they sell them at shops? Do you have to get one from the Daughters?”

  “You could have borrowed Senneth’s,” Cammon said. Senneth was the only mystic Justin knew who could wear moonstones. She claimed the gems didn’t burn her skin and in fact worked to keep some of her power in check. Since, even fettered, her power was frighteningly strong, Justin often wondered what kind of ability she would display if she took the bracelet off.

  “Too late now,” Justin said. “But I’ll figure it out.”

  They circled the town again so Justin could fix its layout in his mind, would know where the alleys lay and where the main roads emptied out. He would spend the next few days exploring, of course, but it was automatic with a Rider to want to familiarize himself quickly with his terrain.

  You never knew where the next attack might come from. When you might have to fight, when you might have to run.

  “I wonder how she is today,” Justin said, thinking of their adventures the day before.

  Cammon did not need any explanation to know Justin was speaking of the wounded mystic called Lara. Cammon always knew what you meant. “I was wondering that, too,” he said. “I told Kelti to take her with him to Ghosenhall, if he goes there, because she’ll be safe in the royal city, but that doesn’t mean she’ll want to go. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who let other people tell her what to do.”

  Justin wondered how he could know that when the woman had barely been conscious before they left and had only said a few words, none of them about her personality. Then again, if Cammon made an observation about somebody, Justin always assumed he was right. The mystic had an uncanny ability to gauge emotion and judge character. It had been Cammon, of course, who insisted they detour from their planned route when he somehow picked up the echoes of Lara’s suffering and knew that a mystic was being brutally interrogated. Justin had hesitated only a moment—not because he doubted Cammon was right, but because he was not sure he wanted to start his residency in Neft with such a display of bravado. He was supposed to be in this region incognito, after all. But if Senneth had been here, she would unquestionably have ridden to Lara’s rescue, and Tayse always supported Senneth’s decisions. So Justin pulled his horse off the road and followed Cammon three miles through untracked woodland to find the isolated hut where torture was under way.

  Three miles. How was it possible Cammon could feel the pain of a total stranger over such a distance? Justin wished one of the others was here so he could share his sense of eerie marvel.

  “What kind of power did she have?” he asked Cammon now. “Could you tell?”

  Cammon shook his head. “Nothing I’ve ever come across before. It seemed like she was full of—dirt—and gardens— and—and—green. I can’t explain it.”

  “Huh. So if Senneth’s right and the mystics all draw their power from one of the gods, what kind of god would be watching over that woman?”

  Cammon laughed. “That might be easier to answer if we knew anything about the other gods! But I thought, maybe, a goddess of plants and trees? A goddess of growing things?” He reflected a moment. “Or a goddess of spring, if such a thing could be.”

  “Doesn’t seem too useful,” Justin commented.

  Cammon stared at him. “Doesn’t seem useful? Well, of course it would be useful! You could have—fields that always yielded crops and trees that always bore fruit, and you could compensate for famine and drought, and you could—”

  Justin was laughing. “Useful on a battlefield,” he explained. “I mean, Senneth can call fire, and I can see how you can use that skill in a war. And Kirra and Donnal can change shapes, and that comes in pretty handy when you’re facing enemies. But growing a field of wheat? In the middle of a war? Well, who cares?”

  Cammon was shaking his head. “You’re so single-minded.”


  “Every Rider is.”

  After their second pass through town, Justin settled on the area that would best serve his purpose. It was on the east edge of the city, not far from the main road. If he was living there, he could casually slip out of town and go exploring along the route that led toward the convent. There were a couple of rather run-down taverns in this quadrant as well as some fairly extensive stables, and he thought he had a good chance of finding both work and lodging.