Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [15]
"Leave me?" the Harper in worn leathers asked warily, looking around at the desolate, rolling wilderness.
"Here?"Just ahead-at the top of this hill."
"I wondered why we were riding up rather than just going around," the Harper muttered, the lift of his voice making his words a question.
Storm tossed silver hair out of her eyes and gave him a level look. "If I am to do any good at Firefall Keep at all, I must get there at once-or at least, far sooner than they expect me. You half-killed your horse getting to me as swiftly as you did. I want you to rest her on the way back. Ride mine. Consider it yours now." She lifted one leg, put both hands on her saddle, and propelled herself a good dozen feet off to one side, to land crouched and facing him. The horse continued its patient walk up the grassy hill.
"You're going to walk to Firefall Keep?" Vrespon protested. "Dressed like that?"
Storm chuckled. "No, I'm going to gate there-and what's wrong with what I'm wearing, anyway?" She put hands to hips and tossed her head in mock indignation. Gods, but this lad was young. Right now, his eyes were shining in delight. He mustn't get many chances to do anything exciting, or be a part of any adventures. Ah, well-time to give him something to remember. Inspiring the young is part of the Way of the Harp, after all.
She strode on up the hill, still wearing her floppy old boots. She'd added torn and dirty trousers and a field smock that was more dirt and dung than garment. The rents they sported demonstrated repeatedly that she had nothing on underneath… and Storm hadn't even brought a dagger, let alone a puree or even a pouch to hold a meal or gear. Though she hadn't given it an order or even a glance, her horse trotted after her like a large and contented dog.
They reached the crest of the hill together and Vrespon gaped in surprise. The little bowl that dimpled the hilltop wasn't visible from below-nor the small ring of standing stones that filled it. The ancient, moss-covered sentinels of craggy, fissured dark rock reached to the sky like the fingers of some long-forgotten, half-buried god. They stood in a tight circle, enclosing nothing.
Storm strode toward them without hesitation. "I take it you didn't know these were here?"
"No," said Vrespon, still looking amazed.
"And I take it you'd like to be back in Hillmarch as soon as you can, without a long ride through or around the mountains, entertaining bandits along the way?"
"Y-Yes," Vrespon replied warily.
"Then get down from that saddle and hold your horse quiet," the lady of the Harp told h i m, and tore a long strip from her trousers. Stuffing that scrap of fabric into one of her boots, she calmly took off the rest of her filthy clothing and tossed the smock to him. "Cover the horse's head with it," she directed. "They hate this, and always bolt if they see that instant of falling, amid the stars."
"What instant of… falling?" the Harper messenger asked.
Storm whipped what was left of her trousers around the head of her mount, and led it ahead into the stones. "Come and see," she called back to him, and when he hesitated, beckoned in the sultry fashion of a tavern dancer. This time, he did not look hastily away, but neither did he advance.
"What is this placer Vrespon asked, bewildered- but he was asking the empty, wind-whipped air. The space between the stones was empty.
He swallowed once, took a last look around at this uninhabited corner of southeastern Daggerdale, with the Moonsea Ride a ribbon of mud in the distance. He squared his shoulders and led the horse steadily on into the stones… not hurrying, but not hesitating either.
Storm was suddenly elsewhere, and her feet were wet The gelding snorted nervously and danced, its hooves splashing up water around her. The bard held its bridle firmly, patted its flank in reassurance, and led it out of the pool just below the well.
Two startled pairs of eyes looked up at her