Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [95]
‘Pursuit!’ the captain yelled. ‘Give way!’
The road was narrow at this point and it took all his skill to keep the mare to the side as the other horses charged past. He recognised the unit and exchanged glances with some of the riders. The look in their eyes was the same. Fear. When they’d gone and the dust settled, he walked the mare the rest of the way up the hill. Once around the gorge he had a clear view of the Corsanon gates and it didn’t take hard maths to guess what had happened.
Bodies were strewn everywhere, the ground soaked in blood. The temple carriage was just inside the gate; the horses were agitated and the driver was standing at their heads, holding the reins short as he spoke with one of the guards. Other men were searching the carriage. Xane didn’t have much time to wonder about the beautiful young witch before he was approached by a guard.
‘Name and business,’ the man said.
Xane produced the letter from the High Priestess, explaining his errand, but while answering questions his focus kept returning to the carriage. The doors were open and two guards were looking under the seats. One stood, waving the captain to him. He held a trinket to the light, a pendant, silver and lapis, shaped like a bird of prey with a ruby sun above its head. Xane’s eyes welled. The headaches, all but gone this morning, came hurtling back. In the centre of the pain, he had a vision.
He could see himself on a farm, an expansive estate. There were brood mares in the paddocks and blossoming fruit trees, cherry, apple and peach. He was walking down a cobbled drive and she was with him, the witch whose dark eyes he had gazed upon, the beautiful woman in the coach. They were laughing together, climbing a stile, running through the fields, holding hands. The sound of waves filled the air and an eagle circled overhead, riding the thermals that rose from the high sea cliffs. She turned to him, laughing, calling him by name, but it wasn’t Xane. It was…
‘Xane!’ The guard snapped his fingers.
He blinked several times, bringing himself back to the present. The guard was nodding for him to pass but it was all he could do to urge the mare forward. He rubbed his temples, mumbling his thanks. He couldn’t tear himself away from the vision. It didn’t feel like a dream or a fancy. It felt like a memory. But that was impossible. Xane had never been near the sea, and he had never held a beautiful girl’s hand.
‘Get that message straight to the citadel, lad,’ the captain said. ‘Before you see to the mare.’
The guard’s instructions brought Xane fully back from the reverie. ‘Yes, sir.’
He checked over Gracie as they walked down the main streets, avoiding the marching troops that were heading for the gate. His horse’s eyes were sunken, her coat crisp with dried sweat and her legs filthy with road grime and dust. When he leaned over her shoulder he saw where the oak branches had scratched her hide and the saddle as well. He groaned. The Stable Master himself would check her condition when he returned. He didn’t imagine his story of the huge black beasts on the road would count for much. The mare was a mess and clearly overrun. ‘At least you’re sound,’ Xane said, smiling. ‘Not a hint of lameness.’
As the words escaped his lips, she stumbled, her toe catching on the jagged lip of a pothole. The steady clip-clop of her iron-shod hooves changed to something like drunken castanet dancers. He dismounted, mumbling as he bent over. ‘We gallop all the way to the temple and back, nearly trampled by beasts and warriors, and you pull a shoe inside the city gates? On a pothole?’
The mare twisted around as he bent over her