A/N: Okay, a few things to start.
1) I'M SORRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I haven't updated lately and I'm very, very, very, eternally sorry for that lapse. I promise, I haven't given up, I just had a bit of trouble with this chapter. I don't actually believe in writer's block, just in writer's being unmotivated and, unfortunately that happened with me here. I would write a few lines, and then not be able to focus any further. Party of the problem was that I had several new ideas for other Numair/Daine fics and that distracted my focus. The good news is that I had several new ideas for other Numair/Daine fics! I'm setting those aside for now so that I can finish this one first, but I do have two more one-shots and another multi-chapter fic in my head, floating around and, hopefully, bumping into each other and spawning new ideas. I'll let them stew awhile.
2) This fic is going to be, at a rough estimate, another four to six chapters. I know roughly what's going to happen in each one, it all depends on if the characters follow the plan or want their own input. That being said, this fic will be done by Christmas! I would like to say the beginning of December, but seeing my posting record over the last three weeks, that's too optimistic. But it will be done, and hopefully you will all love the end as much as you have loved the beginning.
3) To anyone who also writes TP fanfics, or who simply wants to know, there is a great website which has a handy, user-friendly list of characters from the Tortall universe books which I have found very convenient called Briar's Portals at . Just FYI.
4) If someone could tell me the correct wording of the curse/oath that Numair uses—you know, the one naming the three gods, with Mithros first? I lent out all my TP books to a friend and I can't, for the life of me, remember it. Thanks.
Disclaimer: You are all smart people, I'm sure you can figure it out by now, as there have been eight previous disclaimers in this fic. If you can't figure it out, then I don't have to worry, because you aren't sentient enough to know how to sue me, or even to email me and flame me for my lack of disclaimer. So there.
Lingering Ghosts
Himura Seraphina
Chapter 9) Path
"Your worse than a king stallion," she grumbled, dragging her shirt over her head. They were late—and not from sleeping in. "And they have an entire herd to service."
"Complaints, magelet?" Numair chuckled, lacing his own shirt.
She scowled at him for a moment, hopping as she struggled into breeches, then grinned as her good mood once again buoyed her. "No more than a mare in a herd of one would have with such undivided 'attention'."
He raised a brow at her. "Your analogies, and vocabulary, when it comes to certain aspects of our relationship never cease to fascinate me, magelet."
"You knew exactly what you were getting into with me—it's your own fault."
"I'll try to bear up under the terrible strain," he drawled.
"You've managed so far."
He gave in and laughed. "You are terrible, sweet."
"Complaints?"
"Never." He caught her close and swept her into a lingering kiss. They began to lose themselves, until a sharp whistle from Kitten had them jumping apart.
"As much as it pains me, thank you Kitten," Numair said with a sigh.
"Buri's already going to kill us."
Numair squeezed her hand, stroking her palm with his thumb as he was prone to do. "You go down first, sweet. I'll follow in a moment."
She nodded, not happy with the necessity, but aware that this was not the Palace, which had had nearly a year to adjust to their relationship. She had no desire to open herself or Numair up to the scrutiny and criticism of Snowsdale, certainly not anymore than she already was.
"Don't be long; I need you to help draw Buri's wrath."
As it turned out, Buri wasn't angry. When Daine trotted down the stairs a few minutes later, she received a wry stare, followed by a chuckle. "Try to be on time from now on, Daine."
"Tell him that," she muttered so that only Buri could hear her.
"Oh, I will—but I doubt it was entirely his doing." Daine ducked her head, hiding a blush.
They waited long enough for Buri to direct a pointed stare at Numair—who returned the look innocently and headed off to resume his discussions with Cedwin and Marcus—before leaving the inn. Outside, the square was a bustling with activity, alive with sounds and scents and people. Market Day.
"Horse lords, this complicates things," Buri sighed.
"You won't be able to train any of the villagers today—everyone here has tasks, and then has to get their goods and money home," Daine said simply. "Even bandits don't distract form Market Day unless they ride through the middle of the square."
"Evin's group is already out, trapping the perimeter of the village and that track they found yesterday, and Lena's group is scouting. The Own were to help us today, but—"
"They'd be better off with the Riders." Daine sighed, watching the chaos. "I can't believe I forgot what day it was—I'm sorry, Buri."
"Don't fret. Alright then, you, Raoul and I will stick with our escorts today—Marcus and Conrik have been chomping at the bit for details on the Riders and their training."
Daine nodded. "Could we do it at the camp? I can't bear staying in the inn all day—and it'll get busy at midday and supper."
Buri nodded, "Goddess yes, if I have to spend one more day in that room…" she trailed off. "You head to the camp, I'll fetch the others." She arched a brow at Daine. "Cedwin will likely come too—he's been itching to talk to you."
"I'm sure," she sighed.
Daine headed across the square, going mostly unnoticed amid the noise and movement, until she felt a tap on her shoulder, Turning, she came face-to—face with Lori and a young man a few years younger than herself and at least three inches taller.
"Good morrow, Daine."
"Good morrow, Lori—Great Goddess, Cory?
She stared at the youth, who had a blend of Lori's nose and forehead and Rand's blunter features and strong jaw. He was three years younger than she and had been, the last time she'd seen him, a slightly husky boy with a shy nature. Now he was taller, his former build transforming into stockiness and muscle, while his curly pale blonde hair was drawn into a short horsetail at the back of his neck. In his blue eyes, which met hers squarely there was only a touch of his childhood shyness.
"Daine." He nodded in polite greeting, then stepped forward eagerly, an excited grin crossing his face. "Are you really one of the Riders?"
"I—no, I'm a civilian advisor to the Riders—I train the horses, and the trainees. Look at you! You're all grown up!"
His grin turned a bit self-conscious. "So're you—and you've gotten fair pretty, too."
"I thought you hated girls," she teased, remembering his solemn declarations that girls were 'yucky'.
He blushed again, deeper, making Daine grateful she had her da's coloring rather than Ma's fair hair and skin. "That was years ago."
"What are you doing in the village? Your Ma said the that you all don't come into Snowsdale anymore."
"Da couldn't come to fetch Ma, so I did instead—although Ma wants to stay another day. She told me 'bout you—all your tales! You really live in a Palace? You've a dragon? And magic?"
"Yes, yes, and yes."
Cory drew a deep breath, solemnity returning to his face as he glanced at his mother from the corner of his eye. Daine saw the look and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Daine, Cory's something to ask you—I knew he was thinking this way for a time, but this morn was the first I heard him talk on it." Lori reached up, squeezing her eldest's shoulder lightly. "You remember that in Galla, unless there's war, a boy has t'be sponsored by a noble to get in the army—and Lord Brenen only sponsors them that are of his own household."
Daine saw the way this was going. "Lori, Cory…"
"Tortall don't do it that way," Cory leapt in as she sought words. "Anyone can enlist, right?"
"Yes—but only in the infantry, as a foot soldier, and that's—Cory, Tortall's recovering from a war, and Scanra's been testing our borders. It's dangerous Cory, especially now."
"Riders don't need t'be sponsored either," was all he said. Earnestly.
Daine opened her mouth, then closed it, unable to speak. Her thoughts were spinning, tumbling over themselves, and she spoke the first thought that she was able to grasp. "Cory, it's not like a tale. Being a Rider is hard, and dangerous, as much so as being in the army. They spend months in the field, depending only on themselves, and fight the worst kinds of folks—there's no real honor in battle, but bandits are worse than anyone else. At any given time, we've a sixth of the Riders on the casualty list, and we lose at least ten a year—out of only a hundred and fifty or so—either to permanent disability, or fatalities. It's not an adventure," she finished, putting every drop of sincerity she could in her voice.
He met her eyes, all shyness gone, his face solemn. "I love Ma and Da, Daine. I love them, but I don't want to be them. You know how things work here—nothing ever changes. Everyone thinks the same, acts the same, talks the same. They live the same life as their folks, and their grandfolks afore them, and their children follow them." His gaze fired, burning into hers. "I don't want this life. We've no money for an apprenticeship, and I can't even get in the army here since his lordship won't sponsor a shepherd's son. Tortall, and the army or the Riders, is the only path I can take."
Stability. The stability of life in towns like Snowsdale, where everyone knew where they stood, could be comforting. She remembered vividly how, even after the way she'd been treated here, she'd carried the ideas she'd been taught all her life with her in Tortall for some time. She'd been confused by the lack of defining roles, by people treating her as they did all others, based on her skills and not her position; nobles rubbing elbows with commoners, men and women making their own way outside of their birth and parentage, women wearing breeches and going against the 'place' of women as she'd been taught. The ingrained thinking that she'd been taught, that everyone followed blindly in Snowsdale, had been hard to overcome. Stability wasn't comforting to some, who didn't fit into their 'place', who thought beyond what they were told was right and proper, just as pruning and training plants to grown in a specific way could stunt their growth. She had blossomed away from her niche as 'Sarra's bastard'—and it seemed Cory was suffocating in his role.
She looked to Lori and saw fear, grief, worry, but also joy and pride—the face of a mother as her child took his first steps away from her.
"You'll only be able to get back here once every year—maybe less. You won't see your family much."
He swallowed hard with nerves, but there was also a glimmer of hope in his eyes. 'I know."
"You turn fifteen at midwinter, right? I know you can ride—though that doesn't matter—but can you read an write."
"He can a bit—as much as anyone here can, learning from the priests," Lori interrupted.
Daine bit her lip. "That's not enough, but you can learn in Tortall—everyone gets free schooling. You need to be in Corus by the March full moon for training, but you'll never make it in time if you leave after the snow leaves, and you need to be in Tortall for six months anyway—you might not need sponsoring, but you have to live in the realm for a half-year before you can serve in the army," she explained. "You can use the time to learn your letters better, and the Riders'll give you work, and we can always use another pair of hands." Daine paused, taking a deep breath. "Are you sure, Cory? Absolutely sure?"
"Yes." She had heard kings and emperors make declarations, knights and nobles pledge oaths and soldiers swear upon their fallen comrades, and the conviction in this young man's voice was equal to them all.
"I'll talk to Buri about having you accompany us home. If she refuses—which I doubt, but who knows?—then I send you money for the trip—but you'll have to leave no later than the first week in October in order to spend a full six months in Tortall before spring training begins."
"Thank you, Daine!" A boyish grin stretched across his face and he leapt forward to sweep her in a tight hug. Before she could react, he released her, stepping back quickly with a blush staining his face and throat. "Sorry."
She chuckled. "The encampment is at the east edge of town—tell them I sent you. The Riders are all out in the field, but the Own are there—tell them I said to put you to work." She grinned. "You'd best get used to working with horses."
He turned and, with a grin for both herself and his mother tossed over his shoulder, took off through the crowd towards the camp.
"Thank you, Daine."
"Are you sure you want him to do this?"
Lori fisted her hands in her apron. "Of course not, but he's nearly and adult now—it's not my choice to make anymore. If he stays here it'll be because he's no other choice; he might be content, but he'll never be happy. In a year or two he'll marry, and stay with me'n Rand, or start his own herd—and he'll smother, slowly, until there's nothing of Cory left, just a body that makes the motions of living. Some folk are content with what they have; others need to find more, to make their own. Neither type is less than the other, or wrong—just different." She bit her lip, and Daine saw the shimmer of tears she fought to hold back. "Cory needs something he can't find here; to forge his own path. Thank you for giving him a chance to do it."
Daine wrapped her arm around Lori's waist while the older woman fought back the tears. "I'll keep an eye on him—but I won't go easy on him." She smiled. "I'm not as loud as Sarge or Onua, but I'm just as mean."
"Good—the meaner you are, tougher you'll make him."
"That's the idea." Before she could continue, she felt a familiar presence behind her. "Numair," she said, looking over her should at him.
"Is everything all right, magelet?" he asked with concern.
"Lori's oldest, Cody, is going to join the Riders."
"Ah." He nodded to Lori, who'd gotten control. "He'll be well looked after, Mistress—when Sarge, Onua, Thayet, and Daine aren't running him into the ground."
Lori chuckled lightly, drawing herself up. "Well then, he'll be too busy for trouble, then." She smiled at the. "I'd best get back. Don't forget, Daine—Cory and I'll be home by tomorrow, and I expect you for dinner some time. And you, Master Salmalin, if you can manage. Blessings on you," she added.
"And you." Daine and Numair watched Lori disappear into the crowd.
"Will her son make it in the Riders?"
"He's got both Rand's stubbornness and Lori's steadiness—he'll make it." She sighed. "I just have to hope he doesn't get himself killed."
"He'll have good trainers."
"Hmmm. Where's Buri?" she asked, deciding to leave future worries in the future.
"She went ahead with our Gallan friends. We'd best be off, sweet."
"Earn our pay, at least." With a smile for him she lead the way to the camp.
Despite Market Day disrupting their plans, it was a productive day. Evin and his men had laid in traps, snares and tripwires along the suspicious paths they had found the day before, as well as along the routes that the bandits had been known to use. All of the traps were two miles out from the town, protecting the village folk from unwittingly stumbling into one. Lena's group returned at sundown, carrying maps that expanded the ones already made by another three miles in radius, extending all the way to the edge of Greenwald village. Cedwin had asked so many questions and wanted so many demonstrations of her magic that Daine felt the drain of exhaustion tugging at her, telling her she was edging close to the end of her reserves—aided, undoubtedly, by healing a golden eagle whose badly damaged wing had drawn her. The mage had been fascinated by the process, and was only distracted from further questions by Numair beginning a discussion on the nature of Wild Magic and its possible connection to Bazhir magic and the Doi fortune-telling gifts. Marcus fairly bounced around the camp, eagerly asking questions—but the sharp, measuring look in his eyes prevented his energy from being child-like. He obviously paid close attention, and likely got more details on the working of the Riders and the Own than they intented to give—but Raoul managed to slip a few bits of information from him in return, including details of the activities just beyond the Scanra border—not directly important to the mission, but interesting nonetheless, as Scanra was a long-standing and common enemy for both realms. Marcus had spent a few minutes blinking distractedly at Raoul when he realized that he had been outfoxed at his own game, before finally giving in and giving the knight a jaunty salute—and then bouncing off once again to corner a hapless Rider.
The low point of the day came at night when, after having returned to the inn and thoroughly dissecting all the information gathered and all the possible courses of action, Vanel returned to the village and inn. He was sullen and, very unattractively, sulky, obviously not being there by choice. He ordered a meal and ale, and then complained bitterly about the service and the inferiority of the fare, sending the innkeeper into spasms of both fear and indignation—fear because this was the lord's son and heir, and indignation because the food was of good, if somewhat simple, quality and his ale superior. He stared at Lena unpleasantly until she drew one of her many daggers and began honing it—slowly, and with great fanfare—and then his features took on an expression of distain and disgust over thinly veiled hostility that it shattered any semblance of handsomeness in his face. After waiting just long enough to make her point, Lena retired, followed closely by Numair and Daine, who were reluctant to spend any time in the company of Lord Vanel when they could be alone, together.
Daine wrapped herself in one of Numair's shirts—why use a shift when his shirt covered just as much and carried the soap-and-spice scent that was only his?—and crawled in between the blankets of his bed. Kitten was once again curled up in the basket in Daine's chambers, thoroughly worn out from being examined by Cedwin and romping among the camp all day, leaving one less distraction for Daine. She watched him, her head cradled on the pillow she had hugged to herself, while he changed into a pair of the loose, undyed breeches he often wore either instead of or with a nightshirt and set the shielding spell on his own door and hers. When he did come to bed, she released the pillow and cuddled against him instead.
He chuckled. "For all your affinity with wolves and horses, you are very kittenish."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "'Kittenish'? Is that really a word?"
"If it isn't, it should be. Not, of course, that I'm complaining," he added, wrapping his arm more firmly around her waist, his other hand going to her hair, burying into the thick strands.
"You're not exactly stand-offish yourself," she muttered, turning her head to rub her nose against his chest, smiling at the feel of his chest hair tickling her face. "But I'm not complaining either."
"Good." He stroked her hip and her curls gently, lulling both himself and her with the contact until Daine was half-asleep, her thoughts floaty and disconnected. When he spoke, she heard him though a fog of exhaustion, warmth and the absently sensual pleasure that his hands brought her. "I'll be glad when this is finished and we can return home. It's been far too long since we had any real time alone."
"Mmmph," she managed to agree, drawing a low chuckle from Numair that rumbled in his chest, under her cheek. She felt him looking at her and tried, valiantly, to lift her head, but managed only to shift slightly, enough to meet his amused gaze with her sleepy one. His dark eyes, always expressive, turned tender and he smiled gently.
"My tired magelet," he murmured, his voice stroking over her skin much as his hands did. "You're worn out, sweet."
"'M not," she slurred.
"Liar. Sleep, love. We've work to do tomorrow—the faster we complete it, the sooner we go home."
She meant to protest, or agree—she wasn't sure, or even certain on what she was agreeing to or protesting—but the hand that had been toying with her hair went to the back of her neck and stroked her nape gently in a move that made every one of her muscles melt and her muddled thoughts evaporate. She saw him gesture briefly before her eyes fell shut, and the room went dark as the candles were extinguished, and felt a light butterfly kiss against her brow before dropping head-first into the depths of sleep.