She seemed unaffected, however, as she asked the horse for a trot, then a loping canter. Keeping his attention centered on Kate, Corwin climbed into the stands and sat in the second row, a place opening up for him at once as the people realized who he was. Excited murmurs echoed all around him.
Dal let out a low whistle. “The girl can ride.”
“Did you expect something less?” Corwin shot him an amused look. “Her father was master of horse at Norgard. Not a position easily won.”
“Maybe so,” replied Dal, “but he might’ve required his daughter to study more womanly pursuits.”
Corwin laughed. “Not Hale.” The sudden affection he felt for the man took him by surprise. It had been years since he’d thought of Hale Brighton with something other than hatred. But once, he’d loved him like a second father. “He always encouraged her where horses were concerned,” Corwin added. “If she’d been a boy, you would’ve thought Hale was training Kate to take over as master of horse.”
“Didn’t her mother object?” Dal glanced at Corwin, frowning.
Picturing the small, wispy woman, Corwin grimaced. “Lynette Brighton never went against her husband’s wishes. At least not directly. You’ve never met a more passive person. She’s the opposite of Kate in every way, meek and decorous.”
“You mean boring.” Dal wrinkled his nose. “I would say you’re lying, but I know better.” Craning back his head, he peered up at the bright sky. “Thank you, sweet gods and goddesses, for not dooming us all to become our parents.” Lowering his head once more, he added, “I’ll bet the woman isn’t happy her daughter is now a Relay rider.”
“I doubt she knows,” Corwin replied. “After Hale’s death she returned to her father’s house in Kilbarrow. Lady Brighton is the fourth-born daughter of Baron Reece.”
Dal scratched at his unshaven face. “It’s hard to believe Kate was once part of the gentry.” The magestone in his ear looked dull this morning, a sure sign it was beginning to fade, and Corwin made a mental note to have it replaced before they left Farhold. It was his fault Dal had to wear it, after all.
“I know what you mean,” Corwin said, thinking about the Relay master’s reaction when they’d asked for her. “When Hale was condemned, Kate refused to renounce him and lost any such claims to land or station. Her lady mother, however, did not. She returned to Kilbarrow, leaving her daughter to her own means.”
“She sounds like a peach.” Dal leaned over the edge of the grandstands to spit in emphasis.
They fell silent as Kate’s trial began. She lined up her mount in front of the starting pole on the far side of the field, her gaze fixed on the flag bearer at center. Two judges stood next to the flag bearer, one holding a pocket watch to record Kate’s time and the other carrying parchment and pen to record errors. The field was divided into three lanes, each designed to test a particular skill—arrow, lance, and sword.
When the flag bearer lowered the standard, Kate sent her horse forward and drew her bow, heading down the farthest lane. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and let it fly in one quick, seamless movement. It slammed into the first archery target only an inch outside the bull’s-eye. Before it had even landed, Kate twisted her body to the left, aiming at the next target, one set lower than the first. This time the arrow hit dead center, and in moments her quiver was empty and all her targets were marked.
Arriving at the end of the lane, Kate slid the bow onto her back and grabbed the lance protruding up from the ground just ahead, yanking it free. She wheeled the horse around and headed down the middle row; this one was comprised of jousting rings and ground targets. She raised the lance to shoulder height while the horse ran steady and straight beneath her. Aiming for the first ring, Kate missed it by a hair’s breadth, but she snagged the second one and the next, making the difficult task look easy.
Dal whistled low again. “She’s good. I think she’s better than you are. Hells, she might even be better than me.”
“She always was better.” Old memories tumbled through Corwin’s mind. So many nights they’d snuck their ponies out of the stables and ridden them onto the cavalry yards, where they challenged one another to races or mounted duels with wooden swords. Their childhood competitions had been fun but fierce, each trying to best the other. Kate usually lost the duels but never the races. When it came to riding, she was untouchable. She is as good as her father ever was.
Clearly her fighting skills had improved, too. She snared the last jousting ring, completing the line, then bore down on the ground targets just ahead. Most riders slowed their horses for this part, the tent pegging, as it was called, but Kate kept the horse at full gallop. With easy effort, she lowered the tip of the lance just in time to stab the wooden peg sticking up from the ground. She yanked up, pulling the target free with a mighty heave. Raising the lance once more, she launched it over her shoulder and into the straw dummy crouched at the end of the lane.
They were moving so fast, the horse looked ready to crash into the fence. Kate sat back, pulling on the reins, and the crowd let out a collective gasp as the compact animal set his haunches and slid to a stop mere inches from collision. Then Kate spun the chestnut around once more, drawing the sword from the scabbard at her waist at the same time. She headed down the last lane, this one rimmed with burlap sacks shaped like men posed in attack stances. She slew the first one easily.
Dal whistled through his teeth. “Is the Relay training riders or soldiers?”
“A little of both, I suppose,” Corwin replied. “The Relay has ancient military roots. It was formed during the War of Three.”
“It’s as old as the nightdrakes?”
Corwin nodded. “During the war, the cities needed a way to communicate with their allies quickly and without risk of exposing secrets. One fast horse with a skilled warrior proved the most effective way.” He wondered what Rime would be like now if that war had never been fought. Its official name made it seem like some minor conflict, when in truth every city in Rime had been involved, all of them aligned in opposition on three fronts—eastern, western, and northern. The fighting nearly destroyed Rime. Ironically it was the unleashing of the nightdrakes that eventually wrought peace. The cities couldn’t afford to fight one another when faced with this greater, more devastating enemy.
Leaning forward in his seat, Corwin focused on the final leg of Kate’s trial. The targets were spaced so close together that she barely had time to pull back from one swing before launching another. They were set high, low, and in between, and she managed to hit each one, demonstrating a flexibility Corwin felt certain neither he nor Dal could’ve managed. Corwin watched her with his mouth hanging open in awe. She rode and fought with her whole body, her face a hard mask, eyes blazing.
Kate crossed the finish line a moment later. Corwin and Dal both raised their hands in applause, but their claps were met with silence from everyone sitting around them. All except for the only woman rider in the stands.
“I don’t understand,” Dal said, speaking loud enough that everyone could hear. “Why wouldn’t you applaud a performance like that?”
“Because silence is the coward’s favorite tool,” the woman said, in the accent of an Esh Islander. She cast a glower over the crowd, but most refused to look at her.
It’s because of who she is, Corwin thought. Traitor Kate. The truth struck him hard. It wasn’t his fault—Hale had attacked his father—and yet he felt the blame as if it were his own.
The Eshian shook her golden-haired head, then stepped off the stands and disappeared around the corner.
Corwin clasped a stunned and speechless Dal on the shoulder. “Come on. We better find Kate now before she has a chance to run away.”