The Mountain of Kept Memory by Rachel Neumeier

Author:Rachel Neumeier
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Saga Press

CHAPTER 14

Gulien leaned forward, squinting at the two figures making their way down the mountain, and then sat back; he was almost certain that both of those people were men and both wearing Tamaristan uniforms. He was entirely certain neither was his sister. If that Tamaristan bastard had taken her up onto the Kieba’s mountain and lost her there . . . If the Kieba had let Gajdosik go but kept his sister . . . He had better not run too far ahead of his actual knowledge, but it was hard. Gathering his reins, Gulien turned his horse sharply and rode along the bank of the river toward the mountain, weaving between the cottonwoods and then sending his horse splashing into the river where it was shallowest.

His company jolted into startled movement, though Aran quickly sorted that out, detailing a handful of soldiers to follow Gulien and the rest to stay where they were and also gesturing the Tamaristan karanat to stop when the other made to follow. Over his shoulder, Gulien snapped, “Bring him,” without slowing down. Over among the farmhouses, there was confused motion among the other Tamaristans. Gulien ignored them, other than one glance to be sure they were not showing any signs of forming up for attack.

The glass shards on top of the wall, broken into needles and splinters, presented a considerable obstacle. Gulien would just be able to see over the wall if he stood up on the back of his horse, but even if he could clamber onto the top of that wall, those blades of glass would probably go right through boot leather, and he didn’t even want to imagine what they would do to one’s naked hands. Besides that, the top surface of the wall was no longer broad enough for a man to stand upon it comfortably. It was no more than three fingers across, if that.

“Throw a saddle across the top,” he said tersely to Aran when the captain, tense and exasperated, came up to him. To the karanat, whom several of his men guarded, he said, “I’d have said that neither of those men is Prince Gajdosik. Can you confirm that?”

“Yes,” answered the young man, after mounting his horse and standing in the saddle to see. “That is Addat Laasat Jerant, who accompany my prince, and Tamresk Kerenn, one who also accompany him. There were others.”

“And my sister,” snapped Gulien.

At his tone, the Tamaristan prudently dropped to the ground and then to one knee. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Quite unfairly, Gulien demanded, “Then where is she?” But, of course, though he flinched, the karanat could not answer. Gulien found himself drumming his fingers nervously on his horse’s saddle and made himself stop. He snapped, “Oh, get up,” at the karanat, and stood up in his own saddle to study the approaching men. The progress of the two men down the slope of the mountain seemed painfully slow. The Tamaristan company, until now drawn up in formation near the farmhouse, began a slow advance across the fields.

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