Curse of the Black Heron by Holly Lisle

Author:Holly Lisle [Lisle, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780671878689
Google: 3EKpWP1rEgYC
Amazon: 0671878689
Barnesnoble: 0671878689
Goodreads: 631664
Publisher: Baen
Published: 1998-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

I can't say that I had a plan. I only wanted to find out if someone was following us, and if someone was, then who and why. So I rode back, singing softly in time to the beat of my horse's hooves, not sure how far the spell would carry, or when Ha and Giraud would notice I was gone, and not sure how far ahead the spell would reach, either, or whether it would work on the person or people who followed us.

I thought I'd hide right at the edge of the woods as soon as I heard hoofbeats. I didn't get the chance.

Someone was following us, but that someone had decided to hide in the trees beside the roadway when he heard my horse approaching. Evidently as I got closer, the songspell took effect, because he was just riding out of the trees as I came around the bend. His appearance so startled me that for an instant I lost the beat of my song. I got it back, but for just that instant I thought he realized I was there.

He was an old man, but not in the manner that I was accustomed to thinking of old people. His hair was white, certainly, and his face deeply creased, but he did not have the stoop that I associated with the very old, or the slowness of movement, or the general air of frailty. His eyes, hooded like a falcon's and deepset beneath thick, straight brows, were quick and fierce and observant. His hands, spotted by time and sunlight, remained thick and knotted with muscle. He'd filed his nails to points in the manner of the southern dancing warriors. He rode easily, with his back straight and his shoulders relaxed.

I tried to figure out what he was. I had never seen clothing as fine as his, nor as odd. He dressed all in black and emerald green silk—his shirt, cut with billowing sleeves and worn under a plain green tunic, was black embroidered with black in a pattern so thick and detailed and many-layered that to me that the old man appeared to be sprouting black dragons. His sword hung in an emerald green scabbard that was polished so deeply and to such perfection that it could have been carved from a single gemstone.

His horse was as black as his shirt and pants; the horses trappings green silk, the saddle dyed green leather with onyx trimmings. I wondered if he always wore black and green, or if he had other saddles to match his other outfits.

I rode along beside him, watching him, trying to figure him out. He gave me no notice, never glanced in my direction, kept himself just behind the curve that separated us from Giraud and Ha. He was altogether the most intriguing human being I had ever seen, and I wondered why he followed us.

"I'm following you because you and your friends are the only sane people I've found other than myself, and you seem to have a destination and a plan.

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