Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
“Engaging . . . An enjoyable yarn with characters who leave you wanting more.”—Locus
“Shinn’s novels are always surprising . . . [She] breathes life into the old tropes and spins off in new directions . . . Shinn is an engaging storyteller who moves believable characters through a fascinating landscape and interesting adventures [and] manages to do it with deep insights that make us reach into our own souls and wonder: If we were placed in the world of these characters, what would we do, and what would we believe in?”
—St. Louis Post-Dispatch
“Mystic and Rider . . . is that rarity, the opening book of a series that stands solidly as a read-alone novel. The resolution is strong enough that the reader is satisfied, and yet the potential for more will leave me looking forward to the next volume. Well-developed and engaging characters, an intriguing plot, plenty of action, and unforeseen twists make Mystic and Rider a great book.”
—Robin Hobb, author of Fool’s Fate
“Strong, charismatic male and female protagonists make this an excellent choice for most fantasy collections.”—Library Journal
“Clean, elegant prose . . . Shinn gives us an easy, absorbing, high-quality read.”—Booklist
“Tailor-made for the growing audience of fantasy fans who like a good juicy romance . . . Spellbinding characterizations . . . A rich beginning.”—Publishers Weekly
“Shinn’s most successful book.”—SFRevu
“Shinn excels at strong characterization and enthralling stories, and this first in a new series is no exception. Primary and secondary characters alike jump off the page, and the standard quest fantasy is transformed into a journey of personal discovery.” —Romantic Times
More praise for Sharon Shinn and her novels
“Shinn demonstrates her amazing writing talent . . . in a great new fantasy series. The world of Gillengaria is so realistically portrayed, readers will be convinced that this world actually exists.”—The Best Reviews
“The most promising and original writer of fantasy to come along since Robin McKinley.”—Peter S. Beagle
“Taut, inventive, often mesmerizing.”—Kirkus Reviews
“It doesn’t get much better than [this]—interesting characters, an intriguing mystery, a believable love story, and a satisfying ending.” —Starlog
“Smoothly written. Shinn has a talent for creating vivid, sympathetic characters. Nuanced and intelligent. A thoroughly entertaining reading experience.”—SF Site
“A delightful world to escape into.”—Locus
“A solid read.”—Booklist
“Rich with texture and diversity, and genuine characters.”
—Anne McCaffrey
“Romantic . . . delightful. I’m eagerly awaiting her next novel.”
—The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction
“Warm and triumphant.”—Publishers Weekly
“Inventive and compelling.”—Library Journal
Ace Books by Sharon Shinn
MYSTIC AND RIDER
THE THIRTEENTH HOUSE
DARK MOON DEFENDER
READER AND RAELYNX
ARCHANGEL
JOVAH’S ANGEL
THE ALLELUIA FILES
ANGELICA
ANGEL-SEEKER
WRAPT IN CRYSTAL
THE SHAPE-CHANGER’S WIFE
HEART OF GOLD
SUMMERS AT CASTLE AUBURN
JENNA STARBORN
Viking / Firebird Books by Sharon Shinn
THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET
THE TRUTH-TELLER’S TALE
THE DREAM-MAKER’S MAGIC
GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
MYSTIC AND RIDER
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2005 by Sharon Shinn.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-1-440-60653-3
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For two women, sisters to each other,
who touched my life profoundly:
Cissy, still the best teacher I ever had, and
Mary Anne, who took care of me when I was far from home.
There are all kinds of magic.
GILLEMGARIA
CHAPTER 1
KARDON stood at the back of the tavern, surveying the night’s clientele, and smiled with a brutal satisfaction. A chilled and rainy night, so he hadn’t expected many customers, and he’d been right. There were a ha
ndful of regulars playing chess in the corner or drinking at the bar and eyeing the newcomers with a speculative sideways interest. Kardon wasn’t really a charitable sort, but he almost found it in him to feel sorry for the four strangers scattered throughout the long, low-beamed room. The chances were good that one or all of them would lose his money—or his life—before the night was over.
Kardon’s regular customers were, to a man, thieves, cutthroats, and hired blades whose scruples had never been overnice. Honest work had been hard to come by here in the dead of winter. Who could blame them for taking advantage when good fortune presented them with a few easy purses to pick, a few unwary travelers to dispose of?
Leaning his arms on the wooden bar, Kardon glanced around the room again. There were two whose lives looked to be already forfeit. One was a slim, nervous young man who sat by himself in the farthest corner of the room and seemed to be drinking his very first glass of ale as he scarcely picked at a hearty dinner. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen and did not look like he had led a particularly difficult life. Kardon guessed him to be some lord’s son who had quarreled with his father and run off to seek a life of adventure. Which would tragically end tonight in this tavern or in the alley out back. So much for stupid young noblemen who didn’t know where they belonged.
The other solitary visitor was also a young man, possibly in his early twenties, sandy-haired, strongly built, and a little raffish. This one, Kardon judged, had had some experience street fighting; he would not be so easily overcome, even if two or three assailants came at him at once. Still, sheer numbers would do him in. He might escape with his life but certainly without his wallet or any other valuables he might have on his person. He was drinking cautiously, nursing his second glass of ale after eating every bite of meat on his plate. Hungry, wary, and tough—but solitary. A waterfront tavern in the city of Dormas was not a place to come without friends.
More thoughtfully, Kardon examined the other two strangers, sitting together at a round table in the middle of the room and engaging in occasional conversation with the regular customers who sat close by. Seafaring folk, by their dress, probably docked overnight at the harbor a stone’s throw from Kardon’s place. Successful at it, too, by the cut of their clothes and their freehanded way of tossing a coin to Kardon or his servers when they brought out fresh trays of food and drink. The richest prey in the room tonight—but the hardest to pluck.
For one thing, there were two of them. For another, the man was black-haired and burly, the bulk and strength of his muscles apparent even under the winter layers of wool and leather clothing. Kardon could see the short blade at his belt and guessed he also carried a knife or two concealed in his boot or up his sleeve. The man looked like a fighter, even as he relaxed over dinner. One bell at the front door, one crash in the back room, and he’d be on his feet with a hilt in his hand, unless Kardon greatly missed his guess. No, this one would not go down easily, and Kardon’s friends might find that his sword outweighed his wallet.
It was the man’s companion that Kardon found most curious, and now he turned his eyes to the final stranger. A woman, by the Pale Lady’s silver eye. A woman, whom her companion had addressed as “Captain,” and who held herself so regally that even Kardon, who despised women, could understand why a man might take orders from her. She was seated now, but he had seen her when she entered. She was tall as a man, and dressed like one in leather pants and high boots and a woven vest. Her white-blond hair was cropped so short it stood out around her face in a careless aureole. He had noted her posture when she walked in, how light she was on her feet, how quick and assured her movements were. She was a fighter, too, handy with a blade and not afraid to use it, or Kardon was an idiot. She might look like easy pickings, but Kardon was willing to bet she rarely came off the worse in any encounter. Especially not with that bruiser fighting at her side. He would guess they had dispatched any number of enemies on the high seas or dry land, and wouldn’t object to a little rough-and-tumble now if it came down to it.
As it would. Kardon’s customers weren’t nearly as discerning as the barkeeper himself. They’d see rich woman dressed as a sea captain and think they’d been delivered a bounty straight from the White Lady herself.
“A little more ale, eh, my friend?” the woman called out to him just as Kardon reached this point in his musings. “It’s a nasty night to go back into, and I think I need to fortify myself against the cold.”
“Take care you don’t fortify yourself into a stupor, Senneth,” the man beside her growled. The woman laughed and snapped the fingers of her left hand. Kardon caught a glimpse of smoky white moonstones on a bracelet circling her lifted wrist. It almost made him like her for a moment to know that she wore the badge of the Pale Mother. But even the moon goddess would not be able to protect her tonight.
“You worry too much, Tayse,” she said before lifting her voice to call to Kardon again. “Another pitcher!”
Kardon nodded. “Cammon!” he shouted toward the kitchen. “Our guests need attention.”
A moment later, Cammon came out through the swinging door, bearing a tray of ale and bread. He went straight toward the table with the sea folk, so he must have been spying at the door. He looked even thinner than usual under his shapeless clothes, as if he had been starving himself just out of spite. Kardon promised himself he’d find the time to give the boy a good whipping sometime in the next day or two. When the weather cleared up, when the customers cleared out, when he found a free moment.
Cammon was setting the tray on the table before the sea folk. “Ale,” he said in his soft voice. “And more bread, if you want it.”
The woman called Senneth, who had been arguing in a low voice with her companion, looked up at his words. “You,” she said. “You’ve got a funny accent. Where are you from, then? Not Gillengaria?”
Cammon shook his head, his unkempt hair falling into his eyes. “No, Captain,” he said. “I’ve only been in this country a month or so.”
“Well? Where were you before?”
He shrugged, his thin shoulders rising and falling under the fabric of his shirt. “Arberharst and Sovenfeld, mostly. We moved around a lot when I was little.”
“We?” she demanded. Kardon marveled that she could actually be interested in the life story of a servant boy—an indentured one at that, with a couple of years to work off before he could consider himself a freeman. But she might be the type whose roving attention was caught by any odd detail—the type who remembered things you’d much rather she forgot. For a moment, Kardon felt sorry for the dark man with her, who no doubt hated and feared her. Capricious people were always the hardest to answer to.
Cammon glanced back at the bar to see how his master wanted him to deal with such curiosity, and Kardon shrugged. Let her talk, for now. Let her interrogate. Her mouth would be stopped up soon enough, if Kardon’s friends had their way. “My parents and me. My father was a roamer, and my mother followed him wherever he went.”
“And how’d you end up in Dormas working as a tavern boy and wearing a slave collar around your throat?” she asked, nodding toward the slim silver torque tight around Cammon’s neck. Kardon watched him put a hand up to it and touch the moonstone on the very center of the collar. Kardon had known from the beginning that this boy could be trouble; he had taken no chances. He had bound Cammon with the Pale Mother’s powerful protective jewel.
“My father died,” Cammon said quietly. “We stayed in Arberharst till the money ran out. My mother’s roots were back in Gillengaria, so we set sail a few months ago. She got sick on the voyage and never recovered. We landed and I—I had to pay for my passage some way. The captain bound me to Kardon.”
The woman glanced over at Kardon, her eyes coolly assessing, and he felt a momentary, uncharacteristic urge to explain himself. I paid good money for him! I needed an extra hand in the kitchen! I feed him hearty meals every day, except the days he won’t eat them because he’s such a sly and wretched boy. She
looked away, back at Cammon. “Does it hurt?” she asked very softly.
He put his hand back up to the collar. “It’s not really tight,” he said. “It doesn’t choke.”
Senneth lifted her right hand, which unexpectedly held a dagger, and touched the very tip of the blade to the glowing gem. “The moonstone,” she said, her voice quite low but every word precisely enunciated. “Does it hurt when it touches your skin?”
Cammon dropped his hand and stared at her. The cutthroats sitting nearest her table also turned their heads to eye her curiously. The whole room seemed to have grown still and silent, waiting for his answer.
“Yes,” he said finally. “It burns.”
The woman’s fine eyebrows rose. Delicately, she used the flat of the blade to lift up the necklet and expose a patch of red skin under the spot where the moonstone lay. “From what I hear,” she said slowly, “the only ones with anything to fear from the touch of a moonstone are mystics. Are you one of those?”
A whisper went around the room as the other occupants repeated the word. Mystic . . . mystic . . . mystic . . . Are you one of those? Kardon shivered, just a little. He was a plain man, mostly honest, not very subtle, and he hated and feared those who were reputed to possess magical ability. Not two months ago, he had been among the crowd that stoned an old woman to death after she was accused of magic in the marketplace, though she shrieked that she was innocent even as the rocks hit her face and stomach. He had had his suspicions of Cammon the minute the sea captain brought him through the door, because there was something about the boy’s delicate face and huge, flecked eyes that radiated an otherworldly wisdom. But greed had won out over Kardon’s uneasiness—a virtual chattel for a very good price—and he had been sure that he could, with force and the Mother’s protection, control such a slight and contemptible creature as Cammon. So he had made the bargain and welded on the collar, and he’d had no trouble with the boy. None at all.