Free Court Duel by Sherwood Smith

how
    strange life is! Last year at this very time I was running
    rain-sodden for my life in the opposite direction, chased by
    the very same man now racing neck and neck beside me.
    The thought caused me to look at him, though there was
    little to see beyond flying light hair under the broad-brimmed
    black hat and that long black cloak. He glanced over, saw me
    laughing, and I looked away again, urging my mount to greater
    efforts.
    At the same pace still, we reached the first staging point.
    Together we clattered into the innyard and swung down from the
    saddle. At once two plain-dressed young men came out of the
    inn, bowed, and handed Shevraeth a blackweave bag. It was
    obvious from their bearing that they were trained warriors,
    probably from Renselaeus. For a moment the Marquis stood
    conversing with them, a tall mud-splashed and anonymously
    dressed figure. Did anyone else know who he was? Or who I was?
    Or that we'd been enemies last year?
    Again laughter welled up inside me. When I saw stablehands
    bring forth two fresh mounts, I sprang forward, taking the
    reins of one, and mounted up. Then I waited until Shevraeth
    turned my way, stuck my tongue out at him, and rode out at the
    gallop, laughing all the way.
    I had the road to myself for quite a while.
    Though I'd been to Lumm only that once, I couldn't miss the
    way, for the road to Lumm ran alongside the river—that
    much I remembered. Since it was the only road, I did not gallop
    long but pulled the horse back into a slower gait in order to
    keep it fresh. If I saw pursuit behind me, then would be the
    time to race again, to keep my lead.
    So I reasoned. The road climbed gradually, until the area
    looked familiar again. Now I rode along the top of a palisade
    on the north side of the river; I kept scanning ahead for that
    rickety sheep bridge.
    As I topped the highest point, I turned to look out over the
    valley, with the river winding lazily through it, and almost
    missed the fast-moving dot half obscured by the fine, silvery
    curtain of rain.
    I reined in my horse, shaded my eyes, and squinted at the
    dot, which resolved into a horseback rider racing cross-country
    at incredible speed. Of course it could be anyone, but...
    Turning my eyes back to the road, I saw Lumm in the
    distance, with a couple of loops of river between me and
    it.
    Hesitating only a moment, I plunged down the hillside. The
    horse stumbled once in the deep mud, sending me flying face
    first. But I climbed back into the saddle, and we started
    racing eastward across the fields.
    I reached Lumm under a relentless downpour. My horse
    splashed slowly up the main street until I saw swinging in the
    wind a sign with a cracked shield. The wood was ancient, and I
    couldn't make out the device as my tired horse walked under it.
    I wondered who Jeriab was, then forgot him when a stablehand
    ran out to take my horse's bridle.
    "Are you Countess of Tlanth?" she asked as I dismounted.
    I nodded, and she bustled over to a friend, handed off the
    horse, then beckoned me inside. "I'm to show you to the south
    parlor, my lady."
    Muddy to the eyebrows, I squelched after her up a broad
    stair into a warm, good-smelling hallway. Genial noise smote me
    from all directions, and people came and went. But my guide
    threaded her way through, then indicated a stairway with a fine
    mosaic rail, and pointed. "Top, right, all across the back is
    where your party will be," she said. "Parlor's through the
    double door." She curtsied and disappeared into the crowd.
    I trod up the stairs, making wet footprints on the patterned
    carpet at each step. The landing opened onto a spacious
    hallway.
    I turned to the double doors, which were of foreign
    plainwood, and paused to admire the carving round the latch,
    and the painted pattern of leaves and blossoms worked into it.
    Then I opened one, and there in the middle of a lovely parlor
    was Shevraeth. He knelt at a writing table with his back to a
    fire, his pen scratching