Free Geist by Philippa Ballantine Page B

out of the fire if necessary; so ramming those words back down his throat as she was tempted to do would serve no purpose.
    “Sorry you feel that way”—her fingers itched to be holding a cigar right now—“but we’ve got to make this work for the sake of the assignment.”
    They traveled in silence for the next few hours. The Bond between them was still fresh and raw, and that was surely why she could feel a tinge of his frustration. It flickered across her awareness and disturbed what might otherwise have been an enjoyable ride.
    The countryside on the east coast was beautiful even this late into autumn, and Sorcha looked about with a feeling of real pride. When the Emperor had arrived, this area had been a rabbit warren of unfettered geists and mistwitches. It had been one of her and Kolya’s assignments to oversee the clearing of the area from Vermillion to the Turijk Mountains. As they passed through the low-lying areas of marshes and dark water, she was able to look back on those times as simple and rather pleasant. It had been hard work, but satisfying.
    Recollection softened the hard knot of displeasure in her stomach. She pointed to a collection of abandoned stone buildings not far from the road they now traveled. “That is the place where my husband and I banished our first geist for the Emperor in his new realm.” It was only three years past, but felt a lifetime ago.
    Merrick pulled his cloak around him as if he wasn’t interested, but she could tell he was. The prickle of frustration subsided a little. “Are the geists of Delmaire the same as the ones here?”
    For a second she didn’t reply, stunned. If he was asking her that, then he must have been among the new recruits from Arkaym, and if that was true, then he had gotten through the novices faster than anyone since Abbot Hastler. She would definitely have to take care around this one. Sorcha was abruptly conscious of the Bond between them. She’d crafted it so casually, but if she’d joined herself to such a powerful Sensitive, maybe she should have been more cautious.
    She cleared her throat. “No, the Delmaire geists have been tamed for centuries. The last attack recorded there was more than fifty years past—that was why so many Deacons jumped at the chance to sign up to this new Abbey: boredom.”
    “That’s one thing we never have to worry about. Sometimes I wonder . . .” The young man’s voice trailed off. Flicking his head over his shoulder, he pulled his mare up suddenly.
    “What is it?” Sorcha tugged Shedryi to the right, circling her new partner. No matter how useless it was, she too scanned their surroundings. They were in the middle of a narrow stretch of dry ground, with low marshes on each side. Sedge and rushes whispered in the breeze, but she could make out no trace of geist. Certainly there was no scent but the brackish water and the damp earth.
    She brought her stallion up tight against Merrick’s mare; she wasn’t about to let another Sensitive get away on her. Even when she cocked her head and strained her Sensitivity, she could still make out nothing more dangerous than sucking mud. “I don’t smell any—”
    “Quiet!” The young upstart actually raised his hand as if she were a novice at the back of the class. The tone of his voice, though, and her knowledge of his ranking caused Sorcha to slide her Gauntlets from under her belt and onto her lap.
    The marsh to the right, a thinly spread oval of dark water, was completely quiet. No wading birds disturbed the surface. No frogs chirped from its fringes. Even the expectant resilient midges seemed to have abandoned this patch.
    The Deacon Breed horses, male and female, tossed their heads, but unlike lesser mounts did not dance sideways. Trained to stand in the face of supernatural attack, they dropped their heads, blew through their noses, and did not move.
    Carefully, Sorcha got down off Shedryi, slid on one Gauntlet and walked to the head of Merrick’s mare.