A Man Betrayed (7 page)

"Don't move,
or I'll kill you." The voice that spoke had an edge as hard as a blade.
Jack stood perfectly still. The only thing he could see of the man was the
white of his breath in the cool air.

Jack watched the
riders approaching the coop. There were a full score of them. The wind, which
had whipped and cut all morning, beating the snow into a frenzy, seemed to take
a malicious delight in suddenly calming, allowing him a clear view of the
little shack. He held his breath as the riders slowed and dismounted, and then
one man kicked the wooden door open. Jack felt a pressure growing within:
familiar, loathsome, yet strangely compelling. The taste was in his mouth, like
copper, like blood: sorcery. It had been many weeks since he'd last felt its
swell. He would not give in to it. As if seconding his unspoken resolution, his
attacker jabbed the knife into his back. The press of the blade against his spine
halted its flow.

Although he could
not see the face of the man, he sensed a tension from him, perhaps in the
increasing pressure of the knife. It ocurred to Jack that although he spoke
with the harsh tones of the Halcus, the man was not one of the group below and,
in fact, did not want to be spotted by them.

Jack looked on as
three men entered the coop. He could almost picture the scene. He had no doubt
that Melli would meet the Halcus with dignity. She was, above all else, proud.
But for all his confidence in her bearing, he knew it would mean nothing to
hardened soldiers. They would do whatever they wanted.

At that moment the
chicken coop, which was no more than a spot on Jack's vision, formed the center
of his universe. If only he knew what was happening. If only he hadn't left.
The tension became unbearable. He had to go to her. Or at least try.

He sprang forward.
Free from the knife for only an instant, his attacker sprang with him. Before
Jack knew it, the blade was against his body once more. Strange how the metal
was warm despite the cold.

"Don't think
you can run from me." The voice again, low and hard. "Is the girl in
the shack worth losing your life over?"

Jack was just
comprehending the threat behind the man's words when the scene below changed.
Six men had mounted their horses and were beginning to follow the dead man's
trail in the snow.

"Come."
The man pushed Jack before him, forcing him in the opposite direction from the
approaching riders. Jack caught a glimpse of one of his blades: it was curved
and blackened, combining deadliness with show.

The pressure of
sorcery which had been so overwhelming only minutes before had now dissipated,
leaving a sick feeling in Jack's stomach. Strangely, he drew courage from its
absence; it was better to meet his fate with his body as his sole weapon. Not
entirely true. He remembered the piggutting knife tucked into the front of his
belt. He would have a weapon after all. With stealth that would make a
pickpocket proud, Jack drew his knife. He felt the lick of the blade upon his
belly: the edge was still keen.

His attacker was
quickening the pace. Hooves could now be heard plowing their way through the
virgin snow. They emerged from the cover of the trees and two horses awaited.

"Get on the
mare." The man accompanied this order with a push of his knife. Jack
turned, blade in hand, and slashed at him. He was surprised to find a large but
portly red-haired man as his foe. "You waste my time, boy," the man
said, a trace of annoyance mixed with something suspiciously like amusement.
"Well, come at me if you must, but make it fast. There's men
approaching."

Jack suddenly felt
rather foolish. He had no skill with the blade, and the man before him,
although heavyset, seemed to have all the confidence and skill of a master. He
moved his substantial weight from foot to foot with the grace of a dancer. Both
short knife and curved sword drew subtle shapes- of encouragement in the air.
"Come, boy, don't prolong the inevitable."

Jack lunged
forward, pig-gutting knife at what he hoped to be a threatening angle. The
curved blade knocked the knife from his hand with a bone-shattering jolt. In
that instant the short knife was upon his throat.

The man shook his
head. "You shouldn't have been distracted by the sword, boy. It's the
short knife that will always find you." He turned his head, intent on
listening for the advancing riders. They were close now. "Well, I'm afraid
I'm going to have to take drastic measures." With a flip of his wrist, the
curved blade jumped into the air, spun around, and then landed blade in palm.
Jack watched as the short knife was drawn back. Then unexpectedly, he felt a
powerful blow to the back of his head. His skull cracked loudly, and the world
began to fade away. The last thing he heard before he passed out was the man
saying: "Of course, you should never have been fooled by the short knife.
It's the sword that will always get you."

"So,"
said the captain, "now that we're alone, perhaps you can tell me what a
Four Kingdom's noblewoman is doing roaming around Halcus." He permitted
his mouth the curve of smugness, while his fingers traced the line of his
mustache, reworking the grease and making it gleam once more.

Melli was
beginning to regret her flippant manner; all her clever words had led to this.
If she hadn't piqued his interest, she would probably be outside being gagged
and bound, and judging from her previous experiences with men, that would most
definitely be preferable.

The coop now
seemed unbearably small. The captain, leathers creaking with every breath,
filled the room with the force of his presence rather than the fact of his
body.

"Your tongue
appears to have lost its speed," he said. "Am I to take it that you
can't put on a performance without an audience?"

Melli knew the
danger in being thought a noblewoman of the enemy. She would be tortured and
raped, then when there was little of her left, she would be ransomed. Every day
the enemy waited on the payment would mean one less finger. Two years ago the
Lady Varella had been kidnapped from her husband's estates along the River
Nestor. When she had finally been returned, she had only two fingers left.
Three months later the woman had taken her life. Unable to grasp a dagger or
measure poison, she had thrown herself into the bullpen and had been gored on
the homs of her husband's mightiest bull. Melli shuddered at the remembrance.
She
would not be returned home fingerless.

She smiled
coquettishly and thrust forward her bosom. "Why, sir, you do me an honor
thinking me nobly born. Though of course my grandfather's uncle on my mother's
side was said to be nephew of a squire." Melli judged a simpering giggle
was in order and acted accordingly. "So, as you can see, I do have some
claims on the blood."

"You expect
me to believe this?" The captain's handsome face grew dangerous. "You
think me foolish enough not to know when I'm in the presence of a woman of the
blood? You need to work on your acting, my lady. Your voice gives everything
away." He moved toward Melli and grasped her arm. The smell of leather and
sweat surrounded her. "Give me the truth now, or pay the price for your
lies."

Melli took shallow
breaths. She didn't want to draw in his scent: such a personal thing, the smell
of another. "You are a clever man, sir." Melli stretched a slow smile,
giving herself time to think. "I am indeed a noblewoman ... of
sorts." She knew she had to devalue herself, to become a less alluring
prize. The Lady Varella's husband had been a wealthy man, with an even
wealthier family. "I am the daughter of Erin, Lord of Luff." Melli
picked a well-known, poverty-stricken lord as her father. Besides his poverty,
Luff was famous for his promiscuity and had fathered many bastards. "I am
not of his wife's issue," she said, bowing her head.

"Luff's
bastard, eh?" The captain squeezed her arm tighter. "Then what are
you doing in Halcus?"

"I'm on my
way to Annis. My father has a cousin there who is a dressmaker, and I am to be
apprenticed."

"If your
father thinks so little of you to send you to a trade, why then would he bother
to have you versed in courtly manners?"

"We are not
barbarians in the kingdoms."

The captain raised
his hand and slapped her. Although she'd been expecting it, the blow still sent
her reeling. She fell back against the wall of the coop and landed awkwardly in
the matted straw. Her cheek was bright with pain, and when blood flowed to her
skin it stung like vinegar.

"Watch your
tongue, bitch." The captain stood over her, his elegant mustache framing
his cruel mouth. "Seems you are of little worth, I best take my rewards
where I find them."

He leaned over
her, his leathers straining and creaking, his mouth wet with saliva and
mustache grease.

Melli was
cornered. The walls were a prison, and the scratch of the dry straw was a
torture. His mouth was on hers and tooth knocked against tooth. His lean tongue
was in her mouth; its presence revolted her and she bit down upon it. The
captain's free arm whipped back. Pain exploded in her abdomen. He punched her
again, lower this time, in the vulnerable flesh between her hips.

"Don't act
like a coy virgin with me," he said. "A daughter of a bastard has no
business with shows of virtue. You've had men aplenty before." His hands
were running down her bodice, searching for the ties.

The knife! She
couldn't let him find the knife. She had to distract him.

"I am a
virgin," she cried. To her own ears, this, the first truth that she had
uttered in his presence, had the clear ring of conviction about it.

The captain backed
away, almost imperceptibly. He reached out and took her chin in his hand,
tilting her face to meet his. "Look at me and say that again."

"I am a
virgin." Melli could not understand the man's sudden change of demeanor.

"I believe
you speak the truth." He stood up and smoothed down his leather tunic.
"So not all the women of the kingdoms rut like beasts, eh?" His eyes
sharpened from the dullness of lust to the brightness of greed. Melli had lived
long enough with her father to know when a man's face showed the knowledge of
profit to be made. She was suddenly nervous, fearing that she had made a
terrible error. "What's it to you that I am a virgin?"

"I'm not
about to answer questions from a bastard's daughter." A banging at the
door diverted his attention. "Come."

The man who
wielded the leather-bound club entered the coop. He spied Melli on the floor
and smirked.

"Get up,
bitch!" commanded the captain. He then turned his attention back to his
second. "Have you picked up the murderer?"

"No. He got
away."

"What d'you
mean, got away?" The captain's voice was chilling in its calmness.
"How can someone on foot outrun six mounted men?"

"He had some
help. A red-haired man had two horses waiting. They rode like the devil."

"Red-haired,
you say?" The captain's hand was back smoothing his mustache.

The second nodded.
"There was something strange about the whole business. The boy was slumped
over his horse."

"Was he
wounded?"

"It's hard to
say."

"You mean you
never got close enough to get a good look." The captain shot a glance at
Melli. "I suppose it would be useless to ask you about this red-haired
man?"

Melli was
experiencing a whirl of emotions: wonder at Jack escaping, worry that he might
be hurt, curiosity over who the red-haired man might be, and fear about what
bearing the incident might have on her own circumstances. To make things worse,
the pain in her stomach and lower abdomen was excruciating. "I know
nothing of a red-haired man."

"Mm."
The captain appeared to make a decision. "Very well. For now we'll head
back to the village. We'll mount a proper search for the boy once the storm
gives."

"Why the
rush, Captain?" said the second. "Why not finish your business
here?" He looked pointedly at Melli. "And then maybe you'll be
generous enough to share your fortune."

"No one will
touch the girl. Understand, no one." The captain eyed the puzzled face of
his second. "She is a virgin, Jared."

The second nodded
with comprehension. "A mighty fine-looking one, at that."

"She's been
court trained, too."

The second
whistled. "Quite a prize."

The captain turned
his attention back to Melli. "Can I trust you to ride on your own, or will
I have to bind you like a thief?"

The exchange
between the two men had filled Melli with apprehension. The combination of
worry and punches made her feel sick. She was determined to show neither fear nor
pain. "I will ride alone," she said.

"I tell you,
Grift, being at the back is the worst thing. All we do all day is walk through
piles of horse dung."

"Aye, Bodger.
I know what you mean, but horse dung has its uses."

"What uses
are those, Grift?"

"It can stop
a woman from getting with child, Bodger."

"How does it
work, Grift? Does it stop your seed from hitting the mark?"

"No, Bodger.
Once it's up there, it smells so bad that it puts a man right off." Grift
chuckled merrily. "Ain't nothing like not doing it for ensuring you won't
become an unwilling father."

Bodger tried out
his new skeptical look: raising his left eyebrow, while keeping his right one
level.

"What's the
matter, Bodger? You look like you're in the throes of painful
indigestion."

Bodger quickly
changed to an expression he was more comfortable with. "Mighty queer
thing-Maybor's horse dropping dead the other day."

"Aye, but
that wasn't the strangest thing to happen that morning, Bodger. Did you notice
the way that Baralis near fell off his horse right about the time that Maybor's
stallion hit the deck?"