In the Realm of the Wolf (13 page)

“Yes, yes, yes! I am sure he would be delighted to know you are among his greatest admirers. But he’s older now. He retired. Just walk in, engage him in conversation, then kill him. If that sounds a little too difficult for you, then head for Kasyra and kiss good-bye any thought of a share in ten thousand gold pieces.”

“Why don’t
you
kill him?” asked Jonas. “You’re the swordsman here.”

“Are you suggesting that I am frightened of him?” countered Morak, his voice ominously low.

“No, not at all,” answered Jonas, reddening. “We all know how … skilled you are. I just wondered, that’s all.”

“Have you ever seen the nobles hunt, Jonas?”

“Of course.”

“Have you noticed how, when chasing boar, they take hounds with them?”

The man nodded glumly. “Good,” said Morak. “Then take this thought into that pebble-sized brain: I am a hunting noble, and you are my dogs. Is that clear? I am not being paid to kill Angel. I am paying you.”

“We could always shoot him from a distance, I suppose,” said Jonas. “Wardal’s very good with that bow.”

“Fine,” muttered Morak. “Just so long as it is done. But bring the girl to me, safe and hearty. You understand? She is the key to Waylander.”

“That is against Guild rules,” said Belash. “No innocents may be used—”

“I know the Guild rules!” snapped Morak. “And when I
want lessons in proper conduct, I shall be sure to call on you. After all, the Nadir are well known for their rigid observance of civilized behavior.”

“I know what you want from the girl,” said Belash. “And it is not this key to her father.”

“A man is entitled to certain pleasures, Belash. They are what make living worthwhile.”

The Nadir nodded. “I have known some men who share the same … pleasures … as you. When we catch them among the Nadir, we cut off their hands and feet and stake them out over anthills. But then, as you say, we do not understand you civilized people.”

The face was huge and white as a fish belly, the eye sockets empty, the lids shaped like fangs, clacking as they closed. The mouth was lipless, the tongue enormous and cratered with tiny mouths.

Miriel took Krylla’s hand, and the children tried to flee, but the demon was faster, stronger. One scaled hand closed on Miriel’s arm, the touch burning.

“Bring them to me!” came a soft voice, and Miriel saw a man standing close by, his face also pale, his skin scaled like a beautiful albino snake’s. But there was nothing beautiful about the man. Krylla began to cry.

The monstrous creature that held them leaned over the children, touching the cavernous mouth to Miriel’s face. She felt pain then, terrible pain. And she screamed.

And screamed …

“Wake up, girl,” said the demon, his hand once more on her shoulder. Her fingers snaked out, clawing at his face, but he grabbed her wrist. “Stop this. It is me, Angel!”

Her eyes flared open, and she saw the rafters of the cabin, the light of the moon seeping through the knife-thin gaps in the shutters, felt the rough wool of the blankets on her naked frame. She shuddered and fell back. He stroked her brow, pushing back the sweat-drenched hair. “Just a dream, girl. Just a dream,” he whispered. She said nothing for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Her mouth was dry, and she sat up, reaching for the goblet of water by her bedside.

“It was a nightmare. Always the same one,” she said between sips. “Krylla and I were being hunted across a dark place, an evil place. Valleys without trees, a sky without sun or moon, gray, soulless.” She shivered. “Demons caught us, and terrible men …”

“It’s over,” he assured her. “You are awake now.”

“It’s never over. It’s a dream now, but it wasn’t then.” She shivered again, and he reached out, drawing her to him, his arms on her back, his hand patting her. Lowering her head to his shoulder, she felt better. The remembered cold of the Void was strong in her mind, and the warmth of his skin pushed it back.

“Tell me about it,” he said.

“It was after Mother died. We were frightened, Krylla and me. Father was acting strangely, shouting and weeping. We knew nothing about drunken men. And to see Father stumbling and falling was terrifying. Krylla and I used to sit in our room, holding hands. We used to soar our spirits high into the sky. We were free then. Safe—so we thought. But one night, as we played beneath the stars, we realized we were not alone. There were other spirits in the sky with us. They tried to catch us, and we fled. We flew so fast and with such terror in our hearts that we had no idea where we were. But the sky was gray, the land desolate. Then the demons came. Summoned by the men.”

“But you escaped from them.”

“Yes. No. Another man appeared, in silver armor. We knew him. He fought the demons, killing them, and brought us home. He was our friend. But he does not appear in my dreams now.”

“Lie back,” said Angel. “Have a little gentle sleep.”

“No. I don’t want the dream again.”

Pulling back the woolen blanket, Angel slid in beside her, resting her head on his shoulder. “No demons, Miriel. I shall be here to bring you back if there are.” Pulling the blanket up around them both, he lay still. She could feel the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart and closed her eyes.

She slept for a little over an hour and awoke refreshed. Angel was sleeping soundlessly beside her. In the faint light of predawn his ugliness was softened, and she tried to picture him as he had been all those years before when he had brought her
the dress. It was almost impossible. Her arm was draped across his chest, and she slowly drew it back, feeling the softness of his skin and the contrasting ridges of hard muscle across his
belly.
He did not wake, and Miriel felt a powerful awareness of her own nakedness. Her hand slid down, the tips of her fingers brushing over the pelt of tightly curled hair below his navel. He stirred. She halted all movement, aware now of her increased heartbeat. Fear touched her, but it was a delicious fear. There had been village boys who had filled her with longing, had left her dreaming of forbidden trysts. But never had she felt like this, the onset of fear synchronized to her passion. Never had she been so aware of her desires, her needs. His breathing deepened again. Her hand slid down, fingers caressing him, circling him, feeling him quicken and swell.

Doubt followed by panic suddenly flared within her. What if he opened his eyes? He could be angry at her boldness, might think her a whore. Which I am, she thought with a burst of self-disgust. Releasing him, she rolled from the bed. She had bathed the previous night, but somehow the thought of ice-cold water on her skin seemed not only pleasurable but necessary. Moving carefully to avoid waking him, she eased open the bedroom door and crossed the cabin floor.

Lifting the bar from its brackets, she opened the main door and stepped out into the sunlit clearing before the cabin. The bushes and trees were still silvered with dew, the autumn sunlight weak upon her skin. How could I have acted so? she wondered as she strolled to the stream. Miriel had often dreamed of lovers, but never in her fantasies had they been ugly. Never had they been so old. And she knew she was not in love with the former gladiator. No, she realized, that’s what makes you a whore. You just wanted to rut like an animal.

Reaching the stream, she sat down on the grass, her feet dangling in the water. Flowing from the high mountains, there were small rafts of ice on the surface, like frozen lilies. And it was cold.

She heard a movement behind her, but lost in thought, she was not swift enough, and as she rolled to her feet, a man’s hands caught her shoulder, hurling her to the grass. Ramming her elbow sharply back, she connected with his belly. He grunted in pain and sagged across her. The smell of wood
smoke, greasy leather, and stale sweat filled her nostrils, and a bearded face fell against her cheek. Twisting, she slammed the heel of her hand against the man’s nose, snapping his head back. Scrambling to her feet, she tried to run, but the man grabbed her ankle, and a second man leapt from hiding. Miriel’s fist cracked against the newcomer’s chin, but his weight carried him forward, and she was knocked to the ground, her arms pinned beneath her.

“A real hellcat,” grunted the second man, a tall blond forester. “Are you all right, Jonas?”

The first man struggled to his feet, blood seeping from his nose and streaming into his black beard. “Hold her still, Baris. I’ve just the weapon to bring her to heel.” The balding warrior began to unfasten the thongs of his leggings, moving forward to stand over Miriel.

“You heard what Morak said. Unharmed,” objected Baris.

“I’ve never known a woman harmed by it yet,” responded Jonas.

Miriel, her arms and shoulders pinned, arched her back and then sent her right foot slamming up between the forester’s legs. Jonas grunted and slumped to his knees. Baris slapped her face, grabbed her hair, and hauled her to her feet. “Don’t give up, do you?” he snarled, slapping her again, this time with the back of his hand. Miriel sagged against him.

“That’s better,” he said. Her head came up sharply, cannoning against his chin. He stumbled back, then drew his knife, his arm arcing back for the throw. Miriel, still half-stunned, threw herself to the right, rolling to her knees. Then she was up and running.

Another man jumped into her path, but she swerved around him and almost made the clearing before a stone from a sling ricocheted from her temple. Falling to her knees, she tried to crawl into the undergrowth, but the sound of running feet behind her told her she was finished. Her head ached, and her senses swam. Then she heard Angel’s voice.

“Time to die, my boys.”

Miriel awoke in her own bed, a water-soaked cloth on her brow, her head throbbing painfully. She tried to sit up but felt giddy and then sick.

“Lie still,” said Angel. “That was a nasty strike. You’ve a lump the size of a goose egg.”

“Did you kill them?” she whispered weakly.

“No. Never seen men run so fast. They sent up a cloud of dust. I have a feeling they knew me; it was very gratifying.”

Miriel closed her eyes. “Don’t tell my father I went out without weapons.”

“I won’t, but it was stupid. What were you thinking of, the dream?”

“No, not the dream. I just … I was just stupid, as you say.”

“The man who never made a mistake never made anything,” he said.

“I’m not a man!”

“I’ve noticed. But I’m sure it holds true for women. Two of the men were bleeding, so I guess you caused them some pain before they downed you. Well done, Miriel.”

“That’s the first time you’ve praised me. Be careful. It might go to my head.”

He patted her hand. “I can be a mean whoreson, I know that. But you’re a fine girl—tough, strong, willing. I don’t want to see your spirit broken, but I don’t want to see your body broken, either. And I know only one way to teach. I’m not even sure I know that very well.”

She tried to smile, but the pain was growing and she felt herself slipping into sleep.

“Thank you,” she managed to say. “Thank you for being there.”

From his high study window Dardalion saw the troop of lancers slowly climbing the winding path, twenty-five men in silver armor, cloaked in crimson, riding jet-black horses, whose flanks were armored in chain mail. At their head rode a man Dardalion knew well. Against the sleek, martial perfection of his men Karnak should have looked comical; he was overweight and dressed in clothes of clashing colors: red cloak, orange shirt, green trews tied with blue leggings and below them black riding boots edged with a silver trim. But no one laughed at his eccentric dress, for this was the hero of Dros Purdol, the savior of the Drenai.

Karnak the one-eyed.

The man’s physical strength was legendary, but it paled against the colossal power of his personality. With one speech he could turn a motley group of farmers into sword-wielding heroes who would defy an army. Dardalion’s smile faded. Aye, and they would die for him,
had
died for him in the thousands. They would go on dying for him.

Vishna entered the study, his spirit voice whispering into Dardalion’s mind. “Will their arrival delay the debate, Father?”

“No.”

“Was it wise to instruct Ekodas to argue the cause of right?”

“Is it the cause of right?” countered Dardalion, speaking aloud and swinging to face the dark-bearded Gothir nobleman.

“You have always taught me so.”

“We shall see, my boy. Now go down and escort the Lord Karnak to me. And see that his men are fed, the horses groomed. They have ridden far.”

“Yes, Father.”

Dardalion returned to the window but did not see the distant mountains or the storm clouds looming in the north. He saw again the cabin on the mountainside, the two frightened children, and the two men who had come to kill them. And he felt the weight of the weapon of death in his hands. He sighed. The cause of right? Only the Source knew.

He heard the sound of booming laughter from the winding stairs beyond the room and felt the immense physical presence of Karnak even before the man crossed the threshold.

“Gods, but it is good to see you, old lad!” boomed Karnak, striding across the room and clasping a huge hand to Dardalion’s shoulder. The man’s smile was wide and genuine, and Dardalion returned it.

“And you, my lord. I see your dress sense is as colorful as ever.”

“Like it? The cloak is from Mashrapur, the shirt from a little weavery in Drenan.”

“They suit you well.”

“By heaven, you are a terrible liar, Dardalion. I expect your soul will burn in hellfire. Now sit you down and let us talk of more important matters.” The Drenai leader moved around the desk to take Dardalion’s chair, leaving the slender abbot to sit opposite him. Karnak unbuckled his sword belt, laying it on
the floor beside him, then eased his great bulk into the seat. “Damned uncomfortable furniture,” he said. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes! What can you tell me about the Ventrians?”

“They will sail within the week, landing at Purdol, Erekban, and the Earis estuary,” answered Dardalion.

“How many ships?”

“More than four hundred.”