The female gasped, trying to pull herself over. Her strength was fading fast. I grunted and hauled her over the ledge.
We knelt there, crouching and gasping for air. The Hobgoblin backed up to us until we made a sorry little knot.
“We’ll go,” I gasped. “We’ll go. Just leave us be, and we’ll go away.”
“Go away now,” the Dwarf insisted shaking his weapon at us.
Not a fighter, I decided. But still, he might kill somebody accidentally if he attacked.
The Hobgoblins behind were obviously with him. They glanced nervously from us to the other Arukh and the Vampire. Those stared back unconcerned.
“Do as you please,” the Vampire said.
“We don’t need to fight,” I said desperately. “We fight, some of you die. Then maybe it’s different for them.”
I indicated the Vampire.
“Then maybe you are few enough, weak enough that they do what they want.”
“Oh,” said the Dwarf, “what do they want?”
I shrugged.
“We won’t fight,” I said. “We’ll go away. Just let us rest.”
“Until you’re strong enough to attack?”
“No,” I said. “We won’t attack.”
I gulped air. The longer he hesitated, the harder it would be for him to attack. Hesitation was like a cut, it drained the strength from your limbs.
“Get off my roof,” he snarled, “or we’ll throw you off.”
I stared, gauging him.
He didn’t have the courage to attack. Not unless he worked himself up to it.
“Oh shut up,” I snapped suddenly. “We aren’t a danger to you. We’re tired and we just want to get away from the mess out there.”
I jerked my thumb.
“You want to fight?” I snarled. “Go out there and fight. You want to fight, make noise, spill blood, give them a reason to be interested in this house? Leave us in peace and we’ll go away.”
I glared at him. Daring him to push us further.
“Mercy,” the Hobgoblin with us begged.
The little female just gasped for air and watched us.
One of the Hobgoblins behind the Dwarf grunted. He glanced back over his shoulder.
I could see him calculating his support. Killing an Arukh was one thing. Everyone despised Arukh. To murder a Hobgoblin begging for his life, that might upset the household.
“We have money,” I said. “We’ll pay.”
He shifted from side to side, almost like an Arukh.
“All right,” he said. “You’ll pay. You’ll make no trouble, or you go over. You do what I say, or you go over.”
“Fine,” I grunted and grinned at him.
He scowled. I kicked the Hobgoblin.
“Give him money,” I ordered.
The Hobgoblin clumsily felt around for its purse. It was its good arm that was disabled. I took the purse and tossed it to the Dwarf.
He examined it.
“Not much,” he grunted, but he didn’t push it.
I allowed myself to relax.
The female Dwarf came forward.
“Would you like some bread?” she asked.
I grunted.
The Vampire came over and knelt beside the Hobgoblin. I recognized her. She looked up at me and grinned.
“Have you journeyed by water again?” she asked.
“No,” I replied confused.
“You will. It is half your journey.”
“Piss off,” I said, irritably. I’d nearly been skewered a dozen times, I had no taste for mystic riddles.
She turned back to the Hobgoblin, touching his dislocated arm. The Hobgoblin whimpered.
“I see this,” she said. “It is very common. A riding accident. Easy to fix.”
She called the other Hobgoblins over and had them hold it down, covering its mouth. Grabbing the injured arm, she twisted it. The Hobgoblin convulsed, uttering muffled yelps. The Vampire pushed on the body.
The young Arukh looked at me nervously. I shrugged.
I noted that she’d somehow managed to hang onto her sword. How had she dragged that unwieldy heavy thing with her? And why? She’d almost not made it, that sword might have been her death. What she’d do with it on a crowded rooftop, I had no idea. For most purposes, it was not a practical weapon.
With an audible crunching noise the shoulder settled back in place. The Hobgoblin whimpered and then relaxed as the others loosened their grips.
“What are you doing here?” I asked the Vampire, as she looked up at me again.
“I watch,” she said. “I observe and understand. This is what I do. This is a good place to do it.”
“A safe place,” I said. “It’s hard to dream when someone is trying to cut your head off.”
She glanced at the young Arukh with me.
“Is this yours?” she asked.
I grunted.
The young Arukh simply stared.
“She has her own journey,” the Vampire said. “But not by water.”
The young one seemed confused.
She went back to watch the battle. As we stared, she paused from time to time to flirt with the Goblins. The Dwarf and the Arukh watched the battle.
The young one kept staring at the Vampire.
“Traditionals,” I explained.
She looked blank.
“I heard a story once,” I told her, “about a wise Dwarf that sat and thought. A Vampire passed it riding on a horse. The Vampire said ‘Hello.’ For three days and three nights the Dwarf thought upon the Vampires word. Finally, another Vampire passed the same way, on horse again. The Dwarf said ‘Hello.’
“The Vampire looked up and grinned at the Dwarf and said, ‘I see that you have met my sister.’”
“What?” the young Arukh asked, her brow wrinkling in confusion.
“It is the way of Vampires,” I said. “Nothing is ever simple, everything means something else. The simplest things have many meanings.”
She stared at me as if I was mad.
I ignored her.
Beyond us, there were the sounds of battle, the thunder of horses, clatter of weapons, the screams of injured and dying. Every now and then a breeze would lift the scent of blood to us.
The Hobgoblins brought up Goblin meats. I traded one of the young Arukh’s knives for meals. Then a game of bones started among the Hobgoblins. I left them and the young Arukh absorbed in the game and crawled over to the Vampire and the other Arukh.
“Like wolves,” the Arukh grunted. She was a scarred female, missing an ear and two fingers. The accent of the City Vampires was strong with her. She’d been with them a long time.
I jumped and stared at her. She glanced at me curiously, and then went back to watching the horsemen.
“Wolves?” I asked.
As I watched, I could see it. The Horsemen were butchers. They killed horses as often as Vampires. They struck many times, tearing their foes to pieces, often continuing to strike after death.
“Arrah,” she grunted. “They ride together, fight together. Look. They are like Wolves, hunting together as one.”
Not what I was thinking then, her meaning was different.
We watched as two Horsemen contended with a Vampire, their horses jousting back and forth, neither of them rode nearly as skilfully as the Vampire. They traded futile blows. The Vampire’s skill was blunted by two combatants. A third Horseman rode in to attack from behind.
The Vampire sensed the new attacker, and tried to turn his horse to confront the intruder, but the other two harried him. The horse wheeled back against its adversaries. The third man shoved a lance into the Vampire’s back.
The Vampire slid down the flank of the horse. Bleeding profusely, he still held on and tried to urge his hors
e away from the enemy. One of the Horsemen raised a club and slammed it down on the Vampire’s head. The Vampire slid further from the maddened horse. The club, now shining with red gore came down again, and the Vampire fell away. The terrified horse bolted clear of the Horsemen.
The Human riders circled their mounts around the fallen Vampire, clubbing and stabbing at it. It lay there in a spreading pool of blood. They rode away searching for another fight. The whole contest had taken but a moment.
“Like wolves,” I said.
“The Vampires,” the woman said, “ride alone. They ride for coup and glory. Men ride not so well, but they ride together. They ride to kill.”
“Arrah,” I grunted thoughtfully.
Further on, we watched as a Shaman confronted a Traditional. The two circled each other gracefully, then the Shaman raised the pipe to his nose and snorted. Suddenly he was a whirling blur, and the Traditional was using all his skill to save his life. There was an abrupt halt, and then the Shaman was swinging the Vampire’s severed head, chanting and dancing.
I saw other Shamans on the battlefield, strolling invulnerable and untouchable, exploding into killing frenzies. I didn’t see Copper Thoughts.
Over and over, as we watched, Humans on horses would gather against a lone Vampire rider and bring it down. As the battle wore on, Vampire riders clustered together, and confused bloody skirmishes would break out.
There was something more. As I watched, it seemed that some of the Horsemen stayed away from the fighting. No. Not quite. Groups raced together, merged and broke up. Horsemen would ride toward knots and then ride away, shouting to each other.
It wasn’t just skirmishing, I realized. The Humans were making patterns, riding and focusing their efforts, cutting the Vampires to pieces. I watched, trying to guess which ones were directing the horses, making the patterns.
There was an Arukh among the Horsemen.
He sat small in his armour, shouting and directing the horse riders, telling them where and how to attack.
I stared, trying to see him better. He was a smallish male with lanky limbs. He rode only a little better than the humans. He took off his helmet to wipe his brow, exposing a white hairless streak of scar along his temple.
An Arukh among humans.
Interesting.
“They will withdraw,” the Traditional with us, said.
“The Humans are winning,” I grunted. “They kill many Vampires.”
“But many more still come,” she answered. “Look.”
She was right, for every Vampire that fell, two more rode in, whooping and counting coup. Only to be slaughtered themselves in minutes. But still they came, and the surviving Vampires, desperate and shocked, fought hard.
The Horsemen’s patterns shifted, weaving into a retreat down narrow alleys, driving stolen horses with them. I watched their Arukh seem to direct their retreat. He was among the last bands to ride away. As he turned, he looked back to survey the battlefield. Our eyes met for a second, and then he was gone.
Wolf rider, I thought, suddenly.
“The Fair People have won!” the scarred female bellowed. “They have sent the Humans fleeing.”
Had the Vampires won? I wasn’t sure.
I saw a lot of Vampire bodies littering the streets. I saw dead horses, killed by Humans. I saw dead Dwarves and Arukh and Hobgoblins. I didn’t see many dead Humans.
They’d fought, they’d killed many Vampires, they’d taken many horses, they’d withdrawn, suffering few losses.
I grunted thoughtfully.
“I count nineteen dreamers fallen,” said the traditional with vague abstraction. By dreamers she referred to the traditional Vampires, not the City breeds.
“The Vampires,” I said carefully, “are better riders. But the Humans are better fighters.”
“There are only a few Horsemen. Vampires are as many as the beasts,” the scarred Arukh said.
“Not if this keeps up,” she replied, surveying the dead.
I stared at the Vampire.
We waited as the remnants of the fight petered out, and finally made our way through the building. As we crawled down stairs and passages, small faces watched us. Finally, we were out, three Arukh and a Vampire. The Hobgoblin had vanished along the way. I wasn’t surprised. The company of Arukh wasn’t good for a lone Hobgoblin. They made decent eating.
“Tell me about your Troll,” the Vampire asked suddenly.
“What Troll?” I replied evasively. “Iron Pants?”
She chuckled.
I glared at her.
“Tell me,” she commanded.
“Nothing to tell,” I said. “The Troll trapped, I trapped. We left each other alone. I watched the Troll. Nothing else to do. He talked out loud, went back and forth, did things. I watched. I listened. He was mad, he would sit at the fire, telling himself stories. I would watch where he could not see. Sometimes, when he was gone, I would sneak into his lodge.”
“Once I saw him talk to Goblins. I went to them. I said it was not safe. I said do not speak to a Troll, they are dangerous. The Goblins just laughed. They are all dead now.”
I paused, remembering the nest.
“He tried to kill me many times. He set traps for me, but I was always too clever. He caught me once, in a net trap. It was a harsh winter, and I’d been raiding his traps. He came with half a deer he’d killed, and found me in the trap. He looked at me and laughed. Then he put down the deer and went away to check his other traps. He left a knife behind where I could reach it. I cut my way free and stole the half of deer.”
I laughed.
“Stupid troll,” I said.
“He left the knife for you,” she said, “and the deer. He cared for you, when you would not be cared for.”
My laughter choked. I stared at the Vampire, thinking about it.
“There was a time,” I said, “when he hadn’t left his lodge for three days. I started to throw rocks at the lodge, to make him come out. But he didn’t. I shouted and howled at him. It rained. He still would not come out. I told him I would steal all his traps, that I would burn his house. But he did not come out. I waited. I thought perhaps he is not there, perhaps he is sneaking up on me. But there were no signs. I went to his traplines, but there was no sign of him. I even went to the goblins. I went back to his lodge and made a fire, right out in the open where he could see it. I was sure I would make him angry and he would come out to chase me away. But he did not. I waited and waited.”
I didn’t want to say any more, but found I could not stop.
“Finally, I went inside. The fire had burned down to ashes. It was cold. The Troll sat there in his chair. He was cold. There was nothing, no words, no stories. All gone, everything. Just meat now.”
I looked away.
“I went outside and howled and howled.”
“Finally, I made a fire in his hearth and cut him to pieces. I ate as much as I could, and what I didn’t eat, I scattered among his traps.”
“That is how I killed him.”
I stared at her defiantly. She nodded giving me a secret smile.
“You ate well,” she said eventually, “there is much Troll in you.”
I cursed her.
She made no response.
Why did she care? Why was she interested?
We wandered over the battlefield, looting corpses.
I watched as the Traditional, her Arukh in tow, went among the wounded, both Dwarves and Vampire. She talked briefly with a Dwarf. A tourniquet had staunched the flow of blood from his ruined arm. If he survived, he would lose it. He was listless and replied indifferently.
She peeled back an eyelid, staring at it, made a gesture, and then walked away. We followed.
I glanced at the wounded Dwarf as we passed. He stared impassively at me. A Troll came and picked him up,
slinging him easily over her shoulder as she bore him away.
Elsewhere on the field, I saw other Vampires moving among the wounded, swinging bronze medallions like the traditional we followed.
The Traditional knelt by an Arukh. It was a heavy set male, squatting back against the wall, eyes slitted. He drew in great sobbing breaths, and let it out in a series of small grunts. His body was shiny with sweat. Hands futilely covered his ruined belly, loops of intestines slipping out from his fingers.
“Do you see the land of dreams?” the Vampire asked him.
He didn’t reply, just let air out in little, pained grunts.
She touched him with two fingers and stood away. My blood ran cold. I’d been touched like that once, a long time ago.
I stepped forward, but too late. Her tame Arukh cut its throat.
“You’re a Cull,” I said, my voice trembling.
She turned to look at me, death eyes calm.
“I am called to choose,” she said gently.
I stepped forward, and then stepped back, nervous, drawing a knife. The tame Arukh growled at me.
“Arrah,” I grunted. I gulped air, involuntarily swinging from side to side. “Arrah, we will go now.”
I turned and started walking away, my footsteps light. My skin crawled and twitched, sweating, the hairs of my body erect and tense.
Footsteps behind me. I turned. It was the young female following me, I was almost relieved. Further behind, were the Traditional and the tame Arukh. They stared but did not follow.
I grunted.
She was a Cull! I had spoken with, had ridden with a Cull! The knowledge seemed to squeeze the breath from my chest. My legs started to shake.
We walked in silence for a moment, heading toward the celebration camp. The smell of bonfires and burning flesh filled our nostrils.
“What was that?” she asked, skipping to keep pace with my rapid strides.
I glanced at her. How could she not know? How could she not feel it?
“Among the traditional Vampires,” I said, “there are Culls. They are the ones who choose the dead. They touch you...”
I held up my hand, curling the fingers the way I remembered.
The Mermaid's Tale Page 17
