“Rape, plunder, and butchery,” said Druss. “I know. Skilgannon said it earlier. If the Tantrians had been better led, they’d have suffered more. So, why would Orastes have been imprisoned?”
“We can make little sense of it, Druss. All I have been able to learn is that his reasons for coming to Mellicane were personal and not official. Every day he went out into the city, sometimes with his servant, sometimes without. You’ll need to speak to the man, but be aware, my friend, that Orastes is probably dead.”
“If he is,” said Druss, coldly, “I’ll find the men who did it, and the men who ordered it.”
“Well, if you’re still here in four days, I’ll join you,” said Diagoras. “My commission runs out then and I’m leaving the army. I’ll help you find out what happened, then I’ll head back to Drenan. Time I got married and sired a few sons to look after me when I’m in my dotage.”
“I’ll be glad to have you, laddie. Put enemies in front of me and I know just how to deal with them. But this search has me foxed.”
“There was a rumor Orastes was seen heading southeast about a month ago,” put in Diagoras. “It must have been put out by those who had him imprisoned. Is that where you’ve been?”
“Aye. He was said to be riding his white gelding, and accompanied by a group of soldiers. It turned out to be a merchant who bore a passing resemblance to Orastes, tall, plump, and fair-haired. The soldiers were his bodyguards. I caught up with them in a market village sixty miles from here. The gelding had belonged to Orastes. The merchant had a bill of sale, signed by the earl. I know his handwriting. It was genuine.”
“Well, tomorrow—hopefully—we’ll be able to speak with the servant. Now, are you ready for that drinking contest?”
“No, laddie,” said Druss, “tonight the meal and the drinks are on me. We’ll sit and do what old soldiers are renowned for. We’ll talk about past days and old glories. We’ll discuss the problems of the world, and—as the wine flows—we’ll come up with a hundred grand ideas to put everything to rights.” He chuckled. “And when we wake tomorrow with aching heads, we’ll have forgotten all of them.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Diagoras, raising his hand and summoning the tavern girl. “Two flagons of Lentrian Red, my dear, and some larger goblets, if you please.”
Skilgannon wandered along the dock, skirting the quays where weary men were still unloading cargo. The sounds of the sea lapping against the harbor walls was soothing, as was the smell of seaweed and salt air.
Mellicane had been lucky this time. They had surrendered early. There had been little time for simmering angers to build into blind hatreds among the besieging troops. The longer a siege went on, the more the darkness swelled in the hearts of the fighters. Men would lose friends, or brothers. They would stare at the walls, anger building, and dream of revenge. Once the walls were breached the invaders would swarm through the city like avenging demons, hacking and killing until the insanity of rage was purged from their hearts.
He shivered, recalling the horrors of Perapolis. The people of Mellicane probably felt themselves safe now, with this small war at an end. Skilgannon wondered how they would feel when the armies of Naashan descended upon them.
I will be long gone, by then, he decided.
Walking out to a deserted jetty he stood and watched the reflected moon, lying broken upon the waves. Jianna would probably already have men searching for him. One day they would find him. They would step from a darkened alleyway or emerge from the shadows of the trees. Or they would come upon him as he was sitting quietly in a tavern, his mind on other matters. It was unlikely they would announce their presence or seek to fight him, man to man. Even without the Swords of Night and Day Skilgannon was deadly. With them he was almost invincible.
He heard stealthy footfalls on the planks behind him and turned. Two men were moving toward him. They were dressed in ragged clothes, which were wet through. Both carried knives in their hands. He guessed they had entered the water below the Embassy Quarter gates and had swum through to the docks. Both were thin, haggard, and middle-aged.
Skilgannon watched them as they approached. “Give us your coin,” demanded the first, “and you’ll not get hurt.”
“I will not be hurt anyway,” said Skilgannon. “Now best you be on your way, for I have no wish to kill you.” The man’s shoulders sagged, but his comrade pushed past him and rushed at Skilgannon. The warrior blocked the knife thrust with his forearm, hooked his foot behind the man’s leg, and sent him crashing to the deck. As the man struggled to rise Skilgannon trod on his knife hand. The attacker cried out in pain, the knife slipping from his fingers. Skilgannon scooped it up. “Stay where you are,” he told the fallen man, then turned to his comrade. “This is not an enterprise to which you are suited,” he said. “What do you think you are doing here?”
“There’s no food,” said the man. “My children are crying with hunger. All of this,” he added, waving his arm at the food ships being unloaded in the distance, “is going to the homes of the rich. I’ll not watch my children starve. I’d sooner die myself.”
“And that is what you will do,” said Skilgannon. “You will die.” With a sigh he tossed the knife to the deck, then dipped his hand into his money pouch, producing a heavy golden coin. “Take this to the tavern and purchase some food. Then go home and forget this foolishness.”
The second man lurched to his feet, knife in hand. “No need to take crumbs from this bastard’s table, Garak,” he said. “Look at his money pouch. It’s bulging. We can have it all. Let’s take him!”
“You have a decision to make, Garak,” said Skilgannon. “Here is a coin honestly offered. With it you can feed your family for a month. The alternative is never to see them again in this world. I am not a forgiving man, and I offer no second chances.”
Both knifemen exchanged glances. In that moment Skilgannon knew they would attack, and he would kill them. Two more lives would be wasted. Garak’s children would lose their father, and Skilgannon would have two more souls upon his conscience. Then, as always, his mind cleared. He could feel the weight of the scabbard on his back, the need to draw the Swords of Night and Day, to feel his fingers curl around the ornate ivory handles, to see the blades slice through flesh, and blood to gush from severed arteries. Skilgannon made no effort now to quell the growing hunger.
“Brother Lantern!” came the voice of Rabalyn. Skilgannon did not turn, but kept his eyes on the two men. He heard the youth walking along the jetty and saw Garak’s gaze flick toward him. As the deadly moment passed Skilgannon’s anger rose. He fought for control.
“I’ll take the coin, master,” said Garak, sheathing his knife. The haggard man sighed. “These are terrible times. I am a furniture maker. Just a furniture maker.”
Skilgannon stood stock still, then drew in a deep breath. It took every effort of his will not to cut the man down. Silently Skilgannon handed him the coin. Garak gestured to his comrade, who stood for a moment, staring malevolently at Skilgannon. Then both men walked along the jetty, past Rabalyn.
Skilgannon moved to the jetty rail and gripped it with trembling hands.
“Druss told me you had gone for a walk. I am sorry if I disturbed you,” said Rabalyn.
“The disturbance was a blessing.” The blood lust began to fade. Skilgannon glanced at the lad. “So, what are your plans, Rabalyn?”
The youth shrugged. “I don’t know. I wish I could go home. Perhaps I shall stay in the city and seek work.”
Skilgannon saw the boy staring at him and knew that he was waiting for an invitation. “You cannot come with me, Rabalyn. Not because I do not like your company. You are fine and brave. I like you greatly. But there are people hunting me. One day they will find me. I have enough death on my conscience without adding you to the list. Why don’t you take Braygan’s advice, and join him at the temple?”
The youth’s disappointment showed. “Maybe I will. May I keep the shirt? I have no other clothes.”
/> “Of course you may.” Skilgannon fished another coin from his pouch. “Take this. Ask the priests to exchange it for silver and copper coins. Then you can purchase another tunic and some leggings that fit more closely. What is left will allow you to pay the priests for your lodgings.”
Rabalyn took the coin and stared at it. “This is gold,” he said.
“Aye, it is.”
“I have never held gold. One day I will pay you back. I promise.” He stared hard at Skilgannon. “Are you all right? Your hands are trembling.”
“I am just tired, Rabalyn.”
“I thought you were going to fight those men.”
“It would not have been a fight. Your arrival saved their lives.”
“Who were they?”
“Just men, seeking to find food for their families.” A cool breeze whispered across the water.
“Do you have a family?” asked Rabalyn.
“I did once. Not now.”
“Doesn’t it make you lonely? I have felt lonely ever since Aunt Athyla died.”
Skilgannon took a deep, calming breath. He felt his body relax, and the trembling in his hands ceased. “Yes, I suppose that it does.”
Rabalyn moved alongside Skilgannon and rested his arms on the jetty rail. The moon shone broken on the lapping sea. “I never thought about it before. I used to get really annoyed with Aunt Athyla. She’d fuss over me constantly. Once she had . . . gone I realized there wasn’t anyone who’d fuss over me again. Not in the same way, if you know what I mean?”
“I know. After my father died I was raised by two kindly people, Sperian and Molaire. Molaire would worry constantly about whether I had eaten enough, or was getting enough sleep, or wearing warm enough clothes in the winter to fend off the chill.”
“Yes, exactly,” said Rabalyn, smiling at the memories. “Aunt Athyla was like that.” His smile faded. “She deserved better than to die in that fire. I wish I could have done something more for her while she was alive. Bought her a nice gift, or a . . . I don’t know. A house with a real garden. Even a silk scarf. She always said she liked silk.”
“She sounds a good woman,” said Skilgannon, softly, seeing the youth’s distress. “I expect you gave her more than you think.”
“I gave her nothing,” said Rabalyn, an edge of bitterness in his voice. “If only I had killed Todhe earlier she would still be alive.”
“That may be so, Rabalyn, but there is no more futile phrase than if only. If only we could go back and live our lives again. If only we hadn’t said the unkind words. If only we had turned left instead of right. If only is useless. We make our mistakes and we move on. In my life I have made decisions that cost the lives of thousands. Worse than that, through my actions those who loved me died horribly. If I allowed myself to walk the path of if only I would go mad. You are a fine, strong young man. Your aunt raised you well. She gave you love, and you will repay that love by loving others. A wife, sons, daughters, friends. That is the greatest gift you can give her.”
They stood in silence for a while, listening to the water lapping against the jetty.
“Why are people hunting you?” asked Rabalyn, after a while.
“They have been sent by someone who wants me dead.”
“He must hate you very much.”
“No, she loves me. Now I need to be alone, my friend. I have much to think on. You go back to the tavern. I will join you there later.”
It still seemed strange to Skilgannon that of all the moments he had shared with Jianna, through all of the violence, fear, and excitement, he should recall so vividly their walk home together from the bathhouse.
Having fooled the men sent to spy on him, they strolled together, her arm hooked in his. He had glanced at her, his eyes drawn to the flimsy yellow tunic dress she wore. Her breasts were small and firm, her nipples pushing at the fabric. She was wearing a cheap scent that dazzled his senses. He found himself wishing with all his heart that she could have been what she pretended to be. Skilgannon had discovered the joys of sex at the bathhouse the previous summer, but never had he wanted anyone the way he desired the girl holding his arm.
“What is your plan now?” she asked, as they walked together.
He could not think clearly, aware of an uncomfortable tightness in his belly. “Well?” she persisted.
“We will go to my home. We will talk there,” he said, trying to buy time.
“What will you tell your servants?”
This was a good question. Sperian was closemouthed and spoke to few people. He was a solitary man, who could be trusted. Molaire, on the other hand, was a chatterbox. “Where was Greavas intending to take you?” he asked. “Once he got you from the city.”
“East, into the mountains. There are tribes there who are still loyal. Will you stop looking at my breasts? It is making me uncomfortable.”
He jerked his gaze from her. “My apologies, Princess.”
“Probably best if you don’t call me that,” she pointed out.
He paused, and turned toward her. “I am not usually this much of a dullard,” he told her. “Forgive me. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. It is muddling my senses.”
“My name will be Sashan,” she said, ignoring his comment. “Try it. Say it.”
“Sashan.”
“Good. Now about your servants?”
“I shall tell them both I met you at the bathhouse, and that your name is Sashan, and you will be staying with me for a while. I will get Sperian to give you an allowance. Thirty silver pieces a week. That should help allay suspicion. You should take the money and go to the market. Buy yourself . . . whatever you like.”
“I see that you know the going price for whores, young Olek.”
“Indeed I do, Sashan. And so should you.”
She laughed, the sound rich and throaty. “Were I a whore, you could not afford me.”
“If you were a whore I’d sell everything I had for a night with you.”
She took his arm again. “And you would not regret it. Not a copper coin of it. However, I am not a whore. What sleeping arrangements do you have in mind?”
“Oh, we have many spare rooms.”
“And how will that look to your servants? You bring a whore home and then do not sleep with her? No, Olek, we must share a room. But that is all we will share.”
Back at the house he introduced Sashan to Sperian and Molaire. The gardener said nothing, but Molaire was outraged. She swung to Sperian. “Are you going to allow this?”
“The boy is three weeks from his majority. It is his choice.”
“I think it disgraceful,” said Molaire, ignoring Jianna, and storming from the entrance hall. As the princess wandered through to the living room, Sperian looked hard at Skilgannon. “Is that who I think it is?” he whispered.
“Yes. Say nothing to Molaire.”
“She is very convincing in that yellow tunic.”
“Aye, she is.” Jianna came back into the hallway and smiled at Sperian.
“I fear your wife does not like me.”
“More a problem for me than you, Sashan,” Sperian told her. “It will be like having a wasp in my ear tonight. I doubt I’ll get any rest. Why don’t you and Olek go out into the garden. I’ll bring a little food and drink.”
After the servant had gone Skilgannon led Jianna through to the garden. The sun was setting beyond the western wall, and it was cool in the shade. She sat down in a deep chair, her long legs stretched out. Skilgannon tore his gaze from her thighs, and stared hard at the blooms in the garden. “He knows, doesn’t he?” said Jianna.
“Yes. But then he already knew that Greavas was hiding you—and he sent me to Greavas. I guessed we wouldn’t fool Sperian. He will say nothing. Not even to Molaire.”
“He would be wise not to. Trusting that fat sow with a secret would be like trying to carry water in a fishnet.”
“She is a good woman,” said Skilgannon, sharply. “You will not speak ill of her.”
“I am talking to Sashan the whore, who is living in my house for thirty silvers a week.”
She looked away, and he studied her profile. It seemed to him that her face was beautiful from any angle. Even with the badly dyed yellow hair and the red ringlets at the temple, she was stunning. “How long must I stay here?” she asked.
“At this moment soldiers are scouring the city, and all the gates are manned. In three weeks the Festival of Harvest begins. Farmers and merchants will be coming here from all over Naashan. Once the festival is over they will return. There will be huge numbers leaving the city. That will be the time, I think.”
“A month then?”
“At least.”
“It will be a long month.”
Skilgannon had not realized just how long a time a month could be. He began to realize it that first night, as he and Jianna retired to his west-facing room above the garden. The bed was wide, and made for two. Even so he lay awake, feeling the warmth emanating from her. The scent from her hair wafted to him every time the night breeze blew. In the night she awoke and moved silently from the bed. He saw her naked body silhouetted against the window. His arousal was swift and painful. She stretched her arms above her head, and ran her fingers through her hair. Skilgannon drank in the lines of her, the sleekness of her waist, and the long perfection of her legs. She padded across the room and poured herself a goblet of water. Skilgannon closed his eyes and tried to force the image of her from his mind. It was a useless exercise. He felt her slide in alongside him once more.
“Are you awake?” she asked.
He thought of ignoring her and pretending sleep. “Yes,” he said, “I am awake. Is the bed uncomfortable? Is it stopping you from sleeping?”
“No. I was thinking of my mother. I was wondering if I will ever see her again.”
“Greavas is a clever man. I am sure he will succeed.”
“She carries poison, you know. Hidden in a ring. If they come for her she will swallow it.”
White Wolf Page 21
