Scarlet and the White Wolf--Book One

by Kirby Crow

  The bravo raised his club for the killing blow and then was suddenly gone. A reddish blur crashed into the bravo and hurled him away. Liall blinked against the rain falling into his eyes, thinking there was some trick of light at work, but no, there was a scuffle happening that did not involve him.

  He struggled to roll over and get his knees under him, grasping any chance for life, his body sluggish and unresponsive. He crouched on hands and knees and gaped stupidly around him, trying to focus on the knot of motion in the center of the alley, and was amazed.

  The whore-boy in red had returned and was fighting off the bravos. He had a dark Morturii knife in each hand and the edge of one was against the younger bravo's throat while the scarred one yelled curses at him. The boy spoke in hushed, vicious tones, and the scarred bravo hurled abuse and threats, yet did not move, for the knife did not waver from its target. Liall, rattled as he was, could see the boy would kill the bravo if the elder did not back off. The bearded one heaped a final torrent of abuse on the boy, and then seemed to make a decision. He hefted his club, turned his back and walked away, heedless of the snarled curses of his comrade who had the long-knife at his throat.

  Alone now, the boy and the bully conversed in tones too low to hear over the thudding rain, but Liall sensed the boy was promising murder if his terms were not met. Terms of release, he presumed.

  "Don't do it,” Liall croaked. He got to his feet, bleeding hands clawing the mortar of the wall for purchase. “He'll kill you the moment you let him go."

  "Shut your face, fucker!” the bravo snarled.

  The boy did not look at Liall, but shoved the bravo away from him so that the man impacted face-first with the wall and banged his nose. The bravo whirled, cursing, but the boy kicked the fallen club out of his reach and raised one of the Morturii knives in warning. The haft spun easily in his hands, whirling and glittering in the green lamplight, and he laughed when the bravo backed up to avoid the spinning edge. With a last, hate-filled look, the bravo spat a gobbet of phlegm at Liall's feet before he fled into the darkness.

  Liall was alone with his savior. He began to chuckle, holding his sides against the ache. It was beyond ludicrous.

  "Boy,” he tittered, “if I had known I was speaking to a warrior, I would have shown you less silver and more respect."

  The boy threw back the hood of his coat and stepped closer, his features clearly illuminated now. “What in Deva's shrieking hell are you talking about?"

  "It's you!” Liall gaped, holding his bruised ribs.

  "Of course it's me, you want-wit,” he retorted mildly as he sheathed his knives. “Did they hit you on the head?” He spat in the direction of the bravo who had fled. “I broke my new walking stick over the first one's thick skull, damn him. Come on, we have to get off the streets!” He tugged on Liall's arm and half-dragged him along.

  Aching as he was, Liall seized the boy's shoulders and swung him round as the cold rain poured over them. He was not surprised to feel his hands shaking.

  "Scarlet,” he whispered in wonder. “I thought I would never see you again."

  Scarlet's hands tightened in Liall's cloak. He shivered and turned his face away. “Let's get out of this alley,” Scarlet said, steering him toward the street.

  Liall went without protest. Thunder rolled away from the port, vanishing somewhere over the Channel which leads to the sea.

  * * * *

  Even the chicken coop was better than cold rain and the possibility of the bravos returning in force. Scarlet helped Liall navigate the rickety wooden stairs at the rear of the hostelry and into the stinking little den. The room was just a box, scantily furnished with a rump-sprung bed and a padded velvet chair that had seen better days, its worn surface shiny with oil and countless unmentionable uses.

  Scarlet held Liall's arm until he was settled on the bed, then tried to strip him of his clothing to examine him. Liall pushed him away. “I'll be fine,” he grumbled. Scarlet looked doubtful. “I've been hurt enough times to know. A few bruises, a lot of soreness. That's all."

  "If they'd had the time, they would have done a lot worse,” Scarlet reckoned. There were lines of anger around his mouth.

  "Indeed.” He felt dizzy and shaken and he was sure he had less than all his wits about him, but he managed to smile. “They were somewhat interrupted. You saved my life, Scarlet."

  Scarlet dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “It's no more than you did for me.” Always the pragmatist, Scarlet encompassed the room in one scornful glance and sighed. “The fire isn't even lit. A cave would serve you better than this.” He knelt at the hearth and grabbed the poker.

  "Don't bother. The chimney leaks and the wood is wet."

  "We'll see.” Scarlet ceased poking at the damp, charred wood and stood up. “Is there a kitchen in this sty?"

  "Downstairs. The alewife will give you hot water if you ask, and you can buy food. Here.” He handed Scarlet two silver bits, guessing his intent. “Leave your pedlar's coat. The bravo's friends may be looking for you by now."

  Scarlet nodded and slung off the red leather and his pack. “I'll be right back."

  When he had gone, Liall stripped off his wet cloak and shirt. He lay down on the sagging mattress and closed his eyes until the room stopped spinning. Well, perhaps he had not weathered as fair as he claimed. The club to his head could have concussed his skull, but that would not be evident at once. If he began to vomit or was not able to stay awake, Scarlet was going to have a devil of a time finding a curae in this place to heal him.

  He dozed fitfully and awoke to Scarlet gently shaking his shoulder. A tin cup containing steaming liquid was being offered..

  "It's che,” Scarlet said. “Not very good, but it's hot. I added some powder of birch from my kit. Should take some of the pain away. I also bought waybread and a few apples, but I didn't trust buying meat in a place like this."

  He nodded and accepted the che. “Wise of you. I noticed a distinct lack of alley cats in this port.” To his surprise, he saw that Scarlet had succeeded in kindling the wet wood in the hearth and had a cheery orange fire going. “How did you manage that?"

  Scarlet looked frightened for a moment, and Liall wondered why this would be so. “Oh, the fire? There were some coals underneath."

  "There were? All I saw was a puddle."

  Scarlet fidgeted, saying nothing, and Liall decided he was being inquisitive for no good reason. “I suppose you must simply be more skilled than I. You must have to kindle your own fire every night on the road."

  Scarlet brightened. “True."

  He drank and ate a little of the dry, chewy bread. The birch powder was acrid and did nothing for the taste of the tea, but it quickly took the sharp edge off his pain and he felt better. Presently, he stood up to test his legs. Solid enough, he decided. Despite the numerous bruises on his back and arms and one egg-sized lump on his skull, he concluded he would live. Scarlet was sipping his che by the door, his shoulder nudged against the grimy wall, watching Liall with worry.

  "I suppose it would be rude of me to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Liall said, sinking back down on the bed. He dragged a blanket over his shoulders.

  "What?"

  He shrugged and winced, rubbing his neck. “I forgot that Byzans do not have that expression. You would look a horse in the mouth in any case, whether it was a gift or not."

  "Of course I would."

  "Why did you follow me?"

  Scarlet's face went carefully blank for a moment. “I didn't mean to. I'm ... it was an accident."

  Liall did not try to hide his skepticism. “No one comes to Volkovoi by accident."

  Scarlet swirled his che in his cup. “I didn't mean it quite like that. I was bound for Ankar and I'd crossed the Iron River, heading north, when I ran into some Aralyrin soldiers. They asked me about you."

  Liall's interest grew sharp. “What did they say?"

  "Only that they were looking for you and that they'd had word you were trying to fin
d passage north. They mentioned a price on your head in every port. I had to come and warn you."

  Liall paled a little and he was silent for several moments. “It seems that machinations are already in place to prevent me from returning home. I suspected as much, but I'm not pleased to be proven correct.” He sighed deeply and then dismissed worry from his mind. Men had been trying to assassinate him since he was ten years old. Tonight was no different.

  Liall looked up and saw the worry on Scarlet's features. He smiled a little. “And what am I to do with you now, little pedlar?"

  "I thought I'd come with you."

  "Oh.” Scarlet had succeeded in shocking him again. “What about your plans in Ankar?"

  "Plans change."

  "And your sister? You would abandon Annaya when you know civil war is coming?” Scarlet winced, causing Liall to gentle his voice. “More than anyone in Lysia, you have known this for some time. It cannot end any other way."

  "Annaya is in Nantua. It's not perfect, but it's safer than Byzantur. Besides, she wouldn't have come with me,” Scarlet added quietly. “I know she wouldn't. She's too much like Scaja."

  "I've been nothing but trouble to you since we met, brought you nothing but pain. Why do you care what happens to me?"

  Scarlet bit his lip. “I don't really know how to answer that."

  Liall sensed he was being put off. He set the che aside. “You're not telling me all of the truth here, Scarlet. Why did you really come?” Liall frowned. “This would not have anything to do with that life-debt nonsense you were spouting in my camp, would it?"

  Scarlet shifted on his feet. “You can believe that if you like, but whatever you think, my debts are a matter of honor for me. I can't forget them just because you have a low opinion of Byzans, and I...” he trailed off. “I don't know why I care about you. I only know that I haven't been true to myself for a long time. Maybe when I'm with you, no matter how angry you make me, I feel like I'm getting nearer to who I want to be."

  This was so close to how Liall himself privately felt about Scarlet that he was amazed. Yet, it was now too late to reveal that, and it would be unfair. He was leaving.

  Liall's guilt returned as Scarlet watched him with an expression of mingled hurt and anticipation. Whatever Scarlet's reasons for coming to Volkovoi, it had been to his benefit, and now at least he had seen Scarlet once more. It was pointless to argue further. He smiled wanly. “You've worried over me?"

  "With good reason, it seems."

  "My savior,” he agreed.

  It was growing late, so he left off questioning and watched Scarlet busy himself about the room. The pedlar piled everything wet in one corner and hung Liall's clothing and his own wet coat from pegs on the walls, hoping aloud that the damp would leech out by morning. When Liall moved to help him, Scarlet gave him a warning glare.

  "I can do it. Don't need you falling over and breaking your head again. Just drink your che. Put your boots by the fire if you want to be useful."

  Scarlet was unusually quiet after that. When he was done shaking the rain from everything and tidying up, they were left staring at each other in the silence broken only by the constant patter of rain on the window and roof. Liall realized that this was the first time he had really been alone with Scarlet.

  He stood up and held out his hand. The blanket dropped from his shoulders. “Come here."

  Scarlet reached out to him tentatively and Liall quickly dragged him into his arms. He fits there perfectly, Liall thought, snug if a little small. Scarlet did not respond at first, tensing as if he would pull away, and for a moment Liall believed he had made a huge mistake. Then, surprisingly, Scarlet sighed and his arms went around Liall's back. Scarlet turned his head to rest his cheek against Liall's bare chest as they listened to the rain batten on the roof.

  "Thank you for saving my life,” Liall murmured. He considered carefully what to say next, knowing Scarlet had many boundaries. “You would really come with me?"

  "I would.” There was sincerity in his voice. “I want to come with you."

  Liall's arms tightened around him. How many times must he say farewell to this impossible boy? “I regret, but no. It's too dangerous."

  Scarlet tensed and pulled away from his embrace. He stepped away and turned his back, his posture stiff and wounded.

  "What, more dangerous than being a pedlar and traveling on robber roads?” he asked resentfully. “Slavers sieve the north roads from Khurelen, and we've had brigands patrolling the river right next to Lysia since before I was born. And if that's not enough, my own countrymen are raiding every Hilurin village in Byzantur and burning it to the ground. The world is a dangerous place, Liall. Every breath I take is a risk."

  Liall knew more about the evil of the world than most, because he had traveled more than most men alive. Thinking about how often Scarlet was in danger angered him. Damn this filthy place! he thought fiercely. And damn your bitch-goddess, too. Your Deva claims to prize purity, yet the world she hands you is full of evil and no fit place for innocents.

  "I told you no. You're going to Ankar, like you planned."

  Which was exactly the wrong thing to say.

  "I'm not a child,” Scarlet flared. “And you're not my lord. I'll go where I will."

  "Scarlet!” Liall gripped his shoulders and tugged him around. “I know you've lost much, but are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?"

  That got his attention. “No."

  "Then heed me. Go to Ankar, or even to your sister's house in Nantua, but go."

  There was some fire in him yet. Then, Scarlet's eyes lit on the bright coin necklace around Liall's neck, and the heat of his anger seemed to gutter and die. He reached out and turned the copper coins thoughtfully in his fingers.

  "I remember these,” he said, his dark eyes very large. “Why have you done this?"

  "To remind me."

  Scarlet's voice was softer. “I can't go back to Byzantur, or even Ankar for that matter."

  "What has happened?” Liall resisted an urge to shake him when he did not answer. “Tell me!"

  "It's my business,” he evaded, dropping the coins. “But I'm glad I found you. I wanted to see you one more time."

  The admission dissolved Liall's anger in sudden warmth and robbed him of his resolution to get to the truth. He let Scarlet go and paced heavily to the window, wiping the beaded moisture away and peering into the night. Below the window, the squalid walkways ran with water and the green lamps made goblin shadows on all the walls.

  "Here is the way of it,” Liall said at last. “I've been summoned back to my homeland. This much you know. The journey by sea is long and perilous and I can take no one with me. I dare not take you, especially, for you would probably die on such a journey, and there will be ... other dangers. I have many enemies.” He turned to look at Scarlet. “Many powerful men who wish me dead, and who would not hesitate to kill you as well."

  Scarlet was looking at him with new interest, and Liall was dismayed. He had already told Scarlet far more than he meant to, yet he was compelled by some unknown instinct to continue: “My family is also very powerful, and there has been, or will be, a change of kings in Norl Udur. I do not know if I will ever be permitted to return to Byzantur."

  "Why you?” Scarlet asked. He was unsettled now. “Of all the men in the world this great family could have sent for, why'd they send for you?"

  "That, I cannot tell you."

  Scarlet laughed shortly. “For a moment, I thought we were starting to trust each other."

  He would not be distracted. “This is not about trust. You cannot come with me. You must find your own way.” It hurt to be so blunt, but he had to do it.

  Scarlet tried to brazen it out. “Maybe I'm just going in your direction."

  "I doubt that, and even if you were, you would find no ship willing to carry you. My people do not tolerate foreigners."

  Scarlet looked stricken. Liall sighed and rubbed his face, wincing when his palm brushe
d a lump on his cheek. “Let us sleep on it. Matters will seem clearer in the light of day. Perhaps we will know what to do then. I will help as I can, but there is little time.” He gestured. “Take the bed; I will be quite comfortable here."

  "You're the one hurt."

  "Don't argue."

  Liall doused the lamp and reclined in the large velvet chair, a blanket over his shoulders and the two Morturii long-knives across his lap. After a long moment, Scarlet crossed the room. The bed creaked as he sat. There was a thump as his boots hit the floor and he sighed, reclining with his arm folded under his head for a pillow. The faint green glow of lamplight limned his form.

  Liall watched from his chair. The multiple aches from his many bruises had settled into a dull roar. Minutes passed.

  "Liall?” Scarlet whispered into the gloom.

  Liall inhaled shakily. “No,” he answered softly. He saw Scarlet rise up on his elbow to face him in the dim light.

  "Why?"

  Indeed, why? After all the effort he had put into seducing this young man, to refuse him now, when he was freely offering himself, seemed foolish. But why had Scarlet changed? What had happened to him since they parted on the Sea Road? He seemed more open than Liall had ever seen him, and he was finally at ease in his company. It was as if some mask or heavy burden had fallen away from him, allowing him to be at peace in his own skin. Scarlet had found himself, but now it was too late.

  Liall's throat grew painfully tight. “I will not take something so precious from you only to abandon you afterwards. You have never had a lover before."

  Scarlet's eyes glittered in the dark. “You don't know that."

  Liall was silent, knowing he was right.

  Scarlet sighed. “It doesn't matter. I want to."

  "So do I, but then I would still have to leave you."

  "I don't care."

  "But I do."

  Scarlet rolled over, facing the window. He looked very small on the bed, impossibly vulnerable, and Liall was again amazed at the resilience and strength of Byzans.

  Rain slashed against the window with a hiss. Later, when Liall dreamed, he saw a horse-drawn sleigh racing over the snow, and the polished iron runners under the carriage hissed with a sound like steam.