"I am Dilvish, and this is Reena."
The lady nodded and smiled.
"Not a common name, yours. There was a Dilvish, long ago…"
"I do not believe that castle stood in those days."
"To be sure, it did not. This was then the home of a hill tribe, reasonably content with its flocks and its god— whose name has since been forgotten. But the cities grew up below and—"
"Taksh'mael," Dilvish said.
"What?"
"Taksh'mael was their god," Dilvish answered, "keeper of the flocks. A friend and I once laid an offering on his altar when we passed this way—long ago. I wonder whether the altar still stands."
"Oh, it does, where it has always stood… You are definitely a member of a minority to have it in mind at all. Perhaps 'twere better you did not stop at the castle… Seeing the area come upon such bad times could not but depress one such as yourself. On second thinking, I'd say ride on and clear this poor place from your mind. Remember it as once it was."
"Thank you, but we have traveled a great distance," Dilvish replied. "It does not seem worth the extra effort merely to preserve a few sensibilities. We will go to the castle."
The man's large, pale eyes fixed him, then jerked away. With one hand he groped beneath his shaggy garments, then he limped forward, extending that hand toward Dilvish.
"Take this," he muttered. "You should have it."
"What is it?" Dilvish asked, automatically reaching down.
"A trifle," said the other. "An old thing I've had a long while, a mark of the god's favor and protection. One who remembers Taksh'mael ought to have such hereabouts."
Dilvish examined it, a fragment of gray stone veined with pink, into which the image of a ram had been scratched. It was pierced on one end and a worn woolen strand passed through this aperture.
"Thank you," he said, reaching for his bag. "I'd like to give you something in return."
"No," said the old man, turning away. '"Tis a freely given gift, and I've no use for citified geegaws. And 'tis not much for all that. The newer gods can afford much fancier, I'm certain."
"Well, may he guard your footsteps."
"At my age, I doubt it matters. Fare thee well."
He hiked off among the rocks and was soon gone from sight.
"Black, what do you make of it?" Dilvish asked, leaning forward to dangle the charm before his mount.
"There is some power in it," Black replied, "but it is of a tainted magic. I am not at all sure that I would trust anyone who bestows such a thing."
"First he told us to stop at the castle, then he told us to pass it by. On which piece of advice shall we mistrust him?"
"Let me see it, Dilvish," Reena said.
He dropped it into her hands and she studied it for a long while.
"True, it is as Black says…" she finally began.
"Should I keep it or throw it away?"
"Oh, keep it," she replied, passing it back. "Magic is like money. Who cares where it comes from? It's what you spend it on that counts."
"That is only true if you can control the expenditure," he said. "Do you want to stop at the castle? Or shall we travel as far as we can tonight?"
"The animals are getting tired."
"True."
"I believe he was a bit dotty."
"Most likely."
"A real bed would be very nice."
"Then we shall visit the castle."
Black was silent as they moved ahead.
Oil lamps, candles, and a large fireplace lit the tavern where Oele danced. Sailors, tradesmen, soldiers, and assorted rogues and citizens drank and dined at the heavy wooden tables. Tonight she wore her blue and green costume, and two musicians accompanied her energetic movements in the cleared area at the rear of the main room. Business had improved considerably since she had come to town two weeks earlier, and though she had received three proposals of marriage and many other sorts of offers, yet did she remain unattached. Nor did her lack of a hardy male companion result in many difficulties. A steady gaze and a single, imperious gesture terminated the un-desired attentions of the most importunate, causing a man to drop senseless to the ground. It was obvious that she did not desire the beery embraces of most patrons of the place, though her eyes searched every face during the course of an evening. And now there were some new ones. A caravan had come in from the west that afternoon, and a ship had arrived from southern waters. Tonight's crowd was even noisier than usual.
One tall son of the desert drew her eyes—slow-moving, dark, and hawkish. His flowing garments did not conceal his sturdy, well-proportioned frame. He took his ease near the doorway, sipping wine and smoking from a complicated contraption he had set upon the table before him. A number of similarly garbed men were seated at the same table, conversing in their sibilant tongue. The tall man's eyes never left her, and she began to feel that he might be the one. There were signs of great vitality in even the smallest of his movements.
A group of sailors arrived as the evening wore on, but she ignored them. By then she was dancing only for the one she had chosen. And it became apparent from the light in his eyes, his smile, and the words he had spoken as she passed near that he was captivated. He would be a fine one. Another hour and she would take him away…
"Move it this way, lady. I like it."
She glanced to her right toward the man who had spoken and saw blue eyes beneath a wild thatch of coppery hair, a gold earring, very white teeth, a red neckerchief—one of the sailors who had just come in.
It was difficult to judge his size, leaned forward the way he was.
She did move nearer, studying him. Interesting scar on his chin… Big, capable hands on the table before him…
She moved her lips through a faint smile. He was more animated than the other, and certainly as filled with life. She wondered…
She heard a noise at her back and turned without missing a step. The trader was standing, glaring at the sailor. His men were also rising. She continued to smile and turned away again. The music died abruptly. She heard an oath, loud in the sudden stillness.
"You're a live one," the sailor said, getting to his feet. "I hope you're worth it."
All at once the entire room seemed to be in motion as tables and seats were upset. The sailors and traders moved toward one another, blades appearing almost magically in their hands. The other patrons scurried to sheltered vantages or quit the establishment entirely via the nearest exits. Showing no fear, Oele removed herself several paces, to make room for the combat.
The sailor she watched was moving forward in a low crouch, a stiletto in his right hand. The tall trader brandished a longer, curved blade. As their men struggled with one another about them, they pushed their way toward a cleared area nearer the center of the room as if by mutual consent. From somewhere a flagon sped toward the back of the trader's head. Oele gestured sharply and it veered off to shatter against the wall.
The sailor rolled away from the first slash of the other's blade and riposted instantly with a high overhand thrust that nicked the man's biceps. He could not dodge the countercut, however, but managed to parry it with his own weapon. He danced away then, unable to counterthrust beyond the other's greater length of blade. He began to circle him widdershins, his feet shuffling and stamping. As his back was for a moment exposed to the general melee, a small trader rushed toward him. Oele gestured again and it was as if the shorter man had been seized by a giant hand and cast sideways across the room. She smiled and licked her lips.
In circling, the sailor's foot encountered a small stool. He kicked it toward the other. Despite his lengthy garments, however, the trader avoided it with a quick movement and cut again toward his opponent's head. But the sailor had drawn a belaying pin from his sash, and he blocked the blow with it, moved in rapidly, and thrust toward the other's belly.
The trader managed to recover and parry in time, but it left him in an awkward position at very close quarters. The belaying pin struck him on
the side of the head. He fell back, obviously dazed, swinging a wide parry, and the club took him again, high upon the left cheekbone. He stumbled and the club rose and fell twice more in rapid succession. He sprawled upon the floor and lay unmoving, garments disarrayed. The sailor advanced and kicked the blade from his extended hand. Still he did not stir. Breathing heavily, the seaman wiped his brow and smiled up at Oele, thrusting the pin back into his sash.
"Well done," she said. "Almost."
He glanced at his blade, then shook his head.
"It's done," he said. "I'll not be sticking him just for your amusement."
He placed his blade back into a sheath on the side of his right boot. The fighting between the sailors and the traders still continued behind him but already showed some signs of slowing, losing force. After one quick glance in that direction, the seaman bowed to Oele.
"Captain Reynar," he said, "at your service. Master of my own vessel, Tiger's Foot." He extended his arm. "Come now and I'll show her to you. I think you might enjoy cruising the southern waterways."
She took his arm and they turned.
"I think not," she said. "For I, too, rule in my own place, which I am not about to forsake. Shall we save these poor fellows from further injury?"
She made a sweeping gesture toward the remaining combatants, and they all fell unconscious to the floor.
"Now that's a fine trick," he said, "and one which I wouldn't mind knowing."
She gestured again as they advanced and the door swung open before them.
"Perhaps I'll teach you," she answered, as they passed outside. "But my rooms are nearer than your ship and doubtless less cramped—though we'll be leaving them in the morning on a journey to the heights."
He grinned at her.
"It would take a lot to persuade a captain to desert his vessel—with no disrespect to your obvious charms."
"Cup your hands."
He released her arm and did so. She covered his hands with her own and a clinking sound began. Moments later he strained at an unexpected weight. She raised her hands and his were filled with gleaming coins. More continued to drop into them, spilling over and falling to the ground.
"Stop! Stop! They're getting away!" he cried.
She laughed, a sound not unlike the rattle of the gold, but the deluge of money ceased. He began stowing the coins in various places about his person. He knelt and recovered the fallen ones. He examined them. He bit one.
"Real! They're real!" he said.
"What were you saying about a captain and his ship?"
"You've no idea how wretched a thing the seafaring life can be. I've always wanted to live in the mountains." He touched his brow and offered his arm again. "Which direction?" he asked.
The sun had passed behind the mountain, casting long shadows, though day still lay upon the land below when Dilvish and Reena approached the castle they had seen hours earlier.
They halted and stared at it. Pennants were flapping upon battle -ments and tower tops and there seemed to be a light behind every window. The portcullis was raised and a faint sound of music came from within.
"What do you think?" Dilvish said.
"I was comparing it to the castle that was my home," Reena replied. "It looks fine to me."
They peered in through the gate. A woman who had been waiting near it stepped through and hailed them:
"Travelers! You are welcome here if you are seeking shelter."
Dilvish gestured toward the trappings upon the walls, toward the long carpet that he now saw stretched beyond the gate.
"What is the occasion," he asked, "for the display?"
"Our mistress has been away," the woman replied. "She will return tonight with her new consort."
"She must be a remarkable woman, to keep such an establishment in this place."
"She is indeed, sir."
Dilvish stared a moment longer.
"I've a mind to stay here," he finally said.
"… And I've a body that would welcome some ease," Reena told him.
"Let's go."
They advanced until they reached the squat, dark-haired woman who had called to them. Her hands were large, her movements deliberate; her face was peppered with moles. She smiled a large-toothed smile and conducted them within.
Dilvish counted five other servants —two women and three men— laboring at various chores in the courtyard. Among these, several were hanging additional decorations. The woman who had welcomed them called to one of the men.
"He will take care of your horses," she stated. Then she turned and eyed Black. "Except for this one. What do you wish done with him?"
Dilvish glanced toward a small corner area off to his left.
"If I might, I would leave him over there," he said. "He will not move."
"You are certain?"
"I am certain."
"Very well. Do it. Set aside the things you would have taken in and I will help you bear them to your chamber. You will dine at the mistress's table later."
"In that case, I'll want that larger one," Reena said, indicating a pack, while Dilvish and Black moved off toward the chosen corner.
"I am vaguely troubled," Black said, "by our meeting with that old man. So I will not wander off from this body while it stands here. Should you need me, summon me and I will come."
"All right," Dilvish said, "though I doubt I will need to."
Black snorted and grew still, becoming a statue of a horse. Dilvish dismounted, hefted his gear, and followed the others inside.
The woman who had met them, whose name they had learned was Andra, conducted them to a third-floor chamber overlooking the courtyard.
"When the mistress and her man arrive, we will summon you to dinner and an entertainment," she said. "In the meantime, is there anything you might need?"
Dilvish shook his head.
"Thank you, no. I am curious, though, how you know exactly when she will arrive. You seem fairly far removed from most other places."
Andra looked puzzled.
"She is the mistress," she replied. "We know."
After she had departed, Dilvish nodded toward the door.
"Strange…" he said.
"Perhaps not," Reena replied. "There is a peculiar feeling to this place. I should recognize it if anyone should, though it is not as strong as it was in my former home. I believe this Mistress Oele might be a minor adept of some sort. Even her servants all seem to have the dull responsiveness of someone under control."
"You have never heard of her, though—or of anyone in this vicinity—as a sister in the Art?"
"No. But there are so many lesser practitioners about that one cannot keep track of them all. Only the doings of the big ones provide general subjects for gossip."
"Such as those of your former employer?"
She turned toward him, eyes narrowed.
"Must you turn every conversation back to your enemy and your revenge?" she said. "I hate him, too, and I know he put you through a lot. He also killed my brother! But I'm sick of hearing about him!"
"I—I am sorry," he replied. "I suppose that I have become somewhat single-minded…"
She laughed.
" 'Somewhat'?" she said. "Do you live for anything else? Do you ever listen to yourself? The way he controls your every thought, your every action, you might as well be under his spell! If you succeed in destroying him, what then? Is there anything else left of your life? You—"
She broke off and turned away.
"I am sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have said any of that."
"No," he replied, not looking at her. "You're right. I never noticed. But you are right. Would you believe that I was raised to be a courtier—that I played music and sang, wrote poetry… ? I did other things later because of circumstances, but my birth was gentle. It was only by accident that I developed certain military aptitudes, and necessity that furthered such a career. I had always intended —something else. Now… How long ago all that seems! You have said s
omething true. I wonder…"
"What?"
"What I would do if it were all over. Return to my homeland perhaps, try to resolve some ancient wrongs against our house—"
"Another vendetta?"
He laughed, a thing she had seldom heard.
"More likely a matter of dull legalities. I am going to think about it, and a lot of other things, now. Even the big—gap—in my life has shifted a bit, from nightmare to dream. Yes, I should occasionally concern myself with other matters."
"Such as?"
"What to do until dinner time, for one."
"I'll help you think of something," she told him, coming across the room.
The torches blazed and crackled and the sounds of music were all about them as Reynar and Oele entered her courtyard, riding across the long carpet, garlanded with flowers her servants had cast upon them as they passed through the gate. Oele nodded and smiled and the shadows danced and slithered. Then her expression froze as her gaze fell upon a dark shape in a distant corner, metallic highlights upon its surface. She drew rein and pointed.
"What," she asked in a loud voice, "is that?"
Andra rushed to her side.
"It belongs to a guest, mistress," she stated, "a man named Dilvish, who came by earlier. I offered hospitality, as you have always wished."
Oele dismounted, handing Andra the reins. She crossed the courtyard and stood before Black. Then she circled him, still staring. Finally she put out a jeweled hand and slapped his shoulder. A ringing sound followed. She backed away, then returned to Andra.
"How," she said, "did he transport a statue of a horse through the mountains? And why?"
"Well, it is a statue now, ma'am," Andra replied, "but he rode in on it. Said it wouldn't move when he left it there. It hasn't."
Oele looked back at Black. In the meantime, Reynar had dismounted and moved to her side.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
She took his hand and led him across the yard toward the main doorway.
"That—thing," she said, with a jerk of her head, "bore its master here earlier."
"How can that be?" Reynar asked. "It looks pretty stiff to me."
The Complete Dilvish, The Damned Page 14
