“Ugly bastard.”
He grinned. “At least these damn scars serve a purpose. They actually keep people at bay. I just can’t seem to understand how they don’t work on you.”
“That’s because I knew you long before you go most of them, you fool. But like you said, they do serve a purpose. You, LeMark, was too damn pretty for a lad. Those priests at the monastery would have turned you into a full blown poltroon if you hadn’t left.”
“I could say the same about you. If it wasn’t for that tussle we’d had all those years ago that ended in me breaking that glorious nose of yours, maybe you’d be the one being auctioned off instead of your sister.” The moment he’d uttered the words, Tethran realized his error. Flaring hazel eyes turned on him then, burning with fury and for a moment he thought Sinclair was going to launch off his horse and pummel him. It perhaps would have been for the best too since he wasn’t exactly proud of his choice of words either. “If you’d like to belt me in the mouth, I won’t fight back.”
The muscle in Sinclair’s right jaw ticked wildly but the intensity of the moment was cooled fractionally when he, and to Tethran’s surprise, suddenly sent his horse into a gallop, putting a great distance between them. The length of muddy road and damp shrubberies separating them stretched even further to a hundred meters, and the lousy side of him grew weary, almost sending Tethran galloping back in the direction they had come. But there was something, a tiny speck of empathy, that prevented him from doing so. Perhaps, his scars really did serve a purpose.
THREE
Thick black rings of smoke hovered just ahead of the horizon and Tethran squinted, pulling tightly on the reigns of his horse. The stallion drew to a stop, snorted and threw his head. Chuckling, he gave the beast a gentle pat and turned to Sinclair who was still brooding, gaze averted towards the great expanse of the oncoming valley. Tethran’s frown deepened. He’d never seen the man like this. Ever. And his friend’s mood was riding too much on his nerves. Especially since they’d been in the saddle almost all day in silence and now, that it was approaching sundown, the air between them was dry enough to spark a fire. Turning his gaze back to the horizon, he thanked the heavens they were approaching Dumbar finally. Darting another glance at Sinclair, he suppressed a sigh, searching for a way to lighten the atmosphere.
“I’m not some fragile lad with delicate feelings, LeMark.” Sinclair’s voice came with grudging reluctance. “Say what you must.”
The crease between Tethran’s brows faded. “We’ll find your sister, Sinclair. This business I have to take care of in Dumbar will not go past tonight. Within the next day, we’ll be in Iqa City.”
Sinclair stared at him a moment, before his eyes narrowed a fraction, and nodded. “What know you of this solicitor?”
Tethran reached inside his coat and withdrew the portrait, handing it to his friend. He then kicked his heels against the flanks of his horse, driving it into a light tread. “I know the gent wants him dead desperately.”
He glanced over as Sinclair unfolded the parchment, gaze scrutinizing the drawing. “Looks like an older photo of that baker back in the city.” His friend’s smile wavered a bit and his brows furrowed. “You remember the chap? I stole one of those sweet buns his wife used to make from a shelf. Chased me straight into an alley and gave me a fine whipping that day.”
“Then he handed you another bun and told you to ask next time. Mr. Wulf, was his name.” He chuckled, remembering quite vividly. “Couldn’t possibly be him. If I remember correctly, Mr. Wulf barely had the means or connections to throw him in the way of a legal profession.”
Sinclair shrugged and handed back the portrait. “A lot could happen in so many years.”
Tethran grunted, only because he didn’t know what else to say. If the man on the portrait truly turned out to be Mr. Wulf, then it would certainly put a dash in his plans. The baker had been kind to them--two homeless boys--though he had no obligation to do so. Sighing, he gazed back out towards the valley as the the roof tops of buildings came closer into view, black smoke rising from high chimneys. For a moment, the bag of gold coins in his coat felt heavy. The gent had already paid him half his due. Tethran didn’t know what would happen in the next few hours but he hoped it would not end in him having to murder the wrong man. Throughout his life, he’d only delighted in killing men who were deserving of it. Hard criminals who preyed on the weaknesses of others. He’d just have to see when the time was come.
They sped their horses towards the village, dirt kicking up wildly around them as they did so. Dumbar Village was a farming place, unlike Duit which thrived on commerce. From what he knew of it, men settled here mostly for the safety it provided against brigands who were more interested in fetching gold or silver rather than ground provision.
“Look.”
Tethran eased the horse into a trot as they almost bridged the path entering the village. The streets were empty, but lights burned hotly in every house, the scents of an early supper engulfing the air. Following his friend’s gaze, he squinted as a lone creature looking like a boy scampered unsteadily along the wide porch of a bakery.
“Lad looks like he finally got a taste of some strong spirits.”
Sinclair cocked an amused brow. “Reminds you of someone, doesn’t it?”
Tethran frowned and gripped the reigns tighter, shooting him a hard look. “Come. We’ll question him anyway.”
They moved up to the boy, who was now slouching over as if he was about to throw up. Sighing, Tethran jumped down from his horse, glanced right and then left, and grabbed the boy by the collar. One closely cropped head tossed up suddenly, eyes filled with the tears. Whatever the lad had been drinking was clearly giving him a flaying.
“What?” The boy didn’t look more than twelve. He shook his head viciously. “What’s happening? Let…let me go…sir.” He let out a low cry. “My head… God, my head…”
Sinclair grinned behind him. “His arse will hurt a lot worse when his mother finds him.”
“Look at me, boy.” Tethran gave him a hard shake, he could swear he heard the boy’s teeth rattle. “I’m looking for a man. You must know him as a Mister Crymble. Where does he live?”
The lad’s eyes widened before he scowled in pain again, face going ashen. “I… I don’t know.”
Cursing, Tethran released him just in time as the boy bent over and retched, the raw contents of his stomach barely missing the toe of his boots. Gritting his teeth, he turned to face Sinclair who was barely keeping a straight face. Barely.
“Alright. Let me have at it.” His friend tossed him the reigns of both horses and approached the boy, pulling him to the side. Sinclair tossed an arm around much smaller shoulders. “See now. My friend and I are in desperate need of Mr. Crymble’s help. In fact, the good fellow invited us here but we’ve sort of forgotten the direction. Can you help us out?”
The lad gaped at Sinclair, shot an anxious glance at Tethran and then swallowed. “I don’t kn--”
“Listen to me, you twit!” The lad was suddenly picked off the ground by the lapels of his tiny jacket as Sinclair half lost his temper. “We don’t really have the time--”
“Sinclair,” Tethran warned.
“--to sweet talk your lying bony ass. Tell me where the man lives now or I’ll give you a fine hiding and take you myself back to your mother.”
The boy’s eyebrows nearly shot off his head and his face blanched so white Tethran was sure he was about to faint. While he didn’t particularly like Sinclair’s way of handling the situation, he had to admit that the man was right. They really did not have time to waste. They needed to be out of Dumbar. Tonight.
“At the end of the road,” he spat out, limbs visibly shaking. “I-It’s a pretty brick house on th-the left.”
Smiling, Sinclair lowered the boy gently to his feet and patted him on the head. “Thank you. Now, move it!”
The boy scampered off, glancing behind him only once as he tore down the road and inside a small
house with a wide awning. Tethran grinned and shook his head.
* * *
They secured the horses within a thick expanse of trees near a trough which sat alongside a shallow well. The orange and red streaks of sunset dissolved into the blackness of the sky and a light shape of a crescent moon beamed back at them. In a few minutes, the entire sky would be black, and everything else beneath it. They decided to wait out those minutes.
Tethran hooked his thumbs inside his belt and gazed at the house the boy had described. It was a fairly modest home with a garden at the front. A woman most likely was in residence. Mr. Wulf did have a wife. No. He shook his head. It wasn’t the baker. Couldn’t be. Rolling the cramp out of his shoulders, he turned to face Sinclair who was sharpening his knife on a solid piece of hewn stone.
“Ready when you are,” he said, glancing up and studying the sharp side of the blade. “I never knew you to delay.”
“Your comment back there troubles me,” Tethran admitted. “I would not wish to kill a man who had been kind to us. I must make sure I know exactly who lives within that house first.”
Sinclair sheathed the knife. “Then, by all means, let’s knock on the door and request some kind hospitality.”
He gritted his teeth but nodded in agreement. As they moved quietly across the yard, Tethran’s eyes never left the windows, lamplight burning dimly behind them. “I’ll be the one knocking,” he said. “You stand off to the side, just in case.”
He paused at the front door, waiting until Sinclair had did as he’d asked. Hand cocked over the hilt of the knife in his waist, he then raised his other hand and knocked on the door. After the third knock, he could hear feet shuffling. The door then swung open and Tethran frowned down at a stocky old woman. His left brow raised despite his best efforts causing the tiny creature to fold two beefy arms over her chest.
“What? Never seen a dwarf before?” The woman’s voice was as small, if not smaller, than her stature. The scratching sound of a voice almost made him laugh. For a split second, he was contemplating turning back but then the woman poked him in the stomach. “What can I do for you?”
When he found his voice, he gave her his most sincere look. “I was just passing through, ma’am, and wondering if you could offer me a place to groom my horses. Poor beasts are almost run to the ground. A glass of water would do me nicely too. If you don’t mind, that is.”
She made an indelicate sound and waved him inside. “I can’t well be talking to you while you’re out there in the dark, young man. Come in and let me take a look at you. Bend a little too because as you can see, I’m a mere scrap of a woman and---good Lord!”
Tethran scowled, not hiding his displeasure at the horror he saw in the woman’s eyes. “Injuries when I was but a green lad, madam.” And that was as close to the truth as any.
Her hand went up to her mouth. “What a sight! What was it, a jealous lover or an angry husband?”
His eyes narrowed but he quickly reminded himself that he needed to play along. At least for a little while longer. “Both. They accosted me deep in the night and left me for dead.”
Her gaze turned sorrowful and then filled with something akin to admiration. Tethran shifted uncomfortably. “My, what a fine big man you are, though.” Her big eyes roamed over his frame with appreciation. “Well, the rest of you can surely make up for that ruined face, my dear. Tell me, from where do you hail?”
Tethran opened to his mouth to speak when quick footsteps came echoing behind him, followed by a soft feminine voice. “Marie, who are you…?”
The voice trailed off and he turned around just in time to welcome an ear splitting scream. The next thing he saw was something silver flashing through the air, and a pain so startling, he stumbled backwards.
His eyes widened a fraction and he looked down to see a tiny knife sticking into his thigh. The stocky woman gasped, Sinclair came storming through the house and the perpetrator of his injury stood stock still, a lethally knowing look in her deep brown eyes.
FOUR
“Goddamn it!” Sinclair rumbled.
Tethran clenched his jaws tight as he gripped the handle of the knife and yanked it from his thigh. He could feel the warmth of his blood soaking into the foot of his trousers. Blasted wench. If ever he felt like killing a woman, now was the time. Reaching out, he grabbed the slender female by the arm and drew her to him so he could see her clearly. The bloody vixen threw a fist at him, almost landing it perfectly in his eye. Trapping her arms at her sides, he scowled deeply. Shite. The stinging in his thigh was enough to give him the nerve to do what he was thinking to do. And he was certainly feeling the urge to toss the harridan over his knees and roast her bottom red.
He shook her, waves of auburn hair escaping the cap she wore. But the eyes that gazed back at him held no fear. It was shocking, to say the least.
“Have you no sense, woman?” he barked in her face.
“I believe the lady was startled--”
“Shut your mouth, Sinclair!” He snarled, eyes not leaving her oval face. “You could have killed somebody.”
A whimper came from next to him and he remembered the other woman. The one in his grip narrowed her gaze even further and spoke between tight lips. “Go home, Marie.”
The dwarf sputtered. “But J--”
“I said go. And do not raise an alarm. I know exactly how to deal with these men.” Marie lifted her skirts and raced out the door. Sinclair kicked it close and stood with his arms crossed, waiting. The woman’s gaze flicked between the two of them, then settled squarely on Tethran’s face. Not even a flinch. Nothing. He was starting to wonder why, when she spoke again,“I suggest you release me, sir, before I am tempted to injure you once again. I’ll not play ignorant. Release me. I know why you’ve come.”
Tethran tightened his grip on her until she winced and then shove her away from him, the pain in his flesh now acting up with full force. He stumbled to a chair and grunted as he reached for a half bottle of whiskey on the table and poured some on the wound. The strong liquor bit into his flesh, almost bringing tears to his eyes. He would enjoy giving this woman a fine spanking, whoever the hell she was.
“And what exactly do you know?” he asked finally, yanking a kerchief from his pocket and tightly securing it around the wound.
She moved then, the hem of her thin white gown brushing around her ankles. Naked ankles. Tethran grunted. “You’re not the first of your kind to show up here,” she spat with disgust. “You have come for my father, haven’t you?”
He and Sinclair exchanged a glance. “And who, pray tell, is your father?”
She gave a short laugh. A snort, really. “Ah. You do not fool me. You’ve come for him, I know it. Well, you are too late. He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Tethran shot up, wincing at his injured leg. “Gone, as in dead or gone gone?”
She scowled. “Gone, as in I haven’t a clue where he is.”
“Bloody hell.” He dropped himself back on the chair and took a long draw from the whiskey bottle. It would take another bottle to cool the ire rising in his blood. Eyeing the woman standing before him, it took all the strength he had not to shout. Goddamn it, the woman had a good aim. If she’d shifted it a little higher, she would have damaged a part of him he most certainly had no intention of losing. The thought of it only brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Cursing, he reached inside his coat and slammed the portrait on the table. “Is that your father?”
Her eyes narrowed but she remained where she was. He reached out a hand and grabbed her, dragging her towards the table. From where he sat, he could see something flash in his friend’s eyes but he didn’t care. He was the one who had a stinging leg. Not that he hadn’t suffered through worse. Much worse. But the idea that a woman had bested him, made Tethran even more angrier than he probably should have been.
She shrugged off his grip, eyes blazing. “Do not manhandle me!” She peered down at the portrait and straightened. “Aye. That is my father.”
<
br /> “Is there a chance your father may have been a baker?” Sinclair moved closer and the woman maintained her ground, chin raised. “Back in the city some years ago?”
“My father is a baker.”
Tethran frowned. “What is his name?”
“I am not obligated to tell you anything. I suggest you leave the way you came and--”
“I am not moving an inch until you answer my question, madam.” He rose to his feet once again, the pain in his thigh already dulling. “Believe me, I possess no qualms whatsoever about flinging you over my knee and cracking my palm against your lovely backside.”
Her eyes stretched back in shock, wrapping her arms around her body as if she’d just taken notice to the flimsy night gown she wore. One pert nose then wrinkled with anger, clearly affronted. “You would not dare.”
The Strength of Baffin Page 3
