Hearts and Stones (Celta HeartMate)

by Robin D. Owens

  The advantages to helping Holm still outweighed the effort, particularly if Ash received some short-term benefits, too, like selling his work to the man. Yes, risk his life in the death duels tonight, and maybe by the end of the night he’d have a real friend, not just one in name only.

  Long minutes passed and gloom filled his rooms as he waited for the the time for Holly to come Downwind. Ash didn’t waste energy in turning on a Flair-tech light or summoning a lightspell

  Finally, he left his lean-to, wanting to be well away from his home when the fighting started. No need for Holm or any dockrat thug to know where he lived. He trod the winding streets toward the main teleportation pad straddling lower-class Druida and Downwind. Maybe the nobleman wouldn’t want to explore the depths of the slum tonight. Ash wouldn’t mind following the Holly to bigger, less slimier streets. To less dangerous bars holding people who fought to hurt, not to kill.

  And when the correct shade of twilight neared when Holm Holly arrived the evening before, Ash listened closely for his spy’s alert. Zanth had a network of informants and this time they’d report to Ash.

  He is HERE! squeaked the faint mental voice that belonged to a young feral tom. My favor paid, Zanth. Me go back to My new home in temple!

  Zanth stopped and turned around in the street to stare at Ash.

  “I heard,” he said.

  Did you SEE place where noble is? Zanth flicked a ragged ear.

  “No.”

  A sniff. Follow Me.

  Ash’s mind had cleared to close to normal, and his determination solidified to help the Holly in his Passage death duels.

  Zanth and Ash wound through a maze of twisty little passageways. As he and his Fam closed the distance toward Holm, Rand sensed the homing stone he’d given to Holm to help him teleport. The man carried it and the fact he did pleased Ash.

  But as they walked, he caught the muttering and murmuring and ... scent ... of something stirring of note to Downwind folk. Not just this Holly noble who’d shown up for a third night running, but other outsiders lurking around where they shouldn’t be.

  Ash slid soft-footed around the crumbling corner of a gray brick building. Across a dirty open rectangular space -- cleared because buildings fell down, not planned like the rest of Druida City -- a man in dark green stood arrogantly. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword -- blade too long for the guy, looked too thin, too. Since such a narrow sheath could hold it, a rapier for noble duels, not a broadsword for fighting ... Rand stopped thinking of the quality of the weapon and stared at the man he’d seen twice before in the worst moments of his life.

  His gorge rose as terror flashed through him, then subsided into a burning anger. The man was older, of course. Not a young man now, but in the prime of his life.

  All the better to hate. Since his mouth went iron-blood tang, Ash knew his emotions affected all his senses.

  His breathing sped to rapid, his brain sharpened. Felt no fever now.

  This terrible man, awful enemy. He’d been the one to oversee the killing of the Ash Family, the destruction of T’Ash Residence -- an intelligent house -- with a firebomb spell. A horrible fire that ate everything down to nothing once it caught.

  Ash had watched his Family die, his beautiful mother turning back to be with his stricken father and his trapped brothers. He’d been six years old.

  A few days later, he’d seen this man when his underlings had tracked Ash Downwind. With Zanth’s help, Ash escaped.

  This man with the surname of Rue. The son and heir of the GrandLord Rue.

  The Family who had claimed all the estates and riches the Ashes had held.

  Now this enemy returned Downwind.

  Maybe the Rue had followed the Holly, hearing rumors of the young man’s death duels and maybe even that Ash had helped Holm. Maybe the Rue wanted to kill the Holly for evil purposes of his own, his Family’s.

  But Ash figured the Rue’d want to use fights to destroy the last Ash. An Ash who was supposed to have died with the rest of his Family a decade ago -- Rand’s being alive a secret only he and Zanth and the Rues knew.

  Yeah, use those death duels to kill Ash.

  But the last Ash could damn well turn tables on Rue and do the same. Use the fights as cover to remove an enemy.

  Ash found himself smiling with bared teeth. He wasn’t six anymore. He’d grown big and strong, and practiced blacksmithing more than crafting little jewelry pieces. Eying the evil man, Ash figured he would have no problem breaking his neck. No, too quick. Breaking his spine. Maybe a femur or two ....

  Zanth hissed, swatted Ash’s leg, BAD Man who tried to hurt Me long ago.

  Yes, Ash sent back mentally.

  We will get HIM this time! Zanth sounded as bloodthirsty as Ash felt. The cat padded forward on quiet paws, slunk around the buildings forming the edge of the rectangular area. Ash wasn’t certain whether the FamCat could actually kill a human or not, he’d discouraged that. The notion appealed, but not quite as much as dueling with the man.

  Though this Rue would be only the first on Ash’s Vengeance Stalk. One of the main players, like GrandLord Flametree who’d created and sold the firebomb spell, but Rand Ash must take down both Families, neutralize the whole GrandHouse Rue, as they’d done with his.

  Take back his property and his wealth and his title.

  Patience and strategy.

  With a shriek, Zanth launched himself at the man, who jumped away. “What the hell is that?” he cried out.

  “Cat,” said a man who’d blended into the shadows.

  “Some stupid Lord and Lady bedamned feral Downwind slum cat,” the Rue sneered. “None of our concern. Let’s talk, you can tell me what you learned this evening.” With a gesture the noble commanded the other, probably a minor member of his Family, to accompany him as he strode across the open space to the nicest tavern Downwind.

  Zanth sat on the stone flagstones, tail thrashing. He doesn’t remember ME?

  Doesn’t sound like it, Ash said mentally. The Rue’s mistake that Zanth would correct sooner rather than later, Rand figured.

  Meanwhile light laughter drifted from a more-than-shabby nearby saloon a few doors down this side of the rough square. Ash already recognized the mirth of Holm HollyHeir.

  Ash shrugged. Time to help the Holly, and Rand would have the noble’s aid in dealing with not only this Rue, but the whole clan.

  Even as Zanth slunk after the Rue men, Ash sauntered into the Pewter Celtaroon, better known as the Putrid Roon, and saw Holm holding his bared sword, his chin jutting out. Had probably just delivered a string of insults.

  “Greetyou,” Ash said, and it emerged like a growl from his throat, his residual anger matched heat with his Passage fever burning through him, taking the sharp edge of his mind away.

  A sea of whispers rose throughout the room, and men close to the Holly, and to Ash, faded back to leave the long length of the bar to them. The barkeep looked pained at the desertion of drinkers.

  “Greetyou, friend Rand!” HollyHeir switched his sword to his left hand, though Ash had already determined the man could fight perfectly with either, thrust out his arm for a manly elbow-clasp.

  Yeah, Passage fever showed in those eyes, no doubt spiking even more recklessness than usual in the nobleman. Ash found his own energy rising, decided that repressing it took too much caring. “Hope you had a better day than I, Holm,” Ash found himself saying, a little surprised. He didn’t complain, never spoke about his personal life.

  Holm heaved a breath. “Pounded on by my brother and father and G’Uncle to prepare me for tonight.” He still sounded jaunty, and unlike Ash, didn’t smell like Passage-sweat but the best herbs. No doubt had them inside and out. Lucky guy.

  A commanding cough issued from the barkeep. When Ash glanced at him, he jerked his head toward the door, mouthed “Pay you gilt later. Go, now.”

  Ash felt agreeable, since he wouldn’t put it past Holm to instigate another brawl right here. He angled his head, asked
the Holly, “You really wanna break up more furniture? Hard on the body.”

  The man pivoted on his heel, his grip easy but firm on his sword. People shrank back to the walls. “Bunch of cowa-- ”

  Ash grabbed him before he could finish. “Out, Holly.”

  He’d done that enough the night before that the noble didn’t fight him, merely blinked, then followed Ash’s push to the door.

  He reached it first and held it open.

  “Grateful!” called the barman.

  “Later,” replied Holm brightly.

  As Ash stepped behind him, drew the heavy door closed, the noble frowned at him. “Call me Holm. You haven’t used my name, and after we fought together all last night.” Settling into his stance he stared at Ash.

  “Holm,” Ash said.

  “Good, that’s good.” He looked around the rubble rectangle, and Ash couldn’t tell how much he saw, how good his night vision was. Ash suspected better than his own sight, part of the man’s Flair.

  “Maybe we can go into Druida City proper,” Ash offered. “Find some wrongdoers.” Might take all night looking for fools up and down the streets, but better that than fighting every minute of the whole night. Might even get back to his lean-to before dawn.

  “Aren’t there folk you want to score off of in your part of the city?”

  “I can settle any slights with ill-friends -- should they dare to challenge me -- in bouts at The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon.” Holm’s words came casual and cheerful, not with the arrogant spin Zanth would have put on them. Holm flung his arms wide, sword tipping downward, then reeled. Ash propped him up first with his torso to keep Holm standing, then with an arm around his shoulders. As their bodies brushed, Rand realized the Passage fever sparking in Holm’s eyes revealed the least of the man’s biological and emotional changes. Holm’s third night of Passage outstripped Ash’s first evening by far.

  If Rand felt off-kilter, barely able to think, Holm must be operating solely on instinct. Ash’s respect for the man grew. Yeah, Rand’s protestation of friendship could become real with a man like this.

  He’d always heard the Hollys practiced Honor and Loyalty, the two most precious personal qualities as far as Ash was concerned.

  “I hear you, friend Holm.”

  “Go back to Druida City instead of staying Downwind? Perhaps. There are usually troublemakers at the gates of the city,” Holm stepped away from Ash to sheathe his sword. “Think I heard ruffians are bothering the southgate guards. We can go there first.”

  Teleport clear around the walled city, to each of the three gates, maybe stand on the western cliff north of the docks and Downwind and look at the ocean? Hop over and lurk around Landing Park outside the starship Nuada’s Sword? Holm could probably do that, Ash couldn’t, not by himself.

  But if SecondPassage gave Holm the same kind of energy now flowing through Ash, Holm could probably haul Ash around with him. Ash said, “Let’s get to the working teleportation pad three streets away.” He gestured toward the right direction.

  Holm knocked away Ash’s arm, sank into his balance, gaze quartering the empty rough space, all his cheer flickering gone and looking like a feral ... person. “No. Take too long to go here, go there, talk with guards, whatever. Gotta fight.”

  Fligger. Scrubbing his face, then letting his hands drop, Ash dredged up the next option he’d thought of while he could still think and grunted, “’kay. Come with me. Time to clean out a thieves’ den.” He rolled his shoulders to release heat and energy and tension. “Murderous thieves who wait ’til the darkest time of night to hunt and kill. Take clothes and silver slivers.” Ash scowled at Holm. “You be worth decades of good gilt.”

  Holm grinned, drew his blade and sliced it around in a fancy pattern that would have carved a man to bits if there’d been one in front of him.

  Impressive.

  At that moment, Zanth swaggered up. Me got them noble mens, one and two. Shredded theys boots, then rubbed good-stink of sewer rat guts into them.

  Holm choked a laugh. “No such thing as good-stinking sewer rat.”

  Zanth sniffed. Maybe not to fancy human, but to Other --

  “Beasties,” Ash said.

  Others of US, there is good stinks. They rich mens cough and cough and swears. Zanth glanced up at Ash. They don’t swear as good as You, neither. Then they ‘port away like pampered pussycats. They will remember me, now! he finished.

  “Nobles? Who are the mens -- men?” asked Holm, sounding diverted.

  Ash snapped his teeth shut. “Rues. Rues sometimes come Downwind.” Looking for him.

  The Holly’s brows winged up. “Rues.” Then the same mobile brows dipped over narrowed eyes. “Rues ... social climbers beyond their intelligence, abilities and Flair ... Some old rumor I heard. Don’t recall, but ... nasty bunch. G’Uncle Tab banned them from his fighting salon. Never liked them.”

  Me, neither, Zanth added virtuously. Gone for tonight, now.

  “With boots needing to be replaced.” Holm snorted, then slid his sword back into its sheath, did some sort of exercise or fighting pattern clear across the square, ending with tumbling that would have cut up Ash’s hands. Zanth pranced along, keeping pace with the man. Ash trudged behind, rolling fever-dried eyes.

  Holm stood and stretched, clothes pristine, hands clean, and sword kept tidily in its sheath next to his leg. Rand felt dull and stupid.

  “Rand, let’s go clean out the den of thieves.” Some of the flushed color had left Holm’s face with the activity.

  “Sure,” Ash said.

  “Good man.”

  Dull and stupid but loyal and honorable.

  Reaching out, Holm squeezed Rand’s shoulder, frowned. “Wouldn’t think we had anything in common, but I get along with you very well. Better than most guys of my own age that I know.”

  We is good people! Zanth announced. We make good friends. Friends with good hearts. Friends with hearts like Yours.

  “Perhaps so,” said Holm. His hand slid into his trous pocket, pulled out the homing stone, let it sit on his palm, gleaming in the dim twinmoons light. “Friends.” He smiled down at the stone. “I can get as lost as I want ’cause this will help me teleport home.” He inclined his head to Ash. “Thanks.”

  “’Welcome,”

  Then Holm swept a hand before him. “You know these thieves, FamCat?”

  “Yesssss,” Zanth vocalized.

  “Lead the way.”

  Ash watched a patch of white on Zanth’s tail wave back and forth as they wound through walkways.

  And found the large but falling-down huts of the gang of robbers who prowled Downwind and preyed on the weak.

  Holm HollyHeir kicked in the door. “Surprise!”

  The ten men went for knives and swords. Poor steel.

  Zanth screeched, Holm went in swinging ... and Ash simply cleaned up. To Ash’s disgust, the fight with the thieves was short and brutal. It would have taken longer if the gang had been smarter or less drunk.

  When the walls began to splinter and tilt, the ceiling to groan and break, Ash yanked Holm from the place, and ran away from the collapsing hovel, uncaring that some of the gang escaped.

  “Not much fun,” Holm grumbled when he caught up with Ash. Herb-smell wafted from him, of course -- this time Ash’s nose twitched from soothing scents. To calm the man? Ash didn’t know. He did stand close to the guy and inhaled deeply to get the smells into his own lungs. His mind cleared a bit and he stood quiet enough to let his heart rate steady.

  But as he breathed, Holm cleansed his sword with a simple spell, turned and headed back into the narrow Downwind warrens.

  Ash lagged behind the Holly, as usual, and Passage fever swarmed through him.

  A few minutes later, his nostrils caught smells of fried food ladening the air and his stomach growled. He didn’t recall when or what he’d last eaten.

  He followed Holm as the guy slipped into a man-wide walkway between two buildings leading into a smal
l cul-de-sac with a good cafe that stayed open late.

  A woman’s scream came from the small roundish courtyard ahead. Shouts, slamming doors, Ash rushed through the crack.

  The clash of sword on sword. Good metal.

  Whooshing of outdoor grills, of a bonfire somewhere near.

  His fury merged with the fever and the atmosphere took on a thickness where smoky air seemed to clog his lungs and he moved slow. Too slow to survive.

  The swings of his sword arm lagged behind his instincts, as if waiting for a foggy brain to direct blows instead of acting. He lumbered around with no grace as if pushing through fluid instead of air. But hot. Feverish. Billowing blinding clouds of soot.

  He’d open his mouth to speak and nothing emerged but a quiet hiss or grunt.

  Meanwhile he heard fighting, the shuffle of Holm’s quick steps, his fast but even breathing. A fighting Holly, no one would beat him.

  Then he cried out.

  So did Zanth. TRAP. AMBUSH.

  As if the back of Ash’s brain hadn’t known that. Ash pulled his dagger, weapons in both hands. Blindly waded in, slashing, keeping his sense of Holm on his right, the ambushers on his left. One stride, two.

  Viscous. Vis-cous, molten lava, pushing through air like that.

  Vicious. Vicious. Cruel men attacking, ambushing, firing T’Ash Residence, killing all Ash’s Family.

  Yes, that torched Ash’s mind, and sharpened it.

  Fire, smoke, soot, all things that reminded him of the worst night of his life, fears he’d have to face and triumph over during this SecondPassage.

  Terror-sweat rolled down him. He’d be too late to save Holm, as he couldn’t have saved his Family. He’d be somewhere else than where he needed to be.

  Thinking TOO MUCH! ACT!

  He ran forward, blinking hard, clearing the fog-fever film from his eyes, jerking his head to fling sweat away. Hell, he had a spell couplet for that. Through hot-cracked lips he shouted it.

  Smoke smothered him and he couldn’t tell whether it was behind or before his eyes, pressing against his nostrils and filling his lungs, or already inside him, swirling from fires set by his enemies to confuse and destroy.