Norton, Andre - Anthology

by Magic in Ithkar 04 (v1. 0)

  "Steady, boy," Trig said to the medium-sized youth who had blundered into him, one wide hand on a thinly muscled arm to steady the boy who had almost fallen at the unexpected contact. "You go around attacking fair-wards like that, you'll end taken up and outlawed."

  "No, sir, sorry, sir, din't mean t' bump you, sir," said the youth in a high, thin, frightened voice, bowing furiously. "First day at the fair, sir, an' I din't know which way to look first. Din't mean t'—"

  "Calm down, boy, no harm done," Trig interrupted the flow of words, already beginning to look around again. "Just take your time an' you'll see it all, without runnin' folk down."

  "Yes, sir, I'll sure do that, sir," the boy babbled, already backing away from the big man he'd collided with, still bobbing and bowing. "Din't mean t' break the law, sir. . . ."

  But the fair-ward wasn't listening any longer, nor was he still there. He was moving off through the respectfully parting crowd and was quickly swallowed up by them. The youth tugged his loose, ill-fitting coat straight, brushed once at dark trousers that had seen much better days, then turned to move off in the direction opposite to that taken by the fair-ward, his long, stringy black hair hanging down almost into his eyes. Massan let the youth start to move past him, then reached out and hauled the thin figure back by the scruff.

  "Oh!" exclaimed the figure in outrage, no longer sounding frightened, immediately beginning to struggle. "Take your hands off me, you—"

  "Ward captain," Massan supplied, looking down with amusement into eyes as gray as his own—but considerably wider. "Couldn't you find silver wherever you stole those clothes from?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," his captive insisted, trying to swallow annoyed anger, still pulling against the wide fist holding coat and shirt collars. "These clothes are mine. Let me go or I'll report you to the fair-court!"

  "When you make the report, don't forget to mention Trig's purse," Massan returned with a grin, enjoying the audacity of his prisoner. "I doubt it has much more than a few coppers in it, but it's easier taking a fair-ward's purse than someone else's, isn't it? No one has the nerve to do that to a fair-ward, so there's no suspicion even after it's done. You should have thought to take a few pieces of silver before running away from your father."

  The wide gray eyes looking up at him so belligerently suddenly turned furious and desperate, and the knee came out of nowhere, slamming into him with more strength than he had been expecting. He'd been a fighter long enough to be braced and somewhat turned away against exactly that kind of attack, so it was surprise more than anything else that loosened his grip as he grunted at the jarring blow. His prisoner immediately tore free and turned to run, but the even more immediate kick he launched into the seat of those old black trousers sent her stumbling and sprawling into the nearly dry mud. The nearest fair visitors exclaimed in surprise over the brief scuffle, looked from Massan to the sprawled figure on the ground, then shook their heads as they continued on about their business. One had to be either a fool or a villain to challenge a ward captain who looked like that one, and they had no sympathy for whichever of the two the sprawled figure was.

  Massan took his time walking to where the girl lay on the ground, knowing she'd hit hard enough to keep her from running anywhere for a while. It never failed to amuse him when people mistook female for male—or when female tried to pretend to be male. A fighter learned to watch and anticipate the movements of his opponents, and anyone who thought men and women didn't move differently had never faced them both over a sword. Massan had, and had learned from the doing, and knew that difference even when a sword wasn't involved. He reached down and pulled the girl back to her feet by the same collars she'd managed to free for so short a time, and she looked up at him in disgust.

  "All right, what will you take to let me go?" she demanded, wincing slightly as she rubbed at the trouser seat his boot had caught. "Since you already know I'm somewhat short of funds, there's no sense in being unreasonable. If you want a cut of whatever else I pick up this afternoon, it's yours."

  "Have you always been able to buy whatever you want?" Massan asked, even more amused than he had been. The girl's face and hands were dirty, her raggedy clothes were mud-stained and rumpled, and he could see she still felt where the ground had slammed into her; despite all that she wasn't beaten and wasn't even avoiding his eyes. He'd faced talented fighters who didn't have her heart and was glad he hadn't missed coming across her.

  "I've usually been able to buy what I want," she agreed with an unashamed nod. "Not always, but usually. Is it a deal?"

  "No," he answered with a grin, tightening his grip as she immediately began struggling again. "There's a reward out for your return, and even if there weren't, I'd do it anyway. Someone's got to protect the fair-wards from you."

  "A reward!" she hissed, still trying to fight the grip on her collar. "I should have known he'd do something like that! You can't take me back!"

  "Can and will," he corrected, looking around to see exactly where they were among the food-selling tents and stalls. "And if you don't get greeted with a good whipping, I'll see the fair-court takes care of it. It's time you learned you can't help yourself to whatever you like, even if you are willing to take risks most others aren't. Is your father in the guest house, or has he a pavilion?"

  "Don't be a bigger fool than you are!" she snapped, now beating at his chest with two small fists that nevertheless made themselves felt. "You know nothing about this, and if you're wise, you'll keep it that way! Let me go, and I won't ever tell anyone you stopped me."

  "I find it increasingly more difficult to refuse your unparalleled offers," Massan said with the chuckle he was feeling. "I think I'd better get you back to your father before the temptation overwhelms me."

  "No, wait!" she said, and this time the desperation in her voice took his attention. He looked down at her to see those wide gray eyes staring at him with smoldering anger, an anger that was being thrust aside by the desperation. "All right, if I haven't offered enough to suit you, there's only one thing left. Find us a quiet corner, and you'll get your reward without taking me anywhere else."

  This time the wide gray eyes seemed to want to avoid his, but the girl refused to allow that. She stared at Massan almost in challenge, and for a moment he was tempted to teach her a good lesson. Taking the ride she offered wouldn't mean he couldn't return her to her father afterward, an obvious point she was naively overlooking. If he hadn't sworn himself to uphold the fair-laws that year, he would have done exactly that; but he had sworn, which meant someone else would have to teach his overbold prisoner the ways of the real world.

  "I'm afraid you've formed some rather strange opinions about rewards," he told her at last, his tone going very dry. "My tastes don't run to boys. We'll go this way."

  She squawked wordlessly as he hauled her along with him by the scruff, but the noise sounded more like deep indignation to Massan than fear. He swallowed another grin as he wondered what could be awaiting her that she was trying so hard to avoid, and he hoped it was a whipping. Some lordlings held their daughters with a very tight rein, but somehow he didn't think this girl had been held that way. She needed some small amount of taming to make it safe for a man to turn his back on her, and then she'd be exactly right. If Massan didn't go on to think about right for what, that was only because he was a practical man, and practical men didn't picture fighters paired with lordlings' daughters.

  The walk to the temple outskirts didn't take very long, even with the girl fighting every step of the way. People turned from booths and stalls to stare at them as they passed, most amused at the stream of invective the girl screamed at him. Her insults and imprecations were pointed without being foul-mouthed or obscene, and if Massan hadn't been who and what he was, there would have been a good deal of laughter at his expense. She was clever all right, Massan admitted, more than a little amused himself. She'd even tried appealing to a foursome of smiths just about to enter a grog shop, shouting to the
m that the lout holding her intended taking her somewhere deserted to rape her. The four were just about to come to her rescue when they saw the bronze wristbands Massan wore, a less obvious sign of office than the brass helmets and bronze-banded quarter-staves carried by fair-wards, but one they recognized just in time. Massan had been a breath short of turning the girl loose in order to defend himself from the four, and if he had, he would have then had to chase her through the crowds. The girl was lucky she hadn't caused him that, Massan thought as he steered her toward a temple official. His amusement would have been a good deal less under those circumstances, and she wouldn't have had to wait to be returned to her father before she got that whipping.

  The temple official knew all about the runaway girl and the reward offered for her, and he directed Massan to her father's pavilion. The pavilion was very large and shone golden in the sunlight, and once Massan had the girl through the front entrance, her struggles ceased abruptly. She was hot and sweaty and tired from trying to fight against a man his size, but the gray eyes that came to him had lost none of their fire.

  'The only good part about this is that you'll surely regret being such a fool," she said, her voice showing her disgust. "If you'd had the good sense to accept one of my offers, or even to ask me why he wanted me back here—"

  "Well, well, sir, I see you've found her," interrupted another voice, and Massan looked up to see a tall man in richly jeweled robes smiling at him, a servant standing quietly behind. "I certainly hope she hasn't caused you undue difficulty."

  "No difficulty," Massan said, trying to decide if the man were showing a smile of relief or a grin of amusement. "This hellcat is yours, then."

  "She certainly is," said the man, and this time there was no doubt about it being a grin. "You have my thanks, sir, and soon will have my reward. Will you join me first in a cup of wine?"

  "I could use one," Massan said with a nod, then pulled forward the girl he hadn't yet released. "There are one or two things to be discussed about this one, and she may yet have to be taken before the fair-court."

  "For shame, Indelee, have you behaved so badly, then?" the tall man said to the girl, definite amusement behind the scolding. "To be in danger of being brought before the fair-court! And yet, the ward captain seems a reasonable man. Perhaps he'll be good enough to suggest something to keep that from happening."

  "You're scarcely as amusing as you think you are, Rothaz," the girl answered, her voice even despite the slight flush to her cheeks. "I tried and I failed, and now I'd like a bath."

  "Certainly, my dear." The man called Rothaz chuckled, gesturing to the servant behind him. "By all means make yourself more presentable while the ward captain and I talk."

  The servant stepped away from the tall man and reached to pull open a golden curtain before he looked at Massan's prisoner; the girl herself merely stepped away from the hold she hadn't been able to escape till then and walked through the opening in the curtain without a backward look. Massan had found a good deal more reluctance for releasing her than he had expected, and he stood staring at the curtain even after the servant disappeared through it behind her.

  "It's quite safe to leave her now, I assure you." Rothaz^s voice distracted Massan, drawing the ward captain's eyes. "She won't find it possible to run again, and will rejoin us in a few moments. Will you come this way?"

  With a gesture Rothaz led off to the left, through a silver-threaded curtain, one of three along the golden curtains of the pavilion entrance. The man had dark hair streaked somewhat with gray, but his face was unlined, and he moved as a much younger man might. Massan followed him into a comfortably furnished room of couches and cushions, tables and trays, candles and cups. Again silver and gold were the predominating colors, and when Massan was handed a gold-bound glass goblet containing light, silvery wine, he was scarcely surprised.

  "Please sit down," Rothaz said with a pleasant smile, gesturing to a silver-silked couch behind Massan. Massan glanced at the couch and then sat, unworried over what his leathers would do to the delicate silk fabric. His boots had already left marks on the priceless carpeting that was untouched by Rothaz's soft slippers, but that didn't bother him, either. If people wanted to surround themselves with flimsies a man must hesitate to breathe on, that was their business.

  "I'm pleased you haven't attempted to refuse my reward," Rothaz said as he took a seat of his own on a golden couch. "Indelee is quite a handful, but she is all I've got, and I'm most gratified to have her back. You will accept the reward?"

  Massan smiled faintly as he tasted his silver wine, finding it much more full-bodied than he had expected. This new talk of reward made him think how much of a fool he'd been to refuse the last one offered him, but that was long-gone water under the bridge.

  "As it's not against fair-law, I'll be glad to accept your reward," he said to Rothaz, seeing the immediate delight on the other man's face. "I'm curious as to what the girl was running from. An unwanted marriage, perhaps?"

  "Oh, the wedding won't take place till midwinter at the earliest, when her suitors bring me the bride-price," Rothaz said with a negligent wave of his hand. "She has refused the lot of them, of course, but that makes no nevermind. No, this time she was trying to avoid a stroll through the fair."

  "Why would she run away to avoid a stroll through the fair?" Massan began with a frown, but he was interrupted by the appearance of a newcomer. A young woman stepped through the curtains, one who was medium tall and held herself with the relaxed but burning strength of a chained fighter. Her silver gown clung to the lush curves of her body, whispering a promise to show them more clearly, then laughingly breaking the promise. Her long black hair was brushed full and gleaming, surrounding a high-cheek-boned face of unadorned beauty, and wide gray eyes smoldered in that face. Massan found himself on his feet without remembering how he got there, realizing at last that this was Indelee, the dirty, scruffy, smudged, runaway girl he had just returned. The sight of her took him so hard, it never came to him that the short amount of time that had passed should not have been enough to have wrought such a change.

  "Indelee, my dear, how good of you to join us," Rothaz exclaimed in new delight, also rising from his couch. "You will drink with us, of course."

  "I have no interest in drinking with you," the girl answered immediately, showing Massan that not everything about her had changed. "Just get on with it."

  "Always in such a hurry," Rothaz sighed with a shake of his head, the grin firmly back on his face. "As Captain Massan will accompany you, why don't you join him on his couch?"

  "So he accepted," the girl said with disgust, giving Massan a matching look as she began moving toward him. "I knew he was a fool."

  "I've had about enough of that from you," Massan said with a growl, his annoyance helping him to throw off what the look of her did to him. He moved his eyes to Rothaz. "J think you'd better start explaining what's going on here. How did you know my name?"

  "Your fame has spread wider than you realize, Captain," Rothaz said with a gesture of his goblet. "And also the reason for your having been made ward captain this fair. What else were they to do with a man who cannot be disarmed? Bar him from the fair? Not when so many of his former employers are so wealthy and also attending the fair. Convict him for doing violence? Not when that violence is done only in self-defense, with all witnesses willing to swear to that. Bind him magically? How, when not one mage at the fair is able to reach the dagger that always comes to him in his need? Where that dagger rests when not in his hand is an unanswered question, most especially as it has been known to appear even when he has been stripped naked and thoroughly searched. The most potent spell used has not been able to keep it from him, and the fair officials were at their wits' end; therefore was he made a ward captain, to discourage attacks on him during the fair. That . . . talent of yours should come in handy, Captain."

  "For what?" Massan growled, even more annoyed than he had been. "If you're thinking of hiring me, I'm not interested."


  "But you've already accepted, my dear Captain." Rothaz laughed, really amused. "The reward you accepted was the honor to strive on my behalf, and that you will do. You will accompany Indelee on a stroll through the fair, and then you will return here. Should you find any—eye-catching mementos—on the way, you will bring them back with you. Stay alert, Captain, for Indelee's sake if not your own."

  Massan, his annoyance having strengthened to anger, parted his lips to call Rothaz mad—but the words never came. One of the tall man's hands raised to a golden square on his robe, only one jewled decoration among many Massan had thought, and another rose before him to gesture in a way Massan had seen before. The big ward captain had time to note that Rothaz still held his goblet in what seemed to be a third hand, and then the pavilion and all within it melted away.

  "Well, what are you waiting for?" a voice demanded, coming somewhere from his right. "Since we have no choice about doing this, let's get on with it."

  Massan heard her, but he was too busy staring around at the open, empty plain they stood on to answer immediately. It seemed as though he could see for miles, but there was nothing in those miles to see.

  "I thought we were going for a stroll through the fair," he remarked after a long moment, still looking around. "Are we supposed to wait until it's built?"

  "We are in the middle of the fair," the girl answered with impatience. "Here, I'll show you."

  A small hand touched his arm with no hesitation in the grip, and suddenly they were in the middle of the fair! To be more accurate, they were still inside the temple gate, not far from the pavilion Massan had been directed to. He could even see the temple official who had given him those directions, refusing to listen to someone begging his attention. The woman put her hands out in supplication, her voice rising in a piteous sob—and then she and everyone and everything were gone, nothing but the plain to be seen. The hand was gone from his arm as well, but the girl was still there.