by Julia Knight
But not for long. Petri’s off hand whipped out, and he might not have been able to use the fingers but he sure as shit could use the dagger that Vocho could now see strapped to the wrist. Oh, bloody perfect.
A faint noise behind him, and Vocho came round in a quarter-circle, being flashy as hell and shooting his mouth off at the same time, dropping sarcastic remarks, drawing eyes his way, and not just Petri’s. He hoped Maitea and Carrola would hurry up–he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay standing. A vicious attack by Petri, one that caught Vocho by surprise because the noble Petri Egimont would never have tried to slice his balls off. Only a leap back that twisted his hip saved him from never being able to father children, or even practise fathering them.
Unfortunately, it didn’t save him from Petri driving forward with sword and dagger, forcing Vocho to move in ways that his hip was very vocal about. He parried and feinted, but the leg betrayed him at last and dumped him back on his arse, Petri’s sword hovering in front of him backed by the unreal spectre of Petri’s twisted half a face.
“I should have done this a long time ago,” Petri said, but that was as far as he got because several things happened at once. Some of Scar’s crew had now noticed Carrola and the rest’s escape, ably covered by Vocho making as much fuss as possible during his duel, and were now chasing after them. Others lay, throats cut, in spreading pools of blood that melted the snow around them, Maitea close by, a knife half hidden in her skirts, before she disappeared into shadows. Lastly, a much-dented tankard flew out of the dark and bounced off Petri’s head.
“Ah, Cospel,” Vocho said. “Glad you could make it.”
Kass seemed nailed to the spot. No matter the jollop, every limb froze as she watched Petri try his damnedest to kill Voch. No pretty swordplay this, no prancing and preening–OK, just a bit on Vocho’s part because he couldn’t blow his nose without preening, but now even that seemed forced. This was just one man trying to kill another. A viciousness in Petri she’d never imagined. And Vocho, what was he up to? His leg was paining him, plainly, but even so he wasn’t fighting like he could or should. He was showboating. He was covering something up.
Petri had Voch on his back, but Voch didn’t seem too worried; in fact he was grinning like a loon, like he’d just put one over on the whole world.
Cospel bobbed up from where they were hiding behind a stack of firewood; his tankard bounced off Petri’s head, and Vocho said, “Ah, Cospel, glad you could make it,” just as she realised. The crowd watching them had thinned, at least partly because Eder’s last few guards captured with Vocho had made very good use of the distraction. Three of Scar’s men lay in the snow in various states of actual or approaching death, and the hostages were evident by their absence. Except Carrola, who Kass could just make out lurking in the darker shadows behind the hut. She’d managed to get a gun, presumably from one of the downed men, and having wound it was taking a bead on Petri.
Kass wasn’t sure what shocked her more–that Petri was willing to kill Voch or that Voch was willing to die to let the rest escape.
Carrola tightened her finger on the trigger, and Kass acted without thought. “Petri!’
He whipped round to face her as she stood revealed, and took a step back when he saw her. The bullet missed him by the width of a finger. He didn’t appear to notice, instead taking a hesitant step towards her, mouth open and eye staring, before Scar came into view and said a few words behind him that made him start and turn away. Most of the rest of the bandits had scattered–chasing Carrola no doubt and Voch, who wasn’t where she’d last seen him. Most, but not all; the rest were heading up the slope towards her and Cospel, swords and guns out.
Cospel grabbed for her arm and dragged her back behind the woodpile. “Come on, miss. Vocho’s headed off for—”
She shook him off. The jollop was making her think in curves rather than straight lines. Vocho had escaped, for now, though the Clockwork God knew how safe any of them were. But Petri…
She was standing up again, mouth already open to shout something–she didn’t know what–when a hand clamped over her mouth and a voice she recognised whispered in her ear. “It almost killed Vocho getting them all out,” Dom said. “It’ll kill him all the way if he has to come back for you, and you can’t help Petri, not right now. This way. Move!”
The crunch of boots on snow penetrated then, the heavy breaths moving up the slope towards them, Scar’s voice following, exhorting them to “Kill whoever’s up there, and then bring me their head.”
Kass moved.
Vocho staggered, fell, was pulled upright again by someone indistinct in the darkness and ran on as well as he could, which wasn’t very well at all.
“Come on, come on!” Carrola muttered. He did his best.
The darkness was their friend and enemy. Their pursuers could see no further than their torch- and lamplight, but he and Carrola couldn’t see where they were going. Vocho was dimly aware that it was just the two of them, the others having got separated at some point. Maitea was nowhere, disappearing as softly as she’d come.
Finally Carrola let him stop, probably because the sound of his breathing was so loud he was surprised they couldn’t hear it in Reyes. He sank down and peered around.
“Where in hell are we? And where’s Cospel? Didn’t I hear Kass?”
“Don’t know, don’t know, and yes,” Carrola whispered. “We came from that way.”
Back the way they’d come, torches bobbed about, making shadow plays of people on the snow. Nowhere near far enough away, and one group was definitely getting closer. Vocho had the sudden and not entirely welcome thought that they might have dogs. Probably did up here, hunting and such. Would snow make it easier or harder for them to track? He didn’t know, and he certainly didn’t want to find out.
“Kass?” he said.
“I heard her, but… I don’t know, Voch.” Something odd in her voice, a strain that he couldn’t put his finger on, over and above the more obvious strain of being hunted.
Vocho looked about, decided he really didn’t like what he was seeing, and said, “Carrola, listen to me. Did you see, bugger, I forgot their names. The other two chaps from your troop. Did you see where they went? And Maitea, where’s she?”
He dimly made out the shake of her head in the darkness. “They came this way, sort of, and it should be easy enough to find them, if they make it. Maitea came, helped us out and… went. Come on, up. I’ll help.”
A hand under his shoulder, hauling him up. He was far past refusing help and had the feeling Carrola would only snort in amusement should he try.
“Thanks,” he said once he was on his feet. “Look, you’ve got the gun. Take my sword too, go and find the others and get the hell off this mountain. Back to Kastroa. Raise the alarm, tell them where we are. You can tell them too there’ll be a whole lot less of Scar and Skull’s men by the time they get here. Give them all the information you can; maybe they’ll send some guards or something.”
That did make her snort. “I doubt it. We’ll have to send to Reyes if we want anyone to come other than the guildsmen you left in Kastroa. And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re intending to stay, I assume? Despite the fact you can barely stand up.”
“Carrola…” What could he say? That he’d been expecting to die at Petri’s hands anyway, that he’d be as great dying as he had been living, and now that he’d survived, well, Kass was here somewhere, and she’d been shot and she might have Cospel with her but then again she might not.
“You know, Eder was right about the guild, in a way,” Carrola said.
“Hey now, that’s not fair!”
“Quiet. Arrogant as they come, full of pride, thinking no one else can live up to their standards. Well, Vocho the supposedly Great, enough of your nonsense. You keep the sword; I’ve got the gun, and I am more than proficient in both of those should it be necessary, though I must say I prefer a gun. Now, let’s go an
d find your sister. You’re not the only one with a vested interest here.”
“What do you mean, the ‘supposedly Great’? I’ll have you know—”
A hint of a grin in the dark, the flash of teeth and a quiet laugh. “OK, you were passable at executing an escape plan. Now shut up, and let’s see if we can find your sister and get out of this mess. First, we’ve got to find somewhere to keep out of the way until all the hullabaloo dies down.”
She led the way towards a place where an arm of the mountain fell away towards a steeply sloping field of scree that seemed the clearest path through the snow, and the least likely place to show tracks. Vocho lurched after her, muttering, “Passable? Passable!” and scuffing their trail as best he could behind him.
Petri watched silently as Scar barked out orders, as men and women rushed the place where Kass had been and came back empty-handed.
“Too many people running about,” Kepa said. “Can’t make head nor tail of the tracks.”
Scar whipped at the snow at her feet with her sword. “Well then, we see where they came in, maybe where they went out of the valley. You know all the places, and there won’t be tracks to muddle through out on the edges, excepting the main path, and we’ve had people there all night. Take all the people you need, find all of them and bring them back. In any state you see fit, I’m not fussy.”
The burst of activity subsided until it was just Scar and Petri, him with his useless hand trying to staunch the thin stream of blood where Vocho had pierced his shoulder. Still he hadn’t spoken, still she hadn’t looked at him. She did now, a sidelong thoughtful look that ended with a twitch of her lip.
“Come with me,” she said at last and stalked off, not even looking to see if he followed.
He went after her, unsure what else to do, what that call “Petri!” had done to him.
Scar banged into her hut and hurled her sword into a corner. Petri came in after, quieter, wary, even more so when he saw the hut wasn’t empty.
Scar looked at him, her chin jutting in defiance as he saw Morro by the fire, a greased smile cutting his face in two.
A creeping feeling of dread stole over Petri, wormed its way from the pit of his stomach to where bile stung his throat.
“Scar,” he croaked, “don’t you think—”
“I think,” she spat, “that I can’t trust you, that maybe you’re as much a prize as Vocho was and that your head might suffice to warn Bakar.”
He twitched at that, unable to stop himself.
“Don’t think I’ve been blind, Petri. You kept my bed warm enough for a time, but I’m not as stupid as you seem to think, not as blind as you are. You left my bed, left me. You tell yourself that you don’t care about her, about Vocho and the stupid guild, about Reyes and Bakar and the rest. You tell me that, but you’re lying to us both. You couldn’t even kill her brother to prove it to me, lost to a man who can’t even walk properly. I thought you were better than that.” A shrug, that hardness in her face again. “You taught my crew well and I thank you, but you’re not the only asset at my command, nor even the most important. I have others who won’t let hostages to my future fortune escape.”
“They’re close, both of them.” Morro said. “She’ll come, I know it as well as Petri does. She’ll come, and we’ll be ready for her. I have a spell or two in mind, and here, look, Petri is bleeding for me. So kind. She’ll come and I’ll freeze her so hard she’ll shatter, and Petri will have made it possible.”
Scar’s eyes lit up at that, and she laid a gentle hand on Morro’s arm, as she might have done with Petri yesterday.
Hate and want from both of them–from Scar and Kass–curdled in Petri’s stomach until he couldn’t be sure which was which.
“What good will it do,” he said, “in the long run? They’ll send more–more prelate’s men, more guild, more everyone.”
Scar came towards him, a smile on her face that he didn’t trust. He wondered what she’d done that he’d known nothing of, how she’d played him. How he’d let himself be played.
“And if they do? We have what we wanted, don’t we, Silent Petri?”
She was very close now, her hand feather-gentle on his neck, a thumb stroking him. Trying to persuade him one last time, perhaps.
One word from Kass, that was all it had taken. One word, and every doubt came back, every remembered look, every shred of hope that he wasn’t this man, that maybe, once, he could have been good and noble. That maybe he still could be.
What seems good to you? her voice asked in his head.
He didn’t know, maybe he never had. He knew only how to survive the now, how to take all the iced rage in his gut and use it.
“Free,” he said, his voice hollow. “That’s what I always wanted.”
“Good,” she said. “And Morro is going to help with that. Shall we?”
She stalked out of the hut and Morro followed, offering a sly glance at Petri as he passed. They headed for the hut that held Eder. Scar banged open the door, revealing him on the floor, hands bound even though escape was impossible with his leg as it was.
Eder sat up straighter as they entered, set his face and stared at the wall.
“Well now,” Scar said as she paced, “here’s a pretty thing. My friend here has had the utter stupidity to let my hostages escape.” The bitterness in her voice caught Petri’s throat, roused him so that he would have bitten back, if not for the smiling Morro watching him.
“Distracted by that… that woman,” Scar went on. “One word from her, and he goes to pieces. Isn’t that so, Petri? No, you don’t need to answer. But I’ll want some answers from you, Eder. If you want to live to tell this tale.”
Eder said nothing, moved no muscle.
She smiled so that her scar puckered. “If we catch them again I’ll have to kill all of them. Even those who were with you, as well as the ridiculous Vocho and his sister. Morro has some very interesting ways he could use their blood, so he tells me. Of course that would make their deaths slow and agonising.”
Eder opened his mouth and snapped it shut again.
Scar stopped her pacing and crouched in front of him. “Very slow and agonising. As yours will be. But you’re the honourable soldier, aren’t you? So honourable you shot your own ally for some bizarre reason of your own. Personally I wish you’d done a better job. But you can make amends and your guard will be safe. Or safer. Because have no doubt, we will find them. You weren’t prepared for this mountain and what it can throw at you. What it will throw at them. Morro has seen and will see to that. They’ll never make it down the mountain alive. So you might as well tell me what I want to know. Maybe, if you’re very helpful, Morro here need not kill them at all, just use some of their blood. Maybe.”
Eder blinked hard and finally turned to look at her.
“What assurance do I have of that?”
Scar stood up and slapped her thighs. “Not much. My word is all, and believe me–” here she turned to look at Petri “–I am loyal to those who help me and lethal to those who turn on me.”
Petri couldn’t meet her gaze.
She stared at him a moment more and then turned back to Eder. “Well?”
“Carrola, if you’d stay your hand there?” He looked from Scar to Petri and back again. “Please, I… Stay your hand there, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“I like loyalty in a man,” Scar said at last, and her point wasn’t lost on Petri. “Tell me what they meant to do.”
Kass looked up at Dom in the dim light from the searchers’ torches that just penetrated the little snow cave Dom had carved for himself and now sheltered four of them.
“Where the hells did you spring from?” she asked.
“From the same hut as Vocho,” Dom said. “Only I escaped a little earlier, when some kind soul distracted the guards by shooting them.”
“That was me. I was trying to get Petri to stop killing Vocho,” Danel said.
“Well then, well done on both
counts. I’ve been trying to work out how to get Voch out too, but it’s been tricky. Apparently some damned fool got everyone stirred up looking for her, and consequently they’re all being very vigilant. The vigilance of guards has been the death of many a good escape plan. And escapee. But my daughter and I managed in the end. She’s very resourceful and as good at acting a part as her mother was. On the other hand, it’s good to see you too.”
Kass looked up at him. What in hells had happened to the graceful and pristine Dom she’d known, who Vocho had been so jealous of? This Dom was dressed, if it could be called that, in clothes most beggars wouldn’t be seen dead in, albeit slightly warmer ones.
It didn’t take too long to tell each other all they needed to know.
“I found my daughter,” Dom said, but there was a tinge to the proud smile that came with the words. “But a magician found her first. Told her all sorts I would rather she hadn’t known.” He trailed off for a moment. “Still, she helped us all escape. She, well, you remember me saying youth makes us stupid? I begin to wonder. Maybe it’s just age makes us jaded. Her mother had a kind heart once, before life got in the way.” He shook his head with a puzzled smile, and his hands groped at nothing.
“Voch escaped like you say, and he had Carrola with him, but I don’t know where they are,” Kass said into the silence that followed, more to distract Dom than anything else. “Carrola seems level-headed. Maybe she’ll stop Vocho doing the first damn fool thing that comes into his mind.”
“I don’t know,” Dom said, seeming glad of the distraction. “He did well in that duel, given that he probably should have died in the first minute or two. I notice Eder got left behind. You, like the idiot you are, called out to Petri, not only alerting a horde of armed people to your presence, but informing Eder you are not as dead as he hoped. His officer’s commission, any semblance of honour, any hope of getting back into Bakar’s good graces–with you alive to tell the tale, he can kiss all that goodbye. He can probably kiss goodbye to his head too, unless Bakar has one of his fits of mercy. What’s he got to lose if you’re killed in the line of duty up here?”
