They took the shortcut into the nice little wood Sinajhal had indicated, following a winding path that accommodated only one horse at a time.
A good hour later Notable and Rainbow had gone exploring in the surrounding trees and Hanse turned back to Mignureal to say, “I think we’re circling,” and saw her staring past him with wide eyes.
He looked that way. Once again he was facing a steel arrow set across a cocked crossbow. Holding it was a paunchy fellow of middle age, all in dark brown, including his moustache and beard and his expression.
Not again, Hanse thought miserably.
“Stand and stand away,” the paunchy man said. “That means get off them horses and stand well away while I take ‘em. Believe me, I want ‘em more than you do.”
Hanse stared, biting his lip while he considered. “Want,” he said, “isn’t need.”
“Get off the horse, philosopher.”
Not, Hanse thought, again. And making his voice squeaky he said, “Help! Oh Hellllp!”
“That’s not going to help you, boy,” the robber said. The crossbow moved. “But you’d better shut up. Now get off that horse! You too, girl. Oh — and keep your hands away from sharp steel, boy.”
Hanse heaved a great sigh, thought Damned cat, and started dismounting.
That was when Notable proved the robber wrong. The cat came loping out of the woods, said “Yaaaaowrrrr!” or something like, and kicked himself into the air. He landed, all claws out, on the crossbowman’s crossbow arm and set in biting. The man screamed. His finger twitched. The quarrel hummed over Hanse’s unnamed grey horse, while the robber’s upper chest sprouted the flat hilt of a throwing knife. His eyes rolled loosely and he teetered while Notable continued making a fine show of dining on his arm.
If Hanse’s foot hadn’t slipped he’d have taken the bolt from the other crossbow between the shoulder blades. Since his foot did slip, the steel arrow missed him by six inches and Notable by one. It went straight into the forehead of the paunchy man, whose eyes ceased rolling. Notable let go his hold and yowled the same cry while his quarry fell like a log.
“Shit!” a voice snarled from behind Hanse.
He whirled to see the charming Sinajhal crowding his horse past Mignureal. His glaring gaze was on Hanse. Having decided not to risk taking the time to rewind his long distance weapon, he had discarded it and drawn another. He came rushing at Hanse with his pretty-pommelled sword in his hand.
Hanse tried to rein his horse around on the narrow trail while at the same time drawing the longest blade he had, the knife from over in the Ilbars hills. The first did not quite work; the grey horse was broadside to the charging Sinajhal’s when the latter reached them. Hanse’s experience in fighting while mounted did not exist. Seeing the sword rushing down and around at him with a lot of force, he ducked desperately. And fell off his horse.
That saved his leg from Sinajhal’s mount and his head from Sinajhal’s sword. He got out of the way too late for Sinajhal to abort his vicious stroke, however, and his blade chopped into Hanse’s saddle.
At about the same time Sinajhal’s black mount charged into the grey. His neigh was a squeal. He bucked and kicked. The flying rear hooves rushed past above Hanse, who was in the process of rolling under his own horse. His fist sprouted the long, long knife, which was nevertheless a foot shorter than Sinajhal’s sword. Unfortunately the treacherous devil had wrenched his blade out of the saddle by the time Hanse hurled himself under the black horse.
When he pounced to his feet on the far side of the black, it was in time to see Sinajhal looking furiously at him again, and launching another swinging stroke.
Something happened to Hanse’s arm. Even while its owner knew that the only thing to do was dive aside, his left arm moved so rapidly that the llbarsi blade blurred. It caught the other man’s rushing stroke with a horrible impact accompanied by a loud clang. That was followed by an ear-threatening screechy noise as the deflected blade slid down toward Hanse’s hand. Despite the fact that his teeth clacked and his arm felt as if he’d been struck by a galloping horse, he twisted his wrist and then his body and banged his blade against Sinajhal’s again, this time in offense.
The charming robber grunted and grunted a curse. He also fought for balance atop his horse, since he was leaning well toward Hanse. His peripheral vision saved him from the hurtling red streak that was Notable, airborne and headed for Sinajhal’s face with claws extended and fangy mouth wide open. His target swung at Hanse, ducked while the cat whizzed over him, and clamped with both legs to keep from falling.
Hanse availed himself of the opportunity to slash one of those yellow-leathered legs.
Sinajhal cried out, lurched, and fell directly toward Hanse. Unfortunately that resulted in the persistent Notable’s flying over the empty saddle again, this time in the other direction. He landed on the grey Tejana horse, which immediately squealed and began bucking and kicking wildly and continuously.
Hanse meanwhile had not been able to shift and pounce backward fast enough to avoid Sinajhal’s tumbling against his shins. Hanse fell backward and rolled desperately. He scrambled to his feet in time to see the wounded man glaring at him, propped up on one hand. With the other he was swinging a horizontal cut at Hanse’s legs.
“Hanse!” Mignureal screamed, but he was already leaping upward as high as he could, meanwhile doubling up his legs.
The robber’s sword hummed through the space recently occupied by his intended victim’s ankles. Then he saw those ankles reappear, his intended victim’s feet seeming almost to caress the ground in his drop, and a sprawled Sinajhal was staring into the mean dark eyes of a squatting Hanse. It was a vision he saw only briefly. A moment after the intended victim came down, his twenty-inch blade did. It clove through Sinajhal’s flamboyant hat and hair and wedged into the skull beneath.
Sinajhal’s eyes popped wide and he began jerking all over while his blood spurted. His fingers kept flexing even after he dropped his sword.
Hanse had to use both hands to get the heavy knife out of the other man’s head. He didn’t think about shaking off the blood and that ugly grey pulp, or about standing back to see whether the murderous robber was dying or might recover. He skewered the Ilbarsi blade into Sinajhal’s throat and whipped it out with an attendant twist. That succeeded in ruining the robber’s tunic with a great deal of gushing scarlet. The force of its spurting slackened swiftly.
Hanse stepped back from a corpse. He blinked when an airborne cat impacted it with all claws out.
“Never mind, Notable,” Shadowspawn said in a voice as grim as his face, and realized that he wasn’t even winded.
“Hanse!”
“I’m fine, Mignue. Hang onto those horses!”
“They’re busy grazing on leaves. Is Sinajhal — ”
“If you were going to say ‘recovering,’” he said in a quiet and yet ugly voice, “the answer is no. The treacherous pig has trapped his last pilgrims.”
“Oh, Hanse!”
“Please don’t throw yourself against me this time, Mignue. I’d fall down!”
But she was already mobile, and she did, and Hanse did.
A minute or so later, on the ground, she said, “Oh darling you saved us both! Everyone knows about Shadowspawn and knives, but I had no idea you could fight a sword and win! I thought…I thought sure he would — oh, Hanse!”
I thought he would, too, Hanse thought, and remembered to let go his weapon at last so he could get both hands on the wriggling woman who was pressing so hard onto him.
*
Apparently Sinajhal’s accomplice had not possessed a horse, unless the poor beast was tied back in the woods somewhere deeper than Hanse searched. Meanwhile it was not just that they had lost the grey horse’s saddle to the would-be robber’s sword; the grey had fled as well. Shadowspawn was snarling over the loss of steed, saddle and pack when Mignureal asked where they would bury the two men.
“Bury!” he echoed, in a voice both plaintive and t
inged with anger. “These two murderous thieves? Let them rot where they are. The birds’ll have their eyes soon enough!”
Mignureal’s face and voice showed her shock. “Hanse!”
“I am not going to do sweaty labour for those two men, Mignue. They tried to kill me and you, and Notable and I killed them. I am not going to spend the next bunch of hours digging two holes and dumping them in! As a matter of fact — ” He broke off as he bent to pick up Sinajhal’s dropped sword and heft it. He swung it with an audible whup-whup before squatting to open the man’s belt buckle.
“As a matter of fact hereafter I wear a sword and we both carry crossbows. Pick up that one’s, will you?”
“No.”
Still squatting, Hanse turned his head slowly to glare at her. She was hugging herself, shaking her head. He elected to swallow whatever he had been about to say. He returned his attention to Sinajhal’s buckle, and stripped off the belt as he stood. Moments later he had buckled it on.
“Spoils of conquest, is that it?”
“That’s exactly it, Mignureal. You liked calling me hero well enough a few minutes ago. If you don’t like this, you’d better just be quiet about it. And about burying them, too.” She compressed her lips while he collected both crossbows. She turned away when he twisted his knife out of the paunchy man’s eye and wiped it carefully on the fellow’s sleeve. After examining it closely, he wiped it again before returning it to its sheath. He had lost one good throwing knife against the Tejana. Silver Imperials or no, he was not about to waste a second good blade when he didn’t have to. He had paid premium coinage for that first knife back in Sanctuary, and never mind where the money came from. Now it was lost, because he had snap-thrown at a Tejana in the darkness, and missed.
As to this one; well, this one was a gift from Cudget, poor hanged Cudget Swearoath who had been mentor and friend and father-substitute. Never mind that the thief called Shadow-spawn pretended to be unsentimental because he thought he should; pretences and reality were not poured out of the same bottle.
Notable meanwhile was prowling, looking as if true delight for him would be the appearance of more menaces. Rainbow sat watching Notable. The onager and the horses, including the white-stockinged black gelding of the late Sinajhal, were happily munching a bit of grass along with leaves from this or that tree and bush.
“I like his saddle, but I’ll bet this nag of his isn’t half the horse ole Iron-mouth was,” Hanse groused.
“He certainly caught up to us handily. And quietly too,” Mignureal said, in the way that bad storytellers referred to as “sniffed.”
Hanse didn’t even bother to give her a stare. He decided not to check the contents of the bag on the black’s saddle or the roll behind it. Not right now. She would just be the more disapproving, and might say something. Sinajhal’s belongings, if any, would wait. Hanse felt righteous, just, and justified. Why was it that his chosen woman considered it wonderful that he had killed two men and was like to vomit over the doing and the sight of it, yet had to be superior and disapproving of his taking their horse and weapons?
“Hanse: listen! No, look!”
She had heard the hoofbeats just before the riderless grey horse appeared around a curve in the trail. He was munching on something aside from his bit, and still wearing a ruined saddle. Laughing happily, Hanse went to stroke the animal’s head and neck. Meanwhile he murmured caressive words.
“So,” he said, but at the last instant changed his mind about saying the rest of it: We’ve gained a horse, after all! No use getting another of those looks from her. Besides, her lip was out a foot already. “So — you came back to see if we still like you, hmm? Well, I guess I’d run if Notable landed on my back with twenty or thirty daggers, too.”
“Meawrg?”
“Aye, Notable, you. You are one fine cat, Notable. I don’t know how I managed without you all these years! Well, just speak up, boy. A man likes company, especially from a weapon-companion who’s helped save the wimmenfolk. Talk to me some more.”
Chew on that, he thought at Mignureal, and saw that she was, without pleasure. He was inspecting the grey’s saddle. If it could be repaired, Hanse didn’t see how. He decided to leave it where it was until he could find out, and change horses once again. He would ride Sinajhal’s black.
“You’re name Blackie?” he asked, and noted that the horse ignored him. On the other hand, so did Blackie. The onager, however, looked up and switched its tail. “No, Dumb-ass, your name’s Enas, remember?”
The onager, Ils be thanked, did not reply.
“Hanse…?”
“Umm?” he said, being signally busy at checking cinches and halters and packs while carefully not looking at her.
“If I help you, can we put, uh, sort of drape these two men over horses and take them…somewhere?”
He straightened up and turned to look at her with a thumb hooked in his new sword-belt. “Let me tell you what I’m afraid of I mean what bothers me, Mignue. Suppose not everyone knows these two are thieves, or even maybe thinks they’re nice upstanding citizens. Then along we come, riding Sinajhal’s horse and hauling his body on another. Do you think something unpleasant might happen?”
She considered that, meanwhile returning his gaze levelly. “Hanse, I think that no one is going to say much to the man who, who ended the careers of them both and wears Sinajhal’s sword. Besides, what’s that in the other one’s forehead? Surely it’s obvious that Sinajhal killed his partner, no matter that it was an accident. Suppose we just rode out of here on our horses, and leave their crossbows? Or even try to put that one back in Sinajhal’s hand?”
Hanse started at her and knew she was right. He was impressed, and more. “Mignureal, I love you.”
She blinked, gave him a wan smile, and hurried to him for a hug. It was mutual; profoundly and gloriously mutual, that embrace.
“I love you Hanse, oh I love you.”
A minute or so later he said, “Uh…would you help me get this belt and sheath back around Sinajhal?”
Of course; and she did. He was rebuckling the belt on the dead man when she said, “It is yours, of course, won fairly against a man who tried to shoot you in the back with a crossbow. Hanse…I’ve always lived at home with my family. I thought I was really mature because I took care of my brothers and sisters a lot. But that didn’t prepare me for any of this. I’m sorry I went squeamish and silly. My stomach was turning over and over and I thought I was going to throw up.” Hanse’s snort was intended as a chuckle. “Me too. Furthermore I’m still not sure that I won’t, at any minute.”
“I was just so scared! I’ve never been so frightened. For you, darling. I just knew I was going to see you killed, and I kept trying to believe it just wasn’t real. Then he — then you — but then you just attacked him, as if you had a sword and he wasn’t way up there on a horse!”
I can’t quite believe that myself, he thought but definitely did not say. Or understand it either. I didn’t realize that all the training and practice with Niko made me so good! Not to mention crazy enough to attack instead of ducking or trying to throw a knife or a star! I’m better with weapons and the dodging of ‘em than I thought.
*
“My desire is threefold,” Hanse had said that evening in the ruins that had become, for the night, a scintillant hall of audience. He spoke with some trepidation, for it was to gods he spoke.
To that great glow that was Ils the All-father, Ils of the Thousand Eyes, He who was god of Hanse the Ilsig and his people; and to the darkness that was Shalpa the Unnamed, Shalpa of the Shadows, the Shadow Himself, patron of the night and of thieves, son of Ils and father of Hanse by mortal woman so that he was, indeed and in deed, Shadow’s spawn; and to Eshi daughter of Ils, goddess of beauty and love who was very, very fond of this demigod.
And they gave listen, for these were the gods of the Ilsigi and of the town of Sanctuary, and Vashanka was god of imperious Ranke and its empire. Yet as agent of this trio Hanse had don
e what they could not without his aid: the half-god had destroyed Vashanka, and his power, and had begun thus the fall of Empire.”
He told them, then, what they asked and granted: his desires; his wishes for his life.
“First, that neither I nor anyone close to me, dear to me, ever knows the true moment of my unavoidable death.”
He had worded it properly, and they understood. They knew of Mignureal, and of her Sight aborning, for they were gods.
“Second, I desire superior ability with weapons, as well as good health and good fortune.”
That was a good wish, and cleverly made, and gods were pleased.
They were not pleased with his third stated desire. The youth called Shadowspawn had given it much thought, after ten days of having his every wish granted. He had made his decision, and not without mental agony.
“And third,” he told them stoutly, “to forget all that has happened. All that I have done and thought and wished (saving only for a dream that I share with Mignureal, daughter of the S’danzo), since that time when first You did approach me, in the matter of Vashanka.”
He who was Shadow Itself was insulted that his son desired no knowledge of their relationship. Furthermore he said so and showed it, for he was a passionate and a jealous god.
Eshi objected too, for she had entertained certain hopes involving the elevation of this demi-mortal and thus demigod into their midst, and what she and he might do then. For Oh, she did like him, this Hanse, this godson.
They argued, Shalpa in anger, until Hanse fell to his knees to cry out in a shaking voice all that he wanted.
“Let me be Hanse!”
Silence came into that unnatural hall of gods’ audience then, until Eshi spoke at last. She wore a whimsical smile on her face, which was Beauty, as She was Love Itself.
“It’s the damned eternal truth,” Eshi said. “Your charming bastard is a damned genius, Shalpa!”
“Yet damned,” her brother answered in his rustly voice of audible shadow. “Damned by his own tongue and his own wish. The terminator of a god, the saviour of his city and toppler of Empire, the son of a god and lover of a god — and beloved of a god, eh?” He added, with a sidelong glance at his sister. “Damned to mortality, humanity, by his own asinine wish!”
Shadowspawn (Thieves' World Book 4) Page 12
