No Quarter

by Tanya Huff

  The main door into the cloister flew open and Gerek charged through, momentum taking him right out into the garden.

  *That boy is too good-looking,* Gyhard grumbled as Vree straightened out of her defensive crouch.

  Murmuring a distracted affirmation, Vree stepped forward enough to be seen.

  For a heartbeat, Gerek’s worried frown disappeared, returning when he saw she was alone. Ignoring both the rain and the herbs crushed under his feet, he jerked forward. “Have you seen Maggi? I can’t find her anywhere!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The kigh are saying that Jazep is dead—it’s all over the Citadel. He was one of Maggi’s name-fathers. She’s going to need me.”

  “Name-fathers,” Vree repeated.

  Gyhard made the connection first. *Didn’t Magda tell us that Tadeus was one of her name-fathers?*

  “Tadeus!” The name cast a deeper shadow over Gerek’s face when Vree asked Gyhard’s question aloud. “Of course! He’s going to be in pieces. She’d have headed right for him!” Spinning on one heel, he ran back into the building with Vree close behind.

  No one got in their way.

  They raced into an ominously quiet Bardic Hall, took the stairs to the third floor two at a time, and pounded down the corridor. As they neared the end of the hall and began to slow, a door opened.

  Magda staggered from the room, pushed out by the hoarse sound of crying. When she saw her brother, her face crumpled, as though, seeing refuge at last, she’d let go of an artificial strength. She threw herself at him and burst into tears.

  “Jazep …”

  “I know, Maggi. I’ve heard.” Enclosing her in the circle of his arms, he rested his cheek on her curls.

  “I felt it when Tadeus found out,” she sobbed. “I was on my way to a lesson and his pain, it just hit me and hit me and hit me. When I got here, he was Singing Jazep’s name, over and over. It was like there was a whirlwind in the room with him—the kigh wouldn’t let me get close to him. Then that Imperial fledgling he has, Ullious, he showed up and he Sang the kigh enough away that I could touch him and Tadeus just looked at me like his heart was broken and he stopping Singing and he started to cry and, oh Ger, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

  “Couldn’t what, Maggi?” Although his own face was wet, Gerek’s voice was gentle and calm.

  She twisted the loose folds of his shirt up in both fists. “I couldn’t handle his pain and mine. He was … I was … It just hurts so much.”

  “Is Ullious still with him?”

  “He is, but I’m not. I should be in there, Gerek. I’m supposed to be a healer!”

  Trembling a little at the sudden rush of emotion, wishing there was a target she could hit to make it all better, Vree reached out and gently gripped Magda’s hand where it was tangled in her brother’s shirt. “Wounded healers need bandages themselves. You can’t save anyone if you bleed to death.”

  “I’m not bleeding.” Her protest emerged damp and muffled from Gerek’s chest.

  “Your heart is bleeding. You’ve done what you can for Tadeus. Now you need to heal yourself.”

  “But …”

  “No buts,” Vree interrupted. She gave the younger woman’s hand a final squeeze, released it, and stepped back, holding tightly to her own control.

  Gerek swung his little sister up into his arms where she clung to him, her face pressed into the angle of his shoulder, the curve of her neck below the tangle of dark curls looking vulnerable and lost. “I’ll take her to her room and stay with her,” he said. “Where will you be if she needs you?”

  Startled, Vree stared at him. “Needs me?” she repeated,

  Settling Magda more securely in his arms, Gerek rested an expression on Vree that held too many variables for her to understand. “Yes, needs you. Where will you be?”

  “I guess my room, but …”

  “No buts.”

  She watched him carry his sister down the hall and moved only when they disappeared into a stairwell.

  *Where to now?* Gyhard asked, the tone of his voice reminding her of Gerek’s expression.

  *I guess to my room.* Wondering how much pain a blind man had to be in to look at someone as though his heart were broken, she turned on one heel and walked silently back to the room she’d been given.

  Kovar arrived just as she did. His eyes were red and his lashes clung together in clumps. “Have you heard?” When she nodded, he swallowed and visibly squared his shoulders under the quartered robe. “How much?”

  “Only that a bard named Jazep is dead.”

  *There’s more,* Gyhard murmured.

  *No slaughtering shit.* She opened the door and gestured for Kovar to enter. “You look like you need to sit down,” she said abruptly. “I can make tea.”

  “No, no tea, thank you.” But he accepted the offer of a place to sit, lowering himself into a chair as though he’d broken ribs and not taken the time to have them bound. Lacing long, ink-stained fingers in his lap, he looked up at her and said, “We need your help.”

  Vree cocked her head to one side and moved her weight forward onto the balls of her feet. Not quite a fighting stance but ready for the eventuality. “You want me to kill the person or persons who killed Jazep.”

  The Bardic Second was so surprised his mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged. Finally, he managed a strangled, “Not that. No.”

  “Then what?” Vree relaxed slightly, refusing to acknowledge the relief his answer gave.

  “We need your knowledge of the abomination who was Kars.”

  *Kars?*

  She couldn’t entirely prevent Gyhard’s cry from leaving her mouth. It burst past her lips as a truncated, wordless wail. Regaining control, she wrapped herself around him, protecting him as she would have protected Bannon had he been hit from ambush.

  Kovar misunderstood. “I know. You’re shocked. You thought that part of your life was over. But something is in Shkoder causing the dead to walk, and we can’t think of who or what else it could be.” He drew a shaking hand across his forehead. “We have Karlene’s recall, of course, but if we are to defeat this thing, we need to add your knowledge as well.”

  Vree waited. Silently.

  “Yours and Gyhard’s.”

  Gyhard stirred out of his shock. *They want to put me under recall?* When Vree repeated his questions and the bard nodded, he asked, his mental voice incredulous, *Do they know what that means?*

  *They should by now.* “Sorry,” she said, spreading her hands. “I can’t risk that.”

  Looking as though he’d expected her response, Kovar nodded, somehow managing to sound both disappointed and relieved. “I understand, but I had to ask.”

  *Vree, what are you doing?* He could sense the lie but not what it was about, memories of Kars—as a young man, as an old man—kept getting in the way.

  Before she could answer, Kovar continued, his tone so incredibly reassuring Vree suspected he was using some sort of bardic trick and she steeled herself against it. “We still need your memories, though, and I personally assure you there’ll be no danger of Gyhard trying to take control while you’re in recall.”

  *Why that suspicious, son of a …*

  *Shut up!* Vree snapped and added aloud, “All right. When?”

  “It’ll have to be tomorrow morning. There isn’t a bard in the hall who could do it tonight.” His face folded along lines drawn by grief and he looked ten years older as he slowly pulled himself out of the chair and back onto his feet. He paused at the door. “Thank you for helping, Vree. We’ll be Singing for Jazep at the Center tonight; you’re welcome to attend.”

  As the sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, Vree closed the shutters, lit a lamp, and pulled her pack out from under the bed.

  *Vree, what are you doing?*

  *Kars is our business, not theirs.*

  *I can’t …*

  *Can’t what?* she interrupted. *Can’t face him? You’ve said you failed him twice.* Gyhard jerked
as her intentional blow hit home and, making no effort to block out the pain she’d caused him, she forced herself to go on. *I say that third time pays for all.*

  *We don’t even know where he is!*

  *Then we eavesdrop a little and find out where the message came from. I can track him from there.* One of the bulky knit sweater things took up more room than she liked, but if it was about to get as cold as everyone said, she supposed she’d better take it.

  *Vree.*

  *What? You started this, Gyhard, don’t you want to finish it?*

  *Not exactly. I want it to be finished.* He could feel the memory of the ancient throat between his hands—Bannon’s hands—could see behind the rheumy eyes the young man he’d pushed over the edge into insanity then abandoned an impossible number of years before. He could have—would have—killed him then, but one of the walking dead had intervened. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to that point again.

  *You were alone last time. This time, you’ve got me.*

  *Stop reading my mind.*

  He felt her almost smile. *Strong emotions, remember?*

  *But if you’re afraid I’ll take control …*

  The almost smile disappeared. *Is that why you think I refused to let them recall you? You think I’m stupid enough to believe you’d try to take over with half a dozen slaughtering bards marching through our minds?*

  *No, but …*

  *What happened between you and Kars is private. You shouldn’t have to share it with everyone who can carry a tune.* She bent over to fight with a stiff buckle and Gyhard suddenly realized she was embarrassed, that she was trying to distance herself from her words.

  *I’m sorry.*

  She shrugged. *It’s all right.*

  *And thank you.*

  *Look, I said it’s all right!*

  He drew back before she could push him away, willing to give her what little space he could, maintaining too tenuous a hold on his own emotions to deal with hers.

  Vree laid her daggers out on the bed and lightly touched the empty wrist sheath. Allowing for slight differences in weight, Bannon had an identical set—except, of course, that Bannon still had a set.

  For the moment, memories of Kars had wrapped Gyhard in an emotional soup too thick to see through. It hadn’t yet occurred to him that in going after his past, they’d be avoiding hers.

  Seven

  Twisted up in memories of Kars, Gyhard had been paying little attention to Vree’s preparations. He’d roused briefly when she’d discovered that the dead were walking in Bartek Springs and then allowed himself to be sucked back down into a roiling mix of emotions. As he hadn’t noticed her turn off the lamp or open the shutters, it came as a bit of a shock to realize they were perched on the window ledge outside her room and he hastily quelled an urge to propel her body back inside. *Vree, why are we going out the window?*

  *So no one sees us. We’re going to need as large a lead as we can get.*

  *But …* He refused to look as she pushed off the narrow ledge, dropped, and caught herself on fingers and toes. The pack pulled at her shoulders and she compensated for its extra weight. *But we’re heading down into an enclosed courtyard. We’re going to have to go back into the Hall or over the …*

  *Wall?* she finished for him, dropping onto the worn flagstones. They were still damp from the day’s rain, but the sky was clear overhead, the bowl of night filled with stars. After an unhappy glance up at the unfamiliar constellations, she followed the shadow path along the foundations of the building.

  *Vree.*

  *Look, since you’re new at this, I’ll explain.* The windows overlooking the courtyard held no signs of life. Based on their evidence, the Bardic Hall might well have been empty. *We can’t go out the gate—there’s always a bard on it and we can’t exactly pretend to be someone else. Nothing overlooks this piece of wall except the Bardic Hall. The bards are at the center, Singing for Jazep. If we go over the wall here, no one will see us.*

  It very nearly made sense. *The kigh can see us.*

  *So slaughtering what? By the time the bards ask them where we’ve gone, we’ll be a good six or seven hours closer to Kars.* Splaying both hands out against the huge, squared stones used to build the wall around the Citadel, she smiled. Although the outside rose perpendicular from the street, the inside, in the interests of strength and stability, angled gently in from the base to the crown. *We’re not hiding, this is a race,* she continued as she started to climb. *We have to get to Kars first.*

  *And when they use the kigh to send messages ahead?*

  *To stop us?* Lying flat, she rolled across the top of the wall and started down the other side. *I don’t think so.*

  About to protest further, Gyhard remembered that Vree had been a military assassin for five years. Two years longer than assassins usually managed to outwit the odds. She’d never gone after a target that hadn’t known she was coming, and they’d never been able to stop her. What chance would the bards of Shkoder, who really had no idea of her capabilities, have against her? He only hoped that would occur to the bards of Shkoder.

  He briefly noted how fast Vree was moving and how tiny the edges of stone she gripped were, then quickly turned his attention elsewhere. It wouldn’t take much of a twitch to send them plummeting to the ground. The trouble was, elsewhere almost immediately became thoughts of Kars.

  Gyhard had wondered once if new love had called back the old, if the gods or the fates or the Circle or whatever anyone of a dozen different religions wanted to call it had set Kars in his path in order for him to close the door on the past and open it on the future. He didn’t believe in coincidence, especially not when he’d had his nose rubbed in the past with a thoroughness that had made it impossible to ignore.

  That he’d failed Kars a second time had been no fault of his. He’d done everything he could.

  Apparently, it wasn’t enough.

  The knowledge that Kars continued to live, somewhere, could be ignored. He’d had lifetimes of practice ignoring it. But something had propelled Kars across the border into Shkoder. And something had seen to it that he got the news.

  He was being given another chance.

  Vree was right. He had to take it.

  Staying in Elbasan and letting the bards deal with the situation would release Kars from the trap but leave him in it. If he and Vree were to ever have a life together—even as strange a life as they were living now—he had to be the one who finally laid Kars to rest.

  As Vree dropped to the street and checked to make sure they’d been unobserved, Gyhard gave himself a mental shake and decided it was probably a good thing they were leaving the bards behind. Melodrama appeared to be catching.

  They taken maybe six steps on level ground when they heard horses approaching from behind, shod hooves chiming against the cobblestones.

  *Vree?*

  The wide road encircling the Citadel wall provided no cover and the night was too bright to hide them.

  Vree refused to turn although she could feel how much Gyhard wanted to. *Ignore it. It has nothing to do with us. Even if someone saw us going over the wall, they wouldn’t have sent out the cavalry.*

  The horses drew closer. Close enough to hear the creak of harness, to catch a whiff of the stable, to feel the warm bulk of the animals looming up behind them.

  “We’ll get there a lot faster if we ride.”

  “We?” Vree demanded before she finished turning.

  Magda let the hooded cloak fall back. An afternoon of crying had left her face blotchy, but her eyes were dry and she carried her chin at a determined angle. “I knew you were going as soon as I worked past Jazep being dead and actually thought about how he … how he died. Gyhard has responsibilities to Kars he has to honor or they’ll eat at him, at both of you, all the rest of your lives. I have responsibilities to you. I can’t let you go alone.”

  “You can’t go with us.”

  The younger woman held out the extra set of reins. “You can’t s
top me. I won’t go back willingly and if you take me back, you know you won’t get out again. This is your only chance to get to Kars first, and I’m afraid I’m a part of it.”

  Vree’s eyes narrowed. “I could knock you out and leave you here. Take both horses. It might be a couple of hours until you’re found.”

  “You won’t.”

  “You’re very sure of yourself.”

  “No.” Magda shook her head and half-smiled. “I’m very sure of you.”

  The generous curves of her mouth pressed into a thin, irritated line, Vree secured her pack behind the saddle and mounted. “The king, your uncle, is not going to allow this.”

  “The king, my uncle, will have to catch us.” Magda flicked a wet curl out of the corner of her mouth. “These are the same horses our couriers ride—the same horses Imperial couriers have been riding since His Majesty got the idea and the stock from the Empire, so you know how fast they move. By tomorrow morning when they notice we’re gone, we’ll be three or four stations down the Coast Road and even if the bards get a message ahead of us, we’ll have a huge lead.”

  “If the bards get a message ahead of us,” Vree pointed out acerbically, “they’ll try to stop us.”

  The pale oval of Magda’s face tilted to one side. “Stop you?” she asked.

  As Vree had said almost the same thing to Gyhard, she had little room left for argument. “This is going to get you into a lot of trouble.”

  “Why? I’m not a prisoner here.” Her chin rose in a motion Gyhard recognized from days and nights of watching Vree. “I can leave if I like.”

  “What about studying to be a healer?” Vree leaned forward and stroked a silken neck. “What about stealing these horses?”

  “I’m not stealing anything,” Magda protested indignantly. “Healers are allowed to use the couriers’ stables so they can get to emergencies as fast as possible. Now I may only be an apprentice healer, but I think that the dead walking in Shkoder qualifies as an emergency. As for the rest, you’re my patient. I can’t abandon you. That’s covered under Healers’ Oaths. Besides …” She sighed and her tone gentled. “I heal the fifth kigh, and healing Kars is part of healing you.”