Dagger's Point (Shadow series)

by Logston, Anne

  Jael scrunched down a little lower in the covers, then sighed and gave up. She rolled over again.

  “Tanis?”

  “What?” Tanis’s eyes were open, and Jael wondered whether he’d had difficulty sleeping, too.

  “Can I move over there with you?” Jael asked sheepishly.

  Tanis grinned back at her.

  “I’d have asked if you hadn’t,” he admitted. “Bring your blankets and come on.”

  Combining their pallets gave them more cushioning from the packed earth and twice the covering over them, and the warmth of Tanis’s body against hers banished the last of the spring chill.

  Her cheek pillowed on his shoulder, Jael finally relaxed and slept.

  Morning dawned cold and foggy, rain-heavy clouds hanging low. Jael and Tanis rode behind the caravan, cheerful despite the weather. When the first hour of riding revealed that the limping horses now stepped along at a much improved pace, Reda had ridden ahead to confer with the wagonmaster. She rode back to hand Tanis a small purse of coin.

  “You can camp at our fires tonight and until we reach Westenvale,” she said. “Wagonmaster Nezed says if it rains today, you can tie your horses behind his wagon and ride inside if you don’t mind sitting on boxes of copper pots.” She rode away before Jael or Tanis could make any reply.

  “They don’t exactly smother you in thanks,” Jael said wryly.

  “I’d rather have a dry place to sit and a comfortable camp than thanks anyway,” Tanis said, chuckling. “Plus, of course, some of our coin returned.”

  “How much did you have to pay to begin with?” Jael asked.

  “Ten Moons,” Tanis admitted. “Expensive. And that was after I bargained him down from the fifteen Moons he asked. I’ll wager he’d have asked no more than three or four Moons if we’d joined the caravan under less suspicious conditions.”

  “We paid half a Sun just to follow in their wagon ruts and camp on the ground?” Jael asked, shocked. “How much did he give you back?”

  Tanis opened the pouch and looked inside.

  “It looks like about five Moons’ worth of coppers,” he said. “Well, that’s much more reasonable, although on our next caravan I hope you don’t have to break hinder-spells to earn a fair price.”

  “I don’t mind the spells,” Jael said slowly, “but what about the highwaymen? Do you still think they’ve set up an ambush ahead of us?”

  “I don’t know,” Tanis said, his voice lowered. He guided his horse to ride closer beside Jael. “The wagonmaster’s sent some of the guards to ride ahead and look for any places where robbers could have enough cover to hide and wait for us, and I see the guards have their bows ready, too. But it’s not impossible that the highwaymen could have someone inside the caravan— maybe even the person who cast the hinder-spell. So we’ll stay behind the caravan, and if there’s any trouble, we’ll ride like there’s a dragon chasing us in the other direction. Hopefully the highwaymen won’t bother chasing us when they have a whole caravan to loot.”

  “Shouldn’t we help defend the caravan?” Jael asked doubtfully.

  “Jaellyn, they’re not paying us to be guards,” Tanis told her firmly. “And I’d be very, very happy if we never had to draw our swords from now until we get back to Allanmere. Do you think either of us is skilled enough to fight a band of murderous brigands?”

  Jael sighed. Her mother would have gladly matched her sword against any twenty brigands, and Aunt Shadow would have slipped away unseen while pocketing the choicest valuables from caravan and robbers alike, but Jael and Tanis would run like frightened rabbits, five Moons the poorer and nothing gained.

  A slow drizzle began around noon, but to Jael’s irritation, Tanis insisted that they stay with their horses instead of riding in the comfort of the wagon. By the time the caravan stopped for the evening, Jael was cold, wet, stiff, sniffling, and absolutely furious. The drizzle continued, driving the merchants into their wagons for shelter. Despite the cold, if the dry spot under the proffered wagon had been wide enough, Jael would have gladly placed her bedroll far from Tanis. Tanis was in no better mood than she, and they hunched silently in their shelter mopping up stew with half-stale bread. Jael listened sourly as the merchant in the wagon over their heads made certain sounds indicating that he was not alone.

  “Is the potion High Lord Argent gave you working?” Tanis asked at last.

  “Not yet,” Jael said shortly. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. The merchant and his doxy became more vigorous, causing the wagon to shake.

  Tanis glanced upward, grimaced, and poured himself another cup of wine.

  “I’m sorry you got wet and chilled,” he said irritably. “But are you going to sulk about it all night?”

  “That depends,” Jael said sourly. “Are you going to make me sleep out in the rain, too?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” Tanis retorted. “I’m not going to apologize again. I really thought there might be danger. I suppose I dodged when I should have parried. It’s happened to you once or twice, too.”

  Jael had to grin at that.

  “You mean once or twice in the last two days, don’t you?” she said, relenting. “I suppose even a bad case of the sniffles doesn’t quite pay me back for demon-scratches, does it?”

  Tanis touched his tunic where it covered the five scars puckering the skin of his right shoulder.

  “They ache in this weather, too,” he said proudly.

  Jael reached for her pack.

  “You should’ve said something sooner,” she told him. “I have a salve that’s good for aches that aren’t in the bone. Take off your tunic and shirt and I’ll rub some of this in.”

  Tanis winced a little as he pulled his tunic over his head, and Jael raised her eyebrows in surprise. In the little more than a year since he had left the priesthood and become an apprentice thief, Tanis had lost his acolyte softness and developed a thief’s lithe, wiry musculature. The five angry white furrows started just below the collarbone on the left side of Tanis’s chest, crossed the point of his shoulder, and tapered off at his back. Jael remembered the ferocity of the demon who had given Tanis those marks, and shivered. He’d been lucky not to lose his arm—or his life.

  Tanis sighed contentedly as Jael rubbed the pungent-scented salve over his shoulder, working the unguent into his skin with practiced fingers. She’d have to remember to thank Mist, who had tutored her in every aspect of trail medicine, and Shadow, who had taught Jael the art of rubbing the soreness out of muscles. At least it was a way of passing time other than lying there and listening to the merchant and his bed companion shake the wagon.

  “That’s wonderful,” he said. “Allanmere lost a great herbalist when Argent left his shop. And you have a healer’s touch. Whatever were you carrying that salve around for?”

  “I suppose Father thought I’d need it for all the bruises Mother left on me in sword practice the day before we left,” Jael said with a grin. “She could split a bull in half head to foot with that monster of a sword, so you can imagine what it’s done to me, even a practice blade with a dulled edge and through padding.”

  Tanis shook his head sympathetically.

  “Bad?”

  Jael pulled up the side of her tunic in answer. The bottom of the huge, mottled bruise was plainly visible on her back and side.

  “It looks as if you could use some of this ointment, too,” Tanis said, grimacing. “You should have mentioned it before. Lie down and let me put some of this on your back. Are you sure you haven’t cracked a rib?”

  “It’s just a few bruises,” Jael said, somewhat embarrassed by his concern—it didn’t speak well for High Lady Donya, did it, if she cracked her daughter’s ribs in sword practice? “She mostly tries to hit me with the flat, anyway.”

  “On a sword that heavy, that’s enough.”

  When Jael had stretched out on her stomach on the blankets, Tanis gently pushed up the back of her tunic, murmuring in dismay at the bruises he uncovered. The cold, wet ni
ght air on her bare back made Jael shiver, and she started when the gob of ointment touched her skin, but Tanis’s hands were warm and his touch was very gentle as he smoothed the paste into her skin.

  “I imagine this means it would be best to postpone our sword practice for a few more days,” Tanis said, chuckling. “I’d never forgive myself if I added any more bruises on top of what’s already there.” He was silent for a moment, scooping up a little more ointment to rub into Jael’s shoulders. “Of course, if I get to do this every time I beat you black and blue, the prospect gets much more tempting.”

  Something in his tone made Jael uneasy.

  “You know,” she said slowly, “maybe it’s not a very good idea for you to—I mean, maybe you’d better stop.”

  Tanis’s hands kneaded the muscles at the base of her neck, then slid caressingly down her back.

  “Must I?” he asked gently.

  Oh, no. Jael closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Please don’t,” she said hesitantly. “You know this just isn’t going to work.”

  “Won’t you let me try?” he asked softly. “Just this once, can you let me try? If it’s not right for you, I won’t ask again. I promise.”

  Jael twisted her head around as far as she could to look at Tanis. His blue eyes were direct and unshadowed, his expression sincere. He was the best friend she’d ever had besides Aunt Shadow, and if she couldn’t trust him, she’d picked a poor companion indeed for this journey. Gods, he wouldn’t be here sleeping on the cold, hard ground if it weren’t for her. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t want to be able to feel those things he wanted so much for her to feel.

  “All right,” Jael said at last. “But you promise—”

  Tanis brushed his fingertips over her cheek.

  “I promise,” he said. “You know me better than to believe I’d ever do anything you didn’t want.”

  The gentleness of his hands sliding over her back was soothing, and Jael found herself becoming drowsy. The merchant in the wagon above them was quiet now. Tanis drew the tunic up over Jael’s head and lay down beside her, pulling the blankets over them both.

  It was warm and safe and dark there together under the wagon, and the heat of Tanis’s skin against hers and the familiarity of his scent were comforting. When Tanis bent to kiss her, Jael tried to respond as best she could. It was an awkward business; she didn’t know which way to tilt her head, and the noses got in the way, but it wasn’t unpleasant overall. Jael clung to Tanis as if somehow his passion could soak through his skin and into hers, but when Tanis trailed his lips down the side of her throat, one hand gently caressing Jael’s small breasts, Jael burst out in helpless laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Tanis murmured against the skin of her neck.

  “I’m sorry,” Jael giggled. “I can’t help it. That tickles.”

  “What about this?” Tanis tongue traced a path along the line of her jaw, holding Jael close as his free hand slid down her side, slipping under the waist of her trousers. Jael held her breath as long as she could, but at last she could no longer suppress a shriek of laughter.

  “Oh, for Baaros’s sake,” Tanis said disgustedly, releasing her. He found Jael’s tunic and flung it at her, then snatched up half the blankets.

  “What are you doing?” Jael asked, not laughing anymore. She clutched the tunic to her bare chest.

  “Just go to sleep,” Tanis snapped. He stomped off into the darkness, cursing under his breath. Jael sat there listening until she heard him settle himself under another wagon nearby.

  Oh, gods. Jael pulled her tunic over her head and crawled back under the blankets, almost in tears. What should she do now? Would apologizing to Tanis help, or would it just make things worse? And why should she have to apologize? He knew it was no more Jael’s fault than it was his own that she couldn’t desire him.

  He’d always been so understanding and patient, Jael sometimes forgot that while a pure-blooded elf of twenty-two years of age might still be a child, human males of Tanis’s age would be at that stage where they did little else but dash from one brothel to the next.

  Well, there was no chance of sleeping now. Jael wiped her eyes, wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, and scrambled out from under the wagon into the light rain. Tanis had tethered their horses near the wagon where they were to sleep, separate from the merchants’ horses—another of Tanis’s silly just-in-case-brigands-attack precautions—and they were near enough that Jael could occasionally feel their irritation with the weather and their frustration as they strained to reach the grass beyond the circle of their tethers.

  Jael moved the horses’ pickets to fresh spots and offered each of them some of the dried fruit from her pack in apology for their discomfort. There was nothing she could do about the rain; there weren’t even any trees she could move them under for shelter.

  The horses accepted the dried fruit, rubbing their heads against Jael or nibbling affectionately at her sleeve. Jael was not a true beast-speaker, and there was no real communication between her and the horses, but her sensitivity made her a desirable companion. Every horse in the palace stables had come to recognize Jael as a person associated with relief from small discomforts, one who never appeared without some tasty snack for her friends and who invariably knew just where to scratch.

  Jael suddenly froze, her ears straining. Had she heard a footstep, a harsh breath that hadn’t come from one of the horses? She squinted into the darkness. Surely those dark forms at the very edge of her vision, creeping silently around the edge of the camp, weren’t the caravan guards.

  As quietly as she could, Jael edged back to the wagon, glancing desperately around to locate Tanis. There he was, under the next wagon over. She crept to his side, clapping her hand firmly over his mouth as she shook him.

  “Wmmmf!” Tanis bolted upright, tearing Jael’s hand away from his mouth. “What in Baaros’s name do you—”

  “Shhh,” Jael whispered desperately. “I think the caravan’s surrounded, or nearly. Should we wake everyone?”

  Tanis immediately pulled Jael under the wagon, bearing both of them flat against the ground. Even in his anger when he’d left her, he’d been wise enough to take his sword with him; now the blade was naked in his hand.

  “Get your sword, and scramble our packs together if you can,” he whispered so softly that even Jael barely heard him. “I’ll warn the guards and the wagonmaster.”

  Despite her question about defending the caravan earlier, Jael would have stopped him if she could, but Tanis was gone before she could grab him. Quickly Jael snatched Tanis’s blankets and scuttled back for her own, wadding them haphazardly into the best bundle she could manage, scrabbling for her sword. Gods, how could she ever get all the packs onto the horses and get them saddled in time to get away before she and Tanis were slaughtered? Jael froze in horror as she heard quiet footsteps approaching the back of the wagon, even as she saw a stealthy figure creeping closer to where her three horses were tethered.

  At that moment, a cry sounded from the other side of the cluster of wagons, and Jael thought she recognized the guard who had first met them, then others. The footsteps at the rear of the wagon halted, and now Jael could see the feet and leggings of the stepper, wearing low boots and filthy leggings—no merchant or guard, then, but as Jael had feared, one of the highwaymen.

  One of the feet disappeared as the bandit began to climb into the wagon. Without thinking, Jael grabbed the other foot and yanked it hard toward her; the bandit, surprised and off balance, fell hard behind the wagon. Jael could hear the merchant and his doxy bolt awake above her, and to her relief she heard the hiss of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

  Suddenly the clearing was full of running feet and flashing blades, and Jael decided she’d more than done her part in defending the caravan; now all she wanted in the world was for herself and Tanis to escape with as much of their goods as they could and with their hides still intact. She swept up two packs and her sword and ducked
out from under the wagon, dashing for the horses as fast as she could.

  Gods, she’d forgotten the man who had been creeping up to the horses! He was there now, reaching for one of the picket ropes with one hand, a knife in the other.

  Jael tossed the packs aside; one of the first lessons she’d ever had was never clutter your fighting ground. Then there was no time to remember her lessons; Jael only had time to think Thank the gods he didn’t throw that knife as the bandit drew anothe knife from his belt and stepped forward to meet her.

  He was human, so Jael had that much of an advantage—her night vision was superior to his, and her sword gave her a greater reach despite her shorter stature. But he knew where the rest of his people were and wasn’t worried about watching his back, nor did he need to be concerned about whether his companion was busy getting skewered. And even in practice, Jael had rarely fought against an opponent with two knives.

  Jael grimly shut out the shouts and the clang of blades behind her; if Tanis was being killed at this moment, there was nothing she could do to help. The fact that the brigand hadn’t yet thrown a knife didn’t mean that he couldn’t; Jael’s only hope was to keep him too busy to set up for a throw.

  He was fast, blindingly fast, deflecting but never actually meeting her strokes. Try as she might, Jael could find no opening past his constantly moving knives; all she could manage was to reverse their positions so that he couldn’t use the firelight from the caravan to see her better. A moment later she discovered why he’d allowed the reversal as Jael narrowly missed tripping over one of the picket ropes. Now she’d have to divide her concentration to watch her footing as well.

  The bandit feinted with his left knife while thrusting with his right; Jael had been expecting such a maneuver and turned his knife aside easily. In a motion so fast that Jael saw only a blur, however, his left knife flashed toward her face. There was a second blur, and the bandit cried out and stumbled backward, dropping his knife to clutch at the stump of his wrist. Jael stared dumbly down at the blood on her sword blade. Then she took a deep breath and struck deliberately, nearly severing the bandit’s head as her blade slid effortlessly through the meat of his throat. The bandit dropped to his knees and then collapsed, his choked gurgling tapering to silence even as he fell.