". . . mean we can't go up to the castle?" one of the two men was demanding, both of them dressed in the brown leather of fighters. "We're here looking for hire with the Duke, and that means we got to go up there. Are you in the city so desperate for recruits, you're trying to stop men heading for the Duke?"
"Going up to the castle won't do you any good right now," the captain of the Guard answered, finding nothing of the amusement the fighter had been trying to share. "It so happens we can use you in the city, but not for the reason you think. We're in the middle of heavy trouble right now, and we're going to need every fighter we can get."
"What kind of heavy trouble?" the man asked, exchanging a brief frown with his friend. ' "We thought the fighting in the north hadn't gotten here yet."
"Strictly speaking, it hasn't," the Guard captain said, raising his left hand to shade his eyes from the lowering sun.
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"As far as we know, this is completely local trouble. What's the matter, were you two trying to keep away from the fighting in the north?"
"Hell, no," the second fighter said with a snort, more amused than insulted. "Rumor is the war'll be movin' this way before too long, so we thought we'd come ahead and get our seats for it now, before the mercenary groups move in and swallow up every place worth havin'. Like my partner said, we're here lookin' for hire. What kinda local trouble we talkin' about?"
"Really nasty local trouble," the captain answered, his grimace having nothing to do with the sun. "Don't ask me how it happened, but suddenly we have crazy rebels all around us. We'll be fighting in the name of the Duke, but he won't be there to lead us."
"Why not?" the first fighter asked, this time supporting his frown alone. "We heard Duke Rilfe was one of the good ones, always there to lead where he wanted men to go. Not like the ones who find it smarter to hang back and watch. Why won't he be there?"
"Because he can't be there,"-the captain said while the cold went all around my insides and squeezed. "He can't be there because he's the one the rebels are holding up at the castle. He and his two little daughters, and we're going to have to fight to get them free."
My breathing started up again at that, but the ice on my insides stayed exactly where it was. They had my father and my sisters, and those idiots from the city were going to storm the castle! I had to do something, or the three hostages the rebels held would certainly be the first three to die!
Kylin opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but the slabbing pain in his head turned the effort into nothing more man a groan. He put his hands to the ache, trying to clear the blur from his vision, trying to figure out what in hell had happened. One minute he'd been looking into pots of food, and the next—
"Don't try to move yet," Veslin's voice came from his left, the words soft enough so that they didn't add to his pain.
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"You'll be all right, but give it a minute or two and it won't hurt as much."
"What happened?" Kylin croaked, blinking away the blur to see that he lay on a narrow bed in a strange room. "My head feels like someone's been using it for quarterstaff practice."
"From what we can gather, that isn't far from the truth," Veslin said, sighing as he looked down at the younger man. "You were bashed in the back of the head, and one of the pieces of kindling in the bin by the kitchen hearth has blood on it. I'd say we all know who it was who did the swinging."
"But I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt you," Indris said at once from his right as he cursed under his breath, then began handing him a cup of something. "Once you drink this you'll feel a good deal better, but right now my father and I will help you to sit up."
To Kylin's disgust he found he needed that help, but once the smooth, sweet whiteness in the cup was down his throat he did immediately begin to feel better. The pain in his head faded to a distant throb, the water drained out of his muscles, and moving his eyes from one sight to the next stopped making him dizzy. He was just about back to the way he had been, which meant anger had nothing to fight for his attention.
"Where is she?" he asked the two anxious faces watching him, one hand rubbing at the remaining stiffness in his neck. He'd tried to keep most of the growl out of his voice, but the way Indris flinched showed he hadn't been overly successful.
"Kylin, please don't be too angry with her," the woman said, her dark eyes trying to convince him her request was no more than reasonable. "I don't know if you realize how deeply unhappy she is, how confused and miserable on the inside she ..."
"Indris, I know exactly how unhappy she is," Kylin interrupted, getting to his feet to loosen the knots in his shoulders. "She's been that unhappy from the first minute we met, and by now I'm more than a httle tired of it. She seems to think she's the only woman ever to be promised into a marriage she didn't want, and has been moping around as though it's the end of the world for everyone alive. I've been trying my damnedest to show her it won't be as bad as she's obviously
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imagining, but everything I try is thrown back in my face. Are you telling me I'm missing something I should be seeing?"
"Not really," Indris answered, looking uncomfortable and vaguely frustrated. "I've seen myself how she ignores or dismisses all your kindnesses, but maybe she . . ."
"And now, just because she'd rather risk her iife than wait for an escort / had the good sense to send for, she takes her mad out on me with a stick over the head," Kylin plowed on, getting angrier with every word he spoke. "She's a spoiled brat of an undisciplined Blade, and if she likes using sticks all that much, we'll see how happy she is when I get through using one on her. She'll need a pillow to sit on for the ride home tomorrow, and even with it she'll wish she could have walked instead. Now, where is she?"
"Kylin, I think you'd better check your personal possessions," Veslin said, rubbing his face with one finger as he studied the younger man. Those eyes . . . "Where she is will be obvious after that."
The King's Fighter looked down at himself fast, one hand going to his purse which was loosely tied to his swordbelt, the absence of his dagger and belt completely obvious even before he'd opened the pouch flap. Once he did and looked inside, his anger rose even higher.
"Coppers!" he grated, not giving a damn that his voice was now pure growl. "She took all the gold and silver, and left me nothing but the coppers! And if my dagger is gone, that means she is, too! Without having been bright enough to add my sword to her thieving! She'd rather walk the road with nothing but a dagger to keep her safe, just to show how fearless she is! I'll kili her. By Evon do I swear, when I get my hands on her I'll . . ."
"Kylin, you'd better calm down," Veslin interrupted his furious ranting, his voice concerned as he put a hand to the younger man's arm. "The sweetmilk eased your pain and quieted the dizziness, but if you start getting wild and jumping around, tt will all come back at once. You'll sit down and take it easy for a while to let your body start healing itself, and then you can run and shout all you like."
"But I have to start after her," Kytin protested, unhappily aware of the faint shifting behind his eyes, a warning he
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would have preferred ignoring. "Without me there, anything can happen to her."
"She's already been gone two hours, and she isn't on foot," Veslin said, silently urging him toward the deor Indris held open. "You need a mount of your own, and you might as well be sitting down and eating while 1 find one for you. After that you can leave as quickly as you like."
Kylin would have rather argued the order disguised as a suggestion, but it made far too much sense for him to be able to do it. He'd accomplish very little if he fell off whatever horse he was able to find, and would lose more time that way than by taking it slow from the beginning. As they at) left the small room and made their way to the kitchen, Indris said something pleasant and reassuring about the food that he simpl
y didn't hear. His mind was too full of Tisah, where she was and whether or not she was still all right. As soon as he got his hands on her he'd kill her; nothing would be able to stop him, nothing, . . .
Chapter 13
This time riding through the gate didn't earn me a single glance, not with the way the gate Guards were stopping every male who looked capable of holding a sword, trying to recruit them for the proposed attack. Thinking about their stupidity was making me furious as well as frightened sick, and I had to keep my teeth clenched tightly together to keep from shouting and screaming at them. It wasn't anyone in the City Guard who was responsible for that mindtessness; they were just taking orders from their superiors, the City Council. It was the Council I had to save my shouting for, telling them in no uncertain way that they were throwing away the lives of my father and sisters.
If 1.could find out who they were, and where they were, and how I got there through the maze of late afternoon streets clogged with what looked to be the same people who had been there when I'd first come through days ago.
My patient, steady mount took me forward into the crowds, having no idea where I was going but willing to take me there anyway. And that made two of us who didn't know, I realized, wiping the sweat and dust from my forehead with the back of my hand. I'd almost met some of the city leaders that night at the Feasting, but Even's luck had been with someone else just then. I didn't know who had the most power in the city, the one whose word could stop that insanity before it went too far. And whoever it was, I couldn't go to him as a pleading female who knew nothing of fighting and therefore feared it. I had to get my leathers back first, and my sword— Back from the castle where the hostages were being held— Might as well make a stab at freeing them if you're going to
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do that—but you can't get in, can't even push through the Guardsmen to get closer—what in hell are you going to do?
The question was a good one, but all I could come up with in the way of an answer was to shift in the saddle, trying to ease some of the aching of my body. I'd been away from home too long, hadn't been back long enough for it to be of any use, didn't know a single soul I could turn to for help. Help. What I needed first was information, from someone who knew what was going on, someone who was a part of that city from the inside out, who'd be willing to supply whatever I wanted. The lesser nobles would be useless for that even if any of them were in the city, and that left no one at all.
I looked around me to find that the milling crowds were actually moving, carrying me deeper into die city with them at a not unreasonable pace, I reached up and rubbed at my left shoulder, not particularly amused by the thing, wondering if it was Evon who had that terrible a sense of humor. Now, when I hadn't the faintest idea where to go, the crowds were moving; days earlier, when I'd known exactly where 1 wanted to go, they hadn't budged an—
Hadn't budged an inch, forcing me to try another street, which had gotten me good and lost, until I got to a dead-end court—
Where I'd saved the lives of a man and his sister! A man of the city who had acknowledged the fact that he owed me a favor! I didn't realize I'd stiffened with excitement until my horse snorted and tossed his head, telling me that shortening his rein and squeezing his barrel with my legs would do no good at all. He was already moving as fast as he could without trampling anyone, and he was really too tired and hot to be any good at trampling.
"Evon broil it, what was the name of that tavern?" I muttered to myself, patting my mount to apologize for confusing him even as I thought furiously. It had something to do with animals—or maybe fighting—or a pair of somethings, or— Evon take it and rot it, what was the name of that place?
I had to spend a few minutes calming myself down, and then I deliberately blocked out the shouting and calling and talking all around me and simply made my mind go blank. I'd been to enough taverns in my time, and if someone
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recommended one in particular 1 usually had no trouble remembering its name. The people whose recommendations I took had tastes very similar to mine, and if they'd enjoyed some place in particular, the chances were I would do the—
The Ax and Shield. I almost shook with relief at the return of the memory, disgusted with myself for the false trails I'd been stumbling down. Ox instead of Ax making it an animal instead of a weapon, and my next try would probably have been the Cock and Bull. The next time someone said something like that to me I'd write it down, damned and broiled if I wouldn't! I wiped my shaky palm on the dust-covered skirt of my dress, then began looking around for someone to ask directions from.
Which turned out harder than I would have been willing to believe before trying it. With all those people around, the first ten or a dozen politely told me they'd never heard of the place, and their easy smiles forced me to believe they were telling the truth. Every one of them had been fairly well-dressed, the safest group to ask things of in a city like Gensea, and there had been no reason for them to He even if I hadn't been convinced of their sincerity. If they said they didn't know, then—
Then I was asking the wrong class of people.
I sighed as I guided my horse out of the thinning line of traffic, noticing without noticing that at that time of day people were already going home. Stopping someone of the lowest class would be like demanding to be taken advantage of, but at that point I no longer had a choice. The Ax and Shield had to cater to the dregs and drifters, too low a dive to be known to anyone who didn't patronize it. If it had been an upper-class place, those of the middle class would have known of it even if they'd never been inside its gilded front door. No, it had to be a dive, and wouldn't I fit in well with my pretty red print dress. . . .
I had to question more than half a dozen beggars, street girls and light-fingered types before I got three sets of directions that agreed, and I didn't follow them with anything like easy confidence and a light heart. Cities had all sons of traps for the unwary to walk into, not the least of which were the night houses whose owners preferred slave workers to willing workers. Any night denizen who sent a country innocent into
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the web earned a piece of silver at the least, and too many of the people I'd talked to had grinned and looked me over before offering all the directions I wanted. In my leathers with a swordbelt strapped around me, they'd paled 'and run the other way; in a dress I'd found them all too willing to help.
The neighborhood I finally wound up in was not too far from the better part of the city, but was in reality a full world away. Shopkeepers were boarding up their places of business in anticipation of night, small dingy places that went well with the rundown residences and garbage-covered streets surrounding them. It was the sort of neighborhood that made you feel it was on the verge of waking up rather than going to sleep, the lamps being lit in the various taverns and night houses only adding to the impression. My horse picked his way carefully through the muck and refuse, unhappy with the overall stench, disliking the bands of children who ran screaming across his path, disapproving entirely of the nastiness I'd ridden him into. From the lingering stares I was getting from the loungers and strollers of the street, I couldn't have agreed with the sentiment more. If I'd had any choice at all, any choice in the world . . .
The Ax and Shield wasn't quite in the middle of it all, but something about the place said it wasn't in the middle because it didn't want to be. Its faded sign had been brown and red and silver and black, but it hung over wails of the gray of stone, its front door dull but heavy wood. A battered lantern high up on one stone wall was meant to illuminate the sign, but that early in the evening it hadn't yet been lit. I sat there for a moment and simply stared, men began looking around.
"We've got to find some place to leave you," I muttered to my mount as I patted his neck. "If I tie you to that hitching pole, you'll be gone before the door swings closed behin
d me. I guess it'll have to be there."
My horse snorted his dislike of the dirty boarding stable I'd spotted on the opposite side of the street, but he didn't have any more choice than I did. The front doors of the stable were standing wide open, but the thin man moving around inside wasn't worried that anyone would walk in and disturb his charges. The two large, armed men standing in front of the doors were there to see that nothing unpleasant happened, and
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having a horse was probably the only thing that got you by them without comment.
The stable owner was more than happy to accept my business, and that despite the fact that his stable was far from empty. The piece of silver I had to produce in advance finally told me why he was so happy, but 1 made no effort to point out that I could almost buy a horse for what he was charging for stabling. If I decided against using his facilities I would have to buy a horse, as soon as I discovered mine was gone. The only benefit I got out of silently producing his demanded payment was the way he lost his grin looking at my expression—and the way his two bullyboys let me walk out between them, still without comment.
Crossing that street in sandals was an experience in itself, but it would have been a lot worse if I'd had the sort of gentle upbringing so many people thought I should have had. I made it to the other side more or less uncontaminated, really glad that the dress had turned out to be too short for my height. Skirts brushing the ground may be stylish, but not in a neighborhood like that. The door of the tavern had a heavy metal grip, but despite the weight of it all it swung open smoothly and quietly, letting me move inside with no further delay.
The Ax and Shield wasn't more than only just true to its name, with a rusty throwing axe and a wood-and-paper shield hanging on the wall behind the counter at the back of the large room. It wasn't quite as dirty inside as out, but the stone walls were greasy with years worth of lamp soot and cooking smoke, the wooden beams of the ceiling were just about black, and the heavy plank floor should have been ankle-deep in sawdust instead of unevenly coated with it, if all the pools of spilled brew and wine were meant to be sopped up. The larger tables and their benches were in the comers to the left and right of the door, smaller tables littered the floor with rickety chairs or stools around them, and the lamps which were already lit were badly in need of trimming and cleaning. In other words a perfectly normal tavern for a rundown area like the one it lived in, better than the streets and maybe even better than the homes of its patrons.
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