He thought about his conversation with Dr. Wycroft again. Much of what the man said made sense. If fear and stress could produce physical changes in a person's body, that might be the answer ... or at least part of an answer. He admitted to himself that he was afraid in the forest, very much so, but he'd been afraid of things before. He remembered how scared he was at Thad Layton's farm, and when he'd seen what the Orlocks did to Lee and Garon. Those things were beyond anything he could have imagined.
Had Mathew been less mature, his fear might have shamed him. Instead he remembered something his father told him a long time ago, one of those rare occasions when Bran actually talked about the war. He told Mathew that he was once so scared on the eve before a battle, he could barely stop his hands from shaking.
Even now Mathew could recall his surprise. He was
younger then, and simply could not believe his father was afraid of anything. When he told Bran as much, his father explained that heroes and cowards were both afraid; the difference lay in what they chose to do about it. Bran had also said that only a fool wasn't afraid. At the time, the words hadn't had as much meaning for him as they did now.
A movement up ahead interrupted his thoughts. Mathew stopped walking. He wasn't paying close attention but had the impression of something moving back into the shadows on the corner. In the flickering orange glow of the street lamp, it was difficult to tell what it might have been. He looked more closely, peering into the darkened doorways.
Nothing.
After a moment or two, he began to feel foolish. The inn was only three or four blocks away at most, and the others would probably be worrying by now.
Mathew shook his head and started walking again, deciding the only thing on the corner beside himself was his own shadow.
"Going somewhere, are we?" said a familiar voice behind him. Mathew whirled around as Will Tavish stepped out of a doorway. He had an angry-looking bruise on his cheek and appeared quite the worse for wear. A second later he saw Bert approaching from the opposite side of the street, moving quickly for a man of his girth. Jack rounded the corner in front of him. All three now wore short swords.
"Think you're a funny one, don't you," Will sneered, stepping closer.
Mathew drew his sword and put his back to the building.
"Now what's all this?" Bert asked, drawing his own sword. "I thought we were friends."
"I know who my friends are," Mathew said, "and you're not among them."
Jack looked around theatrically and said, "Funny, I don't see no one here but you."
"Now I'm hurt—truly I am," Bert said. "After all we've been to each other."
He took a step forward but stopped as Mathew leveled the point of his sword at him.
"You know how to use that, boy?" Bert asked, "Look, I don't want any trouble," Mathew said. "Hear that? He don't want any trouble," Will mimicked, moving a little closer. "Tell you what. Us being reasonable sorts—we're willing to forget your poor manners. Why don't you just take off that ring of yours and toss it over here along with your coin purse, and we'll call things quits."
"I told you the ring doesn't belong to me," Mathew said. "Oh, that's right. How forgetful of me. It belongs to your dead friend." Will mocked. "Well, he ain't going to miss it a bit."
That brought a derisive snort from Jack. Like Will, he took a step toward Mathew, but abruptly halted when Mathew's sword came around to point directly between his eyes.
"Three against one, boy," Jack taunted, his rat nose twitching and his sword ready.
Jack looked at the others, shrugged and appeared to relax for a second, then abruptly took a swing at Mathew's sword, trying to knock it aside. Fortunately, Mathew noticed a small leaning of his shoulder just before he struck, which telegraphed his intentions. A quick release of his back two fingers, alloweded the point of his weapon to drop, disengaging it around Jack's wrist. Instead of his blade contacting Mathew's, as he expected, Jack found himself still looking at the point of Mathew's weapon. If he was startled, it was only for a moment. He immediately tried the same thing again, with the same result, as Mathew again executed the maneuver his father had taught him. Jack took two steps backward, frustrated. He nodded to the others and they started to move in.
As soon as Mathew glanced away, Will saw his chance and lunged. Mathew easily deflected the attack, but in-
stead of riposting against Will, he directed his riposte at Bert, who presented a far more substantial target.
Bert let out a howl as Mathew's blade found his shoulder. With a guttural noise Jack rushed forward with his sword above his head. His lips were pulled back in an ugly snarl. Mathew saw him at the last moment and twisted to the side, knowing that he would be too late to deflect the blow.
It never came.
Instead he heard a heavy thudding sound, and Jack dropped to the ground like a felled tree.
Mathew heard the whir of Collin's quarterstaff before he saw it crash down across Will's forearm. There was a loud crack. Will screamed and dropped his sword as the bone in his arm broke. Incredibly, at that moment the street lamps all along the block went out. Will stood there a moment in shock, then took off running and disappeared into the darkness.
Mathew turned back in time to see Bert lunge at him, his shoulder now soaked in blood. For a corpulent man, he was faster than Mathew expected. With a desperate effort, Mathew managed to parry the attack, deflecting it to the outside. Now completely off balance, Bert careened forward and crashed into him, driving them both backward.
Standing ten feet away, Collin saw Mathew draw back his sword and then hesitate for some reason. The combination of Bert's considerable bulk, along with his momentum, carried him into Mathew. A moment later they were both on the ground. He also saw the knife in Bert's hand.
"Mat!" Collin yelled, rushing to him.
Before Collin could reach them, Bert suddenly appeared to leap backward, away from Mathew. He landed on his behind with a heavy grunt. A combination of surprise and outrage filled his face and he scrambled to his feet, preparing to charge again.
In the heat of the moment, Collin registered what was happening, but he had no time to think about it. A blow from his quarterstaff all but split Bert's skull, landing him face forward on the cobblestones. He lay there, not moving. Mathew was up on one knee, staring at a dark red stain slowly spreading across his left side.
"Oh, lord," Collin said, seeing the blood. "Are you all right? Don't move."
Mathew let out a breath and grimaced. "Help me to my feet," he said.
When Mathew got up, he pulled his shirt out of his breeches and gingerly lifted it, revealing a gash about six inches long just below his rib cage. Blood was seeping out of the wound. There was also a burning pain in his side.
"Oh, for the love of God," Collin said. "Let's get you back to the inn. Can you walk?"
Mathew nodded and felt around the perimeter of the wound with his fingers. "I don't think it's too bad," he said with a small wince.
"Wasn't that Will?" Collin asked, looking back down the street.
"Mm-hmm," Mathew said, peering down at the gash in his side.
"What did you say to make him so mad? And who are these two?" Collin asked, indicating the prostrate forms of Bert and Jack.
"His business associates, I think."
A small groan escaped Jack and he began to move slightly. Collin promptly hit him behind the ear with the butt of his staff, knocking him unconscious again. He looked at him for a second, and turned back to Mathew.
"Business associates? I don't get it."
"After I missed you at the ship, I stopped at the Blue Goose to get something to eat. That's where I met Will. He was pretty well drunk and blabbed about a plan of theirs to steal a ship with these others here. He even asked me to join them—not as a full partner, mind you, just a minor one."
"Naturally," Collin said.
They left Jack and Bert behind and walked slowly down the street toward the in
n. Collin kept his arm around his friend's waist to support him. When Mathew finished relating the rest of his story, Collin shook his head.
"So all they wanted was your coin purse, Giles's ring, and some help stealing a ship. You have fascinating friends."
"I think Bert—that's the fat one you bashed on the head—said something like that earlier."
Mathew tried to grin, then grimaced at another pain. Collin frowned, but didn't say anything.
"How did you know I was here?" Mathew asked.
"I didn't," Collin replied, still watching him carefully. "I was on my way back from Erne's house—she lives on the next street. I saw you with those three. I told you, I didn't like Will's looks."
When they approached the door to the inn, Mathew pulled his cloak around him, to conceal the blood-soaked shirt. "Let me walk inside by myself," he said. "I want to get up to our room and clean this."
Reluctantly, Collin released his hold and let him painstakingly negotiate the steps. Two brass wall lamps hung on either side of the doorway. In the light they provided, he could see how pale Mathew's face was.
Father Thomas and Ceta Woodall were sitting in a booth in the corner of the common room, quietly talking, when Mathew walked in. It was obvious to Collin that Mathew was holding himself erect only with an effort. Akin, Daniel, and Lara were at another table, finishing their dinner.
"Well, the long lost soul finally returns," Daniel called out, seeing Mathew. "Where've you been all day, Mat?"
"Just walking around exploring the town," Mathew said casually, leaning against one of the large wooden columns near their table.
"You've certainly been gone long enough. Have you eaten yet?" Lara asked.
"Nope," Mathew replied. "I'm so hungry, I could eat my boot. I'll just go upstairs, wash and be right back down."
Lara cocked her head to the side and looked at Mathew more closely. Her brows came together.
"You go on with your dinners," Mathew added. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Across the room, Father Thomas noticed Mathew and paused in his conversation. He waved a greeting, as did Ceta. Mathew smiled and waved back, then headed for the stairs. Ceta started to resume her conversation, gently placing a hand on the priest's forearm, but she paused in mid-sentence when his expression changed. Suddenly, Father Thomas had become very interested in Mathew's progress. He slowly got to his feet, crossed the room in a few quick strides and started up the stairs. Ceta was right behind him. That was when Lara noticed drops of blood on the floor where Mathew had been standing. She excused herself, pushed her chair back and also headed for the stairs, leaving a confused Akin and Daniel sitting there. ____
"What's going on?" Daniel asked, looking over the top of his glasses.
Collin, who was standing by their table, leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Mat's hurt. He took a knife in the ribs. I don't think it's serious, but we need to go for a doctor right now."
"What? How?" Daniel said.
"He got into a fight with that fellow Will who works here and two of his friends. We need to go for the doctor."
"No," Akin said, getting up. "You bo.th stay here. I know the way—it won't take me long."
"I'm coming with you," Daniel said.
Akin looked at him for a second, nodded, then grabbed the cloak from the back of his chair and both of them hurried out the door.
When Collin got upstairs, he found his room was crowded. Mathew sat on the edge of the bed with his shirt off, presenting a slightly comical sight. He held a blanket up to his
chin while Ceta gently cleansed the wound with a towel. Lara dabbed his forehead with a cloth'. His friend's expression was a cross between annoyance and mortification. He also noticed that the water in the basin was red.
"I tell you I'm fine," Mathew said, trying to get up.
"Siward," Ceta said over her shoulder. "You stay right where you are, young man."
Siward? Collin thought.
Father Thomas reached forward and put a hand on Mathew's shoulder, restraining him. "She is right, my ... ah . . . Mathew," he said.
With a snort of irritation, Mathew sank back against the pillows. He exchanged glances with Collin, who turned his hands up and leaned back against the door frame, listening to the conversation.
"What happened to Will?" Father Thomas asked.
"I think Collin broke his arm," Mathew replied.
Ceta and Father Thomas turned to look at Collin, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows innocently. They frowned at each other and looked back at Mathew.
"And the other two?" Father Thomas asked.
"The fat one won't be hard to find," Collin answered. "Mat put a blade through his shoulder. The other one looks like a rat, and probably has a good-size headache right now."
"The first day in a new town, and you get into a fight," Lara said, shaking her head.
"Get into a fight?" Mathew sputtered.
"Well, what do you call it? You could have gotten yourself killed."
"But, I—"
"We will have to notify the sheriff of this," Father Thomas said. "Where can I find him, Ceta?"
Ceta? Well, things certainly seem to be moving quickly around here, Collin thought.
"I don't want you going outside," she said in a worried voice. "They could have more of their friends out there."
Father Thomas shook his head. "You needn't worry, I'll take Collin to protect me."
"I'm serious, Siward," she insisted. "This can wait until the morning when it's light."
"No, it can't," he said gently. "Particularly if their plan was to steal a ship and its cargo—not to mention attacking Mathew."
"But—"
"There are no buts," Father Thomas said firmly. "You know I'm right. Now, where can I find him?"
Ceta sniffed and stared at Father Thomas for a minute. "Fine, but I want you to promise to be careful—and no going out looking for them."
"You have my promise," Father Thomas reassured her. He turned to Collin and asked, "Would you go to my room and bring me my sword and cloak, please?"
Ceta opened her mouth to say something, but Father Thomas put two fingers on her lips before she could.
"You did say to be careful."
She pushed his hand away and narrowed her eyes in response, but grudgingly gave in and supplied him the directions to the sheriff's home. It was on the other side of Elberton. Collin was back a moment later with the priest's things. Father Thomas gave Ceta a quick smile and squeezed her hand before they left.
Just as the door was about to close, however, Collin stuck his head back in the room and said, "Don't worry. I'll take good care of him."
His reply was a particularly icy look from the innkeeper. He ducked his head back into his shoulders and withdrew hastily.
Mathew thought he heard Ceta mutter something under her breath about "men" as she returned her attention to him. Finally satisfied that the wound was properly cleansed, she asked Lara to go downstairs and bring back a white sheet to use for a bandage.
After she was gone, Ceta asked him a few more questions about what he did during the day and how he was feeling. Eventually the conversation got around to Father Thomas. How long had Mathew known him? Why was a handsome man like him not married before? And so on.
When Ceta Woodall asked her last question, Mathew realized with a small shock that he didn't know if priests ever got married. He supposed they did, but the topic had never come up before. He'd answered most of the questions as best he could, but was greatly relieved when Lara finally returned with the sheet.
Ceta competently cut it into a wide strip and wrapped it around his middle, at the same time instructing Lara, who was paying careful attention, how often it would need to be changed. Mathew got the feeling that everything Ceta Woodall did was competent. When she was through, she gave a satisfied nod and excused herself to go downstairs and check on his dinner, leaving Lara and Mathew alone in the room together.
"Does it hurt much?" Lara asked. She sat down on the bed by his side.
Mathew moved his torso a little from side to side. "No. It feels fine."
"Mathew, why didn't you tell us something was wrong when you came in?"
"I don't know. I guess I didn't want to worry anyone," he answered, not meeting her eyes.
He looked out the window for a long time, and Lara sat there, quietly watching him.
"That's not true," he eventually said. "I was embarrassed."
"Embarrassed? But why?"
"When Will's friend lunged at me, I saw it coming. I really did. There was no trouble parrying the blade aside. I could have killed him easily. He certainly wanted to kill me—but I hesitated. I just couldn't bring myself to do it."
Lara reached out and brushed the hair off his forehead.
"It wasn't the same as it was with Berke Ramsey. I was in a blind rage then—madder than I've ever been in my whole life, I think. I never believed I could hate anyone like that. I can't explain it, but it was like something inside me snapped when I saw what he did to my father. I wanted him dead—more than anything in the world."
The words just came pouring out of him, and he didn't know how to stop them.
Mathew turned to look at Lara, his expression serious. "I'm not sorry for what I did in Devondale, but I just couldn't make myself do it again. I don't know. Maybe it means I really am a coward."
If she lived to be a hundred, she would never understand men's egos. Her grandmother had told her several years ago that men were strange things—easily predictable, yet complex at the same time. She was seeing that for herself now.
"Oh, Mathew," she said softly.
"I didn't want to get you involved in any of this," he said.
"You are such a big idiot," she replied. "You didn't involve me in anything, I involved myself. So did the others. It was my choice. I couldn't let the constable just take you away."
The scent of Lara's soap suddenly became more noticeable in the confines of the room. And all at once he was acutely aware of the warm glow of candlelight on her hair and her proximity to him. They stared at each other, not speaking. Her eyes seemed unusually large. And then her lips were on his.
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 24