Giant Thief

by David Tallerman

  It seemed we must have walked across half the valley by lunchtime, and I groaned when Mounteban called a halt to tell us, "We're a third of the way to the river."

  My calves were aching fiercely by then, and the pain was beginning to creep up through my thighs and into my spine. I was pleased when he added, "Does anyone need to stop?"

  Just as I was about to answer, Estrada said, "We're fine, Castilio."

  I glared at her.

  "Good. If we can keep this pace up into the night, we should have time to camp for a few hours. They'll have discovered the cart and horses by now. Even if they find our trail, though, they don't know the valley like I do."

  I'd forgotten our abandoned cart. In fact, the whole notion of pursuit had receded to a vague wariness in the back of my mind, a sense that roads and inhabited areas were things best avoided. I suddenly felt less inclined to rest, for all my aches and pains.

  As the sun rolled past the meridian and the afternoon wore on, there came other, more sinister reminders of Moaradrid's presence. First was a column of coal-black smoke rising up to our left, a few miles distant, though close enough that I could smell the pungency of burnt wood mixed with other less obvious odours. It might have been perfectly innocent. Certainly, Mounteban paid it little attention, except perhaps to hurry our pace a little. Yet I couldn't help thinking of the destruction of Reb Panza. Our pursuers wouldn't hesitate to burn a few villagers out of their homes if they imagined one of them might know where we were. Whatever the truth, the sight made me shiver.

  If the second incident a couple of hours later was almost as ambiguous, it at least succeeded in getting Mounteban's attention. We were following a trail along the ridge of a hill, with a dense line of pines upon the crest and stunted aspens piercing the shale of the bank descending on our right, when a noise froze us all in place: the harsh staccato of dogs barking.

  Mounteban took one brief glance over his shoulder, as though expecting to see hounds barrelling towards us. Then he cried, "Run!"

  He was the first to take his own advice. The rest of us followed close behind. There was something insistent in the noise, as though the beasts were actually trying to draw our attention. I was surprised by how easily running came to my racked muscles – a minute before the idea would have seemed preposterous. Every bark seemed to quicken my feet a little more.

  A minute later, and my panic was starting to subside. My sprint had turned into a clumsy stagger. Pain had returned with excruciating force, and every lungful of air seemed to have been drawn over hot coals. It was hopeless trying to work out whether the dogs were getting nearer. Though their frantic barking hadn't paused, it was the only sign of them we'd had.

  I'd thought we were fleeing aimlessly, but I realised Mounteban had had an object in mind after all. A rocky indent split the bank, close ahead between the trees. When I reached the edge, I saw a wide stream gurgling through the gap, and meandering on down the hillside. Mounteban and his men were already wading, the clear water lapping as high as their knees. I plunged in, biting off a yelp at the cold.

  Five minutes later, Mounteban signalled us to stop. He led us within the shade of a weeping willow, hanging dense enough to form a pavilion half way across the gully. It was cramped with us all in there, especially given Saltlick's considerable presence, but I was so glad to have stopped that I hardly cared.

  Mounteban took a moment to recover his breath, and said, "I think we're safe."

  "Are they after us?"

  He shook his head. It wasn't clear whether he meant they weren't or that he didn't know. "We'll keep to the stream for a while, just in case. It would take a good tracker to stay on us."

  Whatever the truth, we never saw any sign of the dogs, though we could hear them for an hour afterwards, their clamour growing fainter until it sounded like the stir of distant thunder. No one suggested going back for our two packhorses, abandoned on the brow of the hill with two thirds of our supplies. We went more furtively after that, as though we all suspected deep down that we'd been saved by luck more than judgement.

  That caution probably saved our lives when we had our first real run-in with Moaradrid's patrols. It was just after dusk, and we were pursuing a narrow trail through dense forest when Mounteban threw a hand up, our prearranged signal. We all ducked into the brush. Fortunately, the rhododendrons rising to either side were bulky and overgrown enough to hide even Saltlick. The briefest inspection would have identified bare toes amongst the roots, and the tip of a giant elbow jutting out. Moaradrid's men didn't make one; nor did they try to disguise their own presence. They talked in low mutters, and their chainmail jangled dully with each step. I counted six pairs of feet go past.

  We waited until the evening air was absolutely still again before daring to crawl out. I actually felt relieved to have encountered the enemy, especially after the scare with the hounds. It had been all too easy to imagine Moaradrid's army as some implacable entity contracting around us like a fist. To know they were human, and fallible, was oddly reassuring.

  Still, we knew now without doubt that they were hunting us, and that they were close. We travelled in absolute silence after that, taking only the narrowest, most obscure pathways or scrambling through the brush. Our already sluggish progress slowed to a crawl. The night wore on, an endless progression of damp foliage, lashing thorns, and unexpected pitfalls. I didn't dare pause for fear of being left behind. I didn't dare eat, lest even that small sound should bring Moaradrid's hordes down on us.

  When Mounteban called a halt at last, it was in a deep recess between two hills, with tangles of bramble and whitethorn closing every direction to all but the most intrepid explorer. We'd spent a miserable ten minutes crawling through the perimeter, and I'd assumed he'd picked the route through stupidity or sadism. Once inside, I realised how well the place was sheltered, from both observers and the elements. It was as safe and comfortable a spot as we could have hoped to find.

  Mounteban insisted on posting a watch, however, and declared that he'd take first shift. "Will you join me?" he asked Estrada. "We should discuss our plans for tomorrow."

  "Of course," she murmured, and trudged after him into the shadows.

  I was glad to see them go. I couldn't have cared less about the tomorrow. I flung myself to the ground, pausing just long enough to drag my cloak around me before my eyes slammed shut. I could hear the others following my example to either side. Saltlick struck the ground like a felled oak. A minute later and their snores were drowning out the faint background hiss of wind through leaves. I lay listening, filled with the strange sensation that my body was still moving even as I lay on the ground.

  I began to realise, to my horror, that I wasn't falling asleep. I was beyond exhaustion, yet the dim flicker of my consciousness was refusing to go out. The more I thought about it, the worse it grew. I became suddenly aware of the chill, of the moonlight pressing against my eyelids, of a dozen tiny irritations prodding me towards wakefulness.

  I opened my eyes and sat up. I remembered that Mounteban and Estrada were still awake too, talking somewhere off in the blackness. Five minutes of their company would surely lull me to sleep. They might not appreciate my intruding, but tact was the farthest thing from my mind.

  There remained the difficulty of finding them. It was impossible to see anything in the shade of the hollow beyond the prone outlines around me and a vague suggestion of deeper dark that must have been bushes. The last thing I wanted was to trip over one of Mounteban's crew and have my sleeplessness cured by a knife in the belly. I settled for crawling forward on hands and knees, using the line of the foliage as a guide. It was a lot of trouble to go to for a little tedious company, but I was so wide awake by then that rest seemed a hopeless impossibility. If conversation stood a chance of curing my insomnia then it was worth damp knees.

  I thought after a minute that I could make out hushed voices somewhere nearby. I crept forward and recognised Mounteban's gruff tone, too quiet for me to separate words. I tr
ied to orientate myself by it, and kept moving. There followed a period of quiet. It went on for so long that I began to worry I'd passed them altogether.

  Then close by, Estrada spoke. "I never meant that."

  "Oh?"

  "I didn't. I did what was needed."

  "What was needed?"

  There was an edge to both their voices. I decided against announcing my presence. I kept still and concentrated on listening instead.

  "Castilio, I truly never meant to mislead you."

  "All those visits… did everyone in Muena Palaiya receive so much attention? I couldn't understand, at first. Why a woman like you would spend so much time trying to recruit a scoundrel like me."

  "We needed your help." Estrada sounded almost tearful. "There's no point discussing this any further. I'm going to sleep. I hope you'll put it out of your mind."

  I heard the rustle of her cloak as she stood. Then came another sound, of sudden movement, and she cried out. Her voice was abruptly stifled. There was a loud thump, a body or bodies falling upon the turf, and a series of stifled impacts, with the constant background of Estrada's muted cries.

  Mounteban grunted in pain, and she sobbed, "Stop!"

  I was on my feet before I knew what I was doing.

  "Get off her!"

  Silence descended. I realised I had no idea where I was in relation to them. Moments slid by. The dark clotted, the stillness thickened around me.

  "Or what?"

  I turned to where I thought Mounteban's voice had come from.

  "What will you do, you little piss-ant pickpocket?"

  A good question. The obvious answer was that I'd briefly divert him with the chore of beating my head into a mush before I let him get back to his business. Why hadn't I kept my nose out? I didn't stand a chance alone against Mounteban.

  Except that I wasn't alone.

  "What will I do?" I said, with more courage than I felt. "Well, I'll call Saltlick. And I'll tell him what you had planned for his friend. How about that, Mounteban? I doubt he'll take it too well."

  "He wouldn't hear you."

  "Perhaps you're right. Shall we try?"

  I heard the tiniest splash as Mounteban spat into the short grass. "The three of you deserve each other." A moment later, his footsteps were receding into the darkness.

  When I was certain he'd left, I said quietly, "Are you all right?"

  "No Easie, I'm not all right."

  "It's a good job I arrived when I did."

  "He wouldn't have done anything." Estrada actually sounded angry with me. Then her voice broke, and she began to cry softly.

  I vaguely wanted to say something sensitive, or something that would at least quieten her, but I'd exhausted my supply of sensitivity. Instead, I sat down. With my head that much nearer to the ground, I realised the shock of almost being pummelled had extinguished whatever faint spark had been keeping me conscious. I barely had time to tumble backwards and haul my cloak up over me.

  All I could hear as sleep wrapped around me was the lullaby of Estrada's gentle sobbing.

  • • • •

  I woke to pale sunlight and Estrada furiously shaking my shoulders. I blinked at her, grunted something that was meant to be, "Leave me alone you insane woman," and rolled away.

  Then I realised what had been strange about the scene. The sun had been far too high and bright for dawn. I opened my eyes again, reluctantly, to find myself gazing once more into Estrada's panicked face.

  "What's going on?"

  "They're gone."

  "What? Who's gone?"

  "Mounteban. His men. They've left us. They're all gone, Damasco."

  CHAPTER 12

  "This is all your fault."

  I couldn't tell whether Estrada looked more hurt or angry.

  "I don't mean because of last night," I added hastily. "I'm talking about… well, the whole thing. What were you thinking, asking for help from one of the five most notorious criminals in Muena Palaiya?"

  "The other four wouldn't even let me through the door."

  That brought me up short.

  "Look," she said, "not that I have to explain myself to you, but Castilio has been one of the bravest and most steadfast defenders of the Castoval. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him, and neither would you."

  "And now we know why."

  "Is that how you see it, Damasco? Every good thing the man has done was just a ruse? It couldn't possibly be that what happened last night was the anomaly."

  I sat down in the grass, feeling more irritable than I could entirely justify. "How about abandoning us into the hands of our enemies? Is that another 'anomaly'? Because from what I've seen of Mounteban over the years, this is exactly in character."

  "'Once a thief, always a thief'… people don't change in your world, do they, Damasco?"

  The fact that Mounteban had related our conversation on the mountainside to Estrada only fanned my anger. All the frustration and pain of the last few days was boiling up inside me. I didn't seem able to control it, or particularly want to for that matter. The two of them had dragged me into this mess. Now Mounteban had disappeared in our most desperate hour and Estrada was behaving as though I was the one in the wrong.

  I sprang back to my feet. "No, in my world people do what they have to do to survive and they keep doing it for as long as they can get away with it. But at least they don't plot and scheme about it, they don't manipulate people into risking their lives and they don't pretend to value anyone they truthfully couldn't care less for."

  I could tell I'd struck a nerve. Once again, I'd forgotten that until recently Estrada had been nothing more than a provincial mayor. Her responsibilities hadn't included matters of life and death, or anything more serious than presiding over the yearly parade. With that in mind, it was impossible to miss the shadows behind her eyes, grim remnants of decisions she'd made over the last few days.

  It was too good a weakness not to exploit.

  "How many men have to die before you admit you don't know what you're doing? What about me? Or Saltlick, is he next? You've drawn us deeper and deeper into this mess, without a word of explanation. Now that it's just the three of us, maybe it's time you tried a little honesty. What exactly are we doing here, Estrada?"

  If I'd hoped for a dramatic reaction, I was disappointed. Her face was inscrutable. Seconds passed. Finally, she said, very softly, "You're bait."

  "What?" I couldn't believe I'd heard her right.

  This time she shouted it: "You're bait!"

  Then, to my astonishment, Estrada burst into tears. I couldn't look at her. I swung away and stormed towards the other end of the clearing, appalled by the use of such an unfair strategy. I sat down again, with my back to her and my face to a line of whitethorn bushes. My anger had frozen into a cold, hard knot in my stomach. Bait? I was nothing more to Estrada than a worm wriggling on a hook.

  It made sense, of course. What better way to lure Moaradrid than with his insane obsession for capturing Saltlick and me? Rationalising it didn't make me feel any better. A fragment of calm amidst the fury noted how absurd it was that I should feel betrayed when Estrada had never made any pretence of not using me. I ignored it. The fact was, promises… well, not promises, but assurances had been… perhaps not made, but implied, definitely implied.

  Something heavy tapped my shoulder, so unexpectedly that I almost tumbled into the grass.

  "Saltlick?"

  The giant hovered over me like some bizarre monolith ejected by the earth.

  "What do you want? Can't you see I'm…" I let the sentence trail off, not wanting to say "sulking", and went back to staring at the bushes.

  Another tap, this one insistent enough that I felt it in the depths of my collarbone.

  "Sorry."

  "You want to apologise? Saltlick, for once this is hardly your fault."

  He pointed. I followed his outstretched arm. There was Estrada pacing at the far end of the glade. I couldn't tell if she was still cryin
g.

  "Sorry."

  "You want me to apologise? Not a chance. Didn't you hear? All she wants us for is to lure Moaradrid into some trap."

  Saltlick sighed violently, and his features contorted with frustration. The hand that had been pointing darted like some fleshy bird of prey and grasped a hold of my cloak. An instant later, I was dangling in the air, a good two paces from the ground.

  "What are you doing? Put me down!"