The Barbed Coil

by J. V. Jones

  The Dog Lord sucked on his aching teeth. Glancing around the old Dhoone chief’s chamber with its huge blue sandstone hearth, its comfortable animal hide rugs and wall coverings, and its smoky isinglass windows, he thought hard upon Sarga Veys’ words. They weren’t truthful, Vaylo was sure of that, yet there was truth in them.

  “I have plans of my own for Clan Blackhail and the rest,” he said. “And will move upon them in my own good time. I must secure the Dhoonehold first.”

  A quick smile flitted across Sarga Veys’ face. “But of course. My master places great store in your judgment.”

  Frowning, the Dog Lord crossed toward the door. He had the satisfaction of seeing Sarga Veys shrink away from him, but the pleasure was only fleeting. He really didn’t like the man at all. Veys was dangerous. He had a temper better suited to a man with the muscle to use it.

  “You’ll be on your way now,” Vaylo said, reaching for the door. “Be sure to tell your master that the message you came expressly not to deliver was heard well and good.”

  Sarga Veys inclined his head. As he did so, Vaylo realized that the skin on the man’s face wasn’t as smooth and hairless as he had first thought, just razored with an expert hand.

  “I shall tell my master you find the Dhooneseat to your liking,” Veys said. “And that you have . . . how should I put it? . . . longterm plans to take the Hailhold as well.”

  Vaylo Bludd came close to hitting Veys then. His face flushed and his fist curled and the bones in his jaw and neck cracked all at once. Smashing the heel of his hand down upon the door handle, he fractured the oak lintel beneath. “Leave!” he cried. "Take your sly half-truths and your mincing halfman ways and get your bony, well-shaved arse off my land.”

  Sarga Veys’ violet eyes darkened to the color of midnight. His face twisted and hardened.

  “You,” he said, his voice rising higher as he lost control of it, “should watch that dog-muzzle mouth of yours. You’re not talking to one of your animal-skinned clansmen now. I came here as a visitor and envoy, and at very least should receive due respect.” Stepping over the threshold into the corridor beyond, Sarga Veys turned and faced Vaylo Bludd one last time. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable on the Dhooneseat if I were you, Dog Lord. One day you just might turn around and find it gone.”

  With that Sarga Veys clutched at the sides of his robe, lifting the fabric clear of his ankles, and stalked away.

  The Dog Lord watched him go. After a length of time he let out a heavy breath and closed the door. The last thing to remember about devil’s helpers was that they were often more trouble than the devil himself.

  Crossing over to his dogs, Vaylo slapped his thigh. “What do you think, eh?” he murmured, bending down to rub throats and cuff ears. “What do you make of the half-man Sarga Veys?”

  The dogs yelped and growled, tussling for attention and nipping his fingers. Only the wolf dog stood his distance. Sitting close to the wall, its massive shoulders twitching in readiness, it watched the door with orange eyes.

  “You’re right, my beauty,” Vaylo said to it. “The Halfman has told me nothing I don’t already know: only fools and children never watch their backs.”

  “Granda! Granda!” Tiny feet pattered against stone and then the door burst open once more. “Granda!” Two small children appeared in the doorway, smiling, giggling and shrieking loudly.

  The Dog Lord thrust out his arms toward his grandchildren. “Come and give your old Granda a hug and help him with these uppity dogs.”

  The dogs managed something close to a collective groan as the two children raced across the room to Vaylo Bludd. The eldest child, a bright beauty with the dark skin and dark eyes of her mother, giggled madly as she hugged her grandfather with two arms and pestered the huge pony-sized dogs with her feet.

  The dogs knew better than to growl at Vaylo Bludd’s grandchildren, and allowed themselves to be vigorously petted, teased and called by ignoble names. The children called the wolf dog Fluff! And he answered to it! It was the funniest thing Vaylo Bludd had ever witnessed, and it never failed to make him laugh out loud. He loved only two things in life: his grandchildren and his dogs, and when he had both together in one room he was as content as a man could be. Within a month he would have all his grandchildren here, in the Dhoonehouse safe and sound, where he and and his dogs could watch over them.

  As he tousled the hair of the youngest grandchild, a fine black-haired boy who Vaylo secretly thought looked much like himself, Sarga Veys’ words preyed upon his mind. One day you just might turn around and find it gone.

  Vaylo glanced around the chief’s chamber, his eye picking out the details of defense: the glint of spiked gratings blocking the chimney flue, the iron clamps punched into the stonework around the windows, and the pullstone lying flat against the wall beside the door; all emblazoned with the Bloody Blue Thistle of Dhoone. Would his grandchildren be safe here? It was the finest roundhouse ever built, ten times more defendable than the Bluddhouse, yet it was the only thing the Dog Lord had ever taken without jaw. There was shame in that, and Vaylo knew it; the Stone Gods would rather a man win an oatfield with blood and fury, than take a continent with tricks and schemes.

  Seventeen teeth ached with a fierce splitting pain as for the first time in his life Vaylo Bludd found himself wondering if he had done the right thing.

  About the Author

  J. V. JONES is the bestselling author of The Book of Words trilogy and The Barbed Coil. Among other things, she has worked as a marketing director for a software company and as a barmaid in an English pub. She lives in southern California, where she indulges her interests of natural history, social history, and computer games.