Shadowspawn (Thieves' World Book 4)

by Andrew J Offutt

  “Her look to me like her were give milk,” Shink said, staring at Hanse with a hopeful expression and ready crossbow.

  “Shut up, Shink. We were take shomebody’s things we need not shay nashty to his woman. Here, Aksar, szhimwan.”

  Aksar put his crossbow into Quesh’s extended hand, swung down, and paced to the horses. The flowing of his watery green robe showed good boots of red leather. Clenching his hands uselessly, Hanse transferred his gaze from Shink to Quesh and took some of the meanness out of his eyes.

  “You can buy horses with that money, Quesh. Taking our horses is the same as killing us.”

  Quesh shook his head. “Twel needing horshe now” He pointed to a rangy dune not far east. “That zhluff were being very closhe. Very nice choom right pasht him. You walking there, reshting, comforting woman. Besht time for you were walking to treeline is after shundown. Closhest over there.” He pointed northeast. “We not were trying, uh desiring kill you twos — we were be leaving bray-horshe and pack.” Lifting his chin proudly he added, “Tejana never taking any shome-one’s shupplies!”

  Hanse bit off a sarcastic observation. He was surprised to hear Mignureal speak, in a perfectly natural voice.

  “I am called Mignureal, Quesh, and appreciate your courtesy. What is a choom?”

  He gave her a nice smile, then cocked his head, looking upward. “Uh — ”

  “Oashiz,” Twel said, from Inja’s saddle. “Dam’ good horshe!”

  “Right,” Quesh said, nodding. “Our choom being your Oashiz. We go shomeplace elshe; I promishe!”

  He turned away and strode to his horse. Gritting his teeth and hating his powerlessness, Hanse watched him bound into the saddle. Seeing him able to do that so effortlessly didn’t help the mental state of Shadowspawn.

  Shink let loose a string of soft syllables. Quesh shook his head.

  “Shink wanting shearch pack and woman. No. We were have enough! Treema shmile on you, travellers! Oh, here.” He slipped a copper circlet off the horn of his tall saddle and tossed it to Hanse. Hanse stood still, letting the thing drop at his feet. “Keeping that. You running onto other Tejana, szhow them it. They taking nothing from you!”

  “That’s your code, hm?”

  Quesh nodded. “Code. Aye. Shlamzhamalnipah!”

  At that noise, whether word or words Hanse had no idea, Quesh’s three companions wheeled their mounts — and Inja — and clapped heels to flanks. The horses bolted, Blackie hurrying after Inja on a lead-rein. Dust rolled back, and Hanse kept his mouth compressed. Quesh had remained, his cocked bow still levelled at Hanse, though rather more casually, now.

  “Mip,” he said, or something like, and his wiry grey horse began backing. Quesh smiled. “Good horshe!”

  “I hope this too is in your code, Tejana,” Hanse said: “Keep Shink with you or he’ll come back and kill us both.”

  “One Tejanit, two Tejana,” Quesh said, several yards farther away. “And Shink will not. Haiya!”

  His horse whirled and Hanse dropped into a squat while Quesh’s horse dug in its haunches to begin its gallop while Hanse straightened, knife already going back over his shoulder. His gaze was fastened on the Tejanit’s broad back. An easy throw, with extra force and a bit of loft to compensate for the man’s moving away from him —

  Slowly and reluctantly Hanse lowered his arm. He slipped the knife up into its sheath on his right arm.

  “If I put this in his back his horse will keep right on going, after the others. Then they’ll come back, and we’ll be dead. No. But we cannot let them get away with — uh!” Mignureal had just thrown herself against him. He was staggered, since he’d been staring after the galloping Quesh. She was quivering. So was Hanse, in anger. His arms went around her, but he kept staring past her.

  “Oh, Hanse!”

  “We’re all right,” he said quietly, “we’re all right. Just a minute, now, I’m watching. Um-hmm. They went straight toward that big, uh, lump, leftish, but he’s galloping straight north. I’d say they’re heading for their camp or whatever it is, and Quesh knows I’d be watching him, so — he’s thinking to lead me astray. He’ll turn their way, I think; left. I want to see him do it.”

  “Hanse,” she said, against his chest.

  He squeezed her. “A minute now, Mignue. Just let me watch…that…rotten…dogson…”

  “Hanse…”

  “Uh. Please, Mignue — I’ve got to run!”

  Abruptly he released her and did run, racing toward the mounded “sluff” Quesh had indicated. While Mignureal turned puzzled, to watch, looking lost, he ran as if a whole horde of demons was after him. And abruptly a flash of red streaked into her line of vision and remained in it, loping after Hanse. Tail high, Notable was following.

  “Hanse,” she murmured, and sniffed.

  The dune was close, she saw; in less than a minute Hanse was bounding up it, slipping, lurching, learning on the run to head up at an angle. Notable maintained his beeline and they reached the summit at the same time. Hanse halted there, to stare northward. Under other circumstances, she might have thought it comical or charming that Notable did the same, his tail straight up. The half minute that followed seemed fifty times that to Mignureal, feeling violated, bereft of silver and dignity and her man.

  Then she saw Hanse clap his hands as if in delight. Immediately he turned back toward her, and gestured for her to come.

  Oasis, she thought, and glanced around. There was only churned up sand, and the ass. She did pick up the copper bracelet Quesh had tossed to Hanse. A little bulky-heavy with forty or fifty silver coins secreted here and there among her clothes, she went to the onager. She picked up his lead-line.

  “Come on, Enas,” she said. “Let’s go get a nice drink of water and maybe even a little grass, hmm?”

  It was Enas’ day — or minute — to be amenable; he followed her willingly. Hanse, she saw, had turned away to look northwestward again. Sighing, plodding, wishing he had the decency to be with her, she seemed to spend a day or so just getting to the base of the dune, then struggling up toward him. Once atop the great mound of sand (over rock? She had no idea), however, she forgot everything except what she saw below: a regular grove of trees partly surrounding but mostly at the north end of a grassy plot. It looked almost starkly green against the sand all around it. It was even closer than the Tejanit had indicated! And amid the grass, in the approximate centre of the oval oasis — a veritable pool of water!

  Staring, Mignureal heard none of Hanse’s words, and forgot Enas. Fortunately her hand had gone loose on his lead, or she might have been dragged; the onager brayed happily and lurched down the slope toward the — the oashir, the choom.

  “ — so that I was exactly right,” Hanse was saying excitedly, having turned again to stare northwestward again. “They’ve all headed straight toward — Mignue?” He swung around. “Mignureal!”

  “Mraowr?”

  He sounds just like father, she thought, racing after the dumb donkey. Ten paces down the slope she had the white robe off and let it flutter away behind her. Then she started opening her vest. She fell, rolled, got up laughing, let go the vest. On the run she began unlacing the blouse of green and blue and yellow and brown paisley.

  Hanse cupped his hands to his mouth. “Sna-a-akes!” He yelled after her, thinking: lunatic!

  “Who cares? Let them look!” Mignureal said, giggling. Another blouse fluttered behind her.

  By the time Hanse reached the pool’s edge and bent that last time, he was carrying a great bundle consisting of every article of her clothing including singlet and shift and a sort of antibounce holster for her breasts. In violet. He had grown a bit fat between top of dune and the pool’s bank, having dropped each discarded, cloth-wrapped bundle of coins down into his tunic.

  And he saw only the back of Mignureal’s very wet head.

  “It’s that deep?”

  She turned to look at him, hair wet and dishevelled; she’d been washing it. She smiled and splashe
d water girlishly. “Oh Hanse it’s wonderful! Whoever would have thought a dinky little waterhole could be so wonderful! The emperor’s palace pool couldn’t be a bit better!”

  His glance told him that the pool was perhaps twenty feet across and perhaps thirty long. Maybe a little more. “Dinky, yes, but — damn it, Mignue, that’s dangerous! You’re in all the way to your chin.”

  “Oh. No, I’m squatting. I mean you’re right there, and…” She broke off. She stared at him. She swallowed. The movement of her nostrils showed him that she took a deep breath. She considered, she reflected, she decided. Slowly, gazing at him, she stood.

  The water was knee-deep. Hanse quit looking at her head.

  Swallowing hard, he dropped her clothing.

  “Oh, Mignue,” he said, and started dragging off his clothes.

  *

  “So that’s what it’s like! And it did hurt, but that was just for a little while! mmm!” She kissed his chest.

  “Not exactly what it’s like,” he said. “Pretending a pile of clothes is a bed isn’t exactly what I — ”

  “A pile of clothes with big hard lumps of silver coins in ‘em!” she said, and laughed, and kissed his shoulder. “Anyhow, I’m glad that’s done!”

  His voice was a yelp: “What?!”

  “Oh! I mean I’m glad that’s d — I mean, I’m glad we finally…uh, what I mean is now I don’t have to wonder and worry about it anymore, darling. And I love it! I love youuu,” she said, nuzzling.

  Hanse sighed and rubbed her back, which was nearly as wet as it had been. So was he, now. He kissed her thoroughly wet hair. “I love you, Mignue. And I think I get your meaning. I hope so. Anyhow, that still isn’t quite ‘what it’s like.’ Usually.” She came up onto an elbow again and looked down into his eyes. “Oh? Tell me.”

  “Well, usually it’s, uh, it lasts longer. See, I was just so excited that — ”

  “Really?” she interrupted delightedly, eyes dancing. “Longer?”

  “Uh-huh. Next time.”

  She kissed his nose and her eyes were still all shiny. “Now?”

  “Uhh…”

  *

  “Hanse — do I really look fat and pregnant in my clothes?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ohh…you could at least be gallant!”

  He chuckled. “What? Me? Shadowspawn?”

  She hit him. He seized her wrist and kissed her hand.

  “Hmp. We-ll…I — I guess I…I mean, it doesn’t seem right for me to put m-mourning clothes back on, now, does it — after, after…”

  “You could probably do without them.” He was already dressing. “We aren’t taking their advice. We napped, you know. We won’t stay here tonight — we’re going on over to those trees. I’ll say this, though. If you’d looked anywhere near the way you look right now, those dogsons would’ve taken more than silver and horses! They’d have taken something a lot more valuable.”

  “Oh darling,” she said, knowing what he meant and feeling just as loving and sentimental as he; surely more, since she was a woman. Since he was pulling on his tights, her impetuous kiss nearly knocked him down.

  “All right then,” she said, after a few moments of consideration. “I won’t wear the reds.”

  “But everything else,” he said. Suddenly he chuckled. “Including the money!”

  They were both dressed when she realized: “We’ll have to walk.” It was a statement; he heard no sound of complaint in her voice, and he loved her.

  “Right. One on each side of Enas, all right?”

  “All — all right. You’re sure you wouldn’t really rather stay here tonight and walk over there tomorrow?”

  “It’s really what we need to do, Mignue.”

  “Well, if you say — need? Why do we need to?”

  “Let’s get movin’, darling. I’ll tell you as we walk.”

  “That’s the first time you called me that!” And, since he was leaning out to grasp the halter of the grazing Enas, her impetuous embrace nearly knocked him down. Again.

  *

  A half hour or so later, as they paced with the onager toward the line of trees that were starting to look as if they might be green, Hanse told her what he was going to do. He did not put it that way; he called it what he had to do.

  She pleaded and reasoned, wept and pleaded, railed at him and wept, pleaded some more. Then she went silent and sullen, un-understanding and unable to understand. Until she thought of a new tack and tried reasoning again. Nothing worked, and she was frightened. She could not understand. Hanse was a man, and his manhood was in question. Not to her, no. That was not the point. The point was more important than that: his still developing manhood was compromised in his own mind.

  He had dared, and exerted, and narrowly missed death for that money. He had even been tortured. And he had waited for years to fetch it up out of the well. Now those dogsons who couldn’t even speak straight sentences or properly pronounce s’ had it, simply because they had crossbows.

  Worse, they had taken horses from people on the desert. Shadowspawn was a thief, with professional pride. No decent thief would do such a thing; no professional.

  “But we still have over half of it, Hanse! It’s still more wealth than either of us has ever had!”

  “That’s not the point. They stole horses. I’ve got to try.”

  “Hanse, they may killll you!” she wailed, and went off into sobbing again.

  They paced on, one on either side of Enas, talking over him. They walked not toward the area indicated by Quesh or, in the direction he had ridden. No. They were headed in the direction Hanse was sure all four Tejana had ultimately taken. Toward the treeline, toward what he was sure had to be their nice comfortable encampment among the trees.

  “No, they won’t. They won’t kill me, Mignue, and none of them will need to die, either. I’ll wait until dark. And past dark, Mignue. They’ll never see me or hear me — until I’m ready.”

  “Then they’ll killll you!”

  “Would you stop saying that? Besides, Notable will go with me. Notable, you going with me?”

  Notable was snoozing atop the onager’s pack. Notable’s tail twitched and one eye almost moved.

  “See? See? Even that cat knows you’re crazy, Hanse! Don’t Do It!”

  “Don’t…call…me…crazy, wo-mannn.”

  “I didn’t mean it. This is a crazy thing to do-o!” And she was sobbing again, or still.

  “Oh Mignue, Mignue — please stop. I have to. You have to let a man do what he has to do, and I have to do this.”

  Her voice came back as a declamation, with heat: “S’danzo women don’t let their men go and get killed for no good reason!”

  “Whoa!” Hanse told the onager, twitching its halter.

  Enas was happy to stop. He glanced back, as if wishing he had taken just another bite or two of that nice grass back in the oasis. Hanse stepped in front of him, his hands on the animal’s head and halter, so that he could face Mignureal.

  “Listen,” he said in a quiet voice that made her listen, and from a face set so that she was reminded why so many feared him: Shadowspawn. “Listen. I am sorry that I have to say this now, of all times, after…”

  He stopped and took breath for a new start. “First, my chosen S’danzo woman, I am no S’danzo man. I am of the Ilsigi, the people of Ils of the Thousand Eyes. I do what I do — what I must do. No one else can decide for Hanse what Hanse must do. When I decide, Mignureal, don’t tell me it’s for no good reason. It’s good reason to me, and that’s enough. I love you, and I want you with me. You just have to stop making fun of me and my gods.”

  Her eyes, the colour of mahogany, were huge and piteous, and the dark that rimmed them now was not all from kohl. “Hanse — oh Hanse, I’m not making fun of you. I would never make fun of you. I love you.”

  His eyes and his face changed until he looked as much in pain as she. “I don’t intend to ‘go and get killed,’ as you said. I intend to go and get
back my money and my horses and my self-respect. If none of that is good reason to you, I’m really sorry. I’m really sorry, and O gods of my fathers this is the wrong time, but — but you made a mistake in coming with me and I apologize for pulling you along.”

  She looked down for a long minute. When she met his eyes again, hers were clear. She spoke very clearly and slowly, in a language he could not understand. The tone of it, the cadence made him think that it was not only in the words of her people, but that what she was saying was some ritual that came from their long history. Others had spoken these words, he felt. Declaimed these words, perhaps.

  He waited, gazing at her. As he had expected, she spoke now in his tongue, that which her parents had made hers. He was sure she was repeating what she had just said in that other language, the tongue none knew save the S’danzo.

  “I am S’danzo. Thou art my man. I am thy woman. A woman must do what a woman does. A — a man m-must do what a-a man must do.”

  Hanse nodded, and swallowed. “That’s what you just said, in the language of your fathers?”

  She nodded. “And mothers,” she added.

  He reached out to squeeze her hand. “I hear you. I love you, woman.”

  He held her hand tightly, to prevent her moving forward, to him. She understood. They looked long at each other, and then he let go her hand and moved around to make a clucking noise to the onager.

  THE FOREST

  Gradually the desert was supplanted by ground less and less sandy, and then with scrubby junkgrass that was not too slow about becoming the real thing. Farther in, northward, they could see bushes with an occasional tree. Beyond that a forest rose, visible even in brightly moonlit darkness. They had no idea of its depth, but had already seen that it ran long, forming a northern border for the desert. Enas became a little difficult and needed a sterner hand on the halter: he wanted to taste some of this nice grass.

  “Soon, Enas, damn it,” Hanse said. “Now stop trying to jerk your head away or we’ll put Notable in charge of guiding you.”