For a time they saw no sign of human life. Then they came upon the road Hanse had been sure was there.
“Now that we’re sure where it is, let’s move away from the road. We’d be better off over nearer the trees.” He continued the sentence mentally: Just in case.
She regarded the dark forest with apprehension. “Think there may be animals in there — wild animals, I mean?”
“I doubt it. I’m thinking about people on the road, not animals in the woods. This is the very edge of the forest. Meat-eaters follow grazing animals, and this thin strip of grass isn’t exactly a savannah to attract them! Notice that Enas isn’t the least bit nervous. Doesn’t seem to smell a thing he doesn’t like, either.”
“That sounds good,” Mignureal said doubtfully. “Uh…aren’t elephants grass-eaters?”
Hanse snorted. “Aye. But we won’t find any of those here! They need a lot more grazing space than there is at the very edge of a desert. We could boost you up into a tree, if that would make you feel better.”
“I’m nervous about Enas, Hanse, not me! If something got him, we’d be without animals, and we can’t carry all he’s carrying. Not and make any sort of time, anyhow.”
“We’ll have animals,” Hanse said darkly.
Resigned to his intended excursion, she said nothing. “Here look, Mignue — these bushes shield the forest from the road. Why not stay right here, and not go into the woods. It is mighty dark in there, isn’t it.”
They stopped, attached a long line to one of Enas’ hind ankles, and let him start cropping his sweetgrass dinner while they unburdened him. Hanse began opening one of the packs while Mignureal moved among the bushes, into an open area not quite surrounded by them.
“Hanse! Berries! Real berries! Oh Hanse — real berries! We really are out of the desert!”
Still stuck in the father role that was totally unfamiliar and ill-suited him besides, he warned her about eating strange berries. At about the same time she said “Ow!” and Hanse felt that sudden emptiness of stomach that heralded what he called concern and some called fear.
She put it to rest: “It’s all right — they’re blackberries! I’ve never seen them except in baskets in the marketplace — I never knew blackberry bushes had thorns.”
“Thorns,” he said, occupied with what he was doing. “Well…stickers. Ow! Oh it doesn’t matter — they’re so good!” Her voice came closer. “Here, Hanse, have some b — oh!”
She had not known he was stripping and re-dressing. The thief called Shadowspawn had donned his working clothes.
A rangy-lean, youthful man of average height, he seemed taller in his working blacks. Tunic and leggings of unrelieved black joined his dark complexion in abetting his speed and skill at melting into shadows and seeming to vanish. Some naturally thought sorcery might well be involved. Shadowspawn knew better; he was that good. He had not given himself that sobriquet. Someone years back had mentioned that he disappeared as easily into the shadows and emerged as if they had spawned him, and a companion sneer-snarled “Shadow-spawn!” and the name was born.
“Thanks, Mignue. Umm. Good!”
She sighed, chewed her lip, and re-accepted what he had convinced her was the inevitable. “Will you want some of my kohl, maybe, to darken your face?”
“I was born dark. No one sees me in the dark unless I smile. I won’t be smiling.”
She nodded, looking at him in not quite but nearly total darkness, with the moon back over there somewhere above the forest. He was dark-skinned, and the desert had darkened his face and hands still more. His mop of hair was blacker than black itself. Tending to an indecisive curl, it covered his ears without being so long as to touch his shoulders. Deep-set eyes like black onyxes were ambushed under glossy black brows, which just missed meeting above the strong thrust of a nose that was almost but not quite falcate.
Mignureal could see four knives and knew he wore more. Curved dagger on left hip and the long Ilbarsi sheer on his right; the slim flat throwing knives sheathed on his right upper arm and wrist. She knew she had another in a sheath built into one of his buskins, its non-business end imitating a decoration. He carried a few of those nasty six-pointed stars, too, for throwing.
“Am I going with you or do I have to follow?”
“Mignue — damn it, stay here! I’m at home in the dark, you know that. I also know how to be silent, and these boots are made for that. Look at you, in all those skirts! What kind of real running can you do — or sneaking?”
Without comment Mignureal began peeling skirts.
Hanse took a step and took both her shoulders in his hands. “Mignue: think, will you. I will be much safer without you.” She looked stricken, but not at any supposed insult; like it or not, she had just heard undeniable truth and knew it.
“It — it’s just that I’ll be so worried, darling; so scared for you!”
“Can’t think of anything to suggest I take along, hmmm?” She shook her head. “No, I…oh, you’re thinking about the Sight, aren’t you; about my Seeing for you. No, nothing. Maybe that meant there’s no danger aft — Hanse: ride Enas and follow Notable. You will need Enas, Hanse.”
He peered at her in the dimness that was almost total darkness here at the edge of the trees.
“What? Follow Notable? What makes you think Notable — Mignue?”
“Hmmm?”
“What makes you think Notable knows where to go?” She put her head on one side. “What makes me think Notable knows — what? What are you talking about?”
“Mignue, stop! You just said — oh. It’s Happened.”
An all too familiar chill flowed up Hanse’s back and he felt the movement of the hairs on his arms. Yet this time he welcomed the feeling, as he welcomed her words. It had just happened again. Had he been able to see her eyes, he’d have known at once. He had witnessed that eerie unfocused blankness suddenly enter them before, for she had just Seen for him. He told her, and of course Mignureal was surprised.
Both of them supposed that a watch-cat might possess more than one doggish trait, and could possibly be a tracker as well. Any cat of any size was born to track and pull down prey, of course; they all had the muscle, the agility, the claws and teeth for it. Too, Notable showed an odd affinity for the bigger animals. On the other hand, neither Mignureal nor her man could imagine how the onager could be of value, other than getting Hanse there faster and without effort. Wherever “there” was. It wasn’t as if Enas was about to play war-horse and charge and trample! — or back up to a Tejanit or two and deliver one of those prodigious kicks for which onagers were justifiably infamous.
While they discussed it they were turning Enas’ lead-line into a rein. They added a blanket and the padding that had been under the packs, which smelled foul. Shadowspawn wanted both on anyhow, blanket on top. He set a foot against the onager’s side while he tightened the strap.
Enas was not happy about being bestridden. He even had a try at bucking, briefly, but responded to Hanse’s firm hand and little tug on the rein. Hanse looked at Notable. Notable sat watching Hanse. Notable yawned. With an exasperated frown, Hanse glanced at Mignureal. She shrugged. She had no knowledge of having said a thing about the cat, much less an explanation for her words.
“So much for a tracking cat,” he said. Then he added, “Later.” They had said more than enough already about his mission — too much.
He made a clicking sound in his mouth while moving his heels against the animal’s sides. Enas set off, west along the edge of the trees. Hanse was careful not to look back. He could feel Mignureal’s gaze on his back.
A few minutes later he glanced down to see the big red cat pacing along beside the ass.
“Notable? You want to ride?’ Hanse patted his black-clad thigh.
A moment later he set his teeth against an outcry while he groaned; yes, Notable wanted to ride, but nearly missed his mark on the moving onager and had to put his claws into Hanse’s leg when he landed there. It was all Hanse could do not to hit him.
“Ow. Damn! Those scratches will be itching for hours! Here — wouldn’t you rather ride behind me?”
No; Notable got himself situated there in front of him and snuggled up to the warmth of Hanse’s loins for a snooze.
“Dam’ cat. Remember how we took an instant dislike to each other, back in the keg-room of Sly’s Place?”
Notable’s tail twitched in acknowledgment. His eyes remained closed. Shadowspawn sighed, and tried urging the onager to a slightly more speedy pace. And scratched at his thigh.
*
A little over an hour later, a very dull hour later, Notable aroused. Rising to balance precariously while he arched his back high, he looked around. Hanse gave him a caressive pat; the cat arched to his hand. Then he pounced to the ground. Hanse reined in, watching Notable keep his tail busy while he looked this way and that. He looked up, made one of his un-meow sounds, and paced into the trees.
“Big help,” Hanse muttered. “All he can think about is having a stretch and taking a leak in the woods.”
He was about to move on when Notable reappeared to stare at him. Blinking, Hanse stared back. He watched the cat’s tail shoot straight up behind him, watched Notable turn, glance back, and re-enter the woods.
“I feel like a real dumb-ass, Enas, but — let’s follow him.”
Branches took their toll on the man whose mount hadn’t enough sense not to pass under low ones — or was malicious enough to do so purposefully — and soon Shadowspawn dismounted. Both he and Enas were inexpressibly happier for that. Now Hanse had to deal only with bushes and those trees against which Enas seemed bent on nudging him. They followed Notable.
Hanse heard voices and then the whicker of a horse well before they were there: Notable had led him unerringly to the Tejana encampment.
*
The only sounds in the woods were those of insects and the occasional faint rustle of a serpent on the hunt. Now and then the insects of a particular area stilled their noise while a silent shadow passed, and soon resumed their discussions of territory and sexuality. The silently prowling shadow in the dark of the woods paused to squat and peer again into the Tejana camp, which was nicely lit by their cookfire. Since the last time the silent shadow had looked from among the trees, Ttoel had gone limp. He still sat-lay there near the fire where he had been, but now his chin was on his chest. He was no longer interested in his cup.
Good, the shadow and spawn of the shadows thought. Drank himself to sleep. And from the way he was slurring before, he won’t wake before dawn. Lucky Twel — and lucky me! Too bad the other three aren’t also complaining of headaches and drinkin9 themselves into sleep!
He heard the faintest sound and froze, fist tight around the dagger hilt, until he felt the barely perceptible bump and knew it was Notable. Another shadow, silently moving in the forest. He wasn’t at all red in the dark.
After tethering Enas loosely to the sapling so the dumb donkey would believe himself unable to go anywhere, man and cat had crept almost halfway around the clearing that was the Tejana camp. A single one of those quiet huh-huh-huh sounds called whickers had told him where the horses were, and he knew he was close, now. These wife-deserting, nomadic thieves had the silver with them, naturally. He had heard it clink, heard them talk and laugh about it — and him, while he seethed, listening. He’d seen its flash, too, while Shink gloatingly told off coins, practically drooling. The saddlebag was nowhere visible. Perhaps they had discarded it; it was sadly cracked from years in the well followed by the thorough dryness of the desert.
He had had time to think and think sensibly while he spent many minutes ghosting through the forest. His experience at fighting alone against four men simultaneously was inexistent. His confidence in the outcome of such an encounter was far from high. Accordingly he had made a major decision: barring an unforeseen fabulous opportunity, he would hit the horses and let these swine keep the money. As Mignue had said, he and she still had plenty. And horses were money, too, anywhere.
He wanted the horses. He wanted saddled horses. As for the others, he wanted them running. Let the Tejana walk. At least they weren’t stuck out on the sun-roasted sand!
Eyes narrowed, the noiseless shadow remained absolutely still while his night-black eyes searched the camp for the others. Ah — yes, Twel must be asleep, all right: there were Aksar and Quesh, over there in the shadows well away from the fire, very close together indeed. And murmuring.
So that’s the way of it, he thought, but stopped even the impulse to give his head a shake.
When he was on the hunt, on the steal, Shadowspawn had learned to turn impulses into something else. He controlled them, rather than the normal reverse. Cudget had taught him that, calling them out-pulses. It had cost his student plenty of bruises — even after the student was better at it than the master.
So that’s the way of it! That’s why Tejana can remain away from their women so long and seem to love it — ‘they do. They love each other.
Well, that should keep those two busy for a while, too. Good!
The trouble was that he no longer saw Shink. He had heard Quesh bid Shink go and check the horses after the little sound one of them made; heard Shink’s objection and the subsequent argument. One of the horses probably got a whiff of Enas, Shadowspawn had thought, moving a little more swiftly around the camp’s perimeter while they noisily argued.
So was Shink with the horses now?
Quesh and Aksar have their substitute in each other and Twel in his cups. Shink? — maybe Shink’s substitute is the horses!
He repressed the impulse to smile at the thought: Poor horses!
Silent, a moving shadow among darkness and shadows, Shadowspawn moved to the horses.
When he came to the trimmed sapling that formed a horizontal pole well above the ground, he realized that this was a camp the Tejana used often; consistently, if not constantly. They had troubled to construct a nice enclosure for their mounts. He heard one move then, and saw the equine bulk a few feet away, on the other side of the pole. Shadowspawn moved along the pole to the upright he knew would be there. He nodded and moved on along, hopes high.
That thought was rewarded: he found the saddles and reins. With a tight smile, he went under the pole into the enclosure. Straightening, he took down a rein and made a quiet chk-chk noise in his cheek.
It was a good thought and brazen, and yet he was amazed when a horse ambled over.
Hanse rubbed him, received his nuzzling, and petted him. The horse wore a halter. Soon he also wore a rein, and then a saddle. Smiling, the moving shadow bridled and saddled another. And a third. The horses moved about, not at all alarmed. Notable had not entered the enclosure, bless him. Yet surely these animals would not be afraid of a mere cat, anyhow, despite his unusual size.
Let’s just keep this nice and quiet, Hanse thought. I have no proof that ten or twenty more Tejana aren’t camped a mile away or on their way here to join these swine!
Hanse bridled a fourth horse, recognized Blackie by his blaze, and murmured sweet nothings in a big hairy ear. Blackie seemed just delighted to be led over to the saddles; why should Hanse carry them to their destinations when the animals were so amenable? This was proving as easy as picking blackberries. And without the stickers, too! He reached for another heavy cradle of leather over wood.
The down-rushing sword missed his fingers by an inch. With a noise several times too loud in silent darkness, the blade chopped two-thirds of the way through the saddle. Teeth flashed behind the chop, in the mouth of a delighted Tejanit. Hanse’s hand raced while Blackie’s rein made a whispery sound as it dropped to the ground.
“That you, Shink?” Hanse whispered. His left arm was completely across the front of his body, thumb against his right upper arm.
“Aye,” Shink said, still showing teeth in a grin as he waggled his sword free and yanked it back and up for another blow. “And I knowing you too, boy! Once you were being dog meat, gueshing who goes to sholace yer pregnant sow
of a wife!”
“Not you, Shink,” Shadowspawn said through clenched teeth, and whipped his left arm back to the left with all his strength and speed.
At just the right point in that arc he opened his fingers. The slender leaf-shape of the blade drove several inches into Shink’s upper chest. Since the sword was already rushing down, Hanse also hit the ground and rolled, incidentally but expertly kicking the side of Shink’s knee, hard enough to hurt the kicker through his soft boots. The knee buckled on the instant.
Unfortunately it was terribly dark and Hanse was almost an inch low of his intended target. The knife half-vanished into the hollow between Shink’s collarbones but did not prevent his letting go a distressingly loud cry. Mignureal probably heard that one, even from a league or more away.
At the same time, however, Notable shrieked an absolutely hideous yowl that surely must have been what some called a caterwaul; and from the far side of the clearing and camp, Enas set in braying. He kept it up, too, at the very top of his volume. That corpse-raising monster Ischade back in Sanctuary would have loved it; the dumb donkey’s braying was loud enough to waken the dead for miles around.
That was more than Shink did. Shink yelled only once. Then he fell down and kicked while he died.
Enas kept right on eee-awwwing. A sudden thought brought a grim grin to Hanse’s lips even while he retrieved his throwing knife and wiped it on Shink’s tunic.
“Sorry, Notable,” he murmured, and deliberately pricked his feline ally.
Notable at once obliged by screeching out another of his astonishingly throatily deep-voiced, astoundingly loud wails. Hanse whirled and commenced bridling and saddling nervous horses, the while murmuring soothing words in a quiet monotone.
“You were right, Mignue,” he mused aloud. “Enas did his part. Wherever those two are running — or three, if Twel woke up, headache worse than ever now — it can’t be in this direction! They must think they’re surrounded by demons, and surely one already got Shink! Poo-oor Shink!”
When he tried to saddle another horse, he found no saddle available for the meek animal.
Shadowspawn (Thieves' World Book 4) Page 7