Silverlight

by Jesberger, S. L.

  Jarl sat beside me on the divan. “I don’t approve of Magnus’s tactics, but he apparently coaxed a bit of the warrior out of you. Isn’t that worth something?”

  “Why do I need to be that woman? Why must I fight as if my life depends on it? Why does he feel as though he needs to push, push, push all the time? ‘You give up too easily, Kymber. You don’t want this badly enough, Kymber.’ Why can’t he just be happy we’re together again?”

  “Well, Calari is still a dangerous place.” He leaned back and smiled. “Magnus pushes you out of fear. Tariq and Garai are out there somewhere. You may need to call upon your abilities someday.” He took my face in both hands. “Forgive him. I say this as the friend who watched him grieve for much longer than he should have. No man has ever loved a woman as much as Magnus loves you.”

  I was silent for a long time. Perhaps Jarl was right, but I wasn’t going to let that jackass get away with what he’d done. If – and it was a big if – I went back to Seacrest, we were going to have a long discussion about his “motivation.”

  “Can I still stay the night?” I asked. “Or should I head back?”

  “It’s much too late to start for Seacrest now. Stay the night. Letting Magnus cool his heels and think for a day or two isn’t going to kill him. I’d be delighted if you’d accompany me to Adamar’s market in the morning.”

  I smiled. “I’m glad I came to see you, Jarl.”

  “Me too. Come now, I’ll show you to your room.”

  Jarl and I had just finished breakfast when a knock came to the door downstairs, followed by the sound of piteous howling.

  “Oh, dear. Someone needs my attention,” said Jarl. “Come and assist me. Hopefully, it’s not serious.”

  It turned out to be Jorge the blacksmith with a badly burned little finger. The big man moaned and groaned as Jarl guided him into the back room for an examination.

  “This will probably take a while. Here.” Jarl threw a pouch at me. It jingled when I caught it. “I won’t need you after all, but I would like a fresh chicken for supper tonight. Are you staying?”

  I stared at the blue velvet pouch nestled in my palm. I didn’t know. My ire had cooled, but I still felt betrayed. Wounded. I was not yet ready to face Magnus. “I guess so. I’m not sure. We can talk more tonight.”

  Jorge hooted with pain behind the closed door. Jarl smiled. “Over a bottle of wine. Or several. I think it’s going to be a long day.”

  “I’ll see you tonight, Jarl.” Though it was warm outside, I grabbed my hooded cloak – no sense borrowing trouble – and off I went to Adamar’s market.

  The smells alone made coming to market a pleasure. Spits packed with pork, lamb, and beef twirled over open fires everywhere. The sound of sizzling meat could be heard above the shouts and haggling.

  Smoke smelling of apple wood and savory spices rolled across my path, causing my mouth to water. I pushed the hood back a little and used some of the coin to buy ribs from a burly man with the bushiest mustache I’d ever seen.

  “Marinated two days in the best wine in the land,” he repeated several times as he wrapped it up in parchment and handed it to me. “You’ll like this, girly.”

  And I did like it. It was some of the best beef I’d ever eaten.

  I dropped off to one side of the street, leaned against the wall to finish my meal, and studied my surroundings. Adamar was a city of many colors. Skin tones ranged from pale pink to the darkest brown. Tall and short, thin and stout. I saw men and women dressed head to toe in colorful, scarf-like robes. Others were nearly bare, their bodies covered with dark blue tattoos in strategic places.

  No blue eyes though, which didn’t surprise me. My ear was quick to pick up haggling in other languages, but the common tongue of Calari drove most of the negotiations in this market.

  Food vendors lined both sides of the widest street in Adamar, most of them directly in front of their inns and eateries. That made it easy to replenish supplies, as fast as sending a tavern wench to cold storage or the pantry.

  To my right, the street narrowed even more, channeling patrons past a rich variety of goods. From my vantage point against the wall, I saw clothing, jewelry, saddles, reins and other leather goods, and several tables full of fresh produce. Crates of chickens and ducks were stacked three high near the end of the street.

  I nibbled on the last rib then bent over and gave it to a scrawny street cat that had been pestering me with affectionate rubs. I crouched and ran gentle fingers over the yellow tabby’s ears and cheeks while I finished my perusal with a critical eye.

  The cat wanted nothing to do with me once it had the bone. Snatching it from the ground, it gave me a baleful look and darted away. I wiped my hands on my pants and headed for the business end of the street.

  I took my time looking over the jewelry, leather goods, and a display of colorful linen pants and vests for both men and women. I leisurely moved to talk to the parrots and other domesticated birds sold by another vendor.

  Ah. Weapons.

  I ran my fingers over the gleaming blade of a throwing knife. I hadn’t practiced that particular skill with Magnus, but my mind’s eye saw me lift it by the point, aim, and sink it deep into an enemy’s heart.

  I frowned, lingering over the knife. If I bought it, Jarl’s pouch would be empty, meaning I’d go home without a chicken, which would make him unhappy.

  And if I didn’t buy it?

  Promise pressed against my back like the sure hand of a friend. I shrugged my shoulders a bit, testing the straps that held my sword in place. I didn’t need a throwing knife. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I let my gaze wander over the rest of the knives on display, though I didn’t really see them. No, I had shifted my peripheral focus out into the street.

  Someone was following me. I was sure of it now. The person had stayed twenty-five paces behind me ever since I turned off the narrow street that led to Jarl’s office. Man or woman? I couldn’t tell. A black cloak covered the person from shoulder to knee; a wide hood hid the person’s face.

  I left the knives and circled into the weaver’s tent, moving behind his loom to watch him work.

  My pursuer tried to hang back and appear inconspicuous, but the cloak was made of fine silk. The sun caught it and threw sparks with every tilt of his or her head.

  The person turned away then, trying to convince me that he or she was interested in a new saddle. Good. I allowed my gaze to trail down the back of the cloak, to what little I could see of the breeches, to the worn and dusty black boots adorned with tarnished silver buckles.

  Male. The person who followed me was a man, based on the type of boot and the width of his foot.

  He was not large or tall enough to be Magnus. Too small to be Tariq or Garai. I couldn’t let my guard down though. Perhaps Garai had sent another agent to see to my capture.

  I dropped a coin on the weaver’s loom and moved to the livestock crates, my heart thumping fast and hard. Was I losing my mind? Or was I truly being followed? I had to be sure.

  I crossed to the other side of the street and walked leisurely down the row of tables. Colorful fruits and vegetables, fresh fish and other seafood, loose jewels big enough to choke a dog. I inspected everything and engaged in half-hearted negotiations with several of the sellers.

  Slowly, slowly, the man hunting me followed. Close enough to keep me in his sights, far enough away to make me question my sanity.

  I looked around as I walked, seeking good ground, some place I could claim an advantage if I had to fight. It was nearly mid-day and the market was shoulder to shoulder with people. Confronting this man away from the crowd was vital. I didn’t want innocent blood on my hands.

  I shrugged. My sword was still strapped across my back.

  Solid. Reassuring. A Promise.

  Would she live up to her name if I had to pull her?

  35: KYMBER

  I headed back into the center of town, my gut churning. Thankfully, my T’hath training kicked in.

/>   If a fight was imminent – and I thought it was – I had to buy time. I had to use that time wisely, to think. I couldn’t surprise my opponent, as he was already aware of me, but what could I do to gain the upper hand and keep it?

  Only a few knew I could pull a sword with my previously ruined right hand now. That meant offense if possible, but if I had to defend, I needed to go fast and hard. Deprive the enemy of the opportunity to plan his next move.

  There were too many families near the food vendors, but I thought I’d seen an empty alleyway just beyond. Was it wide enough to swing a sword? I wasn’t sure, and I couldn’t take a chance. Too close, and the man’s greater strength would put me at a disadvantage. My skill with a weapon evened the odds, but choosing good ground was imperative. I had to be able to fully extend my arms and keep this man, whoever he was, at the tip of my sword.

  I passed the alley in question and rejected it immediately. Too dark. Too narrow.

  The street leading away from Jarl’s office had been nearly empty. It was wide enough for three carts to pass side by side. And it wouldn’t hurt to be within shouting distance of an ally.

  Would it put Jarl in danger? The person following me probably already knew I’d spent the night there and was due to return in the evening.

  Was I overreacting? Maybe the fact that he maintained twenty-five paces between us was coincidence. Perhaps the man thought me attractive and just wanted to talk.

  The warrior in my head put an end to it. Then why didn’t he lower his hood and approach you? There are men flirting with women all over this market. They do it by smiling and making eye contact. This one covers his head and hides from you.

  Well then. I picked up the pace and turned onto the street that led back to Jarl’s place. A dozen men – moneychangers, I thought – blocked my way. Shoving my way through the crowd, I sent them scattering. “Sorry. Excuse me,” I mumbled.

  They made rude comments, but I’d accomplished my objective: a bit of a roadblock for my pursuer and a buffer between us.

  I turned left and glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. I sprinted ahead, skidded to a stop, turned, and planted my feet. I had just enough time to drop my hood when the man rounded the corner.

  I opened and closed my fists, stretching the scars of my right hand. The cloak draped over my shoulders kept Promise concealed, though I was itching to draw her. I would save that little surprise. He didn’t need to know I carried a weapon just yet.

  We faced each other. I got an appraising tilt of the head as an acknowledgement. He was dressed entirely in black – cloak, breeches, boots and gloves – and looked a bit disheveled and dusty, as though he’d traveled a great distance and didn’t have time to pull himself together.

  “Why are you following me?” I widened my stance. “What do you want?”

  I thought I heard him chuckle. He lifted both hands to his chest, pulling at the fingertips of the leather glove on his left hand with his right, working slowly and deftly, finally sliding the glove off. He awkwardly repeated the process for his right hand then placed the gloves into the right-side pocket of his cloak.

  Right-handed then. Good to know.

  He stood silent and still, his face hidden by the cloak. A familiar trick – attempting to ramp up my fear by taking his time. Knowing this actually calmed me.

  “I grow old waiting for you to speak.” I fixed my gaze on the dark void of his hood. “You’re wasting my time.”

  Another chuckle. “So rude.” He took a step and threw the hood back. “It’s nice to see you again, Kymber.”

  My vision blurred, my ears rang. The world ground to a halt around me.

  Tariq Tyrix.

  Calm down. Deep breaths. You aren’t shocked. Some small part of me had known.

  He was thinner than I remembered. Smaller, in a way. Perhaps shrunken was a better word. He’d never really resembled Magnus, but now his face was lined and drawn, his eyes dull. Had what he’d done to me haunted him all these years? Or had Garai threatened to kill him unless he found and brought me back?

  “I wish I could say the same, you hateful bastard,” I said.

  Tariq took another step. “Imagine my surprise to hear you’re in Adamar. So close to my clueless brother, yet so far away.”

  I narrowed my eyes. So he knew where I was, but not that Magnus and I had reconnected. I was tempted to blurt out the truth but held it. Silence was often more potent than steel.

  Tariq waved a hand at me. “Did you know Magnus lives seaside a short distance from here?”

  I blinked, tried to look astonished, and stayed quiet.

  His lips turned down in a mocking pout. “Oh my. So sad. The one man who could’ve saved you and you missed him by inches. Of course, that makes my job much easier.”

  He took two steps. I moved back an equal number, flexing my hand. Soon. Soon.

  “How’s your hand? Still worthless?”

  “You almost sound like you care, Tariq.”

  “I do care.” He extended a hand to me. “Come, now. I’ll take you back where you belong. Garai misses you.”

  “How sweet. Did he find someone else to abuse in my absence, or do I occupy a special place in his heart?”

  “Actually, I understand that you occupy a special place in his heart.” The macabre smile left Tariq’s face, replaced by something far darker. “There’s no need to make a scene in the market. You can’t escape me.”

  “No, I probably can’t.” I continued to flex my right hand. “Perhaps I’ll fight you instead.”

  He laughed. “Really, Kymber, that’s very funny, but I don’t have all day.” He slipped the cloak from his shoulders and let it drop to the ground, then unsheathed a short sword. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Relief swept over me. A short sword! If that were the only weapon he carried, I might have a chance.

  “Your turn to be funny.” I smiled. “You don’t dare hurt me, not if you plan on taking me back to Garai. He’ll expect his favorite pet to be undamaged. How much is he paying you this time, traitor? Or is the price of failure your life?”

  Tariq’s face went blank just before he launched himself at me.

  Turning my focus inward, I mentally prepared for battle. My pulse thundered in my ears. My breathing became even and deep as I threw my own cloak to the ground.

  I stared into Tariq’s eyes as he came for me. This was the moment I’d prepared for. All the tears, all the sharp words between us, all the times I’d stormed away from Magnus in frustration came back to me in a rush.

  Somehow, Magnus knew this day was coming. He loved me. He didn’t want to lose me again. He couldn’t always be with me, so he’d pushed me to the boundaries of my endurance and my sanity.

  Yes, his tactics were questionable, but Magnus believed in me. The outcome of this battle would be very different than the one that separated us in the first place.

  Inhale. Exhale. I began the motion that would end Tariq Tyrix. Right hand over my left shoulder, around the grip. Pull!

  Promise slid from the sheath with an angry hiss, eager to kill the man who’d betrayed me.

  Tariq’s face paled as he skidded to a stop. “What? Your hand…”

  “Surprised?” I couldn’t help smiling.

  I gripped my weapon with both hands and swung as hard as I could in a tight arc, catching the edge of his blade with mine. Shock vibrated down my arm and rattled my teeth, but I hung on.

  His sword flew out of his hand and spiraled through the air, landing just a few feet from him. He stared at it, his breathing ragged.

  The wildness inside me shifted and clawed. “Pick it up.”

  Tariq moved to retrieve his sword, though his eyes never left my face.

  “How does it feel to be caught unawares, Tariq?” I asked.

  “You didn’t catch me unawares.”

  “Liar, and not even a very good one. I’ll give you the chance you didn’t give me ten years ago. Pick up your damned sword.”

  Eyes wide, Tari
q straightened. “I have a short sword, Kymber. This will hardly be a fair fight.”

  “You’re under the mistaken impression that I care about this fight being fair.”

  “Your sense of justice–”

  “Is still intact, despite everything I’ve endured, but I owe you nothing. Are you or are you not a graduate of the T’hath Academy of Blade and Bow?”

  “You know I am.”

  “Then you know you’re required to fight with whatever you have at hand. It’s not my fault you chose to carry a short sword this day.”

  “Kymber, please. Can’t we talk about this?” Tariq’s voice rose in a mewling whine.

  Seething anger lodged in my chest. I could not, would not, fight with my emotions, but . . . “Now you want to talk? I begged for mercy ten years ago. As I recall, you laughed. I’m prepared to offer you the same kindness. Now pick up the damned sword, or I’ll slay you right where you stand.”

  He gave me a sly grin. “Kill an unarmed man? Will your precious warrior’s code allow you to do that to me?”

  “You’re about to find out. Pick it up by the count of three or die. One . . . two . . .”

  We stared at each other. His left eye twitched a half heartbeat before he dove for his sword.

  “Three!” I was right behind him.

  He took up his blade and swung at me with a snarl on his lips. I ducked under his arm, spun, and aimed for the back of his right knee. I only wanted to cut one of the tendons there.

  For now.

  Blood flew as I hit my mark. He stumbled and collapsed to his knees, gasping. “I’ll let you go. I’ll swear I never saw you here. I’ll tell Garai that…that you’re nowhere to be found.”

  “Oh, that’s very sweet of you, but it’s too late,” I said cheerfully. “I think you misjudge the nature of this fight, Tariq.” I pointed at my chest. “Cat.” I pointed at him. “Mouse.” I gripped Promise with both hands and angled it over my shoulder. “Get up.”

  Blood pooled in the dirt on both sides of his injured knee. I’d gone deeper than I’d intended. Good. I hoped it hurt.