Dangerous Games (12 page)

“You want me to, uh …” Candlemas fumbled for a polite word.

“Spy? No. No secret knowledge between us, no sneaking around. No, all I ask is that, while you’re his friend, I might ask his progress. What he’s thinking, what he’s up to. I’m responsible for him, in a way, because he’s not really responsible for himself.”

That Candlemas knew. Karsus was a lunatic, albeit a genius.

“If it’s a bother,” she went on, “please forget I asked. It’s just that, with no other family, and servants being deferential, and seekers currying favor, it’s hard for me to get the truth about my own cousin sometimes. An honest opinion would be so helpful. And you seem forthright—”

“I’ll do it,” Candlemas blurted, though he wasn’t sure why. For some reason he wanted to help while she, unmarried and childless, looked after the mad genius like an older sister. “I’d be glad to come see you—no, I mean—”

“Thank you,” she interrupted. A soft hand touched his wrist. Cool, it sent tingles down his spine like an enchantment. “I would be very grateful.”

“It’s no trouble. You’re welcome. I’ll come, uh, soon. As often as you wish.”

Something sparkled in her eyes. Amusement? Mirth? Was she laughing at him? He couldn’t tell. He finished his tarts, wishing there were more so he might linger, but finally excused himself.

The page girl had to take his hand to lead the way back. Candlemas couldn’t understand why he was befuddled. Had she potioned his tea? Cast a spell on him? Clouded his mind with some illusion?

“What a remarkable woman!” he told the page girl as they walked, really speaking more to himself than to the servant. “Keenly intelligent, conscientious, noble, sacrificing, handsome in an unadorned way, with not a speck of decadence! It’s like finding a flower growing in a rubbish heap! Imagine …”

The page girl was only ten, and said nothing, but she hid a woman’s smile as they passed up the gravel path.

Grunting, shifting his groaning burden while his shoulders were rubbed raw, Sunbright followed the ragtag thieves deeper and deeper. To where, he had no idea.

Trotting down an alley, they’d taken an abrupt right through a broken wall into blackness, dropped into a cellar beneath what smelled like a disused tannery, scurried behind a mound of dirt and dropped to their knees—the blind giant barely fit, and Sunbright had to push the injured man before him—to clamber through another broken wall, then turn tightly and drop beneath even the cellar. Stooping, Sunbright tripped down a sloping tunnel until they reached a natural cavern.

A blue-white light came from their leader, the woman with the eye patch, who’d set aglow her leather vest with strokes of her hands. A thief’s cantra, Sunbright assumed, in a city where even dung shovelers used spells.

As the cavern narrowed, they passed through a cleft, then walked a rounded pipe that would accommodate a coach-and-four inside. And so on, twisting and turning until the barbarian was thoroughly lost. There were pipes, drains, tubes, caves, cracks, shelves, platforms, iron staircases, troughs, tunnels, pits, stone steps, and more.

Eventually they passed from a tunnel onto a sheer drop-off like a square cliff. Fifty feet down winked oily wetness reeking of sewage. All of the party panted except Sunbright, so the leader called a halt, silenced them while she listened (cupping her ears in a queer way that suggested another cantra) then demanded to see Lothar, the yellow-haired man with the broken leg. He had gone limp from pain and Sunbright laid him down, straightened his limbs, and untangled the weighted chain wrapped around his arm. The blind giant, the tiny girl, an old crone, the twin girls, and a boy all ate, digging out stolen corn cakes, breaking, and sharing them.

The one-eyed woman striped her hands around, causing leather and stone and even flesh to glow eerily, then ordered the giant to hold Lothar down while she worked on his leg. Even unconscious, the man groaned in pain. As she sweated over the leg, probing the break and hissing under her breath, Sunbright studied her.

She wore only leather: a tightly laced calfskin vest and breeches, and she went barefoot. Her only jewelry was the knucklebone cradled between her small breasts. The jewel-like glitter of metal came from the solid brass knuckles with cruel serrated edges that she wore on her right hand. Scars told the story of her life. Dozens of them crisscrossed her arms, striping her dusty feet, and spotting her face like chalk marks. One deep scar split her right temple, no doubt the slice that had ruined her eye and necessitated the leather eye patch. Her chin and nose were small, her dark hair unkempt and cut short, and when she tilted her head, Sunbright noted the slight points at the top of her ears. That, and a hint of slant to her eyebrows, told of elven blood. In only the short time he’d been in this city, he knew how people of mixed blood were treated. Short and slim, she barely came to his breastbone, not that he could stand upright in these tunnels.

Her examination of her comrade’s leg complete, the leader instructed Sunbright to pull Lothar’s leg while the giant held on. Tugging the leg muscles straight, then the bone ends into line, they got the limb splinted with rags and fragments of wood they’d picked up along the way. Only then did the leader sit back and accept some stolen food.

Sunbright could contain himself no longer. “Who are you people? Did you lead that raid on the marketplace, or was it just an unplanned uprising? Where are we? Where are we going? What are all these passages down here?”

The leader sat back on her heels and glared with her one good eye. It was green, Sunbright thought, though the confusing glowing light made it hard to say for sure. Blank faced, she studied him. Sunbright doubted she’d ever seen anyone like him before: tall and tanned and topknotted, dressed in far northern clothes, laden with a sword almost as big as she was. But he could read nothing in her face; it had been schooled to reveal naught. Instead she shot back, “Why did you help us?”

Her voice was surprisingly low for so small a thing. The others munched.

Sunbright waved a hand and said, “You needed help. I haven’t been here long, but I don’t like the city guards.”

“Where are you from?” She shot the questions like darts, her good eye boring into his face.

“The tundra, though lately the high sierra.”

“What are those?”

“Eh?”

“What are those places?”

“Oh, uh …” He’d been asked about his distant homeland before. “The tundra lies in the far north, where the land is flat to the horizon, with no trees, and cold most of the year. The high sierra is the slopes of the Barren Mountains. Pine forest, red pines, and chert.”

The woman glanced at her comrades. Reaching in the crone’s pouch, she withdrew a thawing fish and skinned it with a long knife plucked from a back sheath. The crone croaked, “Down on the ground.”

“Yes,” he said, then suddenly it struck Sunbright. “Haven’t any of you ever been on the ground?”

The leader asked, “So you only followed us to escape the guards?”

“Wait a moment!” Sunbright growled, spreading a broad hand, outlined darkly against the blue-white eldritch light. “Why do my questions go unanswered? Who are you people? What’re your names? And where do they get frozen fish in the height of summer?”

The leader sliced fish into raw strips, handed them around. Sunbright took one absently, munched the cold, rubbery flesh. It sang of sea salt, another mystery, for they were easily a hundred leagues from the ocean.

The woman said, “We’ll lead you to a pipe that leads outside. You can return to your friends above.”

“I don’t have any friends in this city!” he snapped. “Well, one, perhaps, but he’s caught up with Karsus.”

Silence crashed down. They even stopped chewing.

“You’re a friend to Karsus?” asked the leader, her voice low.

Sunbright swore under his breath, then said, “Would someone answer my questions? Who are you? Why do you wear these knucklebones around your necks? I see you all bear them. I’ve got one too!”

Digging in a belt pouch, he produced the polished knucklebone drilled as a pendant. “I found it on the body of a fellow who swung a weighted chain like this man’s. I wondered …”

Sunbright let his words trail off. The silence that had fallen over the strange band seemed to thicken, though the barbarian never would have thought that possible. One of the children—the little girl—took a step back, glancing meaningfully at the leader. The little girl was afraid. A cold chill went down Sunbright’s back. Now what had he done?

‘You’re the one!” shrilled the leader. She exploded to her feet like a startled cat, blade outthrust. “Rise and draw, you bastard! Defend yourself!”

Hunkered on his heels, Sunbright snapped up nearly as quickly as this hellcat. He held out both hands, fingers spread, saying, “I don’t have a knife. And I’m the one who did what?”

The one-eyed woman lunged. Her knife—the black blade was a foot long and tapered to nothing—stabbed for Sunbright’s middle. Instinctively he slapped to knock her arm wide. But she’d anticipated that and, dipping her hand under his, whipped in close. Surprised by the catlike riposte, Sunbright jumped back, but his back rapped a projection of the tunnel corner and his head banged a pipe in the ceiling. He felt a bee sting. Her blade had pinked his red shirt and belly.

Her hand jerked back to thrust again, but the barbarian batted hard and low, cuffed her head, and staggered her. Still, she’d seen even that move coming, and had almost ducked out of the way. Squatting low as a toad, she flicked in and sliced his inner thigh just above the knee. Sunbright knew that strategy: a few deft cuts would weaken his legs and topple him. He was still pinned against the wall and the low ceiling, and still unarmed. Harvester’s pommel ground on stone.

The thief sashayed back and forth, hypnotic as a snake, ready to strike. Her face and ragged hair were illuminated by her glowing vest. She muttered curses under her breath, and Sunbright knew they were not mere bravado. She was truly angry with him, wanted to gut him. Why? Because he’d killed some mugger up in a city street?

Before he could even frame a question, she lashed out again.

Straightening her back, she struck high to stab at his face. He flinched back and smacked his head on stone again, though he tried to slap her hand aside. Instead he felt searing, grating pain as the blade slid through his left palm. For a second he saw almost a foot of needlelike steel jutting from the back of his hand, then he whipped his hand off the blade. A good thing, too, for she twisted the blade deftly to sever his tendons. If he weren’t so quick, she’d have destroyed the hand.

He was like a bear swatting at a hummingbird. One good clip would kill her, but it needed pure luck to land. He forced himself to ignore the bleeding cuts and watch instead the blade, which he now realized was of elven craftsmanship. Where had she gotten it?

The woman stooped and jabbed for his left knee. He crooked the knee aside, smashed down with a fist for her head, and hit only air.

He could draw his own knife, but no, she’d still carve him like mutton. She was hot to fight, and he wasn’t. Some kind of shield would be better, a chair or net, or even a pair of sticks. Despite her mad ferocity, he didn’t want to kill her. Rather, he wanted to question her. More likely she’d cut his throat.

Wary, fumbling with his right hand, he drew Dorlas’s warhammer and held it close by the steel head. By flipping the leather-wrapped handle he might deflect the blade sideways and get in a shot with a fist or boot. He’d hoped that, with only one eye, her depth perception would be poor, but she seemed to know exactly how far to thrust and how to keep clear.

But he was thinking too much, and needed to react. Battle-lust cooling, she hesitated to get within his grasp. After two rapid feints, she scored with a long cut down his left forearm. Blood welled, ran down his arm, dripped from his elbow. Red wetness from his punctured hand had already flowed there.

Sunbright didn’t mind the blood, he had plenty. But a few more cuts would weaken him. Her anger was mystifying, puzzling. He fought to keep himself from getting angry at this blind attack.

Shuffling awkwardly in the semidarkness, eyes tracking everything, the fighters—one reluctant, one determined—assessed their chances. The one-eyed woman continued to curse, breath whistling. Sunbright wondered if he should waste breath on reason.

A flicker, and he was pinked on the back of his right hand. A snap of the hammer handle, and her blade clicked aside, then again. A thrust at his knee and he sidestepped, returned with a quick kick of a boot too thick to pierce. Aiming true, she slit his knee just above the leather. A punch from the hammer made her hook her head aside. A feint at his throbbing, bleeding left wrist again, then a lunge for his guts. A move to block with the hammer handle—

—and his bloody left fist came down like a boulder from a mountaintop to smash on the back of her head.

The woman was driven flat as a tent peg, so fast and hard her face slammed dirt.

Frustrated, worried, Sunbright had lashed out, and immediately regretted it. But he stamped down hard on her hand and the knife blade before doing anything else. The woman lay still.

“First time I ever saw that happen,” rasped the crone.

“What happened?” asked the blind giant, worried.

The tiny girl whispered, “She’s down.”

The twins with the topknots faded into the dark even as the giant shot to his feet. Though blind, he could gauge the ceiling, and didn’t rap his head as Sunbright had. He clenched monstrous hands and growled, “Let’s see if you can knock me down!”

“Hold on. I don’t want to harm anyone …” Sunbright called. He held up his hands, his left welling red, his right almost as bad. “… or be harmed. I just want answers.”

Holstering his hammer, Sunbright squatted and plucked the knife from the woman’s limp grasp. It was elven work all right, the handle of black polished wood chased by silver wire, the pommel and hilt filigreed. He slipped it into the back of his boot.

The crone hobbled forward to lift the knife fighter’s head. The thief stirred, moaned, blubbered. Her nose was mashed and swollen, dripping blood down her face. She was covered with dirt. Sunbright had almost snapped her neck, had smacked her face into the dirt hard enough to leave an impression. He chided himself. This was no way to make friends. Didn’t anyone in this city want to talk instead of fight?