Hero in the Shadows (38 page)

“What are
Kriaz-nor
?” asked Keeva.

“They are meld creatures like myself. Faster, stronger, and more deadly than almost any human.”

“Almost?”

Ustarte gave a wan smile. “Nothing that walks or breathes is more deadly than the Gray Man.”

Keeva saw tears once more on the face of the priestess. “And that saddens you?”

“Of course. Within the darkness of the Gray Man’s soul a small light flickers, all that remains of a good and kindly man. I asked him to fight for us, and fight he will. If that light goes out, it will be my fault.”

“It will not go out,” said Keeva, putting her hand on Ustarte’s shoulder. “He is a hero. My uncle told me that heroes have special souls that are blessed by the Source. He was a wise man, my uncle.”

Ustarte smiled. “I pray that your uncle was right.”

11

N
IALLAD SAT QUIETLY
on the ledge, his back against the cliff face, the white surf crashing on the rocks several hundred feet below. The Gray Man was sitting motionless beside him, his face calm, no suggestion of tension in the man. They had been sitting there for two hours. The sun had been up for some time, and Niall’s clothes were almost dry.

The events of the night before kept replaying in his mind: the death of his parents, the treachery of Gaspir, the rescue by the Gray Man. It all seemed somehow unreal. How could his father be dead? He was the strongest, most vital man in the duchy. Niall again saw his mother lying sprawled on the floor. A dreadful emptiness assailed him, and he felt tears welling. The Gray Man touched his arm. Blinking, Niall turned his head. The Gray Man lifted a finger to his lips and shook his head. No sound. Niall nodded and glanced up. Some ten feet above them was an overhang of rock. From beyond that they could hear the guards talking outside the Gray Man’s apartments.

“This is stupid,” he heard one of the guards say. “He’s not going to come back here, is he? I mean, the place has been searched. A few weapons, some old clothes. Nothing to risk your life for.”

Niall could not help but agree. He could not understand why they had come here. After killing Aric, the Gray Man had led Niall to the beach. There had been several boats beached there,
left by the soldiers who had been searching the bay. Niall had helped the Gray Man push out a small boat until it bobbed on the water. Then they had climbed in and rowed across the bay. When they had reached a spot some two hundred yards from the beach below the White Palace, the Gray Man had slipped into the water and begun to swim. Niall had followed him.

Upon reaching the beach, the Gray Man had gestured Niall to remain silent and had climbed slowly to this spot. Everything about the man until then had spoken of purpose. But once they had reached this place, he had just sat down, and now the hours were drifting past. Niall had no idea what the Gray Man was waiting for.

Time moved on. Niall’s left leg was beginning to cramp, and he stretched it out.

“About time,” he heard a guard say. “Thought you’d forgotten all about us.”

“Gren got to talking to a blond serving maid. Nice piece. Very tasty.”

“Speaking of tasty, I hope there’s some breakfast left.”

“Any word on the runaways?” someone asked.

“I’ll say there has been. Being stuck down here, you missed all the excitement, lads. One search party was attacked by a wild beast. Three dead, five wounded.”

“Our lads?”

“Only one: old Pikka. Had his head stoved in. The others were from House Rishell. Word from town is that the duke’s dead and most of his people. Sorcery,” he added, dropping his voice.

“What happened to the duke?”

“Demons, they say. Appeared in the hall. Killed everybody. The Gray Man summoned them, apparently. Shad says not to talk about it. Lord Aric’s going to be the new duke once they’ve found the body of the duke’s son.”

“The Gray Man? That’s what you get when you let foreigners come in and start acting like lords.”

“He always was a weird bastard,” said another voice. “And he almost killed Lord Aric last night. Cut him right along the jawline. Missed his throat by no more than a sparrow’s dick. Shad’s questioning the steward now. He’s a tough lad, but I reckon you’ll hear him screaming before long. Best eat your breakfast quick. I tell you, there’s nothing like hearing a man scream to make you lose your appetite.”

Niall heard the first two guards moving away. The others fell silent for a few moments. Then one said: “Reckon that Norda would be great in bed.”

“That’s true, Gren. Until Marja finds out and cuts off your prick.”

“Don’t even joke about it!” the other man said with feeling. “She would, you know.”

Niall turned toward the Gray Man, but he was gone.

The youth was shocked and stared around. He had heard nothing, not a whisper of cloth against the rocks. He sat still for a few moments, wondering what to do. Then he heard a grunt from above, followed by a heavy thud. Looking up, he saw the Gray Man lean over the overhang.

“Traverse to the left and climb up,” he said.

Niall did so, hauling himself over the top. The two guards were both dead. The Gray Man was dragging one body inside the door of a crudely fashioned building. Niall just stood there. Only moments before, these men had been talking about a pretty woman. Now they would talk to no one ever again. In that moment Niall realized that the Gray Man had been waiting for the guards to change so that when he killed them, he could be sure they would not be discovered for some time. The man was chilling! Niall had always believed Gaspir to be one of the toughest men he had ever known. But he was merely a leaf ripped from the tree by the fury of the Gray Man’s storm. Now other leaves had fallen. Niall could still hear the voices of the guards in his mind, ordinary men, dreaming ordinary dreams.

The Gray Man dragged the second corpse inside, then returned with a bucket of water and doused the blood on the ground. “Come inside,” he said, his voice cool.

On leaden legs Niall stepped across the threshold. The bodies were to the right of the door. The Gray Man pushed it closed and led Niall into a long dark windowless room. He lit two lanterns, hanging them on the wall, and Niall saw that the room was hung with weapons and that targets had been placed around it, some round, as if for archery, others shaped into the forms of men.

“They think you were responsible for the massacre,” said Niall.

“It is no surprise. Murder and lies usually go together.”

“I thought you had killed Aric.”

“So did I, boy. The rug moved under my feet as I lunged at him. Perhaps I’m getting too old for this kind of life.”

The Gray Man stripped off his silk jerkin, leggings, and boots, hurling them to a nearby bench. From a chest set against one wall he drew out a leather hunting shirt, buckskin leggings, and knee-length moccasins. Dressing swiftly, he strapped on a sword belt and then looped a baldric with seven throwing knives over his shoulder. He glanced back at Niall. “Get out of those clothes,” he said. He delved into the chest once more and produced a second shirt of dark leather, which he tossed to Niall.

“Why did you save me?” asked Niall.

The Gray Man stood silently for a moment. “To pay a debt, boy,” he said at last.

“My name is Niall. Please be so kind as to use it.”

“Very well, Niall. Get out of those clothes and find yourself a weapon that suits you. I would suggest a short sword, but there are several sabers. Also choose a hunting knife.”

“A debt to whom?”

The Gray Man paused. “This is no time for questions.”

“I am the duke’s son …” Niall hesitated, seeing again his
father’s corpse. “I am the duke of Kydor,” he continued, his voice trembling. “I have seen you kill four men tonight. I want to know why I am here and what your intentions are.”

The Gray Man moved to a bench and sat down. He rubbed a hand across his face, and Niall saw how tired the man was. He was not young, and there were dark rings below his eyes. “It was my intention,” said the Gray Man, “to board a ship and leave this land, to find a place where there were no wars, no murders, no scheming politicians, no greed.
That
was my intention. Instead, I am about to be hunted once more. Why did I save you? Because a ghost came to a friend of mine. Because you are young and I knew you feared assassination. Because I am a fool, and somewhere deep inside me there is still a semblance of honor. Take your pick. As to my intentions toward you, I have none. Now choose a weapon and let us leave more questions until we are away from here.”

“Who was the ghost?” persisted Niall.

“Your grandfather, Orien the battle king.”

“Why would he come to you?”

“He didn’t. As I said, he came to a friend.” The Gray Man placed his hand on Niall’s shoulder. “I know this has been a terrible night for you, but believe me, it could get worse. We do not have the time to talk now. Later, when we are away from here, I will answer what questions you have. All right?”

The Gray Man moved away. Niall removed his tunic and donned the shirt. It was too large, but it felt comfortable. He walked around the room, examining the weapons on display. He chose a saber with a blued blade and a fist guard of black-stained brass. It was beautifully balanced. Finding the scabbard and belt, he tried to put it on, but the belt was too large. “Here,” said the Gray Man, tossing him a baldric with a scabbard ring attached. Niall settled it into place and slipped the scabbard through the reinforced leather loop.

“What do we do now?” asked Niall.

“We live or we die,” said the Gray Man.

Emrin’s head sagged forward. Blood was dripping from his mouth. His upper body was a sea of pain. “I don’t seem to be hearing any more smart remarks,” said Shad. His fist thundered against the side of Emrin’s head. The chair to which Emrin was tied swayed and fell to the floor. “Get him up!” ordered Shad. Rough hands grabbed Emrin. He felt sick as he was wrenched upright.

Shad’s fingers took hold of Emrin’s hair, yanking his head back. “You want to say something funny now, Emrin?” he asked. Emrin’s left eye was closed, but he stared silently into Shad’s hatchet face. He wanted to summon up the courage for another insult, but there was nothing left. “You see, lads, he wasn’t so tough.”

“I don’t know anything,” whispered Emrin. Shad’s fist slammed into his face, rocking his head back.

Emrin spit out a broken tooth and sagged forward once more. Shad yanked his head back. “I no longer care if you know anything, Emrin. I’ve always hated you. Did you know that? Strutting around, fine as you like, with the Gray Man’s money in your pockets. Buying the pretty girls, looking down on us
common
soldiers. So you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to beat you to death. I’m going to watch you suffocate on your own blood. What do you think of that?”

“Hey, come on, Shad,” put in another soldier. “There’s no call for that.”

“You can shut your mouth! If you’re that squeamish, wait outside.”

Emrin’s heart sank as he heard the rasp of the door latch being lifted.

“Now, what shall we do first to entertain you, Emrin?” asked Shad. “Perhaps we should cut off your fingers. Or maybe …” Emrin felt the touch of a dagger against his groin. For the first time he screamed, the sound echoing around the ceiling of the Oak Room.