Scarred Man (37 page)

Tatya's scream made Maida push Keshik away. She watched as the shapeshifter blurred into the spurre. The dark man with the strange yellowish hair shouted a word in a language she did not know before raising his Claw to the sky. In a moment of horrified clarity, Maida recognised both the man and the weapon. She grabbed Keshik by the shoulder, forcing him around.

‘Do you see that man?' she hissed.

‘Slave? Yes.' Keshik shifted to keep Slave in view, watching the fight closely.

‘That is Slave?'

‘It is.'

‘That's the man who …' Maida could not say the rest.

‘Who killed you? Yes, it is.' Keshik's eyes narrowed and he drew in a sharp breath. ‘That is not good,' he muttered. He stepped back and gripped Maida's hand. Slave roared again in the same strange language as he brandished his Claw above his head. ‘Down,' Keshik hissed. He pulled Maida to the ground and lay over the top of her.

‘What are you —' Maida started but Keshik clamped his hand over her mouth.

Over his blood-spattered hand, Maida's eyes were hard with fury.

‘Be quiet and stay still,' Keshik whispered.

All sounds of fighting had ceased, leaving a heavy silence over the city, punctuated only by Slave's muttered words. Keshik closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He allowed the swords to hang loosely in limp hands as if he were dead, hoping Slave would not notice any signs of life. Sounds of approaching horses broke the unnatural silence.

Slave's muttering rose to a guttural roar and he ran towards the approaching horsemen. Keshik froze as Slave came closer. His heart pounded, but Slave did not notice him or Maida in his fury. He leapt over the motionless bodies and ran towards the horses. Keshik raised his head to watch.

Slave met the horsemen head on. Without pausing in his charge, he slashed his Claw across the chest of the lead horse, cutting deeply. The horse reared in pain, causing its rider to lose focus on the attacker as he tried to stay in the saddle. Slave took this opportunity to open the rider's thigh to the bone. Leaving them both disabled, he continued the momentum of his spinning attack to open the next horse's flank. It, too, reared, squealing in agony, but its rider was less skilled and fell heavily to the ground. Slave hesitated long enough to slash across the downed rider's throat on his way to the next horse. The time taken to bring down the first two riders, albeit barely a handful of
heartbeats, was long enough for the others to draw weapons and prepare for the assault.

Keshik watched, still incredulous at Slave's speed, as the Claw ripped and slashed, parried and deflected the blows that rained down on him from above. No matter how the men on horseback tried to outmanoeuvre the single man on foot, he was too fast. He dodged and spun away from three swords at once, counterattacking with movements that seemed to blur. Men fell, clutching hideous wounds, to die under flailing feet or more ripping slashes from the razor-sharp blades.

At one stage, Maida gasped as an Agent nearly landed a blow, only to have Slave turn aside quickly and watch the blade slice down past his chest. The Agent overbalanced slightly, which was enough for Slave to grab the man's arm and jerk him down out of the saddle. He fell hard, straight down on his head. There was a loud, sickening crack and he lay motionless, the blood pooling out around him. Slave gave a harsh laugh and sent his Claw in a fast, low toss into the neck of the last remaining Agent. As he tumbled back onto the road, Maida gave a low grown.

‘Itxtli,' she whispered.

Keshik clamped his hand over her mouth again, but he was too late. Slave had heard the word and turned to face them. The smile on his face was tight and ghastly to see. The blood of his attackers covered him from head to foot, dripping onto the road. He raised his left hand. The Warrior's Claw ripped itself out of Itxtli's neck with a wet sound and flew into Slave's outstretched hand. As it flew
towards him, Slave started to run at Keshik and Maida.

Keshik leapt to his feet, took Maida's hand and ran without looking back. He did not bother keeping his sword drawn, he knew he could not fight this fiend, this
thing
, that pursued them. Their only hope was flight. Slave's footsteps followed, slowly gaining on them. Keshik rounded a corner to come to a skidding halt. He had run into a market square that was starting to pack away for the evening. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering what to do. Should he stand and defend these unarmed people against the coming madman? Or should he take advantage of their coming deaths and escape the city with Maida?

He took a deep breath, and ran through.

Stall holders watched them without interest. No one tried to stop them. They reached the other side of the market, completely obscured from where Slave would appear, before the sounds of murder reached their ears. Keshik pulled Maida harder and ran faster. When they reached the low wall, beyond which lay the endless plains of Midacea, Keshik simply vaulted it, Maida alongside him, and kept running.

 

They ran until they could run no more, then they fell to the ground into each other's arms. For a long time, they lay together, content to feel each other's presence, to know that after so long, their love still burned. It was finally Keshik who broke the silence.

‘I love your eyes,' he whispered. ‘They glow like emeralds in the sunset. I love your hair, like flame in the night …'

Maida sighed and buried her face in his chest, feeling the longing, the passion, grow with every word he said. She tugged at the fastenings to her dress, then slipped it off her shoulders. Keshik kissed her on the forehead then on the lips, her chin, her throat.

Maida gave herself up to the man who loved her, who had followed her across the world to rescue her, in the same way that he gave himself utterly up to her, to the joyous task of bringing her pleasure.

 

They awoke as the sun rose over the plain. A wind ruffled the grass, making a sound like waves on the shore. Maida stretched and rested her head on Keshik's chest. She loved the feel of his deep, regular breathing, the steady beat of his heart, the hard musculature, his hand as it stroked her hair.

‘I have missed you, Maida,' he said.

‘You came for me. Myrrhini told me you would come for me, and you came for me.'

‘Of course I did. What else was I going to do?'

Maida was never going to answer that question and they both knew it, so she closed her eyes again and enjoyed the feel of the sunlight on her skin.

‘I slept well,' she murmured.

‘As did I, except for the dreams.'

‘Dreams?'

‘Strange dreams of portents and monsters.' He seemed to be about to say more, but grunted softly and kissed the back of Maida's neck instead.

Maida sighed, all thoughts of dreams fleeing her mind.

‘What's that?' Keshik sat up abruptly. Maida slid off him as he moved. He sprang to his feet. ‘Ice and wind,' he barked. ‘Maida, get dressed.'

‘What is it?' she asked as she struggled into her dress.

‘Look.'

Maida followed Keshik's gesture to where she could see a dark mass staining the grass. She watched it move. It was not coming towards them; it was heading towards the hidden city of the Blindfolded Queen.

‘What is it?' she repeated.

‘Don't you recognise the way they ride? The formations? It's the Tulugma.'

‘Who of the Tulugma?'

‘All of them.' He pulled on his own clothes while Maida finished dressing, then together they ran towards the massed swords of the Tulugma.

They were seen early and three horsemen peeled away from the main body to investigate. Keshik stopped as soon as he was hailed by them and raised his hands wide above his head to show he was not holding a weapon. Maida mirrored his action.

‘Who are you, travellers?' one Tulugma called.

‘Keshik and Maida,' Keshik replied.

At his name, the riders spurred their horses a little faster. They rode to surround Keshik and Maida, staring down at them with hard, distrustful eyes. Keshik allowed them to form the standard circling pattern: one facing them, the other two slightly behind them, just out of their direct line of sight so that if either Maida or Keshik wanted to
see the flanking riders, they would have to take their eyes off the lead rider.

‘I know the name Keshik,' the one facing them said. ‘And you do look like his reputation would suggest.'

‘So does she,' added another.

Keshik snarled: a low, feral sound. Maida placed her hand on his arm to calm him.

‘What do you want, Keshik and Maida?'

‘To speak with the Tuk,' Keshik said.

‘Ha! You presume much, Keshik and Maida.'

‘I am Swordmaster to the Tuk. I fight beneath his standard and bear his blood.'

‘No, you aren't. I know all Swordmasters to the Tuk and you are not among their number.'

‘You are young and new to the Kuriltai. You do not know everything.'

The rebuke was mild, but the young Tulugma bristled visibly. Keshik's scowl deepened as he considered the young man's lack of self-control.

‘Take my name and my request back to your Tuk and let him decide.'

‘Don't give me orders, little man,' the young Tulugma spat. His horse sensed his agitation and started to prance sideways.

‘I will speak with your Tuk,' Keshik said, ‘if only to tell him of the lack of self-control of those who speak for him.' He heard the horse behind him move and sensed the rider's action before he saw the tension in the young man he had just insulted. The sword sliced through the air, cleaving easily through the space Keshik vacated faster than the rider could move. He dropped beneath the swing
and caught the wrist, jerking the man from his saddle. Keshik wrenched the man's arm, bringing him down hard on his shoulder. The rider landed on the ground with the sharp crack of breaking bone and a scream of pain. Before the other two riders could react, Keshik drew a throwing dagger and sent it spinning into the throat of the man behind Maida. He went down with the peculiar sigh of instant death.

The young Tulugma froze in the motion of drawing his sword, seeing both of his companions dead before he could fully release the blade. Keshik bounded the few paces that separated him from the rude youth, drawing his own swords as he moved. He wove the attack pattern called the Badger's Mouth in the air on his way. His opponent recognised the pattern and his eyes widened in horror as the blades approached.

Keshik halted his attack with the point of one blade resting on the man's thigh — right by the great blood vessel — and the point of the other just touching his ribs, having sliced clean through the metal armour.

‘I am a Swordmaster to the Tuk and I will speak with him,' Keshik said.

‘Of course.' The young, chastened Tulugma urged his horse around and trotted back to the main column. Keshik sheathed his swords and looked around. The two horses of the men he had killed were still standing by their fallen riders, unconcernedly cropping at the grass. Keshik caught one set of reins and handed it to Maida before stooping to examine the dead men.

Each one had a full set of weapons: throwing knives, sword, bow, garrotte and a pouch of cur fangs. Keshik helped himself to their weapons before leaping up onto the back of the second horse. Feeling better than he had for a long time, he urged his new mount after the young Tulugma. Maida rode beside him, looking less comfortable.

‘How will they react?' she asked.

‘To what?'

‘To you, to me, to us. To this?' She indicated the horses they were riding. ‘You just killed two of them.'

‘In a fair fight. They attacked first, I prevailed.'

‘But, you …' She hesitated, unwilling to say the words.

‘… were exiled?' Keshik completed it for her. ‘Yes, I was. But that was a long time ago, and I have not returned to the Kuriltai. We are here, in Midacea.'

‘And me?'

‘You, my love, will be beneath their notice. If they even acknowledge your existence, it will be a surprise. No, you are completely safe with me.'

Always
, Maida thought as she followed him through the high grass towards the column of Tulugma warriors.

Once again, they were seen early, but this time no one came out to meet them. Instead, bows were trained on them as they rode. The young Tulugma with them held his sword aloft and the bows were lowered. Keshik grunted at the young man.
Probably acknowledging his action
, Maida thought. Although the meaning of the action was lost on her.

The smell of travelling men and horses assailed her nose, making her wince and gag a little. Keshik shot her a tight grin.

‘We usually smell like that,' he said.

‘You do,' Maida corrected.

Keshik laughed.

The young Tulugma led them to where a strong, middle-aged man rode tall in the saddle. Maida regarded him, guessing him to be Gielden in ancestry. He was clad in simple leather with a metal breastplate. On his head was a round metal helmet, edged with fur, sporting a short spike that rose about a handspan from the centre. He did not have Keshik's features or solid build, tending towards the taller stature and broader shoulder of the bowman. While the Tulugma were famed throughout the world for their swordsmen, many specialised in different weaponry.

‘Is that your Tuk?' Keshik asked their guide and the young man nodded. ‘I will speak with him alone,' Keshik said. He spurred his new horse into a rolling trot and moved ahead.

‘Is he always like that?' the young Tulugma asked.

‘Like what?' Maida said.

‘I guess he is, then.'

Maida watched as Keshik approached, then stopped beside the Tuk. A conversation commenced. At first, it seemed civilised, then a raised voice shouted a word that drifted across the intervening space — ‘kabutat'.

Keshik's voice rose in response. Fingers were waved, jabbed at each other. Other riders stopped
to watch. Weapons were drawn. Keshik drew his swords.