The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3) (9 page)

“Is that a sacrifice I could make?” he mused, mock serious. “Perhaps not; I don’t think the Watch would see the funny side of it. What did you think of my scene with the cook?”

“Where was the letter?” demanded Sorgrad.

“What letter?” Niello was perplexed.

“The letter that either has some crucial significance and gets mislaid, or that brings a vital piece of intelligence to solve everyone’s problems.” Sorgrad’s smile teased. “Every good story has to have one or the other, surely?”

We discussed the masquerade in general and Niello’s part in particular for some while. Gradually the courtyard emptied until only we four were left with the players as they relaxed. The five chimes of midnight sounded from some distant tower.

“So whereabouts are you staying?” Niello’s eyes slid from me to Usara with an obvious question.

“We have rooms at the Six Stars,” I laid a gentle emphasis on the word “rooms.”

Niello whistled soundlessly. “You’ve come up in the world, my dear. I’ll escort you back when you’re ready to go to your bed.”

I smiled but shook my head. “No need, thanks all the same.”

His hazel eyes clouded with enough disappointment to flatter me but he recovered his poise in the next breath. “If you’ll excuse me, I really should speak to some of the company. It was a good performance, but there are always improvements to be made.”

We watched as he went straight as a scenting hound for the lass who’d played the heroine, her own face showing none of the innocence of the mask she’d worn earlier.

“You turned him down last time as well,” observed Sorgrad slyly. “Keeping yourself free for your swordsman?”

“Keeping myself free of the itch,” I replied with some asperity. “That’s what I got the last time I let him talk me into a tumble.”

I caught an expression of frozen distaste on Usara’s face and was about to challenge it when commotion erupted by the stage. ’Gren had his arm around the waist of a pretty dancer whose face glowed with the vacant sensuality that so often causes trouble. The second clown, his own face nigh as fat as his mask and red with wine and anger, was reaching for the lass’s arm. “Come on, Lalla! I said we’re going. You’re coming with me tonight.”

’Gren swung the girl backward out of the clown’s grasp. “Lalla wants to stay, don’t you, pet?” He tightened his arm around her waist and smiled up at her.

“Go away, Vadim,” one of the other girls interrupted unwisely. “Lalla’s no more your property than any of the rest of us. When are you going to get that into your wooden skull?”

Vadim thrust a warning finger in her face. “Shut your mouth, Kelty, unless you want me to shut it for you.”

I saw ’Gren’s expression harden. With all the delight he takes in the company of pretty girls, he has an exaggerated sense of the courtesy due to women. He lifted Lalla up and sat her on the edge of the stage, his unexpected strength surprising her into a witless little giggle.

“I don’t think these ladies require your company any further this evening.” ’Gren squared up to Vadim, mocking him with the accents of the masquerade. “Why don’t you take yourself off?”

It took Vadim, a man of Col by his accent, a moment to grasp the meaning of the north-country obscenity. Lalla was a breath quicker and giggled but Kelty and the others had the wit to get ’Gren between themselves and Vadim. The fat clown’s face twisted in a furious scowl and he lashed out at ’Gren with a fist the size of a donkey’s hoof. ’Gren avoided the blow with ease, dodging around to land a mocking slap on Vadim’s back. “Over here, lard arse!”

Usara braced his hands on the table, rising and ready to intervene. “Don’t,” I laid a firm hand on his arm.

“Oh come on,” objected Usara. “It’s hardly a fair fight, is it?”

“No, it’s not, but the fat man started it, so he’ll have to take what’s coming to him.” I tightened my grip.

The wizard sat down, bemused face begging an explanation. I directed his attention to the fight. ’Gren was deftly evading Vadim’s clumsy swings, landing stinging slaps on the clown’s puce face. The idiot girl Lalla was fluttering with distress, trying to catch the sleeve of either one despite the urgent hisses of Kelty and the others telling her to get clear.

“I’ll throttle you with your own tripes, you little shit,” raged Vadim, grabbing a stool to fling it at ’Gren, who dodged it easily before throwing a platter of bones and scraps back to catch Vadim full in the chest, spattering him with grease. Enraged, the big man lunged forward, mad as a taunted bear. A fruit rind under ’Gren’s foot betrayed him, dropping him to one knee. With a roar of triumph, Vadim swung at the side of ’Gren’s head. Moving away even before the blow connected, ’Gren had an arm out to cushion his landing and rolled with a grace most tumblers would envy. Back on his feet, he split Vadim’s lip with a lightning punch before the fat man knew what had hit him. A second blow to the gut doubled the clown up. He’d made the same mistake as so many others, thinking ’Gren’s size meant an easy mark. I’d lost count of the men who’d learned to their considerable cost that skinny frame was strong as seasoned wood and whipcord. There was also the fact that ’Gren never imagined he could be beaten. I caught Sorgrad’s eye and he nodded; we’d both seen ’Gren was upping the pace.

’Gren took a step backward, ready and waiting. When Vadim straightened up, he promptly kicked the big man in one shin. I winced, knowing ’Gren still favors the steel-capped boots of the sensible miner. Vadim howled and hopped as he clutched his leg, as comic as anything he’d shown us on stage. The witless Lalla was stupid enough to laugh and with a speed he’d have been better employing against ’Gren, Vadim lashed out, knocking the daft blossom clean off her feet. Kelty darted forward to drag the weeping chit clear.

The mocking amusement on ’Gren’s face was lit with bright anger and a blade glinted steely in one hand.

“He won’t kill him, will he?” Niello tapped Sorgrad on the shoulder, faint concern wrinkling his forehead. “I’ll have no end of trouble finding another clown who knows that part, now the festival proper has started.”

Sorgrad didn’t answer and I was watching the fight. Vadim was moving more cautiously now, eyes flickering to ’Gren’s knife hand. ’Gren was coming closer, eyes shining with a pale blue fire and a faint smile curving the corners of his mouth. He was enjoying himself and my heart sank; that made him so very dangerous. The two of them circled around and around, feet scuffing up the rushes and rubbish. Vadim spread his hands, checking behind for tables and benches at every other step. ’Gren followed, poised like a cat.

Usara made some faint murmur of frustration. “Can’t we put a stop to this?”

“You won’t succeed, and if you spoil ’Gren’s fun you’ll make an enemy for life.” The mage’s mouth hung open with questions he couldn’t quite frame. I spared a glance for Sorgrad, to reassure myself he was ready to intervene. He was the only one who could stop ’Gren killing the idiot now.

Vadim made his play in that same breath, fat face creased with vicious cunning. He edged around a table where lamb bones lay in a puddle of sauce. Snatching up a carving fork, he lunged at ’Gren, a swerving move to stay beyond the sweep of the smaller man’s knife. What Vadim didn’t expect was ’Gren instantly swapping the knife to his other hand, a sideways step taking him out of danger and around to Vadim’s unprotected back. The knife flashed in the lamplight, the swiftness of the move deceiving my eye and I had been watching for it, knowing it of old.

Vadim’s yell mingled pain and outrage and blood oozed between his fingers as he clutched a deep gash in the meat of his shoulder. Stumbling around in shock, he gaped at ’Gren, who was grinning broadly, daggers in both hands now. Vadim dropped his weapon from nerveless fingers, not the only one to see his death in the Mountain Man’s bright eyes.

“Nia mer es! Als verget.” Sorgrad’s curt command in the Mountain tongue cut through the tense silence. The fire in ’Gren’s face faded and he looked at his brother, puzzled, then at Vadim, almost as if seeing him for the first time. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“I think you owe these ladies an apology, friend.” Sorgrad’s voice was genial enough but the glitter in his eyes told a different story. Vadim curled his lip and drew a deep breath on some defiant retort.

Niello stepped forward making a wary bow to ’Gren while prudently keeping out of range of his knives. “That’s enough, Vadim. You’ve had your lesson in manners, so get out of here and clean yourself up.”

I couldn’t ever recall hearing such authority in Niello’s voice and it certainly brought Vadim to heel. The clown drew himself up and spat bloody phlegm into the rushes at ’Gren’s feet. He left the yard, all eyes on him in silent hostility, no one offering so much as a handkerchief to staunch his oozing wound.

As soon as Vadim’s back was turned, the girl Kelty was at ’Gren’s elbow, offering him wine, dabbing delicately at a bruise on his cheekbone now darkening impressively under his fair skin. He sheathed his knives and submitted meekly to her ministrations. She shot a proprietorial glance at the other dancers, who had to content themselves with helping the grizzling Lalla back into the inn. ’Gren gave me a wink over Kelty’s shoulder that suggested his energies were far from spent.

“Come on, Usara. It’s time I was off to my bed.” I stood up and gave Sorgrad a brief embrace. “Call on us in the morning.”

“We’ll do that, first thing. Well, as soon as we’re out of bed.” Sorgrad’s gaze was resting on the erstwhile heroine, now standing looking rather impatiently after Niello, who was trying to excuse the fight to the innkeeper.

“Come on, Usara.” The wizard followed me out with an air of confusion that kept him silent all the way back to our inn, up the stairs and into our respective bedchambers.

Two

I learned this song as a young bride, when my husband’s cohort was stationed in defense of Selerima. Small groups would gather in the islands in the river at equinox and solstice, unmistakably descendants of the People of the Plains. This song makes it clear that Arimelin has been granting her gift of dreams to all races for uncounted generations

Sal Ar’Imela, the goddess has made

Your woods and your waters,

Your groves and your shade.

River and tree meet in endless embrace,

May lovers be fruitful

When joined in this place.

Send wisdom in sleep to those bold ones who lie,

Where two realms and neither

Rule under the sky.

Let heartsore lay burdens beneath bow and leaf

That cleansing oblivion

May wash away grief.

Sal Ar’Imela, your blessings we seek

For newborn and dying

For mighty and meek.

Selerima, Western Ensaimin,

Second Day of the Spring Pair, Morning

I don’t think they’re coming.” Usara stalked over to the window to look down at the street for the third time since the second chime of the day. Below Selerimans were walking off last night’s excesses or setting off to haggle at the fairground.

I helped myself to fine white bread and lavender-scented honey cleared of every speck of comb. This wasn’t a morning for anything greased or spicy. “Sorgrad’ll keep his word,” I said stickily. “Even if he’s decided against helping us.”

Usara picked up a tankard of small beer and set it down again untasted. “You don’t think they will?”

“I have no idea,” I replied, exasperated. “I reckon the chances are better than even but Sorgrad will have a sight more questions before he agrees to work for wizards.”

“Sorgrad does the thinking for both of them?” asked Usara with a faint sneer.

“You’d better keep a civil tongue in your head,” I warned. “Mountain Men are no more stone-skulled cave dwellers in bearskins than Forest Folk are heedless songsters living off nuts and berries. Relax and eat your breakfast; they’ll have had a late night last night.”

“I’m still not convinced we need involve them,” said Usara testily. “Be careful how much you tell them; you know Planir and D’Olbriot are agreed we need to keep word of the Elietimm very close, until we have a definite means of countering their enchantments.”

“You can swear every mage and esquire to secrecy on pain of death, but you won’t stop word getting out. I spend more time around backstairs than you do, wizard, and rumors were running around the kitchen yards of Toremal last winter.” I waved the honey spoon at him. “I’ll tell Sorgrad what he needs to know. I don’t think you realize I need the pair of them a cursed sight more than I need you, just at present. They know people and places and all manner of useful things besides the Mountain tongue. You may have your magic but that’s precious little value most of the time.”

“I think you found it useful enough yesterday.” Usara’s words were clipped and haughty.

“Fair comment.” I sweetened my tone. “It’s just that it’s important you get on with them. You have to understand how Sorgrad and Sorgren think. It’s very straightforward; the world is divided into people they are for and the rest. If they decide to call you friend, they’ll take a dagger in the ribs before they’ll let you come to harm. If you don’t measure up, they won’t piss on you if you’re on fire in the street. Can you understand?”

Usara opened his mouth, changed his mind about what he was going to say and turned to look down along the high road. I continued my meal and wondered about a few things. Hopefully Vadim hadn’t been stupid enough to catch up with ’Gren this morning. I’d yet to see anyone get the better of ’Gren and wasn’t about to wager a Lescar cut-piece that I ever would. Countless men had thought they could take on some scrawny son of a fatherless goat and ended up mixing blood with their wine. I wiped my fingers on my napkin. If there had been any trouble, Sorgrad had the wit to keep out of it and send word to me. If worst had come to worst, Reza knew where we were lodging; he was a bright lad.