The Lesser Kindred (ttolk-2) (32 page)

"Just making sure you're not losing your touch," he said carelessly.

"If you'd been any closer, you idiot—" I snarled, sheathing the dagger.

"If I'd been any closer I would be an idiot." He stood with his hands behind his back. "In fact I'd be a bleeding idiot," he said with half a smile. It was an old scrapper's joke and not that funny, but I found the other half of the smile for him. Damn his eyes. I wanted to stay angry, so I stood and faced him there in the street. "What was it you wanted, Master?" I asked, planting my fists on my hips. I'm afraid the anger in my voice might not have been entirely convincing, but it's hard to fool another of your own profession.

'To apologise," he said, and he bowed to me right there in the street. I was starting to feel flattered until I realised.

"Fine," I said, angry again. "You can go back to Lanen and tell her you've made peace with me. Just let me alone."

Jamie smiled then—not a wry grin or a mocking grimace, just a plain smile. Goddess, he had a good smile. "Oh, no. Not yet. You may not know it, Mistress, but for the most part I'm a stranger to the ways of women."

"No, really?'

"Not that I haven't shared a bed with a few," he said happily. "I have, and heartily enjoyed it too."

"I'll bet."

"And I never had any complaints from the other half of the exercise, so you can stop sneering." He began to walk slowly towards me, like a smug salt-and-pepper cat, and I swear my heart started thumping so loud I expected him to hear it. Rella you ass, you're over forty, stop this foolishness, I growled at myself, but I didn't appear to be listening.

He stopped just a handsbreadth outside my reach with a dagger. Standard practice for personal conversations between fighters. "But I've not spent much time with anyone since Maran and I were on our travels," he said. I'd never noticed how pleasant his voice was, just that trace of a northern accent. Focus, Rella, keep calm—

"Until now. We've been together two full moons now. I've come to admire your skills and your courage, and the Lady knows you're sharper than I am, but you know, I had never seen even a glimpse of your heart before tonight." His brown velvet eyes were locked on mine. "It's a damn good one, Rella," he said, "but I may have the match for it."

And he stepped inside my guard.

Several thousand thoughts clamoured for attention and the trained part of me was yelling Threat! and trying to get me to draw a weapon, but sometimes you just have to ignore your brain and your training and listen to an older wisdom.

I can't remember who started kissing whom, but after a very short while it ceased to matter.

I knew great pleasure in those days. I had never thought there were so many like to me. Waking each morning was great joy, flying at dawn with brothers and sisters I had never known. It was food for my hungry heart and balm to my lonely mind, and for a brief time I did not think of Him. However, one day near noontide one of the two-legs walked through the gap on the side of sunrise. It was scrawny and it made a loud noise when it saw us and then it ran away, the smell of its fear strong on the air behind it. tts fear confused me. What were we, to be afraid of§

The others did not share my confusion. They seemed content enough that it had left, even pleased. I knew frustration again such as I had not felt for many years. I wanted to know what my kinsfolk were thinking, why they were pleased to see the two-legged one run away in fear.

I had no words but I wanted desperately to talk to them.

I remembered again the voice of the one I loved most in the world. It was deep and pleasing, and it shaped sound. He was not much of a singer, but he made pleasant noises and I missed his voice. However, there were two shaped sounds he had made the same way over and over, until I understood.

I suppose it is not true, then, to say I had no words at all in those days. I knew two sound shapes and I kept the memory of them close in my heart, trying to make the sounds myself when I was alone. The short one was the harder, for though I did not realise it, the sounds were made for a different mouth than mine. The other was the sound He used when he was talking to me, and I knew it was the sound that bound me to him.

Sah-rair-ah. He shaped it so, and I had practiced it again and again through the years, until I could nearly make the sound the same way. It made me think of him.

It wasn't quite right, but it was as close as I could come at the time.

I was disappointed that they didn't take the horses, but it didn't matter. Erthik and Caillin were found dead, none had seen or heard a struggle, therefore they must have been killed by those they knew.

Aral and Vilkas were outlawed by early evening. To have killed not just two people, not just two of the Magistri, but Erthik, their great proponent and mentor! It was monstrous.

Obviously.

It was Rikard, oddly enough, who made most trouble at the Assembly. He suggested that it was not clear exactly how they had died and perhaps we should consider a spirit summoning. He was shouted down by the others, who of course consider that procedure demonic. I did not bother to join in the debate, for unlike the others I knew that there were only a few hours after death in which such a summoning would work, and that the time was long past. I would have been happy to attempt to summon that which would not come.

Once the Assembly was over and Vilkas and Aral charged with murder, I retired sorrowfully to my chambers and begged to be left alone with my grief. I closed the door behind the departing Magister, locked it and cast a spell of silence on my room.

Only then could I laugh. Ah, what a splendid day it has been! It is no use sending Maikel after him now, for Vilkas's powers are intact. And because Vilkas is too strong and too used to dealing with the Rikti for one of them to concern him, I have sent a score. It did not take long or cost overmuch in the way of lansip, and it will be worth it to me to know that he is dead at last. The end of their price is the delivery of his head. I have a special box all prepared.

And to cap this delightful day, I have the final drop of good news I have needed. The Healers from Kaibar have sent word and a scrap of cloth by Rikti messenger—the cloth she left behind in the inn where she was staying.

Poor thing, she must have been bleeding badly, for it soaked into the cloth and stained it.

Blood from the one sought. This is what I have needed so desperately. Lanen is mine, and behold, there is my weapon ready to hand. I will set Maikel onto her this very night. Soon I will have in my hands that which I have sought for so long. I shall have to tell Marik his daughter will be here soon.

However, the deepest hours of night approach. I have renewed the players' paint on my face and hands and thrown the residue into the fire. No more. This night I will complete the work I have planned for so many years and set in motion nearly two moons ago. I will need to rest after this summoning, but on the third day Berys will be dead at last. Malior, Master of the Sixth Hell, will then rise triumphant with the fate of the world in his hands, and woe to those who would hinder me.

There was no warning. One moment we were sitting dis cussing what to do, the next Vilkas had disappeared under frantic crowd of demons, biting, tearing, fighting one an other to get at him.

Aral impressed me mightily. I was yelling blue murder and, I am ashamed to admit it, trying to get away. She, who had been covered by the faintest of light auras, instantly shone in the dim shadows under the trees like a blue star come to rest. She swiftly drew a pouch on a long string out from under her shirt and extracted what looked like a ruby the size of her hand, then she did the most extraordinary thing: she seemed to focus her power through the jewel, at least that's where the light went, a shaft of bright purple light straight through to Vilkas—

Who with a grunt emerged from under most of the demons. He had made a shield around himself of the power Aral sent him, but he could not keep them all off. A raking talon got through here, a bite there, and in a very short time Vilkas was looking much the worse for wear. He was doubled over, I guessed to protect a wounded side, and his face was bleeding badly.

I could not take my eyes from him, though I was not capable of assisting him. I am a gardener. I know nothing of demons and to fight them I had only my staff. Useless.

Aral, never stopping the flow of power she sent to Vilkas, drew her belt knife and held it out to me. "Will, help," she said. "Hard to talk. Take this."

I took it, stupidly staring at the blade.

"Cut me," she said, holding out her left hand, but with all her concentration on the jewel clutched in her right hand and the strength flowing through it to Vilkas. He struck out with the power she sent him, but it took a great deal of time and effort for him to deal with even one of the creatures, and there were so many, so many ...

"Will!"

"What? I don't understand," I said, "why should I—"

"Hold the blade for me then!" she cried. "I need blood!"

Without thinking I sliced the palm of my own hand. The blade was very sharp, I hardly felt it. "Here," I said, holding out my hand to her.

It was her turn to stand amazed, but only for a second. Vilkas called out, "Aral, quickly, I can't last much longer." The strain in his voice shocked me, he who never had to exert himself. From Vilkas that was a scream for help.

I was starting forward, but Aral grabbed my wrist and put my hand on the jewel, so that my blood flowed freely over the glowing surface.

What I had thought was a bright flow of the Healer's power gleamed now like the sun at noontide. I felt the most astounding sensation. Caught up in the fight, I felt just for that moment what it must be like to be a Healer. My strength was used as I could never have used it: every impulse to help Vilkas, every drop of friendship I bore him, and (I guessed) all the deep love I bore for Aral joined with her own power and whatever was in the jewel.

Now where the light touched the creatures, they hissed and screamed. Aral began to step forward, and of course I went with her, my hand on the jewel.

That was not a bright thing to do.

The creatures could not take their prey so they decided to attack the next best thing; since Aral was the source of their pain and deadly to them, the next best thing was me. I dared not remove my hand from Aral's, so I used my staff in my left hand—very badly—to try to beat the things out of the air. They had physical form, I could knock a few of them back for a little while, but there were so many of them. In moments my arms and my back were covered with the things, biting, slashing—I began to fear for my life and I had to let go of Aral's hand to use my staff.

They turned again to Vilkas when the bright stream of Aral's strength was cut off, but he was ready for them this time. With a word and a gesture he made a great globe of power that surrounded them and kept them captive. Aral moved to my left side, placed my cut right palm again over the gem she bore, and reached out to touch the creatures with her left hand. I tried to restrain her, but she reached right through that globe and touched the nearest.

To my everlasting astonishment it screamed and vanished. Just like that.

It took a very short time thus to dispel the rest of them. When they saw what was happening they tried even harder to escape Vilkas's power, but it might have been iron for all they could affect it. Each time Aral's touch burned them, broke them, sent them back to the lowest of the Hells.

I counted fourteen despatched thus when the last of them had gone, and Aral said later there had been another half-dozen destroyed while I was fighting one-handed. I began to feel a burning in the bites and slashes that covered me, but I was most concerned for Vilkas. The moment he released the prison his power had made, he fell to his knees.

He was in a terrible state. I hurried towards him, idiot that I am, but Aral was there before me. Her hands were empty again, save for the kindly blue glow of the healing power. She sent it to Vilkas, wrapped him gently in it, drawing out the poison, knitting torn flesh. I watched it happen. If you have never seen a high-ranked Healer at work on deep wounds—well, it is astounding. It is to believe again in the sacred nature of healing. To watch the demon-tainted blood turn from black to red, to see the open mouth of a cut close seemingly of itself, and watch even the red seam of that wound fade and mend—there was no question in my mind that this was the highest gift of the Lady, of the Mother of us All.

In a very few minutes Vilkas stood, unsteady on his feet but whole. He put his long arms about Aral, gently and awkwardly, holding her tight against his chest. "Thank you," he said simply.

I knew what she was thinking, I could almost hear her. I knew she would have given worlds for Vilkas to stay like that forever, close in her arms, but she knew too well the nature of that embrace and she wanted his love as well. For all the depth of the bond between them, for all that they had just now saved one another's lives, she knew the embrace was friendship and gratitude and nothing more. Even I could tell as much from afar. I swear I could almost hear her.

Or perhaps it was the beginnings of delirium, for I was badly wounded myself and the poison of demon wounds works swiftly. Vilkas, seeing me waver, left Aral instantly and sent healing to me himself. Drat you, Vilkas, I remember thinking as I leaned against a tree for support for the second time in an hour, if you can't love her, for Shia's sake, you could at least have let her heal me so 1 could hold her too.

Healing leaves Healer and patient both weary. We staggered back to the road. There was no longer any concern about Gair recognising me. None of us cared. We were desperate for a place to stop and to rest, and we had three hours at least of walking still to do. We took it slow, and Vil and Aral took it in turns to keep their power called about them and ready. The shadows of afternoon began to lengthen and the clear air grew cooler. Aral stumbled. "Damnation, I'm tired," she muttered. "Goddess, somebody start talking so I can think about something apart from sleep and demons while I'm walking."

She turned to Vilkas. He shrugged. "Nothing to say."

"You're so helpful, Vilkas." She turned to me. "You've usually got some kind of tale to tell, Will. Who is Gair, then, how do you know him?"

"Do you care?" I asked, managing to smile.

"No, but if you don't talk to me I'm going to fall over and we need to get to Wolfenden."

"True enough. But Gair's no subject, trust me. Even older than I am and never been five miles from his doorstep. I do indeed have a story, and a true one, that you two should hear, as we're going to that inn." Vilkas glanced at me with one dark brow raised. Aral was delighted. "But there's a price," I said seriously. "To be paid before I tell my tale."

"Name it. Unto half my kingdom," said Aral, grinning. "Of course, my kingdom at the moment consists of the clothes I stand up in and they wouldn't fit you, so I'm fairly safe."

"That's what you think," I said. I couldn't help grinning back at her. "Do I get to choose which half?"

"Will!" she exclaimed, batting at my arm. "And here I thought you were a gentleman." She laughed. "Though it might be worth it to see you in skirts!"

"You're not wearing skirts, idiot," said Vilkas dryly.

"Trust you to miss the point," she said, with a loud sigh. "But come, Will, your price?"

"The answer to a question."

"Ask."

I turned to Vilkas. "Why?"

"Why what?" he said, striding along unperturbed. "And I do not recall volunteering to pay your price, Aral."

"Oh, Vil, it won't kill you. I need a story badly."

"Very well," he said with a sigh. "Why what, Will?"

"Why did you not use your power back there?" I asked. "Berys obviously fears your strength, Aral tells me every few moments what a great mage you are—"

"Liar," came Aral's voice. We both ignored her.

"I've seen you doing things half-asleep that most of the Magistri couldn't do the best day they lived. Why did Aral have to do all the work when those demons attacked? You could barely defend yourself."

"Ah," he said. "You noticed."

"It was hard to miss, Vil. A bloody great horde of demons land on you like a flock of starlings on a seed store and Aral does all the work!" I said. I gazed steadily at him in the late-afternoon light.

"What is it, Vilkas? Why could you not disperse those demons?"

He turned away from my gaze. "You tell him, Aral," he said. "I need to stretch my legs. You both walk so damned slow." He changed his gait, and between one step and another he was walking twice as fast as he had been before, his hands behind his back, his face set in a scowl. I watched him distance himself from us with a certain surprise.