The Luck Of The Wheels (22 page)

Vandien squeezed his eyes shut. 'It was. Can't you see it as I must? What was I doing? I was trying to kill Kellich, seeing how hard I could press him and still have him turn my steel aside.' He cradled his injured arm against his chest, his fingers running up the ridge of the rip. 'And why? To keep him from killing one of the most disgusting human beings I've encountered in my whole life. I killed him, Ki. And it's changed the way I see myself.'

Ki hissed in annoyance. 'Vandien, don't torment yourself this way. There was a terrible accident. It hasn't changed you. Take it from someone who's seen you through some rather strange times. You're a good man. Nothing's changed.'

Silence consumed her words. Then, 'Honor,' he said. He let the word stand by itself.

'Honor?' Ki asked at last.

'I've lost ... honor.'

'Vandien.' Ki's voice was pragmatic. 'You intended no unfairness in that fight. What if he'd caught his foot on a loose nail and tripped? Isn't it the same?'

'No. This ... feels different. Dishonest.'

'Dishonest!' Ki exclaimed. 'Vandien, I've heard you tell enormous lies to people eager to believe them. I've seen you drive bargains so sharp they border on theft. And I seem to recall that your first attempt at horse theft was what brought us together ...' She couldn't keep the amusement from her voice.

His face didn't echo it. 'Equal weapons and the outcome determined by skill alone,' Vandien muttered.

'What?'

He cleared his throat. '"In an honorable fight, gentlemen employ equal weapons and the contest is determined by skill alone. No gentleman seeks nor uses an unfair advantage. No skilled swordsman needs one."'

'Where did you learn that?' Ki asked curiously.

'An old fencing master beat it into me,' he muttered.

Ki snorted. 'With those rules of conduct, it's a wonder he lived to be old.'

The look he gave her said he didn't see any humor in her comment. She changed the subject. 'Even with last night's detour, we can't be more than a couple of days from Rivercross,' she offered. And then Villena and then ...'

Hoofbeats.

She pushed the reins into his hands, scrabbled up to peer back over the wagon's roof. Misfortune rode six black horses, and their scarlet hooves flashed in the sun.

She dropped back down to the seat. 'Road patrol. Six Brurjans.' For the first time since the fight at the inn, she saw a flash of spirit in his eyes.

'Can't outrun them,' he pointed out. 'Play innocent or fight?'

'Play innocent,' Ki said slowly. 'Then fight if we have to, Want your rapier?'

'They wearing armor?'

'Light stuff. Mostly leather ... I didn't take that good a look.'

'Knives, then. If we look too ready for them, they'll never believe we're innocent.'

'Right.'

It was all a sham, a play of words to pretend it wasn't hopeless, that if it came to fighting they'd have a chance. Ki took the reins back. Six Brurjans, armed, in light armor on battle-trained horses. If she took down one and Vandien took down one ...

'There'll only be four left to kill us,' Vandien pointed out.

'I've been living with you too long,' Ki mumbled. She kept her hands steady on the reins. The hoofbeats were close now, and then Sigurd snaked his head up and gave a sudden whinny. 'Steady,' Ki whispered, to herself as much as the team. She kept them to their walk.

The Brurjans hit them like a wind full of dust, swirling around the wagon, making the greys go back on their haunches and bare their teeth. 'Pull up!' called one. His black coat was streaked with grey, his harness and his horse's were red trimmed with silver. His battle teeth had grown so long he could no longer close his mouth over them. 'Oh, shit,' Vandien breathed. No Brurjan grew old being honorable. Ki stopped her team. She and Vandien sat silently regarding the ring of riders.

'Kirilikin?' The grizzled old Brurjan wasn't addressing them.

One of his men rode closer to peer at Vandien. He shrugged, a strangely human gesture of his massive brown shoulders under the brass-studded leather. 'Probably him,' he grunted. 'He's got the scar.'

'Bring him.' The grizzled one wheeled his mount. 'Duke wants him killed in the village square.'

Kirilikin leaned over to grip Vandien by the back of his collar, but he was already in motion. Vandien launched himself at the Brurjan, using the momentum of his whole body to punch his blade through the thinner, more flexible leather that shielded Kirilikin's throat. A great gout of blood followed the knife as he withdrew it and Kirilikin groped at his throat in surprise. It had happened in less than a heartbeat.

Ki slapped the reins on the greys, and the big horses surged toward, but not through, the equally large black horses that blocked their way. A black-pelted Brurjan leaned from his mount to seize the reins and got the back of his hairy arm laid open to the ridged bones by Ki's short blade. He roared in anger, his crest rising, his maw gaping wide to expose his battle teeth, but drew back, disabled for the moment.

That short instant was as close to victory as they came. Ki never knew how Vandien was thrown to the ground, but he was there before she was, for she landed atop him, then rolled onto her bad shoulder, awakening that old injury. She started to get up, but something whacked her across the small of her back, and she went flat on her face in the dust. She felt split open like a stepped-on crab. Pain was all she knew, her body screaming at her to be still, that she was dying. Vandien was seized, dragged to his feet. She heard a roar that ended in a shriek, then coarse gibing, and the short, terrible sound of flesh struck very hard. She lifted her head.

Vandien had scored again, but paid for it. A Brurjan crouched in the road, her black-nailed hands over her belly. Red leaked between her short fingers and she was cursing, while two of her fellows sat their mounts, pointing at the entrails that bulged from the slash and laughing. Vandien lay face down in the road. Scarlet streamed from the back of his head and slid down the angle of his jaw. He didn't move.

Beyond him, a Brurjan had dismounted and was checking Kirilikin. He looked up from him, shrugged at their leader, and began methodically stripping the body. Someone else had already caught his horse.

Ki let her head fall back onto her arms. Her legs didn't belong to her anymore. She stared at Vandien's body, lying in the sunny road, and the sight of it echoed through her soul. The Brurjan finished stripping Kirilikin's body. He moved to Vandien's, rolled him over with a boot. 'It's nearly dead.'

'Damn!' The grizzled leader turned in his saddle and struck suddenly at one of the men behind him. The blow left four trails of blood down the guard's jowl. 'That's for being too quick with your demi. Duke's orders are that duellers are to be killed in the square, not out on some road where no one sees it. Something like this makes us all look bad.' The chastised soldier looked down at his pommel, his teeth slightly bared. The leader turned back to the Brurjan by Vandien. 'Bring it anyway. It's better than nothing.'

The crouching Brurjan nodded, grabbed the front of Vandien's shirt. Ki saw his bloodied features twitch slightly.

'No!' It was a prayer, not begging, but it drew the Brurjan leader's eyes. His look was flat. He jabbed his demi at the soldier he had earlier rebuked.

'Only the one that duelled needs to be publicly killed. Put her in the wagon and burn it. Then bring the team. They look old, but they're well matched. We'll get something for them.'

The soldier looked displeased. 'But, Vashikii,' he began to object, but the leader leaned over and jolted his demi into the soldier's ribs. He bared his huge battle fangs and his spiked crest rose as he spoke.

'Do it, scum. If you miss the execution, it's your own damn fault. Way you hit him, we'll be lucky if he's alive to execute. So you do the dirty work here, and no complaining, Satatavi.'

The female Brurjan dropped suddenly to her side. Her hands fell away, and her entrails spilled from her body into the dust. She hadn't made a sound. Vashikii shrugged. 'Satatavi. Put her and Kirilikin in the wagon also. And bring her gear and horse.'

It all seemed very far away. The rushing noise inside Ki's ears was so loud that she could barely make out the words they were saying. Words. Funny to think of words issuing from those brutish mouths, of sentences and thoughts being pushed out by red and black tongues past wickedly pointed teeth. As well expect poetry from a serpent, song from a vulture. A Brurjan gripped Vandien's shirt as Ki might heft a sack of flour. The Brurjan stood and Vandien's feet dangled clear of the ground. He looked small in the creature's grip, yet he'd been able to kill two of them before they took him down.

She tried to anchor her thoughts in reality but they flowed away from her. The time left was so short that none of it really mattered. She and Vandien were already dead, the wagon already cold ashes, Sigurd and Sigmund pulling a plow through a farmer's field. She hoped they'd get good care. 'Good horses,' she said dimly. Vandien's body went over the back of Kirilikin's horse, was lashed to the high narrow saddle the animal wore. Blood dripped from his hair, red drops that became black when they met the dust. She could not take her eyes from him, watched the lurch of his body as the slack was taken up suddenly in the horse's lead rope, watched the rhythmic jolting of his head as the troop moved off at a hard trot, stared after him through the masking yellow dust the scarlet hooves stirred up.

Then he was gone, her view blocked by her wagon. She heard Satatavi grunt as he hoisted Kirilikin's body to his shoulder and lugged it toward the wagon. There was a coppery taste in Ki's mouth, and the roaring in her ears grew louder. Independent of her command, her hands scrabbled at the dust, closed once more on her belt-knife. They hadn't bothered disarming the Humans once they had felled them. Vandien had taught them their error once; she would reinforce it. Her back felt severed. Her legs responded only feebly to her. There weren't going to be any lightning leaps to her feet. No. Concentrating, she began to draw one leg up under her.

'Gold.'

Goat's voice was soft but clear. Satatavi dropped Kirilikin's body and pulled his demi from the thong that secured it to his battle harness. Then he stood, staring at the boy, his great jaws slightly ajar as if in surprise.

Ki suddenly felt woozier than ever. The ever-present singing of the insects had suddenly moved inside her skull, and the day seemed warmer, sleepier. Her eyes sagged and it was difficult to think of anything except Goat's voice.

'We have gold. And we will give it all to you, if you let us go. All that gold, and you need share it with no one.'

Satatavi stood frozen, staring at the boy who had materialized in the door of the wagon. Goat's yellow eyes locked with the Brurjan's black ones. 'Gold,' he whispered again, seductively. 'Just take the gold and leave. Tell them you did as you were ordered.'

The Brurjan's narrow red tongue spilled out between his teeth, curled to moisten his lips. He swayed slightly, and abruptly his eyes narrowed. He shook his head violently, 'No!' he said, his voice thick. 'I'll take the gold, and burn the wagon! No reason to do just one or the other!'

In two steps he had seized the boy and held him inches from his fangs. 'Where's the gold?' he demanded gutturally.

Goat squirmed frantically in his grip, trying to lean away from the teeth and rank breath that burned his face. 'I don't know!'

The Brurjan flung the boy aside, whipping him past his shoulder as if he were a rag. Goat met the ground hard and sprawled there. Ki watched the Brurjan enter the wagon. A moment later she heard the sounds of breaking crockery and rent wood as he began his search. It wouldn't take him long. The small cupboard set under the mattress was neither that small nor that secret. Objects began to hail out of the wagon around Goat - the floor keg split on the ground, followed by a shower of dried beans as the Brurjan shook out the sack in search of the hidden trove. Goat lifted his head, looked at Ki. 'Tell me what to do,' he begged.

She got her other knee under her, pushed up slowly from the ground. The pain rode her, injecting her with agony and sucking out her strength. She tried to fix her mind elsewhere, to find anger as she listened to her home being ransacked, to find a killing urge toward this Brurjan who had sent Vandien to his death. But all she could fix on was the foolishness of the creature. Vashikii would never have left two enemies alive while he searched for plunder. He would have methodically eliminated all danger before looting the wagon. He would have secured the black war-horse, which danced nervously in the dust as an armload of quilts were thrown out of the wagon. Vashikii had lived long, and his battle fangs had grown thick and yellow because he had not taken chances. Just as Ki promised herself she would live a little longer than this one who had killed her friend. She leaned, panting silently, against the side of the wagon, and waited. Goat had found Vandien's fallen knife. He picked it up, looked at Ki, and stepped around the tail of the wagon.

It didn't take long. She heard his muffled
Hmph!
of triumph, heard the pale clink of the yellow coins against one another as he hefted the small but heavy sack. The plank floor creaked under his weight. He was heavier than two Humans, and too tall. The wagon had not been built for his kind. He had to duck to exit, and his jaws led the way as he leaned out, his throat stretched long and unprotected as he blinked once in the sunlight.

The same sunlight winked on the brief glint of Ki's blade, and then only the small blackened haft that stuck out from the side of his throat like an arcane handle. A cry bubbled out of him, sprinkling red, and he batted savagely at Ki. The blade had gone into the big artery on the side of a Brurjan's throat, and they both knew he was dead.

His blow took her on the side of the head and she fell, then scrabbled out of his reach. He reached up and pulled Ki's knife from his throat. He came after her. They both knew she would die with him. She lay on her belly in the dust, watching him with green lizard eyes.

Goat leaped from the top of the wagon. His weight staggered the Brurjan, but the creature did not fall. Goat's knife rose and fell, scoring the Brurjan's leather harness and inflicting one slight flesh wound before a hairy arm swept the boy into the dust. But the delay had been enough. He sank beside the boy, fell across him, and the last of his blood pumped out over Goat's chest. The boy shuddered and lay still.