Hand of the King's Evil - Outremer 04 (69 page)

It was true, and he knew it; he said, 'So use yours. I have not been trained to kindness.'

And then turned round, because he'd sooner see his shame reflected than in the raw, in the raw burning flesh of the ghul as it howled and capered like a king's fool at a feast, except that no one was laughing here; and saw that Coren had used his sword already, that the blade of it showed darkly stained in the flickering light and that the ghul he had mazed lay slumped at the foot of its pillar now, a spreading pool at its neck-end like the stubborn shadow of a head gone missing.

Marron might have cast about to find the head itself amid all the chaos and wreckage of the kitchen, that would have filled some time, but that Coren gave him no chance; neither any relief from the club of his conscience, that beat against him in unsteady rhythm, in perfect time with the ghul's crying.

'Oh, no,' the King's Shadow said. 'Even you have to learn to live with your choices, Marron; I won't rescue you from this one. If this is how you choose to step aside from your oath, then so be it.'

'I didn't kill them,' in a dishonest, defensive mutter.

'And yet one is dead,' with a gesture towards another bloody corpse more crudely butchered by the men around it, 'and the other is dying,' with a sudden tug on Marron's arm that pulled him out of the way of a stumbling, tottering inferno that was the ghul aflame, and at the same time turned him round again so that he had to face it, 'and both because of what you did. Is it the fire that kills, and not you? As well use your sword and say that it is the blade that kills, and not you. Marron, I am sorry that you must lose one more thing that means so much to you. You may be the lesser for it, you will certainly be changed again and I have enjoyed knowing you as you were; but this is war, and all men lose in war. Kill that beast, and have done.'

Marron found that Dard was in his hand again, all unrealised. There was nothing now to stop him, and almost nothing to feel: only a slight hesitation which might have meant
how am I going to tell Jemel?
and which was swiftly overtaken by another thought, one that gripped his mind even as his body did its work so that in fact he barely noticed the moment when he did finally kill again.

Two rapid paces and a lunge in perfect form, like an exercise in drill, a thing that his body could easily do without his mind's attention; a wash of heat against his face that went all but unregarded, the barest hint of resistance as Dard's honed point met the dark shadow at the heart of light, hide and flesh and bone that seemed to welcome its swift intrusion, seemed almost to plunge forward in eagerness to meet it.

It was a neat kill, a sweet kill. His uncle would have applauded, and Sieur Anton also. Jemel would have been satisfied with the result. Coren said nothing, even after Marron had withdrawn his blade, had straightened and turned to face the older man.

His to speak, then, his to say his thought aloud.

'You made me do that.'

T invited you to do that; you should not have needed the invitation. It was cruelty, to let the thing burn.'

'No. You made me do it, from before. From the moment they attacked. You stood back and did nothing, but you could have done
...'

'I could not come to the men, to lead them out.'

'You did not try, but not that. You could have defeated the ghuls yourself, before they hurt a soul. You could have mazed them all as you did the one that came at me - and even that,' realising it as he spoke, you did not maze the first time, you hoped that I would find the heart to kill it. When you saw that I would not, not in my own defence,' working this out almost on his fingers, spelling his thoughts aloud as they came, you thought I must for the defence of others, you thought I could not bear to see hurt men dying badly, so you mazed that one that might have prevented me, but did no more than that. Men died, because you wanted to see me kill.'

'I wanted to see them saved,' the King's Shadow said softly, neutrally, 'and you were the one best placed, best skilled to save them. This is no time for delicacy, Marron, we cannot afford to have you so fine-spirited. We are at war; why do you assume that you can stand aside from all the killing, or that you will be let stand?'

'Why do you assume that I will kill for you?' Marron returned, equally softly, trying for an equal neutrality. 'Jemel is of the Sharai, and my own people - your people - turned me out.'

'Fight for us, fight for the Sharai, I do not care; fight for yourself alone, or for those you love, or for those who love you if you can distinguish between them. We will none of us fight each other today. Tomorrow, surely; but today there are monsters abroad, and we can all fight together. You
know all
of this, Marron, why are you being tiresome?'

'You told me that a young man should not get into the habit of breaking his vows; and then you forced me to it, when it was convenient to you. If I am tiresome, perhaps it is because I am tired of being used, your tool or anyone's else.'

His heart was in his mouth as he said it. He was appalled by his own daring, unless it was stupidity, or both. Daring need be neither courageous nor clever.
But Coren seemed to smile faintl
y, certainly nodded, did not dispute the accusation.

'And yet I will use you when you are apt to the occasion. It's a wise man's habit, Marron, and an old man's necessity. Some things I can do, but many things not, or not as well. And I cannot afford, this world we have made cannot afford to have you stand idle by. We need every man who can wield a blade — and you do it with an uncommon grace and purpose. Before you were brought here, I might have hesitated long before I encouraged you to break that particular oath, or any; with the Daughter in your blood - and in your eyes, which was worse, so that you saw the world half blood already - you were too dangerous to be let loose. Almost too much so to be let live, if you could not control yourself; for certain we could not control you. Which you knew, I think, and hence that famous oath of yours. But you are yourself again, and nothing more; and you are a trained fighter and a skilled fighter, and we are needful of you. This is why you came to the Sanctuary Land, Marron, to honour your father and defend your people

And to serve the God,
but Coren wisely did not mention it, which was perhaps the only wisdom that he showed in that little speech. For a man with a wise reputation, he was displaying a wonderful lack of understanding.

'I came with my friend,' Marron said, 'and then I killed him. Too many men died at my hand, or for my sake, and so I forswore killing; and now there are more dead, and these too can be laid at my door. What am I, that men should die for me? A soldier, yes, or I was once; but so were these.' And there were three dead, in order to make a killer of him. He might as well have killed them himself. It was a poor bargain reckoned in simple numbers; a monstrous fraud weighed in fighting flesh, for any one of the dead would outweigh him in muscle, in years and in experience; a monstrosity by any measure, that lives should be sacrificed simply to bring him to the point of slaughter.

He went on, 'At least they can lie in a place of honour, away from - those,' with a gesture towards the dead ghuls. 'And we can help carry them there, not leave it to their confreres,' all of whom had been wounded even before this day began. Most had fresh hurts now, or else what had been half-healed was opened fresh again. Marron knew too well how that felt.

'There is,' a sharp look suddenly, the slightest hesitation, and 'no place, Marron. No appropriate place, in the way that you are thinking. The Princip does not favour pomp and formal rites; neither do his people. Let them see to their fallen according to their own customs, they will feel more comfortable about it.'

Marron looked the King's Shadow in the eye and called him a liar, as direcdy as he dared, even while his mind raced to understand. 'You fetched the Princip's son home, and a place of honour was found for him to lie. Julianne took her serving-boy to the same place, when she brought him back last night. I don't know where that is,'
‘
I
don't know where they lay precious things in this palace, things they want to preserve out of the sight of men,
'but these soldiers will. Their fallen friends can lie there too, with the same honour, and I will see them so.'

Briefly, he thought that Coren would argue further; then that he would forgo argument and strike him instead, knock him unconscious or spirit him away in a haze of gold.

The man was all Kings Shadow now, though, and no Coren at all. He seemed to weigh all the likely consequences, all the possible mischances, and at last shook his head in a gesture of surrender.

'Even without, you are not in my control and never were. Well, go your own way, lad, do what you think you must. This is beyond me, for good or ill; I will not interfere. Be careful, though, and think what you are doing.'

'I have been careful,' Marron said softly, 'and there is blood on my blade, where I had sworn there would not be. There will be no more,'
unless it is
my
own.

And that should teach me not to dice for a man's soul, is that it?'

Marron looked deliberately towards the bodies of the fallen men. 'Not when you dice with others' lives. You lost the game; what did they lose, who were not playing? More than my oath you have broken here, and you had no right. Even the King would have no right. You might tell him that.'

'I might. I might indeed, if I live to speak with him. It is perhaps less likely, if you will not fight for us.'

'Enough.' Marron said it, heard himself say
it. Rage burned brightl
y, and at the moment, oh, he was raging. 'I may kill again, for you or for others. You said it yourself-
if once, why not a dozen times more, a hundred:
'You also said that you would hate to see it, and you might do that also. I do not know; am I a djinni, are you? But now, let be. I will help these men with their dead, and then I will do — what I will do.' Which would involve finding Jemel, finding Sieur Anton, both of them and hopefully not together, a valley's width apart; that much, he was sure of. What more, he could not say. He was not a djinni. And the djinni had said that he should stay within the palace, but perhaps it had only meant until now, until this, so that he could kill these ghuls? Or so that the King's Shadow could manipulate him into killing these ghuls, so that he could be asked to kill again? Or—

Well. He could spend a lifetime, what was left of his lifetime trying to outguess a djinni, and likely never do it. He would do what he meant to do, and then he would leave the palace and seek out his friends, and never mind what the djinni had meant or what Coren wanted. He was not fool enough to think that he could rule himself or make his own decisions, now or soon or later; but he could have the appearance of it, he could seem to be free, and that mattered.

Out in the valley's breadth with his back to the palace and his face to the wind and riding, riding at last, no carpet but a horse beneath him and a good horse too; unsure of whom to fight or whom to kill, but certain that there would be blood on his blade before sundown; for the moment he could be glad enough to be here and not there, with these strangers and not with anyone who loved him.

The valley could give no distance, no sense of space to a tribesman from the Sands, who had scoured all the desert from the height of the Pillar of Lives. It was trying as best it could, though, high mountain walls dropping and drawing back as they rode westerly, giving the sky more room to spread and the land beneath it; giving more room to the river too, making a wide and worrying road of water off to his right. It shimmered and danced, it was always moving and he was always glancing over as it snagged and snagged at the corner of his eye. He had seen so much water and more, much more, but that had been quite still except for what stirred within it. It had shown no movement in itself until the djinni raised it; it had always been spellcast and evil had come from it, more than one evil. All of that he understood. This running river was another matter. Its urgent strength kept h
im continually anxious, constantl
y on the watch for danger rising. An 'ifrit had lurked within it yesterday, maybe more than one, and he was ready for another, but he distrusted the river on its own account. So much water so ill-contained, so lively; he doubted its obedience, its willingness to stay within bounds. And that doubt was a good thing too, it was a blessed distraction like the horse he rode and the speed of his riding, the men about him and the certainty of war.

And the wind, the wind that was nothing like any desert wind that he knew: too cold and far too wet and heavy with the scents of strangeness. There was all the stink of yesterday's burnings there, but that was a stale smell, flattened by more water than the river and the dew could justify; and there was a sharpness that overrode it, an edge that he could not only smell but taste against his lips when he licked them. It tasted like tears, and his eyes indeed were running, but this was an alien salt that stung them.

Salt, and water: an immeasurably great mass of water, too far to see or hear but the wind brought word of it even at this distance. This was the sea, that he had heard tales of but never thought to come near, never wished to. Marron had crossed it, by his own report: a journey of weeks in a boat, a
little
bobbing hull of wood like a nutshell in the jaws of God
...