Moongather (36 page)

“You're worn to the bone and no wonder.” He freed her hands and took hold of her shoulders. “Rest awhile.” With a nod at the windows beyond the end of the bed, he pushed her down, stroked a hand gently down her cheek. “It's storming out there. We won't be interrupted here awhile yet. Guards will see to that, even if for the wrong reasons.” He smoothed short strong fingers gently over her eye-spot, smiling down at her, his green-grey eyes shining with amusement.

The bed was soft; her body went limp, her last strength draining out of her. The Domnor slid off the bed. She could hear him padding about the room, still hadn't put his boots on, then a short moment of silence, then the sound of boot heels as he stamped his feet down in the boots. “No,” she whispered. “No time.” She pushed against the bed, tried to sit up, could not. Her head was heavy; she had no force left in her muscles. “No.” She called on her stubbornness, that tough inner core of her being that refused to give in, shoved again and managed to sit up. Hern came around the end of the bed, stood scowling at her. “You don't take orders well, do you.”

In her boot the tajicho was beginning to burn; on her brow the eye-spot began to throb. Ignoring Hern, she looked anxiously around the large battered room; the door into the passage hung open, the opening itself was a rectangle of black against the pale gold of the wood paneling. “Maiden bless, more.…” With some difficulty she drew her leg up and rested her calf on her other knee. Thrusting her fingers into the boot's top, she pulled out the small crystal and stared down at the fire glowing in its heart. “He's coming here,” she muttered.

“Who's coming?” Hern buckled on his swordbelt then disappeared around the bed without waiting for an answer. He came back. “Here.” He tossed her a soft cap and a heavy cape. She stared at the cape then up at him. He was dressed in dark simple clothing, a tunic and close-fitting trousers tucked into mid-calf boots. He snapped a finger at the cape. “You're a bit of a thing, but I'm not that tall myself. Who's coming?”

“Some Nor. Can't tell who or what rank.” She stuffed the tajicho back in her boot. “Another one. Let's get out of here.”

“Wait.” He dropped his cloak on the bed and began working his way purposefully around the room, opening small cavities in the wall, pulling out trinkets and gold coins, stuffing them into a large pouch he slung over his shoulder. Serroi moved shakily to the end of the bed, stood holding onto a bedpost, breathing deeply, feeling her head begin to clear as nearing danger stimulated her, helped her throw off the lethargy induced by the letdown after intense activity. She watched him a moment longer, said, “You don't have to come with me.”

He grinned over his shoulder. “I've got a feeling, little meie, me, I've got a feeling that the Plaz ain't too healthy for me right now.” He came back to her and took her arm. “I need a hole to dive into if I want to be alive come morning.” With a soft clucking of his tongue, he snagged the soft hat from the bed and pulled it down over her head. “You got any preference for where we go to earth?” Snapping the cloak out, he swung it around her shoulders. “You need a keeper, child. It's pouring out there.” He took her arm and started for the opening in the wall.

Serroi patted a yawn. “Not a keeper, a bed. And sleep, a whole passage-worth of sleep. The fisher girl's uncle has a tavern by the wall. If you pushed me, I'd say he dabbled in a lot of small illegalities, smuggling, buying stolen goods—you know.” She shrugged. “It's a place to stay.” She felt a sudden flare of fire against her leg, something like a blow against her head. Swinging around, she stared at the door.

Floarin swept in, the Daughter and the Minarka Norit behind her. “Well, Hern,” she said.

The Domnor's eyes moved over the three of them. He smiled tightly. “Greetings, Floarin.”

“You're a fool, Hern. Always have been.”

“Suppose so. I should have known Lybor and Morescad didn't have a brain between them. What now?”

“The Plaz belongs to me, Hern. No place for you to run. I wouldn't bother keeping you alive, except that the Guard has this prejudice against a woman giving them orders. Relax, love. You'll have a lovely comfortable life, just like mine used to be. Don't keep fighting, this Nor's no fool, not like that one.” She stepped aside, smiled up at the Minarka.

The Domnor unlaced his cloak and dropped it to the floor. Serroi caught his arm as his hand closed around the swordhilt. “No, Hern, not now. Let me.” She stepped in front of him, dipped down, slipped the tajicho from her boot.

The tall golden man was centered in a shimmer of power. Chanting in a sing-song polysyllabic tongue, he manipulated a loop of string through a series of increasingly complex patterns. Serroi felt the air thickening about her wrists and ankles. She caught her breath, brought her hands to heart level, opened her fingers. The tajicho burned like a miniature sun. Long thick strands of golden light issuing from the Norit's hands looped out and around, then were sucked into the crystal. The strands stretched and stretched—spreading out in great spectral arcs springing from the Norit's hands, curving to touch the walls, drawn in again into the tajicho. The air thrummed with the power precariously locked into the golden arcs.

With a sudden brazen twang the golden lines broke, snapped back, coiling round and round the Norit until he was helpless in a cocoon of light.

Serroi shoved the tajicho into her boot, slapped at the Domnor's arm then dived into the passage, Floarin's raging yells following her. As soon as Hern was through the opening, she tugged the panel shut and slapped the bolts in place. “Keep close,” she hissed and started off into the darkness. Behind her she could hear hoarse shrieks and thuds as someone began pounding at the exit. Hern laughed. She spared a moment to wonder what he was thinking and to be grateful for his quick unquestioning compliance with her commands.

They plunged down and around until Serroi's legs ached. Down and around, then through the maze of passages on the ground level. The darkness greyed. The still air stirred, blew into her face. Flickering candles lit the last section of this rat hole. She pulled up suddenly as her eye-spot began to throb. Hern slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. “What.…” He caught her shoulder and pulled her up.

“Man ahead,” she whispered. “Sleykyn, I think.”

“One?” His mouth was close to her ear; she could feel the warmth of his breath against her flesh; she was, abruptly, very aware of him.

“Yes.” She was trembling in a way that had little to do with the danger ahead and he knew it. He laughed, a soundless amusement she felt in quick puffs of air caressing her cheek. He caught her chin, turned her face to him, kissed her slowly, sensuously, until she sagged against him. Then her sturdy practicality reasserted itself. She wrenched her head away. “Fool,” she breathed. “Of all the times to.…”

He laughed again, still soundlessly, his chest moving against her breasts. “My turn, little meie. Wait here while I take care of the thing plugging our exit.” He swung his cloak from his shoulders, dropped it over her and was gone before she freed herself.

She leaned against the wall, her nipples tight and sore.
I can't believe this
, she thought.
Maiden bless, what an idiotic thing to happen
. She rubbed at her breasts but found no relief.
And I called him a fool
.

“Meie.” She started, stared at the figure silhouetted against a faint glimmering coming around the corner, relaxing as she recognized the short broad outline. “Come,” he said, his voice sounding too loud to her.

“Already?”

“Careless, half-asleep. No problem. Sleykynin are damned bad guards. Been one of my men, I'd have him flogged.” He touched her cheek. “About over. That bed's waiting. Ready?” When she nodded, he lifted a hand and moved his fingertips across her eye-spot with a gentleness that startled her. “Any more ahead of us?”

She caught his hand and pulled it down. “You distract me.”

“Mmmmh.”

“Hah! That's no compliment.”

“Point of view, little one.”

“My name's Serroi.” She freed her hand, pulled away from him and started toward the exit. The Sleykyn was around the corner, sprawled on the stone under a guttering candle. She stepped over his legs and trotted on, anxious to get out of the passage.

The rain was coming down in sheets. Serroi stopped in the wall opening, catching the heavy cloak close to her body. “The Gather is complete,” she said quietly.

Hern's hand dropped on her shoulder. “Now the Scatter.”

Serroi rested her cheek a moment on his hand then stepped out, lifted her face to the rain, letting the cold water bite away some of her fatigue. “Keep close,” she said. “I'm taking a long way to the tavern. Don't want to bring Floarin down on Dina's uncle.”
Don't want you to know too much either
. She moved quickly across the garden, firmly shutting out memories of the last time she'd been here with Tayyan, helped in that by the rain that blanked out everything but the cold wet roar of its fall.

Outside the wall the rain slanted more, the wind driving it into them as they stumbled through puddles, sloshing the scummy water over boot tops. Serroi moved through a maze of side streets and alleys, deliberately choosing a complicated route to the tavern, nearly losing herself before she found the dark decaying structure.

The tavern was almost afloat, water a foot deep lapping at the walls. She splashed across the street, mounted the stairs and tugged at the bell pull. The Domnor was close behind her. She could smell the damp wool of his cloak, could feel his solid body, though he wasn't touching her. The wind was howling, the rain hissing down. Biting at her lip, her hand flat on the door, she hesitated, then she twisted around, slid a hand behind his neck, pulled his head down until his ear was close to her lips. “He thinks I'm a boy,” she said. “Let me do the talking.”

“Right.” She sensed rather than heard his chuckle. He turned his head farther, kissed her lightly.

She pulled back. “Idiot!”

The door swung open. Hern put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around and pushed her inside, following close behind her, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Coperic was waiting in the dim red glow of the single lantern. He looked sourly at them, cradling a crossbow in his arms. “Where you been, boy?” He scowled at the dark figure beside her. “Who's that?”

“A man who needs a room and can pay for it.”

“Pay? How much?” Coperic leaned forward, peering at the Domnor, trying to make out his features. “Ain't no inn, this.”

“He don't want an inn, uncle. Three decsets the night?”

“Can't he talk for himself?” Coperic shrugged. “No matter, it's enough.”

“I'm wet to the skin and freezing, uncle. Let us up.”

Coperic stepped back, waved them past and followed them up the creaking stairs. Serroi pushed open the door to her room. A single candle burned on the table, only an inch high now, the flame flickering and uncertain. She smiled affectionately at it.
Dina. Still trying to take care of me
.

The Domnor looked around. “Hole is right.”

“Don't like it, then git,” Coperic snarled.

Shrugging, the Domnor crossed the room, swung the chair around, sat. He let his cloak fall, slipped the pouch strap off his shoulder, dipped into the pouch and pulled out the three decsets. He tossed them one by one onto the bed.

Coperic ignored him. “Talk with you, boy. Outside.”

Serroi nodded. Outside in the hall she led the way to Coperic's filthy hole. He followed her in, dusted off a chair, watched as she shut the door. “Why bring him here? What happened?”

“You know who he is?” She dropped into the chair, crossed her legs, smiled up at him.

“Damn right I do. What the hell were you thinking about bringing him here?”

“Far as he knows, you're Dina's uncle, a disreputable tavern keeper.” She pushed at her hair, plucked at her sodden clothing. “Maiden bless, I'm tired. Pero, things sort of blew up in my face. Floarin has the Plaz, the whole city, for all I know. The Nearga-nor owns the Daughter.”

Coperic tossed the crossbow onto the tumbled bed. “I see. You're loose now. What are you going to do?”

“Get out of Oras. Nothing more I can do here.” Her mouth twitched into a brief weary smile. “Take care of yourself, Pero. Don't hang around here out of stubbornness or because you happen to like taking crazy chances. They're going to be bad, these next few years.” She laughed at the wry twist of his face, then said with a forced vigor, “Get me a boat and supplies. I want Dina and me out of the city before sunup.”

“Ready and waiting.” His thin mouth curved into a smile as he waved at the wall. “You can go out through there, down a rope ladder. Boat don't look like much, but she's a goer.” He jerked his head toward the hall. “What about him?”

“Don't worry, Pero, I won't leave him on your hands. If he'll come, I'll take him south with me. South to the Biserica. Maiden bless, that sounds good—going home. I'm so damned tired of scrambling.” She started toward the door. “The sooner we get away the better. Floarin was having twenty fits last time I saw her.” She paused in the doorway, tugged at her ragged, sodden trousers. “I was going to change. No point in that, I suppose, just get soaked again.” She raised an eyebrow. “Any chance of some hot cha?”

Coperic chuckled. “Get your party on its feet; I'll see to a warm meal. And collect a damned good fee from our distinguished guest.”

Laughing together, they started back down the hall.

THE CHILD: 14

Serroi stroked her palm over the leathery shell, feeling a quiet joy as the foal moved under her hand. Across the stall, the mare craned her neck around, uneasy because her egg was near to hatching. She'd been fighting the sling for days; Serroi was there to keep her from hurting herself in her agitation. The mare kicked at the partition with her uninjured foreleg, waggled the splinted one, began swaying in dangerous arcs that came close to pulling her off her hind feet and that made the supporting beam groan as her shifting weight put new pressures on it. Serroi jumped to her feet and ran to her, soothing her with voice and eye-spot. Whispering soft nonsense, she scratched at the loose skin under the mare's chin until she calmed a little, patted and scratched her a little longer, then returned to the egg.