The Luck Of The Wheels (28 page)

'Why not?'

She hesitated too long. 'We've decided it wouldn't be wise. Bringing her here would attract too much attention. We can't spare the men to do it, and ...'

None of it sounded right. His mind made the leap. 'You've already done it, haven't you?' His throat closed up on him suddenly. He felt a light-headedness that made him sway. 'She's dead, isn't she?' Of course they'd already killed her. It made more sense. Tidier. Smarter. And soon he'd be dead, and the whole thing neatly wound up.

'No. No, she's fine, and she will be as long as you continue to do as we say.' Willow spoke very rapidly. 'But you can't see her just now. It's my decision, really. I've seen you two together. She draws strength from you, and would become more difficult to handle. We might have to hurt her. And you'd do any stupid thing for the sake of protecting her.'

'Like killing a Duke,' he said. His voice sounded distant. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. He knew his face had gone white.

'Eat.' Her voice was expressionless, but her eyes betrayed some secret panic of her own. 'You should eat that food right away.' She crouched by the trap door, tapped on it. And practice. You'll have to take my word that Ki is alive now. If you want Ki to still be alive tomorrow night, you'd better be at your best.'

'I'm not hungry.' His words were an empty reflex. Ki was dead. He could read it in Willow's hasty effort to leave, the way she resisted any further talk with him. Ki was dead already. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Ki was dead, and ... the last piece suddenly slipped into place. He'd been a fool. The cold emptiness that flooded his heart set off a glaring white light in his mind, mercilessly illuminating everything he had hidden from himself. The cold-blooded logic of their plan was suddenly revealed to him. Very tidy. No loose ends.

'Eat it anyway.' She sounded worried.

'I don't like the flavor.' He watched her face carefully as he added, 'Every damn thing sent up here tastes the same, same herb or spice in the bread, the tea, the stew.'

There it was, the tiny widening of her eyes. Her control of her face was good, but too late. 'It's a strengthening herb, well known in this part of the world. I'm surprised you don't know of it. We're trying to give you every advantage we can.'

He snorted, kept the suspicion from his voice. 'Herb lore. Something to bemuse old women after their children have grown up. Three-fourths of it doesn't do what they say, anyway.'

The trap door in the floor heaved upward, the closed face of the guard appearing briefly. He glared at the bared rapier in Vandien's hand, then drew back to allow Willow to descend.

'What's it called?' he asked as she reached a leg down for the ladder.

'What?'

'The strengthening herb. What's it called?'

'Oh.' She paused - overlong, it seemed to him. 'Thwartspite.'

His heart sank, his belly went cold. But he kept his voice even. 'Think about what I said,' he called after her, with little hope that she would, knowing it could make no difference anyway. All things were fixed now, lashed into their courses.

'No. You think about what I said.' Her voice floated back to him. 'Festival starts tomorrow. The first matches will be just after noon.'

He waited until the trap door was shut completely, heard the bolts securing it shot home. Then he allowed himself to sink slowly to the floor, still cradling his arm against himself. Not that it hurt. It felt fine, now.

'Bloodfriend,' Ki had said, nudging the small, blueflowered plant with the toe of her boot. 'Cleans poisons from the system, some say.' She had stooped to pinch off a handful of the small flowers, shaking her head. 'Doesn't really. But it makes a sick animal feel healthy and strong, so it shows well enough to sell. Makes a good poultice for an infection is all I use it for. Thwartspite, I've heard it called, too.' He sat very still on the attic floor, remembering the angle of her jaw as she had looked up at him, the way her long hair swung forward of her shoulders, the easy way she flowed up from the ground to stand.

Gone. Everything. Ki was dead. He'd lost his honor in a fight against a fanatic with a poisoned blade. He looked down at the sword in his hand, at the blade that had betrayed him. He considered the puckered seam on his forearm. Not even Kellich had been what he believed. A poisoned blade. Vandien had even played the fool to him. And now, nothing was left. No family. No name. Only himself to think of. Only one last satisfaction to give himself.

'Fight the Duke and die,' he mused aloud. 'Hell, I might as well. I'm dead already.' He picked up the bowl of cold soup and sipped at it, tasting the antidote to the poison that already chilled his arm and moved through his body with every beat of his heart. Setting down the bowl, he lifted the mug of lukewarm tea in a mocking toast to the empty room. 'May you all go down with me!' he declared, and grinned a smile Ki would not have recognized. 'You bastards.' He drained the mug.

SIXTEEN

F
estival time had come to Tekum. Sparkling shards of glass and tiny bells swung from the branches of trees that lined the main street. The sweet high ringing kept time with the light that flashed from the glass whenever the wind stirred their branches. Bright booths had mushroomed in the shade of the trees, selling everything from toys to tonics. The Human population of the town seemed to have increased fourfold, with here and there a T'cheria or a Dene to mark the contrast. The Brurjans, of course, were everywhere. They were not near as numerous as the Humans, but their hulking size and the near-visible violence that shivered around them made them the dominant element of the crowd. There was no uniformity to their battle harness or weapons, but they needed no badges to mark them as the Duke's. Vandien watched them moving effortlessly as the Human crowd parted to give them way, and wondered if the Duke knew what he was doing to give his safety into their hands. But instead he asked Lacey, 'What's the occasion for this festival?'

Lacey snorted. 'The Duke ordained it, twelve years back. It's to commemorate his coming to power.'

'Why hold it in Tekum?'

Lacey's eyes squeezed shut briefly. 'We had a militia, then. Stationed here, along the caravan route, to keep down robbers and such. Young fool in charge rallied to the Duchess's cause. Duke brought his Brurjans in. Didn't take long.' Lacey nodded to the long line of trees. 'Wasn't a tree here that wasn't swinging a body, and a hell of a lot of them had two.'

The high singing of the bells became suddenly a mocking carillon to Vandien's ears. 'So this is how he reminds you, every year, that you depend on his largesse to survive. And that even the best of you will never better him at swords.'

Lacey looked at him in bewilderment. 'I never thought of it that way before,' he muttered disgruntledly. 'It's just a thing the Duke does. Very typical of him. Doesn't matter why he does it, anyway. It's our only chance at him, that's all that counts. Come on, now. The others will already be gathering. Duke always holds it on the threshing floor in Merp's barn.'

Vandien nodded curtly and followed him through the press of folk. He walked behind Lacey, letting the heavier man forge a pathway for them. As he passed through the crowd, eyes swung to him, held an instant, then darted away. Damn fools. Was there anyone in this town who wasn't in on the plot?

A manic grin settled on his face, and he took to meeting all eyes for the fun of watching them widen and then jerk aside. He felt good. The realization of that startled him for a moment, and then he felt the full impact of it. Damn, he felt great. These bastards had plundered his soul, had taken from him all that he had ever valued. He had nothing left to save. Not even his own life. Ki had gone, and her passing had left less than nothing within him. The gentler parts of his nature had died with her, leaving him only the hard and sharp to do with. The impulsiveness that had always characterized his decisions was now in complete control. It was a heady feeling.

He was totally aware of his body, his skin tingling and tightening at the slightest brush of a stranger's cloak. His heart was pumping steadily in his chest and he was cognizant of each surging beat, counting out the moments of his life's passing. He wondered if it were the poison affecting him so, or the stimulation of the Thwartspite. Perhaps it was only his knowledge that he could die today, that this blue sky might be the last he would walk under, that these smells of dust and sweat and food cooking might be the last ones he would breathe. How slow was the slow poison from Kellich's blade? Another handful of days? A few hours? He looked out over the crowd and wondered how many of these folk were also squandering their last day, blissfully unaware of it. For some, he'd make it certain.

He had not been paying attention to where they were going. The threshing barn loomed up before them. The structure was little more than a roof supported by massive timbers and a smoothly bricked floor. A gathering place as much as a threshing ground, for dancing and village celebrations. Today it had been swept clear. At one end of the barn, a raised dais of new wood held a single massive chair. Nothing would block the Duke's view. Common spectators had spread their cloaks or mats on the ground and sat on them, eating and drinking and talking loudly to one another. Contestants were scattered over the smooth floor, some standing nervously or idly, others limbering muscles or showily practicing for the onlookers. Vandien ran practiced eyes over them. Only four struck him as competent, and two others as possibly dangerous. The others looked to be tavern louts and barnyard boasters, their weapons cheap bazaar blades or Grandfather's ancient shoulder-wrencher. He frowned slightly, knowing that going against them would be more like fighting with staves than true fencing. He turned to Lacey, speaking low.

'The man in green there; tell me about him.'

Lacey glanced away. 'Kurtis. One of ours. He'll make you look good. You needn't fear him. He's under orders not to be much of a challenge to you.'

'He wouldn't be in any case. Look how he drags his feet. Those two, warming up together ... are they yours also?'

'Yes. Students of Kellich's. Blume and Trask. Blume's the one with the lace. Again, you've nothing to worry about. They've both been instructed to lose in such a way as to make you look very good.' Lacey spoke reassuringly.

'I wasn't worrying, Lacey. But the one in the boots should, if he always locks his elbow like that. The woman there, in the red silk blouse?'

'Another of ours. She's good, but she won't hurt you.'

'She moves well, but without inspiration. Kellich taught her?'

'I believe so. Vandien, stop fretting. Everything has been arranged; you cannot lose.'

A grin split Vandien's face, tugged at his scar. 'Unless I win. Two more, Lacey, and then leave me alone. There's a man, standing quiet now, beside the third timber. Black beard, grey at his temples ... see him?'

'Damn!' Lacey swore fervently. 'He was warned away, several times. We told him there was bigger game afoot. But his wife is with child, again, and all his sheep went down this spring with the wobblies. Farrick's after a purse of gold, to get him through the winter; but he's more likely to go home to a smoking barn for not listening to us.'

'Leave him alone,' Vandien warned him, and his voice was flat and ugly. His dark eyes burned into Lacey and the man flinched from their depth.

'All right,' he said softly. 'But be careful of him. He's good.'

'I know.' This was one of the ones he had mentally marked as dangerous. Farrick moved with quiet control and beautiful balance. He was older than Vandien, and bigger. He'd have a longer reach, and a damn good reason to fence his best. One to be careful of. 'And her?' Vandien asked, nodding toward the other contestant he had marked as dangerous. 'What do you know about her?'

Lacey glared at the woman who was tucking her long pale braids up under a red cap. 'She's as crazy as a rabid vixen. There's no reasoning with that girl. You may have to kill her to get past her. She's another one was warned away, but didn't choose to listen.'

'I'll decide that,' Vandien said quietly. He was watching her face. She was nervous, but a fervent hate burned in her blue eyes. 'Who is she?'

'Darnell. She used to fence with her brother.'

'And?'

'Last year was a hard one for their family. Just before harvest, their grainfield took the crust and had to be burned. Her brother came here to try his luck with the sword, to see if he could win gold from the Duke.'

'And?' Vandien prodded again.

'And he won the medallion instead. She's gone mad, Vandien. Darnell will do anything to get her own chance at the Duke.'

He nodded to Lacey, watching her. Darnell was small and whip-quick. Her face was too strong to be called pretty, and her eyes burned with an intensity that cleared the area around her. She glanced at him suddenly and their eyes locked. Nothing left to lose, they agreed, and she sent him a quick smile. Dangerous.

He left Lacey then, striding out onto the threshing floor. It was as if the main actor had just stepped onto the stage for the play. The crowd's noises hushed briefly, and then rose in intensity. Vandien ignored them. He cleared his mind of them, and the world became an empty place. He might have been on a hillside beside Ki's old wagon as he saluted his shadow and began stretching out his muscles. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he smelled woodsmoke and tea and horses, felt the clean breeze on his face, and heard Ki exclaim, half in annoyance, half in admiration, as the bound point of his practice foil found her. For an instant the painloss jolted through him, and he wished he were wearing something of hers, some token ... but no. He did not fight today as a man fought in honor of his lady, but as a man fights who has nothing left to defend, least of all honor. The only purpose of his blade today was to take as many with him as he could.

Then the silence in his heart was suddenly silence in his ears as well. He drew himself up, turned to see where all heads were turning.

Six Brurjans afoot, in black and silver battle harness, flanking a great black stallion whose mane and tail had been plaited with silver wire. Silver weighted the bridle on the horse's small savage head and silver winked on the light saddle. Black and silver was the man astride him. Of black silk were his garments, and the armor he wore was black leather and silver, styled after the Brurjan fashion but scaled down to a Human. His hair was black, and black his beard, but his eyes were silver grey in his weathered face.