Tigana (61 page)

Behind him, thundering out of the brown twilight hills, were at least eight, possibly a dozen brigands of the highlands. Devin hadn’t looked back, after their first startled glimpse of the outlaws and the shouted command to halt.

He didn’t think they had a chance, however close this village might be. They had been riding at a bone-jarring pace for hours and the horses Alienor had given them were tired. If this was to be a flat-out race against fresh-mounted outlaws they were probably dead. He gritted his teeth and rode, ignoring the ache in his leg and the sting of reopened cuts from his leap in the mountains earlier that day.

The wind whistled past him as they rode. He saw Alessan turn in his saddle, an arrow notched to his fully drawn bow. The Prince fired backwards once and then again into the twilight, his muscles ridged and corded with the effort. An improbable, desperate attempt at such speed in the wind.

Two men screamed. Devin quickly looked back and saw one of them fall. A handful of erratic arrows dropped well short of the three of them.

‘They’ve slowed!’ Erlein rasped, glancing back as well. ‘How far to this village?’

‘Through the gap and twenty minutes beyond! Ride!’ Alessan did not shoot again, bending low to urge more speed from his own grey. They fled into the wind along the track of the sun, between the shadowy bulk of two heathery hills and into the gap between.

They didn’t get out.

Just where the path bent to follow the curve of the encroaching ridges eight riders were waiting in a line across the gap, bows calmly levelled at the three of them.

They pulled their horses to rearing halts. Devin flung a glance back over his shoulder and saw the pursuing outlaws entering the pass behind them. There was one riderless horse, and another man clutched at his shoulder where an arrow was still embedded.

He looked at Alessan, saw the desperate, defiant look in the Prince’s eye.

‘Don’t be a fool!’
Erlein snapped. ‘You can’t run through and you can’t kill this many men.’

‘I can try,’ Alessan said, his eyes darting across the defile and up the steep hills on either side, wild to find a way out. He had stopped his horse though, and did not raise the bow.

‘Straight into a trap. What a splendid ending to two decades of dreaming!’ His voice was corrosively bitter, raw with self-laceration.

It was true though, Devin realized, rather too late. This pass between the hills was a natural place for an ambush, and the Triad knew there were enough outlaws in the wilds of southern Certando, where even the Barbadian mercenaries seldom went, and honest men were never abroad this close to the fall of night. On the other hand, they hadn’t had much choice, given how far they had to go, and how fast.

It didn’t seem as if they were going to get there. Or anywhere. There was still enough light to make out the outlaws, and their appearance did not reassure. Their clothing might be random and carelessly worn, but the horses were far from the beaten-down creatures most brigands rode. The men in front of them looked disciplined, and the weaponry levelled at the three of them was formidable. This had also been, very clearly, a carefully laid trap.

One man rode a few paces forward from the silent line. ‘Release your bows,’ he said with easy authority. ‘I don’t like talking with armed men.’

‘Neither do I,’ Alessan replied grimly, staring at the man. But a moment later he let his bow fall to the ground. Beside Devin, Erlein did the same.

‘And the boy,’ the outlaw leader said, still softly. He was a big man of middle years, with a large face and a full beard that showed deep red in the waning light. He wore a dark wide-brimmed hat that hid his eyes.

‘I don’t carry a bow,’ Devin said shortly, letting fall his sword.

There was mocking laughter at that from the men in front of them.

‘Magian, why were your men in arrow range?’ the bearded man said, more loudly now. He himself had not laughed. ‘You knew my instructions. You know how we do this.’

‘I didn’t think we were,’ came an angry voice behind them, amid a clattering of hooves. Their pursuers had come up. The trap was closed, before and behind. ‘He fired a long way in half-light and wind. He was lucky, Ducas.’

‘He wouldn’t have had a chance to be lucky if you had done your job properly. Where’s Abhar?’

‘Took an arrow in the thigh and fell. Torre’s gone back to bring him.’

‘Waste.’ The red-bearded man scowled. ‘I don’t like waste.’ He was a dark, bulky presence, silhouetted against the low sun. Behind him the other seven riders kept their bows levelled.

Alessan said, ‘If waste offends you, you won’t like this evening’s work at all. We have nothing to give you beyond our weapons. Or our lives, if you are the sort who kill for pleasure.’

‘Sometimes,’ the man named Ducas said, not raising his voice. He sounded unsettlingly calm, Devin thought, and very much in control of his band. ‘Will my two men die? Do you use poisoned arrows?’

Alessan’s expression was contemptuous. ‘Not even against the Barbadians. Why? Do you?’

‘Sometimes,’ the outlaw leader said again. ‘Especially against the Barbadians. These
are
the highlands, after all.’ He smiled for the first time, a cold, wolfish grin. Devin had a sudden sense that he wouldn’t want to have this man’s memories, or his dreams.

Alessan said nothing. It was growing darker in the pass. Devin saw him glance over at Erlein, a sharp query in his face. The wizard shook his head, a minute, almost invisible gesture. ‘Too many,’ he whispered. ‘And besides—’

‘The grey-haired one is a wizard!’ came an emphatic voice from the line beyond Ducas.

A chunky, round-faced man moved his horse forward beside the leader’s. ‘Don’t even think of it,’ he continued, looking straight at Erlein. ‘I could block anything you tried.’ Startled, Devin glanced at the man’s hands, but at this distance it was too dark for him to see if two fingers were missing. They would have to be though.

They had come upon another wizard; much good it would do them.

‘And precisely how long do you think it would take a Tracker to find you then?’ Erlein was saying, his voice
silken. ‘With the backspill of magic from the both of us leading to this place?’

‘There are a sufficiency of arrows trained on your heart and throat,’ the leader interjected, ‘to ensure that such an event would not happen. But I confess this grows more interesting every moment. An archer and a wizard riding abroad on an Ember Day. Aren’t you afraid of the dead? What does the boy do?’

‘I’m a singer,’ Devin said grimly. ‘Devin d’Asoli, lately from the company of Menico di Ferraut, if that means anything to you.’ The thing, obviously, was to keep the talk going somehow. And he had heard stories—wishful thinking on the road, perhaps—of outlaw bands sparing musicians in exchange for a night of song. Something occurred to him: ‘You thought we were Barbadians, didn’t you? From a distance. That’s why you laid the trap.’

‘A singer. A clever singer,’ Ducas murmured. ‘If not clever enough to stay indoors on an Ember Day. Of course we thought you were Barbadians. Who in the eastern peninsula but Barbadians and outlaws would be abroad today? And all of the outlaws for twenty miles around are part of my band.’

‘There are outlaws and outlaws,’ Alessan said softly. ‘But if you were hunting Barbadian mercenaries you are men with the same hearts as ours. I can tell you—and I do not lie, Ducas—that if you hinder us here, or kill us, you will be giving such comfort to Barbadior—and to Ygrath—as they could not have ever dreamt of asking of you.’ There was, not surprisingly, a silence. The cold wind knifed into the pass, stirring the young grasses in the growing dark.

‘You have a rather large opinion of yourself, it appears,’ Ducas said at length, thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps I should know why. I think it is time for you to tell me exactly who you are, and where you are riding at dusk on an Ember Day, and I will draw my own conclusions.’

‘My name is Alessan. I am riding west. My mother is dying and has summoned me to her side.’

‘How devoted of you,’ Ducas said. ‘But one name tells me nothing, and west is a big place, my friend with the bow.
Who are you and where are you riding?
’ The voice was an uncoiled whip this time. Devin jumped. Behind Ducas seven bowstrings were drawn back.

Devin, his heart pounding, saw Alessan hesitate. The sun was almost gone now, a red disk cut in half by the horizon beyond the pass. The wind seemed to be blowing harder, promising a chilly night to come after this first day of spring.

There was a chill in Devin as well. He glanced at Erlein, and discovered that the wizard was staring at him, as if waiting. Alessan had not yet spoken. Ducas shifted meaningfully in his saddle.

Devin swallowed and, knowing that however hard this was for him, it had to be easier than it would be for Alessan, he said: ‘Tigana. He is from Tigana, and so am I.’

He was careful to look straight at the outlaw wizard as he spoke, not at Ducas or the other riders. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Alessan was doing the same thing, so as not to have to see the blank look of incomprehension they both knew would follow. The wizard would be different. Wizards could hear the name.

A murmur rose from the gathered men, before them and behind. And then one man spoke aloud amid the shadows of falling dusk in that lonely place. A voice from the line behind them.

‘By the blood of the god!’
that voice cried from the heart. Devin wheeled around. A man had dismounted and was striding quickly forward to stand in front of them. Devin saw that the man was small, not much bigger than himself, perhaps thirty years old or a little more, and that he was
moving awkwardly and clearly in pain, with Alessan’s arrow in his arm.

Ducas was looking at his wizard. ‘Sertino, what is this?’ he said, with an edge in his voice. ‘I do not—’

‘Sorcery,’ the wizard said bluntly.

‘What? His?’ Ducas nodded towards Erlein.

‘No, not his.’ It was the wounded man who spoke, his eyes never leaving Alessan’s face. ‘Not this poor wizard’s. It is real sorcery, this. It is the power of Brandin of Ygrath that keeps you from hearing the name.’

With an angry motion Ducas swept his hat off, revealing a balding dome with a fringe of bright red hair. ‘And you, Naddo? How do you hear it, then?’

The man on the ground swayed unsteadily on his feet before replying. ‘Because I was born there too, and so I’m immune to the spell, or another victim of it, whichever you prefer.’ Devin heard the tautness in his voice, as of someone holding hard to his self-control. He heard the man called Naddo say, looking up at Alessan, ‘You have been asked for your name, and you only gave him a part. Will you tell us the rest? Will you tell me?’ It was hard to see his eyes now, but his voice told an old story.

Alessan was sitting on his horse with an easiness, even after a day in the saddle, that seemed to deny even the possibility of weariness, or the tension of where they were. But then his right hand came up and pushed once, unconsciously, through his already tangled hair, and Devin, seeing the familiar gesture, knew that whatever he himself was feeling now, it was doubled and redoubled in the man he followed.

And then in the stillness of that pass, with the only other sounds the whistle of wind between the hills and the stirring of the horses on the young grass, he heard: ‘My name is Alessan di Tigana bar Valentin. If you are as old as you appear to be, Naddo di Tigana, you will know who I am.’

With a prickling of hairs on his neck and a shiver he could not control, Devin saw Naddo drop to his knees on the cold ground even before the last words were spoken.

‘Oh, my Prince!’
the wounded man cried in a raw voice. And covering his face with his one good hand, he wept.

‘Prince?’ said Ducas, very softly. There was a restive movement among the outlaws. ‘Sertino, you will explain this to me!’

Sertino the wizard looked from Alessan to Erlein, and then down at the weeping man. A curious, almost a frightened, expression crossed his pale, round face.

He said, ‘They are from Lower Corte. It had a different name before Brandin of Ygrath came. He has used his sorcery to take that name away. Only people born there, and wizards because of our own magic, can hear the true name. That is what is happening here.’

‘And “Prince”? Naddo called him that.’

Sertino was silent. He looked over at Erlein, and there was still that odd, uneasy look on his face. He said, ‘Is it true?’

And Erlein di Senzio, with an ironic half-smile, replied, ‘Just don’t let him cut your hair, brother. Unless you like being bound into slavery.’

Sertino’s mouth fell open. Ducas slapped his knee with his hat. ‘Now that,’ he snapped, ‘I do not understand at all. There is too much of this I do not understand. I want explanations, from all of you!’ His voice was harsh, much louder than before. He did not look at Alessan though.

‘
I
understand it well enough, Ducas,’ came a voice from behind them. It was Magian, the captain of the group that had driven them into the gap. He moved his horse forward as they turned to look at him. ‘I understand that we have made our fortunes tonight. If this is the Prince of a province Brandin hates then all we need do is take him west to Fort
Forese across the border and turn him over to the Ygrathens there. With a wizard to boot. And who knows, one of them probably likes boys in his bed, too. Singing boys.’ His smile was a wide, loose thing in the shadows.

He said, ‘There will be rewards. Land. Perhaps even …’

He said nothing more than that. Ever. In rigid disbelief Devin saw Magian’s mouth fall open and his eyes grow briefly wide, then the man slid slowly sideways off his horse to fall with a clatter of sword and bow on the ground beside Erlein.

There was a long-handled dagger in his back.

One of the outlaws from the line behind him, not hurrying at all, dismounted and pulled the dagger free. He wiped it carefully clean on the dead man’s surcoat before sheathing it again at his belt.

‘Not a good idea, Magian’s,’ he said quietly, straightening to look at Ducas. ‘Not a good idea at all. We aren’t informers here, and we don’t serve the Tyrants.’