Above the Snowline (32 page)
‘Sh!’ I said, trying to listen to Dellin, but Snipe clapped his hands exultantly. ‘Beers all round! And some of your never-ending stew, my lovely.’
Ouzel brandished her wooden spoon and disappeared behind the bar. ‘The face that lunched a thousand chips!’ Snipe added as soon as her back was turned. The men laughed - though rather cautiously since she was as big as they were. She brought jugs of beer, holding four together at a time, and supplied them all with mugs and food. She returned to sit beside me and approvingly watched them tuck in. After a few nervous glances at me they realised my attention was elsewhere and relaxed into their business, trying to put themselves on the outside of as much food and drink as they could. When they fell relatively quiet I could hear Dellin again.
‘If we raid them over and over they will eventually tire and give up,’ she declared. ‘Not raids like the one you stupidly carried out today, but proper hunts. Featherbacks flounder in the snow. On a night like tonight they would freeze solid! They have already withdrawn inside their great pueblo, so Feocullan tells me, and every Awian who ventures out is armed to the teeth. See those who just came in over there? Raven sends them to check on us. He fears us, and well he might, for in the forests and on the cliffs his people are more helpless than fawns and we are pumas. We can drive them like deer and beat every last one out of cover. We will push them out of our land, into their fortress and down the slope. Then I will say to them, “You are free to return to your own country.”’
Ouzel looked at me questioningly. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Every word.’
‘She doesn’t understand that Carniss Manor is here permanently. ’
‘None of them do,’ I said. ‘Dellin has as much chance of driving the settlers from Carniss as she has of hitting the moon with an arrow.’
‘The moon with an arrow!’ A voice guffawed from the next table. ‘That’s good, Comet. Good and true. We’re rooted here now and no bloody talon-hands are going to shift us. Did you hear that, lads? Comet said the cat-eyes have as much chance of disturbing us as they have of hitting the moon with an arrow. Which, seeing as they can’t shoot, is no chance at all. We’re not shaken by a single raid, are we?’
In a chorus of uproarious denial, they banged their beer mugs on the table and roundly damned every Rhydanne.
I said, ‘If you respected them it would be a start.’
‘Respect them? Why?’ Snipe asked innocently, then began laughing again. ‘Do we respect the tabby cats our wives keep as pets? Because you know, Comet, they can’t organise themselves any more than cats do. Today was proof. Eh, lads? Today was a fine score: Carniss one, Rhydanne nil.’
They all laughed. ‘And open a tally for our beer, Ouzel, darling,’ he leered, though at a look from Ouzel he had to glance at his mates for support. ‘It’s expensive. Three times the price of Rachis beer, by god.’
‘This house brew is the only beer for thirty kilometres,’ she said. ‘If you want cheaper, ski down to Eyrie.’
Snipe pulled an aghast expression. ‘With planks on my feet like a Rhydanne? Do you want me to burrow in the snow like them as well?’ He turned to the other five, who were enjoying the warmth of the fire on their wind-ruddy faces, occasionally still blowing into their fists to ease their defrosting fingers. Melting snow dripped from the hems and sleeves of the greatcoats hung over the backs of their chairs. I was surprised to note their bows were first-class quality. They looked very much like a fyrd squad - they would all have done service - and although Tarmigan would never allow Raven to have actual Select Fyrd, Raven had found the means to kit out some of his ragtag collection of cottars, criminals and entrepreneurs almost to the same standard.
‘Oh, I forgot your due, Glede,’ Snipe added. ‘Have some beer for that excellent shot today. As much as you can drink, on our lord. Yours is the shot that felled her, I’m sure. Other arrows hit her, but yours was the first to bring her down. Hey, Ouzel! Fetch some more!’
Ouzel removed one of their empty jugs, refilled it, and slashed a fifth mark across a tally of four she had chalked on her blackboard. The woodsman who had shot Miagail eagerly drained his mug. Snipe, satisfied, dug his hands into his damp hair again and pulled them up, raising his hair into a single curious tuft. He looked like an onion on top of a potato. He grinned, showing yellow teeth against wind-tanned skin. His skin had an oily sheen, probably from all that cheese, and a pimple stood proud on the muscles of his brawny neck.
I caught a snatch of Dellin’s conversation: ‘Feocullan, you will man the snowbank with your partner.’
Feocullan has a partner, I thought, and for some reason I felt more relaxed.
‘Prepare the branches tonight,’ she continued. ‘And the means to light them. Do you have any dummies?’
‘Yes, Dellin.’
‘Then you are in charge of them. Airgead, I want—’
Snipe’s voice drowned her out. He had followed my gaze and was watching Dellin with extreme distaste. ‘Feline rank smell in here, isn’t there?’
‘Oh, shut up,’ I said.
Ouzel said to him, ‘This is their pub too. In their opinion you’re the stranger and you smell like prey.’
He ducked his head, giving himself a double chin. ‘I don’t know what they think,
if
they think, and I don’t care. They’re imbeciles. If they mess with us, the only land we’ll give them in Carniss is two metres each, like the one we buried today.’
if
they think, and I don’t care. They’re imbeciles. If they mess with us, the only land we’ll give them in Carniss is two metres each, like the one we buried today.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Glede, holding up his mug in a toast.
‘If we hadn’t roused them, they’d stay in their backward state for ever. Playing like children, always shirking hard graft.’
‘Please be quiet,’ I said. ‘All of you.’
Snipe took a long drink and I hoped for a second he was going to shut up, but he continued in a lower voice, ‘I grant you they may be able to run, but they can’t outrun arrows. I grant you, they land on their feet mostly, but not always. That one today landed on her belly.’
‘That’s the attitude that causes the raids,’ Ouzel upbraided him.
‘Huh. I think we should leave some offal outside as bait, go up on the parapet and have fine sport. There are fewer ’danne than we have arrows; we’ll keep score until they’re all dead or fled to their holes.’
‘Stop looking for a quarrel!’ I snapped.
‘Huh - if they seek a quarrel they can have one,’ he mumbled.
‘A crossbow quarrel!’
I glanced at Dellin, glad that she couldn’t follow the Awian but at the same time wishing she knew, so she could defend herself. My glance grew to a gaze: she was crouching and arranging two lines of small stones on the rug, and the other hunters watched intently. They looked for all the world like Eszai poring over a map table in the Sun Pavilion, drawing up their plans of war. I gradually became aware that Ouzel was watching me nervously.
Snipe was staring into his beer. ‘It’s strange, really,’ he murmured. ‘That one we shot today - when crows pecked her eyes out she looked quite human.’
‘Do you have a problem with my eyes?’
He looked up, then broke away from my stare. ‘Ah, Comet. I was thinking of someone . . . My poor wife . . . No, of course I didn’t mean . . . It’s obvious that you -’ he gestured at my wings ‘- that you aren’t one of them . . .’
The other archers, oblivious to our exchange, guffawed at some half-witted joke. I looked away from them in disgust, trying to eavesdrop on Dellin again. Snipe gulped beer. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Glede, red-faced with drink, nudge him in the ribs. ‘Hey, Snipe. Ever thought what it’d be like to fuck one of them? One of those skinny little ’danne women?’
‘Huh! Man, woman: they all look the same to me.’
Another voice: ‘Glede, you probably had a go at that one today before we threw her in the hole, you dirty bastard! Dropped one in her hole before we dropped her in the hole!’
I turned, slammed the table with my hand. ‘Enough!’
‘Why?’ said Snipe. He nodded and grinned at Dellin. ‘Are you looking to have one or something?’
‘Right!’ I jumped up, darted to him and grabbed his throat. His bristly skin was clammy. Head tilted back, he looked down the length of his nose. I released him, sideswiped with my other hand and whacked him across the jaw. His head whipped sideways. I drove my fist into his solar plexus and he doubled up.
I clenched both hands into his sweater and dragged him away from the table. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Ouzel’s aghast expression and the archers stumbling to their feet. Snipe straightened up. His hand went to the knife in his belt and a centimetre of blade gleamed. He swung out the knife but I dodged it - in leisurely style but I doubt he saw me move.
Revelling in my speed, I gave him no chance. I punched again, felt it connect with his eye socket, punched the other hand into his nose, felt it crack and give, then an uppercut under his chin and his head flicked back.
‘Stop it!’ yelled Ouzel. She strode in and tried to grab my arm, but I was too fast. Snipe, half-blinded, lashed out with the hand not clutching his knife. I pivoted forward and whacked him in the mouth with my full weight. He staggered back, over the chair and onto the table. He turned onto his side, supporting himself with both hands on the table, and spat out a tooth. His mouth open, saliva mixed with blood drooled out. Behind him, Glede was fumbling to string his bow. He caught my look and stopped.
Fury shone in Snipe’s eyes and his split lips tightened. He pushed himself off the table and dashed at me, knife outstretched. Great, I thought; give me an excuse. I slipped aside, let the blade pass, seized his wrist and twisted his arm up behind his back. His fingers uncurled and the knife tumbled to the floor.
‘Leave him!’ Ouzel shouted.
The mist was clearing and a vision crossed my mind of the Emperor, furious, rising from the sunburst throne. My grip relaxed. Snipe tore himself away, flung himself on the ground and got up, knife in hand.
He came at me again. I looked around and saw their ice axes and ropes piled by the door. I ran to them, snatched up the nearest axe and whacked him full strength across the stomach with its long shaft. He dropped to hands and knees. I booted him at the top of the leg - the pressure point dimple where it joined his backside. He yelled and collapsed onto his side, breathing feebly. Now you know how it feels to be kicked by a Rhydanne, I thought, altering my grip on the shaft. It’s like being kicked by a racehorse.
Even now he was reaching out for his knife. I raised the axe above his neck.
‘No!’ Ouzel grabbed the shaft. ‘Leave him!’
I lowered it and gently touched my boot toe to the nape of his neck and the base of his spine. ‘If you pick up that knife it’ll be the end of you.’
He curled up limply, dribbling blood from his spongy nose and mouth. His friends surrounded him and Ouzel knelt down in their midst. She took the tea towel from the table and folded it under his head. ‘Why did you do that, Jant? Why?’
‘Why did he have to make out I fancied Dellin?’
‘He was only joking! Oh, I see . . . Bloody hell.’
My white-hot fury had subsided but she sparked a throbbing anger. ‘I’m sick of this prejudice! I’m immortal, not Rhydanne, not Awian! But I can’t make them listen to each other!’
‘For an immortal, you’re a dirty fighter,’ she said.
‘There’s no such thing as a fair fight where I come from.’
‘Hacilith?’
‘Darkling.’
She lifted Snipe onto a chair with his friends’ help and his head drooped like a beaten boxer’s. She dabbed his bleeding mouth and I paced up and down, tapping the axe against my palm. I was still angry but I felt the tiniest butterfly stir its wing in my stomach. What have I done? Shit . . . if the Emperor hears of this, he’ll . . .
A scream behind me brought me to my senses. Ouzel had just set Snipe’s nose straight. The Rhydanne beyond the fireplace pealed with laughter.
He shouldered Ouzel aside and stood up roughly, holding a wad of lint against his damaged mouth and nose. His friends clustered around him and helped him put on his hat and coat. They gathered their gear and hurried out, with Snipe leaning on the shoulder of the most sober.
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