Dagger's Point (Shadow series) (8 page)

“What’s so funny?” Tanis murmured against the skin of her neck.

“I’m sorry,” Jael giggled. “I can’t help it. That tickles.”

“What about this?” Tanis tongue traced a path along the line of her jaw, holding Jael close as his free hand slid down her side, slipping under the waist of her trousers. Jael held her breath as long as she could, but at last she could no longer suppress a shriek of laughter.

“Oh, for Baaros’s sake,” Tanis said disgustedly, releasing her. He found Jael’s tunic and flung it at her, then snatched up half the blankets.

“What are you doing?” Jael asked, not laughing anymore. She clutched the tunic to her bare chest.

“Just go to sleep,” Tanis snapped. He stomped off into the darkness, cursing under his breath. Jael sat there listening until she heard him settle himself under another wagon nearby.

Oh, gods. Jael pulled her tunic over her head and crawled back under the blankets, almost in tears. What should she do now? Would apologizing to Tanis help, or would it just make things worse? And why should she have to apologize? He knew it was no more Jael’s fault than it was his own that she couldn’t desire him.

He’d always been so understanding and patient, Jael sometimes forgot that while a pure-blooded elf of twenty-two years of age might still be a child, human males of Tanis’s age would be at that stage where they did little else but dash from one brothel to the next.

Well, there was no chance of sleeping now. Jael wiped her eyes, wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, and scrambled out from under the wagon into the light rain. Tanis had tethered their horses near the wagon where they were to sleep, separate from the merchants’ horses—another of Tanis’s silly just-in-case-brigands-attack precautions—and they were near enough that Jael could occasionally feel their irritation with the weather and their frustration as they strained to reach the grass beyond the circle of their tethers.

Jael moved the horses’ pickets to fresh spots and offered each of them some of the dried fruit from her pack in apology for their discomfort. There was nothing she could do about the rain; there weren’t even any trees she could move them under for shelter.

The horses accepted the dried fruit, rubbing their heads against Jael or nibbling affectionately at her sleeve. Jael was not a true beast-speaker, and there was no real communication between her and the horses, but her sensitivity made her a desirable companion. Every horse in the palace stables had come to recognize Jael as a person associated with relief from small discomforts, one who never appeared without some tasty snack for her friends and who invariably knew just where to scratch.

Jael suddenly froze, her ears straining. Had she heard a footstep, a harsh breath that hadn’t come from one of the horses? She squinted into the darkness. Surely those dark forms at the very edge of her vision, creeping silently around the edge of the camp, weren’t the caravan guards.

As quietly as she could, Jael edged back to the wagon, glancing desperately around to locate Tanis. There he was, under the next wagon over. She crept to his side, clapping her hand firmly over his mouth as she shook him.

“Wmmmf!” Tanis bolted upright, tearing Jael’s hand away from his mouth. “What in Baaros’s name do you—”

“Shhh,” Jael whispered desperately. “I think the caravan’s surrounded, or nearly. Should we wake everyone?”

Tanis immediately pulled Jael under the wagon, bearing both of them flat against the ground. Even in his anger when he’d left her, he’d been wise enough to take his sword with him; now the blade was naked in his hand.

“Get your sword, and scramble our packs together if you can,” he whispered so softly that even Jael barely heard him. “I’ll warn the guards and the wagonmaster.”

Despite her question about defending the caravan earlier, Jael would have stopped him if she could, but Tanis was gone before she could grab him. Quickly Jael snatched Tanis’s blankets and scuttled back for her own, wadding them haphazardly into the best bundle she could manage, scrabbling for her sword. Gods, how could she ever get all the packs onto the horses and get them saddled in time to get away before she and Tanis were slaughtered? Jael froze in horror as she heard quiet footsteps approaching the back of the wagon, even as she saw a stealthy figure creeping closer to where her three horses were tethered.

At that moment, a cry sounded from the other side of the cluster of wagons, and Jael thought she recognized the guard who had first met them, then others. The footsteps at the rear of the wagon halted, and now Jael could see the feet and leggings of the stepper, wearing low boots and filthy leggings—no merchant or guard, then, but as Jael had feared, one of the highwaymen.

One of the feet disappeared as the bandit began to climb into the wagon. Without thinking, Jael grabbed the other foot and yanked it hard toward her; the bandit, surprised and off balance, fell hard behind the wagon. Jael could hear the merchant and his doxy bolt awake above her, and to her relief she heard the hiss of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

Suddenly the clearing was full of running feet and flashing blades, and Jael decided she’d more than done her part in defending the caravan; now all she wanted in the world was for herself and Tanis to escape with as much of their goods as they could and with their hides still intact. She swept up two packs and her sword and ducked out from under the wagon, dashing for the horses as fast as she could.

Gods, she’d forgotten the man who had been creeping up to the horses! He was there now, reaching for one of the picket ropes with one hand, a knife in the other.

Jael tossed the packs aside; one of the first lessons she’d ever had was
never clutter your fighting ground.
Then there was no time to remember her lessons; Jael only had time to think
Thank the gods he didn’t throw that knife
as the bandit drew anothe knife from his belt and stepped forward to meet her.

He was human, so Jael had that much of an advantage—her night vision was superior to his, and her sword gave her a greater reach despite her shorter stature. But he knew where the rest of his people were and wasn’t worried about watching his back, nor did he need to be concerned about whether his companion was busy getting skewered. And even in practice, Jael had rarely fought against an opponent with two knives.

Jael grimly shut out the shouts and the clang of blades behind her; if Tanis was being killed at this moment, there was nothing she could do to help. The fact that the brigand hadn’t yet thrown a knife didn’t mean that he couldn’t; Jael’s only hope was to keep him too busy to set up for a throw.

He was fast, blindingly fast, deflecting but never actually meeting her strokes. Try as she might, Jael could find no opening past his constantly moving knives; all she could manage was to reverse their positions so that he couldn’t use the firelight from the caravan to see her better. A moment later she discovered why he’d allowed the reversal as Jael narrowly missed tripping over one of the picket ropes. Now she’d have to divide her concentration to watch her footing as well.

The bandit feinted with his left knife while thrusting with his right; Jael had been expecting such a maneuver and turned his knife aside easily. In a motion so fast that Jael saw only a blur, however, his left knife flashed toward her face. There was a second blur, and the bandit cried out and stumbled backward, dropping his knife to clutch at the stump of his wrist. Jael stared dumbly down at the blood on her sword blade. Then she took a deep breath and struck deliberately, nearly severing the bandit’s head as her blade slid effortlessly through the meat of his throat. The bandit dropped to his knees and then collapsed, his choked gurgling tapering to silence even as he fell.

Immediately Jael pivoted, half-expecting to find one of her opponent’s compatriots ready to sink a knife into her back, but there was no one. Quickly Jael wiped her blade on the grass, then dragged the two packs over to where the horses, now agitated by the noise and the smell of blood, paced restlessly. There were still the other packs under the wagon, and the saddles, too, but Jael was no longer concerned about them. More importantly, where was Tanis?

Jael paused only long enough to pick up the dead bandit’s knives—a disagreeable chore, as one was still clutched in the severed hand. But unlike her Kresh dagger, these were knives she could throw and then abandon if need be.

It was amazing to realize that only moments had passed, that guards and merchants and bandits were still fighting. Jael ducked under the wagon and nearly collided with Tanis, who was diving for the same shelter but from the other side. The left sleeve of his tunic was stained with blood, and his sword was still bloody, too.

“There you are!” he panted. “I’ve been looking everywhere. Can you carry most of these? The arm’s not too bad, I don’t think, but I can’t grip well. Come on, hurry before someone sees us here.”

Jael loaded her arms, praying she wouldn’t need to use her sword again, and Tanis managed to tuck both saddles under his good arm. Jael had to guide Tanis through the darkness to the horses, unhappily aware of how much noise they were making, stumbling through the grass. Tanis nearly tripped over the corpse of the bandit Jael had slain.

“Keep watch while I take care of the horses,” Jael told Tanis. “There’s got to be a few bandits staying outside, making sure no one gets away.”

Jael saddled the horses and loaded the pack horse as quickly as she could, but even as she drew the last strap tight on Tanis’s saddle, she heard footsteps and hoarse breathing quickly approaching, even before Tanis gave a warning shout.

“Get on your horse,” Jael said grimly, thrusting the reins into Tanis’s good hand. “I’ll give you a hand up.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Tanis began, but Jael interrupted him.

“You don’t have to. I can run and jump into the saddle. Just get up, will you?”

Tanis awkwardly pulled himself into the saddle with considerable help from Jael. As soon as Jael was sure Tanis would not fall off, she slapped his horse into motion. At the same moment, a merchant stumbled out of the circle of the wagons and collapsed, a dagger protruding from his back. Two bandits followed, ignoring the fallen merchant as soon as they saw Jael.

Jael seized the reins of her horse and the pack horse and urged them to a trot. Hearing the footsteps now close behind her, she grasped the horse’s mane tightly and jumped—

Jael’s toe caught in a knotted clump of weeds, and the horse’s mane tore free of her fingers. Jael fell heavily, the breath driven out of her lungs, but worse was the sound of two sets of running feet behind her while her horse’s hoofbeats faded into the night.

Reflexively Jael rolled, and that reflex saved her life. A dagger thunked solidly into the ground where Jael had been. Jael swiftly grasped the dagger and threw it—Gods bless Aunt Shadow and her patient lessons—and heard an answering cry, although she could not tell whether it was a cry of pain or of fear at a near miss.

Almost simultaneously she rolled again, freeing her scabbard so she could draw her sword as she scrambled to her feet. The weapon leaped to her hand, familiar there like an extension of her arm. She let it guide her around, her entire body following the motion of the sword. The blade flashed in the moonlight, and Jael felt it ring against metal before she saw the bandit’s sword. Her opponent’s sword shivered, but held, and Jael strained her ears, listening for the second bandit.

What she heard instead was hoofbeats approaching, and Jael’s heart leaped in recognition of the voice calling her name. Tanis!

Once more Jael’s sword flashed as if of its own volition, and Jael followed the stroke through, the blade dancing fiery patterns in what little moonlight shone through the breaks in the clouds. The bandit’s sword rang against hers again, but this time his steel was no match for the strange metal of Jael’s blade and snapped off at the point of impact. Jael whirled and slashed blindly, not caring much where—or even whether—she hit, running to meet Tanis.

Tanis leaned down from the saddle, his good hand extended. Jael reached up to clasp his hand solidly, her foot making it to the stirrup this time. Carefully holding her sword clear, Jael threw her leg over the horse’s rump and settled herself behind Tanis, releasing his hand to clasp her arm firmly around his waist. There was no time to sheathe her sword; Jael could only keep her seat and hold on grimly, every moment expecting to feel a dagger thunk into her back. As the seconds passed, Jael slowly realized that they were away, that there was no mounted pursuit, and she sobbed with relief into the back of Tanis’s tunic.

“Can you stop?” she asked at last when she had enough breath. “I need to clean my sword and sheathe it.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Tanis called back. “I’ve got to catch the other horses, and I can hardly see as it is.”

“Then stop and let’s switch,” Jael told him. “There’s plenty of light for me, and I can feel the horses ahead of us, too.”

Reluctantly Tanis reined in his horse.

“Do you hear anyone coming?” he asked worriedly.

Jael listened carefully. Far behind them, she could still hear cries, and she could see a glow of fire—at least one of the wagons was burning. The fine drizzle of rain had started again.

“No,” she said at last. “I think we killed all the bandits who noticed us leaving. I don’t hear anyone coming. Don’t bother getting down; if you scoot back, I can climb back up in front. It was hard enough getting you up here the first time.”

Jael noticed uneasily that Tanis’s forearm was still bleeding heavily. When she slid off the horse, she wiped and sheathed her sword, then yanked off her cloak, tunic, and shirt before Tanis’s astonished eyes. Shivering, she pulled her tunic back over her head, donned her cloak, drew her dagger, and cut ruthlessly through her shirt. When she climbed back onto the horse in front of Tanis, she pulled his arm around her side and in front of her where she could cut away his sleeve. The long slash down the top of his forearm looked deep, but there was no time to stitch it now, not if they wanted to catch the horses. Jael had to settle for wrapping his forearm as tightly as she could before they continued.