Darklands (31 page)

I looked at that garment more closely. It fell from Rhudda’s shoulders to his ankles, and it seemed to move and tremble on its own.
Oh, God.
Each beard in the cloak had its mouth attached.
The mouths moved constantly, whispering. It wasn’t a breeze I’d heard. It was dozens of detached mouths, all speaking voicelessly.

Rhudda’s eyes glowed. “They are compelled to tell and retell the tale of their defeat,” he explained. “This garment is not merely a cloak of beards; it is a cloak of stories. Stories of my victories. Wearing it keeps me in mind of my power.”

Dad had told me that the magic arrow was Rhudda’s second most prized possession. Now I knew what was number one.

“Why did you challenge my daughter? There’s no honor in challenging a woman.” I shot my father a glare at that, but he made a calming gesture with his hand. In a fast, low voice, he said, “Sorry, Vic. But this guy died back in the Dark Ages. I’ve got to use arguments he understands.” He raised his voice to address the giant. “Even if you mistook her for a boy, she has no beard. Let us be on our way.”

“To cross my lands, you must give tribute or answer a challenge. All know that. And I challenge whom I please. Either way, I’ll have
your
beard.”

“We’re in a hurry here,” I said. “Name your challenge so I can kick your ass and get on with my business.”

Rhudda winced, then turned to my father with a sorrowful expression. “These young ones,” he said. “No sense of decorum.” The beards of his cloak whispered their agreement. He drew himself up to his full, not-quite-giant height and made a cutting gesture with his right arm. The beards stopped whispering. “Tonight you will accept my hospitality. In the morning, this female will meet me in an archery contest.”

My heart sank. The longbow was my all-time worst weapon. I’d been a mediocre student when Mab taught me, but that had been years ago, and I hadn’t picked up a bow since. Why would I when a gun was so much more efficient? Not to mention the fact that Rhudda owned a magic arrow—one that never missed its target—and I didn’t think he’d let me use it. There was no way I could win.

“Three shots apiece,” Rhudda continued. “If she wins, I will grant you safe passage through my lands.
When
she loses, however, I will claim your beard,” he pointed at my father, “and a pottle of her blood to fill my mug.”

A pottle? What the hell was a pottle? More blood than I could do without, I’d bet.

“So that’s why you challenged my daughter and not me.” Dad’s forehead furrowed with anger.

Rhudda licked his lips. “Clay-born. I could smell her blood a furlong away. Physical blood, not this magic stuff that runs through our veins. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve tasted clay-born blood?” He leered at me, showing sharp, yellow teeth. Then he returned to my father. “Do you accept my challenge?”

Dad threw back his shoulders. “We accept.”

“Wait, hang on. You’re challenging me, not my father. I speak for myself.” The giant’s eyebrow cocked, and again the beards fell silent.

I sized him up, my fingers twitching for my weapons. I could take this guy. Throw the dagger to surprise him, and then run him through with my sword before he even thought to reach for his longbow.

“What if I refuse?” I asked, half a second away from hurling the dagger.

The giant’s mouth quirked upward. Six archers stepped forward from the forest, like ghosts materializing from the fog. All were dressed in green, and all had crossbows, aimed and ready to shoot.

One giant I could take. One giant plus six archers with drawn bows—the equation wasn’t looking so good anymore.

At least I could try to sweeten the deal. “You offer a poor bargain, giant. If you win, you demand our disfigurement and death. Yet if I win, you promise nothing more than safe passage, which costs you nothing. If I’m to risk everything, for both my father and myself, you must put up more on your side.”

Rhudda grinned. The bastard was enjoying this. “And what would you have me wager?”

“One item from your armory. My choice.” The odds were against me—
way
against me—but if I had to accept this giant’s challenge, there might as well be something in it for me. And there was only one thing I wanted from Rhudda, other than to be left the hell alone: his magic arrow.

An archery contest with a giant who owned a can’t-miss arrow. I was so screwed.

Rhudda threw back his head and laughed. The beards of his cloak laughed with him as he clutched his stomach and bent over in mirth. Even the steely-eyed archer aiming his crossbow at my throat cracked a smile. Glad I was so entertaining.

The giant straightened, wiping away the tears of laughter with the back of his hand. “Done!” he shouted. He gestured to two of the archers. “Go to my castle and have chambers prepared for our guests. And make ready the archery range for tomorrow’s contest with—” He squinted at me. “What is the name of this strange female who has accepted my challenge?”

“Victory.”

This set off another explosion of laughter. Rhudda picked up his longbow and hefted it. When he turned back to me, his face was serious, as hard and cold as marble.

“Victory, eh? Not for long—I promise you that. Not for long.”

AFTER I ACCEPTED HIS CHALLENGE, RHUDDA MORPHED INTO a considerate host. Well, if you could overlook the cloak of whispering beards that he never seemed to take off. Those beards served as a constant reminder of the giant’s hostile intent as he showed us our comfortable rooms and offered refreshment. I knew enough to turn down the offer of food. Dad wasn’t interested, either.

Rhudda’s castle was straight out of a fairy tale. Made of shimmering white stone, it boasted more turrets and towers than you could count. Thick walls and a moat enclosed an entire village of thatched-roof shops and houses. My room was high up in a tall, thin tower in the main building. The tiny window overlooked the village. There was a four-poster bed and an elaborately carved wooden chest. A tapestry depicting jousting knights hung on the wall.

“You are free to move about the castle and grounds. Of course, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that if you try to go beyond the outer ramparts, you may expect an arrow between your shoulder blades.”

Shoulder blades,
whispered all the beards in unison. The eerie half-sound made me shiver.

“There will be a feast in your honor this evening.” He eyed my tunic and leggings. “You’ll find that chest full of more suitable attire. Is there anything else you require?”

“Yes. I need to see the archery range. And while I’m there I’ll need a longbow and a quiver of arrows.”

Rhudda inclined his head. “Certainly. I’ll have one of my men show you the way.” He shouted through the doorway, “Where are my servants? Why is no one attending me?”

Ratlike scurrying sounded in the stairwell, and two men hurried into the room. Both bowed low before Rhudda. “Lazy dolts!” he shouted, and brought down his fists on the backs of their heads. The men sprawled on the floor, facedown. One, then the other, slowly pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Dad offered his hand to help the man nearest to him. The man looked up, and Dad gasped. I followed his gaze. A gasp escaped my lips, too.

The servant had only half a face. Everything below his nose was missing—no skin, no lips, nothing but the yellowed bone of his skull.

The other servant was the same.

“And so you see two of my vanquished foes!” Rhudda chortled. “Both were kings once, weren’t you, lads? Both donated their beards to my cloak. Let me see. Here is the beard of Nyniaw.” He flicked his finger against a coal-black patch near the cloak’s collar. Immediately that beard’s whispering rose above the others.

Many years ago in the land of Glywysing lived a king called Nyniaw. None could withstand him when he wielded his sword, or so the arrogant king believed…

“And this one”—Rhudda twisted around and brought forward a blondish patch from the back of the cloak—“once adorned the face of Peibiaw.”

He pinched the blond beard, and its whispers came forth.

Peibiaw, son of Erb, once ruled the kingdom of Ergyng. Although brave in battle, he was a greedy and foolish man…

The two stories twined around each other, tangling their words so that I couldn’t make out what either was saying.

The beards’ former owners stood silent, hands folded in front of them. A tear traced a line down Nyniaw’s upper cheek, then hung from the ridge where his skin ended.

Dad spread a hand protectively over his own beard. Above it, his wide eyes bulged from his ashen face.

Rhudda flung the blond patch back over his shoulder and shook out the cape. Other voices rose up around him in a sibilant cocoon.

“Listen well, Sir Evan,” he said to my father. “Soon your voice will join the others, relating step-by-step how your daughter failed you both. After I’ve won the archery contest, I will drain her blood. Then I will have your beard. And I will hear, over and
over, all the delightful details.” Rhudda cocked his head and looked at Dad critically. “It is a scrawny beard, but it will do, I think, to patch a worn spot near the hem.”

He waved a hand, dismissing us, and turned to his servants. “You, Nyniaw, take our guests to the target range.” The first servant bowed low. “Peibiaw, fetch several bows so that Lady…Victory”—he rolled his eyes like a bratty teenager—“may choose one to her liking. And an ample supply of arrows as well. Deliver them to the range.”

The second servant also bowed. Then he turned and scurried down the spiral stairs.

“It would amuse me to watch you practice, but there are things I must attend to. I’ll see you both at supper.” He turned abruptly and went out the door. His cape whirled around him, whispers swelling. Then he was gone. My father stared after him, looking like someone who’d just seen the star he was wishing on burn out.

I WAS FURIOUS WITH MY FATHER AS WE FOLLOWED NYNIAW, the beardless former king, to the archery range. “Shortcut? You took us straight through Rhudda’s lands. You
knew
he’d challenge us.”

Dad sheepishly stroked his beard. “It is a shortcut. I knew you needed the arrow, and I figured we could get it on the way.”

“I’m here to stop Pryce. Everything else is secondary.”

“We would have had to rest somewhere for the night. If we get out of here tomorrow morning, we’ll make it to Tywyll in good time. Don’t worry about that.” Like I didn’t have a million other things to worry about now.

Dad fingered his chin as though making sure his beard was still there. “I expected Rhudda to challenge me. I’ve gotten pretty good with a longbow.”

“‘Pretty good with a longbow’ can’t beat a magic arrow, Dad.” Besides, I’d seen Rhudda’s skill when he’d shot at me in the forest. Even without the magic arrow, Rhudda was miles past “pretty good.”

“I’m sorry, Vic. But let’s not worry about that now. Let’s get practicing.”

Rhudda’s shooting range was in an amphitheater that stood inside the ramparts on the castle grounds’ western side. (At least,
Dad said it was the western side. With no sun to orient me, I couldn’t tell one direction from another.) I stood on the grass, peering at a target a hundred yards away. One hundred yards. Three hundred feet. That would be the length of a football field. I could barely see the target, let alone aim at it.

Rhudda’s servant Peibiaw stood beside me, holding several longbows. The smallest was six feet high and must have weighed forty pounds. “That one,” I said. I hefted the bow, took its grip in my bow hand, and pulled back hard on the string. The bow bent slightly under the pressure. I let go of the string, listened to its snap and thwang. Well, I’d give it a try. I took an arrow from the quiver beside me and nocked it in the bow. I drew, feeling the strain in my arm and back as I held the heavy bow as steady as I could.

Aiming was hard. The air was still, so at least there was no wind to blow my arrows off course. Tomorrow, who knew? With my luck, a tornado would snatch up my arrow and drop it in Oz.
Focus, Vicky.
I returned my attention to the target. At this distance, I knew I needed to aim high to account for the arc of the arrow’s flight. But how high? I took a guess, and then moved my point of aim slightly to account for shooting right-handed. I drew, double-checked my aim, and loosed the arrow.

It sailed over the target and bounced off the stone wall behind it. Even from a hundred yards away, I could see my shot was a total miss.

Peibiaw stared toward the target with stony eyes. At least he wasn’t laughing. Or maybe he was—how would I know? But something told me Rhudda’s servants didn’t laugh much.

“Here, Vic,” said Dad. “Fix your stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, and balance your weight equally between them. You were leaning on the right. Don’t line up your body with the target; align with your point of aim.” His hands gripped my shoulders as he turned me slightly to the right. “Hold the bow so its balance point presses against the pad at the bottom of your thumb.” He adjusted the bow in my hand. “There. Try now. And this time don’t aim quite so high.”

I drew, then let the arrow go. This one flew over the target, too, although I thought the fletching might have brushed its edge. Maybe. It was hard to tell from this distance.

“Let me try,” Dad said. “Just to get a feel for it.”

I gave him my bow. He nocked an arrow and let it fly. Peibiaw handed me a spyglass so I could assess the hit. Dad’s arrow was
in the black, three rings away from the gold at the target’s center. His next shot landed in the red, right at its border with the gold. Dad was better than pretty good.

“Okay,” he said. “Now I can coach you better. When you aim—”

“Why am I even doing this? You’re a way better archer than I’ll ever be. You have a chance to win this contest. I’ll screw everything up for both of us.”

“Rhudda would never accept me as a substitute. He wants to win, and he thinks you’re the weaker of the two of us.” Dad rested a hand on my shoulder. “He’s underestimating you, Vic. Let’s show him by how much.”

I nodded and nocked another arrow.

I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG I PRACTICED, BUT BY THE TIME I quit, my bow arm was trembling and my shoulder and back ached. Grooves were worn deep into the fingers of my drawing hand. I was managing to hit the target consistently, but out of dozens and dozens of shots, only two arrows had hit the gold.