Mastiff (57 page)

We did not face only two mages, Elyot and Dolsa, who both stood at the shoulders of the prince. Count Dewin of Queensgrace sat on the dais, with his personal mage in attendance. At Thanen’s shoulder stood another cove in one of those stupid robes so many of them seemed to think made them look magical. At Prince Baird’s side I saw two familiar faces. Master Ironwood and Mistress Orielle, Their Majesties’ personal mages and supposed defenders, had come to join the fun.

Tunstall lunged for them. “You!” he cried as some purplish magic froze him in place. “What are you doing here? Were you traitors all along?”

“Where was I to go when
Mistress
Cassine cast me out of the Summer Palace?” whined Master Ironwood. He had lost weight even in the two weeks since I’d last seen him. “Where could I go with the suspicion of treason on me?”

“Stop complaining!” Orielle snapped. “Embrace your future, you fool—you’ve been a part of this for too long to back out now!” She was greatly changed from her soft, fluttering ways in the Summer Palace. “Why couldn’t you beggars have died when you were supposed to?”

“Dreadful sorry, mistress,” Farmer said at his most foolish. “Ma always said I was too silly to die.”

“Quiet!” Lord Thanen barked. Though Count Dewin and Prince Baird were of higher rank, he clearly was in charge. “There’s no reason to bandy words with these underlings!”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Orielle said with a pretty half curtsy. “But they eluded every trap set for them. They were nearly on your doorstep when your people gathered them up. Surely it would be interesting to learn why?”

“My lord Gershom knows the route we took,” Tunstall said. “Other Provost’s Guards are on their way to meet us now. There may yet be time to save your families and lands, though not your own lives.”

“You mean those five poor Dogs out of Frasrlund?” Elyot asked. “Dead in the road. And any other help out of the kennels between here and the border will not even leave the towns.”

I looked at the floor and asked that glorious, multicolored creature I had once called the Black God to care for my fellow Dogs. I also asked the God if he, she, might find it in his heart to step on these leeches when they came into the Peaceful Realms, even though that was not his usual policy. The God did not reply, but this time I didn’t mind so much. I had seen him once and that was more than enough answer to any prayer.

“Sabine,” Lord Thanen said. Everyone on that dais went still. Looking at them all, I knew this was the noble core of the rebellion. Elyot’s brother Graeme of Aspen Vale was there. Other lords in armor or silk held the chairs on either side of the prince and Thanen, waiting to hear what he would say. A couple of them leered at Sabine, but changed their minds when Tunstall glared at them.

Sabine had not moved when Lord Thanen called her by name. She waited, legs slightly spread for balance, hands clasped lightly in front of her. She’d made it plain she was prepared to fight, with or without weapons.

Then I saw the boy struggling to fill Thanen’s wine cup from a heavy jar. It was stupid. He was little, four by my estimate. He was dark-skinned and dark-haired.…

He spilled. Of course he spilled. He was a little boy surrounded by great lords, and he was only four years old. Lord Thanen gave him the back of his hand, knocking the child into the shadows behind the chairs. The wine jug fell to the floor. “Nomalla, tell one of the squires to get out here and serve,” he snapped. “See that the slave gets five strokes. And have someone clean this mess up.”

Nomalla bowed, but from the way she clenched the hand on the side opposite her father, she did not appreciate being ordered about like a housekeeper. No one else had moved. How many of them knew the identity of the little slave? I was shaking from head to toe. I had gotten my first look at my quarry and, like Achoo, I was ready to launch myself across any ground between me and him. The bruise around his left eye, the long red scrape on his right leg, visible where the thin tunic he wore ended, those only made my need to sweep the lad up and run with him worse. I had often wondered if years of chasing Achoo had made us sommat alike. Now I knew it was true.

The squire was there almost instantly with a jar of wine and fresh cups. He must have been waiting outside the door. He was graceful and quick, coming around behind the chairs, but he could have been as clumsy as a bullock and no one would have noticed. They were all waiting for the lord of Halleburn. How could he keep so many in thrall?

Thanen himself had not taken his eyes off Sabine. When the squire had refilled Prince Baird’s cup and given Thanen a new, full one, the old man waved a long white hand at Sabine. “Give the lady knight a cup.”

Sabine’s deep, rich voice rang out through the hall. “I would not drink it if you held my nose and dumped it down my throat.”

“Sabine, Sabine,” Thanen said, trying to look sorrowful. “Is this the way to speak to family?”

“I do not feel like family just now, my lord,” Sabine told him. “I feel like a traveler who has been caught by robbers and dragged to their hideaway.”

Tunstall cleared his throat. “Beg pardon, lady knight, but that
is
what happened.”

“Were you not Sabine’s … special friend, I’d serve you well for your impudence,” Thanen snapped. All of his speech seemed to come from one side of his mouth, as if he were forever sneering. “As it is, count yourself fortunate and hold your tongue. Many here will tell you I am not a patient man.”

Everywhere I saw heads bow, as if folk wanted to agree but were afraid to do so even when they had permission. He had to be a
very
nasty bit of work, if these wellborn folk were so skittish around him.

“Sabine, we may be here initially as enemies, but that need not be so,” Thanen said in that cozening way. “We could mend our differences. Did you know your grandfather Masbolle has revised his will? He is very old. Should you not die before him,
you
will be very rich.”

Sabine’s head jerked back. “I did not know of the change to his will, nor do I care. I also did not know that it is suddenly legal for anyone not a member of the family to read a will.”

The old barnacle stared into his wine cup. “Accommodations can be reached between friends with mutual interests,” he said idly. “Just as they can be reached between great heiresses and kings.”

“The king is married,” Sabine replied.

Thanen looked up at her, his eyes blue ice. “Don’t be a fool, girl. Your grandfather is ailing. Your marriage would bring with it connections to this house, Masbolle, Cavall, Mandash, Queensgrace, and Niede’s Jewel. You would be King Baird’s queen instead of a vagabond.”

I ducked my head. He didn’t know Sabine very well, to say that such things would interest her.

She paused for a long moment before she said, “If you think you’re just going to wave pretty promises before me, you are wasting your time. I admit, I’ve considered a change. A woman gets older.”

“Sabine!” Tunstall said, horrified.

“Not you, pet.” She actually patted his cheek.

I was going cold all over. I’ve had nightmares, but none like this. I prayed all the gods that this was sheer trickery from Sabine. If only she weren’t so convincing!

“I want something more solid to deal on,” she told Thanen. She looked at Baird. “And I keep Mattes. I know you. You’ll never give up your amusements after we wed. Well, I demand the same.”

Prince Baird slowly grinned at her. “Done.”

“Hah!” Thanen actually rubbed his hands together. “Then let’s retire to someplace more private for proper negotiations.” He looked at Farmer and me. “As for these two, ensure he is useless, then toss both of them into the dungeon until I’ve decided what to do with them.” He pointed at us. “You’ve cost me time and money. I will have some satisfaction before I’m done with you.”

I fought, of course, but the mages laid a stillness on us both until guards could come. They took Farmer one way and me another. Down through back stairs in the keep we went, the air getting colder and colder. At last we passed down a long stone corridor marked with doors that held barred windows at face height. The hall ended in a watch room where two guards played at dice on the floor. They took charge of me and walked me back to one of the cells. There they unlocked the door and shoved me in.

The cell wasn’t so bad, as cells go. There was torchlight through the window in the door, giving me a decent view. I paced it at ten feet by fifteen feet. Back home it would be considered a four-man place, but we liked our Rats good and annoyed with each other while they were caged.

There were narrow stone benches or beds built into two walls facing each other. There was no window to the outside. Straw and rushes lay on the floor and two sets of shackles were bolted to the rear wall, in case they wanted to keep a prisoner standing. A piss bucket, empty, thanks to the gods, sat in a corner. The stink was bad, but not as bad as it was at Outwalls Prison, say, or even the cells at Jane Street kennel. Thanen must not get many visitors to house down here.

Judging from the narrow cracks in the walls, I knew there’d be rats and mice. I had naught to ward the rats off. I rather like mice, but rats will fight. The cell was cold, too. That might account for there being so little stink. There
were
fleas and lice, but they left me alone. I hoped that was Farmer’s spell at work, but who knew how long it might last? I might be the only corpse uneaten by worms sent to the god by these Rats, at least until Farmer and mayhap the others joined me. I had no faith in Thanen of Halleburn’s bargain with Sabine and Tunstall, however much she might have believed it. Having cooled off in more ways than one, I was finding it harder and harder to think that she or Tunstall could have turned into the folk I saw in that great hall. On the other hand, I had little trouble at all imagining that they’d done it to gain time to work a way to get themselves and mayhap the prince, Farmer, and me out of this trap.

My inspection of my new home done, I lay on one of the stone benches, hugged my arms around me, and concentrated on the palace in my memory. I would
not
think of Farmer’s fate, or Pounce’s, Achoo’s, Tunstall’s, Sabine’s, or my own. If I did, I would shake myself to pieces. It was better to do something, even if it was only in my head. I began work on my journal for the time since the fire at the Wayhouse, making sure each event of our arrival there and all that happened thereafter was set exactly where I might find it if I lived. I included what had been said by my companions to have the fullest report I could put together. It seemed unbelievable that I would survive this halt in our travels, but that was no reason to be sloppy in my record keeping.

I dozed off, I believe, as I was trying to fix the god’s ever-changing self into a shrine separate from all else, where I might see him again. There was comfort in remembering the beautiful melting colors of his robe and the power of his voice. I knew I was sleeping when I half woke to find a long, thin black body stretched out on mine, giving off warmth like a fire. I hadn’t known until then that I’d been shivering.

“What?” I asked.

Hush
, Pounce replied.
The guards won’t see me, so don’t talk aloud to me in front of them. Unless you want them to think you mad, of course
.

“What of Achoo?” I asked fearfully. “Is she dead?”

You underestimate her
, Pounce said.
She played at it once
she woke from that mage-trap. Once no humans were about, she went into the trees and tracked your captors until I made her stop, before she went on the causeway. She is well and in a better position than you
.

I was too worn out from the scant rest I’d had in the last few days on the road to give him a pert answer. I muttered my thanks for the knowledge and went back to sleep. When I woke again, it was because the guards were rattling the cell door, opening it.

They took me out of there twice. They did not tell me what day it was or how much time had passed, any more than they told me the fate of my Hunting pack. The only things they said when they took me to that other dungeon room were questions and orders. I will not tell of that, not in this journal, not in the official report. I started silent like any tough Rat and ended in such a mixed pottage of whatever lies would please my questioners that I cannot remember what I said. They gave me the Drink, far worse than my training experience of it, but mostly they used their fists. Even I could tell they weren’t that interested, or they would have used instruments on me. They showed them to me to frighten me more, as cell Dogs would, but it was only for show. They used none of them, drawing none of my nails, breaking none of my fingers, not even strapping me to the rack. After the second time, they didn’t return to my cell.

Pounce told me they were bringing the brown, sloppy stew and the jug of water once a day. He would purr me to sleep and make a pretense of washing my hair that miraculously left it clean and properly braided. It was all he could do for me with the eyes of the Great Gods now fixed on this place and this time. It’s funny how much it comforted me, though, to feel my hair clean and neat when the rest of me got filthier by the day. He also told me tales of the Great Gods and heroes of the past to entertain me. I did what exercises I could. That helped, too. Planning my testimony before the Lord High Magistrate, so I would not stammer as I might if I gave it cold, helped as well.

Halleburn Castle

Still as I record it in memory

On the third day by Pounce’s reckoning, we had company. I had waited to see if they would plant someone else with me, in case a spy could get any information from me, so I wasn’t surprised by the new arrival.

“I wouldn’t be in yer shoes if ye had ’em,” one guard said as they heaved a big cove in an undyed linen tunic and breeches into the cell. “Them mages upstairs is all beggin’ my lord for yer blood. Seemingly they can do all manner of wicked things wiv it! Still, a last night with your lass—enjoy while ye can!”

“At least till they start bleedin’ yez,” his partner said.