Mastiff (63 page)

He’d found the place where the mages and soldiers had stashed their mounts while they waited for us. When I lit one of the lanterns, I saw that every mount was saddled and bridled, waiting for its master. I looked among them, trying to spot any who wouldn’t mind two complete strangers as riders. I’d learned through bitter experience that not all horses welcome folk they don’t know.

“Cooper!” Tunstall called. He’d kept my stone lamp and was waving it to show me his location. He and Daeggan already had two horses by the reins. They submitted to him as if they were those he’d ridden this far on the Hunt.

Quickly I doused my lantern and ran to Daeggan and Tunstall, Gareth right behind me. I mounted the closest horse and let my partner hand up the prince, settling the lad in front of me on the saddle. It might be a little more awkward than having him on my back, but this way I could grip him with my arms if need be. He was too small to ride alone. I wished I had something to wrap around him to bind him against me.

Tunstall mounted the other horse and swung Daeggan up behind. As the lad tossed my stone lamp back to me, Tunstall clucked to the horse and rode to the rear of the barn, where the back doors stood open.

Before we left the building, Tunstall said, “As fast as we can, Cooper, onto the trail leading to Prachet and along the cliffs. Southward takes us right in front of those mages.” He glanced at Pounce, who stood in the open doorway. “We may be leaving you behind, old friend.”

We’ll see
, Pounce said. Achoo moved into sight beside him.

Tunstall leaned forward in the saddle and lashed his mount with the ends of his reins. Off he galloped, Daeggan clinging to his back. I nudged my mount, who was all too happy to follow the galloping horse.

In the darkness Tunstall was sound more than sight, though the fires cast by the mages gave us rippling, flashing lights of many colors. Tunstall had a good lead, but my own horse was smaller and faster. We were also a lighter load, Gareth and I. We passed Daeggan and my partner a couple of yards before we reached a streamlet that ran across the road. My mount splashed through it eagerly, but behind us I heard a dreadful sound like a horse’s fall.

“Go!” Tunstall shouted as I looked back. He was struggling to get the horse on its feet. I saw no sign of Daeggan. “The animal is fine—we’ll catch up!”

I obeyed. I had promised the heartbroken young mother back at the Summer Palace that I would bring her son home.

I glanced at the village. Lamps were being lit in a couple of brave souls’ houses. Farmer wove the colors of his enemies’ magics as the other mages launched their spells at him. The weaving lit the sky where he battled. We had to get out of view before anyone saw us. Achoo had already trotted several yards ahead and was waiting for us.

Then I heard a scream from the south—not a human scream, but a scream I knew well. I’d heard it on the road, when the warhorse Drummer and his partner Steady protected Sabine. I looked down for Pounce but he was nowhere to be seen in the dark.

No, I did not interfere
, he replied from wherever he was.
Those horses killed everyone who tried to stop them and took off
. They
knew their lady was in danger. Those mages down
below helped when they left the castle gate open. That Macayhill horse magic is stronger than even Farmer knows
.

Feeling my heart weigh several pounds less, I urged my mount up the next steep part of the trail. When I glanced at the valley again, I saw Drummer and Steady gallop down the southeastern trail past Farmer and into the village. If Sabine was still alive, her horses might turn the fight for her. My man stood in the field before his enemies, a rim of sparkling blue fire around his big body. He held up what looked to be a hoop of stars. It was his embroidered ribbon, pulled tight between his hands.

My horse stumbled. I concentrated on my ride and the ground, pulling the animal upright with an apology. I’d let it drift into the rockier earth at trailside. That was stupid. By the time we reached the height of the cliff’s edge, the poor creature had slowed from a gallop to a limping walk. I guided the horse into the grass and dismounted. She—it was a mare—had picked up a stone in her right forehoof. Achoo sniffed the mare’s nose as I searched for the hoof pick in a pack on her saddle. She seemed calmer when I started working on the hoof by the light of my lamp, perhaps because Achoo distracted her. The stone came out easily, but we would not be galloping for a long time.

Pounce joined us then. Together we three walked and Gareth rode as we moved on slowly, up along the cliff. I’d found a couple of apples in the horse’s pack. I gave her one for being so good about my demands and another to Gareth.

“Are we going to escape?” he asked softly, looking at the apple.

I have never been good at lying to children. “I don’t know,” I told him. “We have a long road ahead.”

“Do you help slaves escape all the time?” he inquired, taking the apple.

“No. I hunt criminals.” I shone my light ahead briefly. The trees grew close to the trail here, which was worrisome. I was on my own if there were any bandits fool enough to think they might find someone worth robbing on this stretch. No, not entirely alone. I had Pounce and Achoo.

“When I am—when I am big,” the little boy said, still avoiding the words that meant he was a prince who would be king, “I am going to help escaped slaves. And when you take me to my papa, I will ask him to do so.”

“Very good, Gareth,” I said. They would tell him that he did not understand how the world spun, that slavery had always been with us. How would the work get done without slaves? they would ask, and, he did not want to make the great nobles angry, did he? He would reach manhood believing those things, like all the rich. Let him have his dream of changing the world for now. I wasn’t going to be the one to shatter it.

“You don’t believe me, but I will do it,” he told me. “You’ll see.”

“I will, I hope,” I replied. That was certainly the truth.

We had walked for a short time longer when I heard a lone horse on the trail. Quickly I drew our mare into the trees, Achoo and Pounce following me. I tied the horse far enough from the open that she would not walk out into it by accident. “Stay here, Gareth,” I whispered as I helped him down. “Don’t come out, no matter
what
happens. Achoo,
jaga,
” I ordered. She would keep him in their hiding place.

Then I stepped out of the tree cover. From there I recognized the shape of the rider against the starlit sky.

I gave the double click Tunstall and I used as a signal. When he drew up, he looked around, not seeing me in the shadows by the trees. I unveiled my stone lamp a little so we could look at one another. Daeggan was not behind him on the saddle.

“Where’s the boy?” I demanded, coming a step or two closer. Everything about this meeting felt bad to me. Mayhap it was the dark. I couldn’t see Tunstall’s face well with all the mud on it. His hands were washed clean, visible even with their tan. “Where’s Daeggan?”

Tunstall dismounted. “Cooper, I’m sorry. We fell at that stream—”

“I heard you fall,” I said.

“The boy.” There was sorrow in Tunstall’s deep voice as he approached. “He struck his head on a rock. I couldn’t bring him around, and then I found the break in his skull. We must get out of here. Where is the prince?”

He knew as well as I that we weren’t using the word throughout the Hunt. We did it to keep Gareth’s title from slipping out at the wrong moment. “We’re a long way from being able to call him that,” I reminded my partner. Sometimes he could be careless, but that was usually at the start of a Hunt.

Tunstall scratched his head. “You’re right. I fumbled it. Are you surprised, with the night we’re having? Look, girl, where is he? We must ride on, before the enemy knows he’s not in the village.”

“I’ve got him,” I said, rubbing the leather grip of my baton in my nervousness. “My horse went lame.”

He swore in Hurdik and slammed his fist into his palm, but it didn’t seem right. It sounded and looked playacted. Or mayhap by then there was little he could do that would make me easy in my mind. I was seeing traitors everywhere. “Give him to me. I’ll get him to safety. I’ll take him to Prachet and work something out from there.”

“We were trying for King’s Reach,” I said. I didn’t know why I was so suspicious.

Then I saw the spreading bruise on the web of skin between his right thumb and finger, the mark of a hard stabbing, and I knew. Mayhap I should have seen it back at the barn. I had looked around the first horses we’d met when we entered it, trying to tell which was safe and which was not. Tunstall had gone straight to the back, straight to those two mounts. It was the only slip he’d made apart from that fresh bruise. Even his tries to keep Daeggan from coming with us just looked like he wished to spare the lad a dangerous trip. And I had said to let him come. I had signed Daeggan’s death warrant.

“There’s a war party between us and King’s Reach now,” he said rightfully. “Give the boy to me, Cooper. We’re wasting time.”

“I have a better idea,” I said. “Give me your horse. I ride lighter. You can help Sabine. Gareth and I will meet you at King’s Reach.”

Always before in our Hunts Tunstall had agreed to do what made the most sense. Not this time. “You’ll never make it!” he snapped. “Have you forgotten you’re but a leather-badge Dog? And Sabine will be fi—” He stopped, staring at me, while I nodded.

“She’ll be fine because those guards have orders to keep her safe,” I said as I took out my baton. “Nomalla, too? Or did her father wash his hands of her?”

“You’ve gone mad,” he said flatly. “You finally cracked.” His hands rested on his belt easily. He’d left his horse to crop grass, its reins hanging so it would not move.

I shook my head. “You killed Daeggan because he was in your way. You couldn’t get Farmer’s bags stolen on the road—Drummer and Steady saw to that—so you settled it with your new masters to have the wayhouse and Farmer’s extras burned, while you and Sabine got out just in time. Why? You owe me that much.” I drew my long knife with my left hand. I also thanked the gods that Tunstall’s pretending to be one of us had meant he’d had to bring our weapons when Sabine or Nomalla recovered them. I would have been drowning in scummer without my belt, its weight of weapons, and my arm guards.

“I don’t want to kill you, Beka. You’re like my daughter,” he said quietly. “But don’t you see? These people will win. I want to be on the winning side.”

“What will you tell Sabine when you—win?” I demanded, waiting for an opening.

“I’m
doing
this for Sabine!” he roared suddenly and charged, his baton almost magically in his grip. I dodged and struck sidelong, aiming for his left elbow. I had to go for his joints. He was vulnerable in his joints, where all the years, all his fights, and all the broken bones had added up.

I missed and his left kick took me dead in the right hip, knocking me down. I rolled, my knife held out so I wouldn’t cut myself. He lunged in to stomp me with that kicking, booted foot, but I was already lurching to my feet. I’d made it onto the trail.

“What will you say when you come back without me or Gareth?” I demanded, moving sideways, my eyes on the center of his body. I’d see the first twitch of movement there. He had not taught me that, but he’d taught me never to forget it. “Them’s your orders, right? Kill me
and
the lad? The lad dies, his parents die, and the lords’ hands are clean?”

“I’ll say you were riding hard when your horse stumbled,” he told me. “It was up here, you went off the cliff. I couldn’t save you. Beka, don’t make me do this!”

“I’m not making you do scummer!” I cried. “It’s greed, because it can’t be cowardice—”

I knew he’d move if he thought he had me talking. He did, coming at me on the right, his baton in his left hand. He liked to fight left these days, with his right shoulder aching more and more. I blocked his baton with mine, lunged in, and got his knee in my belly. We went hilt to hilt on our knife hands. I collapsed against him with my shoulder up in his armpit and dug in with my bare feet, fighting to keep his knife hand occupied. Inside his right arm as I was, he could do naught with his baton but hammer at me weakly with the butt.

I rammed my baton into the upper half of his belly. Then I jumped back. I wasn’t fast enough. His knife came down and cut me from ribs to hip, a long, thin, nasty slice that slashed my clothes, though not my belt.

We backed off, trying to get some air. I cut a strip from my tunic, watching him try to catch his breath. I’d driven my baton as far up into his lungs as I could go. He was wheezing from it, though he still kept knife and baton pointed my way. Clumsily I tied the strip around the upper end of my cut, my shoulder and collarbone. I tried to calculate how long it would be until I’d bled so much I couldn’t stand.

“You do this for Sabine? She’ll gut you as soon as she finds out!” I snapped.

“She won’t know!” Tunstall wheezed. “No one will tell, lest
I
give out they were in a conspiracy to murder royal blood. Soon enough Baird will be king, I Lord Provost.” He took up a small flask at his hip and drank, his eyes watching me steadily. It was mead, to numb his pain. He sounded better when he said, “They’ll say they were impressed by my work on the Hunt. I’ll tell
her
I saved money from old bribes and invested it in trade. I’ll be almost good enough for her. We can marry.”

“She doesn’t want to marry,” I reminded him. I reached for a handful of dirt, but he stepped closer with his baton. I had to back up. I needed to think of something, but what? I didn’t want to kill him. I couldn’t. But he had betrayed the law we served. He had betrayed that little boy, who had done naught to deserve his last days of hunger, cold, and whippings.

“She says she don’t want to wed,” Tunstall replied. “She says it to spare my feelings. But she would do it if I had a place at court. If I had money.” He came straight at me this time. He gave me the high stroke we’d practiced so often in the yards and I countered it. Middle stroke, low stroke. His knife was out to the side, ready to block mine. He struck with all his strength even while he used practice blows. He toyed with me, and I knew it. He knew my ribs were hurting, that I was losing blood. Every time he smacked that baton down on mine, the shoulder ached more. Worse, the contempt of what he did lashed me like the torturers’ whips. This was
Tunstall
!