Bloodstone (49 page)

The magic was about to begin.

They started snickering as soon as the chubby man began his speech. Although he looked silly in his scarlet tunic and sky-blue breeches, Keirith couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Sweat plastered his thin hair over his scalp and ran down his jowls. His hearty voice grew more tremulous as the snickering turned to open laughter.

“What a ridiculous man.” His dinner companion casually rested one hand on his bare knee as she leaned across him to speak to Xevhan. “Where did you find him?”

“His troupe of oddities performed for me last year. If you think he’s ridiculous, wait until you see them.”

“I hope it’s soon,” someone called. “Can’t you make him shut up?”

Something flew through the air and struck the man on the chest. His speech stuttered to a halt. With a sickly grin, he swept his arms wide and shouted, “Behold the amazing half-men!”

Two small men raced out from behind the blue cloth and circled the torchlit performing area, waving limp-looking things that resembled clubs. They ran smack into each other and somersaulted backward, only to rise to their feet and begin exchanging blows amid the laughter of the audience.

The woman cooed delightedly. “Oh, how perfectly ugly they are. Don’t you think so, Kheridh?”

He nodded politely and took a deep drink. He was as much an oddity as the poor little men, but at least he didn’t have to perform to the jeers and laughter of these spoiled rich people.

The crowd fell temporarily silent while Rizhi sang, but the mood turned raucous again when Olinio announced the epic battle of the great Zherosi warrior and the Wild Man of the North.

“They’re drunker than I am,” Bep said, struggling with the thongs that secured the moth-eaten fleece.

Thikia glanced around the circle of performers. “Urkiat—translate for me so Reinek understands. All right, everyone. They’ll laugh at us no matter what we give them, so we might as well make it a comedy. We’ll cut my wise grandmother’s recitation and start with the shepherdess scene. Bep, Bo—play up the sheep. Reinek, we’ll need a lot of howling. Chase Bo and Bep around. Tear at their fleeces. Hakkon—wave your staff, shake your fist, smack Reinek on the arse. Rizhi . . . just look sweet, dear. Urkiat—lots of eye rolling and gestures during your opening speech. Make it a parody of the ones they’re used to hearing from their heroes.”

“Olinio will kill me,” Urkiat muttered.

“Olinio is a professional. He’ll understand. As for the battle, make it as ridiculous as you can. No sword tonight, Reinek. Urkiat—chase him around the arena, swat him with your sword, pick your nose. Anything. After you’re defeated, Reinek, let’s have a lot of staggering and groaning. Go right up to the pavilions. Curse the men. Wave your fur bag at the ladies. Then get back to the center of the arena and die.”

“What about the speech afterward?” Urkiat asked.

“Cut it. Hakkon will bring out Rizhi and give you her hand. Bo, Bep . . . oh, you know what to do. I’ll waft on and say something about good triumphing over evil and then we’ll go right into the final song.” She flashed a grin. “Smile, everyone, smile. It may not be magic, but it’s a living.”

Keirith’s head ached from the wine and the smoke and the braying laughter of the woman next to him. When the chubby man announced some sort of a battle—dodging a rain of kugi and grapes—he struggled into a sitting position.

They had been here half the night. A few men were snoring. Those who remained awake were thoroughly drunk. As the little blind girl stepped forward, flanked by the two half-men in what he guessed were sheep costumes, the woman’s husband groaned. He rose on unsteady feet, seized the hand of a startled slave girl, and pulled her into the darkness.

His wife took this opportunity to snuggle closer. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her breast brushed his arm. Her wandering hand settled on his knee.

Keirith cast a quick glance at Xevhan but he was staring at the blind girl, a rapt expression on his face. Everyone else was roaring at the antics of the sheep-men. The roar grew louder when a naked man leaped out from behind the blue cloth and howled. Mercifully, his appearance made the woman next to him lean forward. The Wild Man’s hair hung over his face, but no one was looking at that, least of all his dinner companion.

“Your vision,” Xevhan whispered. “Tell me.”

After a quick glance at the woman, Keirith whispered, “I feel the earth shaking. There are adders everywhere.”

The crowd roared. The Wild Man had lifted his leg and was pretending to piss on one of the sheep-men.

“Go on,” Xevhan urged.

“I see Malaq. Smiling. But then the sun turns dark. A shadow comes down.”

A loud cheer made him look up again. The Wild Man was chasing off the big shepherd. The little blind girl sank into a graceful faint. The Wild Man strutted toward her, shaking his fur-clad penis. A few people shouted warnings, but more cheered him on. “Give it to her,” the woman cried, her face flushed with excitement.

“The shadow,” Xevhan prompted.

“The shadow covers Malaq. I see feathers. Big, black feathers. And Malaq falls. I think it is Zhe who strikes him down.”

Loud boos accompanied the appearance of another man, clad in a khirta and holding a sword. Clearly, the crowd was more interested in seeing the Wild Man ravish the helpless girl. The warrior made a rude gesture that turned the booing to applause. He flung his head back and flashed a triumphant grin.

“Was I there?”

Keirith just stared at the warrior. It was the man his father had brought home. The one he had fought beside. Urkiat. Good gods, what was he doing here?

“Did you see me in the vision?”

“Once.”

Keirith lowered his head. It was dark under the canopy. Urkiat had the torchlight in his eyes. He would never see him. He would never even notice one person among so many.

“What was I doing?”

“You . . . you rise. Like Zhe at dawn.”

He dared a look at Urkiat who was chasing the Wild Man. Disbelief turned to horror as Keirith watched them.

“Rise. You mean flying? I was flying?”

“Flying. Yes. Flying. Over Malaq.”

It couldn’t be. He was drunk. He was tired. He was imagining things. Many men were tall and dark-haired and powerfully built. That was not his father shaking his head and snarling. His father was at home with his mam and Callie and Faelia.

He found himself leaning forward, searching for the telltale scars on his back, craning for a glimpse of his hands, but the Wild Man moved so quickly that he couldn’t be certain.

Urkiat issued his challenge. The Wild Man fell to his knees and flung up his hands in pretended terror. Even in the uncertain light of the torches, Keirith could see the stumps of the missing fingers. Just as he could see his father’s sharp profile when the Wild Man threw back his head and howled.

Darak lunged at Urkiat, who squealed like a girl and fled, obliging him to chase him around the perimeter of the performing area again. He stopped in front of one of the canopied shelters to catch his breath. He snatched a bunch of grapes away from a man and ate them slowly, all the while grinning like an idiot. A woman held out a goblet of wine and called out something. He drained the goblet and tossed it over his shoulder, then whirled around in pretended terror at discovering Urkiat creeping up on him. He flung the grapes at Urkiat’s face, enjoying his startled expression.

“That’s for making me chase you. Twice.”

Urkiat brandished his sword and bellowed something in Zherosi that provoked enthusiastic cheers.

“Can we finish this, please?” Darak added a howl for good measure. “I’m too old for this.”

“As you wish, Wild Man.”

Urkiat lowered his sword and ran right at him. Darak sidestepped and Urkiat careened past. Darak jumped up, jeering and pointing. Another pass, another sidestep. Urkiat hacked at him and he ducked. Then, just as they’d planned, he dove for Urkiat’s legs. He knocked him on his arse and they rolled over a few times. Both of them were spitting sand by the time Urkiat shoved him away. Darak fell onto his back.

“I give up.”

“About time.”

With a hideous cry, Urkiat raised his sword and drove it into the sand near his armpit. Darak screamed and writhed as Urkiat twisted the blade back and forth. Finally, Urkiat straightened to tumultuous applause.

Coughing and clutching his side, Darak staggered to his feet. He lurched toward the nearest shelter and was greeted by a number of feminine squeals. He bared his teeth at the men and winked at an older woman who winked back. Then it was off to the next shelter for more of the same.

The smoke from the torches made his eyes water and the light was too blinding to see the faces of the people under the canopy. But Olinio had said the Zheron was seated near the middle of this one and had begged him to pass close. Fine. He’d give the priest a quick snarl, a nice growl. After that, he was going to die.

He fell to his knees, peering at the occupants, but his eyes were too dazzled by the torchlight to see more than shadowy forms. He gave a genuine groan as he got up again. Hoping for the best, he stumbled into the shelter.

He went down on all fours. He snarled. He lowered his head and growled. And then he looked up into his son’s eyes.