Bloodstone (19 page)

A plan began to take form. Risky, but she grew weary of being Dribeck's victory prize. Some disguise might serve her in this.

Quickly she stepped to the cabinet where Pentri's effects lay scattered and rifled through them intently. If the Selonari knew her only as a rough-featured youth in stained battle gear, perhaps she should change her costume. Unfortunately, Pentri had left little here in the way of substantial clothing, and Teres dared not loose one of the maids and borrow her garments. Any second, any hint of suspicion, and someone might open the door to investigate.

With rapid movements she sponged the sweat and grit from her body, noting the red welts the lash had raised, the half-healed scratches and bruises of combat. Well, on this night no one would notice. She found a halter and loin belt that fitted loosely on her slim figure--extravagant affairs of silver wire and flame-tinted silk that made her feel like a tavern dancer. A green silk negligee, trimmed with fur, was as close to street clothing as Pentri had left. She slipped it over her shoulders, then frowned at her reflection. Not warrior's garb, at any rate.

Her hair was the most dangerous point, but there seemed little she could do about that. At least she had noticed a few blonde women among the dark haired Selonari. The heavy braid she rapidly unbound, to brush the long tresses smooth and arrange them under a jeweled headband. One half of her face, where the scar crossed her cheek, she let her hair spill over. Not too many would recognize her face, unless they caught the broken nose and looked more closely. A touch of color to her lips... It might work.

She would soon know. Wiping her palms, Teres drew Ristkon's sword and held it back in the folds of her gown. Coolly she swung the door ajar.

"It's an orgy. Come join in," she invited the soldier who confronted her.

She stood in shadow, the blade hidden behind her. The negligee hung open all down the front. It was an alluring invitation.

In a second the soldier would stop to think. But at the unexpected appearance of a seductive girl, he reacted automatically, without suspicion of danger. A smile starting to crease his features, he stepped through the doorway toward the girl. His hands reached for her. Not giving him a second to reflect, Teres lunged with the sword. Its tip thrust through his heart, and the guard crumpled with a hoarse groan.

There were two guards. The other had stood on the side away from the half-opened door. He appeared in the doorway, even as Teres yanked back her blade to let his companion topple dying to the floor.

"What the hell!" he blurted. "What the hell!" His eyes took in the two corpses, the vengeful siren. For a stunned second he hesitated, his sword slowly rising, his throat contracting to shout alarm. Teres's blade struck savagely. His head half flew from his shoulders as he fell across the doorway.

Treading over the prostrate forms, she stepped into the hallway warily, and thus evaded the rush of the third guard. The mercenary had waited down the hall, to waylay Dribeck with some feigned dilemma should he return prematurely. Their swords met with a clang that should have alarmed the entire citadel.

Desperately Teres parried his blade, then slashed at his face. The soldier deflected her sword and retreated in confusion. Teres anticipated his cry for help and snarled as his mouth opened, "Sound the alarm, and how will Dribeck reward your part in Ristkon's insubordination? You knew your lord's orders--Dribeck will hang you, once he learns of Ristkon's treachery!"

"Reckon he won't learn!" grunted the mercenary. "You just sealed your death, bitch! Don't need no help to gut a woman!" He lunged forward.

Hampered by the billowing negligee, Teres barely eluded his thrust. The unfamiliar garments tangled about her, restricted her movements. And how long could this continue before someone heard the clash of steel? Recklessly she advanced, driving the guard back a few steps. His blade tugged at a fold of silk, as it sought her bare flash.

The guard staggered, arched his back in pain. By reflex as his swordpoint wavered, Teres ran him through, although the mercenary was already dying from the dirk protruding from his back. As he fell on his face, Teres gazed in wonder at the embedded knife-hilt.

"Pretty," remarked Kane, striding forward on bare feet. "Oh, very pretty indeed. What more have you done?"

Roughly he grasped the guard's body and dragged it into Dribeck's chambers. With raised brow he glanced over the carnage. "Damn! It has been a full night for you! Let's keep this unnoticed while we can. I'll mop up the blood in the hallway; you pour some wine over the smear, and maybe no one will look closer. You can get some wine, can't you?"

"Where did you come from?" Teres queried, bringing the wine.

"My room is in this wing, too--thank your fiery god that no one else is about right now! I meant to check on you, if chance presented... Ristkon left the banquet in too composed a mood. So I was wondering how to see you, when I smelled blood, stepped into the hallway and discovered you running amok. There seemed no point in prolonging the duel, so my knife found his back. Save us a swallow of that, will you? Quick now, to my room! Discovery here would be unfortunate."

"Where's Pentri?" Teres asked uneasily, noting the livid scratches across Kane's bare back. She carried her clothes and Ristkon's weapons balled in her arms.

"Get inside. You keep well informed, Teres. Pentri's asleep on my bed, with a smile on her hungry lips. I drugged her wine, and she'll frolic through her dreams for hours yet. She'll think the wine overcame her, and tomorrow she'll swear with all the fervor of her vanity that we two sported the night away. By the way, that's an impressive outfit. Now what the hell happened back there?"

Briefly Teres sketched an account of the evening. "Kane, you've got to help me escape!" she finished. "Dribeck said he'd be gone for the night, but new guards--someone is certain to wonder why the door is unguarded. They'll look inside, and Dribeck will turn the castle upside down searching for me!"

"I think I can get you out of here," Kane mused. "Short notice, but we seem to be committed now--and as you point out, discipline is at a nadir tonight. And it's certain your life is in danger until you cross into Breim lands."

"What about Dribeck's talk of peace?"

"More of his cunning. His losses at the river were greater than he admits. He knows Malchion can rebuild his army faster than Selonari can... and that the Wolf's next march south won't be so rashly conceived. So he hopes to stall for time--build up his army under pretense of truce. While Breimen is lulled, he means to attack your city without warning, solidifying his position here with this retaliatory invasion, using Breimen's spoils to reward his followers."

"I suspected his treachery myself," Teres swore bitterly. "I'll need a good horse to flee the city. But you're in danger, too! Will you come with me?"

Kane shook his head. "Unless I ruin it tonight, my position here is secure. I saved Dribeck's life in the battle, fought gallantly to win the day--so he believes. Tell Malchion that I'll stay at Dribeck's side, pass on what information I can, and trust that the Wolf's generosity is more boundless than his enemy's.

"But on horseback you're sure to encounter Selonari patrols--Dribeck hasn't left his frontier unguarded in the dizziness of his victory, don't forget. Once he learns you've escaped, he's sure to put a watch all along the border. There's a less dangerous way, I think. Look, how well do you know the geography of the Southern Lands?"

"As well as any commander of troops should!" the question rankled Teres.

"All right, then. As you know, the Neltoben River flows through Selonari, continues west and joins with the Macewen--maybe twenty miles upstream of where the Clasten River flows down from Breimen to empty into the Macewen. The river's high from the rains, but not too dangerous to navigate. Say we steal a small boat, put you aboard... with the fast current you'll be far past Selonari's walls by dawn, and with the rain nobody's going to notice who's on the river. You just drift with the current--the only fork is where the Neltoben's South Branch flows into Kranor-Rill, but that's only a mud-choked creek, so you won't confuse it. Follow into the Macewen, down to where the Clasten runs in. Then you'll know you're out of Selonari lands. Beach the boat, and there's a settlement there where you can commandeer a horse, then ride north along the Clasten to Breimen."

"Sounds good. How do I get out of here, though?" Kane regarded her thoughtfully. "Rely on the camouflage you've already chosen. You don't look like the infamous Teres in that silk affair. I'll carry you, keep your face and that blond hair hidden behind my cloak. If anyone meets us, I'll explain that you're Pentri, and I'm going to revive you with some fresh air. No one's thinking too clearly tonight, and semi-clad girls aren't worth remarking on in this revelry. Outside, it's raining too hard to notice anything. "And we've wasted time enough to be out of here already." Shoving feet into boots, Kane threw a cape over his bare shoulders, belted his sword to his waist. Taking some coins and a joint of meat from Kane, Teres wrapped them in a bundle with her own clothes and weapons. Kane added a flask of wine and examined the package critically. "Your boots, too?" he grimaced. "Try to keep that under my cloak. If anyone notices, I'd rather not try to explain this one."

He swept her up, letting his cape fold over to cover her head and shoulders, while her legs were bared by the other side, making it obvious that his burden was a private matter. Burying her face low against Kane's shoulder beneath the cloak, Teres supported her by hooking the scabbard tip into his belt and pillowed her head against the leather. So positioned, she felt Kane open the door and stride boldly down the hallway.

Teres's temperament was suited to direct action; this subterfuge tormented her overwrought nerves. It took all her endurance to lie limp in Kane's arms, her eyes blind to what was taking place about her, her imagination tantalized by the distant sounds that drifted through the darkness. I will be calm, she ordered herself, taking comfort from the sword beneath her head. If they were challenged, she and Kane could kill a hundred of the drunken fools before they fell.

There was a measure of security in the massive strength of the man; it seemed strangely comforting to feel the broad bands of muscle ripple beneath her cheek. Reddish hair bristled across his torso and limbs, his frame and features almost bestial in their rugged savagery. Yet the stranger was no apish barbarian; there was a sense of ruthless intelligence; his speech, his manner bore the stamp of civilization, of a man who sought both knowledge and power. She wondered to what limits.

Kane bore her effortlessly, although it was no delicate-limbed girl he cradled in his arms. There was unhurried confidence in his stride, and Teres vowed that her nerve would not prove of inferior temper.

Dribeck's citadel was somewhat grander than her father's keep, and to her unseeing mind its corridors were interminable. A few voices babbled in the darkness, and Kane grunted an occasional response. No one seemed to challenge them, or even to pay much attention. Well, why should anyone accost a man of Kane's position--ask his business--when it plainly was private? Logic explained; heedless, her emotions painted disaster in vivid colors. What if some meddling party of drunkards happened to...

Wind stirred the russet folds, dampness clinging to its breath. An indistinct question from close at hand. Kane's voice rumbled against her cheek. his tongue thick with drink. "Too faint for a real orgy, these genteel wenches. Little cold rain in her face will wake her up--or I'll find something livelier in the taverns." A mixed response of knowing chuckles, sympathetic exclamations, advice to try the Prancing Mare for sights to quiver a well-bred lady's thighs. "Take the place apart!" muttered Kane, moving past.

Rain splashed against her bare legs, rattled, upon Kane's cloak and blotted out sound as well as sight. Teres released her clenched teeth, relief washing over her like the rain. They had escaped the citadel.

Kane walked on a ways, then set her down. Peering about, she discovered they stood in an alley. The night was foggy; a cold drizzle fell patiently. Indistinct figures stumbled through the murk, intent on reaching warm shelter or oblivious of their state altogether.

"Walk from here," Kane muttered. "For a well-turned armful, you're solid as a wrestler. I understand how Ristkon lost the match."

Teres declined to comment, uncertain whether to consider this a compliment or not. "Now what?" she asked instead.

"Walk beside me to the river. See about finding a boat. Here, get under this." He drew her to his side, covering her with his cape. "No one's going to give a second glance to a couple of revelers trying to stay dry."

It was a snug fit--Teres was nearly as tall as Kane. He enclosed her with his right arm, drew her close to his broad chest, and pulled a fold of the cloak over both their heads. Clutching her pack in front of her, she contrived to jab him with the sword scabbard as they walked.

Water spread in wide puddles along the brick streets, cool beneath her bare feet, splashed over her legs as they waded through the night. Kane kept to the shadows, though the sizzling streetlights, the yellow-streaked windows and smoky doorways spilled ineffectual light into the street. As Kane had predicted, no attention was wasted on them by the few others abroad in the gloom. Rapidly they stole through the rejoicing city, pausing only once to strip a cloak from a senseless drank.

Beyond the raucous uproar of the taverns, the riverfront was deserted. The river gate stood open, its guards drunk and gaming in the shelter of their barracks. Stragglers sloshed past unnoticed, bound to sample the pleasures found within Selonari's walls or in the rougher dens that spotted the waterfront and outlying fringe of the city. Stealthily they drifted along the quay, avoiding these few centers of clamoring merriment.

"Looks good," concluded Kane, pointing to an overturned rowboat beached along the shore. "Won't need bailing, either." The boat was about eighteen feet in length, with lifting bow and wide stern, an undistinguished riverboat showing signs of disrepair. Fresh gouges in the mud indicated it had been in regular use--presumably seaworthy, then. Battered oars were shipped underneath, and its bowchain was anchored to a tree. There was a dwelling nearby, but the owners were off in a tavern somewhere tonight, and no lights shone.