Mistress of the Night (18 page)

The man turned and glared again. "Some of us are drinking, Stag," he growled, then looked away as if utterly unconcerned with Feena's captivity. Her eyes widened.

"See, red bird," cooed Stag, "this's our own pretty little clearing right here. No one's going to bother us."

He started to tug her toward the back of the bar, and Drik stepped forward to take her other side.

As the second bandit closed, Feena reared back against Stag and kicked out at Drik with both feet. The blow connected, and Drik stumbled into Kor, who roared in frustration. When he whirled around, beer dripped from his face. He cuffed Drik hard with a meaty fist. Startled, Stag relaxed his hold on Feena. She twisted half free of him and leaned toward the corner of the bar.

"Noyle!" she shouted. "Noyle!"

The old man looked up from his story. His eyebrows rose. Other people swung around as well, just as Stag grabbed for her again, trying to pull her back into his grasp. Drik was rising, too, an ugly look of rage burning on his face. He grabbed her free arm and used it as leverage to drive a punch against her chin. Feena's head snapped back.

"Torm and Helm!" Noyle gasped.

Through a brief wash of bright pain, Feena saw him start up from his chair and turn to face Stag. She started to pull herself away from the bandit—

"She's the one who beat you down?" asked Noyle.

Feena froze. Stag's hand tightened on her right arm.

"She's the one," the bandit said. "Fights like a demon and twice as dirty."

"Stag and me were lucky to get away," Drik chimed in, seizing her left arm. "She charmed us like fools with her country girl act, then turned on us faster than you could pick a pocket. That's probably what she had in mind for you too, Noyle."

The old man flinched back. Drik twisted Feena's arm painfully.

She gasped and growled but Stag jabbed her hard under the ribs before she could say anything. The blow left her struggling to suck air into her lungs and would have doubled her over if the two bandits hadn't been holding her up.

"Got to be careful of her," Stag said. "She's got some kind of magic, too."

Noyle pulled away in alarm and said, "She's probably some kind of wild hedge mage." He spat on the floor in her direction. "Beshaba's arms hold you, bitch!"

Feena managed to get her breath back.

Moonmaiden's grace, Feena, she cursed, you picked a fine tavern to start poking around in, didn't you?

She fought back the rising fear that surged in her belly. Selune's magic wasn't going to help her. Drik and Stag would stop her at the first sign of a spell. Anywhere else, she might even have considered changing shape—her hybrid form was strong and fierce enough to take on four men or more—but in this place? If she revealed herself as a werewolf, she'd be facing an angry mob.

Stag and Drik couldn't have the entire tavern on their side, could they? Bright Lady of the Night favor me, she prayed.

She twisted around as best she could and screamed over her shoulder, "Help me! Somebody help me!"

A few people looked up, startled, but friends held them back. Others glanced at her, then laughed.

"Now, didn't I say no one would bother us, red bird?" sneered Stag. "You know, there's a reason people are afraid

to come down here after dark." He grinned at his partner. "Hey Drik, let's show missus how alone she really is!"

Drik's face split in a horrid smile. "Aye, Stag!" His voice rose. "Dip's stagger!" he shouted out.

His call got more attention than Feena's scream. All around the tavern, people shouted back eagerly as they turned to face the bandits and their captive. Stag and Drik hauled roughly on Feena's arms.

"One!" they cried, swinging her back toward the crowd. Feena fought to stay on her feet.

"Two!" chanted the crowd in response.

The bandits pulled her forward.

"Three!"

Stag and Drik swung Feena back again and let go. Feena reeled free, arms flailing as she struggled for balance. She slammed straight into the big woman who had been arm-wrestling the dwarf—and gasped as the woman shoved her away again.

"Dip!" the woman roared merrily.

Feena spun a few feet and hit someone else, a gap-toothed merchant.

"Stagger!" he yelled and pushed her as well.

"Dip!"

"Stagger!"

The crowd shifted and flowed around Feena, never allowing her more than a few steps before she hit or was caught by someone and sent staggering on her way. Beer splashed, drenching her. She didn't have a chance to catch her breath or recapture her balance. There was certainly no chance for a prayer. Even the wolf within her was whining in fear—she couldn't have changed form if she wanted to. Wild-eyed, she tried to drop, tried to dart between the legs of the crowd and make for the door. Stag's hands caught her.

"No, no, red bird!" he laughed and gave her a hard shove back into the chanting crowd. Other hands twirled her around and around, tossing her across the bar.

The dwarf whirled into her field of vision. Feena heard him guffaw over the tavern's din.

"Dip!" he bellowed and swung a shoulder against her hips.

Her torso kept going forward. Arms outstretched, she rolled helplessly over the dwarfs shoulder, bounced off a table, and landed hard in someone's lap. A goblet spun away with a ring and clash of cheap metal. Spilled wine pattered around her like rain.

She looked up at a man with light brown hair and a soft goatee. He was well dressed, though wine soaked his clothes. His face was young—he was easily ten years Feena's junior—but there was a hardness to his eyes that aged him. His mouth was set in a thin line. He looked down at his stained clothes, then at her—and up.

The crowd went silent. Feena blinked her eyes back into focus in time to see the tavern's patrons part to leave a clear space between the man who held her and Stag. The bandit's eyes were narrow.

"Give her here, Keph," he growled.

"Why should I?" The young man—Keph—curled an arm around Feena's shoulders. "I might just keep her."

Drik snickered. The young man's gaze darted to him and the bandit fell silent. He moved to Stag's side, both men watching Keph.

"I hear you think you're a bad man now," Stag said. "You still look like a spoiled brat to me. Maybe you want to just step back before you get hurt."

"And maybe when the two of you are finished taking on a farmer's wife, Stag," Keph replied, "you'll be ready to face a real opponent."

Stag's face flushed. "I'll take on both of you by myself!"

The crowd pulled back even farther, making a wide ring in the middle of the tavern. Keph glanced down at Feena.

"Do you mind a little help?" he drawled with mock courtesy.

"Not at all," Feena replied. She pushed herself to her feet and bared her teeth. "Watch out for Drik. He's not going to stay out of this."

Keph's eyes betrayed surprise, as if he hadn't expected

such rage to pour out of her, but he rose and stepped to her side. He wore a rapier on his hip, though he didn't draw it. Stag was already moving, strutting forward confidently but watching them both closely while Drik moved around to the side. The crowd began calling out to all four of them, taking sides and cheering. Feena took a step toward Stag, and so did Keph.

"Take care of Drik!" Feena hissed at him.

"You take care of Drik. Stag's mine."

Keph circled around the bandit, hard eyes locked on him. Stag froze, not sure which opponent to focus on. Growling, Feena took the choice away from him. She dived past Keph to throw a punch at Stag.

He got an arm up and blocked her blow, then swung his other in a backhand that forced her to leap away.

"Hey!" snapped Keph. "I said he's mine!"

He started to move in. Out of the corner of her eye, Feena caught movement and tried to shout a warning as Drik jumped into the fray, but she was too slow. The second bandit wrapped his arms around Keph's chest and heaved him off his feet. The crowd cheered wildly.

The moment of distraction cost her as well. Stag's fist seemed to snake out of nowhere and snap into her jaw. The punch spun her halfway around and knocked her to the floor.

"You're a lot of trouble, red bird!" Stag growled as he drew a foot back to kick her.

Feena threw herself away and came up beside Drik and Keph. The young man was struggling ferociously against Drik's embrace, but the bandit just kept squeezing tighter. Feena rolled up to her knees and drove a punch hard into Drik's kidneys. He gasped and stumbled. As soon as Keph's feet touched the ground, he hunched forward sharply, tumbling Drik over his shoulders. Drik didn't loosen his embrace, however. For a heartbeat, the two men stood twined, then Drik went over, pulling Keph after him. They sprawled across the floor, both stunned, as the crowd jeered. Feena scrambled to her feet and swung around to face Stag once more. The bandit was

circling her, fists ready. She took a slow step away from where Drik and Keph lay.

"Trouble?" she asked. "You don't know the half of it." She gestured for him with both hands. "Come and get me."

Stag took a cautious pace forward. Feena glanced down.

"Keph! Yours!"

On the floor at Stag's feet, Keph looked up. He grinned viciously and his hands snapped out to grab at the bandit's leg. Stag stumbled, surprised. Feena darted forward, grasped the fabric of his shirt, and slammed her knee into his groin. Stag let out a horrible rattling gasp and stiffened.

"Bitch!"

Still holding Stag upright, Feena spun around. Drik was up in a crouch, one leg stretched out, the other bent in front of him. Sharp metal glinted in his hand. A throwing knife. His arm drew back...

Keph twisted over onto his side, pulled a leg in, then kicked out hard. His booted foot hammered straight into Drik's bent knee with a bone-splintering crunch. Drik shrieked and the knife tumbled from his fingers as he toppled over, clutching his leg.

For a moment, the crowd held its breath, then erupted in a roar of appreciation for the brawl.

Keph pushed himself up and rose to his feet. Feena glanced at Stag. The bandit's eyes had rolled back and he was making rasping, choking noises that flecked his lips with foamy saliva. She shoved him into Keph's arms.

"I'm done," she said over the noise of the crowd. "Your turn."

The young man pushed Stag to the floor, grabbing her instead and pulling her close.

Keph felt the red-haired wildcat's body stiffen in alarm as he drew her in.

"Easy!" he hissed before she got the wrong idea—he didn't want to try fighting her on his own. "We're not out of danger yet."

He spun her around toward the door of the Cutter's Dip. Between them and it were big Kor, wily old Noyle, half-mad Lahumbra, and a few other thugs. None of them looked happy.

"Those are Stag and Drik's friends," he whispered in the woman's ear. "They'll cool down later, but if we want to get out of here now, we'd best go together."

The woman's eyes narrowed and she nodded. Keph led the way toward the door. The woman didn't try to challenge him. Hands reaching out to touch and congratulate them, the crowd parted easily. The woman flinched back—after a round of Dip's Stagger, Keph thought, who could blame her?—but he accepted the congratulations and shook hands easily. As they drifted past the bar, the thugs were forced back away from them by the press of people, but he heard Noyle hiss out a warning.

"Best not be coming back to the Cutter's Dip any time soon!"

The woman started to twist angrily. Keph held his grip on her and kept them moving.

"Bad odds," he muttered to her. "You can get back at them another time."

A moment later, they were through the tavern's door and out on the platforms of the Stiltways. Keph walked a short distance away from the Cutter's Dip, then let out a breath and released his hold on the woman.

"What did you do to get Stag and Drik so mad at you?" he asked her.

"They tried to rob me a tenday ago," she said bluntly. "I objected." She jerked her head at the door of the Dip. "This was just... unlucky. Thank you for your help."

Keph couldn't hold back a disdainful snort.

Dark, he thought, if Jarull and the other cultists saw this

"Don't thank me," he told her. "If Stag had held his tongue, I would have given you back to him."

The woman looked at him with disgust. "I guess I shouldn't have expected any more." She drew herself up as if she wore a noblewoman's finery instead of country clothes, and lifted her chin haughtily. "In that case, accept my apologies for interrupting your drink and my congratulations on a fight well fought."

Keph blinked at the change in her manner and cocked his head. Country wife, scrapper, noble—the woman had more sides than a loaded die. She must have recognized the surprise in his expression because she grimaced and shook her head.

"No," she said, as much to herself as to him it seemed. She looked at him and bent her head. "Thank you," she said with genuine gratitude. "Even if you don't accept it—thank you."

"I..." He searched for words, something that would knock her back down. To his surprise, he couldn't find any. "You're... welcome," he told her haltingly.

She extended her hand. "Feena," she said.

"Keph," he replied, "but then, you already know that." He took her hand and bowed over it politely.

Feena started.

"Keph Thingoleir?"she asked, surprised.

Keph bit down on his tongue, let go of her hand, and said, "My reputation precedes me."

Feena seemed confused. "No," she said, "it's just... this is the second time tonight I've heard your name. And you shake hands like your father."

"I'm sure he'd be pleased to hear that," Keph snapped. He stepped away from her. "You should go."

She looked at him strangely. "I'm sorry if I—"

"Go. And like Noyle said, best not be coming back any time soon."

"All right." Feena's expression hardened. "Will they come after you?"

Keph laid a hand on Quick. No weapons was an unspoken rule inside the Cutter's Dip, but outside was another matter.

"They can try."

"You'll be alone," she warned.

"I was waiting for a friend before you came along. He'll be here soon." He gave Feena a cold glare. "Leave!"