Myrren's Gift (36 page)

The men were standing close enough that even dizzied and upside-down he felt confident of hitting one of them. In a smooth movement Wyl crossed his arms and lifted the two knives from their belt and, using the same momentum, hurled one toward the man he considered leader. At that same moment, out of the darkness leapt a huge shadow that enveloped the juggler, who went down screaming with terror.

Shocked, Wyl held his second knife close to his chest, ready for what might attack next. The gurgling sound of a man dying was blotted out by the deep, guttural sound of a beast ripping at flesh. He spun around again on the rope and could see Jerico lying still on the ground while his companion writhed in agony. And then he too went still very quickly. The beast gave chase after the third man, who senselessly ran deeper into the woods. Wyl heard a muffled scream before the woods became silent again.

“Knave?” Wyl asked into the dark fearfully and he flinched as the dog appeared at his side, his warm breath smelling of blood.

Wyl struggled upward, bending himself double to reach the rope that bound him and slashed with the knife. He fell in a heap and Knave loomed over him. For an instant he felt a thrill of alarm. This dog had just mauled two men to death. He could do the same to him, his still-jumbled mind thought. Instead Knave licked Wyl and sat down, a gentle whine of pleasure escaping from the dog’s throat.

Wyl was trembling. He looked over at the dead bodies and back at the dog. Knave had saved his life, there was no question about this.
But where had he come from and how did he know where to find
me
? He tried to stand and promptly fell over again. He had broken ribs, he realized. It added up that his attackers had enjoyed some fun with him—not that he could remember much.

Knave was rooting about in the undergrowth and returned now carrying a flask.

Wyl had seen the treacherous juggler sipping from it and gratefully took a draught of what turned out to be strong liquor. He felt it burn all the way down his throat before its comforting warmth hit.

Knave regarded him intently.

“I gather Fynch is not with you.” he commented and the dog lay down, putting his head on his paws.

“Hmm. thought not. I have to presume he at least has obeyed instructions and remained with Valentyna, which is where you are going back to right now.”

The dog growled and moved closer to his side.

Wyl searched the bodies in an attempt to discover who these men were. There were no clues, but he recognized one of them: Celimus’s man! He was sure of it. He remembered catching sight of him at the funeral feast for his own true body.

And that probably explained the vague feeling of threat he had felt all day. He remembered now; he had sighted the killer this morning as he walked into Orkyld. A noise—a man yelping—had caught his attention but only for a moment.

That was it. Celimus had sent the killer after him. It was the Kins who wanted his finger. He looked down at his hands in reflex and noted his signet ring. It and the finger it sat on was probably what was required as proof of his death. Wyl growled to himself now. anger overtaking his fatigue. He would give Celimus something to consider.

Hauling himself to his feet, he reclaimed his sword and, ignoring the intense pain, in one powerful hack lopped off the head of Jerico, its tongue lolling out of the mouth. He pulled off the dead man’s shirt and wrapped the head in it several times, hoping the blood would not show through too soon. Fortunately it was a black shirt and would hide the seepage for a while.

With disgust now he rolled the bodies into the bushes. Wolves or other scavengers would find them soon enough and that was fitting. He cared not. Wyl staggered from the woods carrying Jerico’s head, which he had already decided would have special ironic significance for Celimus. He spent an hour trying to find a suitable container among the rubbish of the town and, when satisfied, he hid the box and its vile contents to be dispatched as soon as he could arrange it.

Only then did he collapse.

Chapter 21

This time when Wyl regained his senses he was lying in a bed At first he thought he was dreaming as memories of an ugly night returned. He touched the feather coverlet and it was real enough to convince him he was not imagining these comfortable surrounds, and the spicy fragrance that lingered around him definitely smacked of a woman. Its owner, familiar to him, suddenly leaned over.

“Don’t hit me again. Arlyn,” he croaked and smiled crookedly.

She gave a full-throated laugh this time. “I’m tempted, Romen. What in Shar’s Name happened to you last night?”

“Long story. Would you believe me if I told you it all happened because of you?”

“No, because you are a liar, a cheat, and a low, good-for-nothing scoundrel whom I shall toss from my bed just as soon as your body can stand it.”

He winced. “How bad?”

“The physic says you can’t move for a couple of days at least.”

“Then I am at your mercy,” Wyl said, surprising himself. He liked women a lot yet he felt tongue-tied among them. He thought of Valentyna; the thrill of her touch and how his throat had closed up when she had turned her attention fully to him. And yet here he was in this woman’s bed, acting the roguish flatterer using Romen’s confidence.

“Mynk for those thoughts?” Arlyn said, squeezing out a rag into a small bowl of water. She smoothed the linen gently over his face, her expression suddenly tender.

“I was just contemplating how sorry I am.” he said softly.

Arlyn paused in her ministrations and fixed him with her green gaze. “You hurt me so much.” Wyl reached over with Romen’s large hand and cupped hers to his chest. “I know. I have a lot to explain.”

“But not yet,” she said, reaching for a cup and handing it to him. “Rest and heal are the physic’s orders.

Drink this.”

He did so and made an expression of the worst sort of disgust.

“Sleep now,” she said, a smile passing across her face.

“Arlyn,” he said drowsily. “How did I get here?”

“A huge black dog dragged you to my doorstep,” she said indignantly.

He started to laugh as he drifted away. “His name’s Knave.”

“It could be King Celimus for all I care,” he heard her say as he lost his grip on the bright morning. “I’ve told him he stays out of this bedroom. He’s outside.”

“Thank you,” he said and slept.

Two fierce needs woke Wyl. It was dusk now. He was starving but even more pressing than the desire of his belly was the desperation of his bladder. He would have to move fast or make a fool of himself in front of Arlyn. He scanned the room desperately looking for the chamber pot and. after finding it.

dragged himself out of the bed. Arlyn must have heard him moving because she entered the room just as he finished.

“You shouldn’t be up,” she scolded.

He looked around. “It was urgent.” he admitted sheepishly.

“Let me feed you and then we’ll talk.”

Arlyn’s food was delicious and as Wyl ate he wanted to ask her questions but he knew he could not for fear of showing his ignorance. He had decided that Romen must have got himself trapped and no doubt did flee Arlyn’s arms rather coldheartedly. The man’s manner, his whole ease among people, suggested he was a womanizer. Wyl was the opposite sort of character. He needed to try to right the wrong, at least in her eyes.

After helping him eat, Arlyn brought a bowl of scented water for him to wash his hands and face. Then she took a seat on the bed near to him.

“So, Romen. Will you tell me what went wrong?”

Wyl had already given the situation much thought and decided to tell a lie of such extravagance that she could never blame herself for being abandoned so callously.

He took a deep breath. “I am a marked man. Arlyn. When I left here it was not because I did not want to marry you but because I had to flee for my life.”

Whatever excuse Arlyn had expected, this was far away from it. She remained silent despite the obvious questions in her expression and Wyl pressed on.

“King Celimus wants me dead.” he said. “I suspect it has to do with a friendship I had with his former General, Wyl Thirsk.”

“Former General?”

“He’s dead. Murdered by assassins sent on the express wishes of the King.” She was going to say something but thought better of it.

“But here’s the worst of it,” Wyl continued. “What happened last night was one of a series of attacks.

The first occurred after I ran from you. They tracked me down and left me for dead but in fact they had knocked me unconscious. When I came to I had lost my memory.” It was thin but he had been convincing. He watched Arlyn’s hand move to her throat. He hated himself for lying but he would be damned if he would risk hurting her again. This at least gave her the dignity she deserved.

“I did not even recall my name.” He had to be careful here. “How long have I been gone?” he asked casually as though trying to search for the answer from himself.

She readily gave him the answer, not realizing the subtlety of his ruse.

Wyl had to stop himself from looking at her in alarm. What a bastard Romen had been. “Is it really that long?” he muttered instead. “I spent a good part of that time in a monastery convalescing from the stabbing injuries but mostly trying to find myself again.” He thought she might cry but she soldiered on.

“And your memory?”

“I still have not recovered much of it. which is why I must ask your forgiveness if I appear vague.” He liked the neat excuse—it might permit him to make errors.

“Oh, Romen, this is shocking news, and there I was thinking—oh, never mind. And last night it happened again?”

He nodded. “I’ve been safe for a while and perhaps I got too confident coming back here but I was drawn to Orkyld. I was drawn to you, Arlyn, but I can’t remember anything of what happened between us. I’m so ashamed. So sorry to have hurt you.”

His sincerity melted her and Wyl despised himself.

“What happened to the men who attacked you last night?”

“They ran away when Knave joined in the fray,” he lied. His last lie, he promised himself. “If not for him.

I would surely be dead. Where is he anyway?”

“Terrifying people.”

He smiled, knowing he needed to press home the point now. “I am a fugitive. I will be until Celimus succeeds in killing me. Already I have tarried too Ions and I must get myself away from here. By staying here I put you in danger.”

“They would kill me too?”

He shrugged and it hurt to do so. “They are ruthless. The King uses common cutthroats—unscrupulous bastards. No honor.”

“Where can you go?”

Wyl shook his head this time. “I intend to keep moving. Perhaps I’ll go across the seas. You understand why I cannot marry you. my love. I don’t know when I might next see you, if at all.”

“Romen, let me be honest now. I don’t believe, after all this time, we could find that special affection we had before. It’s been too long.” This was music to Wyl’s ears. “But can we not hide you here?” she said, taking his hand.

“No. Too dangerous. They are on my trail now. I must lose them again. As soon as I can walk, I’m leaving. Forgive me.”

“Never mind how we feel now, I hated seeing you so hurt yesterday.”

“Next time they won’t fail.” Wyl said, hoping it was the last nail to drive into the wretched coffin of their relationship.

She rallied. “How can I help? Money?”

“I have money. I want you to forget about me. Wipe all trace of my stay here after I leave and tell anyone who knows you have me here to keep their wits about them and not answer any questions.” She nodded. “No one saw you come to my house.”

“Good. I’ll leave tomorrow at nightfall.”

“So soon?”

“Would you be kind enough to hand me my pouch?” he asked. It was a small leather bag with a long strap designed to be worn across the body. She gave it to him and he delved inside, bringing out Ylena’s brooch. She would not miss it and it was going to a worthy person who had brought him the good luck his sister had wished for him.

“This is for you. I do remember choosing it but not where or when,” he said, smiling regretfully as he put it into her palm.

“Oh. Romen. it’s beautiful.”

“Then it will do justice to its owner,” he said, this time with sincerity. “Keep it as a reminder of what we shared once.”

She kissed his hand, which was still entwined with hers, and could not help but feel a surge of desire for the handsome rake who lay near-naked in her bed. “Then I must return the gift.” Wyl felt compelled to shrink from any mention of a gift from a woman. “Oh?” he said.

“The only one I have at hand,” she said, unbuttoning her shirt.

The next day Romen’s arms held Arlyn close but it was Wyl who, with great fondness, kissed her goodbye. Her tender attentions had allowed him to forget himself for a brief time. Lying beside her, loving the incomparable sensation of her flesh against his, he lost his senses in a glut of affection. Although hampered by his injuries, this did not prevent their lovemaking and it helped immeasurably toward disguising his inexperience. If he had been healthy she would have known he was not Romen, or at least not the Romen she had once known. Wyl Thirsk had not bedded a woman in quite some time. The last memorable occasion was with a young soapmaker in Pearlis who supplied her produce to Stoneheart. It was a brief fling between two young people with little experience. He had seen her a few times around the castle and had once been nearby when a horse shied toward her and she had spilled her basket of soaps in fright. Wyl had called for two pages to help her pick them up and then he had graciously apologized for the skittish horse. The girl had a sweet smile and had accepted his apology shyly.

She had not been so bashful the next time he had come across her in one of the better taverns in the city where she was making another delivery. On this occasion she had invited him back to the tiny, airless room where she lived with her father above their shop and undressed herself. It had been quick but nonetheless memorable, Wyl groaning as he reached his height of pleasure and she enjoying his look of ecstasy more than experiencing much of her own.