Taste of Lightning (15 page)

Of course, Beeman had stretched that final rule many times. Beeman had taught Skir to read, and he made sure that the celebration of Baltimaran ‘victories' was balanced by news of setbacks and acts of rebellion by the insurgents in Cragonlands. Skir had always known Beeman's actions were risky, but all that would be nothing compared with the crime of allowing his pupil to be abducted by Rengani forces. Especially when it was discovered that the Rengani forces consisted of one reluctant soldier . . .

Tansy whispered, ‘You still awake? You worrying about Elvie?'

‘No. She can't do anything now – she's asleep.'

‘What then?'

Skir hesitated, then in halting whispers, he told her what he feared.

Tansy was quiet, considering. ‘I reckon, even if they have punished him, he'd think it were worth it, to get you home. That's what you got to remember. You can't help him now, if he is in the Pit. Even if they took you back, he'd still be punished for letting you go.'

‘I'm not going back,' said Skir, certain for the first time. ‘I can't go back.'

‘No. So you just got to get home safe. For him.'

‘I suppose so,' said Skir slowly. ‘And what about you, Tansy? Are you all right?' It was the first time he'd thought to ask.

She was silent, and for a moment Skir was afraid she might be battling tears, but then she laughed softly.

‘Sorry,' she said. ‘I know it ain't right to laugh when we're in Madam's back garden, near enough, and we got soldiers after us and all, but – well, it's exciting, ain't it? This whole last year I was in Arvestel, I felt like I was suffocating. Shut in that laundry, same work, same faces. It were only with the horses I felt –'

‘Free?'

‘Yeah. That's it. And I feel like that now. Even with the Army on our tails. I can
breathe
.'

Skir rolled over. Elvie had left the door open for the night breeze, and in the oblong of dark he could see two crescent moons and one just past full, heavy in the clear soft sky like a ball of quicksilver about to drop. He heard the horses snuffle in the clearing, and Perrin's slow, half-drugged breath beside him, and a rustle of quilts as Tansy settled herself. As he watched, clouds rolled across the moons, and he tensed as he always did at the prospect of thunder.

But by the time rain began to patter on the roof of the hut, he and Tansy and the others were all asleep.

CHAPTER 9

The Captain's Luckpiece

BY morning, the swelling around Perrin's wound had gone down, and the horrible smell had disappeared. Perrin could even cautiously flex his fingers.

They sat outside in the clearing, breakfasting on tea and bread and honey, while, inside the hut, Elvie mixed more ointment for Skir's feet.

Perrin ruffled Tansy's hair. ‘That weird colour actually suits you. It makes your eyes quite blue. I'll look for a blue scarf at the market today.'

Annoyed, Tansy batted his hand away. ‘What?'

Skir was scowling.

‘Elvie says it's market day in Rarr. I'll buy supplies.' Perrin stretched his legs luxuriously in the sunshine. ‘We need blankets, and food, and oats for the horses.'

‘You can't go. What about your hand? And people will know you're a Gani.'

‘My hand doesn't hurt. Sedge can carry everything. No one'll know I'm a foreigner unless I want them to. Ask
her
.' He nodded toward the hut. ‘She doesn't know. I'll bet you . . .' His smile broadened. ‘I'll bet you a kiss.'

‘That's a stupid bet,' said Tansy. ‘You can't find out without telling her. Give me the money, Skir. I'll go to the market.'

Skir drew the heavy coin-purse from his pocket and weighed it reflectively. ‘Wanion knows me, and she knows you. But she doesn't know Perrin.'

‘I want to go,' said Perrin. His dark blue eyes were alight. ‘This might be my only chance to see a Baltimaran marketplace. All the riches of Tremaris laid out for my delight, and a pocket of coins to spend.'

‘It's only a village market,' said Tansy. ‘Skir, he'll just take the money and – oh, give it to him. I don't care if he does run off.'

‘I'll let you have half,' decided Skir. ‘That should do.' A day alone with Tansy and Elvie was worth paying for.

Tansy watched Perrin and Sedge disappear down the path; when she turned, Elvie was standing behind her.

‘Oh! You gave me a start. Where's Sk – where's Ren?'

Elvie's blind eyes roved up and down and around. ‘Rubbing his feet.' She put her hand on Tansy's arm. ‘I make potions for love, too.'

‘What would we need that for?'

Elvie smiled slyly. ‘Which of them do you desire?'

‘What? I don't – I don't like anyone that way.' But Tansy felt the heat rise into her face. True, she was drawn to Skir, but he was strange, destined for strangeness, a sorcerer, a king – even if it was only king of a funny little territory. Perrin was good-looking all right, but didn't he know it! She wanted to slap him twenty times a day. She shook Elvie's hand off her sleeve. ‘We're in trouble. It ain't the time for thinking about that kind of thing.'

Elvie smiled. ‘If love waited for the right time, there would be no love. But perhaps you don't need my potions. I think if you crooked your little finger, either one of them would follow.'

‘No,' said Tansy abruptly. ‘I don't need nothing from you. Thanks all the same.' And she stalked away toward Penthesi with her face still hot.

As Perrin led Sedge along the road to Rarr, it crossed his mind that he could do as Tansy had suggested: ride Sedge away and disappear. But where would he go? If he didn't bring Skir back to Rengan, High Command would have him hanged. Even as it was, there might be awkward questions; a sole survivor was always a suspicious figure. High Command might even blame him for what went wrong . . .

Perrin pushed that idea away into the dark box where he kept all his uncomfortable thoughts. The sooner he could hand over Skir to the rendezvous party at the border, the happier he'd be. Skir wouldn't be too happy in Rengan, though; High Command wouldn't hurt him, but they certainly wouldn't keep him in the kind of luxury he was used to at Arvestel. And as for Tansy . . . For the first time, Perrin wondered what would happen to Tansy. A Baltimaran slag, they'd call her. They might lock her up. Surely they wouldn't hang her?

That was another thought for the dark box. Perrin's mind veered in another direction. Suppose High Command decided he was a hero? Then it would be one dangerous mission after another, forever. He'd never be free . . .

Sedge nuzzled his hair to warn that they were almost there, and he'd better pay attention. Perrin reached up to give her a reassuring pat.

Rarr was large for a village, small for a town. It had six inns, a bell tower, and a market-square. There was a fountain, and a colonnade with brightly painted awnings above the merchants' stalls.

And over it all hung something that couldn't be seen from the woods: the Fastness of Rarr. It was the Witch-Woman's stronghold, a fortress of jagged grey rock. Half-a-dozen stone fingers thrust from a nest of dark, glossy forest. It cast its long shadow over the town, and wherever Perrin stood, it was there in the corner of his eye like a piece of grit, impossible to ignore.

And there was rust in this town. Perrin hadn't walked four paces down the main street before a man with red-rimmed nostrils stumbled from a grimy alleyway and gave him a groggy, unfocused smile. Perrin smiled back.

The next instant, a ragged child tugged at his arm. ‘Want some, mister? Best quality, guaranteed. Straight from Cragonlands. Same fields
she
uses.' The child jerked its chin toward the grim, serrated towers that loomed over the town.

Perrin felt the weight of the coin-purse in his pocket, and the pleasant tingle in his veins that was the last of Elvie's pinch of rust racing through his body. He hesitated. Suddenly Sedge gave a great snort in his ear, and nudged him toward the bustling market-square. Perrin shook the child off gently. ‘Not today.'

He led Sedge around the market, jangling the coin-purse in his hand. He couldn't find proper Rengani-style bed-rolls, lined with felt, with waterproof canvas on the outside, but he bought blankets, and leather straps to fasten them. Cooking pans, and another tin mug. A cake of soap; he wasn't going without soap any longer, and he knew Skir would appreciate it too. Tansy said she'd seen enough soap to last her whole life; she was quite happy just to splash herself in a stream. A razor would have been nice, but the Balts seemed to prefer facial hair and he was less conspicuous with stubble. More flints for the fancy silver tinder-box that Skir had filched from Arvestel; at least
he
had no Baltish scruples. A sack of oats for the horses.

He hesitated over saddles, but they were expensive. What they needed more than saddles was real food. Dried fruits, and hard-cake, and flour, and beans. Spices and salt. A round of cheese. A bag of carrots, and another of onions . . .

Perrin enjoyed himself, as he knew he would. There were no markets like this in Rengan. People bartered a little, a clutch of eggs for a bag of wheat, but it was nothing like this fistful of shining coins and all this – all this
stuff
. He was enjoying himself so much that he barely noticed the desperate, nervous faces of the stall-holders who begged him to buy their wares, or the woman with the twitching eyelid who brushed against him by the cheese stall, or the filthy child who'd followed him from the alleyway.

He wandered through the market with his spare change in his hand. He bought a blue scarf for Tansy, and hoped she wouldn't strangle him with it. He bought himself a comb at one stall, and stood for a while at another examining mouth-organs and finger-harps.

‘You buying that harp, love?' wheedled the woman behind the stall, rubbing at her nose.

‘I'll take it.' Perrin handed over the coins.

He was waiting for his change when he heard words that made his hair stand on end.

‘– a boy with red hair? He's sixteen, but small for his age –'

Perrin froze. The voice came from just behind him.

‘Yes, a black horse with a white star. There'll be a reward when the boy's found, a very handsome reward . . . No? Thank you anyway. If you do see him, send word to me at the Hammer and Anvil. Just ask for the Captain.'

‘Here you go, love.' The stall-holder poured a shower of little coins into Perrin's hand, and he shoved them impatiently into the purse. Ever so casually he turned his head.

The man was scanning the market-day crowd. He didn't look like a soldier. But he wore a sword, and his boots were a soldier's boots. His hair was long, and his clothes were – not fancy exactly, but good quality, made of fine grey-brown cloth. As Perrin watched, the Captain flung his cloak over his shoulder and strode away.

A very handsome reward.
Perrin stood still, while Sedge chafed gently at the end of the bridle. He'd resisted temptation once today already. But how much rust could be bought with a very handsome reward? How many shining market wares? Could a very handsome reward buy freedom? He imagined a rain of copper coins, a riverful of silver, an ocean of glorious gold.

Perrin's heart beat once, twice, then he was running across the crowded market-square after the Captain, with Sedge clip-clopping behind.

‘Excuse me.' He tapped the man on the shoulder and the Captain swung around. ‘Excuse me – hello.'

‘Hello.' The Captain looked Perrin up and down with an expression of mild surprise.

Perrin flashed his most charming smile. ‘I couldn't help overhearing, and I wondered . . .' He blurred his vowels and buzzed his s's, just like any Baltimaran. ‘How much is a very handsome reward, exactly?'

‘That depends,' said the Captain. ‘If the boy's found alive, if he's found quickly, it would be a lot of money. A lifetime's money, let's say, at least.' He glanced at Sedge, weighed down with all the bags and bundles. ‘Looks as if you've spent quite a bit yourself today.'

‘I don't often get to market.'

‘Ah.' The Captain looked at Perrin's bandaged hand. He rubbed at his eyes and said slowly, ‘If you have anything to tell me, anything at all, I'd be pleased to hear it.'

Perrin hesitated. For an instant he seemed to see Tugger's shrewd dark eyes staring at him, appraising, judging. And he knew he couldn't do it.

Perrin shook his head. ‘No. Wish I could help you. But I don't know any red-haired kid.'

The Captain took a step forward. ‘Are you absolutely sure?' His voice was low and urgent.

‘Yes, I'm sure.' Perrin stepped back. One or two curious people had turned their heads to watch; Perrin cursed silently. He said abruptly, ‘Look, I said no! Now leave me alone, all right?'

The Captain raised his hands and stepped back as more heads turned. Someone gave a rust-sniffer's high, abrupt giggle. Perrin wound Sedge's bridle around his fist and pulled her away. The crowd parted to let them pass, and when Perrin looked back, there was no sign of the Captain.

He took Sedge to one of the inns and bought a flask of wine for later. He had just enough left for a mug of beer: smooth, mellow Baltimaran beer, not the gnats' piss you got in Rengan. Perrin swilled it slowly, regretfully, around his mouth. Then he untethered Sedge and set off on the road out of town. He was so busy thinking of the sacrifice he'd made that he didn't notice the dirty child who slipped along the road behind him. ‘
Yes
, I'm sure he didn't follow me,' said Perrin impatiently.

The heat of the day had burned away and they were seated in Elvie's hut, by the fireplace. Elvie scattered herbs on the flames and the sweet scent of the smoke filled their nostrils. Perrin poked the logs. ‘I told you, I didn't speak to him. He didn't even see me – why would he have followed me?'