The Red Knight (14 page)

“Good morning, lady,” he mumbled.

A knowing smile spread across her face. “So it would seem.”

Garian blushed, which wasn’t like him, but the way she looked at him was disarming, like she knew what he was thinking, although right at that moment it probably wasn’t hard to guess.

“Here, take these.” She thrust the bundle into his arms. “My mother tried to wash your clothes, but they were ruined.” She draped the garments over the door then skipped down the stairs and joined the swordsman by the fire.

The clothes were a good fit—whoever had chosen them had gauged his size better than Hyram. He would never have chosen grey linen trousers or the pale blue shirt, but he couldn’t deny they were comfortable. He had to admit defeat when it came to the headscarf. There was obviously a knack to winding the slippery fabric around a head, but he couldn’t fathom it. He’d learn how to do it at some point, and then maybe add Vodoni to his repertoire of disguises.

When he’d finished dressing, he scrutinised his reflection in the polished copper pots hanging on the dresser. He decided he felt better than he looked. He had to get back to Hyram with the parchment, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. The way she’d smiled at him. Why had she smiled at
him
like that? It didn’t make sense. He was thin and short. His hair was too brown, and too wild, and his eyes were too dark and staring. Most of the time he hid his true face, he was a good actor, he had to be; his life often depended on his ability to dissemble.

Right then, with no need for subterfuge, he saw himself for what he really was: a cold-hearted gutter-snipe, a killer. The only difference between him and the average piece of street scum was that he wasn’t out to cut a purse, or mug a drunk. He was above average scum, the kind who put a crossbow bolt in a man’s back for a piece of paper. That he killed in the name of the King didn’t make it any better. He was worthless, just like his father used to say.
A girl like her could never be interested in a killer like you.

“
Fuck off.
”
He growled at his reflection and settled a less fierce mask over his sharp features
.

As weak as a new born calf and just as graceful, he climbed down the steps of the caravan.

“Come, sit. You must be hungry; the healing my wife gave you takes a lot out of a body. You’ll be going
Thinne
if you’re not careful,” said the Hadami.

He and the girl touched the crescent moon pendants they were wearing. Garian had heard the term before.
Thinne
didn’t mean a lack of weight; it signified a lack of essence, a death of spirit. If a person lost too much of their essence they would became evil spirits. Hadami legends were full of cautionary tales of the Thinne, hunting the living. Garian knew that all manner of fell creatures still haunted the dark and lonely places of the earth and stalked the unwary, but the only monsters he’d ever encountered, and there had been a few, had all been human.

The Hadami handed him a plate piled with food. Garian was ravenous, but refrained from devouring it like a hungry dog.

“How long have I been here?” he asked between mouthfuls.

“Two nights. You drifted all of yesterday, my Mati—
mother
that is, thought you might not wake up. She stayed with you until she was sure you weren’t going to leave us.”

“I’m grateful. What happened to those bastards who attacked us?”

The girl looked at the swordsman.

He wiped his knife on the grass. “They were dealt with.”

“I don’t remember much after being thrown through the window,” said Garian.

The Hadami gave a half smile. “I can see by your face you will not rest until you have a full account.”

“I would appreciate that, sir.”

“Well, now let me see… We saw the smoke and met the Innkeepers on the road. They told us what was happening. Maire and I reached the inn first, just in time, I think. It looked like those savages were intending to kill you.”

Garian nodded. “Aye, I believe so. Did you have a hound with you? I seem to recall hearing a dog growling.”

The Hadami smiled apologetically. “We have started in the middle, this is wrong.” He wiped his hand on his trousers before offering it to Garian. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Korstoi Kristi, Hetman of this Charaval. This is my daughter.” He gestured to the girl.

As much as he wanted to introduce himself as
Captain
Garian Tain, he refrained. “Garian Tain, cartographer,” he said and shook the Hetman’s hand.

The Hetman’s daughter leaned over and offered her hand. He tried not to seem too eager to take it, or smile too warmly when she touched him.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Garian Tain. I’m Sulithabai Kristi, daughter of Korstoi Kristi and B’ha’Maire Na Strolzogyr.”

The Hetman clapped him on the back. “It was most remiss of us not to introduce ourselves. Don’t mistake me—we’re not Shemisana, we are Vodoni! A Shemisana would have killed themselves for committing such a terrible breach of etiquette.” The Hetman laughed heartily. “Now where was I? Ah, yes. The Innkeeper told us what was happening, and my beloved and I made for the inn as quickly as we could, followed by the rest of the Charaval. The pigs who attacked you were too drunk and stupid to back down. May the gods forgive me, but a part of me is glad that they didn’t.” Korstoi sheathed his knife. “We gave them the chance to surrender because unlike them, we are civilised people. It was more than they deserved. After three of them had gone to their gods the rest lost their appetite for violence.”

Prompted by the Hetman’s account, Garian’s memories came flooding back. He suddenly remembered the screaming and the sound of bone’s snapping, of flesh being torn apart, and when the screaming stopped, hot breath against his cheek, and a pair of inhuman, blue eyes staring down at him.

“She’s a shifter!” Garian spluttered.

Korstoi Kristi raised an eyebrow. “Did I not say I was the Hetman of this Charaval? Ah, but you do not know our ways. As Hetman it was my pleasure, and my duty, to marry a Moon Maiden. The Silver Weavers and the Vodoni have ever been joined thus. Don’t they teach you stone dwellers anything these days?”

“Alas, our education is somewhat lacking when it comes to Moon Maidens and Silver Weavers,” Garian confessed without shame.

“It’s been a long time since I was called a maiden.” The woman swept from behind him. She looked younger than the Hetman, although her hair was grey. It was her eyes that marked her out as something other than an ordinary, middle-aged woman; they were disconcertingly blue, more akin to those of a wolf than a human. Now he remembered her. She was the one who had been looking after him. He stood up and bowed.

“Ack, sit down, child, finish your food, you need to get your strength back. You’ve been through a lot.”

“You’re most kind. I believe I have you to thank for tending to me. My leg feels much better.”

“And so it should—now it hasn’t got poison running through it. It’s a good thing our paths crossed or you’d have most likely bled to death before the next day was out, and then my darling Suli…Let’s just say, the gods are good.”

Garian didn’t give a fuck about the gods. His professional pride was wounded, he was certain the knife had been clean. “Are you sure there was poison?”

She laughed sharply, revealing canines that were slightly too long. “Oh yes. It was Red Widow Bark. The bush grows in southern Guthland where it’s warm and damp. It’s good for those with thick blood and weak hearts, but only as a last resort, as it kills as often as it cures. It has no smell that
you
could discern and it keeps its strength for many days, even when applied to a blade. Like the one you got stuck by, I imagine.” She folded her arms and fixed him with a challenging stare.

“You’re right, Da. He is brave.” Sulithabai winked at Garian. “There aren’t many who’d dare question Mati on the subject of herbs.”

The Hetman threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Now Maire, my love, go easy on the boy. We haven’t finished our breakfast yet, and you know how slow-witted men are when their bellies are empty.”

“Don’t try to wheedle me, Korstoi Kristi. Now, you’ll have to excuse me. Clothes don’t wash themselves.”

Maire kissed her husband, far more passionately than Garian thought proper for a middle-aged couple.

“Take care of yourself, young man. I’d hate for all my hard work to be wasted.” Maire grinned at him and strode off between the wagons.

“I’ve never even heard of Red Widow Bark,” said Garian.

“Don’t be hard on yourself, ‘tis a rare herb,” offered Korstoi. “I doubt that even in Guthland there are many who know what it’s used for, and even fewer who know how to prepare it. My wife is exceptional, you know.”

Garian nodded. “Indeed. I must ask her about the antidote before I leave.” He turned to Sulithabai. “Are you…like your mother? I mean, you didn’t change back at the inn…”

She flashed him a dazzling smile. “No. I’m not a shifter as you put it. I’m just an ordinary girl.”

“I don’t think you’re the least bit ordinary,” said Garian before he could stop himself.

“I suppose I should get on too,” said the Hetman. “I’ll see you later, Suli…Suli? Never mind.” The Hetman got up and left.

The next morning, Garian woke in the Hadami wagon, only this time he wasn’t alone. Suli was with him. They’d spent the whole of the previous day and most of the night talking. When they knew all there was to know about each other and had drunk their fill of mead, they’d made love. He’d tried to stop himself; he didn’t want to offend his hosts, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone, and apparently, hard as it was for him to believe, she wanted him. Whatever the truth he hadn’t needed much persuading.

Now, lying next to her, he could hardly believe his good fortune and tried not to think about what would happen if her parents weren’t as understanding as she’d assured him they were. Worse still was the thought that he might wake up any minute and find it was only a dream. He buried his face in her thick, golden hair. It smelled of rosemary, wood smoke, and her.

“What are you doing?” She mumbled sleepily.

“Smelling your hair.”

“You’re a strange human; you know that don’t you?” She nestled her behind into his groin. He was instantly aroused.

It was past noon when they finally got up. The pain in his leg had faded to a dull ache. On any other day he would have been happy about such a swift recovery, but not today.

Garian and Suli broke their fast in silence. They hadn’t spoken about him leaving, but they both knew he had to go. Suli had told him that the Vodoni would also be moving on now that they’d given their statements to the local magistrate. Garian hoped the thugs would hang, but what concerned him most was when he would see Suli again. They had shared so much in the last few days; it felt like he’d known her all his life. The thought of being without her, even for a short time, was almost unbearable.

Korstoi returned his gear to him without comment. The Hetman must have realised that the items he had with him were a little out of the ordinary for a cartographer. His circumspection would be rewarded after Garian had left. He and Suli had agreed that she could tell her parents why a cartographer carried two crossbows and a finely balanced hunting knife.

Garian had broken his sworn oath and told her everything about himself. Like making love with her, it felt right, more; it felt good to be able to talk to someone about what he did. Other than his mother, nobody else had ever shown any real interest in him as a person. He couldn’t repay her kindness by being anything other than honest with her.

Hyram would be incandescent with rage if he ever found out, but Garian didn’t care. She already meant more to him than anyone he’d ever known, including his patron. He’d be damned if he would found their relationship on lies. He wasn’t convinced the Vodoni would regard ‘spy’ as an acceptable occupation for a son in law, but he knew without a doubt, that he’d give it up in a heartbeat if that was the only way to be with her. He would do anything for Suli, she was as vital to him as breathing.

She kissed his neck. “You’re thinking again, Captain.”

“Are you sure you’re staying in the area? What if you go elsewhere? How will I find you?” he asked.

She laughed and kissed him again. “Don’t worry. I’ve told you, we’ll be around here for most of the summer. We always are, and if father suddenly decides to go elsewhere, I’ll send word or you can come find us—that’s what you’re good at isn’t it?”

“Very funny, my lady. I just don’t want to lose you. I mean, a girl as handy as you are with a jug is quite a prize.”

She laughed and leaped into his arms, taking them both to the ground.

Later, when Garian finished saddling his horse, Suli’s father gave him some food for the journey, a pipe and some Pel for the road.

“Do not take my daughter’s affection lightly,” said the Hetman as he tightened the girth on Garian’s horse. “I am far less gentle than my wife if you cross me.”