Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (57 page)

She went back into the bedroom and quickly rummaged through the dresser, finding a few items of clothing, laundered and folded, though threadbare for all that. She pulled the dresser from the wall and used the knife to pry back the panel she’d seen Jastail get behind.

A hollowed compartment sat empty save for a small piece of parchment bearing a handwritten note:

Meet me at the wayhouse two days from the final auction. Bring every man you can trust for five handcoins. We’ll set the balance right, and you may have yourself a route of your own for the trouble. Watch that you’re not followed. And should you feel ambitious, know I’ve taken precautions against your greed.

Wendra tucked the note inside her bodice, and checked to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. Satisfied, she replaced the panel and rejoined Penit at the table. She didn’t know the nature of the meeting, but if it involved her, then preventing the arrival of the number of “men available for five handcoins” improved her odds.

Something Jastail will surely understand.
She smiled.

She took up a crust of bread and was eating it when she heard the sound of steps approaching the outer door.

Jastail entered; he surveyed the room in a quick sweep. “You may have been tempted to steal the knife,” he said dryly. “Perfectly understandable. I’ll give you the opportunity of putting it back.”

Wendra considered playing coy, but decided not to test the rogue. If she were to use the weapon at all, it needed to be once they were well outside town. She produced the knife from her boot and laid it next to the bread crumbs on the table.

“Good,” Jastail said. “Quickly, and hold your tongues.”

Penit went grudgingly and Wendra followed.

They got onto their mounts, and Jastail led them casually down a vacant alley toward the east, never turning onto the main street. The sun lay low in the west, sending their shadows in long, dancing rhythms on the ground before them. Penit fought to ride alongside Wendra even through the narrowest lanes. His face shone with the conflicting emotions of hatred when he looked toward Jastail and relief when he saw Wendra.

Would we make it if we made a break for it now?

She dismissed the thought. They might be able to break away, but it would have to be once they reached the open road, and even then it would need to be planned. If Jastail caught the boy, Wendra could not leave him again.

They passed a cluster of tents and rode into a field dotted with cook fires. Shallow rain ditches had been dug to catch the rainwater as it rolled from oiled canvases stretched over wooden frames. The smells of roasting grouse and prairie hens rose on the dusk air. Wendra’s stomach growled at the savory smell.

“What is this then?”

As a group of men stepped into their path, Jastail called them to a halt.

“I’ve business elsewhere,” Jastail said, looking past the men at the open land along the horizon.

“So pressing that you would leave at suppertime,” the man retorted. “And taking your stock with you.” The others laughed, their eyes passing from Wendra to Penit and back. “How far the great trader Jastail has fallen that he buys his own wares. Damaged goods, my friend.” The man shifted his head to the side to affect a sidelong glance of reproof.

“Business elsewhere,” Jastail repeated.

“Is that so?” the leader of the group replied. “Well, perhaps. But I don’t like what this means to those of us you leave behind.” The man raised his hand to his mouth and bit at a fingernail before continuing. “What information do you have that causes you to forfeit the price of a boy on the block? It isn’t like you.” His eyes narrowed. “And it isn’t fair to those prepared to pay good money for him, either. And what of this one?” He walked past Jastail and laid his hand on Wendra’s thigh. She kicked him in the chest, and would have put her boot in his face if the stirrup had not inhibited her blow. The man stumbled backward.

When he regained his balance, he rushed toward her, one arm brandishing a deeply curved knife. Orange sun glinted on the beveled edge as Wendra tried to shy away from the charge. Instantly, Jastail was off his horse and between them. He ducked beneath the man’s arm and drove a leg into his ankles. The other went over on his face. His jaw slammed into the hard-packed earth. The report rose in the mellow evening like the striking of river stones together.

Wendra had seen men cower when their leader was put down, but these men rushed in on Jastail the instant he swept the first man off his feet. Two smaller fellows tried to flank him as the largest among them came directly on, a moronic grin showing but five existing teeth. Two more drew short blades and skirted the edge of the fray like dancers anxious for a turn with a courtesan.

Jastail lunged for the largest man, feigning an exaggerated roundhouse toward the man’s face, and drove his knee into the fellow’s groin. The lout doubled over with an airy
whoosh
. One blade swept near Jastail’s face, but before the man could recover to strike again, Jastail drew his own sword and struck a deft jab to the man’s sword arm. The wounded brute dropped his weapon and turned tail.

The other swordsman rushed at Jastail’s back. Wendra saw the blindside attack and bit her lip against warning Jastail. The instant seemed very long, but finally she yelled his name. Her captor did not look back. He fell into a forward roll and narrowly missed a jab at his spine. He came up and whipped his sword around in a deadly, level arc, catching the man in the neck as his momentum carried him toward Jastail.

The fight had drawn the attention of nearby traders. Troubled shouts rose, and the faint clink of blades and armor accompanied bellowed questions sounding from the tents. Wendra realized she needed Jastail to win. Whatever the highwayman had planned for her and Penit, he was their only chance of escaping Galadell. If they were captured, these ruffians would show no mercy toward her or Penit.

Wendra turned her mount on one of the men trying to flank Jastail and spurred the horse. In a burst, the mount leapt, trampling the man before he could cut Jastail. A frenzied whinny erupted to her left. Penit had followed her lead, knocking the other thug to the side with his horse’s broad chest.

As running steps and calls of concern flooded the street, the last man slowly backed away. Jastail jumped into his saddle and rode toward the shadows. Wendra and Penit raced at his heels. She’d saved her captor’s life once again, but she expected no gratitude from the man leading them past the last tents of Galadell.

*   *   *

When the tents disappeared behind them, Jastail immediately took them off the trail and into untraveled patches of trees. He sped through gullies and over hills, sometimes turning left, sometimes right, as though he were not wholly unacquainted with the terrain. But he forged through low intertwined limbs, and twice forded rivers deep enough to require the horses to swim.

Wendra suspected Jastail of trying to take them far enough from possible rescue to discourage hope. But more than once she saw him stop on a rise or bluff and look away to the west through the gathering darkness. The highwayman feared pursuit. Perhaps he’d violated the code she’d seen pass unspoken among the traders while the bidding had gone along—cutting your own kind with a sword might defy their ethical mores (if they had any). But Wendra reminded herself that the highwayman had always seemed to be a cult of one. Every association she’d seen him acknowledge had been used to further his own ends. Among those who appeared to know him the best, he acted with the most deceit, putting the most at risk. The thought of it made her eager to test her chances with the boy in these wild hills.

The final traces of light left the sky to a faint moon.

“Can we stop now?” Wendra asked. “The boy is tired.”

“Keep your voice down,” Jastail said in a rough whisper. He looked up. “The starfire is bright enough. We will keep moving.”

“What are you afraid of?”

He drew his horse to a quick halt and shot an unnerving glance at her. “I’m afraid of you dying before you prove useful to me,” he said. He threw one leg over his horse and slipped to the ground. “Rest then, but keep quiet. The night sky is a better friend to the pursuer than the pursued.” He left them and began scouring the ground.

Penit came close, leaning toward her. “We could run now,” he said so faintly she could barely discern his words.

“No,” she replied. “Running a horse in the dark is foolish when you don’t know the way and have no road for your horse to follow.”

“What if they come for us?” Penit’s shoulders slumped. His tireless enthusiasm appeared at last defeated.

“Then we’ll fight them,” she answered, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “But it isn’t the traders that concern me.”

“What then?”

“If he stood to gain from your sale at the auction,” Wendra said, “then why forfeit his bounty? He fought his own thieving friends to keep silent rather than answer the question.” She stopped, looking back over her shoulder toward the horizon and a dozen hills they’d already passed. “Perhaps we should have left his fight to him and not interfered.”

Penit laid his own hand on Wendra’s forearm. “I know I’m just a boy, but I’m not helpless. I learned a lot on the wagons. And I won’t let anything happen to you again.”

Wendra smiled at the naive promise of the child. It sounded like something Tahn might have said. “I believe you,” she answered. “For now, be ready. We shouldn’t forget that we’re here because of the Bar’dyn and other Given. If they come again, Jastail’s friends will be the least of our worries.”

Penit nodded. They dismounted and sat together on a fallen tree while Jastail worked at something behind them. Wendra put her arm around Penit and felt his small body’s warmth. He nestled closer to her in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. But he did not stir. For the briefest moment, Wendra thought to sing the song from her songbox the way Balatin had sung and played for her. She imagined that this was the kind of moment she might have shared with her own child. The mixture of love and regret caught in her throat. She inclined toward the boy and kissed the crown of his head.

Looking back toward the horses, she saw Jastail watching her. In the darkness, she could not see his eyes, but he clearly took note of the tenderness she showed Penit.

He got up and walked close so that she might see him gesture toward their horses instead of having to speak. He had fastened several fallen limbs to his saddle horn with a length of hemp. He meant to drag the branches to cover their trail, but he’d have to be careful that it did not make their passage more evident. The highwayman pointed ahead. “To the next ravine and then north,” he whispered. “Slowly.”

They rode another three leagues before stopping.

Jastail said nothing, tethering the horses and throwing his blanket near the base of a tree. Wendra and Penit slept close together but far from Jastail.

A rough boot at her calf awoke her the next morning. “Pack and eat,” the highwayman said. “Stretch your legs and arms before you mount.”

Jastail had already seen to his blanket, and had allowed a small fire over which a pot of black tea heated. Wendra saw a handful of juniper berries laid on a clean rock near the pot to spice the tea once it brewed. He sat reading from a book, making notations with a thin piece of graphite.

Penit insisted on packing both his and Wendra’s blankets and fetching food from their packs. She allowed him the task and sat opposite Jastail on a low rock, watching him.

Jastail lifted his eyes. “Did you assume a ruffian like me did not read?” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

“No,” Wendra replied. “I just did not expect to see you reading poetry.”

Jastail partially closed the book, his brows rising in interest. “And how did you know it was poetry, dear lady? Have you been rummaging through my things without my knowledge?” His voice held a hint of humor.

“No. Your eyes move unevenly to each line. History and fancy run the width of the page.”

“How astute. And why do you wonder at my choice of literature? No wait, let me guess. Is it because the dreams of a laureate would be lost on one like me, who trades in living commerce and kidnaps women and children? Because if it so, lady, then you make an ardent case. And I may be at a loss.”

Wendra wanted to scowl, but she did not let the desire reflect in her aspect. Her silence seemed to disconcert Jastail more than her words might have. His charming demeanor fell like an ill-fitted mask at a folliet.

“I was not born near the blocks, dear woman.” This time the appellation came bitterly from his lips. “And not every scop looks heavenward when he contrives his rhyme.”

“You want me to believe in the noble savage,” Wendra said tersely.

“Not at all.” He rubbed the binding of the book the way Balatin used to touch Wendra’s hair before he kissed her good night.

“What you think of me is none of my concern. And the differences between nobility and savagery aren’t as clear to me as they are to another. I’ve sat at fires where a man who doesn’t read is distrusted and shunned. In other lands my knowledge would not even earn me the shoveler’s spot in the court wastery.” Jastail’s eyes flared. “But that is precisely why I read these works, precisely why I don’t care what you might think of me.”