The Warrior King: Book Three of the Seer King Trilogy Page 4

  Evidently he was as bloody-minded as I hoped, for I heard no cries of alarm and put him out of my mind, concentrating on putting one foot down, scrabbling for a crack, finding it, then lowering myself to another, convincing my fingers to let go of their death hold and find another one.

  Three or four centuries passed, and I chanced looking down again. I was about thirty feet above the moat, and from here down the stone was smoothly polished, which was why I’d not worried before about anyone attacking us this way.

  The dirty green water was most disinviting, and I hoped no ambitious sort had made the tower more secure by introducing a tribe of poisonous water snakes. It wasn’t looking any easier, and so I crammed the belt into a notch to give me a last few feet of advantage, lowered myself to its end, took a deep breath, pushed away from the wall, and dropped.

  I hit the water with a splash that must’ve sounded like a whale leaping and went under, not thinking about the foul water or its contents or residents. I pulled up into a ball, as I’d done as a boy, idiotically leaping into unknown rivers without checking for underwater crags, and then began rising to the surface.

  I was about thirty feet from the lowered drawbridge, and two guards who must’ve heard the splash were standing on it, gaping.

  “Help!” I spluttered, hoping the green gunk around me was hidding my face. “Help … I fell … can’t swim …” and swam closer, flailing my arms. One guard scurried closer, bent over, reached a hand, and I took it, and he pulled me up onto the wooden decking as if landing a fish. But this fish wasn’t about to be gaffed, and I rolled, kicking, and sent him sprawling.

  The other realized who I was, reached for his sword, and I came up with Perak’s dagger, burying it to the hilt just below his rib cage. He gagged, died, and I spun and cut the throat of his partner before he could recover. I sheathed the dagger, tucked it inside my tunic. Salop’s sword was in one hand, his longer knife in the other.

  There were two more guards at the drawbridge’s end, and they ran at me, grabbing for their swords. I feinted with my sword, put the dagger into the first’s belly, and kneed him into his fellow. The man stumbled back, saw my threatening blade, made a noise like a parrot being strangled, and leapt into the moat.

  Good enough, and I went past the guard post, hastily unbolted the sliding gate, went through, with still no hue and cry, had a moment to slide the bolts back in place and smash at the gate’s hinges with the dagger’s pommel, hopefully jamming it for a moment.

  Then I was free, if for only a moment, free on the streets of Nicias! I saw the boy who’d been staring, felt like tossing him a coin for not helping, and ran past. He turned as I passed, still watching, still without a sound, and I wondered if he was a mute or just very, very slow.

  This branch of the Latane was narrow, and there was an arching bridge for the city center a few hundred yards distant. I pelted for it, past a handful of somewhat astonished citizens strolling in the dusk. Then I caught myself and slowed to a saunter, no more than another Guardian among them, hoping they’d disregard I was helmetless and sopping wet, with a grotesque bloodstain on my gut and an unsheathed blade in each hand.

  I heard shouts, the clatter of horses’ hooves, and looked back. Three horsemen in the gray of the Guardians clattered onto the river walk after me. I didn’t panic but kept my slow pace. I heard shouts of “Stop, you!” and “Stop him,” and the horses’ hooves broke into a hard gallop.

  The horsemen were armed with lances, and they couched them as they closed. I don’t know if they had orders to kill me or just didn’t know how valuable I supposedly was to their Grand Council, but this was not the time to query the matter.

  A man afoot against a horseman appears a one-sided fight, but that’s not necessarily the case, unless the man panics and runs, in which case he gets spitted like a roasting fowl.

  Three against one … I had two advantages: first, I wasn’t facing properly trained cavalrymen — their legs stuck out at awkward angles on either side of their saddle, their lance butts weren’t properly tucked in under their arms, and the points were weaving in circles, instead of being steadily aimed; second, there were three of them, all trying to kill me, all getting in each other’s way.

  When they were thirty feet away, I jumped to the side, as if about to leap into the river. The closest horseman pulled his reins left, into his fellow, and that man’s horse skidded, almost went down, and the first had to rein away. The third was very close, and I ducked aside and batted his lance point down with my sword, into the cobbles of the river path. The point caught and vaulted the spearman out of his saddle high into the air. His lance snapped, and he fell, screaming, onto my waiting blade. The first was bringing his horse around in a caracole, but I ran inside his turning arc and drove my sword into his side, and he shrieked, fell from his mount.

  The last man had his mount under control, and his lance point was leveled. I waited for him to kick his horse into the gallop and stood steady, waiting, breathing deeply, not afraid, letting my body find its own counter to his attack.

  Very suddenly he whirled his horse and galloped back toward the tower, shouting incoherently in fear.

  I ran the other way, remembering this time to sheath my blades. I went across the bridge, trying to think what to do next. To my right was a rich district including, I remembered with a bit of a wrench, where I’d lived with my late wife. Ahead and left led into one of the working districts of Nicias, and that was the way I chose.

  Twice city warders saw me, saw the stains, and turned aside into shops, not wanting to know what bloody business I was about.

  I came into a marketplace, a poor area where the stores had few fresh goods, and those at high prices, and the other shops around the square sold no more than the basic necessities of life. One had a sign: WE BUY USED CLOTHING, and I ducked into it.

  The proprietor, a skinny bald man in dirty robes, took one look at my bloodied uniform and arms and held up both hands.

  “I di’n’t see you. Honest. Just take whatever you want … you never come in here, an’ I’m just goin’ out for air.”

  “Stay where you are,” I ordered. “I mean you no harm.”

  “A’ course you don’t. Never intended f’r you t’ think I thought y’ did,” he babbled.

  “Turn your back.”

  “A’right, a’right. But don’t take me in th’ back, sir. I vow I’ll never say a word t’ nobody ‘bout nothin’, but please, don’t hurt me. Got a wife an’ three, no, four children, an’ they don’t deserve t’ be left dest’tute,” he yammered.

  I heard him with but half an ear, quickly sorting through piled clothing. I found dark brown baggy trousers, a near-matching woolen pullover whose previous owner might’ve bathed within this century, a hat that made me look a total, utter dunce, and, best of all, a sack with hand-sewn straps, such as a poor country peddler might carry. I stripped off my uniform, told the owner not to turn, so he couldn’t tell what I’d taken, and dressed hastily. I tucked my most unmistakable feature, my long blond hair, under the cap. My weapons went into the sack, and I dropped two gold coins on the floor.

  “Wait until you think a full turning of a glass has passed,” I ordered. “Or expect the worst.”

  “Nossir, nossir, I won’t turn, give you all the time you need, hours-anhours, an’ thank ‘ee for not takin’m’ poor life, so m’ wife an’ child’n’ll not be cast out t’ starve …” and I was out of the store and walking away, thinking innocent thoughts.

  I was halfway across the square, about to start down a narrow lane, when I heard the shouting from behind.

  “Thief! Thief! Stop ‘im! Robbed me of m’ silver! Stop him!” It was, of course, the clothing merchant.

  I cursed, wished I had cut him down, ran into the lane, went down one street, cut into an alley, then onto a broader avenue, this leading into a somewhat more prosperous district and, once again, tried to appear virtuous. A block ahead, I saw a knot of warders, moving toward me, eyeing each
passerby carefully. Perhaps just a routine check … but perhaps not.

  I looked for a shop, an arcade, an alley to duck into, saw none. High-rising apartments that’d once been wealthy, now somewhat run-down like the rest of Nicias were on either side of the street. Across the way, though, was an alcove, and there were three women in it.

  Perhaps one lived inside and would take pity on me, even though I now wished I’d chosen clothes a little more prosperous looking. As I approached, I realized the three were whores, looking for the first customer of the night. One eyed me, said mechanically, “Say there, you look like you might like a friend.” The other laughed, knowing a poor man like me couldn’t afford even a simple streetwalker, and the third stayed silent.

  It was worth the chance.

  “I could be,” I said boldly. The one who’d spoken and the laugher had been in their trade for years, and the streets had marked them. The third was the youngest, in her late teens, and by far the cleanest, and, if she hadn’t looked so miserable, the prettiest. She wore a blue dress, once long and flaring, with a close-fitting high neck that reminded me of a women’s lycee uniform. Its hem had been shortened radically and a bare midriff circle cut.

  I smiled at her, and she looked startled, then forced a smile in return.

  “Wouldn’t mind havin’ a friend like you,” I said, using a country dialect I remembered well from my troops. “If y’ have a place to go, not far, an’ for the night.”

  The girl took a deep breath and stepped out of the alcove.

  “Na like that, Lynton,” the one who’d laughed said. “ ‘Member what we taught you, an’ when th’ mot’s not pelf-lookin’, y’ check th’ color of his silver.”

  The girl, Lynton, stopped. “Can you pay?” she said, as coached.

  I dug into the inner pocket of my tunic, fumbled out a few coppers, then, reluctantly, like a wanderer showing his all, two silver coins.

  The two older streetwalkers looked surprised.

  “Y’know,” the first one said, “if y’ like, y’ can have two … mayhap all three of us. If y’ve got another coin t’ go with th’ others.”

  “Nah,” I said, “Ah’m not th’ lad for specials like that. All I need’s a bed, someone t’ keep it warm, and p’raps a bit of a meal.”

  “I have a place,” Lynton said, a bit eagerly. “And we can stop at a grocer’s if you want.” Unlike the others, she had a bit of culture to her voice.

  “I want,” I said.

  “Th’ younger’s lucky,” the second woman muttered. “Mebbe we’ll be the same, Jaen willing.”

  I put my arm around Lynton; she stiffened involuntarily, then forced herself to relax and lean against me. We walked on, toward the warders, who glanced at us, then away, uninterested, as we passed. Whoever they were looking for wasn’t a poorly dressed man with a local trollop.

  We went down two blocks, and she stopped outside a grocery. “This is the best one around,” she said. “Or would you like something not quite so dear?”

  “This is fine,” I said and purchased bread so fresh I could smell the oven that baked it, some smoked sausage, a couple different kinds of cheese, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, and good olive oil, all the things that came but seldom to my island prison.

  “No wine?” the girl asked, startled.

  “I don’t drink,” I told her, which was the simple truth, spirits never having done anything but make me thick-brained and foolish and, in the morning, a potential suicide until I felt better.

  I added soap and a toothbrush to my pile, paid, not letting either Lynton or the shopkeeper see my gold, and we went on, turning, in a few blocks, into a rather imposing building, rather better kept than its neighbors. We went up three flights of stairs to a landing. There were only three doors off it, so the apartments inside would have belonged to rich tenants once. The girl tapped twice, then three times.

  “There’s thieves about,” she explained. The door opened, and an older man, with white brushes of moustaches, opened it. He looked at me, his lips tightened, and he looked quickly away.

  I was glad he did, for I recognized him. He was Domina Berda — I couldn’t remember his first name — and had commanded one of the infantry regiments during the Tovieti rising, a tough regular who gave little mercy but, unlike too many of the soldiers, was scrupulously fair in who he hanged from lampposts and who he freed.

  I stepped inside and was grateful the apartment, as large as I’d expected it to be, was sunk in gloom, making it even harder for me to be recognized. There was little furniture in the room, a couch, an end table, three lamps, a huge armoire holding only a few dishes, and a lovingly polished long banquet table that could’ve seated twenty. There were still a few pictures on the walls, but I noted the dark spaces where others had been taken down.

  Sitting on the couch was a slender woman, Berda’s wife, with great sad eyes and a worn face. She stared at me but said nothing.

  Behind her, on the wall, hung Berda’s old sword.

  There was no explanation needed — I’d heard on the island that any soldier who survived the emperor’s wars had been cast loose with no bonus or pension from the Council, left to survive as best he could. And what talents, beyond a willingness to endure and suffer, do most soldiers have, whether private or general? Little by little Domina Berda would have sold everything he owned as he slid further and further into poverty.

  A great rage came, aimed at I didn’t know who. Berda, for letting his daughter whore? His wife? The shit-heel Grand Council? The emperor? Or the gods themselves? I forced control.

  Lynton had evidently been waiting for me to say something, and looked alarmed when I didn’t.

  “Come,” she whispered. “In here’s my room.”

  I followed her, and my rage vanished as I entered a little girl’s playroom, still with its dolls on a shelf, a few yellowing, childish chalks and, incongruously, a full-size double bed, no doubt added when Lynton began selling herself.

  She lit two candles against the growing dusk, took the parcels from me, and unwrapped them.

  “I’ll get a plate for you,” she said, still in a whisper. “And something to drink?”

  “Water,” I managed, and stared down at the viands I’d thought would give me a fine meal. My appetite was gone. Lynton came back with a goblet, fine crystal, chipped at its base, and utensils.

  “Sit down,” she said. “Here, let me cut the sausage for you.”

  “No. Tell me something,” I said, knowing the answer. “Those people out there are your parents, aren’t they?”

  She nodded.

  “What will they be dining on?”

  Lynton was surprised.

  “We … they still have some bread left from last night. And Mam made soup two nights ago.”

  “Take them this,” I indicated what lay before me. “And here.” I took a silver coin from my sack. “If your father drinks wine, have him buy a bottle for himself.”

  “But … you — ”

  “I suddenly remembered this is one of my family god’s days,” I said. “When I’m supposed to fast, and surely I’ve done enough already in this life to not want to anger her more.”

  Lynton hesitated.

  “Go on, girl,” I ordered, and she obeyed.

  I lay on the bed, wondering what I would do next. She came back, looked at me, and smiled.

  “We thank you,” she said. “You’re a good man.”

  I shook my head.

  “No,” I said, trying to keep anger from my voice. “I’m afraid there aren’t any left, these days.”

  She sat on the bed, put a hand on my leg.

  “Yes, there are,” she said gently. She stood and slowly began unbuttoning her dress. “You’ll like me,” she said. “I swear you will. I’ll do anything you want me to … and I’ll like it. Anything.”

  The dress dropped about her ankles, and she stepped out of it. She wore only a thin slip under it, and hooked her fingers in its straps, let it fall away. Her naked
body was unworn, fair, with small breasts and the merest curl of hair around her sex.

  My cock stirred. It had been … how long, I couldn’t remember, since I’d been with a woman. Since … great gods, since I’d made love to Alegria, the night she died, long ago and far away in the frozen suebi of Maisir. Strangely, I would have thought the memory would’ve dashed my ardor, but it didn’t. Alegria, the greatest love of my life; Marán, my former wife; Amiel Kalvedon, who loved us both, all were now slipping into memory, and I realized enough time had passed, and their memories would have no more power to rule my life, for good or evil, than other remembrances.

  I wanted to stand, take off my peasant’s attire, and woo this girl, this nude woman who stood waiting.

  Instead, I took her hand and sat her down beside me. Then I went to my sack, took out the promised two silver coins, added a third.

  “I’m one of those,” I said, “who likes things different.”

  Lynton tried to hide a look of fear. She licked her lips.

  “I said anything, and anything I meant,” she said.

  “What I like,” I said, “is to watch women sleep.”

  “What?”

  “When I was a boy,” I lied, “I used to look through a crack in the wall at a neighbor girl. She was older than I was, so of course she never knew I existed. Every night she’d prepare herself for bed, combing her hair, which was dark, like yours, and then lie down, naked, and look at something I couldn’t see. Maybe it was a picture of someone she loved. I don’t know. Then her eyes would close and she’d go to sleep.”

  “That’s what you like?”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t want to do anything … after I’m asleep?”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s …” she stopped herself.

  “Strange?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s what I like.” I handed her the coins.

  I got up, went to the nearby chair, sat down. She kept looking at me, waiting for me to take out a whip, no doubt, or something like that, then swung her legs up, and lay back.

  “Do you want me to play with myself?”