Bloodstone (6 page)

His stomach convulsed. He let it churn, accepting, even savoring, the waves of disgust surging through his body.
You deserve this. You knew how it would be, once again facing down temptation.
Like sweat, the taint would cling to his body until he could return to the pool to cleanse himself once more.

He rose abruptly, located another candle and struck flint. His gloved hands shook in the wavering new light. He stared at them, forcing them to still.
Are you afraid, flesh? You brought me here. I’ll buy the supplies to feed and clothe you another year, but I’ll be damned if I’ll give in to these, these base animal urges!

****

Mirianna emptied the waterskin. The dribble that leaked out barely covered the bottom of her cooking pot. Not enough for her father’s nightly tea and certainly not enough for the morning meal. She’d have to go to the stream they’d camped beside to fetch more. Tossing the waterskin and another empty one over her arm, she walked quickly beyond the firelight.

Twenty feet through aspen saplings, Mirianna broke into a cleared area lit by a rising half moon. A dark ribbon of water snaked through the center of the hollow, glimmering here and there as it rippled over submerged rocks. She slip-slided down the ravine, her boots crunching on gravel thrown up by spring floods. The ground leveled out, and she stepped from rock to rock to the water’s edge and knelt on the lip of a buried boulder.

She’d filled the first bag and was lowering the second into the stream when she heard the clatter of a falling stone. In the space of another heartbeat, she heard two more tumble down. Her breath locked in her throat. Someone—some
thing
—was behind her.

She ought to panic, to scream—if only she had breath—but some instinct, some deep knowledge held her still, silent. Then, as if impelled, she freed one hand from the waterskin and inched it toward the knife at her hip. Her other hand, immersed in snowmelt water, automatically contracted around the skin’s mouth. She eased back on her haunches, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet.

Gravel showered into the stream.

Mirianna spun. The full waterskin, powered by the force of her rotation, flew ten feet and connected with a splat. Not waiting to see if the intruder fell, she bolted for the trees.

A sputtered string of curses halted her halfway up the ravine. Turning, she saw Rees clamber to his feet.

Starlight silvered the hair plastered to his head and glistened like a moon-in-miniature from the crystal disk he wore around his neck. Water dripped from the tunic sleeves he held out to her. “What in the name of Beggeth did you do that for?”

He’d startled her, but she didn’t want to tell him that. Instead, “Maybe…maybe I thought you needed cooling off,” slipped out of her mouth.

“It’s not funny.” Rees snatched up the water pouch. “I could have been a Krad.”

“I know.” She drew a shaky breath and pointed to the waterskin he was refilling. “Wouldn’t that have worked just as well if you were?”

Rees grunted. He tied off the pouch and reached for the one she’d already filled. “You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“It wasn’t far.” Looking down, she noticed the knife still gripped in her hand. Her knees shook. She sank to a rock on the ravine’s side and, with trembling fingers, sheathed the weapon.

Both waterskins slung over his shoulder, Rees climbed the slope. “It’s my job to protect you. I wish you’d let me do it.”

Mirianna glanced at the hand he held out to her, and then up at his moonlight-shaded face. His eyes resided in the darkness somewhere, and she could catch no glint of expression. Still, she could sense by the change in his tone that his mood had altered.
Cold water doesn’t affect you for long, does it?

Leaning away from his hand, she rose and started to climb the bank. “As long as you have those, you might as well carry them back to camp for me.”

His hand caught hers just above the wrist. It was a wet hand. And cold.

Mirianna halted and rolled her eyes.
I should have climbed faster. Now we have to go through this foolishness.
Every one of her father’s customers had looked at her with the same expression Rees wore, as though she were a gem they coveted, a lovely prize to be added to their collection. She was heartily tired of that look.

“Is that all you’d like me to do for you?” He stepped closer on the slippery gravel. “I can think of a number of things we could do together...in the moonlight.”

“Rees,” she said, fixing him with a cool, steady gaze. “No.”

His brows puckered. “No?”

She pulled her wrist free. “No.” Catching up her skirt, she climbed the gravel bank.

She was nearly at the top when Rees caught her arm again. “Maybe I didn’t say that right. Let me try again.” Dropping the waterskins, he pulled her into an embrace. “You’re a pretty woman. I like what I see.” He leaned toward her and, closing his eyes, breathed deeply. “I like what I smell, too.” His hand traveled down her back, found one rounded buttock, and squeezed.

“Rees!”

“Mmm,” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek. “You feel good, too. But I bet you taste even better.”

Mirianna braced her forearms on his soaked tunic and turned her face away. His clothing dampened hers, making her shiver. “Rees,” she grunted, “I said no.”

“That’s what you said,” he murmured, “but you know that’s not what you mean.”

Oh, for the love of the Dragon! He thinks I’m shivering for his sake!
Imbued with sudden strength, she pushed.

Rees staggered, slipped on the gravel, and fell to one knee.

Mirianna didn’t halt this time at his expulsion of curses. She scrambled over the ravine’s edge and dashed into the aspen grove, running pell-mell until she saw firelight glowing between the saplings. At the edge of the trees, she slowed to a walk, smoothed her skirt, and listened for Rees’s stumbling footfalls while her breath returned to normal. She heard him crashing through the underbrush as she strolled into the campsite.

“Where’s Rees?” Pumble said from the fire’s edge.

“Washing up.” Suppressing a smile, she knelt and smoothed out her father’s bedding.

Rees broke out of the aspen grove and stalked into the firelight. He flung the skins to the ground beside Mirianna. “Here’s your water.”

Pumble sat back on his haunches and gaped at him. “What’d you do, take a bath?”

“Shut up!” Rees marched around the fire pit and, seizing the smaller man by the collar, hauled him to his feet. “Go check the horses.”

“Sh—sure. All right.” Pumble backed out of Rees’s grip and hurried into the darkness.

Tolbert, who’d been dozing against his saddle, woke with a snort. He peered across the fire at the tall blond man and blinked. “You’re all wet. Is it raining?”

With a muttered curse, Rees snatched his spare tunic and stomped back into the aspens.

Mirianna swallowed her laughter. “No, Papa,” she said, pouring water into her pot. “Here, I’ll have your tea ready in a few minutes. Then we can all get some sleep.”

Tolbert grunted. He shifted on the hard ground, rubbed his backside. “I thought I
was
sleeping.”

****

Gareth balanced the tray with both hands as he counted the stairs.
Twelve...thirteen…fourteen.
He paused at the top, remembering which room Ulerroth had told him to knock at.

“Mind now, boy. The one at the end of the hall,” his master had said for the third time as he placed the tray in Gareth’s hands.

Ulerroth’s hands were sweating. Gareth felt the moisture on the tray’s edge. His master sounded harried. Not cross, but...uneasy. This morning his master, who usually greeted the morning with a ringing bellow of good cheer and a sound slap on Freth’s backside—prompting, in turn, a sputtered tirade from the cook—had arisen late, called for Gareth with a hoarse voice, and broken his fast in hurried silence.

Now Gareth shifted the tray to one hand, turned left, and walked slowly down the hall. He trailed his fingers along the wall, noting doors. When he’d counted three, he halted. In this room was the man they called the Shadow. He’d served him twice, both times in Ulerroth’s presence, but on neither occasion had the man spoken.
I’d think he didn’t exist, except I can feel him...somewhere...in that room.

Gareth shivered. His tray tilted. The tankard slid into the platter with a loud clunk.

There was an answering sound from within the room.

Two sounds, Gareth’s mind told him even as he stood frozen at the door: the muffled sound of boots touching—not hitting—the floor and then the footfalls of someone moving, cat-like, across the room. For one suspended moment, Gareth waited for the whisper of a knife sliding from its sheath. When it didn’t come, he unpeeled one hand from its death grip on the tray and, swallowing, tapped his knuckles on the door.

“I—it’s Gareth. I—I’ve brought you bread and cheese.”

There was no answer for such a long time, the sweat that had bloomed under Gareth’s armpits moments earlier trickled down his ribs. He wiped his upper lip and wondered if he’d only imagined the noises.
I could just leave the tray. He probably won’t answer, anyway. I’ll just knock again and—

“Come.”

Gareth started. The tankard skittered across the tray. He caught it with a shaking hand. Wishing fervently he were anywhere else but at the threshold of this room, he fumbled for the door latch. It gave easily, and he pushed the door wide open.

Most guests preferred to open the shutters for air, and Gareth was used to navigating by the familiar shadows the incoming light would reveal. This time, although it was early afternoon, the chamber was dark, as dark as the stable at night. Gareth swallowed and walked slowly across the floor, finding the table with his outstretched hand. He slid the tray onto it and transferred the platter and tankard to the tabletop. His ears strained for any sound, but it was difficult to hear over the rush of blood in his ears. Still, a faint scent of warm leather told him the room’s inhabitant occupied the left near quarter of the room. Lowering the empty tray to his side, he turned in that direction. “Will that be all, sir?”

Again, nothing for so long he thought he’d been mistaken about the voice, the sounds. Then, “No.”

The word sent a jolt through Gareth. He clutched the empty tray to his chest. “Wh—what can I do for you, sir?”

“Tell me what you see, boy.”

It was a quiet voice, resonant yet muffled in some way. Gareth adjusted his face toward the sound, wondering at the unexpected question. “Nothing, sir.”

“Nothing? Ever?”

Gareth shifted his stance. He lowered his head and skated a hand along the edge of the tray. “Well, I do see shadows, sir. And sometimes shapes, when the light is bright.”

“It’s nearly dark in here. Do you see me, my shape?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re facing me. How do you know where I am?”

A grin pulled at Gareth’s lips. “Why, your voice, sir.”

There was silence for another space of heartbeats. Gareth heard the sound of something, leather brushing wood? He cocked his head toward it, then started again at the man’s voice. “I’m going to move. Count to ten, then point toward me.”

“As you wish, sir,” Gareth said, frowning. “But, why?”

“Just do as I say, boy.”

Almost immediately, he heard the sounds of movement. First right, then back again left. Gareth turned slowly, following the faint scuffing, forgetting, for a moment, to count. When the sounds ceased, he realized he was supposed to point. “You’re over there, sir.”

“So I am. How did you find me?”

“I can hear you.”

“I was being very quiet.”

“I suppose so, sir, but I still heard you.”

The man chuckled softly. “Then let’s try once more. This time, go out in the corridor, close the door, and count to ten. Then come in and find me.”

Gareth’s frown deepened. This was a peculiar game, but the man, at least, seemed amused by it. “As you wish.”

A long count of ten later, he opened the door, entered, and closed it behind him. His breathing had eased, and he listened for sounds that were not his own. Hearing nothing definite, he turned his face to all sides, letting the air’s movement play against his cheek. There was a faint scent of wool in the air, wool and—he sniffed—leather. He turned toward it. A subtle heat warmed his cheek. He stepped closer. A whispering sound of inhalation tickled his ear. Confident now, Gareth advanced. “Here, sir,” he said, stretching out his hand.

A gloved hand grasped his wrist, preventing his arm’s full extension. It was not a wide hand, but the fingers were long, easily enclosing Gareth’s bones in a grip that spoke of strength held in check. The leather that impressed itself lightly on his inner forearm was butter-smooth and, surprisingly, warm.

Heat rushed up Gareth’s cheeks.
Why shouldn’t it be warm? He’s human, isn’t he?
He remembered Freth’s comments, forced a swallow, and wondered who was more right about the possessor of the grip that turned his arm aside and released it.

“How did you find me, boy?”

The question shook Gareth from his thoughts and he blurted, “Why, smell, sir.” He flushed at the insulting sound of that and added, “I mean scents. And heat, too. That’s how I knew you were in the stable yard two nights ago.”

“You didn’t challenge me.”

Gareth lowered his chin. His cheeks burned. “I—I wasn’t certain until I heard the kitchen latch.”

He heard the man inhale deeply, and then let the breath out. His breathing, too, had a muffled quality. Gareth wondered if he wore something over his face.

“Go back to work, boy. Tell your master I’ll see him later.”

It was a cool dismissal, even curt. Gareth frowned. Had he somehow displeased the man? “Yes, sir,” he murmured.

****

The man had watched the boy all evening. From a stool placed deep in the landing’s shadows, he’d watched the boy come and go from the kitchen bearing trays of food, platters of cheese, tankards of ale, doing everything his master and the serving maid directed, and doing all of it promptly and efficiently. Shifting his gaze, the man surveyed the candlesticks arrayed on ledges along the walls and those fastened into the wheel over the common room.
One would hardly guess his world is as dark as mine; he moves so well in this one.