Lords Of The Dark Fall - Fabian (17 page)

“I have learned in my life that afterwards is a moveable feast. Whatever task you complete, there is always another to take its place.”

“Yes, life is like that. Never seems to stand still long enough for a body to take it in.”

“This peaceful interlude, I believe it is about to end. I would like you to know, Tig…”

She stopped the words with her fingers. However resigned she might be to his leaving, she didn’t want to hear the details. A leaving speech was a little too much to cope with tonight.

“In my world, some things are better left unsaid.”

“Before I leave, I will tell you how much you have done for me.”

“And I you.” His appearance had affected her life, but she only now realised what a difference it had made to her. She’d been going through the motions, getting through the day without remembering half of what she’d done. Riding into town to buy some time with a man. Making the same old excuses to Hal.

Existing, as Fabian had, only on a much more basic level. She laughed at that, earning herself an enquiring frown.

“Something you said earlier. When you thought I wasn’t listening.”

“Words I never thought to hear myself say.”

“Hey, come on. Melancholy doesn’t suit you. We all have our faults. Pick the best of who you were and run with that. Become a better man, not a completely different man.”

“Being human is confusing. I will admit to that.” he nodded at the window. Dawn is breaking. We must rid ourselves of the evidence. Where should I bury the bodies?”

Outside, a lone bird had begun a tentative song. It was soon joined by others greeting the new day and whatever it would bring.

“They’ll be all right for now, long as the barn door remains closed. If Hal, or any of Warrington’s men turn up, they can return them to whatever family they may have.”

“They do not deserve such generosity.”

“We can afford it since we’re the ones alive. Even the bad guys have mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters.” She slid from his lap to kneel between his legs, a hand on each of his thighs. The muscles tightened in response.

“You were very generous to me last night. I want to return the favour. ”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

Settling back, he spread his legs a little wider, gripping the arms of the chair. A position he’d been in no doubt countless times. He watched her intently, his face betraying nothing. Almost as if challenging her to make him smile.

“Well,” she said, suddenly feeling very wicked. “First I thought I’d do this.” Still on her knees, she leaned forward, sweeping her hands along the length of his thighs to the rapidly-growing bulge in his pants. That she only skimmed with the tips of her fingers before retracing her journey and sitting back on her heels.

Not smiling yet, but only a matter of time.

“Continue.”

“As you wish, most exalted one.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Kudos to him for his iron control.

The crescendo of bird-song increased as the growing light chased away the lingering shadows of the night. Not enough time to torture him the way she wanted to. To really put that iron control to the test. He lifted his hips a fraction when she unbuttoned his pants and smoothed aside the faded material, pulling them down over his hips to expose him.

She’d seen him, touched him but this was her first taste of him. The first time she was doing this by choice rather than for survival.

“What is it?”

He’d caught her hesitation. Had her thoughts shown so plainly on her face? She shook her head. “Nothing. You’re beautiful, Fabian. I would be honoured to do this for you.

He smiled. Praise a man’s private parts and he was putty in your hands. But Fabian was no Hal. He let her set the pace and take as much of him as she felt comfortable with. No forcing or grabbing at her hair. No babbled words of lust. No urging her on with promises he didn’t intend to keep.

Slow and easy. A gift given freely and taken with gratitude. Everything it should be when you did this with the person you loved.

A traitorous thought, yes, but no harm in thinking it. When he left he would take a part of her heart with him, even if he didn’t realise. She brought him to an explosive climax, knowing that at that moment he was entirely hers. He subsided back into the chair with a long contented sigh, eyes fogged, the smile a little lopsided and dreamy.

She laid her head on his thigh and curled her fingers into his, listening to his breathing calming and returning to normal. If only every night could be like this.

Another thought she shouldn’t be having. Better to keep it light and fun and pretend it didn’t matter.

“My lord is pleased?”

“My lord is very pleased.”

“You certainly look it. Better go and get dressed. And cover up the bodies, will you? If no one comes for them by night-fall, we’ll bury them. If you need me, I’ll be in the pottery decorating plates. Got myself way behind, what with one thing and another.”

He rose too, tucking himself away and buttoning up as he spoke. “Do you wish me to hide the rifle again?”

No use pretending he hadn’t seen it. Or that she could stop him from taking it with him.

“Hide it, but not under the floor. Keep it handy, just in case.”

“You will show me how to use it?”

“Yes. But not today. Whatever last night was about, I’m not capitulating as easily as they think I will. Stay hidden and if Hal, or anyone comes, let me deal with them.”

“What use is discretion now?”

“You come out on your terms, not theirs. We get to set some of the rules in this game, too. Promise you’ll only show if I’m in danger?”

He moved to the stairs, his stride purposeful, broad shoulders filling the doorway. Hal, he would have no trouble with. Warrington was a different matter. A man of equal strength, a former champion of the bare-knuckle fight pits. Untroubled by conscience. She’d seen him shoot the head from a rabbit, blindfold. Gut a man for stealing a pie. In a fight between him and Fabian it would come down to who wanted it more.

She waited a few moments before climbing the stairs to fetch her boots, the dogs at her heels reminding her breakfast was due. More danger in this night of indulgence than she realised. Fabian needed to believe with all his heart he would make it home. That’s what would give him the edge. He needed to want that with everything he had.

And she was distracting him from that goal. Quickly, she tied back her hair and went downstairs to prepare a bite of breakfast.

Damn, but this loving thing was complicated. Before, her need for him had been selfish. She liked having him around, enjoyed the banter and yes, the sex. She’d wanted him because of what he could give her. She picked up the stale loaf, wrinkling up her nose at the blue mould on the crust. Now she wanted whatever would keep him safe.

Whether he went home or not, he had to believe that’s where he was destined.

* * * *

He’d forgotten what magic a woman’s mouth could make. And that there was a time and place for such indulgence. Loose and relaxed, satisfied and grinning from ear to ear were not the demeanour of a warrior bracing for battle.

His time would be better spent studying Warrington’s strengths and weaknesses. In finding out what, apart from Tig, motivated Hal. And in learning how to fire this rifle. Until he could once more command magic, he must rely on these weapons and on himself.

Both mentally and physically, he must prepare himself for the days to come.

The bodies should be burned or buried deep, where no man or beast could find them. They deserved no less for defiling the peace of this place. Giving quarter to the enemy? Not something he had much experience of.

The bodies lay where they’d fallen, a sticky mess of blood drying around the wounds, staining the dirt floor. Fabian crouched and pulled out the bolts, which at least had value and could be reused. Looked around for something to throw over the dead.

Cafino whickered anxiously when he crossed the barn to the neatly-folded tarpaulin. Here there were no legions of stable-boys to see to the horses. No trainers to hone the beasts for tournament and battle.

What would his brother make of him atop this strange animal? Clothed in a farmer’s cast-offs? Marcellus would never let him forget it. He, of all people, must never know.

Glancing from the open window, he read the sky. A fine day in prospect. He would turn Cafino out in to the corral. Better keep the beast close if visitors were expected. And then train. Build up some of the muscle he’d lost to this inactivity. His biceps were woefully puny of late.

“Can you fix your own breakfast? I’d like to get down to work.”

Tig was right behind him, and he hadn’t heard her enter the barn. She appeared amused at the way he started at her words, as usual, soothing his pride by making no mention of it. How soft had he become if he couldn’t detect someone until they were within stabbing distance?

“Collect yourself some eggs and fry them up. But don’t kill any of the hens. I can’t afford to lose any more. Bread’s a bit on the mouldy side. I’ll make some more tomorrow if that’s okay.”

“The service here leaves a lot to be desired,” he said flinging the tarpaulin over the bodies. Tig burst into a round of raucous laughter.

“The old jokes are the best,” she said and left him wondering what was so amusing. The way she could laugh when danger lurked over the horizon never ceased to impress him.

He led Cafino to the corral and then took himself off to the hen-coop to scavenge for eggs. The hens were awaiting their freedom. He opened the cage and scattered a few handfuls of grain into the yard, found himself six eggs and returned to the safety of the house.

Stable-hand, chicken-boy and now cook. All skills he’d never had need of before now. His fried eggs weren’t nearly as good as Tig’s, but he was strangely pleased with his efforts as he sat at the table and sprinkled them with precious salt. Could he ever be content with this simple life? Part of him wanted to believe he could live out his days tending animals and bringing in crops. In watching the seasons pass and come around again and again.

The greater part of him whispered that this life was not for such as him. Born to lead and conquer and decide the fate of men, he would never be happy until he’d regained his stature and his rightful place in the order of things.

He left the dirty skillet, the plate and fork where they lay. A token protest at this enforced domesticity. He would choose himself the heaviest of the logs and get to work on his fitness. Ten minutes of love-making had reduced him to a panting heap. This human body bruised at the merest knock. The skin tore far too easily and he’d felt inebriated after a mere five shots of the grain-spirit. He must push himself, learn his limits and then how to exceed them.

Taking the short and long swords, he checked the yard and then let himself out the back door and returned to the barn, looking forward to a time when this skulking around would no longer be necessary. He would ask Tig to spar with him later, but not before he’d worked out the kinks and stiffness in his muscles and joints. To his shame, he had not performed the Hang-Li, the most revered of the sword-rituals in, well, a thousand years.

There was comfort in the familiar moves. As he fell into the flow, the swing and arc of the sword, the dance-like steps, took him to a place he hadn’t been in a long time. Winning was a state of mind, something deep inside to be recalled at will. The anxiety and defeat of the past few weeks melted away as he twirled and leaped and synchronised the movement of his body with the intent of his mind. To act as one they must be as one.

The journey ahead would be dangerous and long, but he relished the challenge, if only to prove himself still a man. There were no obstacles he could not overcome.

Except for the one diligently working at her potter’s wheel. He finished the sequence, ending with a two handed salute to his gods. What to do about Tig? Not that it was his decision; she would do as she pleased regardless of his instructions. To move to the town she would need money and connections. Where would she live? How would she sell the farm without being cheated of its worth?

Not his problem and yet he worried for her. Or was it the guilt of abandoning her that gave him such discomfort of mind? This accursed conscience was one thing he would not miss when he returned to immortality.

Tig, on the other hand…

* * * *

Her drawings were missing. The sketches for the first story-plate, tellingly labelled
the warrior who fell from the sky.

Lord above, why didn’t she just put a big sign on the gate and have done with it? A few of the plates awaiting glazing had been knocked from the shelf, but otherwise nothing else appeared to have been taken, thank the one true god. This rate of production wouldn’t earn her enough to keep a fly, let alone pay off whoever was behind the raid.

Hal would probably want payment in kind, the slimy bastard. She could be looking at a blackmail plot, she supposed. If this was Warrington’s doing, he would want nothing less than Fabian himself. And she’d be forced to give him up without reward for her duplicity.

Defiantly, she flipped open her sketch-pad and sorted through her box of drawing pencils. She could still turn him in, claim her cut. Set herself up in a new life. A bit of cash in her pocket would give her the confidence to tell Hal to go fuck himself.

Had that ever been an option?

She cut a new point into the stubby pencil. Would be nice to be able to afford some decent artist materials. A few quality pencils and inks. Paint and maille-hair brushes. Now wouldn’t that be something?

She would add portraits to her repertoire when she moved to town. The rich and powerful loved to see themselves immortalised on canvas. Might be a good way to curry favour with Warrington. Paint him as some ancient conquering hero. Despite his gritty exterior, the man was vain as a trille bird.

Her head ached from lack of sleep, the uncertainty. Why bother making plans when she had no idea whether she would survive today, let alone live to sell Fabian’s story? She threw down her pencil, picked it back up again because she wasn’t a quitter and she’d always danced to her own music. Whatever she did would be her own choice.