Lords Of The Dark Fall - Fabian (3 page)

“What’s wrong?”

Fabian tensed around her, pulling her in almost protectively, until she gave the all-clear.

“Just checking I haven’t picked up any unwanted guests in my absence. I pay my protection money, but you never know.”

“You pay for protection?”

She laughed and shook her head. “How do you think I manage to live out here and survive intact?”

Fabian murmured his understanding. “It looks peaceful enough.”

“It is.” She urged Cafino forward, taking care to navigate the boulders her father had placed to stop wheeled vehicles approaching from the blind side. “My ex wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

“What’s an ex?”

“Ex husband,” she said, distracted by the sight of her home. In a world as bleak as this, there was no place like it. She ought to embroider a plaque and place it over the hearth saying just that.

“You have a husband?”

The incredulous tone took her aback. In the split second between her words and his reaction to them, he’d tightened his hold on her, almost as if he expected said husband to appear and challenge him to an ownership battle. Or perhaps he meant to use her as a shield?

He had no idea how vulnerable his position really was.

“
Had
a husband. Married the local warlord. Thought it would offer my family the chance of a normal life. Didn’t work out. But he’s not a bad guy, given his past.” She hooked her leg over Cafino’s neck and slid from his back. “Gives me a good discount on the protection tribute, otherwise I’d never be able to afford it.” She grinned up at Fabian, who still looked stunned at the news. “And he makes sure my pottery gets top price at the best markets. I make dishes, mugs, jars. If you can eat or drink from it, I’ll make it. Got a small workshop and kiln out back.”

“Oh.”

“Well, I’ve got to scrape a living somehow. Can we dispense with this?” She held up her bound wrists. “Strikes me as a little redundant in the circumstances.”

Fabian opened his mouth to reply. He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to remember why she was wearing a shirt on her wrists, swayed twice and then slithered wordlessly from Cafino to land in an unconscious heap at her feet.

“Well, I guess that answers the question.” Tig regarded him with the pity he’d begged for earlier, shaking her wrists to free them. She kneeled beside Fabian and placed a hand on his chest. Breathing deep and even - a good sign. The blanket had loosened, exposing the kind of hard, flat stomach men acquired from years of training. His massive biceps and well-muscled thighs told the same story. He groaned and opened his eyes. Tig ran her fingers over what was left of his thick, dark hair, still wet from the storm, and gave him a reassuring smile. The first man she’d seen with such short hair. Stolen, most likely, along with his clothing and pack.

A striking face, although she was not so good a judge of men’s beauty, having married a one-eyed desert-pirate with a wooden hand. And for his money, too. Beauty never came into it. This man, she imagined, had only to crook the smallest finger to have women fighting over him.

“Fabian? When did you last eat?”

“A thousand years ago.”

“Feels like that sometimes, doesn’t it? Can you stand? I make a mean pot-luck stew.”

“Don’t go.”

His hand convulsed around her ankle. She took it, gently and enfolded it in hers. On his deeply-tanned skin, she noticed two whiter patches, about his wrists, as if he’d worn something habitually. Wrist-guards, most likely. Further up his arms, just above the elbow, were similar white circles. Sticky blood clotted around the hole caused by the crossbow bolt.

“You must try to stand. No way can I carry you. Or even drag you. Wouldn’t you like to sleep in a real bed?”

“Sleep here,” he mumbled. His eyes closed, slowly and he lay so still she thought briefly, he’d died on her. Then his chest expanded in a shuddering breath. Fell again. Tig released the breath she’d been holding and sat back, onto her heels.

“You can’t be seen. If anyone finds you here… Fabian, I need to bed down Cafino. Then I’ll be back for you. You just have a little rest. I’ll return in a short while.”

He gave no indication of hearing or that he cared whether he was lying all-but naked on a stony path being watched by a strange woman and an ugly horse. Cafino turned to nibble at his blanket, dislodging it and exposing the part of Fabian she’d been studiously trying to ignore. How could he be so casually naked around a woman? He’d shown not one jot of embarrassment or discomfort at any time. History books showed warriors fighting naked, but that was from eras long gone. No one was stupid enough to do that now. And Fabian certainly didn’t look stupid.

“Come on, Cafino.” Tig rose, stretching out her cramped legs. Two sharp clicks of the tongue had the beast trotting obediently after her. When they passed the hay-meadow, she grasped his bridle and dragged him past the tempting grasses to the stables housed in the barn.

“Sorry boy. Got too much to worry about tonight. I’ll turn you out tomorrow. Promise.”

Cafino answered in that strange way he had of talking to her. Tig liked to think the beast understood. Better than talking to herself. Something she also indulged in far too much during the long, lonely nights. Normally, she would have whiled away the time brushing and feeding him. Turning his bedding. Tonight, she had an injured and very naked man asleep on the path with no idea how to get him into the house. A man who would bring a small fortune in the slave markets, if the wrong people got to him first.

Or a new roof. Four tin buckets littered the stable floor, steadily filling drop by drop with rain-water dripping through broken tiles.

By sunrise tomorrow, Fabian might have changed hands three times before he landed in the slave market at Morido. Slavery was an abomination, yes, but morals were costly. The desire to live a worthy life warred constantly with the need to survive. A well-negotiated cut would buy her out of here and into one of the townships where she could earn her licence and join the craftsmen guild. Make something of herself.

Get thee behind me
, she muttered to the devil of temptation sitting on her shoulder. Fleetingly, she wondered if Fabian’s family might pay a reward for his safe return. Everything about him screamed nobleman, or chieftain. Perhaps even prince. She gave a short, dry laugh. She might as well wish Cafino would sprout wings and suddenly learn to fly.

No. As she contemplated the gently snoring figure lying so peacefully on the path, she had the ominous feeling she’d been handed a cart-load of trouble. First task – get him hidden before someone came visiting. Second, heal and clothe him and send him on his way before anyone realised he was here. Simple.

She kneeled beside him on the stony path and shook him gently. When had her life ever been that simple?

In his sleep, he went home. Relived his past glories and drank with his brother. For a brief moment, on awakening, he lay blissfully suspended in that wonderful place where dreams become reality. An immense feeling of relief washed over him like the high tides of Palio-Oceana. His terrible defeat, the Fall - all a dream.
Oh, thank the god
s.

But his bed was full of stones. Cold air lifted the hairs on his arms and legs. His head was strangely light, while at the same time feeling as if he’d indulged in an entire flagon of wine without stopping to draw breath. Someone was beating his arm and his chest with a hammer. Slicing at his flesh with the point of a knife.

Unpleasant sensations filtered through, one by one, until he remembered. And then he fell, all over again, screaming out his repentance, into the black void of nothingness.

When he awoke the second time, the pain had dulled to a tolerable, background ache and beside him was a wraith, albeit a rather scruffy-looking one, gazing down at him with eyes full of concern. He wanted to reach out and touch her to see if she was real, but his arms were too heavy, and they refused to obey.

“I cannot die,” he told her. “The bracelets of immortality are mine by right of conquest. Why are you here?”

Soft fingers drifted over his brow, moving to trace the line of his cheek.

“You’re raving. But no fever, thank god. Fabian, can you stand? You need to come indoors. You’ll be safer there.”

He should know her. A familiar voice, as was the scent. Spring-time. She smelled of spring-time. And she had a stupid name.

“Tig?”

“That’s me. Come on, Fabio. Give me something to work with here.”

“My name is Fabian Luc...”

Her mouth twitched at the corner. “I know,” she said wrapping him in her arms. “Just teasing. Lean on me and stand.”

“You brought me here?”

“Yes,” she said patiently. “Updates later. Now the priority is to get you down the path and into that house. Can you see it?”

The narrow path wound away to a dip. In the dusky evening light he made out the faded roof tiles and whitewashed walls of a rustic dwelling. The kind of building that housed peasants and swine back in his world. Right now it looked like a palace.

“Yes, I see it,” he said shaking away the last threads of confusion. “I need the services of a mage. Urgently.”

Tig shook her head. “You can’t afford a mage. Few can these days.”

“This is a strange world.” He refused her offer of an arm to lean on. The rebirth into this new life had been painful, but the pain meant he could feel, and if he could feel, he must be alive. He wanted to feel it.

Tig picked up the blanket and walked close, letting him lead the way, while carefully shepherding him along the path. She seemed to have an extraordinary ability to navigate the tender sensibilities of the male ego. Still acting the vanquished, even though she was anything but. Back in his world, she would have made a formidable diplomat. 

The windows were shuttered from the inside. The wooden door locked in five places. Tig fished into the inside pocket of her coat and dangled a bunch of iron keys from one finger.

“Want to do the honours? Or shall I?” The tone remained neutral. As if she were asking a long-time acquaintance rather than her captor. Perhaps he caught a hint of sarcasm. Key-keepers opened doors for him. He did not bother himself with such trivial matters.

“Proceed and unlock, that I may enter,” he said, and immediately felt foolish. Men of equal stature had cowered before him. Only his true-brother would dare to address him directly without prior leave. But standing here, at the door of this humble abode, with the unlikeliest of saviours, the formal words of his old life seemed so pompous and inappropriate. He, who had commanded vast armies of men, commanded only laughter now.

Tig gave him a half-bow and with a flourish, inserted the key into the first lock. She was grinning widely by the time she’d opened them all and bade him enter in a gruff voice that sounded distinctly like a mimic of his own.

To salvage his pride, he waited several heartbeats before moving, forcing her to look at him in all his glorious nakedness. He noticed the spring of heat to her cheeks every time her gaze fell to his genitals. Whether it was admiration or just fascination, he couldn’t tell. A married woman was no innocent, but she blushed like a virgin now as his body responded to her scrutiny.

“You need clothes,” she said wryly, and disappeared into the dark interior.

He followed, dipping his head to avoid the low beam. The door opened directly into a room that was part kitchen, part reception chamber. Tig looked even more other-worldly in the glow of the single lamp she’d lit and placed on the wooden table. He took in the iron stove, the stone sink with pump for water. A tall clock stood against the far wall and well-worn armchairs huddled around a fireplace. The room smelled of ash and the lingering scent of dried herbs, hanging in bunches from hooks on the wall.

The house appeared bigger on the inside than it did from without. The kind of dwelling and furnishings afforded by an artisan or a farmer. Tig pointed to one of the armchairs.

“Sit. I’m going upstairs to find you some clothes. Then I’ll make us a meal. Bartered for a goat-leg last week. It should still be good to go. Do you like goat?”

“I could eat Cafino raw right now.”

Tig’s laughter was slightly hysterical but quite spontaneous. He felt rather pleased to have elicited such a response and wracked his brains for another witty remark. Nothing came, so he contented himself with watching her wipe away the tears and then start laughing again as she remembered what he’d said.

“Don’t mind the laughter,” she said at length. “It’s been a very strange day.”

“I find your laughter quite pleasant,” he replied, and then wanted to kick himself for sounding so condescending. He couldn’t remember the last time someone laughed because he was funny, rather than because he was the high lord and people always gave him the response they thought he wanted.

Tig tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully. “When you say jump, people jump – right? I guess that makes it hard to know what’s real, and what isn’t?”

His gaze dropped to his dirty feet. Being read like a book was an uncomfortable feeling and this woman saw far too much. “Clothes,” he said. “And food.” He wanted to add,
and you,
but he didn’t think he would live up to his nickname on this night.

“Will you allow me to splint your arm?”

“There is nothing wrong with my arm.”

Tig shrugged, as if she didn’t care a jot. But her eyes lied. He saw the concern and the way she pursed her lips.

“Suit yourself. But if you don’t let me set that bone, it will mend crooked. And then what use will it be?”

“Stop questioning me!” He growled out the words, louder than he’d intended. Tig took a step back, hands raised in resignation.

“I know. Not my concern.” She turned for the stairs, hesitated then turned back to him. “I’ve known men like you. Men who stand on their principles, even if it means death to themselves and those around them. My father was the same, and so were my brothers. It got them nothing but pain and a shortened life. The warlord before Carson sent a war band and my father refused to compromise. All they asked was public tribute and fifty percent of the farm revenue. If he’d given them that, they would all be alive today.”