Lords Of The Dark Fall - Fabian (37 page)

“You snivelling coward. I ought to tie you to that wagon and set the cart aflame. Let the horse run you off the ridge.”

“No.” Tig had to physically restrain him. In his eyes, the pastor had long outstayed his welcome.

“Go,” she said, lifting her chin towards the pastor’s wagon. “You’re right. Better that you’re not here. And remember. The fires of inferno will be a kindergarten picnic compared to what this man will do to you if you renege on your promise of support? Are you listening?”

The pastor slid from the chair, bolting to the wagon before either of them could change their minds. The scent of his fear clung to the air. Fabian wrinkled his nose in disdain at the brown stain streaking the wooden chair.

Tig was already whipping off the hooded top. Unlacing the side fastening of her skirt. “Take my clothes and hide them. Grab the rifle and crossbow and then get into the hay-loft and give me cover. I’ll try and keep them out here, in range. I know how to deal with these men. Don’t fire unless you really have to. If I need you, I’ll hold up two fingers like this.” She demonstrated the sign for surrender. Middle and forefinger pressed together and held aloft. “Whatever I do, you don’t move a muscle until you see that.”

“I would that we had time for more.” He took a precious moment to drink in the sight of her, clad only in a strappy camisole and plain, white underdrawers. Woollen stockings, the knife still strapped to her thigh. An erotic dream made flesh.

The bundled clothes hit him mid-chest. “Later,” she whispered. “Let’s get through this first.”

We will, he thought. A man could take on the very demon Zhorati itself on a promise like that.

* * * *

Upstairs, she found a drawing. Folded in half and tucked into the shelf of the nightstand beside the bed, she found a crude drawing of a woman with long hair, a thin face and wide eyes. Not very accomplished, but the pencil strokes were deliberate and sure.

No doubt about the subject. And no time to think about the lump in her throat, the tears welling in her eyes. To wonder about the carefully-formed script at the foot of the page, in glyphs she did not recognise. Beside the drawing lay the lock of hair. Apart from the fighting knife given by Hal, Fabian’s only possessions.

She hadn’t seen many poignant moments in her life, but here was one. Another little piece of the puzzle that was Fabian. The man she loved more deeply every time she saw him.

Concentrate. Survive. No time to sit about dreaming of love. Lock the dogs in the attic. One wrong move and they were dead. Grab the rest of her cash in case they’d come for tribute, throw on her old work-clothes, stay in the moment like she did before Fabian came and taught her how to dream without even knowing it.

She took the stairs, two at a time, locked the door and ran into the yard. No sign of Fabian. Within minutes, she was in her studio and searching frantically for a half-finished drawing, pens and ink. Laying them on her bench, she pulled a lump of clay from the bucket and quickly formed it into the shape of a dish.

Beside her she noticed the cup of tea she’d let go cold to go attend yet another crisis in her life.
Warm the cup with a lit match
, the best she could do to give the impression she’d been in here for some time, diligently working.

Relax. Noise of the horses would let her know when they arrived. With luck they were on their way someplace else. With a lot of luck.

It took so long before she heard the clop of hooves, she thought Fabian would surely become impatient and show himself. She still didn’t know why he’d decided to talk with the pastor in her absence.

Apron. Flinging it over her head, she then quickly tied off the straps and stopped to take in a calming breath. Five of them as expected. Ugly sons of bitches - again no surprise there. Carson had rarely allowed a free for all. Warrington lived life on a different level, even for a warlord. If they took her inside, she was in trouble.

Touching the knife in her pocket, she forced a smile to her face and stepped out to greet them. Two had already dismounted and were dunking their heads under the pump feeding the horse trough. The other three held back, talking among themselves. When she appeared, one of them nudged his neighbour and nodded her way. Her skin prickled at the smile forming on his colleague’s lips.

“If you’ve stopped by for water, be my guest,” she said wiping her hands on the apron. Don’t say anything that might be misinterpreted. Keep it business-like and don’t show any fear. These men fed off fear. “You from the camp?”

“On patrol, yes.” The leader peeled off his leather gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of his duster, casually revealing the hand-pistol holstered to his belt. A livid bruise marred one side of his face. A grey, beaded braid hung over one shoulder.

She folded her arms. “I already paid my protection, if that’s what you came for.”

“Didn’t come for no protection. Unless you need any extras, if you get my meaning?” Pushing back his hat, he stared at her like a man who could do what the hell he liked because there was no one to stop him. Behind him his colleague stood like a rock, thumbs tucked into a belt bristling with knife, chakram, knobkerrie. Heavy metal knuckle dusters adorned his massive fists. A shotgun and axe hung from his saddle. The three on horseback would be similarly adorned. They didn’t look as if they’d come to fight a girl.

“Someone’s been laying caltrops on the track east of the Grendel road.”

“Caltrops? Nasty.” She didn’t miss his discreet signal to the others to dismount.
Stay calm, stay sharp.

“Know anything about that?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Lamed one of the chief’s favourite mares. He’s madder than a fire-demon.”

“I can imagine.” All three dismounted, now. One wandering around the yard, taking a little too much interest in the barn, the other two drinking from the pump.

“You heard about the squawker? Friend of yours, so I believe.”

Finally getting to the point. “Haven’t left the farm in weeks. What’s up?”

Peering into the barn, now.
Stay calm, Fabian. Just a routine check.

“Seer’s gone rogue, so it seems. When a man don’t come for his wife, something’s afoot.”

“You mean Hal? I don’t believe it. Not Hal. And Sunas?”

“Seems he’s been recruiting.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Never been interested in politics.” Behind him, the Ugly stood carved from stone, waiting for orders.

“Then the pastor took off in a mighty fine hurry and led us straight here.”

“Okay,” she said knowing she needed to give them something. He wasn’t buying her innocence. “He came to tell me about Sunas. Knows I’m friends with her. I sent him on his way. Whatever is going down, I don’t want to get involved.”

“Sensible lady.”

Bastard was undressing her with his eyes. Playing with her while she teetered on a knife-edge. He lifted his head at the sound of a dog howling somewhere in the house. Flicked his wrist once at Ugly who began to move at a lumbering pace towards the porch.

“Oh come-on, guys.” She didn’t dare block his way. Nor did she relish the tidy-up when they’d done wrecking her house. “You know me. I keep my head down and my hands clean. Pay my dues and support whoever’s in power.

The sound of crockery smashing. Three men gone, now. Two in the barn, one in the house.

“Thing is,” the leader continued in his ponderous voice, “Been watching the pastor for a few months now. Not as stupid as he looks, that man. Pitched in with young Janx just past solstice with some fool plan to take on Carson, so we learned, but Warrington got wind and got in first. Looks like Hal’s part of that group. And now the trail leads to you.”

Shit. Janx was little more than a dirt farmer and didn’t have a hope in taking Warrington. The hell she was going down because of some fool sacred-book-bashing rebels who didn’t have a clue what they were doing.

Ugly emerged, a lump of bread in his fist, crock of grain spirit in the other. He took a deep slug and tossed it to the leader.

“Pastor’s a fool,” she said with genuine feeling. “And so is Janx if he thinks he can take Warrington and unite the gangs.”

The two in the barn still hadn’t emerged. Third just entering, looking for his colleagues. Anger lent her courage. The kind of anger that might well get her killed. Too strong a wind and even the most accommodating of reeds eventually snapped.

“I was married to Carson. He was good to me. Why would I plot against him?”

“That’s what Warrington would like to know. Says to invite you to dinner. But dinner isn’t till late, so we got a little time to kill.”

The suggestive hand on his belt said it all.

If she’d had condoms to spare, she might have done it. A shocking thought. What else could she do? Hope Fabian killed them all and then hope some more that he was ready for the big challenge? Three had gone into the barn, none as yet emerged. That didn’t bode well.

“Any other time I might have been tempted.” Rubbing her stomach, she hoped he’d take the hint. “Woman’s time, if you get my drift.”

“My experience, a woman’s sexier during her time.”

Flick of the thumb and the dragon’s head belt-catch snapped open. If not for Mr. Ugly breathing down her neck, she’d have used the knife and given it her best shot. Might get lucky with the leader, but the two of them? No.

“All right but not in the house. Don’t allow men in the house.” She started walking, knowing they’d follow, if only to drag her back. “In the barn. Let’s get it done.”

Ugly exchanged a quick glance with the leader. A few muttered words. Get them into the barn, Fabian would see to the rest. No chance of wielding a knife with her hands shaking like leaves in an autumn breeze. Next few moments they’d either be dead, or the vanguard in the latest gang war. If Fabian couldn’t take them, death looked like a good option.

A meaty hand on her neck, stale breath fanned her cheek. She slapped it away. “This doesn’t come with extras. And no kissing, either. Not in a kissing mood.”

A slow rumbling laugh, but he let her go. She quickened her pace, stepping into the barn a split second before her followers. Blinking, she scanned the dim interior for the other three men. Only thing moving was Cafino in his stall, stretching his head, asking her to open the stable door so he could gaze out at the world. Poor creature. Routine all shot.

Ugly lingered in the doorway. Leader stepped inside, face creasing into a frown, obviously expecting to see the other three waiting for them. He shot Ugly a look over his shoulder and motioned him back.

“There another way out of here?”

“Through the stable door.”

Leader narrowed his eyes. “Which is closed. Where’d they go?”

“How should I know?”

He had hold of her before she could move to give Fabian a clear shot. Shoving her in front of him, one hand locked solid about her arm, the other stopping her breath. “Where did they go?” he ground out. “What’s going on?”

His knife slid smoothly from its sheath. Jammed under her chin, biting at her flesh. She stiffened, willing away the knot of fear closing her throat. Between that and the knife, she could barely breathe.

“I don’t know. You’re choking me…Let me go.”

“Not until I find out what’s going down here. Dari, Eli, Randi, show yourselves, you useless sons of whores.”

His voice bounced from the barn walls, the only reply a nervous wicker from Cafino.

Now, she thought. Now would be a good time to show. All she dared move were her eyes. And then Leader was backing out, dragging her with him, her heels skidding in the dust.

“Karl, get in there,” Leader screamed. “We found Hal. Get in there and bring him to me.”

The words echoed around the empty yard. It was eerily quiet, the kind of deep quiet you get before a ferocious storm. Tig braced herself hoping the storm would be called Fabian and he was quicker than the plunge of a knife into flesh. Leader wouldn’t hesitate to slit her throat if threatened. Would probably do it anyway, just because.

“Karl!”

The knife trembled. She hissed through her teeth, feeling the sting of it cutting her skin.

“Let the woman go.”

Oh, thank god.
Fabian had somehow got outside, probably through Cafino’s stable door. Leader hitched her up closer to his body at the sound, spinning her around with him to face the man emerging from the side of the barn. Hands red with blood, Fabian stepped calmly from the shelter of the wood-pile and lifted his chin.

“You fight with women because that is all you are capable of. You hide behind women because you are a yellow-bellied coward.”

Leader whispered a soft curse. As if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Who in the name of hell are you? Karl, get out here now.”

Fabian ambled forward, a slow easy walk that showed no hesitation, no fear. “The instrument of your death. Come out from behind the woman so I can kill you.”

“Not if I kill her first.”

Fabian started on the buttons of his cuffs, flicking them open, moving to the buttons on the front of the shirt. It fell to the floor, caught the breeze and rolled across the yard towards the barn. Peeling back his lips, he bared his teeth and growled, a noise of nightmares that lifted the hairs on Tig’s arms. Leader stood his ground, recovering his composure now he’d had the chance to get the measure of the man threatening him with death.

“Kill her and you will take three days to die. Are you too frightened to fight me without your shield?”

The shove of Leader’s hand on her back knocked the air from her lungs. She hit the floor, or did the floor hit her? Rolled and righted herself. Gulped in the air she needed to get herself upright and then ran for the cover of the horse trough, her own knife already in her hand. Fabian needed her out of the way so he could fight without worrying about her safety. Making herself as small as possible behind the iron trough, she got a better grip on the knife. Leader touched her again there would be blood. His blood.

Make a dash for the studio? No. That would only distract Fabian when his focus was needed elsewhere. A quick prayer and then all she could do was wait and watch and pray again that Fabian had cause enough to win. When two men were as evenly matched as this it came down to who wanted it more.