Scarlet and the White Wolf [01] - Scarlet and the White Wolf (9 page)

I will never be clean of it, Liall confessed silently as he watched the embers of the brazier dying down to pale ash.

Never clean, nor free.

"It is of no consequence," he answered. "All that matters is who calls me. His name is ... is Nadei," he stuttered, faltering over it. "Every night in my dreams, Nadei calls me, but not to his arms. When I go to him, I see that he carries a knife. I am not frightened of him or the promise of ending in his hand, 71

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and that is a great comfort to me. I go willingly, because in death there are no dreams."

Peysho was regarding him with grave worry, and for a moment Liall believed he had been very foolish to confide his flaws to a subordinate who would be justified in presenting his doubts before the krait warriors. In accordance with krait law, weakness was not tolerated in a Kasiri atya.

But when Peysho reached out and covered Liall's clenched hand with his own, Liall felt ashamed. Among the curiosity and doubt, there was genuine sympathy in Peysho's eyes.

"What c'n I do? Just name it and I'm yer man."

"Do?" he echoed. He smiled very sadly. "Go to bed, Peysho. This is the past I speak of. There is nothing anyone can do."

Peysho hesitated. "The pretty pedlar," he said. "Does he remind ye of this Nadei?"

Liall regarded him with surprise. That was too astute, he thought. And then: He knows me better than I realized. He tried to recall how many years he had known Peysho. Kio had been barely a man when they joined his camp and began traveling with them. That was five summers ago.

"Perhaps," he allowed. "He has the same fire in him, the same temper and pride. But I do not wish to speak of it. The pedlar is gone."

"He'll be back," Peysho said, very certain.

"That will be an interesting meeting."

Peysho clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "Watch out ye don't regret him, too, Wolf. The past has a way of playin'

over when ye least expect it."

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Liall paled. "Good night, Peysho."

After Peysho had taken his leave, Liall put the box away.

Sometime in the night, he took the two items from it, dumped the box into the campfire, and walked away so that he would not have to watch it burn. There was no one on the path to the Sea Road and no yurts camped that far over. It was a good place to stand and clear his head, where he could just make out the glimmer of waves in the distance.

Liall folded his arms in his cloak and watched the moon traverse the sky in the hushed silence of the heights. Beside him was a shattered pine that was perhaps a thousand years old, yet still carried a few straggling needles on one crooked limb. When the moon trespassed on the limb outlined against the indigo sky, the twisted hand of the pine seemed to reach beyond her to trawl for a handful of stars. The wind chattered through the dry branches like laughter. Liall closed his eyes and felt a pang of longing he had not allowed himself to feel in half a century.

In the dark places, the dream-boy called his name again, and he turned his mind away quickly before the sound could break him.
You cannot haunt me forever, Nadei.

Liall could almost see Nadei smiling that cold smile of his, his hair like frost, his eyes the exact shape of Liall's own.
Oh,
can I not? The more you run from me, the closer I draw near.

The knife he held never wavered, though there was blood on his feet.

Liall shuddered and looked at his hands as if searching for meaning in their lines. There was no written message within the box, only two tokens: a ring made of rare platinum and 73

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precious
filiri
sapphire, and the single white feather of a swan.

The ring was for his safe passage, to prove who he was and to open doors. The feather was different. In the folk tales of his people, a white swan feather had only one meaning.

Come home.

* * * *

Liall woke to Peysho scratching at the wall of the yurt again, then the flap moved aside and Peysho thrust his head in. The angle of the moon behind him told Liall it had been only an hour or so since he had fallen back asleep. The feather and the ring were tucked safely under his mattress.

"There's a matter, Atya. Ye'd best come."

Grumbling, he pushed aside his blankets and furs as Peysho retreated. So much for sleep. There were few reasons he tolerated being roused twice from his bed: raid, flood, fire, or the soft skin of another nuzzling his side. None of those were in sight when he exited the yurt and stepped close to the circle of warriors huddling close to the campfire. Then the circle opened up and Kio flung the black-haired pedlar at his feet.

The pedlar's hands were tied behind his back and his white skin was dirtied with ash. His dark eyes blazed with fury as he struggled uselessly with the ropes binding him. "Let me go, damn you! Kasiri dogs!"

Liall laughed and drew his cloak closer around him. This, at least, was a happy diversion. The wind was frigid. Inwardly, he felt a tinge of admiration toward the youth for venturing out into the dark, cold forest in an attempt to sneak past his 74

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men. He watched as the pedlar attempted to rise and Peysho grabbed him by the neck and flung him back to his knees in the snow and dirt. The boy looked fierce as a wolf, squatting on his heels and baring his teeth in the orange light of the campfire.

"What's this?" Liall flowed down to one knee and took the pedlar's chin in his hand, just barely retrieving his fingers before the pedlar snarled and snapped. He contemplated his whole digits, and then the boy, more thoughtfully and with less humor.

"You have the temper of a Minh," he said, which was more of an insult among Byzans. "Perhaps they should call you the wolf instead of me. Speaking of which." He reached for him more swiftly this time, dodging his dangerous teeth and seizing his smooth jaw in his hand. "You did not give me your name before, though I gave you mine. I will have it now."

The pedlar only narrowed his eyes at him and closed his mouth more firmly.

"You're stubborn, I'll give you that," Liall said, greatly impressed. "And you have courage, if not the brains to back it up. Did you not know we would patrol the forest?"

"I knew."

"Hark, he speaks at last." Liall released him. Standing up, he motioned for Peysho to slash the bindings on the boy's hands. "So you thought you could slip past the Kasiri, did you? Whence comes such confidence?"

The pedlar stood and stripped the severed-leather laces from his hands before he angrily kicked them toward Liall with the toe of his boot. "I'm not confident. I have to get to 75

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the other side of this mountain and you won't let me by.

That's all."

"Ah, but I will ... for a price."

"I don't like your stinkin' mucked price," he snapped.

Behind the pedlar, Peysho chuckled, then prudently coughed and looked away.

Liall dropped his voice and moved a little closer to the irate youth. "The price, or me?"

The pedlar met his eyes unflinchingly but did not answer immediately, and Liall saw that he was struggling with his answer. The atya fought down a surge of irritation. Princes had knelt at his feet once. Who was this illiterate merchant to refuse him? Who did he think he was?

"Come now," he coaxed. "You will not injure my feelings. I am no charming prince, this I know. But still, am I an ogre?"

"No," the pedlar judged after a moment, studying him.

"You're a wolf."

"And you do not like wolves?"

"I like wolves fine, so long as they stay clear of my path.

Wolves and men don't mix."

Or men and men, Liall supposed he would have liked to say. Peysho had shooed the tribesmen off and taken himself away with them, leaving Liall with the pedlar, the campfire, and the soft-snowing night around them.

"What about wolves and pedlars?" Liall asked softly, daring another step.

"I don't..." the pedlar began. He stopped and swallowed hard, looking up at Liall. There was no fear in his eyes. "I don't see why you're vexin' yourself, is all."

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"Vexin'?" Local dialects often threw him. He waited for the boy to explain.

"Why are you going to so much trouble on my account? I can't be worth this much bother."

Liall began to suspect that this one was not terribly experienced with the desires of men.

"Are there no mirrors in Lysia? Give me your name," he urged.

"I—" he closed his mouth. "Let me pass."

Liall shook his head slowly. It made the pedlar angry again.

"Damn you, why not?"

"Because I'm not through vexin' myself, I suppose."

Snowflakes drifted slowly down and settled on the pedlar's black hair as he glared at Liall in loathing. Then, he abruptly dropped his gaze to his boots and his shoulders slumped. "All right," he muttered.

"What?"

The boy clenched his hands into fists and yelled it at him in a rush; "I said
all right
, I'll meet your gods-be-buggered price!"

Liall cocked his head as he regarded the pedlar. This capitulation was unexpected. Now that the youth had consented, Liall discovered that he had not asked enough.

The pedlar would scrub the kiss from his mouth and walk away: still hating him, still believing himself superior, and Liall would have won a hollow victory.

Liall noted the stance of the pedlar's feet and the position of his fists before he spoke his next words. After all, this one 77

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had already mortgaged his precious pride. He would not enjoy what he heard next.

"The price has changed, red-coat."

The pedlar gaped. "What?"

"Today, it was a kiss. Tonight, since you have disturbed my sleep crashing about in the woods, it is one hour."

"An hour ... what?"

He would have to be more blunt. "One hour," he said with a smile he hoped was gentle. "With me. Alone."

The pedlar's eyes widened. "If you think I'm going to ...

just to cross your stupid..." he sputtered.

"Peace, I am a fair man. If my price has gone up then so must your reward."

"Reward?"

"One hour with me, and in return you will use the road freely for one-half turn of the season."

"You're a bastard!"

He nodded. "There are many bastards where I come from, figuratively and literally. And it's not always an insult in my homeland to be called such."

The boy mouthed an earthier epithet at him in Bizye, one that involved his mother and stables and a probable liaison with a diseased horse. There was a limit to how much insult he would endure, even from such an alluring mouth. He stepped forward and the pedlar gulped and withdrew hastily.

"Have a care, pretty one."

"Don't call me—"

"I will call you whatever I please, since you deny me your name. Amend your lapse in manners and I'll amend mine.

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Our business is done here." He snapped his fingers and Peysho, who had only retreated behind a nearby wagon, came into the firelight. "Return his weapons and pack to him and escort him down the path to Lysia," he commanded, his eyes were still locked with the pedlar's, sky-topaz meeting midnight.

The pedlar opened his mouth to answer, but Peysho put a hand on his am. The boy jerked away from him.

"Come, lad," Peysho soothed. "Well-played, but enough fer one night."

The pedlar left, sending a final, furious glower in Liall's direction. Liall winked slyly, which did nothing to ingratiate him further. Then the pedlar was gone with Peysho, their soft footfalls muted by the crackle of the fire, his crimson coat swallowed by the night. Only then did Liall realize that he still had not gotten the red-coat's name.

"Damn," he swore softly, standing alone in the firelight. He had won the round again, with no more pleasure than the last time.

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4.

Soldier of the Vine

This Wolf is putting me off balance, Scarlet fumed. He had never seen a man so tall, so pale of hair and dark of skin, and with such long, large hands. The atya dressed like a lord in silver and black, his speech was learned and fine, but his behavior was more suited to a bhoros house than a bargaining table. Scarlet trudged down the mountain path in the dark, so livid he could barely think, but cautious not to tread too close to the edges of the path and to keep his ears open for prowlers in the evergreen forest.

First he charges me a toll to a road that I've been crossing for free since I was fourteen, now he denies me fair passage at all! What gives him the right? Of course I tried to sneak by!

He had thought the soot on his face—applied from an abandoned hearth as he waited for dark on the edge of the village—was a nice touch, but he had felt silly for it after he was caught and fully expected the Kasiri to beat him or worse. The atya's reaction confused him. Liall had been amused instead of angry, and had mocked him instead of setting his men on him, calling him
pretty one
as if he were a girl.

Thinking on that left him flushed and furious all the way back to Lysia. Scaja was awake and tending the fire when he crept back into the house. His father watched him enter without comment, taking in the sight of his smudged face and shamed expression. He then went to the cupboard and came back holding a pewter flask and mug.

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"You look frozen. And you're filthy."