The Jaguar Knights (50 page)

He crouched beside her again. “I’ll be as quick as I can, love. I’ll run up to the castle and get some conjured bandages and some men and horses.”

She was weeping, but perhaps that was just the wind. “You could at least have let me try to make the rituals work. Just for a few days, Wolf!”

No. To bring knowledge of the Tlixilian conjury into Chivial was to trust Athelgar, and to trust Athelgar was incredibly stupid, as he had told Lynx and Celeste. Oh, the beloved monarch would not start tearing men’s hearts out right away, but sooner or later the public good would demand extreme measures.
Needs must
—so Wolf himself had argued. And Lynx had, too. In a jam, if the evil was available, eventually it would be used, just as the Distliards were using it now. As he himself had just used it to save Dolores. He would
not
let Athelgar have it!

And even if the floating city promised a mountain of buttery gold instead, he would not send them weapons. The city must fall. The secrets must be wiped off the face of the world.

“I’ll explain tomorrow, love, when you’re better,” he said. “I have to run up to the castle. They’ll have conjured bandages up there, and we’ll come back with horses.”

She tried to cling to him. “Don’t leave me!”

“I must. I will go as fast as I can, I promise!”

Remembering Twidale and Obmouth, he covered her face to keep the gulls away, although they should find enough carcasses to keep them
occupied. He set off as fast as he could go on rough ground, plunging through spiky grass. By now the Eldoradoans must know that Amaranth-talon was not going to return. Were they even now interrogating Lynx and Celeste?

He was appalled at how weak he still was from his long bout with fever. In no distance at all he had to slow to a walk. He looked up to orient himself on the single turret that could be seen from Short Cove. It was not there.

Spurred by panic, he ran down the shingle to the water’s edge and looked again. From there he could just see a jagged edge of masonry, blackened by fire. For a moment his mind staggered from one absurdity to another, but finally had to accept the only possible explanation—the King had followed his suggestion and slighted Quondam. That explained why the Eagle had not done as Wolf asked—the turret was gone. The walls would be cast down, the buildings burned, and no doubt the bailey was a wasteland of rubble. There would be no one up there to help him, no conjured bandages, no horses.

He trudged back to Dolores. “It’s me, dear,” he warned her before he lifted back the blanket. “I think I’ll have to carry you.”

She looked even paler than before. She shook her head feebly. He had to make her repeat her words three times before he understood: “I’m losing the baby.”

She was hemorrhaging. Nothing he could do would make any difference. He stretched out on the grass beside her and held her as she writhed in pain. He talked, barely knowing what he said—lies about help being on the way, probably—but soon she was past speech and probably did not understand anything he said anyway. He could not possibly carry her up the cliff path unaided. To make the attempt would kill her. Even if it did not, they would still be miles from the nearest help, perhaps days away from an octogram. Flicker’s child was killing her.

Flicker was dead. So was Lynx, dead man walking. He had known what Wolf planned, had guessed, could have stopped him. So he had approved.

Later Wolf said, “When you’re healed, we’ll go and rescue young Edwin from Brackyan.”

Later still, “We have to get out of the country fast, before Athelgar finds out what I’ve done.”

And even later, “We did find our fortune, darling. We’re rich now!”

He babbled on for hours, until he was too hoarse to speak, long after he knew that he was alone.

Half frozen, Wolf staggered across to the stream and drank. Then he began the long labor of gathering driftwood, dragging it across the shingle, and eventually the work warmed him and eased his cramped muscles. Knowing he lacked the strength to lift the body onto a pyre, he covered it with brush he cut with Lynx’s sword and piled the heavier wood on top. When that was done he searched the beach in the fading daylight until he found a piece of flint to strike sparks. After much effort he made a flame, using an abandoned bird’s nest as tinder. Once the fire was burning, he hauled the acolytes’ corpses to the water so the tide could carry them away. The Eagle he left for the Tlixilians to find if they came looking.

He was tempted to hurl the priceless scorpion chain into the blaze as a final gift, but Dolores would have disapproved of such waste, so he didn’t. As night fell, he started wearily up the path, burdened with riches and sorrows and his brother’s sword.

The horseman rode up by the arroyo track and paused at the top to let the mare catch her breath while he admired the view. Workmen were burning brush somewhere, so a faint haze lay over the green hills that rolled away to a far glimpse of ocean. It was as fine a vista as he knew—grass and high rainfall and limestone, great country for horses. The mare snorted, as if in agreement.

He laughed and patted her sweaty neck. “Not far now, Malinda.” He nudged her forward again. Many years ago, founding his stud, he had bestowed that name on his first brood mare, and he had kept the personal joke going ever since.

His own name had varied over his life. Originally he had been Hugh Byrd. For three glorious months, he had been Sir Eagle of the Royal Guard. Much later he had become Don Águila, but the locals had more often called him
El Chiviano
and still did, although there were two Chivian ranchers in the hills now. It was the other one he was on his way to visit. This new one, Don Lope, was generally known as
El Diablo,
but that was a comment on his looks, not his behavior. His workers adored him, for he paid them the highest wages on the island and addressed them in their own tongue. The only people who spoke ill of him were other ranchers who had seen their best hands disappear in his direction.

The man had ability and fanatical attention to detail. Felipe’s hacienda had been a ruin when he bought it, and was now such a success that half the landowners in Condridad were trying to copy his methods. Riding in, Eagle noted improvements even since his last visit—the new roof was almost complete, the dam on the stream had been raised
to turn a pond into a tiny lake, and the training ring had been much enlarged. Edwin was in there now, putting his pony over the jumps under his father’s watchful eye.

Eagle enjoyed visiting his new neighbor and wished they lived closer. It was good to talk his mother tongue sometimes, to reminisce about Ironhall and hear tales of men he had known in boyhood: Panther, Hector, Stalwart, Shadow.

He had been seen. Wolf was waving a greeting. Eagle rode up to the rail and shook hands across it.

“You are indeed welcome, brother,” his host said. “How long can you stay? Greet Don Águila, Edwin.”

The boy began in Distlish and switched to Chivian. Then he grinned and repeated the welcome in Tlixilian.

Eagle thanked him in the same three languages. “You speak as well as you ride, master. Let me see those jumps again.”

“Sí, señor!”
Flushed with pleasure, the boy turned his mount, digging in his heels.

“I swear he grows a handsbreadth every time I see him!” Eagle said.

That was Wolf’s cue to look pleased. “That’s because you don’t come by often enough. You should have seen what a starved little waif he was when I…by the way, I have a gift for you.”

When Sir Wolf had passed through Mondon five years ago, he had been accompanied by a wife. The following year he had turned up again, with a son and no wife. The boy was almost certainly not his. Edwin was going to be very tall and his shock of screaming-red hair would not have shamed a pure-blood Bael. Whatever their relationship, man and boy were obviously very close.

“Indeed?” Eagle said. “And I have news for you.”

“Good or bad?”

“Both.”

They waited until Edwin had completed the circuit, then applauded as he rode past, triumphant. Hands arrived to take charge of the riding lesson and Eagle’s horse. The two ranchers walked over to the house.

“Begin with the bad news.”

“A great tragedy. Sigisa has gone.”

“Gone? How?”

“Hurricane. Six days ago.
El Caudillo
barely escaped—he had sailed just two days before. They say the entire town has vanished. The sandbar was washed away. The river empties directly into the sea now.”

Wolf walked for a while staring at the ground, then said, “The world is better off without Sigisa, but there were some innocent people living there. At least, I think there must have been. No survivors?”

“Oh, yes. Homeless, of course. And we shall have shipping problems from now on. There is no decent harbor on that coast.”

Don Lope shrugged. “We’re better off than the farmers.”

“How so?”

“You can’t drop cotton or beans overboard and expect them to swim ashore.” He smiled, which required only a slight change in the permanent tooth-displaying sneer of his disfigurement.

Eagle laughed and said, “True.”

Lady Attewell greeted the visitor when they reached the veranda. Wolf excused himself and disappeared into the house. Eagle presented the trifling gift he had brought for the lady—a seashell necklace—inquired after her daughter, chose a comfortable chair, and accepted a glass of cool fluid. He yielded to her entreaties and promised he would stay for at least two days this time. Wolf had chosen wisely when he bought this place. The view of the mountains was stupendous on one side, and the sea was visible on the other. Eagle could almost feel jealous.

El Diablo
had done well in his choice of wife, too. Dona Novia was the daughter of a prosperous planter, Pascual Fombella. She had the striking dark beauty that often appeared in a first cross, and wit to go with it. Eagle told her about Sigisa and she duly expressed horror. He suspected she was pregnant again. That was not unreasonable, because Amy must be about two now. Wolf reappeared with a package which almost certainly contained a sword, but which he laid beside his chair unexplained.

Polite conversation floated in the evening air like dreams of butterflies. Novia asked what was to be done about Sigisa. Eagle mentioned a relief ship being organized in Mondon. Wolf promised a contribution. The problem was money, of course. Rich though ranchers were in land,
hard cash was always short. Young Edwin came limping in to boast of his riding.

In a moment Dona Novia rose from her chair. “Come along, young man. Don Águila has business to discuss with your father.”

Edwin aimed a worried glance at Wolf, who laughed.

“I haven’t forgotten! Don Águila will come with us and teach both of us. He’s a much better diver than I am.”

Reassured, Edwin allowed himself to be led away.

“I am hopeless in water,” Eagle protested. “I know nothing about diving. You should be teaching me.”

Wolf grinned wolfishly. “Edwin will be pleased when he realizes that! Now, brother…” He produced a scroll. “When El Dorado fell, I had occasion to send a package Home to Ironhall, Returning a sword. Amazingly, it arrived safely. Equally amazingly, Grand Master’s reply reached me, too. It came a couple of days ago.”

Eagle laid down his glass and stared very hard at him. “Are you telling me that there was a
Blade
in El Dorado? That a Chivian
Blade
died in the assault?” And if so, how had Wolf obtained his sword? He had been here in Condridad when the long and bloody siege finally ended. There were fantastic rumors that he had visited the floating city the previous year and his first wife had died there. Eagle hoped to get the story out of him one day, Blade to Blade, but their friendship had not yet advanced to the sharing of confidences.

“It is a long story, brother, not all of which I can reveal, even yet.” Wolf smiled wanly. “I’ll tell you what I can, but yes, a brother did die in the fall of El Dorado, if not before. When I wrote, I passed on your thanks to Grand Master, as you once asked me to. And he sent this for you.”

Eagle accepted the scroll reluctantly but made no effort to unroll it. The seal was obviously the royal signet of Chivial. He had seen it often enough. “The bitch?” he said.

Wolf chuckled. “Lord Roland wrote that, when he became Grand Master, he inherited some items of unfinished business. That deed, he told me, is a royal pardon for the former Sir Eagle, and accolade of knighthood in the Loyal and Ancient Order.”

“The bitch!” Eagle repeated. The injustice still rankled, after thirty years.

“Durendal also pointed out that the document is dated very early in the reign of Queen Malinda. It must have been done on her first visit to Ironhall. I remember that day! Thirdmoon, 388, it was, twelve years ago. Hereward was Prime.” When his guest did not comment, Wolf reached for the package beside his chair. “This, I am informed, is an exact replica of a sword named
Stoop.
The original was destroyed when you were expelled, of course.”

“The nerve of the hussy!” Eagle muttered. “She was sixteen. Spoiled rotten. Arrogant. Oversexed.” He had never told anyone the story, yet it had been common knowledge at the time and ancient history now. He sighed. “I suppose I wasn’t completely innocent. We had to guard her, of course, and we played games with her. We’d take turns flirting. Just a glance or two would do it. She was lonely, insecure, daren’t trust anyone around that snake pit Court of her father’s, and he barely knew she existed. Blades could be trusted, though. All her life she’d been told that the Royal Guard could be trusted. We toyed with her. We weren’t serious! Spirits, a bound Blade could collect more girls around Court in those days than he had hours in the day for!”

“They still can,” Wolf said. “They still do.”

“Not princesses, though. When Malinda went starry-eyed, we’d complain to Leader, and he’d reassign us. But then Durendal was promoted to Chancellor and Bandit took over. He didn’t react fast enough. One evening she cornered me in the stable and kissed me.
She
kissed
me
! And in walked the snoops. They must have been watching her day and night.”

“Sounds right,” Wolf said. “That’s exactly the sort of game they like to play.” He sipped his drink. “Some of them.”

“Ambrose wanted to cut my head off!” Eagle said bitterly. “You’d think I had raped her and sired triplets on her. I was cashiered, exiled, transported. Durendal arranged for me to escape and saw I had money.”

“That’s typical, too,” Wolf said. “But remember that Ambrose married her off to a pirate, poor child. And if she took the first chance she got to try and make what amends she could, doesn’t that suggest that
she had been feeling guilty all those years?” He raised his glass. “To the Pirate’s Wife!”

Eagle grunted wordlessly, but he did drink the toast. Wolf waved for the servant in the corner to come and refill the glasses.

Eagle unwrapped the sword. He had forgotten just how fine an Ironhall blade felt to handle, the damask, the perfect balance. “I suppose I can regard this as my due.” He admired the engraving:
Stoop.
“Thank you. I will write and thank Grand Master.”

“What was the good news you were going to tell me?”

“Oh, nothing to get in a froth over,” Eagle said, squinting along the sword. “
El Caudillo
is in Mondon, Don Severo de la Cuenca himself! I told you they barely missed the hurricane. Even so, their ship got badly battered. He’s on his way Home to fame and riches. The King has made him a marquis.”

Although they were speaking Chivian, Wolf waited until the glasses were filled and the boy had gone before he responded. “I suppose he earned it. The world is certainly a better place without El Dorado. No more mass sacrifices, no more half-human monsters.”

“Nary a one,” Eagle said. “Not a building left standing in El Dorado itself, apparently, and he leveled every pyramid in the Hence Lands, so no more altars.”

“And no survivors?”

“None in El Dorado, anyway. Except the Marquesa, of course.”

“Who?”

Surprised by his vehemence, Eagle said, “The Marquesa. She’s pure blue-blood Distlish, apparently. She’d been a prisoner in El Dorado and was rescued during the sack.
El Caudillo
took a fancy to her and now he’s married her! The gossips barely pause for food or drink. A striking woman with red hair, I understand.”

Wolf stared very hard at him. “A prisoner in El Dorado?”

“So they say.” Eagle thought it over. “I don’t know if I believe it, though.” He chuckled. “Come with me next week and hear it from her own lips. Cuenca will be in Mondon for a few weeks; he and his wife. If you want to meet them, I can arrange it.”

Don Lope seemed to be studying the sunset. A group of boys went
racing past, kicking a ball and screaming at the top of their lungs in a mixture of Distlish and Tlixilian. In among them, fair-skinned and red-haired but as loud as any, went Edwin. Despite the awkward, lopsided gallop dictated by his twisted foot, he was keeping up. Only after the ball went bouncing away with the raucous gang still in hot pursuit did
El Diablo
turn to answer his guest’s invitation.

“No! Thank you, but no! I have absolutely no desire to meet
El Caudillo
or his Marquesa. I’d be much obliged if you see I am not even mentioned—
brother
.”

“Why ever not—
brother
?” Eagle smiled an
I-told-you my-story
smile.

Wolf scowled. “In confidence?”

“Upon my sword!” That was a good Blade oath he had not heard in years.

“Because if that Marquesa is who I think she is, she will take Edwin away from me.”

“You’re joking!”

“I am not joking!” Wolf’s snarl was fearsome. “And nothing on this earth will make me give him up to the likes of her!” He drained his glass and banged it down on the table beside him. “That boy saved my life. I mean that, literally. I needed a reason to keep going and I found someone who needed me as much as I needed him. I came from the same sort of background myself, and I had forgotten just how terrible it was—houses like holes in the ground, food that would sicken cattle. I rescued him. And he rescued me, because he’s why I’m still here.”

After a moment he shrugged as if ashamed of his vehemence, for he was not a demonstrative man. “I’d made a promise, see?”