[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

She sniffed. "If you're out to insult me, just call me an ugly bastard and get it
over with."
"Biggest weapon first," he said approvingly. "Not the usual strategy, but it
should be. Might cut down on time wasted fighting."
"You were saying something about stilts?" she prompted.
Gio's eyes glittered with mischief. "Now, if you were the law and saw a pair of
stilts lying inside the wall of the hold, what would you think? Someone's trying to
breach, that's what. But a single pole? No one would think much of it."
"I don't think much of it myself," she retorted. She could vault a wall using
Gio's pole, and said so.
"Ah, but not one like this," Gio said slyly. He shouldered off his pack and took
from it a bundle of oddly shaped sticks. "They fit together into one long piece," he
explained, demonstrating with several of them.
"What are those notches for?"
"Footholds. You can balance the pole and climb it at the same time. But mind
you, stay well away from the walls. Lightning sheets cover the inside walls almost
to the top. If you lose your balance and lean against the wall, you'll be sizzling
like bacon."
"Stay away from the walls? So how do I get out?"
"Moss hangs from the cherrynut tree just outside the south wall. It is strong,
and hard to see in the failing light You'll be in the tree before any of those lazy
guards notice what you're about."
Tzigone studied the placement of the notches and decided that the balance
might work. To limber up, she bent backward until her palms rested on the
ground, just behind her feet. Slowly she shifted her weight onto her hands and
brought her legs up straight, then slowly lowered them down into another tight
arc. She rose, standing in nearly the same spot as she'd been before the
exercise.
Gio nodded approvingly and handed her a length of pole. She braced it and
hopped up, placing her feet on the lowest notches. She swayed for a moment
until she found her balance. Then she found that she could indeed climb. She
went up about six feet and then let the pole tip, keeping her grip on it as she
lightly dropped to the ground. Even if someone noticed her performing this stunt,
she would be up and in the tree before they realized what she'd had in mind.
"This will help," she said with gratitude.
"It's not an easy trick, but you make it look as if it were," the gypsy said
admiringly. "Like climbing a rope, or so it looks. If you were still with the show,
you'd have us dragged in for magical inquiry sure as sunrise."
A thought crossed her mind and brought a wry scowl to her face. "Now that
you mention it, the climbing will be the easy part," she grumbled.
Gio looked mildly offended, as if she'd insulted his latest toy. "You know a
better trick, girl?"
"Convincing a jordain to break out of the hold."
The gypsy considered this and then placed a hand on her shoulder in silent
commiseration. "One more word from an old friend?"
"Don't bother telling me he's not worth the trouble. I never met a jordain who
was."
"I wouldn't think of trying to sway you, seeing that your mind's set on getting
him out," Gio protested. "Just do me this favor: If you're caught, at least try to
throw the pole out over the wall. I'd hate to lose it."
"Pride of ownership, Gio?" she teased him.
He looked puzzled. "Just pure common sense. There's not a man or woman
inside the hold that would make good use of the thing. It'd be a shame to see it
go for firewood."
Chapter Eight
The sun hung low over the mountains when Mbatu returned to the travel
house he shared with Kiva. The wemic had a peasant man slung over his
shoulders, much as a hunter might carry a deer. He shifted the man casually and
tossed him at the magehound's feet. The captive groaned from the jolt of impact
and then curved into a tight, pained ball.
Kiva didn't see any marks on the peasant, but she didn't expect to. Mbatu
was too skilled and shrewd to mark his prey unless it pleased him to do so.
The elf woman regarded their captive thoughtfully. He was a young man,
about the same height as Matteo. His muscles had been honed by hard labor
and his skin browned by the sun. There the similarity between the two men
ended. The farmer's face was twisted in pain but would not be considered
particularly handsome in the best of circumstances. His hands were square and
blunt-fingered, the nails ragged and grimed with soil. His hair was a similar shade
of deep chestnut, but it was coarser than the jordain's and not quite as long and
lustrous. Darkness, however, would blur these small details. Magic and simple
mundane extortion would cover the rest.
"Will he be missed?" she demanded.
The wemic shrugged. "Not particularly. He is a day laborer on another man's
fields. Such men come and go with the crops."
"Good. Let's finish it, then."
Kiva quickly cast a spell to ease the man's pain and make him biddable to
her will. At her command, the farmer stripped off his rude garments and replaced
them with white linen tunic and leggings, as befitted a jordain about to endure the
ritual of purification.
Getting him onto Matteo's black stallion proved a greater challenge. The
horse pitched and reared and snorted, refusing to let the peasant mount his
back. Even Kiva's magic couldn't bend the stallion to her will.
At last the magehound admitted defeat and gave the peasant a lesser steed
to ride. As for the stallion, Kiva found a way to entice him back to his stable. She
rode her preferred gelding, but brought on a leading rope a mare in season. They
set a brisk pace and found that the black male was more than willing to keep up.
They rode to the village on the outskirts of House Jordain, to the neat row of
villas where the masters lived. Kiva had made good use of Zephyr's research, but
she had additional sources of her own. One of the masters of the Jordaini
College had good reason to hold his secrets quiet and close.
The man didn't look pleased to see her, but he gave her the prescribed
courtesies. After they had exchanged the usual tiresome phrases of polite ritual,
Kiva told the man what she had in mind.
The master's eyes flashed to the young substitute, who awaited them
outside. He was still mounted on his borrowed steed, and his dull, enchanted
eyes stared fixedly ahead.
"With all due respect, lady, I must protest. Put aside for the moment the
matter of jordaini honor, or even the laws of this land," he pleaded. "Consider this
young man, who will never sire a family. It is no small loss. The men and women
who till the land depend upon their children's small hands. The tasks that farm
children perform are not busy work or play in imitation of adults, but a most
important contribution to family. The farmer who lacks strong children is
accounted a poor man, and with good reason!"
The magehound waved away these concerns with a quick, impatient flick of
one hand. "House Jordain is ridiculously wealthy, for all your protestations of
personal poverty. If you're so concerned for this peasant, recompense him. He
will not have children. Well enough. A mule and a milkmaid should fill the
breach."
"But what of his wife?" the man said softly. "If ever your arms ached to hold a
child, you could not condemn even an unknown woman to this emptiness."
Rage set the elf's golden eyes aflame, then banked with a control so [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]