Hero's Song Page 4

  Collun shook his head in dismay. "Old Whicklow will have you thrown into prison the moment you return to Inkberrow."

  "To begin with," said Talisen patiently, "I have no intention of returning to Inkberrow, but even if by some ill fortune I were to do so, the good farmer would not lift a finger against me. You see, he really did give me the money."

  Collun gave a snort of disbelief.

  "It's true," Talisen protested. "A token of his esteem and perhaps a small measure of appreciation for keeping to myself the fact that just before I left to join you, I saw four cows with Farmer Pilbeam's mark in the Whicklow barn."

  "So it's blackmail. Talisen, you are as low as..."

  "Farmer Whicklow." Talisen laughed. "But never mind. We need it more than he does. After all, we'd be of very little use to Nessa lying frozen and lifeless out there on the moor."

  There was a light knock on the door. Collun opened it and in staggered Rince, carrying a large basin of steaming water. Talisen stepped forward in his stocking feet and helped the boy with his load. Rince looked up at Talisen with surprise, as though unused to such consideration.

  "You're faster than a jackrabbit, I'm thinking," said Talisen as they set the basin on a low table. "That old Job Wall keeps you dancing, doesn't he?"

  The boy nodded shyly, a glimmer of a smile appearing on his face.

  "Treats you fairly, though, I hope."

  "Oh, yes. He be good to me, all in all."

  "Is the inn full tonight?"

  "Only half, sir. Job Wall says how we don't get near as many travelers along the road as we used to. And many of 'em are Northerners these days. 'Those scurvy Scathians,' he calls 'em." Talisen and Collun laughed as the boy imitated his master, using a deep voice and sticking his stomach straight out.

  "We have a big group of Scathians tonight in the main room," Rince continued, "getting sotted and making lots of noise. Job Wall don't like 'em."

  "I'm looking forward to meeting my first Scathian," Talisen said cheerfully as he started to wash himself with the hot water. "We don't get many down in Inkberrow. I wonder what their songs are like."

  The boy came alert at Talisen's words. "Did you say you was from Inkberrow?"

  "Yes. Have you been there?"

  "No." Rince paused and clasped his small hands together in a nervous gesture.

  "What is it, Rince?"

  "It's just that ... the one traveling with the Scathians, the one calling himself Mister Urlacan, well, I heard him asking Job Wall if we'd had any folks traveling from the south. From Inkberrow, in particular."

  "He said Inkberrow? Are you sure?" Collun asked, more sharply than he had intended.

  Rince nodded, uneasy.

  "Talisen..." Collun began, his body tense.

  "I know, I know, but let's not go jumping to conclusions," Talisen said.

  "We should leave, right now." Collun reached for his pack.

  "Hold on, Collun." Talisen laid a reassuring hand on Collun's arm. "More likely than not it has nothing to do with us. But, just to be safe, all we'll do is not let on we're from Inkberrow. We can say we're traveling south—that we're from north of Temair and have business in the south."

  Collun shook his head.

  "Come on, forewarned is forearmed, and there's no reason to deny ourselves a hot meal and a decent bed for the night on the basis of such flimsy evidence. What say you, Rince? Can you keep a secret?" Rince nodded eagerly. "And I promise, Collun, we'll leave at the first sign of trouble."

  Against his better judgment, Collun allowed himself to be convinced. They quickly washed up and headed down to the main room.

  ***

  There was a large peat fire burning in a fireplace at the center of the room. A vast black pot bubbling with stew hung suspended over it. Assorted tables and benches were grouped around the fireplace, and roughly half of these were occupied, mostly by clusters of two or three. The exception was a large group of dark-bearded Scathians who had pushed several tables together and were sprawled drunkenly around them.

  The Scathians were thick and muscular and wore rough, travel-stained clothing. They spoke in loud, slurred voices, punctuated by bursts of coarse laughter. For the most part they used the language of Eirren, though with the guttural accent of the Scathian dialect.

  But there was one among them who did not speak at all. He wore a long cloak. Despite the warmth of the room, he had the hood pulled up over his head. It kept his face shadowed. He sat back in his chair, almost motionless. Now and again he lifted a long black cheroot to his shadowed mouth. Collun could see that his skin was gray, and he had only three fingers.

  When they took their seats, the hooded face turned briefly in their direction. The gray hand holding the cheroot paused. Collun thought he caught a glitter of yellow eyes. He quickly looked away, wondering if this was the man who had been asking about travelers from Inkberrow.

  Then Collun's eyes fell on a slim youth with brown hair who sat by himself at a table nearby. He was the only lone traveler in the room and was draining a large mug of ale.

  Rince came over soon after with large earthenware bowls of steaming hot stew thick with meat, carrots, potatoes, and gravy. Collun couldn't remember a time when a meal had been so welcome or had tasted so good.

  They emptied their bowls quickly. The boy came to refill them, bringing thick slices of crusty dark bread and two brimming mugs of ale.

  "You are a most splendid and delightful fellow, my young jackrabbit," Talisen commented appreciatively.

  The Scathians, including their silent, hooded companion, showed no interest in the two boys. They called loudly for more ale and commenced playing a game of cards. Collun slowly began to relax.

  When he had finished his second bowl of stew, Collun leaned back in the wooden chair, his stomach comfortably full. He felt his eyelids droop. With a pint of ale by his hand and a warm fire at his feet, he forgot about the hardships of the past week and about the stranger who had been asking after travelers from Inkberrow. He opened his eyes with an effort and happened to glance toward the solitary youth he had noticed before. The boy seemed to be staring fixedly at him with an expression that was difficult to read. Collun blinked and looked again but realized it must have been a trick of the light, for now the boy was fast asleep in his chair. As Collun sleepily wondered if perhaps this was the one asking about Inkberrow travelers, his own lids fell shut again and he dozed.

  He woke with a start and looked beside him. Talisen was not there. Then he spotted him sitting across the room at the Scathians' table, cards in his hand. Collun's stomach tightened in alarm.

  The rest of the room was almost empty, save for Job Wall, Rince, and the dark youth Collun had noticed earlier. He was still sleeping, his chair tilted back against the wall.

  "Back in Mallaig," Talisen was saying, "that's up north, a small village above Temair, where my friend and I live, we have a tradition that in the third hand all deuces are wild."

  The Scathian dealer just grunted.

  "Only a suggestion, my good man," Talisen said blithely.

  A round of betting ensued and Collun groaned inwardly when he saw one of Talisen's gold pieces go into the pot. He tried unsuccessfully to catch his friend's eye, cursing Talisen's lack of caution.

  "Ah, my turn, is it? Let's see ... Well, it's not much, but it looks like it beats your royal split." Talisen laid his cards down with a flourish and began to reach for the pot.

  The Scathian he had bested slammed the table with one fist and pulled a knife with the other. He slashed the steel blade down within inches of Talisen's fingers, his small eyes narrow with anger. The boy quickly withdrew his hand, cleared his throat nervously, and said, "I must have read the cards wrong: an honest mistake..."

  The figure in the cloak suddenly leaned forward and deliberately stamped out his cheroot on the surface of the wooden table. "You were not mistaken." The voice was soft and sibilant. Collun suddenly remembered a long gray snake he had once surprised under a rotting tree.
The hissing noise it made as its glittering eyes fastened on Collun was very like the voice of the man in the cloak. "Please, take the money. I am Mister Urlacan. Perhaps you and your companion will join me and my friends in a last round of ale?" The hood slowly swiveled in Collun's direction, and he again saw a glint of yellow from inside the shadowed depths.

  Collun awkwardly got to his feet and licked his lips. "Uh, thank you, but we're, uh, heading south, early in the morning. We need to get to bed. Come on, Talisen."

  Collun immediately realized he'd made a mistake when he saw Talisen roll his eyes. "Thought you said your name was Boregin," one of the Scathians said suspiciously to Talisen.

  But Mister Urlacan ignored the interruption. "Ah, south, is it? Then perhaps you'll ride with us. We, too, journey south." The three-fingered hand lit up another cheroot.

  "You are very kind, but we are in some haste; we leave well before dawn." Collun was afraid he would press him further, but to his relief, the hissing voice said only, "As you like. Pleasant dreams to you."

  Talisen quickly scooped up his winnings and followed Collun out of the room, wishing the Scathians a cheerful good night.

  Once they were in their room, Collun locked the door behind them. He turned to Talisen, his eyebrows drawn together and his eyes dark.

  "Of all the foolish things you have done—"

  "I know, I know." Talisen held up his hand to forestall Collun's angry words. "I was wrong. But all's well that ends well, especially when it's me who winds up with a bag full of gold."

  "Talisen!"

  The sound of a soft knock on the door interrupted them.

  "Who's there?" Collun said apprehensively.

  "Rince," came the whispered voice.

  Collun let him in.

  "Master says to come quick," Rince whispered urgently. "Says it's not safe, that they'll have found out your room by now."

  "Who?" asked Talisen.

  "That Mister Urlacan and the Scathians with him," replied the boy.

  "But..." began Talisen.

  "Hurry!" whispered Rince, fear in his eyes.

  Collun and Talisen grabbed their belongings and followed him.

  They made their way through the silent hall and down into the back entryway. Rince led them out into the darkness, where a soft drizzle furred their faces. As they followed Rince toward a barn some distance from the inn and stables, Collun heard a harsh "caw" from above. He craned his neck, trying to see if it was a scald-crow, but it was too dark to tell. Suppressing a shiver, he quickly followed Rince and Talisen into the barn. Collun could hear the rustling sound of a hen settling herself on her nest and the rhythmic grinding of a cow chewing its cud.

  Job Wall entered the barn soon after, shutting the door behind him. His gold earring gleamed in the dim light.

  "So, what's this all about?" Talisen said sleepily, making no effort to keep quiet. "Do those crooks want their money back after all?"

  Job Wall reached out a massive hand and took Talisen by the collar of his jersey and said in a loud whisper, "Young fool. This has nothing to do with money. Keep your voice down." Slowly he released Talisen, and both boys could see that the man was pale and sweating.

  "Those Scathians stayed in the main room after you left, and I overheard the one calling himself Urlacan saying there was no time to waste, that you two were the quarry they sought. I don't know how he found out you were from Inkberrow, unless it was your foolish prattling gave you away." Job Wall glared at Talisen, who looked a little sheepish.

  "They'll be at your room by now," continued the landlord. "I saw them talking to Seb, the cook, who'll tell anything to anyone for a little gold."

  "Did they say why they're looking for travelers from Inkberrow?" asked Collun anxiously.

  "No, nothing about that. I only heard Mister Urlacan gloating that you'd walked right into his hands." The huge man looked down at the two boys. "So you don't know what it is they're after?"

  "No, sir," responded Collun.

  Job Wall exhaled noisily. "Wouldn't matter to me what it was. Not when it comes to Scathians and to—" He broke off. "You know what that Mister Urlacan is?" he said abruptly, mopping his perspiring brow with a large white handkerchief.

  Both boys shook their heads.

  "A morg, that's what." Job Wall looked at them sharply. "Don't you know what morgs are?"

  "Yes," answered Talisen. "They were creatures from up north, from Usna and Uneach. They helped Cruachan conquer North Eirren."

  "Aye. Demon creatures with a love for killing and a fear of nothing, except perhaps the bright light of day."

  "But most of them went back to Usna and Uneach, right? And the ones that stayed died out a long time ago."

  Job Wall shook his head. "That's what I've always heard, too, but I'd bet the Traveler's Rest itself that this Mister Urlacan, with his gray skin, three fingers, and eyes that could put a man off eating, is a morg."

  Collun leaned back against a stall, his mind jumbled by fear.

  "There's not much can get to me, but a morg..." Job Wall shook his head. "You'd better leave now. You can have the mare in the next stable."

  Talisen took out his bag of gold. "What do we owe you?"

  Job Wail frowned, waving Talisen away. "Nought. The gold you gave me before was payment enough." The landlord shook his head. "These are bad times in Eirren. Now, you stay here. I'll bring the horse." He left the barn after making sure the yard was still deserted.

  Collun and Talisen waited, listening intently for the sound of the landlord's return. They heard the faint cry of a bird. Collun flinched, resisting the urge to stick his head out the barn door.

  Finally they heard footsteps approaching and the sound of a bridle jingling. The barn door opened and their eyes were momentarily dazzled by the light from an oil lamp.

  The figure holding the lamp was shrouded in a cloak. Collun could not see the face. Then his gaze fell on the hand holding the flickering light. It had only three fingers.

  SIX

  Breo-Saight

  Two large Scathians stood behind the morg. One of them carried a horse's bridle, which he shook at the boys with a mocking smile. A third Scathian came up, pushing a bound and terrified Rince ahead of him.

  The two boys backed away. Collun's hand sought the handle of his dagger.

  The creature calling himself Mister Urlacan spoke in his soft, caressing voice. "We meet again. It seems our way does indeed lie together after all. Come..." His yellow eyes shone at Collun from under his hood.

  "What is it you want from us?" Collun asked in a strangled voice.

  "Oh, I have no personal interest in the matter. It is merely a commission."

  "They killed the master!" Rince suddenly cried out, near tears.

  The morg paid no attention to the boy's words. "Now, drop your little knife and come with us." The yellow eyes bored into Collun's. He backed farther away from the creature.

  Mister Urlacan sighed impatiently. "If you do not, I will be obliged to kill the small one here." The morg nodded at the Scathian who held Rince, and the man put his knife to the boy's throat.

  "Well?" said Mister Urlacan impatiently. He gestured to the Scathian. Collun could see the knife bite into the boy's skin. A line of red appeared on the thin white throat.

  Collun dropped his dagger. It fell on its side in a clump of hay. The lucky stone glittered slightly in the light of the oil lamp. Collun took a deep breath, then deliberately walked across the barn to Mister Urlacan. A three-fingered hand closed over his wrist. Collun recoiled at the touch. The morg's grip was like iron.

  "Kill the other first, then the small one," Mister Urlacan hissed softly to the two Scathians behind him. They began to move toward Talisen. The morg turned to leave the barn, pulling Collun with him.

  Collun resisted, trying in vain to wrench himself free. "Ah, you prefer to stay and watch? As you like." The morg stopped but maintained his iron hold on Collun.

  The two Scathians began to circle Talisen. Collun
stood still; the damp hand encircling his wrist seemed to have paralyzed his whole body, radiating a cold lethargy through every limb. He could not budge his legs; they felt brittle, like icicles that would shatter if he moved them.

  A cock crowed somewhere nearby. Mister Urlacan whipped his head around to look out into the yard. Dawn was just beginning to break, and the morg pulled the cowl of his hood lower to shield himself from the light.

  "Hurry," he hissed.

  Talisen had been darting nimbly from side to side, but the Scathians were closing on him. Collun watched in terror as his friend stumbled. One of the Scathians grabbed Talisen's arm and brutally wrenched it behind his back. A deadly looking knife had appeared in the man's hand.

  Collun tightened his muscles, desperately battling against the freezing torpor that held him. He twisted his body and kicked out with a foot. The lantern jerked out of the morg's hand. It fell onto a patch of dirt and, though it sputtered, remained lit. In his surprise, the morg briefly loosened his grip and Collun broke free. He ran toward Talisen. The second Scathian pivoted and knocked Collun to the ground, planting a thick knee on his chest. The knife in the man's hand caught a beam of dawn light and dazzled Collun's eyes. He could smell the man's sour breath.

  "No! Stop, fool! That one is not to be killed," came Mister Urlacan's voice. "Bring him. It grows late."

  The Scathian reluctantly sheathed his knife and pulled Collun up by the front of his jersey. He began to drag him toward the morg.

  Suddenly a voice called out, "Hold!"

  In the hayloft above was a slim boy with a bow at his shoulder and an arrow poised for flight. Collun immediately recognized him as the quiet stranger from the inn.

  The Scathian hesitated. Mister Urlacan let out an impatient hiss and swiftly crossed to Collun, reaching out to grab him.

  There was a rush of air and then, a split second later, another. The morg let out a grating, wheezing sound. His hand had been shot through by a quivering arrow. Black blood dripped onto the floor of the barn.

  The Scathian holding Talisen gazed in astonishment at the arrow that protruded from his own shoulder. Talisen quickly squirmed away and grabbed a nearby pitchfork.