Lyrec Read online

  “I should like to be a horse,” he muttered to one of the lead animals. “What do you care which wagon you pull, eh? You do your work, you get your feed, someone brushes you …”

  He did not know exactly what it was that made him pause in his thoughts. Something caught his eye, drawing his attention to the dark road. He couldn’t see anything. He listened, but heard no sound.

  Then, as he began to turn away, a rider appeared out of the murky distance. A second one followed close behind, and then a third, wearing a helmet. They came on at a steady, purposeful canter. Soldiers.

  Reeterkuv squinted until he could make out for certain the color of their tunics. When he did, he turned and ran.

  In the tavern, Grohd stood over the cauldron. One hand clutched a huge wooden spoon and stirred the pudding slowly. The other hand balanced a stack of wooden bowls.

  The door crashed open and slammed back against the wall. The spoon jumped from Grohd’s hand. He groped for it as it settled out of sight in the pudding, which in turn caused the carefully balanced bowls to tip from his other palm and splatter into the yellow concoction. He managed to retrieve one, but the rest were sucked under in the time it took him to pull it out. The pudding eructed appreciatively. Grohd swung around, furious, his pudding-daubed fingers working like claws. Then he saw the expression on Reeterkuv’s face.

  “Soldiers!” shouted Reeterkuv to everyone in the room. “Orange, Ladomantines! On the road right now, they’re coming.” He realized he was yelling, and made himself continue more calmly. “If you’ve got valuables—money, anything you treasure—give it to Grohd to hide right now.” No one moved. They stared at him dumbly. “Well, don’t weigh it in your minds, you’ve only a minute.” He leaned over and flung the door shut at his back.

  People hurried to the bar and began to pour out the contents of their pockets and bags. The short beef-faced man bawled out, “My money’s in the hut, beside my bed. In my satchel!” He started for the door, but Reeterkuv caught him with one hand and jerked him to a stop. “You don’t go out. If that’s where your money is, then it’s gone, it isn’t yours hereafter. That’s a press-gang I saw and you could be farming Ladoman muck tomorrow. D’you understand?” He released his hold on the short man. “All of you. Whatever they want, you give it to them. Which is why you don’t want it on you. Isn’t that so, Grohd?”

  The keeper looked at the coins and rings and bracelets that were piled on his bar. The young physician had removed his medallion and put it there. Grohd finally looked up at Reeterkuv. “That’s right,” he said. Then he glanced meaningfully at Lyrec and recalled what the stranger had said to him the night before. Lyrec, with money stuffed in his pouch, had not moved or spoken, and his face showed no sign of fear, though he had to know—as he had foretold—what this portended. Yet it seemed to make no difference to him. A shiver ran up Grohd’s spine as those dark eyes met his. For a moment, the breath of a second, they seemed to flash silver. Grohd felt suddenly that he did not know this man at all, nor even that Lyrec was a man. It was as if he had glimpsed some lurking … god. The cat, too, was watching Lyrec, as if that black beast shared Grohd’s fear, as though it understood that the sounds of horses’ hooves rolling like thunder across the yard presaged trouble and death. Finally, Grohd’s instincts kicked in; he scooped up the valuables from the bar and began stuffing them into mugs stacked on the shelf below it; but the perception of Lyrec’s alienness stayed with him. Grohd crouched behind the bar and knew he would never see Lyrec in the same light again.

  The pounding of hooves drowned out all other sound. The passengers scrambled back from the bar and took seats at tables as far as possible from the door.

  The sound of the horses ceased.

  In the silence, in its wall niche, the cauldron suddenly blew out a geyser of pudding. Yellow globs spattered on the floor, and one hit the old woman on the arm. She screamed. Borregad leapt straight into the air. The table nearly split in half when he landed. He looked around wildly, then huddled down beside Lyrec in hopes of becoming invisible.

  The room filled with the sound of footsteps marching in quick-time across the yard. The old woman pressed her burned forearm to her mouth. Reeterkuv, realizing that he still stood at the door, took a step back.

  The tavern door crashed open from a kick. It smashed into Reeterkuv before he could get far enough away, knocking him backward across a table. The door rebounded, its top hinge snapped, and the bottom corner dug into the floor, stopping it with barely a hand’s width of opening.

  Outside someone cursed and someone else sniggered briefly. The door screeched, sending shivers up spines, as it was pushed back.

  A short, overly muscular man, a Ladomantine captain, stood in the doorway, his wet hair plastered against his head, bunched in a ring where his helmet had fit. His lower lip protruded in what was meant to be a scowl but looked like a pout. One at a time, he nailed each person in the room with his stare: one by one, the passengers looked away; Reeterkuv lay back against the table, not daring to sit up; Grohd managed to look at the captain’s shirt; Lyrec, head down, seemed oblivious to it all. He might have been asleep.

  The captain satisfied himself that he had intimidated them all and swaggered inside. Three more soldiers moved into the doorway behind him.

  One of them, with his wrist wrapped in dirty cloth, was Abo.

  The captain walked to the bar. He stared at Grohd, then glanced down at the small pile of coins that remained there. He unconsciously flicked his thumb against his long, dirt-filled fingernails, then reached for the coins.

  A double-bladed axe chopped into the bar top between his hand and the coins. The captain jerked his hand away. The nail on his middle finger had been neatly trimmed. His eyes shifted from his hand to the polished axe and followed the handle back to the hand and arm of the tavern keeper. The captain looked at Grohd in disbelief. “I’ll take you to pieces for that,” he promised softly, turning away. “So,” he said to the room at large, and that simple and meaningless word generated more fear in the group of travelers than any threat might have done. He paused briefly to enjoy their terror. Then he moved away from the bar, striding slowly to each one of them, staring each one in the face. He asked, “Which of you is responsible for the wounds my men suffered?” He knew the answer already, but he wanted to see them all turn on one of their own. The game was to predict who would turn first. “Well?”

  “We don’t know what you mean,” said the physician. “What wounds? What men?”

  The captain pouted. He swung around, his arm raised to cuff the physician. At that precise moment, at his back, one of the wooden bowls sucked into the cauldron popped loudly to the surface, flinging free another glob of yellow meal sputum that smacked the captain on the back of the neck. He howled and hopped frantically. Pudding slid down inside his shirt. His raised arm bent back and slapped at his neck. His teeth creaked together. By the time the pudding had ceased to burn, he was bent double, his breath bubbling with spittle, his eyes become slits of ignited malice. He probed at the blisters erupted on his neck.

  As he straightened up, he growled, “So, you’re witches, too, some of you. Which?” He slapped the physician. “You?” He backhanded the wife of the short fat man. “Or you?” He hissed in pain. No one said anything. He left them and strode to Lyrec. “Or is it you, traveler? You sleep too much. Look at me, are you deaf?”

  Abo nodded to him: Yes, this was the one.

  The feather in Lyrec’s hat shimmered as he raised his head. The captain smirked at him. “I know someone just over the border in Ladoman who wants to see you again as soon as possible.”

  Borregad licked his lips.

  Lyrec replied, “I don’t know anyone in Ladoman.”

  “Do you have a horse of your own or do we have to drag you along on foot?”

  Lyrec clucked his tongue. “All these questions, and I haven’t even had breakfast yet.” He idly wiped a splotch of pudding from the captain’s tunic. “I see you’ve had some. Is i
t hot enough to eat?”

  The captain, struck dumb, began to tremble with rage.

  Borregad eyed Lyrec fearfully. What are you doing? You’ll get us all killed.

  Probe him, Borregad—he wants them all. I can’t let that happen.

  We’re not here to save them!

  I haven’t time to debate this. He’s taking me on no matter what happens. If he’s mad enough, he may forget the others, and maybe I—

  The captain struck him across the mouth.

  Borregad scrabbled back. Lyrec seemed not to react to the blow at all. The cat regarded the distance to the door. He wondered how long it would take him to get to the hut, find the scabbard, and drag it back here. He didn’t think he could do it, and cursed his deformity. Why couldn’t he have had a perfect crex to form his own defense? His life-force barely allowed him to maintain this form. Damn Miradomon! He was helpless.

  The captain placed his hand on the pommel of his sword. “Are you coming with me?”

  For a moment it seemed that Lyrec ignored him again; then he stood and spoke softly, so that only the captain could hear him. “Leave the others alone. You arrested me and I’ll go now if you leave them be.”

  “Are you giving me orders?” He looked up into silver eyes that pinned his soul like a scrap of cloth to his skull. The captain’s mouth worked silently. Then his voice croaked out of it: “Right, then. You come with us and the rest go free. Outside.”

  Lyrec nodded and turned. Abo moved in to witness his captain’s unaccountable change of mind. “No,” said Abo, “no, it’s witchcraft! He made the captain say that. He’s Kobach.”

  Lyrec could not control all four soldiers—unlike his race they did not possess communal minds. With no time to plan further, he walked stiffly across the room like a prisoner. The soldiers parted to let him through as Abo berated them, confusing them long enough for Lyrec to make for the yard. The captain fixed glassy eyes on his movement and followed languidly after him. Abo stamped the floor furiously, confounding them even the more—they didn’t know who to look to for orders. Borregad dashed between them and out after the captain. Abo railed at them, “Go after him! Protect the captain, you—oh, you idiots!” He shoved his way through and they followed. Grohd started around the bar. He pried loose the axe, but hadn’t taken two steps before one of the soldiers turned back and shook his head, then dragged the door shut.

  Reeterkuv and Grohd ran to the windows as someone in the yard shouted.

  *****

  The captain came awake to find himself marching along behind Lyrec. He realized immediately what had been done to him and bellowed, drawing his sword.

  Lyrec had hoped for a few more moments, enough time to gain to a horse and ride out. But now … he ducked under a vicious slice the captain swung at his neck, then struck the captain on the jaw and took the sword from his hand in the same moment. The captain crumpled in the dirt. Lyrec backed toward the center of the yard. The soldiers were no longer confused: Their prisoner had become prey.

  Abo and another man came at him in a crouch, their swords held lightly up. From around the back of the tavern came another soldier, who had been checking the huts. Seeing the situation, he broke into a run and drew his weapon. Three remained guarding the door to the tavern and, across the yard, beside the coach, the last member of the party sat atop his horse and merely watched. He appeared to be not the least surprised that the captain had gone down—in fact, he looked amused by it, and showed no sign of joining the fight. His right hand, crossed over his saddle, rested loosely around the end of a short pole that showed above his saddle pommel. Six men in all. Lyrec stopped counting and took the offensive.

  He swung the stolen sword in an arc, desperate to get some feel for it. Obviously it was for swinging and thrusting, but he had never held one. The balance of it confused him; the minstrel had either never used his or had kept the information locked in some recess of his mind. Lyrec swung the sword at Abo and the other soldier again. They glanced at one another and grinned. They knew! Just from his movements, they had recognized his inexperience. He had to get to his crex. His shield had powers to protect him, but it was hanging on a peg in the hut. He would have to get through all six men to reach it. Where was Borregad?

  Abo lunged first. Lyrec parried as best he could, but his point dragged in the ground for a moment, and the other soldier jabbed at him. He saw his error and barely managed to deflect the blade with the hilt of his own weapon.

  Abo laughed at him. “You should never have given us trouble, Kobach. Your magic won’t make you a better fighter.” Abo thrust at him again, this time without force, toying with him. Lyrec swung to block the sword and Abo skillfully withdrew it, making him stumble. “Travelers are the easiest picking, I’ve discovered,” Abo continued. He beat Lyrec’s blade aside and could have killed him then had he not wished to finish his speech. “No one ever comes looking for travelers or would know where to look if they did. Where were you last seen? Miria? Is there anyone there who even knows your name?” He whipped his blade under Lyrec’s nose. “You should have let Fulpig and me eat and drink.”

  “You would have killed my cat.” He moved back.

  “What’s the skin of a cat against your life? Today you’ll be dead and I’ll skin your cat anyway. What did you gain?”

  Abo’s partner decided to join in the fun. He leaped forward and danced his blade around Lyrec’s useless block and into the cape at Lyrec’s shoulder. Lyrec twisted away and slammed into one of the horses tethered behind him. The horse snorted and shifted its feet. There were three horses lined up there, with Lyrec pinned against the first.

  Abo waved him out from the horses, taking a step back. The game was to go on a little longer. Abo’s partner glanced around at his friends, an invitation to watch what he did next.

  Lyrec flipped his grip on the sword and chucked it as hard as he could. Abo’s partner literally walked blindly onto it. He clutched the hilt, turned to the others one last time; he wanted to ask them how this had happened. The hilt bumped against Abo, which was all the force necessary to knock the dying man off his feet.

  Abo looked up at Lyrec. He scowled and jumped forward. Lyrec turned, grabbing the saddle with both hands, and swung himself up and over the first horse. Abo’s sword pierced the leather just below his head. The stung horse whinnied and bucked. Abo’s blade was torn from his grip, and he had to fall back to avoid the horse’s kick.

  Lyrec landed atop the second horse. He grabbed the reins and turned the animal away from the tethering post. Where his knowledge of riding came from he did not know, but he did not bother to question it. He wheeled the horse around and took off across the yard.

  Even as the animal set forth, the mounted soldier who had sat idly by kicked his own horse into action. His right arm was stretched out behind him, hidden behind him. Lyrec realized as he passed the man that the pole which had been sticking out of the man’s saddle was no longer visible there. He sensed that this was important and reacted on some instinctive level, ducking down. But not quickly enough.

  His head seemed suddenly to crack open in white flashing pain and he saw the sky come up in front of him and the world appear upside down. His hat whirled past, the crown curiously dented. He observed it with distant, receding calm, following its descent to the dirt, where it spun to rest in a rut. He could have reached out to catch it if only his arms were working.…

  *****

  Borregad dragged the scabbard belt to the stairs and started down on two legs with the greatest of difficulty. The hilt and body of the crex hung under his belly. With each step the weight of it threatened to fling him down the stairs.

  He cursed Lyrec’s self-assurance that had led to his leaving the crex there. It wouldn’t be needed, Lyrec had said. The people in the tavern posed no threat at all. Idiot, idiot, oh, Borregad hated him. The first perilous situation that came along threatened to wipe out everything they had sacrificed for. What was he supposed to do if Lyrec was killed? He couldn’t
very well carry out their plans by himself. Neither of them knew how powerful Miradomon was, but he was certainly more powerful than a black cat tripping over a scabbard. Oh, how he hated this—this—

  “This f-f-feline thing!” he shouted. What was f-f-feline, anyhow? Where had Lyrec gotten that stupid word? “I’ll claw your eyes out, you hear me, Lyrec?” In his anger he took two steps and was pulled over the third by the crex. As he tipped, he dug his claws into the soft wood of the wall and managed to keep from tumbling the rest of the way down the stairs. With great care he lifted one hind leg and placed his foot on the next step down and followed it with the other. “What am I going to do? Look at me.” His tongue protruded from between his teeth.

  Laughter echoed from the yard. It was not Lyrec laughing. Borregad glanced up, panic rounding his eyes. He dragged the scabbard down the remaining steps, hurrying so that he would not fall over it. At the bottom he went back to all fours and tugged himself and the belt out the door.

  One soldier stood out from the building with his back to the huts, watching whatever was taking place in the yard. Borregad dragged the scabbard off to one side and behind a tree. From there he peered around at the yard.

  Lyrec was in motion, bounding up and over a horse, his legs locked and parallel to the ground. One soldier was down, another—Abo—lunged at Lyrec but stabbed a horse instead. Then Lyrec reappeared on another horse. It looked as if he might get away after all.

  Movement to the left caught Borregad’s attention. The soldier nearest the coach, himself on a horse, had tugged the reins of his mount and was riding out to meet Lyrec’s desperate charge. The soldier drew a short pole from a pocket beside his saddle. The pole had a metal ball on the end of it. Lyrec seemed not to see the weapon. Borregad struggled free of the belt, at the same time shouting a mental warning to Lyrec, but saw the weapon swing up and around in a blur of motion. The sound of it striking made the cat flinch. Lyrec flopped forward against his horse’s neck, then back, his hat thrown free. He tipped off the rear of his mount and dropped hard. He did not move after that.