(A/N – Right, I'm experimenting with a new, pared-down style which means….no more ridiculously long words *gasp*.
That's right, It's taken a whole fourteen chapters to get over that using-lots-of–long-words-to-try-and-sound-clever hurdle, but I think I'm finally getting there.
Of course, now the story might be even worse, which is why I need your help. Yes, that means you my anonymous friends. If this reading this chapter creates a searing agony of boredom, please tell me. Of course, if you sort of liked it, even a tiny bit, you can tell me about that too. If nothing else, you'll get my undying admiration, nay, adoration for being so jolly kind. Speaking of which….
Laughing Dragoness – Hullo and thanks for dropping me a line. Tuon, you say? Well, it might be interesting to write something about that feisty little minx, but she's not going to pop up in this fic. This little story takes place around the time that WoT world started to get really, really warm. I suppose that would set it sometime around book six, so no Olver, no Tylin and definitely no Tuon. Sorry.
Virago – Look? What look? *whistles* Oh, all right, there might have been a teeny, tiny little glance, but I'm not telling : ) Big, big thanks for your review – they always make me feel all smug and grin-ful.
Meg – Thanks for the review. As you can see, all thoses pleases paid off!
By the way, there might be a few discrepancies in this chapter with regards to certain individuals, but I'm willing to overlook them if you lot are. Right, without any further ado, let's get this show on the road….)
DISCLAIMER – I know, I know. I'm a shameless fraud.
Chapter Fifteen
Giving Pips a sympathetic pat, Mat heaved a sigh and headed into the bustling street. It was all he could do to stop his stomach from heaving.
He had never seen so many flies in one place. Or rats, for that matter. The town was all but crawling with the craven creatures. On his last visit the darkness had concealed the filth, and the chill air had served to blanket the stench. Today, in the unforgiving sunlight and its spoiling heat, Laybridge was revolting.
Townsfolk butted at his shoulders as they jostled past, faces cramped with dark scowls. The stench of the countless pats of horse and cattle dung was hardship enough without the added stink an unwashed villager barging into him, and he soon matched the villagers' surliness with a glower of his own.
As he struggled through the crowd he caught ragged glimpses of buildings lurching at strange angles, as though sagging under the weight of the oppressive air. No two dwellings seemed alike apart from their shared shabbiness. The deeper he plunged, the worse things got. In the trade quarter, it seemed as though whole streets were on the teetering verge of collapse.
Countless traders hawked their wares in the shadows of these ramshackle buildings, yelling at one another in thickly accented barks. Mat made sure his eyes never strayed from his path for too long, never showed anything other than disinterest. Already small children had begun to trail him, occasionally plucking at his coat or darting into his path before scuttling away as though fearing a kick or cuff to the head. Their clothes were little more than rags hanging from their spindly bodies but any show of coin would likely end up with him having his skull cracked by the burly men who lounged outside the many inns. They eyed him with lazy contempt as he hurried by, and little wonder. He stood out like a lamb in a flaming fox den. Mat swept off his hat to fan himself and tried to temper his scowl.
As he rounded a corner, a gaggle of women spilled from doorway tavern, sprawling into his path with a waft of ale and perfume. There was a crackle of raucous laughter as they tried to right themselves, all flailing arms and breathless curses. Despite their shabby dresses, the women were alive with colour. For some reason, they had stitched their skirts with ribbons that fluttered from hip to hem. Even their hair was braided and coiled with the bright streams of fabric. The messy hues were beginning to give him a headache. Mat edged around the cluster of women, and had almost managed to escape unnoticed when a female of generous proportions careered into him with an unlovely 'oof'.
The woman's dangerously exposed bosom quivered as she righted herself with a giggle.
'Oh, thank you dearie. Most kind of you, most kind.'
Trying to steady the woman without touching her more considerable attributes wasn't easy. He had only just escaped her flattening him a second time when her pale eyes rolled to meet his.
A beer-tinged gasp escaped her. 'Here, Myrt,' she breathed. 'Would you look at this.'
A scrawny woman was beside him in a second. As she thrust her peering face towards him, a low croon drifted from her thin lips. 'Well, I'll be burned.' Her bony hand was suddenly against forehead, pressing so that his head tilted towards the light. 'Don't see that often 'round here.'
'More's the pity, eh?' The other chuckled, her gaze narrowing.
He swallowed. Those eyes were an odd colour, pale as sickly skies, but they had the glint of a weasel – a weasel that had just cornered a very juicy rabbit. He had just managed to hop clear of the pair's reach when the other women fluttered around him like a swarm of gaudy moths.
'Aren't they pretty?' One declared with a shrewish giggle.
'Lovely.' Another slurred, although her pallid eyes seemed a little unfocused.
Fearing that a mauling would begin at any moment, Mat cleared his throat. 'Excuse me, ladies, but I really must—'
A chorus of whooping erupted.
'Did you hear that, Myrt? He called us 'ladies'.
'Aye, he's new to this place, all right.' The skinny woman's slitted gaze was making him sweat almost as much as the broiling heat. Her eyes were also that wan blue, faded as sun-bleached linen. 'But we'll give him a welcome to remember.'
A snickering murmur of assent followed. Mat darted a glance over the women and backed away. The perfumed mob pressed closer. He gave a pleading smile. The sea pale, wintry eyes lost not one jot of their predatory glimmer.
With a queasy jolt that always seemed to accompany thoughts of Rand these days, Mat remembered how girls from home would coo and sigh over his friend's grey gaze. In his sulkier moments, he used to wonder why Rand found the attention so off-putting. Now it was all becoming horribly clear.
When one of the women made a lunge for him, Mat only just managed to leap aside. 'Now really, I don't care how much you like my eyes, there's no excuse –'
'It's no longer your eyes we're interested in, dearie,' one declared with a positively wicked smile.
A loud creak of hinges distracted Mat from his plight.
A man had emerged from the doorway of the nearest inn, his eyes taking in the scene before settling upon Mat. He gestured at the women with a knotted cudgel. 'These bothering you?'
The skinny woman planted her fists on bony hips. 'We're not bothering no one, you big oaf. Now keep your fat nose out and let us be.'
'Come on now, Myrtie, leave the lad alone.' The cudgel swayed in the man's meaty fist, at odds with his cajoling tone. 'I'll not have you scaring away potential customers.'
'Customers? What flaming customers? Your inn is as dead as the rest of this bloody place.'
With a loud thud, the man's foot thumped a wooden pail. The women shrieked as they clutched at skirts and lurched from the scum-frothed water.
The fat woman glared at the man, her face crimson. 'To the Dark One with you, Selwyn Wern, you and your stinking, filthy dreg-pit both.'
'Oh, don't be like that, petal. Come back tomorrow, and there'll be a mug for all of you. On the house.'
'Not bloody likely.' Myrt flounced her tattered skirts and, with a parting glower that included Mat, tottered along the street with the rest of her ragged mob trailing behind.
He turned to the innkeeper with an abashed grin. 'Sorry about that.'
The man chuckled. 'They'll be back. Those harridans would slit their throats before they'd miss a free ale.'
'Still, you have my thanks.'
The fellow looked surprised at his low bow. 'Light, you're really not from these parts. Yet you have the mark of an Andorman about you, and the speech.' Keen eyes raked over his fine, if rumpled, coat. 'Are you a lord?'
'No. Just a soldier.'
'Indeed. And what business would a soldier have in a flyspeck town like this?'
Mat hid his growing discomfort with a shrug. The fellow's gaze seemed a little too intent for his liking. 'Nothing of interest, I'm afraid, but I would be glad of your help. I mean to find the Standard of Laybridge.'
The man's considerable brows lifted. 'And I though I was rescuing a paying customer.' He held up a broad palm as Mat reached for his coin. 'Merely a jest, boy. I can tell you where the Standard is, though why you would want to go there is a mystery. Old Rinna has more salt than any of those lot put together.'
'Oh, we've already met.'
His voice must have been more rueful than he intended for Selwyn gave another deep chuckle. 'And not eager to do so again, by the sound of things. No many are, unless she owes you money. In that case, you have my sympathies. That one is tighter than a sow's snout.' The man shook his head. 'Forgive my rambling, lad. You've not far to go. Just follow your path to the square and head for the smithy. It's in near sight from there.'
'Master innkeeper, you have my thanks.'
'Indeed. And might I have the pleasure of knowing who's indebted to me?'
'Thom.' Mat gave the man a tight smile. 'Thom Grinwell.'
'Well, Thom, luck be with you. I've no doubt you'll need it.'
With that, the men hefted the cudgel to his shoulder and lumbered through the doorway. Mat waited until the heavy door thumped behind the innkeeper before heading for the end of the street, but his shoulder blades still prickled until he rounded a lichen-crusted wall.
He released a long-held curse as he hurried for the noise of the square, a sprawling mass of animals and humans, all milling amongst the clutter of stalls. Mat strolled through the throng, casting swift glances he hoped would draw as little attention to his eyes as possible. Peering about in such a ridiculous fashion made it hard for him to spot anything in the busy square. He yanked his hat lower and finally took a good look at his surroundings.
The only thing revealed to him was that he was lost, with not a distinguishing feature in sight.
A peek over his shoulder only revealed more stalls, more people and what appeared to be a very familiar innkeeper.
Mat blinked at the sight of Selwyn Wern heaving through the crowd, that cudgel clasped in a huge fist. There was nothing jovial about the man now. His pale, narrowed gaze slid over the crowd with the cool ease of a hawk. Mat had no doubt as to what those eyes were seeking.
'Burn me for a bloody fool.' He swept off his hat and hunched his shoulders, but he was still taller than most of the people who jostled past. With another curse, Mat shoved his way through a group of men loudly haggling over a handful of skinny goats.
Chickens scattered before him as penned animals bleated and bawled, and the din of the creatures and braying shouts soon began to rasp at his nerves. The innkeeper was still hunting him, although the way his eyes meandered over the crowd gave Mat hope that he had not caught sight of his quarry.
He ducked into the overhang of a gaudy stall, its shape all but hidden by streams of fluttering fabric. As his fingers worried the sleek coils of the coloured wares he saw Wern stride past, close enough for Mat to see beads of sweat wend down the mans slick jowls. Now all he had to do was avoid the cudgel-wielding idiot and find the flaming smithy. He briefly considered asking the woman before him until she gave him a carious smile.
'A very pretty colour, sir. Any lady would think themselves lucky to have such a gift from their young man.'
Mat tracked Wern as he vanished into the crowd before glancing at what he held. He winced. Pink. For some reason, the colour made him even nervier. He dropped the ribbon back into the myriad of strands and grasped a spin of satin that shone quietly amongst the rest. He absently reached for his coin as he eyed the woman. He took the risk. 'The Standard. Do you know where I can find it?'
The woman gave another toothless smile as she waved a bony hand. 'Why, just there, good sir.'
Mat dropped a flurry of coins onto the stall. The woman fawned her thanks as he stuffed the ribbon in his pocket, catching a fleeting glimpse of brilliant blue as it flashed by. The din soon swallowed the stall-keeper's garbled gratitude as he strode away.
After dodging a pungent stall selling some form of small, charred and thoroughly unrecognisable creature, Mat finally saw the Standard of Laybridge rear before him, looking every bit as shabby and decrepit as his laden memory served.
A child was sitting on an upturned rain-barrel outside the inn, hurling a knotted wad of old, rotting hide at a cracked wall before catching it and repeating the ritual. The boy didn't take his eyes from Mat as he passed, but carried on flinging the ball with easy contempt, snatching it from the air with a clawed hand.
Casting a quick glance through the grimy window, Mat could see that the tavern was having no trouble attracting customers this day. Rowdy taunts and laughter billowed from the place, swirling with the cloying smell of bad tabac and tepid ale.
The child began to recite a cradle-ditty as he stalked by, although the words were quite different from the ones that had carried him to sleep as a babe. He ignored the child's increasingly lewd chant and hurried towards the alleyway where Nath boasted his excuse for an establishment.
What he saw when he arrived made him spit a particularly nasty epithet.
The healer's sign had been torn from its bracket and slammed through a window where it lay jammed amid a jagged portcullis of glass. Most of the other windows had also been shattered, despite what looked to be an attempt to protect the precious glass with worm-riddled boards, and the splintered door gaped at him in a wide, listless yawn.
He stood for a long moment, mutely glaring at the assaulted building before wandering through the door.
The place reeked of the herbs now strewn over the gritted floor, the smells growing more cloying as leaves and buds crushed beneath his slow steps. The hearth was cold and long dead, streaked with mounds of grey, pitted ash, and only a handful of the small, vicious instruments were casting sinister glints from the wall amid a pattern of pale, spiked patches. Shattered jars and phials littered the floor with vicious jags, their syrupy contents staining the floorboards as they oozed a slow descent through the dark, splintered wood.
Something moved before him, a shadow amongst shadows. He scowled at the large rat as it scrabbled beneath a rotted board, its round, guileful eye glinting. Other than he, it was the only occupant now.
His jaw clenched. Too late. Too bloody late.
A loud whistle pierced the silence. When the sharp note had faded, Mat strode from the building, eyes narrowed against the light. The sound seemed to have come from the direction of that infernal inn, and Mat had almost convinced himself that it was the strange child trying to rile him when he heard the clatter of approaching hooves. The street was too narrow for himself and a mounted visitor. Besides, he was not exactly in the mood for conversation.
He ducked into a nearby alleyway and cursed when he realised it was blind. With no option other than to wait it out. Mat leaned a shoulder to the wall and sighed.
A russet horse trotted into view, its oiled hooves flickering in the light.
Mat's sigh faded to a croak.
With a delicate chime of chain mail, a Whitecloak slid from the gelding, looping the polished reigns over the steed's sleek head. Mat edged deeper into the alley, his eyes fixed on the newcomer. Armour polished to glittering silver glowed beneath a shimmering cloak.
As the man turned to the empty healer's den, Mat saw something that made his stomach sink even further. Emblazoned on that white cloak, like a streak of freshly spilled blood, was a red shepherds crook.
The cloak dimmed as the man entered the house, its brilliance fading to a pale spectre in the darkness. Mat hissed as he unclenched cramped fists. Too soon, the white shape was growing sharper, the chink of spurs louder.
Mat was easing more distance between himself and the unwelcome guest when a low rumble sounded in the shadowed alley, deep and dark enough to make the sweat chill on his fevered skin. Something was hunched in the gloom, close enough for him to feel hot, panting breath. Close enough to see the slick gleam of long, wet teeth.
Swallowing against a bitter tang that tasted suspiciously like panic, Mat pressed his back against the slimed wall. A swift glance told him that the Whitecloak was nearing, and he had a fleeting, worrying insight that the man would soon start inspecting the alleyway for what he sought. The low growl deepened into a snarl. Mat edged a hand to his belt and slowly inched for a knife, his fingers aching with urgency.
Through his silent litany of blistering oaths, Mat heard the snarl stutter and stop. His heart bludgeoning, Mat sucked a deep breath, certain his last sight would be a raging maw of jagged teeth.
The silent creature stood before him, a black shape with glittering eyes. Mat let his eyes slide closed when the thing reached for him….and ran a warm tongue over the back of his shaking hand. He could only gape as a gangling dog trotted from the gloom, its pink tongue bobbing in its dripping, grinning jowls.
Fighting a sudden surge of laughter, Mat wiped the drool from the back of his hand and hoped that the hound would stay silent. And friendly.
It seemed content to stare at him, tail swishing puffs of dry dirt. He glared at it, willed the dog to just stay still, just a little while longer. No such luck. With a whining yawn, the creature turned and loped into the darkness - and disappeared.
Mat barely caught the knife as it slipped from his slack fingers. With a last glance at the Whitecloak, who was now blinking into the alleyway, Mat crouched in pursuit of the dog. His eyes now accustomed to the lack of light, he cursed aloud when he spotted a fissure in the crumbling stone.
The frowning Whitecloak arrowed a glare into the alley. Mat darted through the gap and found himself behind what looked, and smelled, like a very neglected stable.
His reluctant rescuer was sniffing a matted wad of hay, its ears twitching as it turned a bloodshot gaze upon him. As the dog trotted off again, Mat had a sudden suspicion he had seen the beast before. Frowning, he followed the creature as it padded from view.
Mat hugged himself to the rotting stable door and stole a look, his muscles tensed for a ready escape.
A sole figure stood near a listing stable, saddling a shabby, tired looking mare. From the way the man was cursing and grunting, he was clearly having trouble hefting the worn looking saddle onto the horses back. The dog dropped to its haunches beside the horse and turned its large, reproving eyes upon Mat.
'Dovienya.'
The big man paused, his shoulders suddenly stiff. Mat didn't bother to hide his grin as the man slowly turned. When he spied Mat, his bloodless face went slack.
Mat waited, hand now clasped tightly around his dagger, lips still curled from his teeth. 'Hello, Nath.'
'Light, boy, don't sneak up on people like that. Old hearts aren't as strong, you know?'
His smile slipped a notch. What was the matter with the man? If Mat didn't know better, he would have thought the fool was relieved.
'Come to give her back, have you? Well, it's too late. By the time you bring her, I'll be long gone.' The man's clear gaze seemed almost amused.
Mat tilted the knife so it caught the sunlight. 'Not before you answer a few questions.'
'And all to do with that little hoyden, no doubt.' He gave the knife a disgusted look. 'Oh, put that away. I've no time for heroics.'
Mat gritted his teeth. 'Who is she?'
'She was my healer, until you spirited her away. Don't think that I'm not grateful, mind you. I feel better than I have in years.'
He must have looked as surprised as he felt, for the man gave a wheezy chortle.
'Surely you didn't think I would be angry that you took her? My boy, I owe you more than you can realise. I would bought you a drink or two, had I the time.'
Feeling suddenly foolish, Mat lowered the dagger. 'What are you doing?'
'What does it look like I'm doing?' Nath gave him a wry look as his fingers fumbled at a weathered strap. 'You're not as bright as I thought, lad. Haven't you noticed the newcomers? The place is crawling with them. Best to get out before their bite gets too deep.'
'You're leaving? Then why haven't you come looking for Mai?'
Nath swept a hand across his brow and sighed. 'Have you not been listening? I no longer want her. Feel free to keep her. Bloody marry her for all I care.'
'What? Why would….?'
'I should have known that you would come here. I sized you as a soft-touch, you and that friend both.' A chubby hand waved away Mat's protests. 'Listen, for this is all I am going to tell you. The girl is someone I took pity on. Someone I chose to help. Now that she has someone else to latch onto, I no longer have to worry.'
Mat snorted, his hand tightening on the dagger hilt. 'Some help. I saw what you did to her.'
'Ah, given you the inevitable tale of woe, has she? Still, you don't look like one to be fooled that easily. Let me guess what else she has shown you. Bruises? Nasty looking welts too, I'll wager. True, the person who gave her those deserved to be punished. But it wasn't me, boy. I never laid a hand on her.'
'Then who did?'
The man gave a shrug of his rounded shoulders, his eyes hooded and almost sorrowful. 'That's not for me to say.'
'All right. Why don't you try telling me something useful before you turn tail? Like maybe her real name? Or why she can remember nothing about her past? Why she's half delirious because of some flaming nightmares?'
Nath gave another weary shrug. 'All things I cannot give you an answer for, my young friend. Listen, it is good you have chosen to help her. Light knows she needs all she can get. But for your own sake, keep your distance. Some problems just can't be solved. The girl is one of them.'
The sound of approaching footsteps roused the two men. Mat scowled at the alleyway he had so recently ducked from. He flipped the dagger, held it by its wicked point.
'Don't be so stupid, boy.'
He glared at Nath, saw that the man had managed to hoist himself into his saddle. Pale eyes rested on his and, for the briefest of moments, Mat saw sorrow in that faded gaze.
The steps were growing louder. Mat ducked into the shade of a stable, sheathing the knife in his sleeve with a snarl.
'Boy!' His gaze jerked up. Nath had faltered, his broad face pained. 'Look to Farwell.'
The questions still burning in his throat, Mat watched the man put heel to the steeds flank and gallop from sight.
****oOo****
'Blood and bloody flaming ashes!'
Mai sucked at her finger and glared at the prickle-pip. It somehow managed to look smug in its hiding place beneath the broad, flat leaves. She squeezed her finger, hoping to draw the poison with the tiny bead of blood, and scowled at the plant. Useless thing. Her hand grasped a shard of flint before she realised there was little point wasting her energy hacking at thing's knotted roots. They had tried all sorts of ways to make prickle-pip useful; crushed out unwilling juices with flat press, dried it in hot afternoon sun, pulped it into gristle, boiled it into mash. Nath had eventually given up hope of finding any medicinal properties in spiny little bud, but that had not stopped him from wrangling the doomed venture to his advantage.
The memory twitched an unwilling smile to her lips. The sky had been dark that day, the clouds as densely packed as the crowds gathered below to watch Nath proclaim his newest 'tonic' – a potent compound of the finest, revitalizing herbs, ladies and gentleman! – as the answer to all ails from bunions to dropsy.
'Make use of the bad things in life, Mai,' His eyes were cold as the glittering spoils of his deceit. 'Let the good things take care of themselves.'
Scowling, Mai plucked a dark leaf, chewed it for moment then pressed the damp pulp onto the complaining pad of flesh. Her cracked, reddened palms looked feverish in the sunlight. He had certainly made use of her, no doubt about that. Well, she was not going to leave the good things to chance. She tested her injured finger; the sting had dwindled to the merest of aches. She would take care of herself.
Brushing dried moss and crushed leaves from her breeches, Mai strode to her small basket. It had been a decent morning's work; Silverslip leaves, Patch blossoms and even a handful of greyish Slippery Gills lay carefully placed in the basket. The last would be perfect for that loud fellow – Nalesean she thought his name was – who had yet to stop complaining about the 'unbearable' ache in his throat. A wicked smile played about her lips. If the mushroom did nothing for the ache, the taste would at least be a distraction.
Mai gathered the basket and headed for the camp, pausing now and then to inspect a sprig of green or pluck a stippled flower for her basket before hurrying on. Greying leaves and dead branches that crunched under her boots with a pleasing snap. She kicked at these winter remnants, sent then spinning into the air to settle behind her with a whispering sigh.
She trailed the snake-brown curves of the sluggish stream, pungent and crackling with flies and the little creatures that so enjoyed fastening upon her damp flesh, slowed to peer at the tiny, tailed creatures minnowing beneath the murky water.
But the day was too hot for such meandering, the air dry as a kiln. By the time she emerged from the wood her lungs ached and her skin was slick with sweat. With a quick glance to make sure no one was nearby, she knotted her shirt beneath her chest and sighed. The humid air did little to cool the moisture on her belly, but it was a relief nonetheless.
She was halfway to the camp when she spotted the dust, a pale wisp against the piercing sky. Perhaps it was Mat. She had spent half the morning looking for him, but no one seemed to know where he had gone. A suspicion had begun to bud in her mind, but she stifled it with a flush. He was probably just with the rest of the men, drinking or dicing now that they were on the mend. After all, there was no reason why he should visit Nath, not when he had already done so much. He had probably only suggested it so she would stop bawling like a simpleton.
But that would not explain the dirt churned up on the track.
She walked slowly towards the tents that seemed to be float above the shimmering haze of a phantom river, clear as white flame searing through the barren sweep of brown.
Heading for the infirmaries, she marvelled at the quiet after the warring bird-chatter of the small wood. It did not take long, however, for wonder to yield to concern.
It was too quiet. There should have been at least some sounds; laughter, cursing, the low complaint of one still in discomfort. Even a coughing fit would have been welcome. But there was nothing. Nothing save for her and the gaping silence.
'Hello?' She clasped her small harvest to her chest and wove carefully between the tents with wide, searching eyes. Voices reached her as she approached the farthest tents, hushed, quick voices.
Mai hurried towards the sounds, frowning with something between annoyance and relief.
What she found made her stop suddenly enough to jolt an Eyebright flower from her basket.
Contraptions that looked very much like snug cottages on wheels were huddled beyond the empty infirmaries, all smeared with violent colours that instantly set a small ache behind her left eye.
'Looks like fortune's smiling on us at last, eh Mai?'
She wrenched her gaze from the strange carriages to see Estean waving at her from a group of milling soldiers. He appeared to have made a remarkable recovery. In fact, the young lord was all but bounding with delight.
Estean was not the only one grinning at the spectacle. His fellows all seemed equally pleased, all signs of illness eclipsed by their jubilant smiles.
Mai waved absently in response, her eyes once again drawn to the visitors.
A handful of men were leaning against the carriages, garbed in colours that could only be described as nauseating. Their tawny faces were studies of indifference, but that could not detract from the fine line of their profiles or their dark, penetrating eyes. One turned his dark gaze upon her and she glanced away, her face suddenly hot.
There were females too, and they seemed a great deal more interested in the camps inhabitants. They huddled near the narrow steps of their strange carriages, giggling and fluttering coy lashes when their dusky faces weren't obscured by bright handkerchiefs or dainty, be-ringed hands. Estean's gaggle seemed to find this simpering somewhat disarming. Mai thought the performance rather silly.
After a few moments a young man detached himself from the group to approach the cluster of Band soldiers. He walked with a sinuous grace, almost as though he was stepping from a dance, and Mai felt a curious quiver in her stomach as he glanced at her. Estean gave the approaching man a polite, if hesitant, smile. The newcomer appraised the young lord with large, dark eyes.
'What's going on?'
Cal was scowling at the visitor's, his face unusually hard.
'I don't know. I just arrived here with Estean and --' She let the words fade with a shrug.
The blonde man folded his arms. 'Well, what do they want?'
She barely had chance to reply when Cal suddenly strode to the man staring at Estean in benign silence.
'Excuse me.'
Those liquid eyes slid to Cal. 'Yes?'
'Might I enquire as to what business you have here?'
'Are you the leader of these men?' The man's voice was softly melodic, its gentle timbre belying the brevity of his question.
Cal hesitated. 'Well, no.' He managed finally, clearly disarmed by the man's quiet manner.
'I am sorry, but we would wish to speak with him first.'
A magpie chattered in the silence.
'Very well.' Cal breezed with admirable composure. 'I shall arrange for a meeting forthwith.'
Cal gave a small bow before strolling to Mai, a wry twist to his lips. 'And I was always led to believe that Tinkers had no manners.'
Mai stifled a snort as Cal stopped beside her, his lips quirked in a tight little smile.
There soon descended an uncomfortable silence, peppered only with chatter of the magpie and the breathy giggles of the women. The incessant snickers were beginning to stretch her nerves. Mai flickered a glance at them only to discover that she appeared to be the source of their amusement. Their dark, soot-fringed eyes raked over her before the women joined heads for a discussion seemingly comprised of little more than falsetto sniggers and the occasional muffled whisper.
Her cheeks flaming with a heat that had nothing to do with the sultry weather, Mai raised a hand to her hair, which only served to create even more laughter. How dowdy she must look to them, how drab in comparison, like some pale, listless moor-flower wilting amid a spray of brightly blushing heartveil. Stomach roiling, she was feverishly grappling for an excuse to leave when a shadow moved on the ground before her. She glanced up to see Cal gently disentangle a wizened willow leaf from a curl of her hair, his usually mobile lips compressed into a thin line. His furrowed brow eased when he saw her eyes upon him, and his reassuring smile somehow took away the sting of that insipid laughter. Mai folded her arms beneath her breasts and stared at the women, the feel of Cal's hand stirring her hair and sliding to rest on her shoulder awakening the unfamiliar heat of rebellion in her. She gave the girls a wide grin.
'Making friends all ready, eh Mai?'
With a flash of a smile, Mat sauntered past, his long shadow stalking before him. His swagger was as carefree as ever, but the rigid set of shoulders and hard set to his jaw made her frown. He had barely stopped before the newcomer when the man spoke.
'Are you the leader of these men?'
'Why of course he is.' The unfamiliar voice was as heady as the balmy air. Mai had never heard its like before, had never heard a voice so ripe with the promise of something dark and secretive. But she soon discovered that the silken contralto was nothing to its bearer. Her breath failed as a raven-haired woman stepped from a gaudy carriage.
She was like some rare, exotic creature, somehow outshining the brilliance of her vibrant cocoon. Next to her, even the gaggle of young women looked unripe and graceless, their beauty made crude by this woman who seemed the ultimate fruition of the female form.
If Mai had felt like a moor-weed before, now she felt like the dirt it wilted in.
The woman's appearance had been timed to perfection. The sunlight falling upon her like an aura of golden light, gilding her midnight hair and sliding over the contours of sleek curves. Pausing at the top of the steps, as though to savour the impact of her appearance, the woman began a slow descent, her small, slippered feet barely peeping from the folds of her full gown so she seemed to glide to the ground.
Mai managed to wrench her eyes away from this vision only to be met with the vacant stares of several dozen very smitten men. Estean was gaping openly at the woman, and Mai found herself willing a passing insect to speed into the man's slack mouth. The male members of her entourage were regarding the woman with open pride, clearly enjoying the reaction she inspired, whilst the females had drawn back, faces covered with shimmering shawls and all frivolity abandoned.
Her face still bathed with glowing sunlight, the woman walked towards Mat, her body sashaying with near improbable grace. 'Can you not see the mark of leadership on him?'
The words were like soft caresses, and Mai found herself afraid to look at Mat, feeling strangely and desperately worried that she would see that glaze of adulation on his features.
'Hello, Tillalia.'
She glanced up at his dry response in time to glimpse his equally droll expression before two, small hands grasped a handful of hair, and pulled his face down to press against full lips. It was Mai's turn to gape as she watched the kiss, the most thorough and downright indecent thing she had witnessed, take place before her eyes.
Several of the congregated men gave breath to low whistles and cheers. Behind her, she felt Cal's body quake with low laughter.
Her face was flaming when the woman finally released him. Mat stepped back with a slightly bemused expression.
'Nice to see you still approve of a warm welcome, Tillalia.' He grinned, adjusting his hat, which had gone askew during the proceedings.
The woman gave a throaty chuckle. 'Why do you think I enjoy travelling so much?'
Mat rubbed at his nose and gave a slightly crooked smile. Mai's hand itched to slap something.
'Am I right in assuming you wish to hold company with us for a few days?'
'No, just for tonight.' She smiled at his raised eyebrow. 'Oh, don't be such a prude. I promise not to corrupt any of these charming little fellows.' Her smoky eyes trawled over the gathered men before finally lingering on Cal. 'With a few exceptions, of course.'
'You should leave.'
With the weight of all those glares upon her, Mai blushed to the roots of her hair, her head suddenly light with panic. 'I mean, there has been a sickness here. Many of the men are still unwell. I would not wish you - well, any of you - to fall to it.'
Tillalia glanced at Mat, who gave Mai a small, skewed smile. 'Our healer is right.'
Dark eyes glinted. 'I thank you for your….concern, child. But we are a hardy people, both in nature and spirit. We have no fear of falling to this sickness.'
Mass eyes slid to Mai again, and the waning blush returned with vigour. 'I just thought I would warn you. That's all.'
She made a solemn vow to administer herself a strong kick when she was alone. What would make her say such a stupid thing? She spent a few moments on silent self-recrimination for her foolishness. Cal's hand did not return to her shoulder and, for some reason, she felt its absence as keenly as the dreadful shame.
'Mai does have a point, Tilly.'
Mai eased a breath into her lungs, and even managed to raise her eyes a little. She focused her gaze on Tillalia's silk slippers.
'You're more than welcome to stay here for the evening, but perhaps it would be best if you do not enter the heart of the camp. That way, you won't be disturbing those still resting in the infirmaries.'
'Such touching concern becomes a man.' Tillalia's voice was a silken purr.
Mai nearly choked. Those dark, flashing eyes had not seemed to find her concern the slightest bit becoming. Mat was still smiling in that ridiculous fashion as a jewelled hand rose to touch his cheek. The fond gesture was somehow even more intimate than the kiss.
'Then we shall remain here. Those feeling lively enough are welcome to join us for the evening.' Her eyes sought and held Mai's as faint smile curved her full lips. Then her small hand rose to strike its counterpart sharply and the visitors flurried into movement, chatting and laughing as they began unloading wagons and unfettering horses.
As she turned to face Cal, Mai was startled to realise that he had somehow slipped away from the proceedings.
'Drop something?'
She spun quickly enough to almost collide with Mat. A small 'Oh,' forced its way through her lips.
Mat steadied her with a grin. 'Seems to be the perfect day for having women throw themselves at me.'
She plucked the blossom from his grasp and tossed it into the basket. 'Thank you.'
'What's wrong? You look a little….red. You're not sick are you?
'Sick? Me? No, I'm just warm. It's very hot, don't you think?' She made a show of fanning a hand before her face, but the thought of the heat made her painfully aware of the sweat dappling her bare stomach. Her face quickly flamed with renewed vigour.
Mat blinked at her. 'Right, well, it seems we have some visitors for the night. Do you have any herbs?' He groped for an explanation. 'What I mean is do you have anything that could stop the sickness from spreading to our guests?'
'A preventative?'
His smile made her embarrassment dissolve a little. 'That sounds about right. Can you do something?'
'I can mix a brewing compound that may help.'
'Wonderful.' His eyes glanced around, as though making sure there was no one nearby, before he grasped her elbow to draw her away from the bustling newcomers. His deep gaze held her. 'I found him.'
'Nath?' She gasped at his nod. 'Where is he? What did he say?'
'Not much. He seemed in rather a hurry.'
'He's gone? Where?'
'I don't know'
'Why was he leaving without…without telling anyone?' She bit her lip as she studied Mat's face. He merely shrugged, seemingly absorbed in the operations of their visitors.
'He gave the impression that he wasn't happy with the towns newest inhabitants. It seems that the bloody Whitecloaks have taken an interest in the place.'
'The who?'
'Children of the Light. Whitecloaks most call them, although the men have been known to refer to them in less….affectionate terms.'
'Oh, those people.' She breathed. 'They did look a little on the stuffy side.'
'You knew?'
'I saw them a few days ago.'
Mat threw up his hands. 'Why does nobody think to tell me about these bloody things?' He leaned closer. 'They are no friends of ours, Mai. It's very bad news that they have chosen to settle in Laybridge. For all we know, it could be to keep an eye on us.'
'Why would they be interested in you?'
Unable to help himself, Mat snorted, but seemed immediately abashed when he saw the flush in her cheeks. 'I'm sorry. I forget how strange all this must be for you. It's not for you to worry about. I'll make sure that they're watched, all right?'
She nodded. 'How was he?'
'Who?'
'Nath. How did he look?'
'Fat, hairy, a little ragged around the edges.'
'Poor Nath. I wouldn't want to see him unhappy.'
'Light, Mai. You really are a wonder.' He shook his head. 'Look, I have to go….'
'Mat, who are these people?'
'The Tua'Athan.' There was a subtle accent to the second word, a gentle lilt that seemed to add to its beauty. 'Travelling people. Don't worry, they're harmless.'
Mai wasn't so sure. That Tillalia woman had certainly looked predatory enough.
'Light, I nearly forgot.' His flustered gaze turned suddenly intent. 'Mai, do you know anything about a Farwell?'
She swallowed. 'I've never heard of it. Why?'
Those dark eyes searched her own for a moment before rising to focus above her shoulder. 'I'll tell you later.' He murmured with a distracted smile.
Mai followed his departure, until she realised that the reason for his hurry was Tillalia. She flushed as the woman smiled at her, those sultry eyes almost too knowing. With a grimace, Mai headed from the clearing.
****oOo****
Tillalia gave him a warm smile as he approached her. 'Your healer seems very…. cautious.'
Mat followed Tillalia's gaze in time to see Mai stride from view. 'As well she should. People have died from this sickness.'
Her small hand briefly touched his arm. 'I'm sorry. I suppose I should seek her out and offer thanks for her concern.' Tillalia paused. 'What was her name again?'
'Mai.'
'Pretty.'
'I suppose so.'
'It certainly doesn't match the rest of her, poor child. Who came up with the idea of dressing her in those dreadful clothes?'
'Believe me, it's a huge improvement on what she used to wear.'
Tillalia gave a toss of her lustrous hair, clearly unable to comprehend such an idea. 'How long have you had her?'
'A while.' He swallowed past the dryness in his throat and grimaced. 'Why are you so interested, anyway?'
'It's an intriguing situation. All these men, and one sorry looking little girl. It's not a life I should imagine one like her would have chosen.'
'She didn't have much of a choice.'
Tillalia gave a triumphant caw. 'I knew it. You rescued her. How heroic.'
'Actually, she pretty much rescued us.'
The dark woman dismissed the issue with a waft of her hand. 'So, why all the secrecy? What were you two whispering so quietly about?'
He sighed, feeling suddenly weary to his bones. 'Tillalia, there is no bloody secret. The girl has some problems. I've nothing better to do, so I'm simply helping her a little. That's all.'
'No secret.' She scoffed. 'Where there is a mysterious girl, there is always a secret.'
'Believe what you will. Tell me, did you happen to notice any Whitecloaks prancing around?'
'A few.' Her dark eyes glinted. 'They look rather handsome in all that shimmering steel, don't you think? Have you ever thought about introducing armour to your lot?'
He ignored that. 'Did they look suspicious?'
'We had a few glances. Admiring ones, mostly. Apart from that.' She gave a dainty shrug.
'Does the word 'Farwell' mean anything to you?'
'My, my, aren't we full of questions. And I thought you only came over here for the pleasure of my company.' A laugh shivered the air at his scowl. 'Oh, very well. Farwell, you say?' Tillalia tapped a ruby clasped finger on her smooth cheek. 'No, I don't recognise that name. Is it a place?'
His frown deepened. 'I don't know. I was hoping you could have told me.'
'I'm guessing that this Farwell is all part of the girl's mysterious past?' She shook her head at his silence. 'Be wary, Mat. Of the girl, I mean. Her type draws willing hearts as blood draws bitemes.'
'What is that supposed to mean?'
'Show a man a pair of big, innocent eyes, and he will all but fall over himself to help the girl behind them. And that girl has just about the most innocent eyes I've ever seen. Have a care, dearest. She's either very clever, or dangerously naïve. Perhaps both.'
'What is it with you women? Always sizing one another like cats in an Ebou Dar kitchen. Besides, you have no reason to worry. Yours are just about the prettiest eyes I've ever seen.'
Her hand reached to pat his cheek. 'Such a nice boy. But heed my advice, Mat. Be wary. Don't let her get too close. And don't lead her to believe that you have any interest in her other than simple kindness.'
'Why, Tillalia. I do believe you are jealous.'
Her shimmering laugh never failed to make him smile. 'I have no time for jealousy, dearheart. There is simply too little time and too many good-looking men for that sort of thing. That terribly pretty blonde fellow, for example.'
Mat gave a discreet cough. 'You might want to consider your attentions there. He seems to have more than a passing interest in our Mai.'
'I thought as much.' Her full lips formed a charming pout. 'Such a shame. It's obvious she has no time for him.'
'Why do you say that?'
Tillalia gave an exasperated little shake of her head. 'Never mind. Oh, and please can you ask the men to refrain from filling the girls head with ludicrous stories.'
'You mean any stories involving swords and heroics.'
'Exactly. Some of the younger ones are rather…. susceptible to ridiculous fantasies of men armed with steel and very little brain. I wouldn't want to lose any to a rogue elopement.'
'It shall be as you command.' He grinned at her. 'Sorry, I'll have a word with them.'
'Good.' Her eyes turned smoky as she gazed at him through thick lashes. 'Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall a time when you promised to tell me how you became leader of this army.'
'It's a very long story.'
A slender finger rose to lightly trace his cheek. 'I think you'll find that I can be very attentive.'
'I don't doubt it. But I have things to do.' He lifted her slender wrist to his lips. 'Maybe I can tell you later.'
'Then I shall have to put my time to other use.' Her pout faded to a thoughtful look 'Perhaps I should spend a little time with your doe eyed healer.'
'Now why would you want to do that?'
'She looks like she could do with a little female frippery. Besides, drabness really irritates me.'
'I had noticed.' He stuffed a hand into his pocket. 'Here, take this.'
Tillalia blinked at the small coil of ribbon curled in her palm. 'Why, thank you, Mat. But my tastes are usually a little more expensive.'
'It's for the girl.' He scowled at her arched eyebrow. 'I bought it by accident. Might as well find some use for it.'
'Mark my words, Mat. Be careful.'
He backed away from her before flourishing a dramatic bow. 'When am I not?'
****Oo****
'There you are.'
Mai strode towards the figure hunched cross-legged on the ground. 'I've been looking for you everywhere' She stood before him, fists planted on her hips. 'Where did you go? Shouldn't you be going all cross-eyed over those tinker people like the rest of them?'
She bit her lip as soon as the words left her. She had thought that her prolonged walk had succeeded in tempering her pique. Evidently, she had been wrong. Cal, however, did not look up.
'As you can see, I came here. And no, I'm not particularly excited. After a while, one vapid tinker looks very much the same as another.'
As she sat, Mai had the curious impression that he was leaning away from her. She shifted a little, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Cal was running a whetstone over a narrow blade. It was unlike any sword that Mai had seen. Where she had before seen only a plain cross hilt there was an elaborate morass of slivery metal, and the blades length was so slender that it seemed almost whip-like. It was beautifully elegant, but she could not imagine that it would do much damage against a determined opponent. 'What is that?'
Cal lifted the blade before him, tilted it experimentally in the light. 'Well, I'd say it looks rather like a sword, wouldn't you?'
Mai recoiled as effectively as if she had been slapped. His tone was scathing, as bitter as Stayroot. She had never heard Cal speak to her in such a way, had never thought him possible of such spite. She hugged her knees to her chest.
'It's very delicate.' Was all she could muster.
'Really.'
She swallowed against the hurt welling in her throat. 'Yes. It looks almost…. fragile, don't you think?'
Cal did not even dignify that with a response.
Unable to tolerate this cold, cruel replica of the Cal she knew, Mai rose to her feet. 'I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll leave you alone.'
She sensed him rise to his feet. Turning slowly, Mai saw that his eyes were finally upon her, their dark blue depths cold and inscrutable behind the edge of the blade.
'Don't move.'
Mai gasped as the sword suddenly whipped through the air, slicing past her face, her limbs, her torso. Cal's hand was a blur, but the sword seemed to vanish, so quickly did it shear past, only visible when the slender blade flickered in the sun, dizzying her with slices of white light. It was too swift for her eyes to follow, so she squeezed them shut and held her breath, flinching at every whip of sound and breath of movement. The keen edge danced about her like a living thing, mocking her fear. She felt something flick a lock of her hair, and almost cried out. Then it stopped.
'Not so fragile, after all. Appearances can be so deceptive, wouldn't you agree?'
Her eyes flew open to see Cal standing before her, the blade once again held before his face, as though in salute. His blue gaze was reflected in the etched steel, giving it an icy sheen. She had a moment to study this vision of indifference before he lunged. This time, she did cry out, screamed as the narrow blade tip jolted her shoulder. Muscles thrumming, Mai froze, waiting for the hot runnel of blood to slither down her flesh and pain to roar through her body.
The blade floated before her like a solid vein of light. She narrowed her blurred eyes at the mite of movement speared on the tip of that cruel steel; squirming uselessly on the point of the sword was what looked like a hairy, wriggling slug.
'Bane caterpillar.' Flourishing the blade with a practised flick, Cal flung the insect from the sword. He glanced at the creature as it writhed feebly in the dirt, his gaze as dismissive of the small animal as it had been of her only moments before. 'They have a nasty bite.'
Mai's legs felt like they would collapse beneath her. She stiffened her knees as she watched the insect squirm at Cal's feet. 'I'm sorry I've have been such an unwelcome interruption.' Her voice sounded weak, pathetic. 'I shall leave you to…'
She whirled and hurried away, unable to make the words come. She even managed to master the tears until she rounded the tree. Mai pressed her face to her sleeve, but the burning tears were unstoppable. First that Tillalia woman had smirked at her like she was something under her silk shod foot, then Mat was too distracted by the horrid woman to tell her about his visit with Nath, and now Cal was acting like she was nothing more than a nuisance to him. And she had felt so glorious this morning. So ridiculously happy. Now she simply felt dreadful.
'You know, some women can weep, and look all the lovelier for it.'
Mai swiped the tears with a trembling hand as Tillalia approached, gliding over the ground like some stupid, overgrown swan. Her face felt hot and feverish, but the delicate fingers that tilted her chin were blessedly cool.
Those large, depthless eyes now regarded her with soft concern. 'You are not one of them, my child. If you must insist on bawling in such a dreadful fashion, try and make it brief. Skin as fair as yours gets terribly blotchy.'
Mai stood dumb as she watched the woman fish a fussy handkerchief from her sleeve.
'Here.'
Mai obediently dabbed at her cheeks.
'That's a little better. I'm supposed to make you presentable, but I doubt I have a dress pattern to match that gruesome mottled colour you were turning.'
Against her deepest misgivings, Mai gave a watery smile.
'There, now. You look almost human again' She linked her arm through Mai's. 'Come. Let us find something to dazzle them tonight.'
'Tonight?' She failed to quell a hitching sob. 'No, I don't think I -- '
She squeaked as a deceptively strong hand grasped her forearm. 'My dear child, you shall be there. Even if I have to drag you myself.'