scene had
been arranged, and by asking this question, he was playing into their hands.
"Because you
might do something foolish, when, given time and preparation you could do
something wise instead." So here it was: the proposal. Skillfully cast,
expertly baited. All that remained was for him to take the lure.
"So that's
why you brought me here," said Jack, "to do something wise?"
"No," said Rovas. "I brought you here to save your life. You know you would
have died trying to help the girl."
"And you
expect a favor for a favor?" Jack stood up. He was more than a match for
Rovas in height. "Well, I'm sorry, but you'll get no gratitude from
me."
Tarissa took a
speaking breath, but Rovas stopped her from using it. "I expect nothing
from you," he said. "You are free to go."
A silence
followed. Jack sensed that Tarissa was unhappy with Rovas' words. He knew better-Rovas
was still acting. The words were merely a dramatic feint. Like all things
hollow, they were more sound than substance.
"But,"
said Rovas, "I can't guarantee your safety once you leave this cottage.
You murdered a Halcus soldier and will be tracked and hunted like a blooded
stag."
"And you will
give them the scent?"
"Me, no.
Tarissa, I think I can speak for, and she wouldn't, either. But her
mother..." Rovas shook his head. "Magra has no love of anyone from
her former country. She is a bitter woman, and bitterness turns to spite when
long in the belly."
"I see that
the word free has little meaning when dropped from your lips." Jack wiped
his bloodied knuckles on his tunic.
Rovas watched him
carefully, his eyes flicking down to the blood. He was not oblivious to the
threat implied by Jack's action.
When he spoke
again, his tone was calming. "Stay here, and I promise that by the time
you come to leave, you will be better able to take care of yourself. Whether it
be evading the soldiers, or extracting revenge from their captain."
That was what
Rovas was after, Jack was sure of it. He wanted the captain murdered and needed
him to do it. He decided not to let Rovas know just how transparent he was
being. "You are right," he said. "I have need of training. You
saw only two days back that I have little skill with a blade. If I am to escape
from this country alive, then I must be able to defend myself."
"So you'll
stay?"
"As long as
it suits me."
The change in
Rovas' manner was overwhelming in its completeness. The huge man stepped
forward and embraced Jack. The smells of garlic and sword oil wafted from his
tunic. In the throes of the powerful and heavily scented embrace, Jack spied
Tarissa over Rovas' shoulder. The girl's face was as cool as ever, only now her
lips were drawn into a grudging smile. There was something familiar about her
features. Something known br remembered. Before he could grasp at what it was,
she turned and left.
They were drawing
close to the mountains, and the land, as if practicing for its great feat of
elevation, had begun to slope and fall. Baralis could not spy the peaks of the
Great Divide, for the clouds and the snow conspired to keep their heights
hidden. But he knew they were there. They called to him. Their ancient and
venerable songs, without words or music, carrying their messages to all who
could perceive them. In this modem world of metal plows and water clocks, that
number was not many.
Baralis could hear
them. The messages were an unconceited statement of might. A generous warning
from that which was without prejudice. Their songs told that they were a power
to be dealt with, and one crossed at one's own risk. A toll might be taken for
passage.
Bren lay on the
other side of the mountains. Baralis knew what kind of city it was. He knew the
turn of the streets. He'd seen the sparkle of water in its fountains. Bren was
a dangerous city. Dangerous in its pride. Its children were taught that Bren
was the most beautiful, the most pure, and the most powerful city in the Known
Lands. Not for them the festering passions of
been arranged, and by asking this question, he was playing into their hands.
"Because you
might do something foolish, when, given time and preparation you could do
something wise instead." So here it was: the proposal. Skillfully cast,
expertly baited. All that remained was for him to take the lure.
"So that's
why you brought me here," said Jack, "to do something wise?"
"No," said Rovas. "I brought you here to save your life. You know you would
have died trying to help the girl."
"And you
expect a favor for a favor?" Jack stood up. He was more than a match for
Rovas in height. "Well, I'm sorry, but you'll get no gratitude from
me."
Tarissa took a
speaking breath, but Rovas stopped her from using it. "I expect nothing
from you," he said. "You are free to go."
A silence
followed. Jack sensed that Tarissa was unhappy with Rovas' words. He knew better-Rovas
was still acting. The words were merely a dramatic feint. Like all things
hollow, they were more sound than substance.
"But,"
said Rovas, "I can't guarantee your safety once you leave this cottage.
You murdered a Halcus soldier and will be tracked and hunted like a blooded
stag."
"And you will
give them the scent?"
"Me, no.
Tarissa, I think I can speak for, and she wouldn't, either. But her
mother..." Rovas shook his head. "Magra has no love of anyone from
her former country. She is a bitter woman, and bitterness turns to spite when
long in the belly."
"I see that
the word free has little meaning when dropped from your lips." Jack wiped
his bloodied knuckles on his tunic.
Rovas watched him
carefully, his eyes flicking down to the blood. He was not oblivious to the
threat implied by Jack's action.
When he spoke
again, his tone was calming. "Stay here, and I promise that by the time
you come to leave, you will be better able to take care of yourself. Whether it
be evading the soldiers, or extracting revenge from their captain."
That was what
Rovas was after, Jack was sure of it. He wanted the captain murdered and needed
him to do it. He decided not to let Rovas know just how transparent he was
being. "You are right," he said. "I have need of training. You
saw only two days back that I have little skill with a blade. If I am to escape
from this country alive, then I must be able to defend myself."
"So you'll
stay?"
"As long as
it suits me."
The change in
Rovas' manner was overwhelming in its completeness. The huge man stepped
forward and embraced Jack. The smells of garlic and sword oil wafted from his
tunic. In the throes of the powerful and heavily scented embrace, Jack spied
Tarissa over Rovas' shoulder. The girl's face was as cool as ever, only now her
lips were drawn into a grudging smile. There was something familiar about her
features. Something known br remembered. Before he could grasp at what it was,
she turned and left.
They were drawing
close to the mountains, and the land, as if practicing for its great feat of
elevation, had begun to slope and fall. Baralis could not spy the peaks of the
Great Divide, for the clouds and the snow conspired to keep their heights
hidden. But he knew they were there. They called to him. Their ancient and
venerable songs, without words or music, carrying their messages to all who
could perceive them. In this modem world of metal plows and water clocks, that
number was not many.
Baralis could hear
them. The messages were an unconceited statement of might. A generous warning
from that which was without prejudice. Their songs told that they were a power
to be dealt with, and one crossed at one's own risk. A toll might be taken for
passage.
Bren lay on the
other side of the mountains. Baralis knew what kind of city it was. He knew the
turn of the streets. He'd seen the sparkle of water in its fountains. Bren was
a dangerous city. Dangerous in its pride. Its children were taught that Bren
was the most beautiful, the most pure, and the most powerful city in the Known
Lands. Not for them the festering passions of
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