And then that damn horse let out another loud, self-pitying neigh.
I really wanted to split her equine skull with one blow, but I stuck with my training. I scooted to the wall beside the window and peered around the edge. Another horse, this one dark brown, appeared around the boulder. Its rider was hidden beneath a hooded cloak designed to blend in with the forest greenery below, less useful here among the scraggly mountain flora. Behind him came my horse, led by the reins far more complacently than she’d have let me do it. It made me hate her that much more.
I ducked out of sight and heard the man dismount. He did not walk away from his horse, though. I’d made no effort to hide my tracks, so if he was halfway observant he’d spot my boot prints in the dirt outside the door. I listened more closely, trying to separate stealthy human noises from the sighing wind and my own thundering heart. Was that the sound of a sword being drawn, expertly and quietly, from its scabbard? Did I hear a stealthy foot crunch very slightly on the rough ground outside the door?
The man kicked the door open, and it slammed back against the wall with a loud crash. Sunlight shot through the opening and would’ve blinded anyone who didn’t expect it. He’d removed his cloak and, when he rushed in, he threw it to one side to confuse potential ambushers.
He didn’t see me against the wall beside the door. I stepped forward and kicked him hard in the small of the back. It knocked him across the room into the table. He spun around, his sword slashing at the air behind him. Nothing wrong with his reflexes, that’s for sure.
I blocked his next backhand with my sword, locked our blades together and stepped too close for either of us to do anything. “This doesn’t have to get messy,” I said. “I just want some answers.”
The man said nothing. He was under thirty, with short black hair and a thin ribbon of beard and mustache. His eyes were wide and dark, with no visible feeling. A young hotshot thug, on the way up.
He tried to muscle his sword past me, but I had them wedged together in a way that took little effort to maintain. Surprise flicked across his face as he realized it.
“What do you say?” I said. “Shall we put these down and talk? There’s money in it for you.”
His jaw muscles trembled with the effort to wrench his weapon free, but he made no sound. Then suddenly he quit struggling entirely, and I fell for it. He yanked his sword away and rolled around the edge of the table, putting the furniture between us. The ceiling was so low he couldn’t manage a vertical killing blow at my exposed neck, but I barely got my sword up to block his horizontal slice. My parry drove the edge of his blade into the table’s wood, where it bit solid. In the moment it took him to twist it loose I’d dropped my own sword, scrambled over the table and hit him hard right between the eyes.
I felt the impact into my shoulder and down my spine, and the sensation of finally having someone to actually punch overwhelmed me. As he staggered from the first blow, I grabbed the front of his tunic with my left hand and punched him again, across the jaw. When I released him he stumbled back into the wall but kept to his feet. I jabbed my left fist into his kidneys. He grunted, the first noise he’d made, and fell to one knee. Either I’d lost my touch or this guy was really, really tough. I got my answer when he suddenly drove a punch that felt like an anvil into my stomach.
If he’d connected with my sternum it might’ve knocked the wind from me, but as it was I stumbled across the room, off-balance but not really hurt. I fell over one of the spindly chairs and when I looked up he was leaping over it, boots aimed at my face. I rolled aside and he hit the floor with a thud that made me glad I wasn’t under it.
I picked up the fallen chair and used it to drive him back against the wall. While I tried to pin him with my weight, I punched him again in the face. It had no real effect except to make my hand hurt. “Will you stop it?” I yelled, my voice tight from his gut punch. “I just want to talk to you!”
He braced against the wall and easily shoved me back. He grabbed the chair away from me and threw it out a window. Blood ran from his nose, the only real sign I’d had that he was a human being. He swung at me, but I dodged it and backed away. He kept after me, breath hissing through his teeth and spraying out bloody spittle.
I skidded in the dregs of tacky blood beneath the manacles. The sudden recollection that it belonged to Laura refreshed my temper, and I ducked under his next swing to drive a punch with all my weight, strength and fury into his side. I felt something solid give way and heard a wet, muffled snap. He made an “ Oof! ” sound and fell to his knees.
I stayed out of arm’s reach as he cradled his side and gasped. When he looked at me, his eyes showed his agony. I punched him again in the temple. My knuckles would hate me tomorrow, but for the moment I felt completely righteous. I hit him again, but it was wasted because he was already out from the last one. All this one did was knock him over.
As soon as he hit the floor my own head spun, and I grabbed for the nearest wall. The back of my skull throbbed anew, and pain wrenched at my ribs. If he woke up now, I was a goner, but he didn’t move. I waited until my vision cleared, the agony faded and I could again think straight. Guess I wasn’t as recovered as I thought.
I checked out his boots. They were expensive, but sported no designs. I quickly went through his pockets, making sure he had no hidden weapons. Then I stumbled over to the remaining chair and heavily sat down. I didn’t think I was high enough for the air to be really thin, but the only other option was that I was getting older, and I knew it couldn’t be that. I gulped big lungfuls and wondered just what I’d do with the unconscious man on the floor. I couldn’t take him back to Gary Bunson in town; it wasn’t his jurisdiction, and as far as he knew the guy had committed no crime. Hell, I was the one trespassing.
Then I remembered the manacles.
SIX
I slapped him lightly across the face until he whimpered like a whiny child and opened his eyes. Then I stepped back and let him figure it out for himself.
He tried to move, realized his arms were pinned above his head and that his feet only barely touched the ground. He struggled slowly, his body pivoting on his wrists as his boots scraped the floor. As he awoke more he fought harder, gasping at the pain from his ribs. Then he comprehended, and froze. He dangled from the manacles that once held Laura Lesperitt, and looked slowly around until he saw me seated nonchalantly on the windowsill opposite him.
“Welcome back, tough guy,” I said.
He said nothing. The only sound was the beam above him creaking from his weight. Wind blew through the windows and ruffled his hair.
“Don’t know if you remember me,” I said, “but I lay on the floor here while you and your buddies tortured a girl to death right where you’re hanging. Don’t bother denying it; I know it was you.” I held up the knife I’d gotten from Bella Lou. “One of you had this same design on your boots.”
He said nothing, but the hate in his glare was a little diminished by fear.
I turned the knife like I was unfamiliar with how to handle it. “Now the thing is, I want to know some things, and I’m not real picky about how I find them out. Given the way you treated that girl, I’m sure you can appreciate that. But I’m a fair guy, so I’m going to give you a chance here. Who are you, and what did you want to find out from her that was so important?”
He said nothing. His face was red from pain, except for the white around his lips from gritting his teeth.
I shrugged. “Okay, then. I suppose I’ll just have to have a little target practice until you become chattier.” I grinned and turned the knife so the blade caught the light. “Always meant to learn how to throw one of these,” I said, then threw it expertly right at him.