"Pity. Games are so diverting."
"Do you really think so?" Jonathan asked. His thoughts were on Tereza and the missing children. "I find games a waste of precious time."
"Ah, yes, you have people lost outside. Time is precious to them. How many hours until dawn? Can they survive on the streets that long?"
Jonathan turned away from him. He couldn't face the bard's mocking face. He didn't think the man was being purposefully cruel, but it amounted to the same thing.
"Harkon," LeBec said, "you are being thoughtless."
His face crumbled into sorrow, his graceful hand touching his heart. "Oh, I am so sorry. I am not merely thoughtless, but cruel. I am already thinking of the song I shall write when they come safely back, having survived the night running from a horde of the dead." He smiled. "They will tell me of their brave exploits when they come through that door."
Jonathan studied the bard's face. He couldn't tell if he were being teased or if the man just had a peculiar sense of humor. Was he trying to comfort Jonathan with such childish tales? The twins were not coming through that door or any other, not alive.
"I am sure if they return they will be most happy to regale you with their night."
"Especially Blaine," Thordin said. He'd been quietly leaning against the opposite wall. Now he walked to the center of the room to stand near Jonathan. "Blaine loves a good brag."
Jonathan nodded. "Yes, he does."
"Then I will give him the chance to brag to a bard, something all of Kartakass longs to do."
"Do they?" Jonathan said. "I do not. I stand by my earlier statement. Bards collect the facts but never quite get them right. I have heard stories of my own exploits where only my name remained unchanged."
"Simon, I believe he accuses us of being liars." He stared at Jonathan, taking two strides to bring them nearly touching. His quick, dark eyes flitted here and there over Jonathan's face as if he would memorize every line of it.
"Enough, Harkon. Leave our guests be. They have people they worry about."
"And well they should," Harkon said. He spoke directly to Jonathan's face from inches away. "I am writing a song about the dead of Cortton, mage-finder. The dead of Cortton are not just murderous, they are hungry."
Jonathan could not speak. It was Thordin who asked, "What do you mean, bard?"
Harkon Lukas never glanced away; he stared straight into Jonathan's eyes. "The dead feast upon the living. That is how they kill, with naked hands and teeth."
Thordin pushed Lukas backward. The bard stumbled, but did not fall.
"Either you are a fool, or you are taunting us," Thordin said. "If it is the latter, we can settle it with cold steel. There is room enough to fight right here."
The bard gave a surprised bark of laughter. "A duel? You challenge me to a duel?"
"Unless you admit to being a loose-tongued fool, yes, I challenge you."
Jonathan knew he should stop this, but he couldn't. He'd seen the bite wound in Averil's neck, Tereza's arm. The thought of that happening to Elaine and Blaine, of them being torn apart piece by bloody piece, mouthful by screaming mouthful. . the image was thick and red and worse than anything else he could have imagined..
Harkon Lukas laughed again. "I am a fool, sir warrior, a loose-tongued fool. An occupational hazard, I fear." His laughter echoed off the stone walls, rising to the high-beamed ceiling. Jonathan fought the urge to hit him, to stop that cheerful sound. His mind was full of horrors that the bard had put there. He shouldn't be laughing.
"If you cannot hold a civil tongue, then leave us," Jonathan said.
The laughter trickled down and faded. That strange, unreadable look was back on Lukas's face. "My deepest apologies." He gave a low, sweeping bow, hat plumes gliding over the floor. It was the same bow he'd used to usher them through the door.
Jonathan watched the bard give his theatrical apology and didn't believe a word of it. He had meant to upset them. Jonathan wasn't sure why, but he knew it was true. Regardless of motive, Jonathan hated Harkon Lukas. It was one thing to believe the twins dead, but eaten alive. . The thought made the hours until dawn a creeping, agonizing thing. He had Harkon Lukas to thank for that. Jonathan intended to see that the bard got his just rewards. If it was within the mage-finder's powers to make one bard's life miserable, Jonathan would do it.
It was petty, and he hugged the thought to him like a prayer. He would torment Harkon Lukas for tormenting him now. It was cold comfort, but the mage-finder was willing to take any comfort at all on this long, eternally long night.
TWENTY-THREE
Harkon Lukas paced up the stairs like an angry cat. He swatted his hat against his leg as he climbed, beating it in time to his frustration.
Ambrose knew. He knew. Harkon was not sure how much he knew, but he was not the innocent Harkon had thought him. He had invited them here to taunt them. He could have simply captured Kon-rad Burn, but no, he, Harkon Lukas, had to play games. His own arrogance amazed him. Had he really thought the brotherhood's most visible member was a complete fool?
Harkon nodded to himself. Yes, he had thought just that. He had never been terribly impressed with this brotherhood before. But Ambrose's eyes had held a taunting knowledge. Had Ambrose come here to join in the game? Not an innocent lured to cure some magical plague, but a brother aware that the true heart of all evil in Kartakass was in this town. Surely if the mage-finder had known that he, Harkon Lukas, was the heart of evil, there would be more of the brotherhood in Cortton. There would be a great hunt, and he would be the prey.
No, Ambrose suspected, but he was not sure. But how close was the mage-finder to being sure? Harkon still could hardly believe he had had to save them. He had had to open the inn door. The foolish villagers would have let their potential saviors die. He had thought that saving them would put him in their good graces, but the look in Ambrose's eyes said clearly that he didn't trust the bard as far as the next room.
Harkon liked a suspicious man, or at least respected the trait. But now, he could have done without it.
Konrad Burn stepped out of the righthand room. He smelled of herbs and salves. He glanced up, nodding at Lukas.
Harkon stopped at the head of the stairs to ask, "How is the young woman?"
Konrad closed the door firmly behind him and walked to Harkon, putting distance between himself and the room. He appeared not to want to be overheard; the news would be grave.
"She is not well." Konrad moved past him to go downstairs.
Harkon grabbed his upper arm. He liked holding the strong, muscled flesh. It was a good arm, and he would enjoying having it as his own. "Is it blood loss, or is the wound so terrible?"
Konrad looked down at the bard's hand. He stepped back, forcing Harkon to either release his hold or be obvious about it. It was not yet time to be so possessive. He released the man.
"She's lost a great deal of blood."
"But the doctor seemed to think she would survive if the blood loss did not kill her. You think otherwise?"
"I am sure your doctor is a good man, but I've seen more battle injuries than he has."
"You think she will die?"
Konrad frowned at him, his green eyes filling with anger. "I think that is not a question for idle curiosity, bard."
Harkon gave a small bow, graceful but not quite as sweeping as before. "You are quite right, Master Burn. I am a bard, and idle curiosity is a hazard of my profession." Still half bent over, he looked up at Konrad. "Of course if I am to sing of this deed, to immortalize her bravery, I need to know the facts." He straightened and found himself distressingly taller than Konrad Burn. He was a tall man and didn't like giving it up, but nothing was perfect.