When it was full she sealed the vein with healing magery, then had to put the cup down smartly, before she dropped it. Her head was spinning; she was hot and cold, sweaty, faint. She sat on the bed, supporting herself with her arms, until the faintness passed.
Tali took up the knife again. She had to do it now. This was the part she had been dreading, the very worst. This time she would be using the blade, not the point.
Tobry’s chest was relatively smooth, which surprised her. She’d expected a coating of downy caitsthe fur, but perhaps his cocktail of potions prevented the fur growth. She reached out to touch his chest, to stroke it, then came to her senses. Do it now!
The blade opened a smooth cut from one side of his chest to the other with almost no resistance. A terrible, appalling cut. Blood followed the blade; far more than she had expected. Tali started to panic. Quickly now. She poured the whole cup of her blood onto his chest, along the deep, spreading cut, then began to rub it in.
She was so concerned to get the shameful business over as quickly as possible that she did not notice the sudden rigidity of Tobry’s muscles or the hooking of his fingers. He made a moaning noise deep in his throat. His eyes fluttered under his lids, as though in panic or terror. She sensed that he was trying to wake, but could not overcome the effects of the sleeping draught. Just as well; she still had most of her blood to rub into him.
His eyes shot open, and they were the golden colour of a caitsthe’s eyes. But he hadn’t shifted yet. The blood was still running out of him, mingling with her blood which now covered most of his chest. Then, in an instant, down was forming all over him, his fingertips curving and extending into claws, his teeth elongating into fangs.
She had to work faster. Tali ran her fingers along the gash, but now he was shifting too fast for her. He jackknifed up in the bed, blood spattering her clothes and her arms. A backhanded blow drove her three feet across the room, stumbling backwards, her arms windmilling as she struggled to stay on her feet.
He leapt up, now caitsthe-tall, towering over her. Then he went for her, snapping and snarling, and the shifter madness was terrifying. He was many times as strong as her. Too late she understood what he had been trying to tell her before; why he had kept her at bay.
When Tobry was in this state, she was just meat to him.
She scrambled away, trying to get to the door, but the shifter leapt past her and put his back to it. His claws extended; he growled low in his throat. Where was the knife? It must have fallen down; she could not see it anywhere.
She had no means of defence. He was going to tear her apart and feed on her, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She ducked sideways, knowing it was hopeless. He came after her. He opened his maw to its fullest extent -
The door was thrust open violently, pushing Tobry forwards, then Holm leapt into the room, carrying a wooden mallet. As Tobry whirled, Holm struck him hard on the right temple. Tobry fell backwards and lay there, his claws scoring the flagstone floor. He was dazed, but not knocked out.
Tali stood there, gasping. It had happened so fast that she hadn’t taken it all in.
“Out of my way!” cried Holm.
He shoved Tali aside and ran to the potion bottles. He poured a dose from each into Tobry’s open mouth, one after another, then held his nose until he swallowed. Tobry’s eyes closed; he began to revert to his human form, though far more slowly than he had shifted to a caitsthe.
Holm turned to Tali, livid with fury. “You imbecile, you’ve got his blood all over you. Do you want to be turned as well — to suffer his fate?”
“No,” she whispered. Not at any price.
Holm dragged her down the hall into the bathhouse. “Strip! Be quick! Into the tub.”
She tore off her clothes, numbly, unable to think, then dragged herself over the side into the square wooden tub. Holm collected her bloody clothes, avoiding the stained areas, and tossed them onto the embers in the fire box under the great coppers used for heating water. He filled two buckets from the nearest copper and thumped them down beside the tub. “I’ll pour. You scrub.”
She took up a rough sea sponge and some hard yellow soap, and Holm poured the warm contents of the first bucket over her head. Tali scrubbed until all the blood on her front was gone.
“Again!” He poured the other bucket.
He fetched more water and she scrubbed herself again and again, until she stung all over and felt sure she had no skin left. He collected the sponges, tossed them onto the embers as well and washed his hands, three times.
Tali stood there, naked, trembling. He inspected her clinically, nodded, then took off his coat and wrapped it around her.
“How did you know?” she whispered.
“A good healer always knows how much is in his potion bottles.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not sorry enough! Now get out of my sight!”
“Please, let me explain.”
“Save your breath. You’re going to need it when you confess to Rix in the morning.”
“Do I have to…?”
“He’s the master of this fortress. Of course he has to know. No… more… secrets!”
She stumbled to her cold bed and lay there, replaying the terrible scene. Confessing her folly to Rix in the morning was going to be bad enough.
But how could she ever look Tobry in the eye again?
CHAPTER 64
Neither Holm nor Tali had seen the majestic figure with the tangled mane of hair, hiding in the shadows beyond the black hole. Nor did they see her in the dark on the far side of the bathhouse, but she saw everything. Blathy waited until they were gone, then slipped upstairs, barefooted and silent. She roused Porfry and her other co-conspirators, and told them of the latest depravity.
“This cannot be borne for another day,” she said, hissing between her strong white teeth. “We have to do it now, this very night.”
“But the enemy are outside.”
“I don’t care!” snarled Blathy. “It’s got to be done.”
“All right, but not yet,” said Porfry. “Sometimes the lord isn’t in bed ’til three.”
“The lord’s throat is reserved for my knife,” said Blathy savagely. “He killed my man. We’ll do it as the clock strikes five. They’ll all be sleeping soundly by then. You lot can carve the slut and the old man, then bleed Swelt like the fat old pig he is. He won’t give you any trouble. Do the maidservant Glynnie after that, then Nuddell, and the other twenty we have on our list as cleaving to them and their foul, foreign ways.”
She inspected the mutineers, one by one. They nodded their agreement to the plan.
“When all is done,” said Blathy, “we’ll take the lord’s treasury and slip out the secret way, into the forest and be gone. And the enemy can burn Garramide to the ground for all I care.”
Blathy licked the blade of her knife, spat blood onto her palm, then slid out the door and headed upstairs to await the fifth hour. She was bleeding, bleeding for vengeance.
CHAPTER 65
Neither could Rix sleep that night. The reappearance of the mural had so unnerved him that he had returned to the observatory to scrape off all the white paint. He then chiselled away the painted stone until all trace of the mural was gone.
What would the morrow bring? The bloody end of Garramide, most likely. He looked over the edge. His guards were on duty in the sentry boxes on the towers, and further out the enemy’s campfires were blazing. All was still. What were they waiting for? More reinforcements?
He directed his lantern beam to illuminate the wall, drank some wine, dozed in his heavy coat, woke and had another glass, dozed again. The hours passed. It must have been 4 a.m. by now, the darkest time before the dawn, not that there was any difference in the winter night here, with the sky so overcast and the snow falling.