‘The Source?’
‘Our secret weapon?’ She had to bite back her cynicism, lest she negate her last little speech. ‘It’s not proving fantastically helpful at the moment. But it has come up with some interesting facts.’ There was no need to burden him with horror stories about the Founders. ‘Again, I’ll tell you later.’ Assuming there would be a later.
‘Something else worries me.’
‘Haven’t you got enough to be going on with?’
‘Seriously. I wonder what I’d do if it came to me being all that stood between Tan and the kids and those invaders. What price my pacifism then? How would I be able to protect them? Then I think about how I’m leaving the fighting to others, and feel perhaps I’m just a coward after all.’ He bowed his head.
She stretched a hand to his chin and gently lifted his head again. ‘That’s between you and your conscience, Kinsel. I know what I’d do in that situation, but you and I have a slightly different way of looking at the world. And you’re no coward. I couldn’t do what you do. That turning the other cheek stuff takes a lot more self-discipline than I’ve got. Does that make either of us a coward?’
He gave a mild smile in gratitude. ‘We’ll have to hope that the enemy behave honourably and are merciful towards women and children.’
‘I’m sure they will be, if it comes to that.’ She thought it would be nice to believe that herself. ‘Kinsel, time’s pressing. Can I see Tan?’
‘Yes, of course you can.’ He stood aside to let her in.
As before, Tanalvah was in her bed. Her appearance wasn’t greatly improved from the last time Serrah had seen her. She still had a pasty, unhealthy pallor, and her breathing was shallow to the point of improbability. Her eyes were closed. In the room’s meagre light, she could have passed for a corpse.
There was no sign of the children. Serrah assumed they were behind the closed door of the adjoining room, hopefully sleeping.
Sensing Kinsel and Serrah’s presence before they made a sound, Tanalvah opened her eyes. There were unmistakable embers of pain in them, but she smiled at Kinsel.
‘I seem to spend my life asking this,’ Serrah said, ‘but how are you, Tan?’
‘I’m going to be better,’ she replied. It came out with a decisiveness she hadn’t shown for a long time.
‘That’s the spirit, my love,’ Kinsel approved.
‘I’m going to be better once I’ve made a clean breast and begged forgiveness.’
‘Iparrater doesn’t need you to beg,’ Serrah replied, taking it as a reference to Tanalvah’s faith. ‘You’ve often said yourself she’s a benign god.’
‘I’ve made my peace with her. I’m content with whatever punishment she sees fit to inflict on me. No, I’m thinking of more worldly forgiveness.’
‘You’ve done nothing to be forgiven for. If you’re referring to your old profession, well, you hardly had a choice about that, did you? Come on, Tan. A child’s birth should be a joyous time, whatever else is going on in this crazy world.’
‘It will be joyful to me if my child isn’t born in my sin. Which is why I must make my confession and-’
‘Tan? Tan.’
Tanalvah’s face twisted, her body writhing in agony.
Kinsel peered at her, anxious. ‘My love?’
‘It’s…time.’ Tanalvah said it through clenched teeth. Another shudder wracked her.
‘She’s right,’ Serrah reckoned. ‘Those are contractions.’
‘We need a healer.’ He looked distraught.
‘They’re all busy.’
‘Then we have to do it. Serrah, you-’
‘Because I’m a woman I have to be an expert midwife, is that it?’
‘Who else does she have but us?’
‘Oh, shit.’ Serrah felt a little ashamed, as well as fearful. She really wanted to get back to Reeth. And if she was being totally honest, given the ramp still coursing through her veins, the action. ‘Bring hot water and towels,’ she said. As he moved off, she called, ‘And keep the kids out of here!’
‘Good odds,’ Caldason said, his gaze flicking from the paladin to the meld and the young officer.
‘They’re under orders to leave this to me,’ Bastorran told him.
‘Ah. I meant only the three of you. Good odds.’
‘I’m going to enjoy shutting that mouth of yours so much.’
‘Then perhaps it’s time you stopped flapping yours and got on with it.’
Kutch was still gawping at the uniformed stranger, and Wendah was staring perplexedly at him.
Bastorran took the lure and came at Reeth, sword swinging. Their blades collided, giving off a peal that echoed through the empty stable.
The opening rash of strokes and counterstrokes should have determined top dog. Instead it showed there was little between them in terms of prowess. But that initial few seconds reminded Reeth of something he had observed the last time they met. Their skills might be more or less equally matched, but their fighting styles differed. Like all paladins, Bastorran had been trained in the classical tradition. Caldason was more of a street fighter. He put a greater emphasis on instinct, and less on standard combinations and textbook passes.
Not that classical meant fair. Fencing as the paladin employed it was no less ruthless in intent than the actions of the lowliest back alley vagabond. Bastorran may have wielded his blade with grace, even a certain elegance, but still the object was to drive steel into his opponent’s gut.
‘Not so easy this time, is it, Caldason?’ he mocked. ‘No speeding wagons to hurl your victim from. No gangs of traitors to spirit you away.’
‘Whereas you’ve only brought a pair of back-ups. Or should that be three, counting the grotesque?’ Caldason nodded at Kordenza. The meld, acting as a lookout at the door, glared back.
Bastorran went on the attack again. They slashed at each other, probing defences, seeking a breach. But the intensity of their blows was rising in direct inverse ratio to the speed at which they moved. Most duels were short, intense affairs, settled quickly in passion. When two swordsmen of like stature met, stamina was often the deciding factor.
Wanting to avoid the descent into a messy slog, Caldason put on a spurt in hope of finishing things. Bastorran tried to match him, and for the first time looked to be faltering.
As they battled, Caldason shot a glance at the unnamed officer, who remained to one side, motionless, as though a mere bystander. His function was presumably to prevent Kutch or Wendah joining the fight, though he had no blade drawn. In fact, Caldason thought he saw him wink at Kutch, but realised that was absurd.
Now a fresh burst of energy infused their clash and it turned frantic again. Thrusts and parries, blows delivered and offset. The pace was feverish. Neither man would relent, but there was no disguising Bastorran’s growing uncertainty. He seemed to struggle just that little bit more to drive home his strikes. Blocking Caldason’s passes seemed just as much of an effort.
Despite his boast that he would take Caldason alone, the reality was proving too taxing for the Clan High Chief. His eyes conveyed as much, and the signals were directed at his aide and Kordenza.
The gestures were subtle, but Kutch picked them up. The young officer remained immobile, giving no hint that he’d comprehended his master’s tacit summons. In any event, Kutch no longer seemed interested in him. His covert attention was on Aphri Kordenza. The meld had understood Bastorran’s command, and was readying herself for a move.
Kutch was nearest to her. When she transferred her weight from foot to foot, presumably limbering before action, he noticed something strange. As one foot lifted slightly from the floor, there was a glow from under her heel. It was a distinct purplish light, and it appeared, bizarrely, to have the characteristics of a gummy substance. Strands of incandescence linked foot and ground for a second, like miniscule lightning bolts.