“With whom?” he asked, startled.
“That Trew woman. I know her. Brinda has warned me that she is an untrustworthy wench.”
“We were not ‘flirting,’ ” retorted the slave king stiffly. “She was kind to me when I was first brought to the Posting House. She merely asked how my life has progressed since then.”
“Oh? What did you tell her?”
Strongwind bowed deferentially. “I explained that I had been assigned to the house of a great noblewoman and that I was bringing fish from the market-and just then I was accosted.”
“That Grenadier? Why did he attack you?”
“Because I punched him, Lady, on the day I was brought off the ship. He was a bully, and he made me angry.”
She looked at him slyly, her lips pursed as she considered his words. “I was warned that you could be dangerous. Would you ever dare to strike me?”
“No, I wouldn’t. You are not a bully,” Strongwind replied, realizing to his surprise that he was speaking the truth.
She smiled, apparently pleased with his words, and let the chain hang slackly for the rest of their descent. Soon they reached the Terrace Level, and ten minutes later they turned down the street leading away from the Promenade. Whale oil lamps, as always, kept the avenue brightly lit, though it seemed to Strongwind that there were fewer pedestrians about than would usually be found here during the middle of the day.
Thraid’s apartment was at the far end of this street. He had noted before that the lady’s chambers abutted the mountainside at the periphery of Winterheim’s hollow core-she had mentioned once that this helped to ensure her privacy as well as eliminate the problem of noisy neighbors.
Bearing his fish-load into that courtyard, still trailing the ogress, Strongwind was thinking about nothing so much as a cold glass of water, about putting down the load and catching his breath. He was taken by surprise when two large ogres, both dressed in the scarlet livery of the King’s Grenadiers, accosted them before the apartment’s front door.
“Mistress Thraid, welcome,” said one, with a deep bow.
“I thank you, but why-?” Abruptly a flush came to the ogress’s round cheeks, and she pressed a hand to her lips. “Oh my!” she declared. Quickly she stepped between the two guards, pushed open the door, and vanished into the apartment. His leash left dangling, Strongwind made to follow.
“Where you goin’, slave?” demanded one of the grenadiers, placing a rough hand on Strongwind’s shoulder, stopping him in mid-step.
“This is the house of my mistress,” he replied levelly. “I am on an errand for the Lady Thraid.”
“Yeah? Well, she’s got a different errand now fer herself.”
“What should we do with ’im?” hissed the other guard.
“Oh, he can’t go far. You just find somethin’ else to do, and come back in …” The ogre looked at his companion, who winked and grinned.
“Better make it two hours,” said the first guard, with a deep chuckle of amusement.
“Very well,” Strongwind said, puzzled-until, in a flash, he understood the guard’s odd grin. “I will leave this fish here and return later.”
The guards nodded carelessly, moving back into the shadows where they couldn’t be seen by the few passersby who came back this far from the promenade. Strongwind Whalebone turned his back and sauntered away until soon he was around the corner and out of view. There he found a small alcove in the side of the street where he could remain hidden. Making himself as comfortable as possible, he settled down to wait.
And to watch.
12
"Tsk-I knew something was bad about this,” Dinekki noted tartly. “Not that these youngsters ever listen to me!”
Mouse was standing on the shore beside the shaman, squinting up the bright, sunlit slope. He could clearly see the huge, menacing figure, brandishing a club and descending slowly toward the much smaller shape of Moreen, who was clinging to the steep slope.
“What is that thing up there?”
“Trouble,” retorted the old woman, not too helpfully he thought, but Mouse knew better than to distract the shaman as she rummaged through her pack and quickly pulled out a small circlet that seemed to be made of twigs and seaweed.
She whistled, loudly, and the gulls that had been swirling above the cove abruptly swept close, one of them coming to land on the ground at the shaman’s feet. To Mouse it sounded as if Dinekki was mimicking bird sounds. She clacked and cawed as the bird watched her with dark, glittering eyes. Finally the woman extended her hand, and the gull snatched the thin wreath in its beak. With a flap of its white wings it flew across the beach, skimmed the surface of the water, and still bearing its odd burden, started to climb.
“What did you tell the bird?” Mouse ventured to ask finally, feeling sick to his stomach as he saw the giant, club-wielding creature advancing down the slope toward Moreen and her precarious perch. From his angle it was hard to see how far apart they were, but he could tell that the brute was descending steadily, and Moreen didn’t seem to be moving.
“Just asked it for a little help on behalf of Chislev Wilder. I guess we’ll have to watch and see if it understands.”
Karyl Drago was pleased that his initial rockslide hadn’t swept all the humans down the slope and into the sea. Though the end result would be much the same, the avalanche lacked the fun of the bone-crunching melee he so looked forward to. It looked as if he were going to be able to get his club wet and flex his muscles a little bit. Truthfully, the big ogre admitted in a tiny corner of his mind, since this was the only action he had seen in ten years, he wanted to stretch things out a little, to really enjoy himself.
To that end, he made his way cautiously down the steep terrain of the gully. His feet were too big for most of the footholds, so he balanced his heels on the steps and used his free hand to help him keep his balance. His tree-trunk of a club he hoisted easily in his other hand, ready to swing it as soon as one of the intruders came into range.
Despite their advantage in numbers, he didn’t think these humans would provide much sport. His best hope was that they carried some pretty golden things with them so that when they were dead he could look through their belongings and claim a new prize or two for his collection.
The closest human was now looking up at him, and he recognized her as a female. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem terribly afraid, not like most of the human slave women he had encountered, who would run away screaming if he so much as furrowed his brow at them. Instead, she glared at him with a look of cool appraisal, holding tight to the mountainside as he made his way downward.
She was some distance below him still. He knew that he could have smashed her off the mountain by throwing a well-aimed rock. Even if he missed with a few tosses, there was nowhere for her to hide. The big ogre shrugged. He had decided to use his club, and use his club he would.
Something hissed past his ear, surprising him. He heard a clattering on the stones above and behind him, and he turned to look, seeing a broken arrow lying next to a nearby boulder. Blinking in surprise, Karyl looked farther down the slope and saw that another of the intruders had pulled out his bow and was even now aiming another feathered missile.
That one sped upward, and the big ogre hunched to the side, feeling a pinprick in his shoulder as the shaft stuck there, quivering like a living thing. Karyl was impressed. After all, he wore a stiff shirt of dried leather and two layers of bearskins over that. For this archer to penetrate all of that in a steep, uphill shot was no mean feat. He left the arrow jutting there for inspection later. Though he could feel the scrape of the head against his skin, he knew that the missile had done no real damage.