"So he held me down and said, 'What you need is a master.'"
Matir snickered. "Was he handsome?"
Next to Matir, my sister grinned. "And you said--?"
"I didn't." A vivid flash of the minstrel's drifting blonde hair, sapphire-bright eyes, and long musician's hands lit my mind. Finishing my ale, I raised my cup in brief salute. "I kicked him in the teeth."
Matir gasped, and this time my sister snickered. "Must have loosened every bone in his head," I finished reminiscently.
My sister laid her dimpled cheek on her folded hands. "Was he?"
"Was he what?" I asked. "Dead? I don't think so, though he hit the hearthstone with a hefty whack."
"Good looking." Dessra rolled her eyes. "Wake up, little sister!"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Yes. I guess. What matter, after all I just told you? He was an arrogant boor."
The corners of Dessra's shapely mouth deepened. "Most of them can be taught better habits. If they're worth teaching."
I eyed my sister without resentment. There was a certain amount of superficial resemblance between us--curling dark hair, large gray eyes and long dark brows, smallish hands and feet--but where she was rosy and curving, I was compact from fifteen years of hard riding.
The differences had been there even when we were small and had little interest in such things; by the time she was fourteen and I thirteen, I was still a scrambling monkey struggling to learn blade-work, while she could make a walk across a room an act of amorous enticement. And since the deaths of our parents she had needed her particular blend of attraction, brains, and courage to hold the inn during these times, and keep it filled with customers.
"You could, perhaps," I said. "My rare bed-romps have yet to last for even a short pairing. I wouldn't even have followed that thrice-blasted minstrel up the stairs had I not been three parts drunk on wine, lack of sleep, and the way he sang filthy Ywannish lyrics to angelic Gramellkyn melodies."
"And so, you left him lying there?" Matir prompted with lively interest. A tiny redhead, she'd been with Dessra for about eight years. First a serving maid, and now a part owner; I'd sold my half of the inheritance to her in order to finance my own career.
I shrugged, and leaned down to slap my canvas-wrapped gear. "He'd been bragging about this jewel-handled sword. In truth, it's a pretty thing--too pretty, I thought, for a boor. Said it had magical properties. Dire ones, supposedly. As for the rest, I robbed him of his money, then reported him as a thief. Figured a tour of one of those north-country Dunnain prisons would be good for his soul, and so I continued home."
Dessra rocked in delighted laughter.
Matir sighed. "Wish you could do similar with that rat Evand."
"Not quite so loud," my sister murmured, glancing toward the darkened windows. The last customer had left an hour ago, and those sleeping in the inn were quiet overhead.
"Evand," I repeated. "Evand the Nightstalker? I've heard that name several times since I hit the province, most frequently as I neared the harbor, and none of the references were kind or loving. Has he anything to do with these gangs of roving bullies in dark woolen surcoats with an orange owl as emblems?"
"Our latest provincial lord." Dessra's mouth twisted. "This one's a wizard as well. Booted out Grawnar, but the reprieve was short. Evand is much worse."
"We pay a lot more in bribe-money now, and not just when we have a complaint against a crooked dealer and want justice, but simply to keep his thugs out of here." Matir grimaced. "It's called 'protection'."
"In sum," Dessra's eyes gleamed with irony, "the roof still leaks. Welcome home, footloose little sister!"
I shook my head. "You know, it's time somebody does something about this province. Curse it, with the country! I thought it was at its worst when I finally found a way to journey off-world, but it appears I was mistaken."
Dessra eyed me warily. "He's got lots of magic, Doyel."
I grinned back at her. "I'll just nose around for a few days," I soothed. "See what I can see. You know I've always had a fine regard for the preservation of my delicate hide--"
A shriek rent the air outside. Dessra's head jerked up, and Matir snatched at the fireplace poker.
Pulling my knife, I listened at the door, eased it open. Nothing moved in the darkness.
"Best shut it--" Matir began, when the scream came again, high and childish.
"Help me! Oh, help me please, I'm dying--"
I was out fast, running in my stockinged feet. The empty street was filthy with refuse and slime, which rendered my steps soundless as I veered obliquely toward the alley that the scream had come from.
No one to help a child, eh? I thought grimly. Things are bad indeed--
"NO-O-O-O!"
The girl's voice was close by now, and I heard the thick mutter of a man's voice, followed by wild sobbing. I launched myself into the alley.
And knew a heartbeat later that I'd flung myself headlong into a trap.
Nailed a brace of them, and gave another pair some permanent souvenirs before I hit the hard ground, and something even harder hit the back of my head.
)
