Pain shot up his arm, white hot, like lightning in the heat of the planting turns.
The leader, who had missed with his first blow, pounced a second time, hammering down with his sword.
Cadel kicked out blindly-his only chance-and his boot glanced off the man’s forearm, deflecting the blow just enough to save him. For the moment.
The man struck at him again. Cadel rolled away and scrambled to his feet, only to find the leader leveling yet another blow at him. But this time he didn’t chop down at the singer. Instead he swung the blade, as if to take off Cadel’s head.
Cadel spun away from him, avoiding the sword. And allowing the momentum of his turn to carry him all the way around, switching his grip on his own dagger in midmotion, he tried to slam his blade into the man’s back. He misjudged the distance, however, slicing through the leader’s shirt and drawing blood from his shoulder, but doing no real damage.
Both of them backed away for just an instant, breathing hard. Cadel chanced a quick look at the other man. He was on the ground still, clutching his leg, which was bloodied just below his crotch. The leader put a hand to his shoulder, looked at the blood on his fingers, and gave a fierce grin.
“Yer no musician,” he said, his voice low.
Before Cadel could think of anything to say, the man rushed him again, raising his sword.
It was a clumsy attack. Too clumsy. At the last moment, Cadel looked not at the short sword but at the dagger, nearly forgotten, in the man’s other hand. It was swinging at his side in a wide, powerful arc, the steel glinting in the sun’s dying light.
Rather than ducking or retreating, Cadel stepped toward the attack, raising his injured arm to block the man’s dagger hand, and with the other arm pounding his own blade into the man’s stomach.
The leader let out a short, harsh gasp, his eyes widening. His dagger dropped to the ground and he grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands. But he was trembling, his legs failing him. Cadel pulled his blade from the man’s gut and thrust it into his chest. The thief sagged to his knees, blood spouting from his mouth. A moment later he toppled sideways to the dirt.
Cadel retrieved his dagger and advanced on the last man, who still lay on the ground, whimpering like a child.
“Corbin, no!” Kalida’s voice. “It’s enough!”
He halted, glaring at her. After a moment he nodded.
“Can you walk?” he asked the young thief.
“I–I don’t know.”
“Well, you’re going to have to. It’ll be dark soon, and the nights get cold here this time of year, even on a warm day.”
Dunstan began to reclaim their gold, including the coins Jaan had thrown. Cadel wanted to tell him to forget the money, but he didn’t. Instead he walked to where Anesse and Kalida were tending to Jaan. The bleeding had slowed from his nose and mouth, though his face looked a mess. His breathing seemed labored.
“I think he has a broken rib,” Anesse said, her voice tight.
“Can we get him back to Ailwyck?”
She shook her head. “I think we’d be better off returning to Fanshyre.”
“The distance is roughly the same. And the terrain’s easier to the north.”
“Ailwyck,” Jaan said weakly. “I don’t want to go back to Fanshyre like this.”
Dunstan joined them. “I found most of it. Not all.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cadel said. “We need to get Jaan back to the tavern. Can you help me carry him?”
“Of course.”
“Are you all right?” Kalida asked him, looking closely at his face.
“I’m fine.”
“It looked like you hurt-”
“I’m fine,” he said again, his voice rising.
Her face colored and she looked away.
“Let’s get him on his feet,” he said to the piper.
Dunstan nodded toward the injured man. “What about him?”
“Leave him. He’s no threat, and he’s not worth helping.” He turned to Anesse. “Find our daggers,” he said. “And theirs as well.”
“What about the sword?”
He stared at the body of the leader. “That, too.”
His wrist was screaming, and he wondered if he had broken the bone. Not that it would slow him. He’d been injured before, far worse than this. Back when he was an assassin. He nearly laughed aloud. You’ll always be an assassin. His father’s voice. He would have liked to curse the old man’s name aloud.
It was a slow, painful walk back to Ailwyck, and before they were done it turned dark and chill as well. The tavern was already full when they arrived-they could hear laughter and raucous singing coining from within. When they opened the door, however, and the tavern patrons saw the blood on Jaan’s face, silence spread through the great room like the pestilence.
“What happened?” the innkeeper said, hurrying through the parting crowd.
“Thieves. In the Grey Hills.”
“Someone get a healer!” he shouted to the men closest to the door. “Are the rest of you all right?”
“I’ve hurt my wrist. The bone may be broken. Otherwise we’re fine.”
“How much did you lose?”
Dunstan grinned. “Only a few qinde.”
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “You were fortunate.”
“I suppose,” the piper said. “But you should have seen Corbin! He-”
“You’re right,” Cadel broke in. “We were fortunate. But Jaan needs healing, and a place to lie down.”
Dunstan stared at him a moment, then nodded.
The innkeeper led them to his own quarters in the back of the tavern, allowing them to lay Jaan on his bed. “I’ll be back with some food and tea,” he said, bustling back toward the kitchen.
Dunstan and Anesse remained beside the lutenist, but Kalida pulled Cadel into the next room. Her lips were pressed in a thin line and her face was pale. Once more he was struck by how lovely she was. He was going to miss her.
“You said we were fortunate,” she began at last, her eyes meeting his. “I don’t think fortune had anything to do with it.”
“Of course it did,” he said, looking down at his wrist and flexing his hand. He could move it with only a bit of pain. Perhaps it wasn’t broken after all. “Anytime you encounter thieves and escape with both your life and your gold, you’ve been lucky.”
“That’s not what I meant. The way you fought them. .” She shook her head. “I was watching you fight. You never had any doubt that you could defeat them, did you?”
“Of course I did.” He wasn’t certain why he bothered lying. He couldn’t stay. Dunstan was ready to write songs about his prowess with a blade, and now this from Kalida. When the shock of what had happened wore off, the others would have questions as well. They would never look at him the same way again. Still, his dream of leading a quiet life wouldn’t die so easily. “There’s always doubt,” he told her. “When I fell today, when I hurt my wrist, that could have given him the opening he needed to kill me.”
“But you fought-”
“Honok and I used to travel a good deal. We encountered many thieves, and over the years we learned to defend ourselves. That’s why I fight as well as I do.”
“That’s not what I was going to say. You fought only when Anesse and I-” She swallowed. “When it seemed they were going to take more than just our gold. You could have fought them at any time, but you waited until then. It was almost as if you didn’t want us to see you fight, as if you were afraid to let us see how good you are with a blade.”
He started toward the door, intending to retrieve what few possessions he carried from his room upstairs. “I should go.”
“Who are you, Corbin?”
“I’m a singer.”
“And what else? A mercenary? Are you a thief yourself?”
He turned and walked to where she stood. She didn’t shy from him, and when he bent to kiss her lips, she returned the kiss.
“It doesn’t matter what else I am or was. I came here hoping to be a singer, and I became your lover because I thought you beautiful and kind. Never doubt that.”