Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [1]
Just ahead the leafy shadows of trees danced on the water. Up on the banks stood a copse, where a man and a woman talked on the edge of anger, though they kept their voices down so low that Jahdo could guess they met in secret. He began backing away, slipped, and fell with a splash and a curse.
“Here!” the woman shrilled. “A spy!”
“I be no such thing, good lady.” In a wail of protest Jahdo clambered up. “Don’t hurt me.”
Tall, blond, with ice-blue eyes as cold as the northern peaks, a young man jumped down onto the sandy strip of shore bordering the stream, grabbed his arm, and hauled him out of the water. When he recognized Verrarc, a member of the Council of Five that ruled the city, Jahdo began to stammer apologies. Verrarc grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him hard.
“What are you doing here?”
“Gathering herbs, sir. My sister she be ill. Gwira the herbwoman said she’d treat her, but it was needful for me to go and do some gathering. To give her due fee, I mean.”
Verrarc threw him to his knees. As he looked up at the tall, hard-muscled man towering over him, Jahdo felt the world turn all swimmy. Verrarc’s blue stare cut into his soul like the thrust of a knife.
“He does tell the truth.” Verrarc’s voice seemed to come from far away.
“That’s of no moment. Kill him.” The woman’s voice hissed and cracked. “We mayn’t risk—kill him, Verro!”
Jahdo whimpered and flung up his hands, half warding a blow, half begging for his life. When he tried to speak, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he gasped for breath. Verrarc laid one hand on the jeweled hilt of the sword slung at his hip, then considered him for an achingly long moment. His stare seemed normal again, merely the look of an angry man, not some strange ensorcelment.
“I know you. You be the rat boy.”
“I am, sir.” He found his voice at last, but in his terror he could only whisper. “Jahdo Ratter.”
“Kill him now.” Wrapped in a black cloak with the hood well up, the woman crouched on the edge of the gully.
“Hold your tongue, Rae!” Verrarc snapped. “I’ll not be hurting the boy. He’s but ten summers old, and no threat.”
“Verro!” Her voice, this time, whined, as petulant as a toddler. “Kill him. I want to watch.”
“Hold your tongue! He be valuable, this lad, and besides, the herbwoman does know he’s out here.”
With a snarl she sat back on her heels. All Jahdo could see of her was gray eyes and pale cheeks, streaked with sweat. No doubt she found the black cloak a burden on such a sunny day. Verrarc ignored her, slipped one arm around Jahdo’s shoulders, and turned him round.
“Look, lad, as one man to another, I ask you: are you really going to be telling anyone about what you did see here today?”
All of a sudden Jahdo understood: a love affair.
“Of course not, sir. It be none of my business, bain’t?”
Verrarc winked and grinned.
“Not in the least, lad, not in the least. And don’t you go worrying. No harm will come to you, as long as you hold your tongue.”
“Thank you, sir, oh, a thousand thanks. I’ll never say naught, I swear it. And I’ll gather my herbs somewhere far away, too.”
Verrarc looked deep into his eyes and smiled. It seemed that his blue eyes turned to water, that his gaze flowed over the boy like warm water.
“Good. Good lad. Now, just trot back down along the stream, like, and go on your way.”
Jahdo followed orders, running as fast as he dared, never looking back until he was a good mile away. He climbed out of the gully and stood for a moment, shaking his