The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [94]
“You’re untied!”
“Of course I am. Haven’t you ever seen those tricks where the show master ties someone up and shoves them into a bag or chest, only to have them pop out again a few minutes later and wave to the crowd?”
Both her captors laughed, but it was a grim enough kind of chuckle.
“That’s one on us, Gwin,” said the Bardekian.
“I’ll admit it. We’ll have to keep a good watch on our clever little traveling player from now on.” He hefted the saddlebag. “Now, I’ve got paper and ink in here. You’re going to write a note, exactly as I tell you, and then we’ll give you some food and water. If you don’t write, you get nothing.”
“Then I’ll be dying of thirst, soon enough. I don’t know how to read and write. I’m from Deverry, remember.”
Gwin swore in some language that she couldn’t understand.
“She’s telling the truth, most likely. I should have thought of that.” He turned back to Jill. “Can Rhodry read?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play stupid with me.” His voice was very quiet and soft, and it sent a ripple of fear down her back. “It isn’t wise, little girl. Do you know who I am?”
“A Hawk of the Brotherhood, obviously.” It took all her will to keep her voice steady. “And yes, I know what you do to your prisoners.”
He smiled, just briefly, a gesture designed to frighten her, no doubt, but she made herself look him full in the face and smile in return, caught his gaze and held it, determined to stare him down and gain a small victory—the only kind, no doubt, that she’d have. For a moment he stared back, his mouth twisting in mockery. All at once, his face seemed to soften, to blur, and his eyes to change color, the black shimmering, then turning a cold hard blue like a winter sea. It seemed to her that she stood in some other room—she could almost see firelight behind him, could almost remember his real name, could almost remember why she envied him over something more important than her life itself.
“Bards aren’t allowed to read and write,” she said. “You know that.”
With a wrench and a toss of his head he looked away, and he was the one shaking now, not her, his face an ashy sort of gray, his eyes—black again—darting this way and that as the Bardekian with the sword stepped forward.
“Gwin, what’s wrong?”
“Naught.” Gwin tossed his head again, swallowed heavily, and made his voice perfectly steady—but he was still a little pale. “Our hostage is a lot more valuable than we thought, that’s all.” So smoothly she suspected nothing, he turned, then slapped her across the face, so hard that she fell back across the wall. “What do you mean, Rhodry’s a bard?”
“That’s not what I said at all.” She found herself thinking of her father’s slaps, when he was in one of his tempers, and forced herself to stay as unmoving now as she had then. Only one eye betrayed her by starting to swell and tear. “As for the meaning of what I did say, you’re as capable of puzzling it out as I am—neither more nor less.”
Gwin raised his hand, then hesitated. She could see that he was frightened, and she knew in some obscure way, deep in her soul, that she had him on the run and could keep him that way if only she chose the right words. She found herself thinking of him as a man near to breaking. Around her materialized Wildfolk in a restless, hostile swarm, glaring at her captors, shaking tiny fists, opening their mouths in soundless snarls to reveal long pointed teeth. When Gwin barked out a string of words in some language that she didn’t understand, some of the Wildfolk disappeared, more cowered against her in fear, but some growled boldly back at him.
“They won’t obey you,” Jill said. “But I’ll send them away rather than let