Gifted Avenger, Page 2

  Once inside the warm gloom, with horses poking long noses over stall doors in the vain hope of attention, Sallis checked both mounts. He ensured no small stones had caught in their hooves, and evicted any parasites hoping to make new homes for themselves. He stripped both animals of their tack and began to brush them down, working quickly and methodically.

  The same stable-boy danced around him, distressed that Sallis had usurped his work.

  "You can clean and polish that little lot if you feel left out." Sallis pointed to the tack, before returning to currying Sabre. Once done, he gave Glyder his full attention. When he straightened again, he looked directly into the dark blue eyes of a guardsman, who leaned nonchalantly on one of the massive wooden roof supports.

  "Hello Crallin," said Sallis.

  Crallin pursed his lips for a moment and looked Sallis up and down. "A new stable-boy? Aren't you a little old?"

  "Found any decent rivals today?" countered Sallis. "As I doubt you'll be fighting me."

  "I'm on duty." Crallin even managed a small smile as he gestured towards his uniform and polished boots.

  Sallis didn't believe he and the guardsman would ever be called friends. At best they were polite to each other. Crallin had always mistrusted bounty-hunters - in most cases with justification, to be fair - but he had never forgotten nor forgiven Sallis besting him more than once.

  "That's a shame," retorted the bounty-hunter. "I know how much you enjoy our sparring sessions."

  Crallin gave the merest of shrugs. "I'm sure Oston will oblige you," he said.

  "Good."

  Unlike Crallin, Oston had at least modified his view of Sallis, helped by his successes. The hunt of a thief also accused of murder, followed by more victories in what was, essentially, a game of chase, had brought first respect, then perhaps friendship from the squat, powerfully-built guardsman.

  Even better, Oston could fight well. If not for Sallis's unwanted gift, Oston would be the better swordsman.

  Not any gift, but the Gift. A blessing, and a curse.

  "He has a new friend with him," added Crallin. "You're not the only Gifted in Marka."

  Sallis smiled. "Another fighting Gifted? Sort of rubs against the principles of the Gift, I'd say."

  "Like you do?" retorted Crallin. "Sorry, I forget the reason you refuse to abide by Gifted principles is because they rejected you."

  Sallis's smile became more fixed as Crallin scored a hit. "Surprised you aren't studying for your next promotion. Oh, it seems you're not the only forgetful one."

  Recently passed over for promotion to sergeant for being "too young and inexperienced", Crallin's face darkened and he turned on his heel to leave. Sallis barked a laugh and patted Glyder's nose.

  "Let's get you fed," he told the horse. "I'll take out all my frustrations on Oston and his friends."

  ***

  Sallis walked slowly towards the gates, carrying just his sword and quarterstaff. Oston and two guardsmen, all dressed in casual clothes rather than uniform, waited beside the gates, together with a third man Sallis had never seen before. Oston's dark eyes showed that he, in common with Sallis, had outlander origins. He grinned as Sallis joined them.

  The younger man nodded politely to the guardsmen - Sheyne with his mop of blond hair and the totally bald Jerret - and managed a small smile for the stranger. The new man watched impassively as Oston gestured towards him.

  "This is Gamal," said Oston, by way of introduction.

  Gamal inclined his head, but his hazel eyes held a thoughtful look. "You must be Sallis ti Ath," he said, voice quiet. "I've longed to meet you."

  Sallis noted the man's calm stillness, yet an air of wariness, of awareness, clung to him. In common with the others, he carried a sword; only Oston also carried a staff.

  "Well," said Sallis, "I've got other things to be doing today, so shall we go?"

  The three guardsmen gave him level looks, but Gamal grunted a laugh. Sallis watched this man closely. Crallin claimed that Gamal was Gifted, but Sallis sensed nothing from him. He remembered Elvallon's warning that some could hide their talent, if not always for the best of reasons.

  The Gift. Elvallon.

  Sallis would rather forget about both. He could do things with the Gift that ought to be impossible. His advantage in fighting wasn't just thanks to hours of practice, but because of something that only manifested itself while learning to use the Gift.

  And thanks to his talents being... different... Elvallon had eventually refused to train him further. Sallis and the Gift terrified all others who were Gifted. So Sallis had decided to put those talents to use for the benefit of all in his own way.

  Being able to track people was a common skill. Everybody left something behind, some hint of passing through. Except Sallis could do it using the Gift. By opening himself to the Gift, and touching something belonging to that person, he could "see" where they had been. As the skill developed, he could even tell where they had been most recently. The skill would stir by itself if someone else handed that something to him.

  Once triggered, he could follow until he touched his prey. Or the individual died. Not even he could follow the dead. Even so, this skill had proved useful both to Marka's City Guard and Sallis's own gold deposits.

  But that was not the reason why Elvallon had refused to continue his training.

  Sallis and his companions reached the training ground. All five of them stretched, arching their backs and lifting legs from the ground. Sallis drew his sword of good Re Taura steel and began to warm his wrist muscles through.

  He saw Gamal smiling at him. Sallis would be careful around this man until he had a measure of him. A sensible precaution.

  Remembering the first time he had been put through his paces here, Sallis glanced up at the walls. Sure enough, a couple of guards lounged against the crenels, hoping for some entertainment.

  "Swordplay first," suggested Oston, "then me and Sallis can practice with our staffs."

  "You don't need staffs," said Gamal. "Not with swords."

  Oston gave a quick laugh. "There are times when you don't want other folk to see a sword," he replied. He and Sallis exchanged a look. They both knew the truth.

  Sheyne and Jerret were still stripping off their shirts as Gamal came for Sallis. The younger man, who had never believed in stripping off before a fight since criminals never gave such opportunities to their opponents, turned to meet the other man's blade.

  Steel clashed against steel and Sallis stepped back. He met the other man's probes and fought defensively.

  "Not bad for a youngster," said Gamal, "but further east there are boys younger than you rotting in the earth because they couldn't handle themselves."

  Sallis sidestepped another thrust. "The war between the Vintners doesn't affect us here."

  "You think?" Gamal bared his teeth in a half smile. "What d'you reckon they're fighting over, then? When one beats the other, their attention will turn to Marka."

  Oston, resting on his own sword, gave a mirthless smile. "Strange how the only honorable branches of the Vintner family spend more time fighting each other than the other claimants."

  "Comes of 'em being neighbors," remarked Gamal, before making a lightning lunge at Sallis.

  Seeing the older man stretch, Sallis twisted his own sword and watched as Gamal's spun from his hand.

  "How'd you manage that?" Gamal looked genuinely surprised.

  Sallis grinned. "Practice," he replied.

  Gamal failed to hide his snarl as he bent for his sword, one eye on Sallis, wary of any tricks. He straightened...

  ... and Sallis launched straight into an attack, sword probing this way then that, flicking forward and retreating again almost immediately. Gamal moved with commendable speed, fending off every attack and sometimes replying with one of his own.

  Oston and the other two guardsmen stopped to watch as first Sallis, then Gamal, moved forward and drove the other back. Even the watchers on the walls looked impressed. The sw
ordsmen turned on the grass and their blades clashed. Gamal moved faster and faster, pressing Sallis hard.

  The Gift beckoned.

  To Sallis, it seemed as though the world continued in slow motion, though he knew that he moved faster through time itself. Blade met blade, and Sallis pushed, stepping forward to crack his hilt against the other man's wrist.

  Normality returned.

  Gamal's hazel eyes were still widening in shock as he staggered back. "It's true," he gasped. "You really can manipulate it!"

  Sallis nodded.

  The ability to move through time had been the first talent to manifest itself in Sallis. It had terrified his tutor, probably because the man failed to understand why his pupil might need such a skill.

  But that was not the reason why Elvallon refused to teach him.

  "An unfair advantage," mused Gamal.

  "Hardly," retorted Sallis. "We must all learn to use whatever talents we have. A farmer without a weapon can complain about men with swords. The answer is to use his own skills. In common with all the others who are Gifted, I never asked."

  "True." Gamal stepped back, keeping out of the way where Oston and the two guardsmen were warming up. "I heard the tales, and had to see for myself." He raised his sword to Sallis in salute.

  Sallis nodded before stepping aside. He leant on his sword to watch the three guardsmen practice against each other. Gamal stood beside him. The older man tapped his wrist.

  "I'll have a fine bruise there," he remarked.

  Sallis smiled. "We sometimes play rough out here. If it troubles you, see a healer."

  "The Gifted are supposed to be healers," murmured Gamal.

  "Some are," agreed Sallis, turning his head to look at the other man. "But we all have different talents."

  "You cannot heal."

  Sallis narrowed his eyes. "No."

  He turned his head away.

  "Somebody told me you had that talent," remarked Gamal.

  "Then you were told wrong."

  How did this man know? How could he know? Elvallon had believed the ability to heal also burned in Sallis. Except that when Sallis wove the Gift to heal, his touch brought only death.

  His training had been ended that very day.

  Unseen by Sallis, Oston defeated both his fellow guards and turned with a triumphant grin.

  Sallis was Gifted, but his gift brought death. Other Gifted shunned him for that very reason. So why did this man seek him out?

  "What are your talents?" he asked.

  Gamal stared and recovered his smiling composure quickly. "Who says I'm Gifted?"

  "Crallin told me."

  Gamal shrugged. "I said I had gifts, that's a different thing."

  "If you want that bruise sorting, you must ask another of the Gifted," replied Sallis. "Though I think I can remember how to make up a poultice, if you prefer."

  Gamal's smile returned. "I'll see one of your fellow Gifted."

  Sallis nodded.

  "All right." Oston sheathed his sword. "Ready for the quarterstaff, Sallis? Let's show these boys what we can do."

  Sallis sheathed his own sword and stooped for his quarterstaff. "Ready when you are," he said.

  ***

  The watcher was almost ready to make his move. He knew everything he needed to know about escape routes and who worked where in the house. He must move quickly and silently. Everything must appear completely normal until the last second, when it would be too late.

  He stepped up to the door and rapped on it sharply with his knuckles. As the door opened, he smiled warmly at the woman with dark blue eyes standing within.

  "I understand you have rooms for hire," he said.

  Moments later, he stood on the inside. Time to begin work.

  ***

  Chapter 3 - Quarterstaffs

  Gamal and the two guardsmen watched as Oston and Sallis readied their staffs. The watchers on the wall remained in place, still waiting, or perhaps hoping, to see someone get seriously hurt. Bored guardsmen must find their entertainment from every possible source.

  Sheyne and Jerret had sheathed their swords, while Gamal leaned on his, massaging his bruised wrist.

  "Sticks of wood aren't much use," called Gamal. "I know farmers like them and they even get lucky against swordsmen, sometimes."

  "Always," muttered Oston, remembering a lesson from Sallis years before.

  Sallis grinned and brought his staff up to the ready.

  "No tricks," warned Oston. "Remember, I'm a learner, so play fair."

  "Everything's fair when it comes to fighting," chuckled Sallis.

  A moment's pause, and the younger man launched into his first attack. Thrust, parry, turn. Oston blocked, his gaze flickering everywhere, trying to see from the set of Sallis's arms where he might attack next. Because Sallis had not stripped off his shirt, muscle tension that might have betrayed his intentions remained invisible.

  Thrust, parry, turn. Sallis went for head, torso, elbows and knees, unafraid to tap directly down with one end of his quarterstaff, aiming for an unwary foot.

  Oston danced, his movements somewhat less economical than his opponent's.

  "C'mon," urged Sallis. "Attack me!"

  Oston obliged and even managed to drive the younger man back for a second or two. "You're not even trying," he complained.

  Sallis grinned. "Want me to?" And increased the tempo of his attacks.

  Even Gamal watched thoughtfully, fingers of his good hand caressing his injured wrist. Oston yelled something rude before throwing his staff aside, clutching at a bruised elbow. Sallis came upright.

  "Now you know why I keep my shirt on," said the younger man. "Watch where I'm looking as well as what I'm doing with the stick."

  "I want to see how well you do against a swordsman," said Gamal, whose wrist seemed to have made a miraculous recovery under massaging fingers.

  "He does well enough," grumped Oston.

  Sheyne and Jerret both gave warning shakes of their heads as Gamal raised a questioning eyebrow in their direction.

  "Rather you than me," said Sheyne, lifting his hands defensively.

  "A silver standard on it?" asked Gamal, a fat silver coin flickering across his fingers. "And I'll be fighting with the wrong hand."

  Sallis grunted a short laugh. "I've no wish to take your money," he said.

  "That's a shame." Gamal's smile hardened slightly. "I mean to take yours. Well, a standard of it, anyway."

  "Take the bet," urged Oston. "If Gamal wants to throw his money away, let him."

  Gamal spread his hands. "Your friends seem convinced you cannot lose this bet. A silver standard, twenty little uncas."

  "I don't carry that around with me," protested Sallis.

  "Sounds like you don't need to," retorted Gamal. "I'm sure you're honest enough to pay up should you lose."

  Oston flourished some coins. "I'll stand security for that bet," he announced, "for half your winnings, Sallis."

  "All right." Sallis moved his quarterstaff in two lazy circles and stepped forward again.

  "Good lad." Gamal pulled his sword free from the ground with his left hand and came to the ready.

  Sallis fought off the first few attempts, turning the sword and managing to keep his opponent well away. Gamal's sword thudded uselessly against the wood a few times, then the man began to probe Sallis's defenses, increasing his tempo. His sword flickered here and there, met each time by Sallis's staff.

  Gamal pushed forward, realized he was getting nowhere, then began to fall back. Sallis moved from defense to offense and began to look for ways to earn his silver. He wanted to end this fairly quickly; he had other errands to run yet.

  As they turned, Sallis noticed that Gamal's left foot was unprotected. A weakness, or a trap? The man moved as if unaware of this weakness in his defense. When they turned the other way, the same place was left unprotected.

  Sallis noticed Oston's suddenly intent gaze, which meant the stocky guardsman had also spotted the er
ror.

  They turned, and Sallis flicked down with his quarterstaff, but Gamal moved quicker. His left foot kicked the staff to a horizontal position in Sallis's hands, and the older man's sword sliced forcefully down, cutting the wood in half.

  As Sallis stumbled forward, pain lanced up his arms from the vibration of cracking wood. Gamal's sword lay across his neck.

  Oston and the other two guardsmen looked on in shock, but the watchers on the walls applauded, before turning away to resume their slow patrol.

  "I believe we agreed one silver standard," said Gamal softly. "If you don't like gambling, consider it payment for the lesson."

  ***

  The watcher looked around the stable. He'd completed the worst part. These people had done him no wrong personally, but the boy treated them as family, which had proved to be their misfortune. The boy would suffer on his return. Shock and grief would overwhelm him, leading in turn to irrational behavior.

  And when the Gifted became irrational, they were always easier to turn. He wanted the boy to follow and try to exact revenge.

  The watcher had worked out what to do.

  He left the two in the stable where they had fallen.

  He arranged the man and woman so they faced each other, mugs of cold alovak set before them. He carefully placed the sign between them, so anyone stood in the doorway would see it.

  Where the stairs turned near the top, the indoor sylph leaned into the corner. He sat her cross-legged, because he had no time to wait for death's rigor to set in, when it would be easier to leave her in the more natural crouch used by her race.

  He left the last body in the boy's room, arranged on the bed in a manner intended especially to enrage him. His attention turned to the board, painted black and washed clean for the moment.

  The watcher carefully removed the piece of cloth from his pocket and used it to wipe his brow. Using one of the boy's own metal nails, he pinned the cloth to the exact center of the board, before picking up the powder crayon and writing four words under the small square of wool.

  Time now to play the game.

  ***

  Chapter 4 - Anguish

  Once paid for winning his bet, Gamal sloped off the moment he realized collecting blankets involved more work, and Oston only agreed to help Sallis because he wanted repayment of his silver standard.

  The draper helped Sallis and Oston load Ulena's handcart (left at the draper's when Sallis and Kerran had brought the blankets) with two bundles secured with rope.