Black Rose

(This contains more violence, including some killing. And then we will be done with Solveig for a little while.)

***

The sniper must be able to calmly and deliberately kill targets that may not pose an immediate threat to him. It is much easier to kill in self-defense or in the defense of others than it is to kill without apparent provocation. The sniper must not be susceptible to emotions such as anxiety or remorse.

--US Army Field Manual FM 23-10:Sniper Training

***

Chapter 7

The Mercenary

Paul indicated his throat, and the youth relaxed his grip, but the merchant had the sword in his face.

'Where is who,' he said, his own voice sounding shrill.

'The Hargest bitch,' said the youth.

'I do not know.'

'Don't lie to me, you bookman pig,' said the youth. 'What've you got them for.' He indicated the clothes in Paul's hands.

'I was going to wash them,' Paul said.

'I said don't lie,' the youth said. His face was red and twisted with drink. 'We don't like bookmen round here, with your rules and laws. The Stukes are free men, d'you hear? We cleave to the old gods. You don't lead us to her, I'll make you squeal.'

'Let's be reasonable,' said the merchant expansively, smiling, but Paul could see he was sweating and nervous. 'We don't have to make this nasty. We were set to have a very pleasant time with the lass, but tempers got a bit hot, and she's gone to get her breath. Now, we can all calm down and be reasonable men.'

'I heard you,' Paul said. 'I heard the noises. I heard her scream.'

'With pleasure,' said the merchant. 'She was enjoying herself.'

'I do not think so,' Paul said.

The youth punched him in the stomach, and he sank to his knees. The suit of clothes scattered on the floor.

'Gavan,' said the merchant, 'enough.'

'Shut up, fat man,' the youth said. 'Shut up. I'm gonna show this fucking bookman pig who's boss.'

Paul felt the youth grab his jacket and pull it from his shoulders. He could hardly move, the pain in his stomach was so intense.

'Now,' the youth said, 'stand up.'

Paul coughed. His eyes were streaming.

'Stand up, pig.'

Paul managed to stand up, on shaky legs.

'Oh,' said the youth, 'are youcrying? Where's your one god now, you fucking book-boy? You call yourself a man?'

'Tell us where she is,' said the merchant. 'We don't have to...'

'I said, shut up, fat man,' the youth barked.

'You will get nothing from me,' Paul gasped. 'Treat me how you will. I will tell you nothing.'

'Oh, really,' said the youth, smiling oddly. He stood there, staring at Paul for a moment.

Then he spun Paul around, and shoved him hard against the wall. Pain burst over Paul's face.

He felt the youth grabbing his britches and pulling them down.

'Come on,' said the merchant, anxious.

'No,' Paul said, urgent and pleading.

'I'll make you squeal,' said the youth, and he punched Paul in the kidney.

*

Solveig was shivering in the room, wondering where in the name of the Right the bookman had got to, when she heard the cry.

A muffled howl of pain. A man's voice.

Her feet were cold on the floor.

Wait... what? The bookman? Has he...

She listened. There was a silence.

Then another scream, of pain and protest, that tailed off into a choke.

She turned, and stood with her back to the wall.

The bookman. They have got him. And they are punishing him.

Well, if he has been so careless that he...

Wait wait wait wait.

No. He did help me. He gave me his coat.

I should just go. They have got him, and not me, and...

But, no, what kind of knight would do that, I...

What am I talking about. I'm not a knight.

She heard more sounds. Shouting, and another muffled scream.

This would be a great deal easier if I weren't so drunk.

She looked around. In the moonlight coming through the window, she saw a jug near the bed. She went over and peered into the jug. It was full of water. She sniffed it. Not the freshest.

Never mind. She lifted the jug and poured the water over her own head and it woke her up a bit. She shivered, feeling it trickle down her back and chest and down her bare legs.

She went back to the door and waited.

There was no sound.

No weapon. No protection.

She heard, in her mind, a voice from another life, years ago. When they were huddling in the freeze and stench, listening to the footsteps in the farmyard. An angry yell.

I made us hide, to spare you that, brother. To save you and I, so that we could live.

And now, you are gone.

And I have only myself to save.

... Except, no. There is one other.

She opened the door and went out into the corridor.

*

Down by the fireside, Owyn Durberry came out of his doze. He'd heard a scream.

The fuck was going on up there? That was a man's voice.

He got up and went out to the hall. There were muffled sounds coming from upstairs.

He went back into the main room and through to the kitchen. The landlord was nowhere to be seen.

He went back to the main hall, and waited, in case he heard anything. But there was nothing.

He went back to his seat by the fire, and brooded.

If I hear any more nonsense, he thought.

*

Solveig padded down the corridor, still dripping, the jacket buttoned up to her neck, forcing the thoughts out of her head.

As she approached the door of her room, she slowed and halted.

No, she thought. No...

She quickly darted over to the stairs, and stepped down them, quietly, taking the end of the step closest to the wall to stop them creaking, and went down to the ground floor.

She heard a door on the upper floor open, and she walked quickly and quietly across the grubby flags to the kitchen.

*

Ernold Foder came out of the girl's bedroom, his knife in his hand, and looked up and down the corridor.

By the Right, this night had turned from a frolic into a slog.

It had all seemed so easy by the fireside, with the youth all happy and eager, and the reassuring bulk of the swordsman, as he nodded his assent. And the prospect of that ripe Hargest girl spreadeagled on the bed, trembling as they took her.

And then the swordsman had dropped out. And she'd turned out to be a drunk, and then a slattern, and then a hellcat. He touched his nose; it wasn't broken, but it was a damn near thing. His shirt was splashed with blood.

And now this landowner's son turns out to be several rivets short of a bucket, with his hatred of bookmen and his not wanting to give the whole thing up.

I mean, the chap's only a bookman, a stuck-up prig like all the rest of them, but still... to strip him and beat him...

Damn it. Nasty taste in the mouth.

He walked down the corridor and tested the door of the next room. It opened. He looked up and down it, and saw the bookman's things neatly folded on chairs. Ernold went inside and looked under the bed and in the closet. The girl wasn't there.

He left the room, slammed the door and tried the next one.

*

In the kitchen, Solveig stood for warmth by the cooling oven, staring at the ceiling, listening to the footsteps as the man upstairs checked the rooms for her.

There was a bottle of wine standing on one of the tabletops. It was half empty.

You don't need anything more to drink.

There was a creak from the main room, as of a large person shifting in an old chair.

Solveig walked quietly to the door that linked the kitchen to the main room, and leaned cautiously around the doorjamb.

The room was empty, but for one man, sitting in a chair before the fire.

The mercenary.

She stared at him for a long moment.

The bookman said there were three of them. But only two came up.

He has been sitting here, before the fire, all through what happened.

Knowing what was happening. Hearing what was happening? Could he have...

Doing nothing.

... And then, slowly, it came to her. The ridiculous and unspeakable proposition.

The footsteps clumped above them, and she saw the mercenary glance upwards.

Rage filled her. But beside the rage, also...

She swallowed.

There are so many reasons to not do this.

*

Owyn Durberry stared into the dying fire, trying to summon up the will to rise from the chair and go up to his bed and put this shitty day behind him once and for all.

He leaned forward and rubbed his temples.

Well, it's how things go. Nothing to do but get on with it. People are bastards.

He sat back in the chair and rubbed his face, then lowered his hands and sighed, his eyes closed.

'Well, well, well,' said a low, flat voice.

He opened his eyes and saw a pair of bare legs. He looked up.

The girl was standing in front of him, wearing one of the bookman's jackets tightly wrapped around her. Her arms were folded before her. She was, for some reason, dripping wet, or at least her head was. She had a shiner developing around her left eye.

She was glaring at him, in a way that he hadn't seen on the face of anyone for...

... Well, it hadn't been that long ago, come to think of it.

'Ah,' he said.

*

'Taking the weight off,' Solveig inquired.

The mercenary avoided her gaze and shifted.

'I'm going to bed,' he said.

'No, you're not.'

'Whatever happened,' he said, 'it's none of my business.'

'I'll make it your business.'

'Girl,' he said, bracing himself and rising from his chair, 'you thought you could come out and stay in an inn on the edge of the Wild by yourself. That tells me you've got no more sense than the gods gave to...'

She shoved him back into the chair again. He looked at her, startled.

'Shut up, swordsman,' she said, leaning over him. 'Just, shut up. How much sense I have...'

She stopped, feeling something rising inside her, and wondered if she was going to be sick, but it was just a belch.

'... Is a topic for another occasion. What I want to talk about is you sitting down here and doing nothing, while that pig tried to ravish me.'

'Tried to?'

*

He couldn't help it, he was impressed.

'They didn't do it?'

She looked away from him, as if somehow embarrassed.

'I was going to let them,' she said, 'but I changed my mind, and, oh my, he didn't like that. But that's not the point. The point is, I got away, and the bookman didn't. They are looking for me, and you know what they'll do if they get me.'

'Well,' he said, 'they'll do it without my help. I don't want to know.'

She planted her hands on the arms of the chair, her red face darkening.

'Oh, you do,' she grated. 'Because I'll pay you to defend us, you shit.'

He blinked.

'You'llwhat?'

'The bookman,' she said. 'All his kind carry money, for their postal routes. If he'd help me, he'd pay you to save us.'

'What are they doing to him,' Owyn said.

'I don't know,' she said, 'but they're obviously not having a chat about the Book, are they.'

There was another muffled cry of pain from upstairs.

This isn't right, Owyn thought. To treat a bloke like that.

And the girl had a point: bookmen always had money. They just seldom let themselves get into a position where they had to spend it.

But whatever they were doing to that bloke upstairs wasn't right.

And he'd probably be grateful.

'How much.'

'I'm not going to bargain with someone else's money, swordsman,' she said. 'Help us, or stay here. For if you don't, I'll... well, I don't know what I'll do exactly, but it will not go well with some people.'

'All right, all right,' he said, amused despite himself.

'You'll do it?'

'I'll do it,' he said, and saying it made it sound more attractive.

Yeah, this was better than sitting on your arse.

Thiswas how to make the day turn around. She stepped back and he stood up.

'Good,' she said. 'Now, give me your trousers.'

He gaped at her.

'What?'

'Swordsman, I am half-naked. If you think I am going in that room again as I am, you may think again.'

'You've got me to protect you.'

'As of two moments ago, maybe. In the meantime, I need breeches.'

'Well, you're not having mine.' He indicated the hall. 'Go on, let's go up and see what's going on.'

She looked at him sidelong.

'We have a contract?'

'Soon as I see the bookman's money,' he said, 'we have a contract.'

'That's not good enough.'

'Then you're on your own,' he said, and folded his arms.

She glared at him, and looked at the way out to the hall, then glanced at him and nodded.

'Good girl,' he said, and put his hand on his sword.

*

Solveig waited.

This is perhaps very foolish. Very, very foolish.

'How do I know you won't just turn on me,' she said. There was another door slam from upstairs.

'You'll just 'ave to trust me,' the swordsman said.

Damnit.

Well, I shall trust you, swordsman, and see what happens.

For if you cross me, I will burn this house down.

They went towards the hall and he indicated the stairs with his head. Solveig put her hand on the banister.

Her heart pounding, she started to go up. She heard the swordsman following. She looked over her shoulder. He was right behind her. He nodded encouragingly. She didn't feel at all encouraged.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Solveig walked down to the corner of the corridor.

The merchant came out of a room and stopped, staring at her. His nose was red and swollen and there was blood on his chin and shirt.

Behind her, she heard the sound of the mercenary drawing his sword.

'Evening,' said the mercenary in a pleasant voice. 'Caught your doe in the woods. Thought I'd bring her back to you.'

Solveig didn't move, but stared at the merchant, and a smile spread over the fat man's face.

She knew he was seeing in her face just how much she had been betrayed.

Oh, swordsman.

This is disappointing.

*

Everything had got a lot more interesting, as far as Owyn Durberry concerned.

First, the girl: lovely to look at and clearly handy with a fist or foot, to judge from the fat man's nose: but drunk as a low-class westerner on market day. Could she make good on the payment? Maybe. Go with the stream just for now and see what happens.

Then there was the bookman. Owyn didn't have any beef with them. Decent quiet people who paid their debts.

The rich boy. He was the X in the coad: who knew what he would do? Full of youth and piss and ale. He might have to be cut out of it. If he was hurting the bookman, then words would have to be had about that.

And last, the fat man. A bit of a prick, all right, but you know where you are with a bit of a prick.

Let's just see what we can make of this.

They went up to the door and the fat man knocked once, and said 'It's me.'

The door swung open, and he went in.

Owyn nudged the girl, and she slowly followed.

*

There are three of you, Solveig thought. You are armed. The bookman and I are defenceless. And I have just walked myself into what I had escaped all along.

Good, Solveig. Very good. What a master of strategy you are. When you're drunk.

The merchant grabbed her, pulled her inside the room and slammed the door. She was very glad to see that his nose was in such terrible shape.

The bookman was lying naked on the floor, bruised and bleeding but conscious. He looked up at her. His beard hid his expression.

They had better not have done to you what they planned to do to me.

'Have you come to your senses, then,' the merchant said. His hand was on her arm. She looked down at it.

'You asked me my name,' she said.

'Yes,' he said, visibly relaxing. 'I did.'

'If you touch me again,' she said in Rakissalan, 'you shall know my name.'

*

The girl said something in a tongue Ernold recognised as Rakissalan, a low melodic phrase. Something respectful-sounding and submissive.

'There,' he said, 'that's nice. 'Varda', what a lovely name. Now, perhaps, we can calm down a little.'

'Let the bookman go,' she said.

'Never,' said Gavan Stuke.

'Let the bookman go, and we may talk.'

'Time for talk's over,' said Gavan.

The bookman was lying on his side, covering his parts with his hands. He was staring at her, his face crumpled with pain and shame.

'There is always time for talk,' she said. 'Only animals don't talk.'

Gavan flushed, and she saw him swelling up again.

'Now, now,' the mercenary said. 'The lady here's being nice and respectful.'

'Perhaps she has come to her senses,' said the merchant.

'Perhaps,' Solveig said. 'But unless I can see to the bookman, there will be no talk.'

'Run,' said the bookman in Rakissalan.

Solveig glanced down at him, trying not to betray her shock.

'What did he say,' said Gavan.

'He said 'Hello',' said Solveig.

'Go, lady,' said the bookman, his voice trembling. 'Go while you can and take what you need.'

'I will not,' Solveig said.

'Do not be foolish,' the bookman said.

'What are you two talking about,' said Gavan.

'We are saying hello,' Solveig said.

In the name of the Right, Solveig, she thought, you can't think of anything more believable?

'Take that coat off,' Gavan said, 'or I'll slit you where you stand.' He hefted the sword. He was looking at her greedily. So was the fat man.

Have you seensofew women, she thought. Is itsorare a sight.

Ugh. Fool.

Get through this. Then find the next step.

She quickly opened the coat, shrugged it off and dropped it to the floor. Then, before he could react, she went over to the bookman and knelt by him.

'You are wounded,' she said softly.

'You have to go,' he muttered.

'Give me time,' she said. 'I made a deal with the swordsman. Give me time, and we'll live.'

Solveig looked the bookman in the eye.

*

Paul looked up at her.

I am obliged to trust a woman of the word. A woman so careless that she ignored my counsel to flee, a woman who has been drinking since I have been here. I have tried to help her. And, for my pains, I have been stripped and beaten.

The Right sees all, and will level all.

You have no plan, have you, woman of the word. You have nothing to fight with. They disarmed you before, and they have again.

Yet when I cried out, you sought help.

Or at least... you tried to.

She held out her hand, and he took it.

She pulled him up, and they stood naked, side by side, shivering.

She clutched his arm, and pulled him to her. He covered his parts with his other hand. She looked over at the mercenary. Paul noticed that the swordsman was pointedly avoiding looking at them.

Gavan Stuke walked over to them, hefting the sword, and looked at them, grinning in triumph.

'You fucking cunts,' he said, savouring their humiliation. 'You think you're all so noble, 'cause your lot won. But we will not be held down by you. The Stukes are free men. And there are others like us, oh yes. And when the time is right, we will take your king, and we will have his head on a fucking pike, for our dogs to feed on.'

He stood before Solveig.

'And we'll take you, and you other Hargest sluts, and we'll use you till we've used you up.'

He looked at Paul.

'And we'll get the firemills going again, and you bookmen will run in them, until you drop dead. And we will be the new Dominies.

'But for now, we'll do as we please.'

He grinned at them and strolled back towards the fire.

Paul could not help noticing that the boy had very fine teeth, like one who came from a family of wealth.

'And now,' he said, pointing to Solveig, 'you, get on the...'

'Hold on,' the mercenary said.

*

Oh,now, you decide to speak, Solveig thought.

The swordsman looked around the room: at the merchant, standing there, looking worried; Gavan Stuke, puffing out his chest, holding her sword; Solveig and the bookman, side by side against the wall.