The Forlorn(37)

The morning, however, brought such an argument about what direction they would take, that he forgot about it. Eventually Keilin prevailed . . . but he had a sneaking feeling that he hadn't won at all. The feeling grew with each passing hour. She was manipulating him, dammit. To the extent that he even began to suspect that he was making a prat of himself.

* * *

This boy was nothing but a pain. He didn't do what he was supposed to do. He should have been falling over himself by now to do exactly what she wanted. Instead, every time he opened his mouth he had something rude or disparaging to say. She'd lost her temper a couple of times already . . . and then had to work hard on damage control. She had been keen on ensuring her safety, encouraging circumspect behavior. The harder she tried to get him to do so, the more crazy chances he seemed to want to take. Last night he'd raided a campfire, stolen the food off it while the travellers had been beating the bushes for him. And this morning, when she'd been looking at herself in a pool of water, he'd told her she was as vain as a two-silver whore. She noticed, however, that he had washed himself . . . and the water in the mountains was bone-chilling cold.

* * *

Here he was, going away from Shapstone City, with a girl who alternated between turning his insides all stupid with her smiles, and irritating the hell out of him by making a complete idiot of herself. And every time he'd made up his mind he'd just had enough of it, she made him feel desperately sorry for her. Which was why he was going south and not northwest. She wanted to go to Polstra, the mountain city. Very well, he would take her there, and then dump her. But first she was actually going to notice how good he was. Heroes, after all, had no trouble with girls . . . at least not in any of the books he'd enjoyed. Tonight's raid would be spectacular.

If Keilin had been less set on a grandstand performance he might have smelled a rat. Their horses were too conveniently downwind, the four travellers were too obviously asleep too early. Their saddlebags hung too much in plain sight. But tonight he was going to count coup. He'd brought Shael to a point she considered far too close, in order that she might watch.

Thus she was in a perfect position to observe how it all went very wrong. The four of them appeared to be asleep, as Keilin moved into the camp like a lazy shadow. He pointedly ignored the tempting saddlebags and moved toward the sleepers. What he was planning to take from underneath the pillow Shael never found out. Keilin let out a startled yowl as a ham-sized hairy fist closed around his arm. A second hand reached out for Keilin's spear.

And missed. If the muscular, shaven-headed one had not neatly twisted the spear out of Keilin's hand someone would have died. As it was, the other huge hairy hand caught his arm before he could reach for a knife. The woman threw a waiting handful of twigs onto the fire, which flamed up. The tall one sat up and looked impassively at the struggling boy, taking in his features, his cold eyes narrowing.

"I think . . . we have caught more than a core section here. I think we may have a psionic too . . . well, well!"

He walked over to Keilin, who was being held easily at the end of an unnaturally long arm's length by Beywulf. "Where is it, boy?" Keilin said nothing, just writhed more energetically. He could feel the jewel chilling against his flesh. "S'kith. Hold his legs. Leyla. Search him." The shaven-headed one too was immensely strong. Keilin kicked out viciously but in seconds he was effectively immobilized. The woman began methodically searching his pockets.

"Notice," said Beywulf cheerfully, "how she starts on the trouser pockets. She'll search your ball bag next, boy."

However, her hands ran up his body, finding the pendant chain and pulling out the jewel. The captain reached out and touched it. It was biting cold. "Well, sod me!"

He looked closely at Keilin. It was not an overly friendly stare. "Evie Lee's hair. Evie Lee's eyes. And the nose . . . I don't need gene typing to guess at your ancestry, boy."

With a quick jerk he snapped the pendant chain. A terrible feeling of abandonment washed over Keilin for a moment . . . and then more bitter cold sliced up from the ankle pouch. Keilin forced himself to be calm. He'd get away . . . he'd kill the man who'd dared to take it from him. Then a fresh wave of worry washed over him. What if Kim, hiding just back there in the trees touched the stone in her bracelet? Would the Morkth still come?

Keilin was unprepared for the open-handed blow that rocked his head back. His head reeled and swam. The tall man's words, uttered through gritted teeth made little sense. "Something I owed your great-grandmother. Pity I can't give it to her in person." Then he appeared to regain control of himself. "Where is the other one who was with you earlier, boy? Talk, before I use it as a good excuse to beat the living shit out of you."