Lords Of The Dark Fall - Fabian (36 page)

Calina nodded, acknowledging her need to maintain a show of ignorance. Better they talk in code. Never knew who was listening.

“Well, since Hal’s not turned up to claim her, got to be something brewing with him.”

“Don’t you know?”

“Just putting two and two together. You want more coffee?”

Tig nodded absently, distracted for a moment by the neat stack of condom pouches on the sideboard. Tools of Calina’s trade. Would she notice if one went missing?

Without a doubt. Those things were expensive. She nodded a little more enthusiastically. “Haven’t tasted coffee in forever, I’d love another cup.”

“And then perhaps you’ll tell me what’s really going on? One friend to another? Whispers of a challenge brewing already, rumours flying all over. Hal isn’t thinking of taking on Warrington, is he? Man’s a slime-ball, but I figured him to be smarter than that. Do I need to leave camp? You would tell me, wouldn’t you? I want to get out before a lockdown.”

A stab of guilt at the concern in Calina’s voice. Lockdown turned supporters into hostages. Wouldn’t be beyond Warrington to have ordered a massacre in the event of his untimely demise. A great way to ensure ongoing support.

If Fabian won his challenge everyone was safe until he decided to disappear into some vortex, leaving anarchy behind him.

“Don’t know why you stay here.” The best Tig could do without compromising Fabian or herself. Much as she liked Calina, he would always come first. “Thinking of moving into town myself. Opportunities growing there by the day. Even heard talk of democratic elections.”

Calina snorted, dark eyes lit by a cynical gleam. “Yeah and Cafino will sprout wings and fly. You still got that old hoofer?”

“Old but reliable hoofer. Think about leaving. You can always come back if town isn’t to your liking.”

“Yes. Let me get you that coffee.”

Keeping still, knowing Sunas would be terrified as well as in pain was nigh on impossible. And Fabian? Would he be hiding as instructed? Not very likely and not only because he refused to be ordered by a woman. Things were moving and he with them. Tig’s heart thumped uncomfortably at the thought. Being here in camp, remembering how it was, brought home to her that after all the talk it was finally happening.

“Tig? Your coffee.” She leaned closer, engulfing Tig with the scent of her exotic perfume. “There’s a guest in the longhouse who isn’t seeing visitors. As of this morning food was prepared. Slop buckets emptied. Do you get my meaning?”

“Yes, and thank you. I can’t just leave her,” Tig whispered back, a knot of dread forming in her stomach. She’d hoped for the cell-block. Springing Sunas from the longhouse would turn a leadership challenge into a declaration of war.

“Stay out of it, Tig. Accept that she’s lost and get as far away as possible. Walk and keep walking and don’t look back. Only way to survive.”

Survive? So basic. So desperate-sounding. Is that what they’d all been reduced to?

The sound of movement outside the window. Laughter, the squeak of rusty wagon wheels turning.

Better not to burden Calina with any more. Tig gulped the coffee, wanting suddenly to be as far away as possible. Nothing she could do on her own, but at least now she knew where they were keeping her friend. And that as of this morning she still lived.

Now all she had to do was sneak out of camp without drawing attention to herself and find Hal at the pick-up point. Then get back to Fabian and figure out how to wriggle out of this mess with their hides intact. Gently, she fingered the knife caressing her thigh. No qualms about using it,
but please don’t let it come to that
, she prayed.

Dear god, let us all survive this and I’ll make the tattoo permanent, she vowed. Fabian can go home. I’ll let him go gladly, as long as he’s alive. Just let us get through this.

At the door, Calina pressed a tiny sack into her hand. “Coffee beans,” she said. “A gift from one friend to another. A friend you can always rely on, Tig.”

A brief hug and Tig was walking away, hood pulled down over her face, wrapped in her shawl. Blending with the drab crowd and trying her best not to stare as she walked past the longhouse with its wooden fence and row of windows behind which her good friend suffered and feared for her life.

A life Warrington would take without regret as he would everyone who opposed him. When would the bloody cycle ever end?

When someone strong enough had the courage to stand up and say
no more
. Someone who could unite and rule with fairness and compassion. One day, she thought. One day.

One of the guards raised his long shotgun and let go a volley into the air, just because he could. A few women shrieked and ran for cover. Most people simply put down their heads, braced themselves and ploughed on with their lives.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Tig slipped behind one of the larger stalls and then slid down the slope leading to the river. From there it was a quick dash to the trees and then a five league walk to the rendezvous point. Hal’s fear had seemed genuine and a frightened man did stupid things. Wouldn’t put it past him to abandon them all and turn his coat again. Warrington might forgive if he handed Fabian over before a formal challenge.

The next few days would tell. Dirty and starving, she trudged towards Hal’s wagon, parked in a small copse of thorn-trees and realised that her idyll with Fabian had come to an end. She thought she’d worried about him before? A picnic in the meadow compared to what lay ahead.

Fabian had walked from the barn to greet the approaching wagon before realising the size and shape were all wrong and the middle-aged man jumping down was a stranger.

Black pants and jacket over a plain white shirt. A black broad-brimmed hat on his head, the man did not dress nor have the demeanour of a warrior. He stopped to retrieve a book from the back of the wagon and then started in surprise when Fabian appeared in the barn door. Although, it seemed, not because Fabian was a stranger.

“Goodness,” he said, wide eyes registering shock. “In those clothes, for a moment I thought god in his infinite mercy had returned our dear brother Paul to us. Pastor William is the name.” He extended the arm holding the book. “Would you touch the book, my friend and tell me your own name?”

Other than the shock of mistaking him for Tig’s father, the man did not seem the slightest bit surprised to see him. That, or he didn’t care to pass judgement on who Tig chose to have as guest. Since the man appeared to pose no threat, Fabian forced himself to relax, while keeping a wary eye out for anyone else the man might have brought with him. To act any other way would only arouse suspicion.

So this was the pastor of whom Tig had spoken? Briefly, Fabian touched the book, which he guessed contained holy writings. The pastors’ eyes positively glittered with religious zeal, his smile benevolent and just a little bit condescending. Fabian had known many like him during his long years. Question was, what did he do about this uncalled for intrusion? The man would surely go straight back to where he’d come from and tell everyone Tig harboured a stranger.

“Your name, my friend. Will you share your name?” The pastor tucked the book under his arm, all the while glancing at the house. No doubt wondering when Tig would show. “Are you a relative, or has Tig hired someone to take this huge burden from her shoulders? You have nothing to fear from me. Speak up.”

Still Fabian said nothing. Did the man not see a great warrior before him? Or was he too stupid to realise? No one in their right minds could mistake him for a mere farm-hand. Could they?

Lifting his chin, Fabian recalled trampling men like pastor William underfoot as if they were dung-beetles. A taste of royal ire usually showed them the error of their ways. Not an option here, though. Killing the man would be the best course, although perhaps he ought to ask Tig first. Some people were superstitious about killing holy men.

Pastor William’s smile remained fixed on his face. When it was obvious no name was forthcoming, he nodded and turned for the house. “Is Tig inside? Haven’t seen her at worship for a good few weeks now. Thought I should make sure nothing is wrong.”

Yes, Fabian decided. The man was stupid. Turning his back on an unknown warrior, acting as if he had a god-given right to invade Tig’s privacy whenever the need took him. A blow from behind. He wouldn’t know what hit him. Fabian’s fist bunched.

“Tig is not inside,” he said instead.

“Because she’s gone to camp? To enquire about her friend? I heard--”

The last word came out on a splutter. With one hand clamped about the pastor’s neck, Fabian hauled him to the porch and dumped him into one of the chairs. Now at least the man had the grace to look surprised.

“What makes you say that?”

“Don’t hurt me. She was seen. Thought I would come over to offer solace. To see how she was.”

The pastor cowered in the chair, trembling palms raised in surrender.

Better, Fabian thought. His mouth turned dry. “Seen? By who?”

“It’s all right. She was being discreet and left unhindered. One of my contacts saw her enter camp and came straight to me. Even with the amnesty offered by Warrington, Tig would not be in camp without a reason. Word also has it there’s to be a challenge. Is she involved?”

Stupid and blind? Fabian would have burst out laughing had he not been so worried about Tig. He couldn’t resist standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest to strain the lacings of the leather vest. Tossing back his head to show off the aristocratic lines of his face.

The pastor’s startled eyes travelled slowly from the body-armour to his face and then back down the length of his body to his boots, almost as if seeing him for the first time. The adam’s-apple wobbled in his throat.

“You?”

“You were perhaps expecting Ermies the Giant? Yes, me you fool. Who else?” Wounded pride had loosened his tongue. He shouldn’t have said it and yet the new-found respect in the pastor’s eyes almost made the indiscretion worthwhile.

And had of course, sealed the man’s doom. He should kill him now, before Tig came back and turned it into a debate.

“You can count on my support. Any friend of Tig’s is a friend of mine.” This time the pastor offered a normal handshake, taking back the trembling hand when Fabian glared at him for his audacity.

“No, of course not,” the man muttered. “How presumptuous of me. Oh, thank our god, there’s Tig.” He looked about to faint with relief when Hal’s wagon, complete with Tig rattled into the yard at speed.

A moment of stunned silence and then she was jumping down, shouting something about riders.

“Came from the south road and joined the trail below the ridge, so it wasn’t me they were following, but they did know to come here.” Striding up the porch steps, face set in stone, she looked as if she would murder the pastor herself. “You led them straight here, you stupid man. If I’d wanted a three-ring circus trumpeting my every move, I’d have hired one.”

Sensing her agitation, both dogs leaped from the wagon and streaked towards the deck. One on each side of the pastor, they bared their teeth. His knuckles gripping the chair turned white.

Hal called from the wagon. “Come back, Tig. We have to keep going.”

“You go,” she shouted him back. “We can still save this if we keep our calm. Fabian, take the pastor and his wagon and follow Hal. Go to the Gerrely’s and hole up there until I come for you. The men who followed him need to find me here.”

“I’ll see you there. Hal wasted no time in whipping up his horse and turning his wagon to skirt the barn and head out through a gap in the broken-down fence across the spring-field. No time to worry about trampling the few seedlings that had managed to poke their heads above the earth.

Tig was safe. At this moment in time she was safe and here with him. In all the chaos, Fabian’s mind could grasp only one thing. She’d made it in and out of camp alive. But only just, by the sound of things. He wanted to reach over and tuck away the stray strand of hair that had fallen from the plait. Blown by the spring breeze, it flapped like a strand of gold silk. It felt somehow too intimate an act to allow this buffoon of a pastor to witness. With a mental shake, he snapped into action.

“Let me kill this blubbering fool and then pick off the pursuers from the barn. How many?”

“Five, I think.”

“Is Warrington among them?” His limbs stiffened at the thought. Every muscle hardening, his focus sharpening down to one thing. Kill Warrington and take his throne. After that, everything would fall into place.

“Not likely if there are only five. If we kill them, we start a private war.” Her clear-eyed gaze told him she’d take that option if he willed it. He should give something back in return.

“That was our intention all along, was it not?”

He glanced at the pastor, who must have suddenly realised Tig hadn’t contradicted his suggestion they kill him. Lifting the book, he covered his face and whimpered. “With you,” he said. “With you. You have my support.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Tig growled out the words, joined in chorus by the eager dogs who waited only for the command to attack.

“If they followed the pastor it will look odd that they don’t find him here.”

A surge of pride for his warrior-in-arms. He would rather a hundred Tig’s at his back than a thousand fool pastors. “And if they do, he will soil himself and blab and tell them everything. Look at the man.”

“Leaflet drop,” the pastor said, fumbling through the pages of his book. When he didn’t find what he wanted, he opened his coat and dipped into the inside pocket. Fabian’s arm shot out, stopping the pastor before he could draw a weapon. Slowly, Fabian pulled the hand from the pocket. In his fist, the pastor clutched a small printed paper. He snatched it from him.

“What is this?”

“My pastoral letter. Times of services, a few wise words for my flock.” He swallowed hard. “I’m on my rounds dropping them off at the outlying farms. Have to rush because I’m needed at a death-bed other side of the plain. A good excuse, yes?” Nodding enthusiastically, he looked from Tig to Fabian. “Better that I’m not here when they come.”