Taste of Lightning Read online

  Tugger dragged him upward, rough as a sack of carrots; his hands and knees scraped on the stone, his hips banged into the wall. He couldn’t see how high he’d come. Tugger stopped pulling. Perrin dangled at the end of the rope. If Tugger let go . . .

  Desperately Perrin felt for a foothold. He managed to jam the toe of his boot into a crack, but then the rope jerked and he was yanked upward again. Not far now. He heard Tugger pant for breath. And dogs, the breath of dogs. Not barking. Heads down, intent on a scent close by. Didn’t Tugger hear them too? A whine. He must have heard that.

  In sudden panic, Perrin remembered: the dogs were his job. He started to sing. Rain poured down his face and into his mouth. Then the dogs heard. Their breathing changed, they whined; almost at the top, Perrin heard the irregular thump of tails. The dogs were right there.

  With one last, rough heave on the line, Perrin reached the top of the battlements. And saw . . . not Tugger’s black-smeared face, but strangers. Four men leering in triumph, holding the rope. Perrin saw this in the same instant he grasped the battlements and vaulted the top of the wall onto the walkway. He growled out a new chantment, and the dogs attacked.

  They sprang just as the guards reached for Perrin. There was a flurry of teeth and fur, and screaming. Perrin rolled out of the way; a body fell, boots kicked wildly. The guards screeched commands at their dogs, but the animals were oblivious, obedient only to Perrin’s chantment; they snarled and snapped and mauled their handlers. Perrin edged back from the tangle of dogs and men.

  His groping hand came down on something warm and firm. It was Tugger. His body was crumpled beneath a window. His throat had been torn out.

  Perrin’s song dried in his mouth.

  ‘Below! There’re more below!’ There was a clatter of boots, more yelling and barking. The dogs let go; Perrin heard them whine, and a confused scrabble of paws and boots as dogs and guards stumbled away. He pressed himself against the wall. He heard more shouts, then the whistle of arrows.

  There was one moment of silence, then a roar went up. ‘Got him!’

  Perrin leaned against the wet stone, feeling sick. Fello, Pigeon, Tugger, all gone. He was alone.

  The guards were gone, the dogs were gone. Alone. Perrin whispered, ‘Go, go, go.’

  He was standing near the corner of the wing, on the deserted walkway. A row of long windows were cut into the wall behind him. Those three long windows. That’s our target. Perrin caught hold of the bottom pane of the nearest window and pulled with all his might. It wasn’t locked, and the window slid up so smoothly that Perrin toppled into the room, tearing down a heavy curtain onto his head. He thrashed and lurched, a headless beast, a man-monster. He knocked into something, a little table or a chair, and felt it collapse beneath him like a nest of twigs.

  ‘Don’t move!’ Perrin felt the prick of a sword-point through the fabric of the curtain, and froze.

  The curtain was plucked off Perrin’s head, and he blinked in the sudden blaze of light. There were lamps everywhere, glinting off silver and gold. It was like standing inside a treasure-box. He’d never seen anything like it: the flowers, the carpets, the gilt, the cushions. He staggered sideways.

  ‘I said, don’t move!’ The sword pricked his back, and Perrin registered that the voice was female. Cautiously, he turned his head.

  Two kids stood behind him. One, a slightly built, fair-haired boy in a white shirt and breeches, held the sword to Perrin’s back with easy confidence. The other was a girl with shoulder-length red hair tied back; she was wearing a long grey dressing-gown with embroidered collar and cuffs.

  ‘He’s not moving. Put the sword down, Tansy.’

  ‘Not till he throws his dagger down.’

  Then Perrin realised he’d got it wrong. The one in grey was the boy, and the one with the sword was the girl. He started to laugh.

  ‘Shut up!’ said the girl fiercely. ‘This ain’t funny! A man was killed just outside that window.’

  Perrin stopped laughing. ‘I know.’

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the boy, quietly.

  ‘He’s come to kill you, that’s what!’ cried the girl. ‘He’s an assassin.’

  ‘She’s not your bodyguard, is she? I can see I’ll have to revise my ideas about Baltish girls.’

  ‘I ain’t no bodyguard,’ said Tansy. ‘I’m a friend.’

  Still smiling, Perrin whipped out his dagger. Tansy lunged, he dodged. They stood with blades poised, ready to spring.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the boy again.

  ‘I’m a friend too.’ Perrin thrust his dagger back in its sheath. ‘I’m here to rescue you.’

  ‘Rescue me?’ echoed the boy.

  ‘Res-cue you.’ Perrin almost spat the words out in frustration. ‘Save you. Take you home.’

  The two kids stared at him, and Perrin saw himself as they must see him: a wild figure splashed with mud, face blackened, drenched from head to toe. His knees buckled and he sank down on an enormous stuffed sofa.

  ‘Call the guards,’ he said. ‘Get it over with. Three men dead. One injured. Who knows what’s happened to Wispy, maybe the boar got him. The mission’s failed. Go on, call the guards. Let them see Rengan’s finest in action. Oh sweet bones of the everlasting gods.’

  ‘I wish Beeman were here,’ said Skir.

  ‘Well, he ain’t. Looks like he’s abandoned you,’ said Tansy.

  ‘He wouldn’t do that.’

  At that moment there was a huge explosion. The room shook; Skir covered his ears. Paintings and mirrors crashed from the walls. Perrin rolled off the sofa and covered his head with his arms.

  Tansy said in awe, ‘The cannons on the roof.’

  ‘They’ve never fired them before,’ said Skir.

  The tremendous boom sounded again; a vase of flowers trembled at the edge of a shelf, then smashed to the floor. Now they could hear whistles, shouts, dogs barking.

  Perrin sprang up. ‘They’re coming back. They’ve worked out it’s you we were after.’

  The whistles shrilled close by. There were running footsteps inside the Palace, thundering up the stairs. Perrin looked at Tansy. ‘Well? You going to help me save your boyfriend?’

  ‘She’s not –’

  ‘He ain’t my boyfriend!’ Tansy’s face turned scarlet.

  ‘You going to turn me in then?’

  Unconsciously, Perrin adopted the rhythms of her speech. It was a trick that came naturally to him, like mimicking the animals he tamed. Like trusts like. Already Tansy’s distrust was wavering.

  She hesitated. Then she thrust the sword at Skir and grabbed Perrin’s hand. ‘Quick. Into the bed.’

  ‘I can’t pretend I’ve slept through that!’ protested Skir.

  ‘Not you. Me and the Gani. You hold them off. We’ll work out what to do with him later.’ Tansy dived into Skir’s bed, and Perrin burrowed after her.

  Heart racing, Skir kicked the sword under the sofa’s skirts. It hung over the fire for decoration; it had never occurred to him that it was an actual weapon until Tansy had pointed it out. He flipped a plump cushion over a muddy patch. The curtain! He bundled it up and shoved it after the sword. He was only just in time; the next instant, the doors crashed open and the room was flooded with guards, swords drawn, dogs straining at their leashes.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Skir tried to make his voice deep and angry, but he could hear the squeak of fear, even if no one else could.

  ‘Rengani assassins!’ barked the captain of the guard. ‘Why are all the lamps lit? Why’s that window open?’

  ‘I was trying to see what was happening out there – all the commotion –’

  ‘That’s dangerous.’ One of the guards slammed the window shut.

  The dogs sniffed and whined, straining to explore. Skir followed as they ran into the bedroom and snuffled eagerly round the bed. One put his muddy paws up on the covers and barked.

  ‘Can’t you control that animal?’ said Skir. ‘That’s Gellanese silk.’

&nb
sp; ‘Looks like they’ve found something,’ said the handler.

  But then the dogs turned away. One sat down and scratched himself. Another’s tail thumped lazily on the carpet. They’d lost interest in the bed.

  The handler rubbed his head. ‘Don’t know what’s got into the dogs tonight. Damnedest thing, earlier, they turned –’

  ‘Not in front of –’ muttered the captain. He jerked his head toward Skir, then realised the boy was watching him. Belatedly he saluted. ‘You hear anything suspicious? Your Highness?’ he remembered to add.

  ‘Well, there was a lot of noise. I got up to look. My tutor –’

  ‘Yes, where is he?’

  ‘He – he went to find out what was going on.’ Skir clutched his dressing-gown round him. In fact Beeman’s bed had not been slept in, and Skir had no idea where he was. ‘Didn’t you see him outside?’

  The captain frowned. ‘I’ll send him back to you when I do see him. He’s not supposed to leave you unattended.’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, is there?’

  ‘No, of course not. Thought one of the Gani bastards had given us the slip, pardon my language, but it seems not.’

  ‘A Gani couldn’t get past you, surely?’

  ‘No, Your Highness. No, we’ve got them all.’

  ‘So you’ll be calling off the search now?’

  The captain hesitated. ‘Well – yes.’

  ‘And there won’t be any more disruption? My protector, the King, won’t be very happy if he hears my sleep’s been interrupted.’

  ‘No, sir. Should be all quiet now. Sorry we disturbed you.’

  ‘I’ll tell the King how conscientious you’ve been.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Goodnight, Your Highness.’

  With salutes from the guards, the patrol withdrew.

  Skir twitched the bedcovers. ‘You can come out now.’

  Tansy emerged. ‘You talk to the King?’ she said in awe.

  ‘Never spoken to him in my life. But I’m a king myself, don’t forget.’

  ‘Not a real king, though,’ said Tansy.

  Skir stood open-mouthed, searching for a suitable reply to this outrageous statement. Perrin put out the nearest lamp and peered from the window. ‘Looks as if they really have called off the search.’

  ‘What now?’ asked Skir.

  ‘Put all the lights out,’ said Tansy. ‘Looks like a party in here, and anyone can see through that window. Where’s that sword?’

  Perrin said, ‘What, you’ve shared a bed with me, and you still don’t trust me?’

  ‘That’s the time to trust a man the least, my ma says.’ Tansy caught up the sword and aimed it at Perrin’s throat. ‘Too right I don’t trust you. But I reckon we can use you.’

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t done this before?’ Perrin smiled, but Tansy scowled at him.

  ‘I trained with my brothers. I could give you a fair fight. Want to try me?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Perrin raised his hands in mock surrender and stretched out on the bed. ‘This is like lying on clouds. What is it? Goose down?’

  Skir returned from putting out the lamps. ‘I guess if you wait a while it’ll be safe for you to go.’

  ‘Just him?’ said Tansy. ‘What about you and me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re escaping, ain’t we?’ She turned to Perrin. ‘Ain’t that what you came for?’

  Perrin sat up. He said crisply, ‘Perhaps you didn’t understand me. Our mission is in ribbons. Tugger’s dead, so are Pigeon and Fello, maybe Wisp, too. Doughty and I will be lucky to get back down the river alive.’

  ‘Down the river? You got a boat?’

  ‘A boat. That’s clever,’ said Skir softly.

  ‘So we just got to get out of the Palace and through the woods. We can do that. I know a way.’ Tansy swung back to Skir. ‘The Witch-Woman’s got secret passages – Lorison showed me. There’s one leads right out into the woods. There’s a door in the green music room; I was meant to use it to get back to Madam after I took your – Anyway, never mind that now – think we can sneak out without them guards catching us?’

  ‘The green music room isn’t far,’ said Skir. ‘But –’

  Tansy hugged herself. ‘Long as Madam don’t see us,’ she whispered. ‘I bet she got eyes in all them passages. But that’s all right, you can protect us with your magic.’

  ‘Tansy –’

  ‘Good.’ Tansy turned toward the cupboards. ‘We already packed one bag for me, now we’ll pack one for you. Lucky it’s summer, you won’t need much. Quick, get dressed. Where’s that money you won?’

  ‘Wait,’ said Skir. ‘I want to talk to Beeman.’

  ‘Your precious Beeman ain’t here. You got a Gani soldier sitting on your bed. You got to make up your own mind this time. Get dressed.’

  ‘I want to talk to Beeman first.’

  Tansy stopped pulling out clothes and seized him by the shoulders. ‘You been telling me for two days how you hate it here. Ain’t this your chance to get home?’

  Skir screwed up his face.

  ‘So? You want to get out of here. I got to get away from Madam. No more to say. I’m taking these boots. Lucky your feet ain’t much bigger than mine. You got food, Gani, on this boat of yours?’

  Perrin’s hands dangled between his knees as he watched Tansy tear around the rooms, thrusting useful things into a rucksack. The boy tugged on some breeches. Perrin was very tired, and his head felt like lead, but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to rest for long. He whispered, ‘Go, go, go.’

  PART TWO

  The Coast Road

  CHAPTER 6

  Penthesi

  THE rain stopped at last. Perrin had almost given up hope of finding Doughty and the boat when he heard the rush of the river. The boy and the girl argued in whispers behind him; the boy was complaining about his feet. Thank the gods, they were nearly there. Now Doughty could take over. Doughty would know what to do.

  Perrin was exhausted; he looked forward to hearing the bark of military orders again. Orders from Doughty were one thing, but he was damned if he’d take any more bossing from that laundry-maid. He wondered how the boy-king had come to choose a laundry-maid for a girlfriend. She had been useful, smuggling them out of the Palace. She’d led them through a maze of dark passages that stopped and started and wound back on themselves like a burrower’s tunnel. And she’d been scared to death, too, that was obvious; she was so relieved when they emerged into the clean, damp air of the woods that she’d squeezed Perrin’s hand nearly to pulp.

  But there was no place for a girl on a mission like this, especially a Balt girl, even if she did know how to handle a sword. Well, she was Doughty’s problem now. With Doughty and the boat, maybe, just maybe, they’d make it home after all. Swordsman Perrin, survivor of a dangerous mission – rescued the boy-king single-handed – Hero of Rengan –

  They were at the edge of the woods. Perrin could hear the rustle of the tall reeds, and the lap and gurgle of the lazy river.

  He stopped abruptly. There was a light on the water.

  The boy and the girl came up behind him. The girl whispered, ‘What’s that?’

  Doughty would never light a lamp. Never.

  ‘Down!’ Perrin ordered. He grabbed their arms and pulled them forward into the river as the shower of arrows whistled around them. The boy spluttered as his head went under, and the girl cried out. Perrin dragged them deeper into the current. Now he could see the boat was in flames, and soldiers were silhouetted along the bank, their bows raised and arms pulled back. Someone shouted, and more arrows rained down. The boy flailed in panic beside him, and the girl struggled against him; at last Perrin realised she was hissing, ‘Let go!’

  Promptly Perrin released her and turned his attention to the thrashing boy. ‘Can you swim?’

  ‘I learned on the farm,’ said the girl, treading water beside him.

  ‘Not you!’

  The boy gulped and spluttered. ‘A bit –
no, not really –’ He gasped as his head went under again; Perrin reached out to grab him.

  ‘Stop splashing, you frugging idiot. Keep still and I’ll tow you. We’ve got to swim, it’s our only chance. They won’t follow, they’ve got too much gear.’

  ‘I can hold my breath . . .’

  ‘Then hold it.’

  Another shower of arrows shrilled around them. If they could shelter behind the burning wreck of the boat – where was Doughty? – they might be all right. The Balts couldn’t swim, Tugger had assured him. Yeah, and man-monsters guarded the Palace, too, and here was the frugging laundry-maid paddling away beside him like a frugging otter, even with her knapsack on, hair plastered to her head. Still, safer in the water than on the bank . . .

  The boy lay as limp as a corpse with Perrin’s hand cupped under his chin; one slow stroke at a time, Perrin towed him toward the burning boat. The flames painted the river with dancing orange. They were nearly there; they were going to make it. The boat was burned nearly to the waterline; but he hoped there’d be something to grab onto.

  Perrin saw the girl duck as yet another volley of arrows spat into the water, then his right hand blazed with searing pain, as if he’d caught a burning coal. He doubled over in the water, letting go of the boy.

  ‘One down! One down!’ came the shout. ‘Sarge, I got one!’ There were big splashing strides along the river’s edge.

  Moaning with pain, Perrin kicked through the water toward the wreck. The flames were dying; there was nothing left but a blackened shell. An oar floated past him, and he threw his arm over it; it bobbed and spun, and he swallowed a mouthful of water. It tasted like dead leaves. He rested his chin on the oar and kicked until he was on the far side of the boat; he wedged the end of the oar between the planks, and rested, gulping air as the cold, lazy current tugged at him.

  His hand throbbed where the arrow-shaft stuck through it. His right hand; of course it had to be his right hand, his harp hand, his sword hand. He’d never been wounded before. He’d even come through the Battle of the Falls without a scratch. Perrin’s luck, they said; men fought to stand beside him in the line. He knew he ought to pull the arrow out, and try to stop the bleeding, but he was in the middle of the frugging river! He felt faint; his mouth and nose slipped under the water. No – no. He mustn’t drown, he didn’t want to die here. Like Doughty? No, Doughty must be safe somewhere, hiding in the reeds on the other bank. They couldn’t all be dead.