Pip Vaughan-Hughes - Relics

The Balecester voices did not belong in here. I wondered where the nightingales had gone. All in all, this wasn't a bad place to die, I thought suddenly, but if only I could smell Anna's hair once more.

'Wynn and James: go on ahead. Find him, and flush him if he's still moving. Don't kill him, boys, remember. He's de Sol's man and I want him alive. But be quick. The ship will be putting in below us as soon as the sun rises.'

So it really was Kervezey, calling down my doom once more. And what about a ship? They must be trying to take the Cormaran. Well, my noble lord, I thought, you can be damned. I'll slow you down and make your creatures kill me so you won't have the pleasure: that at least I can do. I tugged Thorn out of her sheath and laid her on the tangle of roots before me. Then I remembered that she had been bound to my arm with a cloth band. The knot opened easily and as fast and as tightly as I could I tied the band around my thigh above the wound. It was too little, I supposed, and far too late, but I did not wish to be helpless when they found me. Then I pulled the chisel from my boot, replacing it with Thorn's sheath. The chisel fitted nicely into my left hand. Heavy feet were crunching through the dead leaves towards me. Then they stopped.

'I can't see the blood anymore,' complained the pig-eyed one. Was he Wynn or James? I wondered. And who had the lantern?

'Fuck. He must be right ahead somewhere. You creep round. I'll go straight.'

Crunch, crunch. He was going to walk right past me. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Here he comes, I thought. I peeped over the root and saw him step past the nearest tree, short-sword in hand. I did not know his face. He was four strides away. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.

I jumped to my feet, but my leg screeched beneath me and I staggered. There he was, right in front of me, frozen in surprise, but as I got my balance he recovered and yelled, swinging at me backhanded with his sword. It whispered past my face, weight carrying it wide. There was a dull twang and the sword flew off and thudded against a tree. The man was looking at me with deep concern in his eyes. The head of a crossbow bolt stood out just above his Adam's apple. Then he gave a whistling sigh and collapsed at my feet.

'Got the cunt! Didn'I?' One of the Balecester boys had the crossbow, then. He was a good shot after all.

Kervezey's voice, tight with rage, gave the man his answer, but I was not listening. I was a bit dizzy with elation and horror. Where had his sword gone? I could use his sword. Then I heard a crashing. I staggered round to see another white figure charging from the shadow of a thicket, sword raised. My first instinct was to lurch towards him, both arms out, and in two trance-like strides we met, both wrong-footed. I missed him with Thorn and just before we rammed faces I saw it was the pig-eyed man. I felt my eyebrow and lip split, and the pommel of his sword come down between my shoulders. I kneed him but missed and lost my balance as my bad leg gave way. I was sliding down his body as he flailed at me with the pommel. Before he could smash my skull I hugged him around the thighs and threw my weight sideways. Now he was off balance too and we crashed to the ground, my right arm pinned beneath him. I tried to turn Thorn in to stab, but he felt it and headbutted me, missing my nose but bludgeoning my split eyebrow. Blood burst over us and through one blurred eye I saw him rear up, pull back his sword and drive it down. I jerked my head away as it sliced my ear, but now he was cursing, trying to pull the long blade back out of the earth. I struck with my right hand and felt Thorn slide through cloth and air. I pulled back and the knife's hilt caught in the torn surcoat and held me fast. He felt it and, still cursing, pushed his left hand over my nose and mouth and bore down with all his weight as he worked the sword loose. In blind terror I kicked my legs and he pushed harder. I was suffocating and choking on my own blood. The sword came out with a jerk. Now my left arm was free, and I felt the haft of the chisel in my hand. As he pulled back with his sword I punched the blunt blade into the side of his head as hard as I could. He went rigid and fell backwards onto my legs, Thorn ripping out of his surcoat. I lay there sucking great racking breaths into me until I had the strength to drag myself free. As I did, one of his legs shot out and kicked convulsively. I scrambled back against the tree. The other leg jerked and, like something from the very farthest corner of a nightmare, he sat up and stared full at me. His once piggy eyes were bulging and glassy. Blood welled from them like tears and ran in thick cords from his nose. His mouth drooped as if pulled down on one side by an invisible finger. The haft of the chisel stuck out from the side of his head like the handle of a chafing pot. I cried out, but no sound came. He lurched to his feet and tottered, on stiff legs, to stand a few feet away, hands hanging uselessly, head slightly raised, as if he heard something in the trees. 'James! By the Baptist's wrinkled balls, what are you doing?'

Kervezey's voice shook me free of numbness. I dimly thought to shove Thorn into my boot before I was off, running – half hopping, half flailing like a madman – through the grove and onto the hillside beyond. I was well past caring who followed. 'There he goes!' It was Tom this time.

A bolt sighed past, and floated out into space over the sea. It was dawn now, and Hrinos was glowing pink. There was the place where I had climbed up onto the ridge. Another bolt rattled at my feet and made me glance down. Instantly I lost my balance and sprawled. I tried to stand but this time the wounded leg had stopped working. I could see the edge of the slope. I began to crawl, arm over arm, dragging the useless leg. Voices and footfalls were coming up fast. I was almost there. It was too late. There was turmoil all about. Someone kicked me hard in the stomach and rolled me over.

There was a ring of faces above me. Tom and the other man from last afternoon. Two others, shaven-headed Balecester men. And a slight man, with dark hair and a jutting beard, and one slate-grey eye. What have we here?' drawled Sir Hugh de Kervezey. 'It's a bloody blackamoor!' spat one of the men. Wipe his face,' ordered Kervezey.

Hard hands grabbed my hair, and Tom's companion spat in my face and rubbed, cursing as his palms came away black. He spat again and ground the warm spittle into my cheek.

'Fuck me, it's the lord from yesterday,' he croaked, drawing back in shock. Kervezey squatted down at my head and cocked his good eye at me like a great falcon. 'This is Lord Arenberg? I do not think so. Get him up.'

The man who had wiped my face caught me under the shoulders and dragged me to my feet. I felt like a dead bird in his grip. Kervezey pulled out a silk kerchief and rubbed off the last of the lamp-black. Well met, Petroc of Auneford,' said Kervezey.

Now I could see his face properly. His right eye, where Saint Euphemia had stuck her finger, was sewn shut. But the left one had me pinned. 'Sir Hugh,' I said.

'It seems I taught you well,' he went on. 'If I had but realised you had such talent as a thief I would have kept you on. But now you lift coffin lids for Monsieur Jean de Sol. And you did a very nice job for us back there.' 'Thank you.'

'Ah, yes, and thank you, Petroc, for doing the truly blasphemous work for me, just like before. I don't really like pinching things from off the altar, you know. But you, on the other hand: no such qualms. I have the relic. But I also have business with Jean de Sol.' 'Of what nature?'

You have changed, Petroc. The nature of my business with Monsieur de Sol does not concern you.'

'But I know your business. I know who you are. I know what you want.' You know who I am?'

You are the Bishop's bastard. And you are as greedy as that fat pig your father. You schemed to catch the man you call Jean de Sol for his wealth and for his business. You meant to trap him at Dartmouth, with me as bait. Now it seems you have failed to do so here.'