The Bastard, page 12
Perhaps I wasn’t paying quite as much attention to Bryce as I should have been.
Perhaps I was overconfident in my actions.
However, I had left considerable space between us. I wasn’t breathing down his neck. And there was nothing about Bryce’s stride to suggest he’d figured out I was on his tail. Overall, I was feeling good about my plan. When he turned a corner, I decided it was time to act.
There were few people in this area to act as witnesses. No random Blackcoats. If I was to do this, the time was now.
So I increased my pace, reaching the corner in just a few strides, and stepped around it, expecting to see Bryce’s back still some distance ahead.
Instead, he was right there in front of me, swinging his knob-ended club with both hands, aiming to take my head off with one blow.
It was all I could do to hurl myself back out of the way, doing my best to duck under the swing. At the same time, I raised my hands in protection, and was rewarded by a glancing blow that sent a shiver up my right arm.
“Fuck!” I swore as I hit the ground, my hindquarters landing in the mud with a sticky splat. Sir George, unsettled by my unexpected movement and the club missing him only because my arm got in the way, launched himself off my shoulder with a chittering sound and headed for the nearest roof.
Sir George’s unexpected splash of color distracted Bryce for a moment.
“What the hell?” he said, and I used the time to skip backwards, one hand in the mud, the other still raised before me even though it had gone partially numb.
So much for my plan. It was going to have to be a fight after all.
Bryce stalked toward me, hefting his club. But he wasn’t yet winding up for another blow.
“I don’t take kindly to being followed,” he grated at me. “I don’t like it one bit. Makes me think you’ve got some sort of malign motivation for doing so.”
He might have said more, might have been planning to deliver a sequence of threats, or demand to know what I was planning. But all of a sudden, between the end of one thought and the start of the next, Bryce’s eyes grew wide in shock, and he paused where he stood.
“You!” he said. “You’re supposed to be dead!”
I decided I didn’t like being stuck on the ground against a man with a club. So I surged to my feet with my back against the wall and glared at him with all the hate I felt in my bones.
“Yes,” I said, throwing off my hood just to make sure he knew it was me. “Me. Back from the dead, and I have a message for you.”
As I spoke, I realized my hands were both empty. I’d left my knife in my pocket when Bryce swung his club. Quickly, I drew it out and held it between us.
It didn’t take long for Bryce to get over the shock of seeing me alive. He looked at the knife, and his expression turned into a nasty grin. He set himself more solidly, ready to fight. But he spoke first.
“Okay, Mordie, I don’t know how you’re still alive, but I’ll bite. What message do you have?”
“This!” I said, and lunged as quickly as I could, doing my best to grab his club in one hand and slice him across the face with my blade.
It almost worked. I was nearly quick enough. But Bryce proved tougher than he looked, and quicker as well. As if he anticipated my strike, he held onto his club with both hands and jerked backward. My knife passed harmlessly in front of his face.
Then he twisted his club out of my grip, and before I could recover, used it to smash my forearm again, adding to the pain that was already there.
Not content with what he had done, he stepped closer, his grin becoming more feral. Still with his two-handed grip, he smashed his club at me from both sides, like a boxer using both ends of the club as his fists.
It was all I could do to try to block him and absorb the blows. Somehow, I’d lost my grip on my blade. It was gone, my hand too numb to grip it, lost somewhere in the mud at our feet.
Then I was back against the wall with nowhere to go, and I realized I’d made a huge mistake. Bryce may have lacked Durstan’s brute size and strength and much of Rolf’s power and skill, but he made up for it with viciousness.
Again and again, the Blackcoat pummeled my sides with the ends of his club. Each blow was short, sharp, and powerful, but nowhere near as bad as if he had chosen to step back and give it a full swing. Yet that seemed intentional on his part. As if he wanted to cause as much pain as he could.
All I could do was keep my head down and weather the storm, and finally, Rolf’s minion stepped back.
He wasn’t done, not by a long way. I could see it in his eyes. He just wanted to change his grip on his club and gloat at me for a moment.
“I don’t know how you survived being hanged,” he said, echoing his earlier words. “And I don’t care. I always thought you were too soft for this game, and you proved it with that woman. If it weren’t for her guards turning up when they did, me and Durstan would have killed you then and there. That you survived your own hanging just means I get a second chance to finish the job.”
As he spoke, I tried to catch my breath and fumbled at the hilt of my sword. Even as I realized how badly this was all going, I couldn’t help but think of my rules.
I should fight to win, no matter the cost.
But now, I understood that even that wasn’t enough. I’d been a fool not to be better prepared. As Bryce’s expression turned nasty again, and he started to shift his stance for the finale, I thought that maybe that fourth rule needed a little modification.
As far as finding things out went, use what you’ve got made sense. But for fighting?
It had to be more. Like, use everything you’ve got.
Because for me to go up against someone like Bryce all by myself was madness. Especially when I could have enlisted the aid of some of the people I knew, those who might benefit directly with Bryce out of the way. And even that failed to make use of perhaps my greatest advantage.
Meghan.
She’d given me an amulet. But what other small magics could she have provided?
When would I ever learn?
With my hand still partially numb and new bruises on my shoulders and sides, I struggled to get a proper grip on the hilt of my sword. If I had just a few more seconds, perhaps I could do it. But Bryce showed no sign of granting me that much time.
“I’m gonna enjoy this!” he said, and stepped forward, his intention plain.
I thought I was done for. Without some miracle of intervention, Bryce’s next strike would smash into my face, into my head, and that would be the start of the end. I could see the strike coming in the way he wound up, and there was little I could do to defend myself.
And then, out of nowhere, Sir George was there, screeching and flapping about in Bryce’s face. My little rat dragon was puffing billows of smoke and attacking Bryce for all he was worth.
It was enough to cause the Blackcoat to flinch backward. To abort his swing midway through and try to fend off my scaled friend with his hand.
At the same time, Bryce let fly a stream of curses, and I finally managed to draw my sword.
I didn’t hesitate. With Sir George distracting my foe, I did all I could, launching myself in a clumsy attack that nevertheless got the job done. I managed to aim my sword at Bryce’s chest, and there was nothing he could do to prevent the blade from entering his heart.
I drove my sword into him with all my strength. Bryce stopped his cursing and uttered a grunt of pain and surprise. But he was able to manage one more swipe at Sir George.
He caught my rat dragon a glancing blow with the back of his hand that was strong enough to send my friend fluttering to the ground.
“You bastard!” I said to him. “You’ll pay for that!
With one swift movement, I withdrew my sword and plunged it into his chest once again.
Bryce looked at me with an expression of hatred and rage mixed with horror. But there was nothing more he could do. The club fell out of his grip, and he tried to speak, but all that he managed was to spit up some blood.
“You… You…” he said, then he sank to his knees.
I watched the light fade from his eyes, and he toppled sideways, nearly bringing me down with him, as I was still holding onto the hilt of my sword.
I was puffing and panting and seething in rage that he had taken a swipe at my scaled friend. When I knew for sure he was dead, I jerked the sword out of his corpse.
I cleaned my weapon on Bryce’s black coat before putting it away, then kicked him in the face for good measure.
Only then did I make my way over to where Sir George had landed.
“Are you okay, little buddy?” I asked.
Sir George puffed an indignant belch of smoke and gave a chirp. He seemed to be favoring his right hind leg, and I hoped it wasn’t too badly damaged. But he didn’t complain when I reached down to pick him up and settled him in place on my shoulder once again.
That done, I gingerly returned to Bryce’s corpse and spat on his face. Then I relieved him of his knob-ended club, testing its weight and thinking that it was a better make than the one I already owned. And that satchel he had would be full of the bribe money he took from the dock master. I figured Rolf owed me at least what was in there, and kept that as well.
29
I made my way directly to Meghan’s cottage at the edge of the city. I didn’t even think about heading anywhere else. While the Twin Barrels alehouse, the Goose and Quill, and the Wooden Bucket all had their charms, it was Meghan I wanted to see most of all.
By the time I arrived, my arms were aching and felt as heavy as if they were made of lead. On top of that, my sides ached to the point where it hurt to draw breath, and I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.
Nor was I the only one. Sir George didn’t seem to be able to get comfortable. He grumbled and shifted his weight around my shoulder without end, occasionally puffing out small plumes of smoke.
I decided that being beaten up was exhausting and didn’t want to do it anymore. At the same time, I still wanted my revenge. I just needed to figure out how to get it without getting so battered.
Because killing Bryce had made me feel victorious for a moment, but there were still two more men who had earned my wrath, and until they were dead, I wouldn’t be able to rest.
With a huge sense of relief, I finally stood in front of Meghan’s door and rapped upon it with the knob end of my club.
I heard movement from within.
“Who is it?” Meghan called.
“Me,” I said. “Mordie.”
For some reason, I expected Meghan to open the door in the guise of her elderly self. In my mind, it was that version of the enchantress who acted as a healer, and that was, in part, why I had made the journey all that way.
And that was the guise I was most familiar with, not counting the moment or two she had appeared mostly in my memories–or the very memorable last day I’d spent in her company.
So I was somewhat surprised to see her in her full splendor instead.
Her beautiful smile was firmly in place as she swung the door wide, but it faded as she took note of the state I was in. Then her expression became that of a worried mother whose favorite son had turned up all bloodied and broken.
“What have you done?” she asked, shaking her head as if she didn’t really want to know. Before I could answer, she was already stepping aside. “Come on in,” she said. “Let’s have a look at you.”
It had only been a few weeks since I last seen the inside of Meghan’s cottage, and while it was the same as ever, it seemed strange being there again. I couldn’t help but wonder if there were any other men she had invited in.
Even though I had been with a good handful of others since I’d left, the thought of her with someone else wasn’t pleasant.
I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. I had no call on her in the least, and she wasn’t beholden to me. Instead, I took a seat on the edge of her bed as if no time at all had passed, and she fussed at me to take off my coat and tunic.
Sir George, dislodged by my movements, found his usual spot on the floor and curled up, but left his damaged leg sticking out at an unusual angle.
Meghan prodded me in the ribs, examined my arms, and turned my head this way and that as she peered into my eyes and examined me for additional wounds.
“You were lucky,” she said, and I couldn’t help but think of the new amulet she had given me.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything broken, although you’re going to have some nasty bruises begin to show in the next few days. I shouldn’t wonder if your whole right arm turns purple, as well as each side of your ribs. What did you do? Did you get jammed in a tight spot, crushing you from both sides?”
I had to laugh at the image, then winced at the pain in my ribs. “Something like that,” I said. Then I relented. “I tracked down one of Rolf’s men. I thought I could take him by surprise, but I was wrong.”
It was Meghan’s turn to smile, although hers seemed to be tinged with sadness.
“So, you’re going through with it then?” she asked.
I nodded. “I am. It seems that Rolf’s activities are more extensive than I thought. Turns out, he might be working for the King himself.”
At this, Meghan’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked at me with interest. So I told her all the things I had learned about what Rolf and his men had been doing, and how it all seemed to be under the auspices of the King.
As I spoke, her expression became grim.
“I always suspected,” she began. Then she shook her head. “Not that it matters, now. The best I could do was keep you alive. And even that…” she trailed off again.
She seemed to be talking about something entirely different. Something related to whatever big secret she was keeping.
Something related to my earliest years.
“What do you mean?” I prompted.
“Never you mind. It’s all in the past now. Although, can you not see that it makes your current quest for vengeance even more dangerous? That you are effectively pitting yourself against the King’s men?”
“I was doing that before. There is no difference. Not really.”
The enchantress looked at me for long moments. It seemed she wanted to say something, maybe even to spill that secret. Instead, she clamped her jaw shut and touched me gently on the shoulder.
“Stay here a moment. I have a something that will take the sting of your bruises away. It might even help you breathe a bit easier.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And when you’re done with me, can you have a look at Sir George as well? He saved my life. If he hadn’t distracted Bryce at just the right time, I might not have been able to beat him.”
The enchantress nodded before disappearing into the other room of her cottage, where she kept the bulk of her medicines. When she returned, she smeared a pungent, sweet smelling paste on the worst of my bruises before wrapping my arms and chest with bandages made of linen. That done, she examined Sir George, who bore the attention with a grumpy expression.
“He’ll be fine,” she proclaimed after a moment. “He’s barely hurt at all. Just lost a few scales. I think he’s playing it up for the sake of attention.”
I had to admit, I was relieved. I had become attached to the flying lizard and didn’t want to see him hurt. Especially not because of me.
With both patients seen to and fixed up as best as could be, Meghan sat beside me on the bed and raised a coy eyebrow.
“So,” she said. “Was that the only reason you came back? To have me tend to your wounds? Or was there another reason for making the journey?”
I thought I knew where she was heading and offered a grin. “I’m not sure you could say I had another reason, exactly,” I said, “but I might have been hoping for something more, it is true.”
Meghan’s smile grew broader, and she nodded. “Do you think you’re up to it?”
I laughed carefully, on account of my ribs. “Sure,” I said. “But I wouldn’t expect me to take the lead. Not if I were you. However, I’m more than happy to lie here and let you do as you will.”
At this, the enchantress burst out laughing. She grabbed hold of one of the feather pillows, and I thought she would have swung it at me if I wasn’t so covered in bruises.
Instead, she leaned forward and kissed me, and all other thoughts disappeared at the touch of her soft lips. She sat back, eyed me with professional interest, picked a spot in the middle of my chest that seemed free of bruises, and pushed me over so I lay flat on my back.
Then she got to work, removing my boots and my breeches as well.
In moments, I was naked as the day I was born. Then Meghan le Fay gathered her shift and took it off over her head before joining me on the bed.
It was a slow, sensuous lovemaking session, completely at odds with our last efforts, but no less fulfilling. Only once did she forget about my injuries, unconsciously gripping me by the shoulders as she climaxed. I gritted my teeth against the pain and said nothing, and when she was again in control of herself, she apologized profusely.
“It’s okay,” I murmured. “I know a good healer.”
Meghan laughed, and that was enough to convince her everything was fine, and in moments she was grinding against me again.
Twice more, the enchantress climaxed, and then, just like last time, it was my turn. After, Meghan lay comfortably against me with my arm draped around her, the bruises still fresh but somehow less important than before.
Eventually, Meghan broke the comfortable silence. “You’re sure there’s no way I can talk you out of your plans?”
“I told you,” I said. “I’m tired of playing by the rules of others.”
For a moment, she said nothing more. Then, “You killed a man.” It was a statement of fact. I hadn’t told her this, not outright, but it wasn’t hard to work out from what I’d said.
I nodded but didn’t say anything.
“But it was a closer thing than you thought it would be.”
