“Yes,” I said, but my happiness fled. I would not get to marry at all. What was I doing? As soon as my master and I were finished here we would be gone and I would never see Drusl again. “Show me your mounts, Rufra,” I said glumly.
“I will,” he said, and either he was so excited by his animals, Balance, a huge white mount with eight-point antlers, and Imbalance, a slightly smaller black mount with one antler shorter than the other, or he was too polite to comment on the dampening of the fire which had burned in me only a moment before. We spent well over an hour in the stables. Talking of mounts and the other squires, laughing together and finding more common ground than I had ever imagined could exist between an assassin and a blessed. Every so often he would steer the conversation back to Drusl and I would steer it away to more comfortable ground.
“How did you meet her?” asked Rufra again, and before I could find a new a way of politely avoiding talking about Drusl the waterclock chimed one.
“One already? I said. “I must run, Rufra. I am meant to meet General ap Mennix and Daana ap Dhyrrin so they can try and work out what use I can be to their courtly intrigues.”
“Then you should run as fast as you can, Girton.” He smiled. “Bryan ap Mennix has been known to lecture on lateness for over an hour.”
I left Rufra and ran up to the castle, noticing two new corpses hanging from the battlements. I was forced to detour by a guard who told me the main hall was off limits to “filthy squires and cripples.” He pointed at the back corridors and, not having time to argue, I followed his instructions. Three squires in the ap Mennix livery of yellow and purple, a writhing snake embroidered in a diagonal across the torso, blocked my way. Kyril headed them. Like the heir he was a big boy with little skill in anything but bullying others. Behind him stood Borniya. Close up he was even bigger than Kyril. Behind them stood Hallin. Though he wasn’t as big as Borniya or Kyril Rufra had told me to watch him most closely. He was the mind behind some of the trio’s more vicious acts. The guard must have been placed to funnel me to here, where Kyril and and his friends were waiting.
“Girton ap Gwynr,” said Kyril.
“Kyril.” I gave him a short bow of respect and tried to go around him. He blocked my way.
“This is the cripple who thinks he can be a Rider, Borniya,” he said.
“I’ve no wish to be a Rider; I was forced to—”
“I’ve heard your father breeds mounts.” He pushed my shoulder.
“That must be why you smell like a thankful born in a stable,” said Hallin. The others laughed and I tried to join in.
“Aye, I’ve been seeing to my animal. Now I have a meeting so I must wash.”
“I heard you didn’t like animals much, dogs anyway,” said Borniya. He grinned at me, the old wound on his face twisted his words and his mouth into strange shapes.
“Been hobbling down to see that stable girl you like?” said Kyril. I bit down on my tongue before I answered.
“I really must get on, Kyril,” I said and tried once more to pass. Again he stepped in front of me.
“We’ve all had her, you know. Me, Aydor, Borniya, Hallin, everyone. She loves it, bit of a tussle with a blessed boy. I didn’t know she had a thing for cripples though.” He was baiting me and I knew it, but anger, like a heavy black liquid, rose within me at the mention of Drusl. “Or maybe she thinks cripples are disgusting and pathetic, just like we do, but she needs to do you to complete the set. So she can say she’s bedded all the squires. She’ll probably throw up afterwards.” I bunched my fists, digging my nails into the palms of my hands.
“She’s even had that filthy upstart little friend of yours,” said Hallin. “I heard she likes it Ruf-ra.” He and his friends laughed again. I concentrated on breathing—out, in—and trying to still the swelling fury within me before it spilled over and something happened I would regret. I did not know what it would be, but I knew Kyril and his friends would not survive. The more he spoke the more it felt fated to happen.
At the moment I was about to act I was distracted by a movement at the far end of the corridor.
The priest of Xus, a shadowed black robe, a flash of white mask, appeared, and a trick of perspective made it seem as if he stood on Kyril’s shoulder. I stared as the priest tilted his head until it was almost entirely on its side.
Kyril hit me.
It was more of a shove really, a hard, open-palmed, shove in the centre of my chest that sent me sprawling. I was so surprised I didn’t react and only stared up at the bigger boy as he towered above me. “I said, cripples should look at their betters when they speak to them,” he shouted.
But the distraction caused by the priest of Xus had been enough to poor some oil on the waves of darkness within me. Kyril’s violence had also brought me back to my senses. I was trained for violence and I found violence far easier to cope with than cruel words. Violence sharpened my mind and my reactions and steeled me for pain. I am the instrument. This boy was determined to hurt me, and either I would have to let him or I would have to kill him and his two friends, then somehow hide all the bodies if I wanted to keep my cover.
I stared up at Kyril.
“You are right,” I said. “Cripples should look at their betters when they talk to them.” I let out a long breath and then made an ostentatious show of staring at the wall. “I will make sure I always do that in future.”
“Oh,” said Kyril, the muscles of his arms bunching as he stepped forward, “you’re a mouthy little mage-bent yellower. We’re going to enjoy this.”
“Kyril!” The voice was parade-ground loud and used to being obeyed. “What are you doing?”
I looked up to see Heamus striding down the corridor.
“Just a game, Heamus,” said Kyril meekly.
“Girton,” said Heamus, “was it just a game?”
“Yes, Heamus,” I said.
“Well—” he glanced from boy to boy “—I am sure you all have duties to attend to and do not have time for any more games. Girton, I am come to take you to meet the general, and you need to wash. I can smell you from here. The rest of you, go find something useful to do before I bring Nywulf’s wrath down on you, and stay away from the stables.” Heamus and I watched as Kyril and his two friends walked down the corridor with the stiff walk of boys who knew they had been caught misbehaving. Heamus helped me up. “Did he hurt you?” asked the old Landsman.
“No, Heamus.”
“They are not bad lads, only a little boisterous. Perhaps they are a little too fond of throwing their weight around,” he said. “You should fight one of them. There is nothing more likely to seal a friendship among boys than a bit of a fight.”
“I will think on it, Heamus,” I said.
“Good, good.” He took a sniff of air and looked puzzled. I wondered whether he had reached the age where his wits were leaving him. “Now, go wash yourself and put on a tabard. It does not do to be late to meet Bryan ap Mennix.”
Chapter 11