The Lost Reavers Page 21

  “Come, Branka. My companions and I aren’t fools. How else to explain Erro’s unexpected prosperity? It’s a vibrant, beautiful village, where I expected a mean collection of goat herder huts. You can’t be deriving your income from trade with the closest villages. They’ve not enough wealth to explain your own. The money has to be coming from Niestor’s lands, over the pass. Which means smuggling, with you and your people skimming enough off the top to warrant running a tavern and maintaining such a beautiful hamlet.”

  Branka held herself perfectly still, her braid in both hands as if she were about to pull it apart, her blue eyes glittering as she stared at Hugh. The wind blew past the outcropping, stirring her broad pantaloons and momentarily pressing them against her legs, outlining her thighs beneath the fabric.

  “You had to know I’d figure it out. Which means trouble for Erro. My arrival marks the end of an era for you all. Yet coincidentally, I arrived just as Istlav was assuming control of the village. I’m guessing he wasn’t interested in your goat herds. He wanted control of the smuggling route?”

  “Yes,” she said, her smile cutting, almost disdainful. “You’re right. He grew greedy. Where before he was content to oversee the pass and ensure it was kept safe for the couriers, suddenly he felt a need for a more civilized life. A roof over his head, a title to his name, and proceeds collected as the couriers came through.”

  “And Little Ivan?” Hugh crossed his arms over his chest. “He was fine with the smuggling until Istlav demanded more?”

  “Yes,” she said again, and now she did begin taking apart her braid, removing the knot of leather from its tip and beginning to work her fingers through its length. Head bowing to one side, glittering eyes never leaving his own. “He protested that Aleksandr would never stand for it. That your brother would have his own complaints. Istlav, fool that he was, silenced him. The rest of us were trying to calculate how best to remove Istlav - I was in favor of simply poisoning their food - when you arrived.”

  “Aleksandr,” said Hugh. “Who is that?”

  “He leads the smuggling operation from the far side of the pass,” said Branka. Her hair was kinked from its bondage, and she slowly worked her fingers down its golden length, smoothing it out. “He gave nobody a choice in the matter. Be part of his operation or die. Istlav was his lieutenant.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Hugh. “That a bid for sympathy?”

  “No,” said Branka, straightening, lowering her arms to her side. Her hair fell down over her shoulders, curled over her chest. Golden on the surface, but with dark, honeyed roots. “Simply an explanation. I’m long past asking for sympathy. What I want instead is to make a deal with you.”

  “A deal,” said Hugh, voice flat, arms still crossed.

  “Aye,” said Branka, moving forward, glittering eyes still locked on his own, lips curved in an enigmatic smile. “To reach an understanding. After all, you need not make an accurate report to your brother. We can all work together to repair the breach with Aleksandr before it spills into further violence. You can take what Istlav desired. The imperial estate. The profits from the salt smuggling. Enrich yourself, execute your brother’s orders, and also claim the one other thing Istlav desired more than anything.”

  She knelt before him, moving slowly, as if not wishing to startle him out of this dream. Yet her expression was not amorous; it was too enigmatic for him to read. There was danger there, amusement, something cruel as well.

  Hugh unfolded his arms. “And what was that?”

  “Me,” she said simply, and pulled her tunic over her head to cast it aside. Her skin was golden, but the cold wind brought a swathe of goosebumps out over her arms, shoulders, and small breasts, caused her long blonde hair to wave and swirl about her. She was lean like Morwyn, but without the obvious muscle, slender and sinewy, her breasts pert, looking as if they’d fill his palm perfectly.

  Hugh raised an eyebrow. “And you believe I’d betray my brother for a moment with you, Branka of Erro?”

  “No,” she said, moving her long fingers onto his knees. Shifting her weight forward, golden hair still stirring about her. Oh, but there was danger here, thought Hugh; she might not have had Morwyn’s lifelong training with the blade, but this was a woman of the mountains, who’d known travail her entire life, and had nothing given to her.

  All that she owned she’d taken, by guile or by force.

  “No,” she said again, fingertips moving up his thighs only to drag slowly back down to his knees, digging deep into his muscles. “I’m offering myself but to sweeten the detail, and because, after watching you fuck your companion on the bridge and in the falls last night, I’d like a taste of you for myself. No, I believe you’d betray your brother for the gold you could claim for yourself. For the wealth you could quickly build over the next seven months. This body of mine - my tongue, my cunt, my fingers and more - would only… sweeten… the deal…”

  She moved her hands to the drawstrings of his pants. Hugh was mesmerized, the shock of having been watched last night passing quickly. He wanted to take her hard, erect nipple between his lips, wanted to kiss her length of neck, to bury his face in her mane of hair. To crush her slender body against his own, and to see if he could change that look of glittering calculation into something more primal, to slip past her defenses, to make her cry out as she lost herself in ecstasy…

  Instead, he took hold of her wrists. “You value yourself too lightly, Branka. You shouldn’t barter yourself like this.”

  For a moment she looked panicked, on the verge of fleeing like a startled deer. But then she forced her smile to return. “Don’t forget, my lord. I don’t offer myself just to sway your mind. I want this for myself as well.” The look of calculation returned to her eyes. “It’s been too long since somebody fucked me like an animal.”

  And she pulled her wrists free of his fingers, slipped the drawstrings free, and then slid a cold, slender hand down under his pants to curl her fingers around his shaft.

  Eyes burning, never leaving his own, she lowered her wide lips to his cock as she drew it free, and when she licked the underside of his head, her tongue hot and wet in the brisk mountain air, Hugh almost lost track of everything around them.

  Almost.

  But the sound of something creeping up on him from behind caught his attention. Could have been the wind. Could have been anything innocuous, and for the barest moment Hugh considered ignoring it, luxuriating in Branka’s mouth -

  But it was a simple matter to glance over his shoulder.

  And see a wall of matted, heavy brown fur nearly upon him. Something so huge it beggared the mind, wet black eyes focused on him as it broke into a rumbling, undulating sprint, closing the last few yards like an explosive avalanche.

  Hugh tore himself free of Branka’s clasp and hurled himself aside into a roll, coming up too close to the cliff’s edge for comfort just as the bear’s paw swiped through where his head had been but a second ago.

  Paw the size of a shield. Claws as long and thick as cigars. Enough force behind that attack to have torn his head off, easily.

  Hugh drew his blade, but it felt like a futile gesture; the grizzly rose up on its rear legs, rose up and up to tower over them both, twice Hugh’s height, its maw large enough to crush a barrel into splinters. It roared, the sound concussive in its force, lighting up every one of Hugh’s survival instincts, bidding him to turn and run.

  Branka rose to her feet, wiping the back of her wrist across the corner of her mouth. She still looked nervous, her gaze turning toward a second figure who emerged from behind the bear.

  Mirco, the miller.

  “You should be insulted, Branka” he said, uncaring for the ursine terror. “A gentleman would never have been so rude as to take his attention away from what you were doing.”

  “Fuck,” said Hugh, the pieces sliding into place. A half dozen questions flashed through his mind, each discarded as he answered it himself. The bear was too large to be natural; m
agic was somehow involved, and not chirography. Oneirothélisi. Which made Branka - what? Fey? But she was all too human.

  “Who does that thing belong to?” he demanded. “Brank - that your… familiar?”

  Branka stepped back, reaching for her tunic. It was Mirco that crossed his arms and grinned. “Familiar? Does Medved look like a fucking black cat to you?”

  Medved glowered down at him, strands of drool hanging from his black lower lip and causing his fangs to glisten. Their points were of pale ivory, but they darkened at the base to a near chicory brown. Each large enough to puncture clean through his chest.

  “Killing me won’t solve your problems,” said Hugh, still fighting to command his thoughts. “You think the duke won’t investigate?”

  Mirco shrugged. “But by the time he does, we’ll have tidied up this mess. Removed all signs of Istlav and his idiocy. Tone down just how prosperous we are. Closed down the tavern. It’ll take the duke weeks if not a month to send someone to investigate, but we’ll be sure to send word to the capital as to your tragic death before then.”

  Hugh couldn’t help but give a grudging nod. “You know, I can actually see that working. What are you going to say? That I fell off this cliff?”

  “Bear attack,” said Branka, voice quiet. “You camped with food in your tent. Can happen to any idiot.”

  Hugh grinned. “One problem with your plan, though.”

  Branka’s eyes narrowed even as she moved to Medved’s side. But it was Mirco that responded, voice rich with easy contempt. “What’s that, my lord?”

  “I’m no idiot.”

  And in that moment he spoke out to the specters, the shades of the dead, the brothers he’d slain, and summoned forth their might: Chavaun, Sweet Severen, Evassier, Jaro, Marko - to me!

  And they were there, within him, surging just under his skin, filling him with their feverish talents and might. Sweet Severen with his unnatural calm and precision, Chavaun with his dedication and focus, Evassier with his lethal instincts, the brothers Jaro and Marko with their irrepressible vitality and raw athleticism.

  Mirco sighed. “So all idiots believe, and that’s what makes them such.”

  Branka pressed her hand to the bear’s massive flank. “A true pity, my lord. You seem a good man, and… uniquely endowed. Were there any other way, I’d have taken it. I take no pleasure in your death.”

  “Enough, Branka,” said Mirco. “Command Medved to attack already.”

  Hugh tossed up his blade so that it spun in the air, hilt landing in his palm with a satisfying thunk.

  “We can talk about that when I’ve killed your bear. I’m guessing there’s a lot more you haven’t told me. It’s going to be fascinating to learn just how much.”

  “Very well. Medved,” said Branka, tone turning flat. “Kill.”

  The grizzly bear roared once more, that punishing volume that caused birds to fly up from tree tops for what felt like miles around, and then he fell forward like a collapsing barn, forelegs extended to embrace Hugh, claws gleaming, maw opening, faster than his size would ever have hinted possible.

  Hugh threw himself aside, a second roll, just barely slipping under the bear’s arm, and came up surefooted on the loose rocks to turn and cleave at Medved’s shoulder.

  A drawing cut. No chop would pierce that thick mat of fur. Channeling all his newfound strength into the blow, Hugh slashed down and across, cutting deep into the grizzly’s shoulder.

  Who roared in fury and spun, claws seeking to tear him to ribbons. Hugh leaped, his strength such that he was able to spring three yards up and back onto the side of a boulder, only to thrust off it and onto the bear, one arm looping around its great neck so that momentum carried him around and onto its back.

  The bear rose up immediately, jaws snapping over each shoulder. Hugh grinned, holding on with one fistful of thick fur, legs clenching its broad back. With his other hand he raised his blade, flipped it so that he held it like a dagger -

  And was knocked tumbling from Medved’s back as the side of his head exploded in pain.

  Hit the rocks, rolled on instinct, only to feel the earth scoop him up and fling him across the bare expanse of rock like a rag doll. He hit something, bounced off it, lost his sword, but forced himself to stand even as his vision blurred from the strength of the impact.

  Medved came at him like a roaring storm, pounding across the tiny clearing, jaws splayed open wide.

  Hugh’s mind cleared. Strength flooded back into his body. His back was to a boulder. Trees to the right. Cliff to his left. No room. No time.

  Mikita! Nevkha! Sidorko! Blind Igocha!

  Even the rank and file of the Lost Reavers had been terribly skilled, bitterly dangerous, and these four had served as the center of their company’s battle line, massive warriors who’d born tower shields into combat, their forms draped in chain and half-plate, their hands grasping mauls and mattocks, sledgehammers and earth breakers. Men of strength and speed, of deep, almost unnatural stamina, the staying power of the company, the anvil upon which countless foes were broken.

  Hugh felt his muscles swell, his clothes tighten, and when Blind Igocha’s might flooded into him, accompanied by a fleeting vision of the giant himself, Hugh let out a roar of his own and charged right at the grizzly.

  Who swiped his paw, seeking to behead Hugh - only to have it stopped as Hugh caught it by the wrist, fingers sinking deep into the thick fur, hand nearly disappearing into the fold.

  At the same time Medved’s jaws snapped down to crunch his head, but Hugh ducked and slipped forward, reaching up with his other hand to ram the web between thumb and forefinger into the bear’s shaggy neck.

  Such was the strength that flowed through Hugh’s body that he checked both attacks - only to be forced back by the sheer weight of the charging bear, his boots skidding and sliding over the worn rock, back a half dozen yards to nearly be crushed against the boulder.

  But at the last his heels dug in, he found his footing, and stopped the giant bear’s attack.

  Medved roared right in his face, bathing him in its sweltering breath, spraying him with spittle, head shaking from side to side as it sought to break Hugh’s grip. It’s other great arm wrapped around him, trying to pull him into a hug. Huge muscles writhed beneath its coat, pulling on bones as thick as saplings.

  Hugh grinned up at the bear, the power that flooded him keeping it trapped, and then channeled a burst of strength to push it back but a few inches before stepping in to hammer his fist across the bear’s chin.

  Medved’s huge head snapped aside.

  An uppercut under its chin, jaws clicking together, and then Hugh placed one fist inside the other hand and brought them both down with everything he had upon the bear’s brow.

  The bear’s head cracked down onto the rock.

  A whirring sound from the near distance.

  Hugh moved his head aside so that Branka’s flung rock from her sling missed him by an inch.

  Medved was growling deep in its chest, a protesting moan of a sound, getting its paws under it, blinking in confusion as it tried to gather itself.

  There. His blade. Hugh walked over. He was burning up. His skin was about to split over his swollen muscles. He could barely draw breath. Felt as if he were vibrating. Took up the sword, being careful not to bend or break the handle.

  Spun it about in his grip, snatched it up so that he held it point down. Walked back to the bear.

  Another whirring release.

  This time Hugh raised his hand, caught the pebble mid-flight, allowing it to sock into his palm, closing his fingers over it a second later.

  Branka gaped at him.

  He bounced the pebble in his palm, tossed it over his shoulder, and turned back to Medved.

  He’d hit the bear harder than he’d realized. The hillock of dark fur was slowly rousing itself. It was near the size of a cottage. Vast. Yet still susceptible to terrible blows to the head. Snuffling and snorting it shook its head as if to clea
r it, then turned slowly to face him.

  It still hadn’t managed to stand up.

  A clean stab straight down through the forehead would end it. More merciful than plunging his sword into its heart.

  Hugh took a deep breath. Stepped up.

  Medved growled, a wet, bubbling sound, blood bubbling up from its muzzle. Fought to stand, failed.

  Hugh raised his blade, clasped the hilt with both hands. Rose to his tiptoes, back arching, summoning all the strength it would take to shatter that massive skull -

  - and then froze as Branka flung herself before Medved, covering its head with her body, hugging him tight.

  “No! Please! No! Don’t kill him. Spare him, please. I beg of you!”

  Hugh stayed his hand, though the urge to kill was nigh undeniable. Branka’s blonde hair was flared out over Medved’s ruddy coat like veins of gold ore in dark rock, her slender body heaving for breath, her fingers dug into the bear’s hide. Who rumbled piteously and gave its massive head another shake.

  “Why should I spare your life, for that matter?” asked Hugh, voice cold even to his own ears.

  “Why?” Branka dared a glance up at him before looking away. “Because…” She trailed off, clearly trying to come up with a convincing reason. And despite everything, despite her duplicity, her backstabbing, and her attempt to kill him, Hugh found himself hoping she would.

  “Because you need me. We’ve played our strongest hand and failed. Against… against all the odds. You’ve won.” Her voice was raw with emotion. “And… I’ll come clean. Tell you everything I know. About the smuggling operation. Erro. Our gold reserves, when to expect more shipments, everything.”

  With obvious effort she pushed herself off Medved, soothing him with a caress, and turned to face Hugh, chin raised, defiance entering her eyes once more, her slender body shaking with emotion. “I’ll swear it. By whatever oath you require. I’ll swear to obey you and help you to the best of my abilities. Mirco and I – Mirco?”

  She turned, searching the small clearing for the man, but the miller was gone.

  “You should pick your allies more carefully,” said Hugh.