The Return of the Dragonhawk

Chapter 8 - Master of Thieves and Ruffians

"Where is that confounded horse!" Alyx raged. "I want to put him to work hauling firewood today."

He had not slept well. Alyn's unexpected arrival had unsettled him, and he had felt no better when Harald asked him forthrightly if he had been responsible for the looting of her saddle bags. When Alyx had avoided giving an equally forthright answer, Harald had remarked almost to himself that he had never thought to see the day when a prince of Dys resorted to petty thievery. Alyx had done his best to ignore the words, but they stung. Harald's respect was something he had craved since he was a toddler, and despite his bluster to the contrary, it hurt him deeply to lose any part of it.

Alyn's urchin Pym was already astride the white mare Polly, ready to leave with the patrol. The boy stared past Alyx, his face dispassionate, but Alyx was convinced he was hiding a smirk. Even a stupid stable boy was capable of tying up a horse correctly.

Alyx strode over to Polly's head and grabbed the reins. "Get down," he growled in the tongue of Akynadar, mentally cursing Alyn for adding to his problems.

Pym dismounted stoically. Alyx took him by the shoulders and shook him.

"You let that yellow pony go!" he accused.

The boy stiffened in his arms and met his eyes with an astonishing ferocity.

"He is my horse!" Pym shrilled in unexpectedly cultured tones, the green flecks in his amber eyes sparkling like a fine blade in battle. "You have no right."

"I have every right. I am master here!"

"Master of what?" Pym asked, his voice cutting like a lash. "A master of thieves and ruffians, driven not by honour but by greed!"

Alyx released the boy's right shoulder and cuffed him. Pym pulled back, softening the impact of the blow, but kept his feet, still staring relentlessly into Alyx' eyes.

"Look at yourself!" the boy said contemptuously. "Making war on the weak."

A dagger twisted in Alyx' gut. He regretted profoundly that he had not overlooked the matter of the missing pony, or at least attended to it in a more private place. But all eyes were on him now, and he could not afford to appear soft.

"You will pay for this!" he shouted, twisting the boy's arm while he felt his body for some hidden treasure which might redeem the lost animal. Alyx felt a momentary satisfaction in finally seeing fear in the boy's eyes. Ignoring the child's squirming and kicking, he reached inside his tunic.

Sharp teeth closed on his arm above his wrist. He howled, involuntarily loosening his grip on Pym's arm.

"Hold him!" he shouted in his own language as the boy dived into the crowd. He strove to look dignified during the ensuing scramble, hastily tying his handkerchief over his wound, wishing he were alone so that he could lick the blood away. The skin was broken in only one small spot, but the pain was as severe as the dog bite he had incurred at a royal banquet in his childhood, when he had foolishly contended the possession of a bone with the crotchety senior hound of his father's pack. The laughter of his father and brothers had hurt more than the bite itself. Though no one dared to laugh openly this time, the humiliation was even worse.

Two men dragged Master Pym out of the crowd by the arms. One yelped as Pym kicked sideways. Alyx drew his dagger and gently and deliberately pricked Pym's throat.

"Blood for blood," he purred. "Now, keep still -- or die!"

Pym subsided, panting. Alyx yanked at the thong around the lad's neck. "What's this?"

"Rune stones."

"Rune stones?" Alyx said, pulling the bag from its hiding place. "Can you call up spirits and tell the future?"