among the aristocracy of Priekule. Now it did. Skarnu had adapted. As far as Amatu was concerned, adapting meant betraying his class.
'Being what you are is one thing,' Skarnu said. 'Getting me caught because you won't see reason is something else again.'
'You haven't got caught yet, have you?' Amatu said.
'No thanks to you,' Skarnu retorted. 'You keep trying to stick your neck- and mine- in the noose.'
'You keep saying that,' Amatu answered. 'If there's so bloody much truth to it, how come I'm still running around loose when the Algarvians grabbed everybody in the underground in Ventspils- everybody who knew just what he was doing?'
'How come? I'll tell you how come,' Skarnu said savagely. 'Because you were with me when we came back to our building, that's how come. If you hadn't been, you would have strolled right up to the flat where we were staying- and right into the redheads' arms, too. Or had you forgotten that, your Excellency?'
He used Amatu's title of respect with as much scorn as an angry commoner might have. And he succeeded in angering the returned exile, too. 'I'd have done fine without you,' Amatu snarled. 'For that matter, I can still do fine without you. If you want me to go off on my own, I'm ready. I'm more than ready.'
Part of Skarnu- a large, selfish part of Skarnu- wanted nothing more. But the rest made him answer, 'You wouldn't last an hour on your own. And when the Algarvians nailed you- and they would- they'd squeeze out everything you knew, and then they'd come after me.'
'You're not my mother,' Amatu said. 'I'm telling you they wouldn't catch me.'
'And I'm telling you-' Skarnu broke off. Two Algarvians on unicorns came around a bend in the road a couple hundred yards ahead. Skarnu lowered his voice: 'I'm telling you to walk soft now, by the powers above, if you want to keep breathing.'
He wondered if Amatu would have the least idea what he was talking about. But the returned exile had spotted Mezentio's men, too. Amatu hunched his shoulders forward and pulled his head down. That didn't make him walk like a peasant. It made him walk like somebody who hated Algarvians and was trying not to show it.
And, sure as sunrise following morning twilight, it made the redheads notice him. They reined in as they came up to the two Valmierans walking along the road. Both of them had their hands on their sticks. One spoke to Amatu in pretty good Valmieran: 'What's chewing on you, pal?'
Before Amatu could speak, Skarnu did it for him. 'We just came from a cockfight,' he said. 'My cousin here lost more silver than he's got.' He sadly shook his head at Amatu. 'I told you that bird wasn't good for anything but chicken stew. Would you listen? Not likely.'
Amatu glared at him. But then, given what he'd said, Amatu had plausible reason to glare at him. The Algarvian who spoke Valmieran translated for his companion, who evidently didn't. They both laughed. Skarnu laughed, too, as he would have at the folly of a silly cousin. The redhead who knew Valmieran said, 'Never bet on cockfights. You can't tell what a cock will do, any more than you can with a woman.' He laughed again, on a different note. 'I know what I want my cock to do.'
He tried to translate that into Algarvian, too, but the pun must not have worked in his own language, because his pal looked blank. Skarnu managed a laugh, too, to show he appreciated the trooper's wit. Then he asked, 'Can we go on now, sir?'
'Aye, go, but keep your cocks out of mischief.' Like a lot of people, the Algarvian ran what had been a good joke into the ground. He laughed again, louder than ever. Skarnu smiled. Amatu kept on looking mutinous. The Algarvian cavalrymen dug their knees into their mounts' barrels and flicked the reins. The unicorns trotted on down the road.
'Cocks!' Amatu snarled when the redheads were out of earshot. 'I ought to put a curse on theirs.'
'Go ahead and try, if you want to waste your time,' Skarnu answered. 'You're no trained mage, and they're warded against all the little nuisance spells, same as we were. You want to kill a soldier, you have to blaze him or cut him.'
That wasn't strictly true. Sacrifice enough men and women- Kaunians from Forthweg, say, or Unkerlanter peasants- and you could power a spell that would kill plenty of soldiers. Skarnu knew as much. He preferred not to think about it.
Amatu's mind traveled along a different ley line, one that ran straight toward the sewers. 'The way you talked to those fornicating whoresons, anybody would think you wanted to suck their-'
Skarnu knocked him down. When Amatu surged to his feet, murder blazed in his eyes. He rushed at Skarnu, fists flailing. He had courage. Skarnu had never doubted that. But, as a dragonflier, Amatu had never learned to fight in the hard and ruthless school of ground combat. Skarnu didn't waste time on fisticuffs. He kicked Amatu in the belly instead.
'Oof!' Amatu folded up like a concertina. Skarnu did hit him then, with an uppercut that straightened him again. Amatu had grit. He didn't go down even after that. But he was in no condition to fight anymore. As he stood swaying, Skarnu hit him once more, a blow he could measure carefully. Now Amatu crumpled.
He tried to get up again. Skarnu kicked him in the ribs, not quite hard enough to break them. So he gauged it, anyhow. If he was wrong, he wouldn't lose any sleep over it. Amatu still tried to get up. Skarnu kicked him yet again, rather harder this time. Amatu groaned and flattened out.
Skarnu kicked him once more, for good measure, and got another groan. Then he bent down and took away Amatu's knife. 'We're through,' he said evenly. 'I'm going my way. You find yours. If you come after me from now on, I'll kill you. Have you got that?'
By way of reply, Amatu tried to hook an arm around Skarnu's ankle and bring him down. Skarnu stamped on his hand. Amatu howled like a wolf. When the howl turned into words, he cursed Skarnu as vilely as he could.
'Save it for the Algarvians,' Skarnu told him. 'You came back across the Strait to fight them, remember? All you've done since you got here was make trouble for everybody else who's fighting them. Now you're on your own. Do whatever you bloody well please.'
Amatu answered with a fresh flurry of obscenities. He aimed more of them at Krasta than at Skarnu. Maybe he thought that would make Skarnu angrier. If he did, he was wrong. In Skarnu's mind, he'd been calling his sister worse things than any Amatu came up with ever since he found out she was sleeping with an Algarvian.
'I'm leaving you your silver,' Skarnu said when Amatu finally flagged. 'As far as I'm concerned, you can buy a rope and hang yourself with it. It's the best thing you could do for the kingdom.'
He walked away from Amatu even as the returned exile reviled him again. However much Amatu cursed, though, he didn't get up and come after Skarnu. Maybe he was too battered. Maybe he believed Skarnu's warning. If he did, he was wise, for Skarnu meant every word of it.
When Skarnu went round the bend in the road from which the Algarvian cavalrymen had come, he looked back over his shoulder one last time. Amatu was on his feet by then, but going in the opposite direction, the direction the men on unicornback had taken. Skarnu nodded in somber satisfaction. With any luck at all, he would never see Amatu again.
He also tried to make sure luck wouldn't be the only factor involved. Whenever he came to a crossroads, he went right or left or straight ahead at random. By the time evening approached, he was confident Amatu would have no idea where he was. For that matter, he had no sure idea where he was himself.
A couple of big, rough-coated dogs ran out from a farmhouse and barked at him. His hand went to one of the knives on his belt. He didn't like farm dogs, which would often try to bite strangers. Here, though, they subsided when the farmer came after them and shouted, 'Down!'
'Thanks, friend,' Skarnu said from the roadway. He glanced at the sun. No, he couldn't go much farther before darkness overtook him. He turned back to the farmer. 'Will you let me chop wood or do some other chores for supper and a night in your barn?' He hadn't intended to end up here, nor anywhere very close to here.
The farmer hesitated. Skarnu did his best to look innocent and appealing. A lot of people didn't trust anyone these days. If the fellow said, 'No,' he'd have to lie up under a tree or wherever else he could find makeshift shelter. But the farmer pointed. 'There's the woodpile. There's the axe. Let's see what you can do while the light lasts.'
He didn't promise anything. Clever or just tight-fisted? Skarnu wondered. Aloud, he said, 'Fair enough,' and got to work. By the time the sun went down, he'd turned a lot of lumber into firewood.
'Not bad,' the farmer allowed. 'You've done it before, I'd wager.' He brought Skarnu bread and sausage and plums and a mug of what was obviously home-brewed ale, then said, 'You can stay in the barn tonight, too.'
