Hearts and Stones (Celta HeartMate) Read online

  Zanth grumbled from under the table, privately to Ash. Man stinks like hunting Cat. Can smell on his clothes from here. Zanth sniffed. Stupid female hunting cat who rubbed against his boots. Another sniff. TAME Cat.

  Don’t matter. Shut up, Ash sent to his Fam.

  Zanth did worse, he left the shadows of the table and sauntered a couple of steps, then leapt onto the bar, stuck his nose in the prime whiskey before the Holly could curve his hand around the glass and lift it to drink.

  That was all it took.

  Holly flinched, yanked the short tumbler from the Fam, spilling liquor. Zanth opened his mouth to yowl, then the rest of the drink was flung at his head.

  The cat’s piercing shriek hurt Rand’s ears.

  Holly picked up the cat by the scruff of his neck, whirled, and threw him at the first escaping customer. Turned back and grabbed the barman. “Wha’ the fligger is that?”

  Ash stood.

  All four paws flexed, Zanth bounced off the shoulders of the man he’d hit. Springing back toward the Holly, all claws primed, Zanth hissed so loud the sound rose above other cries of erupting fights. Locals settling slights and scores.

  “Stop!” Ash ordered and everyone froze, just the way he liked. These Downwind folk knew his voice, wouldn’t disobey. At the same time he reached out and snagged his big cat out of the air, a one-Word spell blunting Zanth’s claws for a minute. Ash let the cat wrap around his arm, and strode up to the bar and the Holly standing in-balance and easily, ready to move in an instant, offense or defense.

  “This thing is my Fam,” Ash said, displaying a toothy Zanth. “I’m Ash, Rand Ash.” He narrowed his eyes, wondering if the man would recognize his name.

  “Nice catch,” the Holly said. Eying Zanth, the man grunted. “Fam, huh?”

  Stupid. Stup. STUP, Zanth snapped mentally.

  “Yes, I have enough Flair to hear you, master FamCat.” Holly’s nostrils widened in disdain, maybe because he smelled a whiff of sewer rat. “You ruined my drink, and I wanted it before I started my fun.”

  Zanth growled.

  The Holly’s eyebrows twitched and Ash could feel the Flair-psi-magic rising in the man, the need to fight.

  “You want payback, talk to Zanth.” Ash jerked his chin toward the door. “Take this outside.” Testing the guy’s control, Ash turned his back.

  He’d only moved a step before a crash of glass came, the sound of blows, a smothered oath, then a rich laugh.

  Whirling, he saw three men surrounding the fighter, and another down and skidding across the floor to land under a table. Fligger.

  “Gotta have pockets fulla gilt,” said a brute even bigger than Ash. The stup smiled with broken teeth, but couldn’t match Holly’s gleeful grin.

  The night had gone to hell. No doubt in Ash’s mind that the Holly would continue to wipe the floor with every man who challenged him, which screwed with Ash’s plan.

  Off me! he raised his arm.

  FIGHT! Zanth yowled and leapt for the skinniest guy in front of the Holly.

  Ash took a step and grabbed the third guy by the collar and flung him away, heard the crash of a breaking table.

  His ears picked up the hiss of a blade being unsheathed. Knife, thirty centimeters, inferior steel. As a blacksmith, Ash knew.

  “Behind you!” Holly yelled.

  Ash dropped to the floor, rolled out of the way of the man with the knife.

  The barkeep -- the owner of this joint -- clapped his hands and an illegal BOOM spell thundered through the place. Everyone crumpled.

  Ash’s ears rang but he felt no liquid like blood running from them. He opened his mouth to breathe as if that would ease the concussive noise still rattling around in his head.

  Glancing around with blurred vision at the rest of the patrons who lay sprawled on the floor--at least he’d been down before the boom--he saw some pale and unconscious, some twitching madly, and the Holly’s face red with fury as he rocked to his hands and knees, already up. Just. Great.

  The Downwind thug bigger than Ash still clutched at the nobleman’s ankle. A plus for being so large.

  Ash swam his hands and knees in position, pushed up. He’d been through a boomer before, but didn’t know whether the Holly had, and the only thought in Ash’s head was to get the man indebted to him.

  Then the first sounds filtered to his ears. Zanth of course, was shrieking, and the owner yelling at the big man grunting on the floor. With a nasty snarl at him and the Holly, the barkeep shouted, “Take it outdoors or I do it agin’, an’ nobody lives to tell about it. Got body cleanup guys, I do, no questions asked.”

  Ash believed him, he swung his head back and forth until his gaze lifted to find and focus on Zanth. The FamCat had been through a boomer before, too. This time he’d attached himself to the scarred wooden-wheel light-fixture in the center of the room. Upside down he hung, all his fur stuck out, every hair, and his mouth opened wider than Ash ever thought it could, the better for the high-decibel screeching.

  Get moving! Zanth demanded in a mind-shout as forceful as his scream. Come under Me so I can drop on you ...

  Ash didn’t think so. That cat wouldn’t be careful with his claws. So he tried to ignore the beast.

  Managing the jump from hands and knees to squat--practiced that thousands of times--Ash slowly straightened his legs to stand tall, stride to the Holly, kick the large thug’s hand away from the nobleman’s ankle, and grasp the rich man’s biceps.

  And realized he’d be leaving filthy, sweaty fingerprints on the whitest fabric he’d seen since he was six years old. The most sensual cloth he ever remembered touching. So he might have gripped harder than he meant and the Holly swung body and fist. Rand followed the man’s full body movement, kept his balance, blocked the blow.

  “I’m on your side.” He touched the guy’s expensive HouseRing, hiding it from everyone, so no one could see it and want it and track them through the Flair. The nobleman, scanning the rest of the room, didn’t seem to notice.

  “Let’s go.” Ash dropped his grasp from the man, gestured for the noble to leave, Ash would guard the nobleman from the rear and the room’s inhabitants getting up.

  Meeeee! shrieked Zanth.

  Land on the big guy, Ash said carelessly.

  So Zanth did, smashing the large man back onto the floor. Then the cat hopped back onto the bar counter, and the owner swiped at him, snapped a towel. “Get out. Don’t come back never again, cat! Be watchin’ for ya! Trap ya!” the barman yelled.

  Holly seemed to glide away from the wooden bar, with a last regretful glance at its emptiness of glasses full of liquor, and Ash followed.

  They weren’t, quite, the first ones outside and into the street. Some of the scrawnier, tougher folk made it before them. Those born and raised Downwind for generations.

  And word had spread about the brawl and the cause of it--a rich man ready for the plucking.

  Folks jumped at them, and those who missed lunged at others they might want to get even with. The whole narrow street filled with fighting.

  The nobleman slid away from the first bunch, made it three strides before more toughs circled him.

  Ash muscled his way through the clumps of brawlers to the largest group skirmishing. He pushed into the center and the nobleman. “Back to back!” he shouted to the Holly, wondering if his faith in the man’s fighting skills was correct. He’d soon find out.

  And he did when a sinewy back slammed against him. More yells and taunts at his battle companion.

  He heard the rasp of a good blade being slid from an equally excellent sheath, a wild laugh from the Holly.

  More joyful dares, this time from right behind him. The nobleman slinging filthy insults at his opponents.

  Uh-oh. What had Ash gotten himself into?

  Yeah, the press of people came toward him. For an instant, in the flash of a lightspell, he thought he saw the three-club symbol of the noble house of Rue.

  No. Ash imagined that because he lusted
for vengeance. Craved payback against the Rues for killing his Family. His mind lit with images as he recalled the fire, the flames consuming T’Ash Residence. Himself at six years old running away alone ... into the slums Downwind ... followed by a string of three-club images.

  FAM MAN! came Zanth’s mental screech, along with a cat yowl trailing from inside the tavern to shrill even louder outside.

  Here, Ash replied steadily, shoving a man back into his friends. He recognized the guy, some jerk with a grudge because Ash wouldn’t mend the man’s piece-of-shit sword. He saw the gleam of a blade in the man’s hand, a good, long main gauche. Unusual.

  But he’d bet his own sword was better than any in the courtyard, including the Holly’s.

  FAM MAN!

  Human screams as Zanth made his way, tooth and claw, to Ash. The cat thudded onto Ash’s shoulder, then turned his ass toward the knot of men surging toward them.

  With a quick spell Word, Ash coated himself with a deflection spell, and when Zanth sprayed, the piss didn’t stick to either of them or the Holly behind them.

  Zanth yowled in triumph!

  A terrible stink rose.

  The clutch of men faded back, choking.

  One said, “Gettin’ outta here, gotta clean up now if’n I don’ want piss-smell-clothes for the next damn year.”

  Others grumbled but followed. The crowd dispersed.

  “Cat piss as a weapon,” came the muffled snort from the man stepping away from Ash. The cool spring air chilled Ash’s sweat and smells arose. Good clean fight sweat from Ash, spicy herbs from the noble young man.

  Another memory punched Rand. His mother bespelling his clothes so they’d release herbal freshness instead of little-boy grossness when he sweat or fell into a mud puddle ... or the fascinating pig pen.

  He and the Holly found themselves alone on the stingy sidewalk curbing the equally small lane. No vehicles, expensive gliders, ever came here. The very thought just stopped and fizzled in Ash’s head. The original colonists might have made streets for vehicles, but population did not burgeon as they’d thought and Downwind streets held foot traffic only.

  Me hero! Zanth leapt down from Ash’s shoulder, a relief to both of them, and sauntered back toward the bar’s entrance.

  A roar came and the burly owner standing on the threshold of his place pointed at Zanth. “Lookit your piss everywhere! Nasty cat. Never come back! Told you before, an’ I mean it. You neither, Ash.” The irate man clumped into his bar and returned in seconds with a large pitcher. He flung the contents at them.

  Zanth shrieked and bolted down the street. A drop! A drop of ale hit Me! Yowwwwwllll!

  The deflection spell continued to work, Ash and Holly remained dry. Though the ale added a layer to the indescribable stench rising from the cobblestones.

  “Cat!” yelled the Holly.

  Skidding in his tracks, Zanth stopped, looked back. Yes? he put a sneer into the loud mental tone.

  The nobleman bared his own teeth. “My Family keeps hunting cats as big as you. I know how to handle you.”

  Zanth spat. Tame Cats.

  “Where’s the next good fight?” asked Holly, rolling his shoulders. Then he said a spell Word that cleansed and polished his blade, impressing Ash who’d developed such a spell after months of work.

  Zanth’s tail flipped up, the tip flicking back and forth. Follow Me.

  The cat would lead them down to the worst of the old docks ... where the most vicious sewer rats lived, both four-footed and two-legged. Oh, yeah, this was probably not the best idea Ash had had lately.

  The man turned to him, scanned him up and down and Ash jerked himself straight and to his full height, some long and excellent centimeters over the nobleman. Definitely wider than the guy, too. Ash had plenty of muscle.

  “Hmm.” Then the nobleman nodded, offered his arm for a greeting grip. “Holm HollyHeir.”

  Ash grunted, clasped the other’s strong forearm, felt a tight grip and release, then they both stepped back. “Rand--”

  Come ON! mind-shouted Zanth.

  Holm Holly jumped at the loud telepathy, laughed, and took off after Ash’s FamCat.

  Ash loped after, scrambling a couple of times as his foot hit slime and threw him off balance. He felt dull and stupid and staid.

  The benefit would be worth the effort.

  Probably.

  Time ticked past midnight, even past the seventy-minute septhour after Transition Bell when most deaths occurred. Thank the Lord and Lady, Ash hadn’t died tonight.

  His whole body ached. He figured he’d hurt even more later in the morning, and all through the grueling day of work at his smithy. Yet he trudged after a near-dancing Holm HollyHeir toward the next tavern, watched the man swagger inside with a cheerful wave for the drinkers.

  The “fun” of clearing out a couple of dockyard joints hadn’t lasted long before the Holly wanted “something more sporting than brute force.”

  Zanth had abandoned them to stalk a celtaroon snake back to its nest, and Ash was on his own with the nobleman. Ash stubbornly held on to his plan, especially since he’d already put in one miserable night. Holly owed him, and Ash would collect. The FirstFamily heir would have to help him.

  Vengeance would be Ash’s. His enemies would pay for killing his entire Family -- yes, Family with a capital “F,” he was a FirstFamily -- and Ash would get back his lands and his title and rebuild his Residence.

  He licked his lips, tasting not the flavor of sweet vengeance, but the salt of fight sweat that had run down his face to his mouth.

  Shouts hit his ears as he opened the tavern’s door and entered. Saw three-fools-on-one-Holly. All right. Coulda been five-or-six-on one. Had been earlier. Ash paused to shake out his limbs, check his blade. Nick free, clean, ready.

  “Hey, Ash, get your fliggerin’ friend outta here afore he breaks up my bar. I don’ care if’n he leaves a trail of gold gilt coins behind him. Would rather keep the place as is than work hard to clean it up ...” shouted the owner from the short gallery above the taproom.

  Closer, near Ash’s jaw, came another, “Hey, Ash.” Murmured by a well-endowed woman he’d partnered in bed now and again. Never paid for as other guys had, though. She liked big men with a bit of finesse. “Ash, take the pretty man away and come back soon, why don’t ya?”

  No plans to do that, too long of a night and a full work day to follow, but he jerked a nod and said, “Later,” headed toward the Holly. Ash timed it perfectly—a final sword-pommel-to-the-chin and the well-trained noble freed himself of his last opponent to scan the room for more.

  Before the guy could spew insults, all of which Ash had heard several times previously during the lengthy night, and many of which applied to him, too, he used main force to haul Holly back outside. Cool air, misty with spring humidity, carrying the slight odor of the ocean.

  Ash handed the Holly fighter a softleaf. “You’re not looking well,” he said. He’d planned the comment to distract the noble, but now that Ash really considered the man, Ash saw he spoke the truth. The guy’s face appeared pallid, and he smelled like a whole shed of herbs had been dumped on him.

  “Huh,” Ash said, tapped the wooden lightpost near the door, and the crystal he’d carved, powered, and set himself, brightened to illuminate the cul-de-sac. “Look downright wasted.” He paused. “And not just from drink.” The rich man had been more interested in fighting than drinking, and had made his contempt of the quality of liquor Downwind known.

  “Done, I’m done,” the Holly gasped. His spine curved a bit as he scrubbed his face. “I’m done for now.” When he looked up, he graced Rand with a crooked smile. “I’m only done for the night, not for my death duels Passage.”

  “Hear you,” Ash said.

  HollyHeir squinted. “Downwind, am I?”

  “Yup.”

  “Interesting.”

  He frowned, rubbed his face again. “Just how many guys did I kill tonight?”

  “None that weren’t t
rying to kill you,” Ash replied. Four. He’d killed two bad characters himself, but he had to live here. The six wouldn’t be missed by no one except to have their stuff taken by their ex-friends chuckling at the windfall.

  “That’s fine then.” The Holly leaned against the door beam and his breath rattled out in a long groan. Ash just watched and guarded, shook out his limbs so the aches might not set in and hurt so much.

  When the nobleman opened his eyes, he said, “How many times did you save my life?”

  “Hard to say,” Ash replied. “Saving was mutual.”

  A lopsided smile from the Holly. “I don’t think so.” Then the nobleman pushed up a sleeve, revealing a wrist timer that would keep a Downwind family of four all of their lives. It glinted gold and Ash’s ears caught scrabbling near an alley mouth.

  He jerked the noble’s shirt back down. “Don’t flash that ‘round here!”

  “Ah. Oh. Past Transition Bell.”

  “I know.”

  “We both lived through that.”

  “Know that, too.”

  “Time for me to go, though.” He squinted up and down the narrow lane that looked like dozens of others Downwind, shrugged as if he gave up trying to understand his location. “I’ll be back, friend Rand.” He tried buffeting Ash’s back, but when he lifted his arm to do so, he began to crumple and Ash had to haul his body up to his feet. If the guy fell, it would take Flair to get him up off the slimy street.

  He propped the guy against the slightly cleaner saloon wall.

  The nobleman rested a couple of minutes before continuing, “I’ll be back tomorrow night, I’d imagine--”

  “Tonight,” Rand said. “Don’t wear nice clothes, don’t wear timer or jewelry, nothing expensive on ya.” He nodded at the man’s gleaming HouseRing that earlier he’d masked with a spell.

  Holm HollyHeir’s spine went rigid. “You want me to leave my best weapons at home, too?” he sneered.