A Shadow of All Night Falling by Glen Cook

Author:Glen Cook
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Fiction
ISBN: 9780425063200
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 1979-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

TWELVE: They Drink the Wine of Violence

Saltimbanco yawned and stretched, reaching the last leg of a long and lazy approach to wakefulness. He stretched again. He was as relaxed as a cat. His extended left arm came down on something soft and warm and swathed in a mass of silken hair. He yawned again, rolled so he could look into the smiling face of his new wife. He reached slowly, stalking a wisp of dark hair peeping from fold of coverlet, caught it between thumb and forefinger, curled and twirled it while watching her sleep. Then he drew a fingertip lightly over one soft, rosy cheek, following the line of her jaw, ended by tickling the dimple on her chin. The caress excited something at the corner of her mouth, a something seldom seen before last evening, a happy, demonic something that had spent years in hiding, a something now out and winking merrily. Her smile so lightly grew, drawing with its warmth. Those ruby cushions for his kiss parted slightly, permitting the flight of a sigh. She extended a small, delicate hand to cover his own, pressed it to her cheek. Slowly, so as not to disturb her slumber, he leaned and kissed that taunting quirk at the corner of her mouth.

"Uhm," she sighed, eyes still closed.

"Self, have something to confess."

She opened one sleepy eye.

"Self, am not Saltimbanco. Am not simple, wandering fool..."

"Shhh. I know."

"Hai! How? Am still breathing."

"Deduction. Valther's lists. You were the only one who could've gotten to them and have communicated with bin Yousif. In Iwa Skolovda."

Fear smote deeply. "Ridyeh?" he gasped, unable to articulate his question.

"I hated you then. But it wasn't your fault, really. I... uh... Why talk about it? It's over. Don't make me remember. I don't want to. Kiss me. Touch me. Love me. Don't talk. Just make me forget."

"No hate? Ravenkrak will die, and self, in one guise, am prime killer."

"Ravenkrak's dead. Only Ravenkrak hasn't heard."

"You change so."

They were interrupted by a knock. Neither moved. It grew insistent. "You'd better go," Nepanthe said. "Probably one of my brothers."

It was. Valther eyed the gown of Nepanthe's Saltimbanco had donned, chuckled, said, "Turran wants Nepanthe in the Lower Armories. Luxos just got home. We got him through the gates three steps ahead of bin Yousif's men."

"Self, am dismayed by lack of respect..."

"My own thought exactly," Valther replied, cutting him short. "But Turran wants her, and what he wants, he gets. Got to run." He chucked Mocker under the chin. "The robe becomes you." Laughing, he ducked a spiritless punch and hurried away.

Mocker found Nepanthe dressing when he returned. Her face clouded. She was still afraid.

"Was Valther. Meeting in Lower Armories. Luxos came back."

"I heard. Will you help me?" She quavered when he touched her. A moment later, in a tremulous whisper, she asked, "What do your friends call you?"

"Many names. Hai! Not good for lady's ears, most. But mostly Mocker."

"Mocker, we have to leave."

"Why?"

"My brothers might find out. We should get out first."

"To

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