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Jennsen tried to reach up to pull back her hood, to free her red hair in order to give him a scare, but she couldn’t liberate her arm. He held her other hand in an iron grip. Not only could she not free her hair, she couldn’t reach her knife to defend herself. Her breath came in a frightened pant.
The man laughed with his fellows, and swirled her to the music, holding her tight lest he lose his dance with her. His eyes shown with merriment, not menace, but she knew that was only because she had not yet forcefully resisted. She knew that when he discovered that she was unwilling, his pleasant demeanor was sure to change.
He released her waist and spun her around. With only one hand still entrapped in his callused fingers, she hoped yet to break the hold. With her left hand, she fumbled for her knife, but it was under her cloak, and not handy to her off hand. The crowd clapped in time with the tune of the pipes and drums. As she turned and stepped away, another man caught her up around the waist, bumping against her hard enough to knock the wind from her in a grunt. He captured her hand away from the first fellow. She had wasted her chance to pull back her hood by trying for her knife instead.
She found herself adrift in a sea of men. The few other women, serving girls mostly, were either willing or laughed and were able to alight briefly, and then move away, like bugs that were able to walk on water. Jennsen didn’t know how they performed the trick; she was in danger of drowning among waves of men who passed her along from one to another.
When she caught sight of the door, she yanked away suddenly, breaking the hold of the latest man to have her in his grip. He hadn’t been expecting her to suddenly break free. The men all laughed at the fellow who had lost hold of her. His merriment, as she had expected, died. The rest of the men were more good-natured about it than she had expected, and sent up a cheer for her escape.
Instead of showing anger, the man from whom she had escaped bowed. “Thank you, my beautiful lass, for the gracious dance. It was a kindness to a lumbering old soul such as me.”
His grin returned and he winked at her before turning back to clap along with his fellows in time to the music.
Jennsen stood stunned, realizing that it had not been the danger she had expected. The men were having a good time, and not really intent on harm. None had touched her in an unseemly manner, or even spoken any crude words to her. They had only smiled, laughed, and danced with her. Still, Jennsen made a quick line for the door.
Before she went out, another arm caught her around the waist. Jennsen started to fight and pull away.
“I didn’t know you liked to dance.”
It was Sebastian. She relaxed, and let him usher her out of the inn.
Out in the dark night, the cold air was a relief. She pulled a long breath, happy to be away from the unfamiliar smell of ale, pipe smoke, and sweaty men, happy to be away from the noise of so many people.
“I told you to leave me to it,” she said.
“Leave you to what?”
“I’m going to Lathea’s place. Stay here, Sebastian. Please?”
“If you tell me why you don’t want me to go.”
She lifted a hand but let it flop back to her side. “Sebastian, you’re an important man. I feel terrible about the danger you’ve already been in all because of me. This is my problem, not yours. My life is…I don’t know. I don’t have a life. You do. I don’t want to get you all tangled up in my mess.”
She started out across the crusty snow. “Just wait here.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he strode along beside her. “Jennsen, I’m a grown man. Don’t decide for me what I should be doing, all right?”
She didn’t answer as she turned the corner down a deserted street.
“Tell me why you want to go see Lathea, will you?”
She stopped then at the side of the road, close to an uninhabited building not far from the corner of the road that turned down to Lathea’s place.
“Sebastian, my whole life I’ve been running. My mother spent the better part of her life running from Darken Rahl, hiding me. She died running from his son, Richard Rahl. It was me Darken Rahl was after, me Darken Rahl wanted to kill, and now it’s Richard Rahl who is after me, who wants to kill me, and I don’t know why.
“I’m sick of it. My life is nothing but running, hiding, and being afraid. It’s all I do. All I think about. That’s all my life is—running from a man trying to kill me. Trying to stay a step ahead of him and stay alive.”
He didn’t argue with her. “So, why do you want to go to the sorceress?”
Jennsen pushed her hands under her cloak, under her arms, to warm them. She gazed down toward the dark road to Lathea’s place, at the feathery canopy of bare branches moving in the wind. Some of the limbs creaked and groaned as they rubbed together.
“I even ran from Lathea, earlier. I don’t know why Lord Rahl is chasing me, but she does. I was afraid to insist she tell me. I was going to travel all the way to the People’s Palace in order to find her sister, Althea, hoping that maybe as I stand meekly before her door she might deign to tell me, to help me.
“What if she doesn’t? What if she, too, dismisses me? Then what? What greater danger could there be than for me to go there, to the People’s Palace? And for what? The hollow hope that someone will finally volunteer to stoop to help a solitary woman hunted by the mighty force of a nation led by the murderous bastard son of a monster?
“Don’t you see? If I would stop taking ‘no’ for an answer, and insist Lathea tell me, then maybe I could save a dangerous journey to the even more dangerous heart of D’Hara, and leave, instead. For the first time in my life, I could be free, then. But I was about to throw away that chance because I was afraid of Lathea, too. I’m sick to death of being afraid.”
In the dim light, he stood considering their options.
“So, let’s just leave. Let me take you away from D’Hara, if that’s what you want.”
“No. Not until I find out why Lord Rahl wants to kill me.”
“Jennsen, what difference does it make if—”
“No!” Her fists tightened. “Not until I find out first why my mother had to die!”
She could feel bitter tears turning icy cold as they ran down her cheeks.
Finally, Sebastian nodded. “I understand. Let’s go see Lathea. I’ll help you get an answer from her. Maybe then you’ll let me take you away from D’Hara, to where you will be safe.”
She brushed back the tears. “Thank you, Sebastian. But, don’t you have some kind of job to do, here? I can’t let my problems get in your way any longer. This is my trouble. You must live your own life.”
He smiled then. “Our people’s spiritual guide, Brother Narev, says that our most important job in this life is helping those who need help.”
Such a sentiment lifted her spirits when she didn’t think they could be lifted. “He sounds like a wonderful man.”
“He is.”
“But you are still on a duty from your leader, Jagang the Just, aren’t you?”
“Brother Narev is also a close friend and spiritual guide to Emperor Jagang. Both men would want me to help you, I know they would. After all, the Lord Rahl is our enemy, too. Lord Rahl has caused our people untold hardship. Both men, Brother Narev and Emperor Jagang, would insist I help you. That’s the truth of it.”
She was choked with emotion, and couldn’t speak. She let him put his arm around her waist and lead her down the road. Sharing the quiet darkness with him, Jennsen listened to the soft sound of their boots crunching through the hard crust of snow.
Lathea had to help her. Jennsen intended to see to it.
Chapter 11
Oba hated it to end, but he knew it had to. He would have to get home. His mother would be angry if he stayed too long in town. Besides, he could wring no more enjoyment out of Lathea. She had given him all the satisfaction she was ever going to give him.
It had been fascinating, while it lasted. Boundlessly fascinating. And he had learned m
any new things. Animals simply did not provide the same kind of sensations as those he had gotten from Lathea. True, watching a person die was in many ways much like watching an animal die, but at the same time it was oh so very different. Oba had learned that.
Who knew what a rat was really thinking—or if rats could even think at all? But people could think. You could see their mind through their eyes, and you knew. To know they were thinking real people thoughts—not some chicken-rabbit-rat thoughts—behind those human eyes, behind that look that said it all, was intoxicating. Witnessing Lathea’s ordeal had been rapture. Especially as he waited for that singular inspirational instant of ultimate anguish when her soul fled her human form, and the Keeper of the Dead received her into his eternal realm.
Animals did give him a thrill, though, even if they lacked that human element. There was tremendous enjoyment to be had in nailing an animal to a fence, or a barn wall, and skinning them while they were still alive. But he didn’t think they had a soul. They just…died.
