He nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. ‘I defeated him. It took twelve years. Twelve years of constant training and duelling under his tutelage. I did not remain hidden in the caverns all that time, of course … I went out for food and to seek company. But all had been warned against the ghost – the living man claimed by death – and so I was driven from every village. Eventually, I would reluctantly return to my harsh tutelage, and in the end I pushed him back and beat him down – or he deemed me skilled enough and allowed me to do so. In any case, of course, it was Hood himself possessing that body. And when I emerged once more into the sunlight I was his trained sword. The Mortal Sword of Hood. And so I have been – or was. But no longer.’
Shear was hugging herself, eyeing him in wonder, though it was difficult to see past her mask. ‘That is not something one can just put down, I think, like an old coat, or a worn blade.’
He shrugged again. ‘We shall see. In any case, I no longer answer to him.’
‘Perhaps you do, though. Perhaps you cannot help but follow his path, as it is now part of you.’
He sighed, looking away to the distant fires of the camp. ‘Yes. It may be that our choices are determined and limited by our character and learned preferences, that is true. However, it is still reassuring to hold on to the conceit of freedom, is it not?’
Shear smiled beneath her mask and reached out gently with one hand to caress his cheek; her hand was cold and hard against his face, but welcome. ‘So, it is true,’ she said, ‘you
Then she took his hand and led him aside to a meadow amid a copse of woods, and there she unbuckled her belt and let it fall into the tall grass, and he did as well. Tentatively, then, he reached up to her mask but gently she lowered his hand, saying, ‘No. I have chosen to do it.’
So she lifted it from her face and stared up at him, bared perhaps for the first time with another. Her eyes were dark in the night and held his. He lowered his mouth to hers.
* * *
Tattersail pushed aside the open door to the main keep of the Hold and surveyed the damage. Her boots crunched on the litter of broken glass and pots. Mock entered behind her, his hands clasped behind his back, one dark brow arched in silent commentary.
A long table had been overturned. Kegs had been broached and left on their sides. Spilt wine stained the flags. Chairs lay every which way, and the stink of old meat and stale beer assailed her. Servants busy cleaning halted in their work and bowed, then returned to their duties.
Stooping, she picked up the broken stem of a slim wineglass. They’d even broken her finest crystal. ‘Who was it?’ she asked.
Mock gave an unconcerned wave then tried to pour a glass from a decanter but found it empty. ‘The guards say it was Geffen come to try to take the Hold.’
‘Send a crew to arrest him and confiscate all he has as payment.’
‘Not necessary,’ Mock answered, setting down the glass. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Who did it?’
Mock swept his arms wide. ‘Does it matter? I hear his lieutenant murdered him and decamped.’ He stroked his chin. ‘A wise woman, that.’
A guard wearing the gaudy purple colours of Mock’s house guards – what Mock liked to call his ‘Palace Guards’ – approached and bowed. Tattersail didn’t recognize the fellow. ‘Hold secure, admiral.’
Mock acknowledged this then tilted his head thoughtfully. ‘And where is Commander Durall?’
‘Halfway to the Wickan Plains by now, I should think.’
Mock nodded. ‘And you are…?’
‘Egil, sir.’
‘Drew the short straw, did you?’
The man just shrugged in his leather hauberk. ‘Next in command.’
‘Perhaps I should have you thrown into a cell below, Egil.’
The guard’s thin lips quirked up in a sort of sardonic comment. ‘You’re rather understaffed for that.’
Mock nodded sourly, his own expression mirroring the man’s. ‘Painfully true … commander.’ And he dismissed him.
After Egil left – kicking through the wreckage as he went – Tattersail whispered, ‘I don’t trust that man.’
‘I trust no one,’ Mock answered, adding hastily, ‘excepting you, of course.’
‘So what do we do?’
He was systematically checking every keg and carafe for leavings. ‘We wait, love. We wait and see.’
‘See what?’
‘Whether the captains agree on challenging me after this. My bet is that they won’t.’
Tattersail crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
