"He did! That's exactly what happened!"

"Have you considered, Tacit, that maybe it wasn't your glory to have in the first place?"

His mouth moved. It made a sound; a sort of clicking where the jaw had been forced back into place. I think it was top and bottom teeth clicking against each other because they were out of alignment. Otherwise no words emerged at first. "Not . . . my glory?" he finally managed to get out. "Of course it is! All the tasks I had to accomplish, the quests I performed! All the work that I went to in order to track down a mythic creature that was to take me on the final leg of my grand undertaking! A creature s.n.a.t.c.hed from my hands by that . . . that ingrate! That nothing! You are asking me to believe in a world that does not recognize merit, or striving, or a heroic ideal, but instead rewards duplicity and sneakery and whoever is fastest to watch out for their own self-interest. A world where there is no justice! What sort of world is that!"

"The real world," I said softly.

His jaw twitched, which probably hurt him. Then he said tightly, "I refuse to accept that world. Po . . . tell her. Tell her what happened. She will believe it if it comes from you."

"You expect Apropos to admit to your demented view of things?" she asked contemptuously, as if the very notion was laughable.

"There is nothing demented about it! Apropos," and his voice sounded very dangerous, and his eyes were glittering with near madness as he said, "tell her. If you value your life . . . tell her."

And that was when I opted to roll the dice.

You see, I had slowly become convinced he wasn't going to hurt me. Not really, no matter what he'd said earlier. Oh, he would have no compunction about making me think think he was going to hurt me, kill me, whatever. Try to trick me into blurting the truth to Entipy. But the Tacit that I had always known would never simply cut someone down, murder them in cold blood. And Tacit, for all his annoying traits, remained a hero. Heroes didn't do things like that . . . he was going to hurt me, kill me, whatever. Try to trick me into blurting the truth to Entipy. But the Tacit that I had always known would never simply cut someone down, murder them in cold blood. And Tacit, for all his annoying traits, remained a hero. Heroes didn't do things like that . . .

Which meant I was safe. Which further meant that I didn't have to play his game if I didn't feel like it.

But I decided to be diplomatic about it.

"I regret to say," I said carefully, "that Tacit's view of things . . . is how he sees them." Then I settled back on my bed of hay and sat there complacently.

"What the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean!" Tacit fairly shouted, which was naturally the reaction I'd been hoping for. It was entirely to my advantage to get him to lose control. "You make it sound as if I'm deluded."

"Couldn't imagine why anyone would think that," Entipy said caustically.

He turned back to me, and he actually sounded pleading: "Apropos . . . putting your own life aside . . ."

"Something I am loath to agree to do, obviously," I interrupted.

He spoke right over me. "The bottom line is, we both know the truth. Lying to her is doing her a disservice. You cannot let your ego get in the way. She deserves the truth. She deserves the person destined for her. She deserves-"

"You, is what what you're saying. She deserves you." is what what you're saying. She deserves you."

"More or less," he admitted.

"Rather more the former than the latter," she said. "And have you considered, Tacit, that I'm quite capable of deciding for myself just what I do and do not deserve?"

She stared at him challengingly. He was slowly shaking his head back and forth, apparently still unable to believe what he was being confronted with. "This can't be happening," he was saying, over and over in a quiet voice. Ironically, I knew exactly what the problem was. How long had he thought about this moment, dreamt about it? It was probably what kept him going. And he had had much time to decide just exactly how the entire confrontation was going to play out. Entipy was going to believe him, of course, because he was the hero. He was Tacit. If he tried to lie his head would likely explode. She would believe him, and recognize me for the thorough going b.a.s.t.a.r.d I truly was.

Except that wasn't happening.

For a joyful moment as I watched him muttering to himself, I thought his mind was gone. In that event, we could simply slip right out of there, ideally without his even noticing. But apparently it was not going to be as easy as all that. Then again, what aspect of my life ever was?

Tacit suddenly refocused himself on me, and his voice dropped lower. In a tone that carried with it the unspoken message I'm not joking about here, I'm not joking about here, he said, "Po . . . tell her. Now." he said, "Po . . . tell her. Now."

"I don't know what you mean," I said, trying to sound sincerely sorry for him.

"Tell her now."

"I wish I could help you, old friend, but I'm afraid that it's beyond my-"

That was when he grabbed me by the arm in a grip that could probably have torn my arm out of its socket and he started to drag me to the cave mouth. I tried to pull free but realized that, even in his fallen state, Tacit still had a grip of iron.

"Now, let's discuss this-!" I tried to say, but he wasn't listening.

"Go to, squire!" Entipy shouted encouragingly. "Show him! Show him he cannot spread lies about you in that manner!" If this was designed to inspire me somehow, it failed utterly.

Tacit dragged us out into the sunlight. The air was biting again, the kindly influence of the unicorns not spreading to this relatively forsaken clime. In the brightness of the day, Tacit swung me around and released me so that we were facing each other. I stood on unsteady leg and blinked against the sudden light.

"Your sword," Tacit said. It was at that point I saw that he had picked up my weapon when he proceeded to haul me out into the morning air. He tossed it to me and I caught it smoothly. He reached behind his back and pulled out his own sword. It was gleaming and pure and I could swear I heard a musical chime as it sliced through the air. It probably had a story behind it. Everything about the d.a.m.ned man had a story behind it. "Use it, Apropos."

"For what, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g my stubble?" I demanded.

"Use it to try and kill me, for G.o.d as my witness, if you don't I will certainly try to kill you. And I will succeed."

More and more, I was sure he was bluffing. It just wasn't Tacit, to threaten and then annihilate someone, especially me. The Tacit I knew would hold out hope unto the very end for some fundamental good in another person. He was a humanitarian, someone who just never gave up hope in the human race.

"The only thing you're going to succeed at, Tacit, is to show what an unfortunate specimen you are," I informed him. "Admit that it's over. Turn around and-"

He did not turn around. He came at me.

The thing was, he had no idea of the training I'd undergone. How I'd been taught, night after night, thanks to Sir Umbrage, the manly art of knightly battle. No longer was I the desperate urchin he had once known. I was more than capable of defending myself. As a matter of fact, there was nothing to say that I might not even be superior to him. Yes, that was quite possible.

It was a pleasant enough delusion, and lasted me for the three seconds it took for Tacit to cover the s.p.a.ce between us and swing his sword. It sang through the air and I barely got mine up in time. When they came together, I felt a crash so violent that my arms vibrated furiously from the impact.

He came at me again and, by luck as much as design, I deflected the second blow as well as the first. But then he stepped in fast and slammed the hilt of the sword itself against the side of my head. Stars exploded behind my eyes and I wavered in place, and that was when he swung the flat of the sword and took me in the back of the head, sending me to the ground.

"Tell her," he said tightly.

Determined to overcome my momentary feeling of surprise, I came at him again. I swung the sword so quickly I felt as if it was a blur. He blocked it with no effort, and seemed to be moving in a most leisurely fashion. For a moment our hilts locked, and then he shoved me back several steps. I almost toppled as my weak leg nearly betrayed me, but I shoved the sword down into the snow encrusted ground and steadied myself.

"Out of consideration for our past . . . and for your last moments . . . I'll let you make a good showing," Tacit said. I could see Entipy emerging from the cave a distance away, blinking against the brightness of the sun. "But you will tell her, even if I have to chop you apart one limb at a time, like a tree."

"Get away from him!" shouted Entipy, and she started to charge toward us. But I put up a hand and cried out, sounding as heroic as I could, "No! This is my fight, Princess! If you have any respect for me whatsoever, you'll allow me to see it through!"

To my utter astonishment, she actually came to a halt and nodded. Her face was alight with excitement and there was genuine bloodl.u.s.t in her eyes. She was completely caught up in the moment, anxious to see a hero and villain battling it out with, naturally, the hero triumphant in the end. The problem was, lines had become so blurred that I was no longer sure which of us fit into which category.

Tacit looked at me in momentary confusion, but then his face cleared. "Of course," he said, understanding. "You want to keep her far enough away so that she doesn't hear anything we say to each other."

I didn't bother to nod. He knew he was right.

"I'm impressed, Po. You actually care what the princess thinks. I didn't believe you cared what anybody thought of you. You've changed."

"So have you," I shot back. "And only one of us has changed for the better."

His easy smile thinned into a frown and then he came at me again.

I tried to remember everything that I'd been taught. I watched his sword less than I did his body movement, looking for signs that would telegraph which way he'd come at me: a twist of the hip, an angle of the shoulder. At first it seemed as if I was doing an excellent job. I felt my confidence building as his preliminary attacks did not get through my defenses, and I was actually contemplating launching an offensive of my own when his sword suddenly slashed across my right thigh. I'd blocked his first five thrusts, but his sixth had gotten through. It was just the tip, a light scratch at best, but there was a thin line of blood where the point had cut across.

"Tell her," he said.

"Tell her yourself if you think your diction's up to it," I suggested.

He charged again. Once more I defended myself, but again after initial success, he scored, this time across my left thigh, and just a touch deeper than the first. Again a series of engagements as he drove me back, back across the ground, and at one point I almost slipped but then quickly recovered, and again his sword flashed, and again I had a cut, this time across my upper shoulder.

Then I realized: He was scoring every sixth attempt. It was like clockwork. I wasn't truly defending myself. He was toying with me, striking at will, allowing me to block five times before hitting home with the sixth. He was in complete control the entire time. He must have seen the dawning realization in my eyes, because he nodded and smiled grimly, and of all the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds that I had encountered in my life, I swear to you I have never seen such an evil expression in my life as I saw on the face of Tacit One-Eye at that moment.

"Tell her," he whispered, and I could see from his face, hear in his tone, that he was approaching the point where he was going to stop fooling around. "You don't seem to understand yet, Po. I'm going to kill you no matter what. No less a fate can be left for you after what you did to me."

He was bluffing.

"The only question at issue here is," he continued, "do I kill you cleanly and quickly with your limbs attached . . . or do I hack you apart and leave you to bleed to death from four stumps, sobbing for mercy. It depends upon whether you tell her the truth, and how quickly you do it."

He had had to be bluffing. to be bluffing.

"Well? Your decision, Apropos. The last one you'll have the luxury of making."

"Get him, Apropos!" shouted the princess.

"Go to h.e.l.l," I said tightly.

His face darkened like a thundercloud. "You first," he said, and he came at me. And this time there was no stopping him. He continued to hammer me back, back, his blade scoring at will, cutting here and there, wherever he felt like it. I backed up until I could go no farther, the wall of a mountain face stopping me, and he swung hard and I ducked under it. I think that was the only true moment when I actually saved myself, because his rage was building so greatly that it was that anger which made him miss me rather than my clumsy evasion. I tried to circle back but he cut me off. In the distance I could hear t.i.tan's whinnying combined with Entipy's desperate pleadings that I should stop fooling around with him, giving him a false sense of security. Would that it had been the case; his sense of security was quite, quite genuine.

Back and back more, and despite the coldness of the air, sweat was cloaking my face, running in rivulets down my chest. My breath was heavy in my lungs, my vision starting to become blurred as all the little cuts continued to bleed, and I felt my strength ebbing. And Tacit wasn't letting up, and when he lunged forward and actually stabbed me, I cried out in agony. The blade glanced off one of my ribs, but it was a deep cut, and I clutched at it as best I could to try and stanch the bleeding.

He stopped a moment to survey the damage, and that was when I gathered all my waning strength and lunged at him with my sword, giving it everything I had.

He caught the blade with one gloved hand, disdainfully, held it for a moment, then pushed the blade aside, my thrust so inconsequential that it didn't even merit his sword to deflect it. He lashed out with one foot, catching me in the chest, right where the stab had gone in, and that sent agony ripping through me. I fell back, hit the ground heavily. He slammed his sword down and I just barely rolled out of the way. I tried to get up and he shoved a foot down on my chest, his swordpoint right in my face. His other foot was practically crushing my wrist, keeping my sword pinned. Not that it would have done me any good.

"Tell her," he said, "or I swear to G.o.d, I'll kill you right now."

I looked into his eye.

He wasn't bluffing.

"All right," I said, the words more a sob torn from me than anything else. "All right, I'll tell her."

"Everything," he said firmly.

"Everything . . . just . . . just . . ." Tears, unmanly tears, hot and humiliating, streamed down my cheeks unbidden. "Just don't kill me . . . please . . . please don't . . ."

"No promises. I'll still kill you, like as not . . ."

"Tacit, please, don't . . . it's . . . it's not fair . . ."

"Not fair!" he practically bellowed. "After what you did, you dare speak to me of fairness!"

The princess was far enough away that she couldn't hear us. "Yes, not fair! You, Tacit, born brave, strong and true. Raised by unicorns, at one with the forest! Born to be a hero! Look at me, b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of rape, born lame of leg! I did the best I could with nothing! You had everything . . . everything so easy . . . !"

"Easy? You have no idea what I went through these past years, Po! No idea! Do you seriously think I went into the dangers I faced confident of my success? Do you think I didn't know stinking fear every time some ogre tried to step on me, or some great beast prepared to rip me apart if I didn't answer its d.a.m.ned riddle? But I overcame my inner weaknesses!" You have no idea what I went through these past years, Po! No idea! Do you seriously think I went into the dangers I faced confident of my success? Do you think I didn't know stinking fear every time some ogre tried to step on me, or some great beast prepared to rip me apart if I didn't answer its d.a.m.ned riddle? But I overcame my inner weaknesses!"

"And so did I! You just don't like the way I did it!" And then I cried out as he increased the pressure of his foot on me.

"Tell her everything . . . and perhaps . . . perhaps . . . I'll let you live," he said.

"What if she doesn't believe me?"

"Convince her. Your life depends on it."

"All right . . . all right, I'll find a way." There had been any number of times in my past that I had hated myself for my weakness, but never more so than that moment. "Call to her . . . tell her to come here . . ."

Tacit nodded and, never moving either foot, turned to shout to her. And I knew that somehow, I would be able to convince Entipy of the truth of it. She'd see me bawling like an infant, see that I wasn't remotely heroic, realize that someone who would go to such lengths to save his own miserable hide was just some craven poseur who wasn't worth the time of day of the meanest of the king's subjects, much less his daughter. I had managed to make my cowardly actions before the Harpers seem like some sort of grand scheme, but I'd had to pull a phoenix out of my hat to make that even semi-believable. This she would never, ever go for. She would see all that I was, and hate me for it, and for reasons I couldn't even begin to understand, I was saddened beyond measure.

Then I heard what sounded like a high-pitched buzz, ending with an abrupt thump. Tacit's mouth was still open to call to Entipy, but there was blood trickling from it. He looked down in surprise at the arrow that had thudded into his chest. And then, before it could fully register on him, a second arrow joined it.

Tacit lost his balance and fell off me. I lay there, stunned, as he tumbled back into the snow. It might have been my imagination but I was sure that somehow, from in the distance, I could hear discordant, shrieking music . . . like an orchestra gone mad . . . or a herd of unicorns crying out in hysterical grief as if from one throat.

Blood was pouring copiously from where the arrows had struck him. Tacit struggled to his knees, broke off the shafts, shaking his head, trying to comprehend what had gone so wrong. He looked at me as if trying to see how I was holding a bow, and then another arrow struck him, this time from behind, and then more arrows. He shuddered each time they hit, and still he wouldn't fall. He just kept shaking his head, all the color draining out of his skin as the blood left his face to gush out his chest.

"Tacit . . ." I whispered, seeing the only link to my youth which had any pleasant memories dying before me. I looked around . . . and saw soldiers advancing. They were wearing light armor, with the black and silver trim of the court of Isteria, and several of them had purple banners fluttering from their tunics. Soldiers of the king. Several bowmen had more arrows nocked, ready to let fly.

I looked back to Tacit. A dozen emotions warred for dominance in his face, and confusion won out. Despite the blood gurgling in his throat, despite the twisted jaw, I was still able to make out what he said.

"But . . . but . . . I'm the hero . . . I'm the hero . . . " "

And then one more arrow flew, struck home and pierced the mighty heart, and Tacit fell over, and died with the snow pooling red with his blood, and the mournful cries of unicorns fading over the mountaintops.

Chapter 23.

I have no idea how long I remained there, crouched in the snow, staring at his unmoving body. The first one to reach us was, naturally, Entipy. She half-ran, half-slid over the snowy ground until she got to us, and she looked down at Tacit's mortal remains. I had absolutely no idea how she was going to react. I didn't know how to react myself. have no idea how long I remained there, crouched in the snow, staring at his unmoving body. The first one to reach us was, naturally, Entipy. She half-ran, half-slid over the snowy ground until she got to us, and she looked down at Tacit's mortal remains. I had absolutely no idea how she was going to react. I didn't know how to react myself.

She started to laugh.It was high-pitched and chaotic-sounding and even vaguely familiar, although I couldn't figure out why. Her laughter continued as she circled him, staying just outside the pool of blood that was spreading across the snow.

"Stop it," I said hollowly. I felt as if I had no more fight left within me.

Somewhat to my surprise, she did stop. She looked at me with astonishment and said, "He's dead and you live. Don't you think that's funny?"

"I hadn't . . . thought about it in terms of humor." His eyes were still open, staring up at the sky, perhaps watching where his soul was departing to. I reached over and closed his eyes for him.

Entipy was now looking at me very oddly. "You're crying," she said. "I've never seen a man crying." Her voice hardened. "What's wrong with you?"