"Why do you have to try and be heroic all the time!" I said in frustration. "Why do you have to see everything so 'clearly'? What do you think you're trying to prove?"

"Prove?" He shook his head. "I'm not trying to prove anyth-"

"Oh, the h.e.l.l you aren't!" I was shouting by that point, uncaring if anyone outside heard me. "That's all you ever do! Try to prove how much better you are than I am! How much n.o.bler, how much more heroic! Tacit, who can move with the grace of a unicorn! Tacit, with the heart of a gryphon! The heroic cutpurse and rogue, trying to make everybody's life a little bit better! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of you! Haven't you gotten that yet? Don't you understand that?"

"Po," he said slowly, moving his hands in a "calm down" gesture, "I know that you're upset. Your mother's body is not even cold, her murderer protected by a vast army . . ."

"An army that you'd take on single-handedly, no doubt, in order to accommodate a friend! And you'd probably win, too!" It all came spilling out, everything I'd bottled up. "d.a.m.n you! G.o.d d.a.m.n you! d.a.m.n you for your perfection and innate wonderfulness! d.a.m.n you for being so much better than I am, and leaving me to look at you and be sick with envy!"

"Apropos, my friend-"

"I'm not your friend! How many ways do I have to spell this out for you! I cannot stand you, all right? I can't stand the sight of you! Whenever I look at you, all I see is all that I am not! I can never measure up to everything that you are!" How many ways do I have to spell this out for you! I cannot stand you, all right? I can't stand the sight of you! Whenever I look at you, all I see is all that I am not! I can never measure up to everything that you are!"

"But we're not in compet.i.tion, Apropos!"

"That's the worst thing of all. You see, you're you're not in compet.i.tion. You're so skilled, so wonderful, so perfect, that you don't even realize it!" I was sweating profusely, my forehead positively dripping, and the salt from it sopped down and stung my eyes. I wiped them furiously, hoping that it didn't seem as if I were weeping. That would have been simply intolerable. "You're just someone who served a purpose, that's all! Nothing more than that!" His face was resolutely stoic. I stepped closer in, suddenly consumed with an overwhelming desire to hurt him. "Must I spell it out? I used you! Used you for protection, for knowledge. You were a means to an end, that's all. All your heroics and your taking on this quest or that cause. And now you're going to do it again, with my mother, and drag me along with it as if throwing my life away against some behemoth is going to bring her back. And the worst is, you'll probably expect great deeds out of me! Probably fix it so that it's my hand that lays the villain low or something equally n.o.ble. The h.e.l.l with your n.o.bility! The h.e.l.l with you! Do you finally comprehend? Do we finally have an understanding, Tacit? Do we?" not in compet.i.tion. You're so skilled, so wonderful, so perfect, that you don't even realize it!" I was sweating profusely, my forehead positively dripping, and the salt from it sopped down and stung my eyes. I wiped them furiously, hoping that it didn't seem as if I were weeping. That would have been simply intolerable. "You're just someone who served a purpose, that's all! Nothing more than that!" His face was resolutely stoic. I stepped closer in, suddenly consumed with an overwhelming desire to hurt him. "Must I spell it out? I used you! Used you for protection, for knowledge. You were a means to an end, that's all. All your heroics and your taking on this quest or that cause. And now you're going to do it again, with my mother, and drag me along with it as if throwing my life away against some behemoth is going to bring her back. And the worst is, you'll probably expect great deeds out of me! Probably fix it so that it's my hand that lays the villain low or something equally n.o.ble. The h.e.l.l with your n.o.bility! The h.e.l.l with you! Do you finally comprehend? Do we finally have an understanding, Tacit? Do we?"

I wasn't sure what I expected him to do. Rant, perhaps, or strike me, or hurl invective.

But all he did was just look at me with what seemed infinite sadness, and then he shook his head and said quietly, "Perhaps . . . you are right. Perhaps this is something you'd best do alone. Handle the matter as you wish. May you find whatever justice you deem your mother worthy of, Apropos. May you find everything you seek."

I was fairly trembling with rage. "Stop being so d.a.m.ned polite! Didn't you hear anything I said?"

"I heard everything you said. And I forgive you."

He bowed slightly to Astel, placed a respectful hand upon my mother's cold one for a moment as if wishing her good journey, and then turned and left.

"I don't need your forgiveness any more than I need your friendship!" I shouted after him. I doubt that he heard me, and truthfully, it wouldn't have made much difference if he had.

It was done. I was rid of him. It was about time, really. I'd learned from him every reasonable skill he had to offer. I didn't need him anymore. Particularly if he was going to lead me on some quest that would get me killed, as if my mother would ever know or care. "Exact vengeance on your mother's behalf," Tacit had said. What a colossal crock that was. My mother had no more behalf. She was beyond such human concerns as justice.

"Justice. There has to be justice for her," Astel said, as if she could read my thoughts. She pointed a quavering finger at me. "And you have to get it for her. You're her son. She believed in you."

I looked at her body, now covered by the sheet, and thought about her natterings about destiny and such. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror mounted on the wall nearby. Moderate height was I by that point, with a fairly well muscled upper torso. But my right leg was still a fairly useless object, and overall I looked very unimpressive, leaning on my staff and a.s.sessing my abilities and worth.

"More fool she," I said.

Astel's movement was quick. I never even saw her hand swing in its arc. But I certainly felt the impact as it cracked against my face.

There was cold, hard fury in Astel's face. "You little creep," she fairly snarled. "I caught you when your mother's womb expelled you. I was there when you sank your teeth into Stroker's throat. Your mother sold her body to buy you a roof over your head, and what have you done in return? Never offered her so much as a soft word, much less made any effort to support yourself or make her life better!"

"I . . . did . . . from time to time," I protested, but it sounded rather lame the way I said it. My face was smarting but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me reach up and rub it.

"You did nothing, except hang about with Tacit or glower at your mother ever since you found out what she did in order to provide for you."

"That's not true." I thought about the time that I'd pressed the coin into her sleeping hand, but I wasn't about to share that memory with Astel. It would seem as if I was defensive, providing excuses. So I simply repeated, a bit more sullenly, "That's not true. And . . . and I've made money. I have. Lots of money, hidden away. Money I was going to give her!" And at that point it was a complete lie, because I'd never had any intention of giving her a single sovereign. But just as before I'd wanted to upset Tacit, now I was seized with the desire to do something about those contemptuous looks that Astel was giving me.

She shook her head in haughty disbelief. "I don't think you know what true and false are anymore."

"You don't know anything, Astel," I said angrily. If she could be accusatory, I could be, too. "You've known me my whole life, and you don't know anything about me!"

"I know that Tacit at least had some measure of the right idea, and you treated him like garbage!" she said, pointing at the door in indication of the direction he'd gone. "I know that at least he had his heart in the right place! Where's your heart, Apropos?!"

"Hidden away where the likes of you can never find it!"

We were very close, taking step upon step toward each other, our bodies both trembling with our respective fury. "I wouldn't bother looking for your heart!" she shot back. "Why should I seek out such a shriveled and pathetic thing as that! Your mother lies dead, and your only plan is to track down some helpless woman and murder her!"

"What would you have me do, Astel? Throw my life away combating some brute that'll slay me, like as not? And what good will that do her?!"

"You're a coward!"

"I'm a realist! If living in the real world makes me a coward in your eyes, then fine! Who gives a d.a.m.n what you think?"

"You do!" She shoved me. With my lame leg, I almost stumbled, but I recovered and shoved her back. When she came at me again, I caught both her wrists and held them easily. Thunder blasted even louder, so loud that it seemed as if it were in the room with us.

"You have no compa.s.sion!" she shouted over the thunder as she struggled in my grasp. "No care for anything save yourself . . . no love . . . no . . ."

Her body was right up against mine, and that was when I kissed her fiercely. It was a clumsy movement, my skull cracking against hers so hard that we were both momentarily dazed. She was nearly twice as old as I, but still d.a.m.ned attractive. She tried to pull away from me. I kissed her again, feeling something building deep within me, something that was demanding it be unleashed. Rain was pouring down, slamming against the walls, and the wind was howling. She sunk her teeth into my lower lip, drawing blood, and I pulled away momentarily. Triumph flashed in her eyes, but there was something else in there as well, something that prompted me to bring my mouth savagely down upon hers once more, and this time there was only the mildest resistance. When I bore her down to the floor, all resistance was gone.

With my mother's corpse lying covered on a table five feet away, I had my first woman. It was hardly the ambience that one could have wished for, but I suppose in retrospect that there was something symbolic about it.

Chapter 7.

We lay close to each other for some time, holding each other tight, skin against skin so that it took our bodies as long as possible to cool. "That was . . . unexpected," I said, my voice sounding a bit huskier than it had a little while earlier.

"Life is full of surprises," said Astel. She was idly fingering the wispy curls of chest hair. "Do you know what I think you lacked, Apropos?"

"Is this going to be an alphabetical list, or are you going to go from largest to smallest?"

She smiled at that. I guessed I had amused her. "I think you lacked confidence. The sort of confidence that can only be gotten by . . . by becoming a man. A true man," she added.

"Is that what it takes, then? What of monks who swear themselves to lives of celibacy?"

She made a dismissive noise. "They're busy making love to G.o.d, or whatever permutation thereof is interesting to them." She drew herself even closer to me. If she'd held me any tighter, she would have been in back of me. "Confidence," she said again, as if she'd just settled a dispute for herself.

"And is that why you and I had it off just now? So that you could help build my confidence?"

She sighed contentedly. "A little, perhaps. But also . . . I hate to admit it . . . I've wondered about it for a long time. Fantasized about it. I know, I know how strange it is. After all, I held you in my arms when you were newborn. But perhaps that was part of the excitement as well. Watching you grow into young manhood, coming into your own."

"And before, when you spoke of my heartlessness?"

Propping her head up on one hand, Astel said, "We say things when we're angry, Apropos. Things we don't really mean. I think it's what we do when we're not angry that has greater weight, don't you." She leaned over and kissed me once more, and I felt my body begin to respond on its own. The second time we had s.e.x was far less rushed. I was hardly what one would call experienced, but I did have the benefit of being a fast learner.

It was a short time later when we finally dressed and emerged from the room where my mother's body lay. Only a handful of people remained in the tavern at that point, most of them so drunk into oblivion that they could have been on the sun and wouldn't have known their whereabouts. Stroker, however, cleaning gla.s.ses behind the bar, was stone-cold sober. Since he usually relegated those ch.o.r.es to wenches and such, clearly he had things on his mind. He glowered at us from beneath his beetled brow.

"I've sent for the funerian," he growled. "He'll take the body and dispose of it." Not for Stroker were the niceties of asking after the state of mind of the newly orphaned.

"Dispose of it how?" I asked. "Where will she be buried?"

"Buried!" He snorted. " 'Less you've got money for a grave site, she'll just be made ashes in the funerian's kiln."

It was clear that his mentioning my having money was such a preposterous notion that my temper started to flare. "Money!" I retorted. "I'll have you know that-"

Then I felt Astel's hand gripping my arm warningly. I wasn't quite sure what the problem was, but it was clear that she didn't want me to continue. Cutting myself short in what I hoped was a vaguely smooth manner, I ended the sentence lamely, "-that if I could get it, I would. Wait a minute . . . what about her money?"

Stroker looked at me blankly. "Her money?"

"My mother's earnings! All these years . . . where are they? She must have banked them with you. Where is it!"

"Your mother gave me squat, boy, 'side from what I was ent.i.tled to. I think she kept it with her, in her mattress."

Immediately I headed back into the room. I would have pitched my mother's corpse off the bed to inspect the mattress . . . except that I quickly found one section had been torn away 'round the other side. I shoved my hand in, probing . . . and came away with a single sov that the thief must have missed. That was probably the real reason that he'd killed her. Sitting on the mattress, he must have felt the wealth contained therein, disposed of her, and taken it for himself.

I muttered a string of profanity and stomped back into the main room. "It's gone! It's all gone! But if you have a shred of decency . . ." Then I stopped, remembering who I was talking to.

Stroker snorted once more, like a horse with an allergy, and turned away. Astel led me over into a far corner of the tavern and sat me down. "Don't you be mentioning that money of yours to anyone," she whispered. "Not a word of it." She took my hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. "Your mother was right, Apropos. You do have a destiny; I could always sense that about you. But we both know that if it's to be found, it's not going to be in this place. Let's face it, there's nothing to hold us here. We can get out, you and me."

"We?" Things seemed to be moving much faster than I'd antic.i.p.ated. It was only within the last hour that I'd come to think of Astel as a real, flesh and blood woman rather than simply some individual who had always been there. A woman of pa.s.sion and fire, and desires all her own, that was Astel. To go from that state of mind to thinking of us as a "we . . ."

Still, it didn't seem particularly out of the question. She had awoken my carnal side, had brought me over the threshold into manhood. Already I felt an attachment starting to develop. I couldn't look upon her without imagining what it would be like to be horizontal with her once more, sampling the amazing heat that the woman seemed to radiate from every pore. "We" didn't seem such a terrible idea at that, truth to tell.

"Yes, we. Does the notion . . . repulse you?" she asked. Her voice contained potential for a world of hurt.

"No," and I smiled, genuinely smiled, which is something I rarely did. "No, it doesn't repulse me at all."

"I could use some help here!" Stroker called angrily from behind the bar, and Astel immediately got to her feet and moved behind the bar to start cleaning up and settling down matters for the night. Stroker walked around the bar, carrying a large stein of what was probably mead. He swaggered toward me, and I wondered what he was going to say and do. What charming bon mot bon mot was going to tumble from his lips, what new insult or snide remark? was going to tumble from his lips, what new insult or snide remark?

He stood at the edge of the table where I was seated, regarding me for a long moment. And then, to my surprise, he placed the stein in front of me. The froth of the mead swirled around the top. It was the good stuff, not the stuff he watered down, I could tell. And when he spoke, it was without any of the bluff, bl.u.s.ter, and arrogance that I had spent my entire life hearing.

"I'm sorry about your mother," said Stroker in a low voice. "She deserved better. And she deserves justice." That was all, and then he turned away. For a moment, just a moment, I thought I caught the smallest amount of moisture starting to form in the corner of his eye.

"Justice from whom?" I asked.

He looked back at me, as if surprised that the question needed to be asked. "The king, y'fool. Who else?" He walked away shaking his head, as if he couldn't quite believe that such a stupid question needed to be asked.

I had to admit, it made sense. It was known far and wide that King Runcible was quite the adjudicator. People from around the land came to him with disputes to be settled, which seemed a far more reasonable means of handling arguments than resorting to combat. There was a place in his palace known as the Hall of Justice, where he sat once a week and welcomed all comers, the great and the ingrate, attending to their grievances.

I myself had always held such practices in general, and the court of Runcible in particular, in great disdain. Who better had the right? Runcible made a great show of his knights standing for something good and moral, but my very existence on this planet put the lie to that. Runcible's men were just as violent, just as selfcentered, just as capable of great evil, as were any other individuals who made no pretense of moral posturing. I was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, sp.a.w.ned from a group rape of my mother. It was hardly the sort of origin that was likely to give one a warm, generous feeling toward those who were responsible.

Still . . . there was something to be said for the notion. h.e.l.l, it had been a long time ago. For all I knew, those knights who had partic.i.p.ated in the barbaric a.s.sault against my mother had been weeded out of Runcible's court. There was no real way for me to tell. Besides-and here was the aspect that I found most attractive-if Runcible sicced his knights on the Journeyman who had slain my mother, my neck was not on the line. Let his trained brutes deal with the situation. That way I could have my revenge against the cad who had stolen from me, and at the same time do so without having to worry about running into difficulties myself.

No, it was not a half-bad plan at all.

The funerian showed up promptly at dawn, which was fortunate since with the pa.s.sing of a bit more time, my mother's poor corpse might have started to get ripe. He was a tall, pale individual, the type who seemed born to the profession. Stroker, who was becoming a fountain of surprises, slipped the funerian a few coins. Not enough to pay for a burial site, but at least sufficient to obtain a right and proper funeral and a solo cremation. There was somehow more dignity to that than watching a body tossed on a pyre with a half a dozen strangers.

The attendance at my mother's funeral was small. It was in the open air, of course, the funerian's kiln heated up ahead of time for maximum efficiency. Her body, wrapped in funeral cloths, was eased into the kiln, and the heavy metal door banged shut behind her with such finality that I jumped slightly. Astel was next to me, clutching my arm. Ever since our "bonding," she had become a bit clingy. That might have caused problems in the long term, but for the moment it was acceptable. Stroker was there as well, plus a handful of regular customers who had come to appreciate Madelyne for her "talents" and her perpetually upbeat manner. The kiln belched out black smoke, which tailed away high into the sky. The funerian performed a fill-in-the-blanks sermon, and when he asked if any individuals wished to speak on her behalf at that time, no one volunteered. I felt I should say something, but I couldn't for the life of me imagine what. There were things I wished I'd said to her while she was around, but it was a bit late for that. So I maintained my silence rather than risk saying anything foolish.

Astel nudged me in the ribs. I looked at her in annoyance and she inclined her head toward the front of the a.s.semblage. Clearly she wasn't going to let me off that easily. I sighed heavily and trudged toward the front, accentuating my limp even further as, perhaps, a slight bid for sympathy. I turned to face the people there and, after a moment's reflection, I said, "Madelyne was my mother, and she had . . . a vision of what the world should be. And it never really matched up with her dreams. So what I'm going to do is dedicate the rest of my life to fulfilling her vision. Because that's what she'd want me to do." I hesitated, then mentally shrugged and said, "Thank you."

There were actually tears in Astel's eyes. I couldn't believe that she had gotten misty-eyed over such a pathetic speech. Someone patted me on the back; to my horror, I had a feeling it was Stroker. This wasn't the way I needed the world to be. The last thing I required was a brute like Stroker revealing a soft underbelly, or Astel-whom I'd always viewed as being one of the more pragmatic of women-to be a sucker for a few sentimental words.

Not too far off, there was a grove of trees that was part of the outermost ridge of the Elderwoods. I glanced in that direction, and of course . . . of course . . . I caught a glimpse of a figure clad in green and brown. Then it vanished into the concealing woods.

We stood there and watched the black smoke belch from the top of the kiln, stray ashes and such fluttering upward. My mother had aspired to so much. Perhaps, wherever she wound up next, she might be closer to whatever it was she was seeking. Some minutes later, the funerian handed me a large urn with her remaining ashes.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked.

"Whatever you want," said the funerian.

I lugged the thing back with me. No one made an offer to help. Maybe they felt it would be something of an insult or some such nonsense. d.a.m.ned foolish of them. If anyone had asked if they could help, I could gladly have shoved the urn over to them. Astel kept pace with me, and I said, "Any ideas as to what I should do with this?"

"When the time comes, you'll know," she said cryptically.

The mood in Stroker's was somber that night. I sat at a table alone, staring at my mother's urn, and Stroker walked over to me and sat down. "Look," he growled, "I never had much use for you. But if you want to stay here, you can. Course, you'll have to pull your own weight from now on. You've always been a lazy little s.h.i.t . . ."

"Have I," I said tonelessly.

"You know it, I know it. So you'll have to bust your a.s.s from now on to keep room and board. But if you're willing to do that, then fine." He paused, and then tapped the base of his neck. "I've still got your mark, y'know. Right here. You can barely see it, but it's there just the same. You were a nasty little creep from the day you were born."

"A lazy little s.h.i.t, a nasty little creep. So why keep me around at all?" I looked at him levelly. "Because you want to see me squirm? Because you want to treat me like the s.h.i.t and creep you think I am? How much do you want to make me grovel just so I have a roof over my head?"

His gaze hardened. "I was trying to be nice. Should've realized that was pointless with someone like you."

"Yes, I guess you should've."

He shoved the chair back with such force that it hit the floor. I'm not sure what else he intended to do, but finally he just shook his head and walked away, leaving me alone. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder then, and knew that it was Astel.

"We're getting out of here," I said.

It took us no time at all to gather the few belongings we had, and then I led her to the stables, still hauling my mother's ashes in the urn. I went to the corner, pulled up the floorboards where I had been secreting my stash for the past years. I actually felt some degree of pride. For so long, I had wanted to pull out the fruits of my "ill-gotten gains" and show them to my mother, or shove them in Stroker's face whenever he made some disparaging comment about how I would never amount to anything. At least I would be able to show it off to Astel. There was, after all this time, a small fortune in there. Probably far more than my mother had stashed away, since I didn't have such considerations as food and rent to be deducted from it.

"Astel . . ." I started to say, " . . . come take a look at this . . ."

I half-turned and barely had time to see the urn in Astel's hands. She had planted her feet firmly and was twisting at the hip, gripping the urn and swinging it straight at my head. Before it could fully register on me, the urn cracked against my skull. I tumbled backward, hitting the ground heavily. I tasted blood swelling from my mouth, and even though I couldn't string a coherent thought together, I still managed to pull myself halfway upright just as she whipped the urn around again. This time it hit me with such force that the urn shattered, spewing ash everywhere. Most of it, however, was on me, choking me, stinging my eyes. I coughed violently, trying to clear my lungs.

Through my limited sphere of vision, I saw Astel's hands grab up the strongbox in which I had taken to keeping my stash. I lunged for it, trying to get out the words "Give it back!" She gave it back to me all right. She slammed me on the back of the head with it, and that was the end of that. Blackness spiraled around me and my head hit the straw. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard Astel say, "I'm sorry, Apropos. This will probably make it even harder for you to trust anyone in the future. Unfortunately, well . . . I just don't care."

And then there was nothing.

That would have been a fortuitous time in my life to have all manner of portentous dreams. To have my departed mother's shade show up in my imaginings and put forward some useful advice. Or perhaps see visions of things to come. Unfortunately, such was not the case. I saw nothing but darkness, and then eventually there was dampness on my face. That was enough to bring me out of my enforced slumber, although I had no idea how long I'd been out. The dampness was coming from a leak in the ceiling of the stables. I heard rain outside, although it was not remotely as fearsome as it had been the other night.

I hauled myself to my feet. Standing up was always problematic, even on my best days, thanks to my lame leg. But this was even worse, because my head was throbbing and I could feel the world tilting wildly around me. My jaw ached, and when I rubbed my lower face, dried blood came away on my hand.