Arlek sat close by on a flat stone, watching her at her ministrations. Others of the clan or tribe moved in shadows which had lengthened a little, murmuring with low background voices. As Jazz struggled to sit up, so Arlek came across and stood over him. He fingered a lump under his ear where Jazz had hit him, displayed a right eye rapidly turning black and closing.
‘I never saw anyone fight like you,’ he stiffly complimented his captive. ‘I didn’t even see you strike me!’
Jazz grunted, propped himself against a boulder and brought his knees up a little. ‘That was the idea,’ he said. ‘There’s a lot more I could show you, too, like how to fight the Wamphyri. That’s what my weapons were for: to keep me alive in a world where things like the Wamphyri rule. Where the hell do men stand in the scale of things on this world, anyway? Why bargain with the Wamphyri, or bow and scrape to them, when you can fight them?’
Despite his painful face, Arlek laughed out loud. Other Travellers heard him, came forward; he quickly repeated what Jazz had said. ‘Fight the Wamphyri, indeed! We are only lucky they spend so much time fighting with each other! But defy them? Hah! You don’t know what you’re saying. They don’t fight with Sunsiders, they just make slaves of them. Have you seen a Warrior? Of course not, else you’d not be here! That’s why we’re Travellers, because to remain in one place is to be at their mercy. You don’t “fight” the Wamphyri, my stupid friend, you just stay out of their way – for as long as you can.’
He turned away, walked off with his followers. Over his shoulder he called back: ‘Talk with the woman. It’s high time she told you something about this world you’ve come to. At least then you’ll have some understanding of why I’m giving you – both of you – to Shaithis of the Wamphyri . . .’
Wolf loped out of the shadows, licked Jazz’s face. Jazz scowled at the animal. ‘Where were you when Zek and me were fighting, eh?’
‘When you were fighting,’ she corrected him. ‘Wolf wasn’t in it. Why should I risk his life? I told him to be still. He’s just back from seeing his brothers. The Travellers have three or four of them, all raised from cubs.’
‘Funny,’ Jazz said after a moment, ‘but you struck me as a woman who’d bite and scratch a lot.’ He didn’t mean it as a reproach, but it was and he regretted it immediately.
‘I would,’ she said, ‘if there was any point. But I’d look silly trying to bite a dozen Travellers and their wolves, now wouldn’t I? My first concern was for you.’
Jazz sighed. ‘I suppose I went off half-cocked, didn’t I? But I thought you said we’d be safe?’
‘We might have been,’ she said, ‘but while you’ve been lying there Arlek’s had word from a runner that Lardis Lidesci is on his way back from the west. Arlek knows Lardis won’t give me to the Wamphyri, and so he’ll do it himself – now! There’ll be a price to pay when Lardis hears about it, but Arlek’s got this group on his side and believes that in the end Lardis will have to go along with him or split the tribe. In any case, by the time Lardis gets here it will be too late.’
Jazz said: ‘Can you touch me behind my ear just here? Ow! That feels tender!’
‘It’s soft,’ she said, and he thought he detected a catch in her voice. ‘God, I thought you were dead!’ She squeezed cold water onto the back of his head, let it soak into the place where his hair was matted with blood. He looked beyond her to the south, to where the sun had gone down a little more, crept a little more to the east.
A stray beam lit her face, let him see her clearly and really close up for the first time. She was a bit grimy, but under the dirt she was very beautiful too. She’d be in her early thirties, only a few years older than Jazz himself. Maybe five-nine, slim, blonde and blue-eyed, her hair shone in the beam of sunlight; it looked golden and bounced on her shoulders when she moved. Her combat suit, tattered as it was getting to be, fitted her figure like a glove; it seemed to accentuate her delicate curves. Right here and now, Jazz supposed any woman would have looked good to him. But he couldn’t think of one he’d rather have here. Or (he corrected himself), rather not have here. This was no place for any woman.