Defiance Ch. 08

He stumbled when the tracker caught his arm and steered him towards some of the back streets. Tate was about to object when he caught sight of a dark Inn with blacked out widows and a faint red light above the door. The tracker wasn't looking at him anymore; his eyes were fixed on the young woman hanging outside the front porch.

Her corset was torn and dirty and indecently low cut and her dyed red hair and black charcoal eyes only confirmed what she was. She smiled as they approached, her small green eyes passing dismissively over Tate and landing on the tracker. She bared her crooked teeth in a tight smile and gestured them through the door with a flourish.

They were only inside for a few moments before a bony woman of advancing years swooped down on them. She smiled falsely at the tracker before staring slyly at Tate. "You selling?" She asked curiously.

The tracker laughed when Tate flinched back from her grasping hands. "I'm buying actually. I just need a room to put the boy until I'm done." His smile grew when she looked dubious. "Never fear mistress, he won't cause you any trouble."

Tate was handed into the care of a young man who had enough bruises and cuts to rival even Tate's. "You belong to him?" He asked, when the two of them were out of earshot, though the tracker was determined to keep Tate within his sights until he was securely locked up for the night.

"No," Tate said quietly. "I don't belong to him."

"You're a tinker though?" He smiled dreamily. "Where are all you bracelets?"

Tate turned his head from the tracker and the young woman he had chosen and looked out at the blackened window. "I threw them away."

"That's a pity, they're fine looking things." The boy looked over Tate's shoulder and frowned slightly. "Was he the one that hit you?" He asked quietly.

"I certainly didn't do it to myself." Tate said, though he said it with a soft smile to show his venom wasn't meant for the boy. "But who hit you?" He asked, looking into the lads light blue eyes.

He shrugged and jerked his bony shoulder back towards the old woman. "She rents me out to a man," he shuddered slightly. "He likes to be rough."

"There seems to be a lot of men like that among the northerners." Tate said quietly. "You can't fight him off then?"

The boy looked scared by the mere thought of it. "He'd kill me!" he squeaked.

Tate looked pointedly into the lad's eyes. "He seems to be doing that a bit at a time anyway. Why not run away? They can't be watching you every moment."

The lad let out a small bitter laugh. "They don't watch me at all! Just look at me, I'm hardly this places prize, that's why she lets him have me. If I ran away they'd never bother to try and find me. I'd starve in a few days."

"How long have you been here?" Tate asked, silently horrified that such a young man could have so bleak a future.

"How long? I suppose forever is as good a number as any.

"What is your name?"

"Ibin. And yours?"

Tate faltered for a moment. Did it really matter if he kept his name a secret? He was caught, what good would it do him now? "My name is Tate." He said, quietly enough so no one else could hear. He offered the young man a smile but it melted away when he noticed the boy was gawking at him. "What is it?" Tate asked, suddenly fearful. "Ibin, what is wrong?"

"You're him." The boy actually stepped back. "You're the one he's looking for."

Tate caught the lads arm and pulled him close. The tracker wasn't paying attention to them anymore; he was too busy with his young mistress. "Who is looking for me, Ibin, what are you talking about?

"Him, by the high heavens, him!"

Tate took a deep breath to try and settle his hammering heart. "You mean Christian don't you?" he settled his head on the startled lads shoulder. "By the god's, does everyone know?" Ibin stiffened beneath him and Tate quickly stepped away. He could appreciate not wanting to be touched. "Can you tell me what you've heard?" He asked, trying not to let the desperation sound in his voice.

The boy closed his mouth with a little click. "Just rumours and gossip. The town's strife with it. They say you ran away from Christian after you knifed him. They say you're the reason their hunting down the gypsies."

"Town strife with what?" A high voice suddenly snapped behind them. Both men turned around guiltily as a young mistress glared hauntingly at them. She was tall for a woman, easily Tate's height if not a little taller. She looked different to the other mistress's Tate had seen. She was cleaner looking for a start and she dressed almost decently. Her hand lashed out and she clouted Ibin across the back on his head. "I thought you were supposed to be watching the gentlemen's tinker Ibin, not chatting gossip to him.

The boy bobbed his head guilty and took a sharp step back. "I was watching him mistress, I swear I was. He isn't going anywhere."

She sneered at the boy but it turned into a honey smile when her eyes met Tate's. "I can see why he's so eager to keep track of you. Gypsy or not you've got a look about you." She stepped closer towards him, closing the distance between them until she was uncomfortably close. "Though I'll wager my fortune that you're a half-blood. Did your mother like to open her legs to all comers little tinker?"

"No more than your own I'll wager." Tate said angrily. "Though by the looks of you I'd say you're hardly the subtle type yourself." She tried to slap him but Tate caught her wrist before she could land the blow. He smiled at her. "Does the truth sting my lady?" He asked curtly.

Her eyes became small and hard as she stared calculatingly back at him. "A half-blood indeed but certainly no tinker. That's a noble accent if I ever heard one. Tell me something boy, exactly whose little bastard are you?"

"I don't see how that's any business of yours." The tracker snapped at the young mistress as he pulled his chosen girl behind him. "Come on then, I want this one locked up." His other hand latched onto Tate's wrist. "Off you go tinker, and mind your tongue before I cut it out for you."

Tate was locked into a small room with no windows, very little air and barely enough room for him to sit down. He tried the lock a few times but the door was solid and it refused to give. Not that he had really expected it to. He had an unpleasant inkling that he wasn't the first soul to be trapped in the tiny prison. He settled down eventually and rested his head on his knees. He kept telling himself he had slept in worse places until eventually he dozed off.

**************

Someone shone a bright light in his face, nearly blinding him as he hurriedly sat up. He could just make out the outline of two figures as his tired eyes tried to adjust to the sharp light. "Have you anything to say for yourself, master tinker." He recognised the voice as the young mistress that accosted him earlier in the day. She laughed glibly. "Or do you prefer to be known as Tate De'van, youngest son of the Barron Hasan?"

Tate slowly edged his way up into a standing position with the wall pressed firmly against his back. He smiled hatefully back at her. "At your service mistress." He said, bowing mockingly.

Her eyes closed slightly as she glared at him. She gestured the bigger figure beside her forward and Tate fell a large hand encircle his wrist. He was pulled out of his tiny prison and out into an empty common room. His eyes had finally adjusted to the torch and he could make out the features of the man that was holding so tightly onto him. He was a few years past his prime and his light blue eyes were surrounded with a dozen fierce scars. He had a nose that had been broken many times before and thick leathery lips. Tate gave his arm an experimental tug but unsurprisingly it did him little good. "Don't cry out." The mistress warned him, her big blue eyes fierce.

Tate shrugged at her. "Alright then. But where is the tracker?"

She smiled at him. "You don't have to worry about him anymore."

"Killed him have you?" Tate asked casually.

"Do you care?"

Another shrug. "Not in the slightest."

"Come along then. I have someone who would like to meet you."

**********

"Well well, what do you make of this my old friend?" Tanis asked his old teacher as he examined the gnawed remains of what looked like two vagabonds. The surrounding camp had been left in a hurry. The tracker obviously decided it wasn't worth the effort of covering their tracks if he wasn't going to bury his attackers.

"A struggle certainly." The older man said thoughtfully. "Clearly the tracker prevailed and he seems to have won himself a couple of new horses. No matter though, we have him now. These corpses are barely two days old."

Tanis smiled up at him. "Then let us be off. This game grows tiresome."

********

They're moving too quickly." Lukas said miserably as he ducked down under a score of bushes. "We're going to reach the capital within a few days."

Robert pulled at the loose, drab clothing they had stolen a few days before and plucked a spider off his shoulder. "I wonder how much of our family will be left by the time they get there?" He asked harshly.

Lukas looked sharply back at him but he wasn't in the mood for another argument. He bowed his head and prayed to the gods to give him strength not to throttle his brother. "Have you eaten yet?" He asked instead.

Robert flashed him a harsh smile. "Have you?"

"Not yet." Lukas said tiredly.

"Well me neither. Guess we're just going to have to tighten our belts. Tell me something Lukas, did you notice that the girls aren't screaming anymore."

Of course he had noticed. How could he not. "What do you want me to say Robert?"

"I want you to assure me that they're not already dead. I don't suppose you can do that though, can you big brother?"

Lukas looked back at him and wordlessly shook his head no.

"I didn't think so." Robert said quietly.

***********

The half-blood didn't start struggling until they tried to force him into Olivia's coach. He dug in his heels but his leg buckled almost immediately and he over balanced and fell over. Magnus had a firm hold on the boys arm and thrust him into the coach. He made the half-blood sit on the floor and pressed him back against the seat as Olivia stepped into the carriage. She wasn't normally a very hands on person but there was something about the mongrel's eyes that greatly bothered her. She pulled back her foot and landed a solid blow to the boy's side. He let out a quiet grunt and hugged his arms around his chest. Truly, he didn't look like much a threat curled up.

"That took some of the fight out of you didn't it." She said, feeling just a little smug as he curled deeper into himself. "Not so glib now, eh mongrel?"

She hadn't expected him to answer her so she didn't take too much offense when he buried his face into his arms. She was a little surprised though. She had thought that the baron's children were trained warriors. A rumour had reached them in the town dregs that the half-breed was unblooded but surely he had some sort of combat training. To give up so easily just seemed bizarre to her.

Still, if a small kick mad him quiet and complacent who was she to complain. She just wanted to sell him on and get back to her fine establishment. With the money she got from him she would finally be able to do up her place, make it fancy and respectable. The sort of place a real man would want to frequent instead of the ruffians she had to contend with.

They pulled up to a curve and Olivia pulled back the coaches ragged scarlet curtains. The house in front of her screamed of wealth and high blood. She hadn't crossed into the high houses since her years as a virgin beauty and she had almost forgotten how overwhelmingly fine they were up close.

The moment she stepped outside and pressed her scuffed slippers to the cobbled ground she saw a guard bearing down on her. She raised her arms in a gesture of peace but he wasn't stopping. "I have something for Lord Thomas." She said loudly and shrilly. She gestured Magnus outside and he dragged the half-blood with him. Another guard was quickly heading towards them but neither of them seemed to care that she wasn't there to cause trouble. "Tell him I have brought him something he seeks, something of great importance!"

"A gypsy?" One of them asked mockingly. "There are plenty already hauled up in the capital. Be gone whore!"

"Not this one." She said indignantly, angry now that he was treating her like a common ruffian. "This one is special. For god's sake man, at least give me the opportunity. You'll not regret it."

Both men looked questioningly at one another. "It couldn't hurt to ask," the older one said with a begrudging nod in the mongrel's direction. "That one does fit the description."

"Pass him over then." The younger one said.

Olivia laughed at him. "Don't be stupid. I'm not going to just give him to you. I caught him after all, I brought him here!"

She couldn't control her scream when the elder one drew his sword and stabbed Magnus in the stomach. The big man fell in a gurgling heap on the floor, spattering the pretty pavements a crimson red. She heard the coachman gasp behind her but he wouldn't come to her rescue, he was old and feeble. The younger guard grabbed the half-blood and pulled him close. The boy barely flinched as he was dragged towards the main house. "Be gone whore." The older man said with a disgusted shake of his head. "And don't show your dirty face here again. You're lucky I don't cut you down where you stand."

She turned tail and threw herself into the coach. The driver took off immediately, leading them back into the dregs of the town. "Bastards!" She said furiously. She hit the coach wall beside her. "Damned bastards!"

She barely made it through the front door when she felt a cold presence shift up behind her. She felt an icy sharpness pressed against her throat and a hot wheezing breath in her ear. "Where is my half-blood, whore?" The tracker asked her, his voice harsh and cruel as he pressed the knife into her flesh.

"I, I-"

"Never mind," He said dully, and then she felt a sharp pain flare through her throat, quickly followed by a hot wetness that poured down her chest. "I'll just find him myself."

The last thing she saw before the darkness rushed up to snare her was a wolfs smile.

**********

Ralan had met the half-blood previously, years ago before the boy had reached adolescence. He had been exotic then but it was nothing compared to what he looked like as a man. The rumours had not exaggerated his beauty. Even battered and bruised his features were exquisite. It was a pity that there didn't seem to be anything behind those magnificent golden eyes beyond dull fear and beaten submission. From what he had heard about the boy he had expected a spitting hell cat. Had he not laid eyes in his before he might have questioned whether he had the right man?

"Have you no tongue, young lord Tate?" He asked, only a little mockingly. The boy turned his head away and averted his eyes. Ralan reached down and gently caught his chin, forcing the young man to look at him. Those great amber eyes truly were beautiful. "You should greet a higher lord accordingly, child."

A shuddered sigh. "Greeting's my lord."

"Greeting's Lord Tate. How do you fare?"

"Well my lord." The boy said, staring unblinkingly back at him.

"You're a hard lad to track. Half the countries been on your scent and here you just fall into my lap. It must be fate."

"Then the fates must hate me." The boy said, so softly that Ralan barely heard him.

**********

Tate didn't fight when they placed him on the tiny room. He sat on the thin pallet and watched the young guard check the locks on the windows. He turned around and pointed an accusing finger at Tate. "You try to run away and my sergeant says he'll break your other arm, you hear me half-blood?"

Tate ducked his head respectfully but he was beginning to grow sorely bored playing the meek little captive. He told himself it was the smart thing to do, to make them think he was as docile as a kitten. It would not have been his first choice but he realised that he needed to play on his strengths and he knew one of those was his ability to appear quite harmless. It had already worked with the whore. When she had kicked him he had forced himself not to react and consequently she had left him alone.

He stood up and checked the door. Unsurprisingly he was locked in. Even though he'd watched the guard a moment before he tried the locks on the windows. They were firmly closed to him as well. He shrugged and sat back down on the pallet. At least it was better than his previous accommodations. He reasoned that it wasn't the time to try to escape yet anyhow. Not when everyone was watching him so intently. The best thing he could do was wait until his leg had healed before he tried anything else. He leant back and closed his eyes and dreamt about dark painted eyes and woven golden hair.

*************

Lukas ran his hair over his long braided hair and felt a deep sadness well up in his heart as he raised the knife. It was only hair, he told himself, but that didn't soothe him because it wasn't true. Braided hair was a part of his people, a part of what made them who they were.

"Hurry up!" Robert snapped at him, his eyes hard and unyielding as he tied his own shortened hair into a warrior's knot at the base of his neck. Lukas watched him sadly. His little brother had never looked more like a stranger.

He closed his eyes and hacked breathlessly away at his long braids. They fell like rope around his shoulders, spilling messily over the woodland ground. Lukas missed the weight of them instantly but he didn't comment as he pulled what remained behind his head and tied it into a tight knot. "What we must look like." He said softly.

"I'll tell you what we don't look like anymore." Robert said snidely.

Lukas stared questioningly back at him.

"We don't look like victims anymore big brother."

Lukas wondered suddenly, when did it happen? When did I lose my brother? "Which makes us what I wonder?" he said softly, but Robert wasn't listening.

"Time to go." He said, his eyes fixed on the huge walls that surrounded the city of the Northern Kings.

"Yes," Lukas agreed, "It's time to go."

***************

It was getting lighter for longer outside, which could only mean that summer was finally on its way. It was still chilly though. Tate pulled his loaned jacket a little tighter around his shoulders as he pulled his knees up against his chest. It had been a long time since he had been allowed some privacy.

Lord Ralen's gardens were beautiful, if not slightly too well kept. Tate rather enjoyed wild flowers, more so since the variety he had seen whist travelling with the tinkers. A brief image of Lukas passed through his mind before he pushed it firmly away.

He tested some weight on his leg and was pleased that it barely twinged in protest. He was healing at least. Even his arm was getting stronger.

"You should smile more often." A deep voice said beside him. Tate looked up sharply and felt a dead weight in his stomach. He hadn't even heard the lord Ralan approach. When the other man sat down beside him Tate stood up. "Sit," The lord said, quietly but firmly. Tate sat back down, uncomfortably aware that he was being stared at. "Do you think your fooling me?" Ralan asked at last, his tone light and pleasant.

"Fooling you my lord?" Tate shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"With this little act of yours. What is it you hope to achieve?"

"I'm not-" Tate began but he was quickly interrupted.

"You expect that I'll just allow you to escape?" The lord clucked his tongue in disapproval. "You're going to earn me a pretty penny boy, not to mention the prince's favour. I'm not going to let you out of my sight until then." They both sat there in silence but Tate could feel the other mans sudden displeasure. "Have you nothing to say?" He demanded at last.