Kill the Dead, Tanith Lee [a court of thorns and roses ebook free .TXT] 📗

him had, that this thing which would murder him, for whatever reason, couldonly be an echo, and a defiled echo at that, of the girl he had been companionto, the girl who had had such rights to love, whose human life he would have equatedwith his own. Wherever she had gone to, she had gone away from being that, thatparody of herself.

Themoon was up. A vixen screamed, miles off. He heard the muffled scrunch of aboot scraping on the brick causeway he had crossed hours earlier.

Theimperative present had arrived.

ParlDro sat, back to the wall, not moving. The meadow contained the footsteps whichwould now be negotiating it. Once there was a brief stumble. If he had notknown, Dro might have taken it for some night beast tussling with rival or preyin the grass. Then the feet shambled over the uneven ground where the outerwalls had come down. The stumbling was very evident now. Abruptly a voice criedout to him.

“Dro!Parl Dro! Are you here?”

Pitchinghis voice to carry as well, or better, than that cry, Dro said, “I’m here, MyalLemyal.”

Thefeet erupted into an uncertain gallop. Suddenly, around the wall, the musiciancareered into view. His face was dead white, his eyes appeared as black as Dro’s.His hair streaked his forehead, plastered with sweat, and his sleeves flappedabsurdly. Seeing Dro directly in front of him, he checked.

“Soyou’re here.”

“Unless,of course, you’re imagining me.”

MyalLemyal jerked his head crazily. He drew the instrument off his shoulders andlaid it carefully down. Then, with a hoarse bleak howl, he ran through the fireat Dro. There was a sharp stone in his right hand, the other was a strangleholdaimed for Dro’s neck.

Drocame to his feet, lightly and without hesitation, as if both legs were wholeand worked on springs. As Myal collided with him, Dro was no longer there. Myalhit the wall with a frustrated moan. Turning awkwardly, he made a clutch forDro’s sleeve. Dro allowed him to grab the sleeve. Myal raised the stone tosmash it into Dro’s face. The face was intent, yet somehow uninvolved. Thestone dived forward and came away from Myal’s hand uselessly. It whirred intothe dark beyond the fire. They both heard it slam against another wall. Theimpetus of the abortive cast swung Myal over with it. He collapsed, tumblingagainst Dro, who caught him.

“I’llkill you,” mumbled Myal, his head on Dro’s shoulder. “You murdering bastard. Iwill. I’ll kill you. I will.”

“Ofcourse you will.”

Drolet him down gently to the ground. Myal sprawled there. He shook inuncontrollable waves of fury and fever, rolling almost into the fire. Drorolled him back. Searing heat came through Myal’s clothes. He was a furnace.

“I’lltear out your insides and tie them around your throat,” the furnace said tohim. “In a bow.”

“Howdid you find me?”

“Don’tknow. I found you. I want to kill you. I came all this way to kill you. Why won’tyou come over here and let me do it? Damn you, I came all this way.” Myal beganto cry. “I can’t do anything right, I never could.” He buried his head in hisarms. He cried as if his heart would shatter. Presently he said, “Don’t beatme. Don’t use the strap on me. Don’t.” Dro pulled more branches across andpiled them on the fire. The flames soared up, and Myal lay still on his side,watching them with the tears running sideways out of his eyes and into hishair.

“Nexttime,” he said, “next time, I’ll get it right. Don’t hit me, Daddy.”

“No one’sgoing to hit you,” Dro said.

“Youwill,” Myal said, “I know you. You will, Daddy, when you’ve finished thatskinful of beer.”

Drosat and looked at him. The shaking fit was gradually passing off. Myal staredat the fire, delirious, objective.

“It’seasy to follow you,” he said after a while. “You leave a kind of shadow behindyou. I can’t see it with my eyes, but I know it’s there. I can find you simpleas breathe.”

“Inother words, you’re gifted with powers beyond the normal.”

“Lendme your knife,” Myal said slowly. “I can kill you with it. It won’t take aminute. I’ll clean it after.”

Myal’s eyes shut. He sighed.

“Youought to be exterminated,” he murmured. “I never had a big brother, someone tolook up to. Someone I could kill.”

“Go to sleep,” Dro said.

“I wish I was dead.”

“I wish you were, too.”

Myal laughed.

“Did I ever tell you about theGray Duke’s daughter—?”

Heslept, relaxed, comforted, across the fire from the man he had come to kill.

CHAPTERFIVE

TheGray Duke’s daughter had made eyes at Myal. He had been flattered and afraid ofher. She sidled up to him now with a wreath of lemon asphodel on her pale hair.Water ran out of her clothes and she was barefoot.

“Getup,” she said, “you have only to walk twenty paces.” Her voice was wrong. Itwas dark and clear and very definitely masculine.

“Idon’t want to get up,” said Myal. “I don’t want to walk.”

“Yesyou do,” said the voice. The Duke’s daughter had gone. Death, the King ofSwords, was wrapping Myal in a blanket. The musical instrument was on Myal’sshoulder and was being wrapped in the blanket too. Death was handsome, older byten or twelve years, or maybe more, than Myal, and he had one scratched cheek.Women scratched. Down the back if they were in bed with you, on the face ifthey would not, or you would not, and they were angry.

“Isee she got you, then,” said Myal conversationally, “marked you. I’m glad shedid.” He was not sure whom he meant. He was standing now but he had no legs. Hewas balanced on two columns of paper, which gradually buckled. Death graspedhim. They began to walk. “You won’t get rid of me that easily,” said Myal.

“I’mafraid I will.”

Theywere in the open. An awful cold, or heat, smote Myal, disintegrating him. Hefell forward dying, not caring that he died.

Aftera while, he was not dead. He was lying over the back of a small horse, watchingthe ground—high grasses, small stones, wild flowers—jog by between its hoofs.On the other side from his dangling face, upside down, two long black-bootedlegs walked, unevenly, and a black mantle swung.

“Whereare we going?” asked Myal. He was having a lucid moment,