A knowing glint kindled in the urchin's eyes. "Repeat your exact words."
Matteo blinked, puzzled by the request but not confounded. He could repeat entire conversations verbatim. This was an important part of his training. "I merely said of your performance, 'The lad has talent. Nothing more."
"Oh. Well, that explains it."
He folded his arms. "Not to me, it doesn't."
With a grin, the «lad» shrugged off a loose brown over-tunic to reveal a shirt of thin linen and the slender but unmistakably female form beneath.
"They say that jordaini have little experience with women." She winked and thrust out a hand. "I'm Tzigone, and I'm here to change all that."
Dazed into rote compliance with protocol, Matteo took the offered hand. He balked, however, at accepting what the handclasp seemed to offer. "You are gravely mistaken. There is no place for a woman in my life."
"Make one," she said adamantly. "You just saved my skin. That creates a debt, and whether you like it or not, I'll be around until that debt is paid."
"I assure you, that is most unnecessary."
She glanced back toward the tavern and then took his arm. "Wrong again. Looks like I'll be paying the first installment sooner than expected."
Matteo followed the line of her gaze. The wemic reeled out into the alley and began to pad unsteadily toward them in a weaving but deliberate path. With each step, the creature seemed to gather strength and purpose.
Tzigone stamped her foot impatiently and tugged at his arm. "Are you going to stand there and shout 'Here, kitty! until that thing pounces? Come on, before this gets worse!"
He remembered the dark, avid glee on the magehound's face as she condemned Andris to death. Yes, things could definitely get worse.
With a sigh, he turned and followed his new companion out into the street.
Matteo soon learned that following Tzigone was no easy task. The lad-no, he corrected himself, not lad but maiden-could run like a lizard and climb nearly as well.
They were running full out down Sultan Street, batting away the filmy silk banners that served as shop signs, when Tzigone suddenly disappeared. In two more steps, Matteo saw where she had gone: a narrow alley, shaded by tall buildings on either side and almost obscured by the thick flowering vines that twined up the walls. He skidded to a stop and darted in after her.
Too late. As he rounded the corner, he heard the wemic's voice lifted in a sound that was half snarl, half guttural chuckle, and utterly triumphant.
Tzigone heard it, too. She cast a baleful look over her shoulder at Matteo and began to climb the vine-covered walls. "At least try to hurry," she muttered.
Matteo tested a handful of the fragrant vines and found that they would hold his weight. The rough stones on the wall beneath provided footholds. It was not unlike some of his training exercises, and he managed to almost keep pace with Tzigone.
The roof was smooth and broad. Tzigone rolled to her feet and started off at a trot. She pointed toward the public garden in the midst of the city. "Going roof to roof, we can reach the bilboa tree from here. Once we're in the tree, Mbatu will never find us."
Matteo was momentarily startled to hear her speak the wemic's name. "You have had dealings with this wemic?"
She tossed a glance back at him. "How many lion-men have you seen in this part of the world? Stories are told, and I have ears to listen."
"Ah. Rumors."
"They've kept me alive so far," she retorted. She turned and planted her fists on her narrow hips. "Why are you just standing there? Are you coming or not?"
"Not." He folded his arms and leveled a steady gaze upon the incredulous Tzigone. "Do not think me ungrateful for your help, but I have had enough of flight. Go your way and leave me to mine."
"Which is?"
"I will confront the wemic in battle," he said simply.
The girl hissed with exasperation. "Did you see the wemic's baldric? The sword slung over his shoulder?" she said grimly.
Matteo sent her a puzzled look. He could recall both precisely: the baldric was a broad leather strap, tanned a light tawny hue, slanted across the wemic's great chest and joined to the belt that encircled his humanoid torso. The baldric held a scabbard that slanted over the wemic's back, fastened tightly at the top and secured at the bottom by a short strap so that the scabbard could tilt outward when the wemic drew his sword-a necessary adjustment, given the length of the blade. Otherwise the creature would have to reach behind his head to draw the sword, exposing the pit of his arm to his enemy's blades. No seasoned warrior would make himself vulnerable in this way. A quick stab or a thrown dagger could pierce the lungs and drown the wemic in his own blood. With the addition of the bottom strap, the wemic could simply reach over his shoulder and seize the hilt, thus drawing his weapon in half the time and with a fraction of the risk. All this Matteo had taken in with a glance.
"Yes, of course I noted baldric and sword. Why?"
"Why?" she demanded incredulously. "The sword's hilt rose above Mbatu's shoulder, and the blade crossed the breadth of his back. The wemic's reach is already longer than yours without that weapon. I don't care how good you think you are. You won't last long against him if all you've got is those daggers."
Her words smarted, but he couldn't deny her logic. "That may be, but I have no sword."
"I do. Follow me."
She took off, running down the length of the building and then leaping out over a narrow divide to a roof garden on a neighboring villa.
Matteo followed her to the edge of the wall. He glanced down and immediately wished he hadn't. He backed up a few paces, set his jaw and took the jump. He landed squarely in a patch of herbs. Mint filled the air with fragrant protest as he took off after Tzigone.
When she reached the edge of the roof garden, she uncoiled the rope at her belt and quickly tied on a small three-pronged hook. "Stand back," she warned, then she briefly twirled and let fly.
The rope spun out toward the outermost branches of the great bilboa tree. It struck the limb, wrapped around twice, and caught firmly. Tzigone tested the rope and then nodded. "Help me pull it in."
Matteo seized the rope and tugged until the limb was within reach. They both got a handhold and then, on Tzigone's count, dropped off the edge of the roof.
The limb dipped so low that Matteo would have sworn that it would break under their combined weight As they began the upward swing, he glanced down. The wemic was directly beneath them, twisting his tawny body in midair in an attempt to get his feet beneath him. Obviously he had leaped up in an attempt to seize one or both of them. Matteo was chilled by the realization of how close the wemic had come to succeeding.
For several moments the limb bobbed up and down, each dip considerably more shallow than the last. When Tzigone decreed it was safe to move on, they began to pull themselves hand over hand toward the trunk. After a hundred feet or so, the limb grew broad enough to walk upon. Tzigone easily pulled herself up and extended a hand to help Matteo.
They edged along until they reached the massive trunk. As Matteo studied the odd arrangement of branches, he realized that the limbs grew in layers, like floors in a tall building. The next tier formed a roof about ten feet over their heads. The limbs were thickly entwined, and the leaves formed an apparently unpenetrable barrier. Tzigone was right about one thing: Mbatu would not find them easily.
Matteo glanced down. The wemic paced beneath the tree, frustration and fury etched upon his golden face.
"A tree seems an unlikely refuge from any sort of cat," he remarked.
Tzigone sniffed. "Wemics are fast when they're on all fours, but they're no good at climbing. Too many limbs, too big from the waist up. The balance is all off."
He considered this and decided that she was probably right. What he did not entirely credit, however, was her claim to ownership of a sword. There were strict rules on what type of weapon each class could carry, and although he was hard pressed to define the girl's precise status, he doubted that she was either nobility, military, or militia.
Also dubious was her choice of hiding place for such a weapon. She had spoken a deliberate lie to get him out of the tavern. Quite likely she had done so again to lure him away from battle and into the safety of the massive tree. "You hid a sword in a tree?" he said skeptically. She dug her hands into the bark and began to climb.
"Many things are hidden in this tree. If you follow me closely and keep your eyes open, you'll survive most of them."
The trunk was thicker around than many a wizard's tower, and the bark formed raised patterns of ridges and whorls. Matteo found that climbing the sheer wall was not as difficult as he'd anticipated. After several moments they hauled themselves up onto a large limb.
Matteo stood and looked about him in wonder. The limbs were broad, the upper sides almost flat. They intertwined, forming a network of passages and nearly level platforms. Several paces away, several boards spanned the gap between two limbs. A bit of torn sailcloth formed a remarkably snug tent. Though sunset was still hours away, two pairs of booted feet protruded from it.