Part 15 (1/2)

Bennett glanced at the pitcher. ”Didn't break,” he murmured. ”Good craftsmans.h.i.+p.”

The cheering died, but two of the young men, seeing their leader stagger, surged forward. Animal rage, long pent up, finally released, and they had fists ready.

Bennett stepped forward as if to meet them in a dance. He jabbed the bottom of a pitcher into one attacker's stomach. The youth doubled over, gasping, retching. At nearly the same moment, Bennett trapped the ankle of the other attacker between his own s.h.i.+ns and gave a little twist. Down went the youth, sprawling in the dust.

The fourth young man immediately leapt onto Bennett, wrapping tough arms around him in a parody of an embrace as the fifth youth grabbed Bennett's knees and pulled. Everyone toppled back together. London winced at the sound of them hitting the ground. The pitchers rolled out of Bennett's hands as his back met a large rock half-buried in the dirt.

Seeing their opportunity, the others collected themselves enough to pile onto Bennett like ma.s.sing jackals. All London could see were limbs flailing, punching.

She had to do something. London whirled around, searching, and her eyes fell on a thick fallen branch. It was heavy in her arms, but she hefted it as fast as she was able. She staggered over and brought it down with a slam onto the shoulders of one youth. He howled in pain. Then turned and wrested the branch from her. The rough bark sc.r.a.ped her hands as it flew from her grip.

She had no weapon.

So she started kicking him.

He tried to s.h.i.+eld himself, but she wouldn't allow him any protection. Anything undefended, she kicked, wis.h.i.+ng she had stouter boots and not ones of dainty kidskin. When he grabbed at her leg, she aimed with her heel and brought it square into his face. A gruesome, satisfying crunch and spatter of red upon his upper lip. He rolled over, cradling his nose and moaning.

London spared him no thought as she moved to help Bennett. And saw that her help was not needed.

He shoved one knee into the chest of an attacker, and drove his elbow into the youth's chin as he fell backward. The youth sprawled on his back, staring up at the sky with dazed, gla.s.sy eyes.

London did not even see Bennett get to his feet, but suddenly, there he was, standing loose and tall. He landed a series of quick punches into the jaws and chests of the attackers, each in turn. A right uppercut hook, delivered with neatness and precision. The a.s.sailant crumpled with a whimper. Another was sent flying into the trunk of a nearby tree, sending a rustling cascade of leaves down upon him as he momentarily lost the ability to breathe.

Leaving only the leader. The youth, panting, glanced around at his fallen comrades, all nursing injuries, two quietly praying for divine intervention or at least the solace of their mothers. He looked at Bennett.

Bennett smiled. He wasn't even breathing hard. Deliberate and calm, he picked a few leaves off his jacket, then gave the garment a final tug to right it.

The leader backed up, stepping on one of his p.r.o.ne friends. A yelp of protest and pain.

Picking up the pitchers, Bennett said, affable as a publican, ”The stream is toward the east, correct?”

All the leader could do was nod mutely and point in the proper direction.

”Excellent.” Bennett gestured London forward. ”Let's go, my love. Sorry I can't offer you my arm, but my hands are a bit full.”

”Think nothing of it,” said London.

”Was ever a man blessed with such an agreeable traveling companion?” Bennett asked the heavens. Then he began to walk.

The youths on the ground scurried out of his way, while the leader of the group darted behind the twisted trunk of an olive tree, seeking shelter. As London and Bennett walked onward, no one spoke.

After strolling twenty yards on, London heard a frantic scuffling. She braced herself for another attack. When none came, she chanced a look over her shoulder. The gang, supporting each other, stumbled off toward the village, not even daring to glance back. London almost felt sorry for them, the little worms. But her hands still shook with commingled fear and unleashed violence-she'd never caused someone to shed blood before-and she wasn't sorry at all.

When they were gone, she turned to Bennett. ”What the devil were you thinking?” she demanded hotly. ”Why did you remove the bullets from your gun?”

He gave a negligent shrug. ”They were just boys. Besides, with the gun loaded, they'd just try to take it from me, then wind up shooting themselves.”

”I don't see what's so bad about that,” muttered London.

A smile tugged at his mouth. ”Already you're demanding blood sacrifices. But Blades minimize casualties where they can.”

Unlike her father and his a.s.sociates. The thought slowed her heartbeat with a s.h.i.+ver of sorrow.

”You were were ferocious back there,” he added, and she basked in the admiration warming his voice. Strange, she never thought to be praised for kicking a man in the face. ferocious back there,” he added, and she basked in the admiration warming his voice. Strange, she never thought to be praised for kicking a man in the face.

”An Amazon,” she said, recalling his words on Delos.

”Stronger than Heracles.”

She valued his good opinion. It held a weight that few things in life carried. But it was not a sweetmeat handed out by an indulgent adult to a covetous child. Rather, it pa.s.sed from one equal to another.

The ground sloped downward into a valley shaded by bay laurel trees, the air scented by the fragrant, glossy leaves. Bennett tucked one pitcher under his arm and kept a careful hand on her elbow as they edged with sideways steps into the valley.

”Listen,” Bennett said, stopping for a moment and holding up his hand.

London c.o.c.ked her head to the side, searching. Then she heard it. A liquid tumble of water over rocks. ”The stream.”

Moving more quickly, they hastened into the sun-mottled valley. Spa.r.s.e gra.s.ses and fallen leaves crackled under their feet. Sunlight glinted at the bottom of the valley. There, they stopped.

Carving out a path for itself at the base of the valley, the stream flowed over pebbles on its banks and large rocks and boulders in the center. Though the stream was barely ten feet across, a test by Bennett with a fallen tree branch revealed its depth. The water could come over London's head, if she stood on the floor of the stream. Dense gra.s.ses fringed the banks, ribbons of green fluttering alongside the clear water.

Bennett dipped one of the pitchers into the water, then brought it to her. He held the pitcher as she drank from it. The water was cold and sweet. When she had taken her fill, she stared, fascinated, as he placed his mouth where hers had been and drank deeply, the strong column of his throat moving as he swallowed.

”What are we doing here?” she asked, dazed, when he finished and set the pitchers aside.

He rubbed his thumb across her lower lip where a few droplets of water clung. ”The h.e.l.l if I remember.”

She blinked, trying to collect herself. ”The stream. The Source.”

That broke the small spell around them. He shook his head as if to clear it. ”Right.”

For a few moments, he and London stood on the bank, listening. ”I do not hear any singing,” London said after some minutes. ”It sounds like water in a stream, but nothing more.”

Bennett frowned in concentration. ”Move around a bit. Let's try hearing it from different points.”

She obliged, walking up and down along the bank, straining to hear something beyond the soothing, but quotidian, sound of running water. Bennett did the same, then, without a word, backed up and started running for the stream. London barely gulped her warning before he sprang across the stream with an athletic leap. He landed in an easy crouch, then smoothly came to standing.

”You must have driven your poor mother mad,” London gulped.

”Still do.” He was like a boy. But no boy moved as Bennett did, potently virile, effortlessly confident.

Rather than spend the day watching him, London made herself continue to patrol the bank of the stream, careful to listen for any change in the sound of the water. Bennett did the same on the opposite bank, attentive and alert.

Then, a s.h.i.+ft. She halted immediately, adjusted her position. ”I think I have found it.” London strained, then nodded. ”Come and hear.”

Bennett again jumped across the stream, then joined London where she stood. He pressed close to her, his front to her back, his hands on her shoulders. She was aware of every inch of him and his solidly muscled body, his breath warm in her hair, the strength of his hands. Concentrate, London Concentrate, London, she scolded herself.