Without Rhythm (The Lament) Read Online Free Page A

was a little deeper than the one on her arm, but even she could tell they were just scratches. She'd have bled to death if they weren't. It was too dark to see them but when she let her fingers go over the wounds it was sticky, not wet. Hopefully that was a good sign.
    The ride wasn't pleasant, but a big part of that was the whining from the back of the wagon. The man, still really drunk from the sound of him, kept complaining that his mouth hurt. Worse, he kept trying to blame her for it.
    "You knocked me down and stomped my head. Stole my damned teeth." There was a lot of lisping involved, but she didn't make fun of him or try to debate the idea with him. He'd no doubt try for revenge later in the camp. Hopefully she could get put in one that wasn't near where he was. If that happened she didn't doubt the man would eventually kill her. He didn't threaten to right then, but he was surely acting like he would have done that to the woman he was raping earlier.
    Clark looked around and then spoke in a normal tone. The night and being outside made her want to whisper, or at least be quiet, but he didn't seem bothered by it at all. The wagon wasn't loud, but it had two horses drawing it and they didn't look nearly as old or tired as the poor carriage horse had. Their steps were quick and that caused a certain amount of creaking and clomping in the gloom.
    "The camp is just up here, past these trees. We'll have to use the cell in The Lament for the prisoner. That's the airship Judge Claire uses on her circuit." It was nice to have the warning, because while she'd seen the things in the air, large and cream colored as they powered through the sky, Pran really hadn't had a clue how big they actually were close up. It was impressive. The thing was about the size of the art school. The whole thing. Not that the school was that huge, only housing about eighty students at any given time, but the thing in front of her was awe inspiring, even at night.
    It blotted out the stars in front of her, above the trees by at least twice their height, in a huge clearing that she'd never been near before. The landing field. There was room for several more ships of the same size, she thought. Out in the distance, in front of it, she could see a small fire, but there was nothing to be heard except for the soft sound of a breeze in the evergreen trees.
    "That's it, straight ahead. It's a nice night, but a bit chilly, so most of us will sleep on board. You can take the first watch." He sounded happy enough about the teasing, but didn't add any more.
    The driver did however.
    "What's this now? Setting up house now Clark? Well, she's a comely enough young lady, but she doesn't look old enough for that kind of thing. Still with your face, I guess you can't be too picky."
    The man sounded so serious that Pran expected there to be an argument about it, but Clark just chuckled lightly.
    "You're right, I didn't ask. How old are you... I'm sorry, all sorts of rude tonight I guess. What's your name miss?"
    "Pran."
    She didn't add more and wasn't asked for it, much to her relief. She'd have to cover it all in a bit, but really, every moment not spent going over the last day was a good thing, as far as she could tell. Her thoughts tried to close in on the dismalness of the situation, but more questions came to distract her from that line of thinking.
    "And, if it's not indelicate to ask, what age are you?" His voice rumbled, still sounding slightly playful, rather than hard or stern. It was nearly shocking. He wasn't doing that with the rapist. Then, he was scum and she was just... A Bard that wasn't one anymore. If she could have honestly said she was Bard Pran the whole thing would have been alright, most likely. No one expected a Bard to fight at all, and her jumping in like that would have been considered heroic, not anything else. She was just putting on a show after all.
    Even student Pran of the art school might have worked. After all, they were called Bard