Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (45 page)

That
evening Jeff tried on his purchases to make sure they fit. Among the various
items were a fur-lined hat that enclosed his entire head, heavy mittens and
woolen undergarments. He would pick up winter boots and leggings at Valholm, as
well as a fur coat.

Carl,
meanwhile, was muttering over some sheets of parchment he had cadged from
Ethbar. Jeff peered over his shoulder to get a better look. The top sheet was
covered with chemical equations that might as well have been Greek. In fact, he
concluded, they probably were.

Jeff
and Ethbar were summoned to the palace the following morning. They were guided
to the same room as before, and shortly thereafter were graced with Imogo’s
presence. A faint smile played across his lips when he addressed Ethbar, but
there was a hard edge about him that belied humor.

“Good
counselor, we have concluded your strenuous urgings to take up arms have been
well advised. We deem it timely to shake off the sloth of peace and set about
preserving that which might be. We have dispatched riders to beholden duchies,
announcing that all will gather in conclave three weeks hence. You may well
guess to what ends.

“Captain
Rengeld has served us with distinction, and we are aware you think well of him.
He will be given new authority to recruit warriors. He will also be asked to
determine the overall needs of the city in regards to its defense. A large
responsibility, but one that we believe he will welcome.”

“He
will do the task justice, Sire.”

“We
suffer no doubts.” Imogo turned his attention to Jeff. “May I assume your
northern intent remains fixed?”

“Yes,
your Majesty. I will leave Rugen within the next day.”

“Your
task is a worthy one but fraught with danger, both from the elements and our
northern brethren. That which you have accomplished to date, however, leads us
to conclude you will meet with success.”

Imogo
gazed thoughtfully at Jeff for some time. While his cross-examination had been
brutal, Jeff found Imogo’s steady, coal-black gaze to be equally unsettling. At
a practical level, Jeff began to comprehend what he had studied so long and
hard: kings were not to be trifled with. When Imogo’s gaze softened, the
pressure was relieved as if an escape valve had been opened.

“We
must also express our appreciation for your earlier efforts on behalf of Rugen.
We greatly anticipate the caravan’s arrival from Astholf, and will greet such
valuable allies with due ceremony. But now, what counsel would you offer that
will further preparation of the city and surrounding countryside for the advent
of Northmen?”

“Your
Majesty, I will encourage them to assemble at the southern villages’ moot
grounds. This lies at the meeting of the Farga and Vekka rivers, a safe
distance from Rugen. Once game animals in that area are depleted, the northern
warriors must be assured provender whether war ensues at once or a period of
waiting must be endured. When battle nears, a camp must then be prepared in the
forest north of Rugen.”

“This
will be done. We also believe it wise to soothe our northern cousins’ penchant
for bloodshed and rapine by insuring that adequate foodstuffs await them at the
moot ground you have spoken of.”

“I
am relieved, Majesty. Full stomachs will go far toward calming their violent
tendencies.”

The
remainder of the meeting was spent settling details. It broke up early enough
to give Jeff time to complete stores. He double-checked everything one more
time and took the rest of the evening off to be with his friends. The fire shed
cheerful warmth, wine flowed, no word was spoken of the winter to come.

Walking
to their rooms that night, Jeff stopped Carl in the hallway. “I borrowed some
of your parchment to write a few letters to Zimma. I do not have enough skill
with the local script to explain my heart, and have composed them in English.
It is a terrible imposition, but would you work with Ethbar on a translation so
that Zimma might read them?”

Carl
had known Jeff too long to miss the stark fear in his words. “Nothing would
please me greater.”

Embracing
Jeff, Carl hurried into his room to avoid revealing his own fear. The odds
against Jeff surviving the winter were overwhelming. Jeff had saved his life,
but he could do nothing to improve those odds. It didn’t seem right.

The
air was crisp and clear as Jeff tied equipment and purchases to the saddle.
Cynic was ready to move out. When all was secure, he capered about at the end
of the hackamore shooting plumes of vapor from his nostrils. Everything had
been said and their parting was silent as Jeff clasped hands with his friends.

Weeks
fled in succession on the way north. They followed the road to what Jeff now
thought of as Mirkwood Creek, and picked up the same path they had followed
south. This time it wasn’t Jeff who was on the lookout for an elf or hobbit in
the darker reaches of the forest.

Cynic
tried to be coy about the whole thing, which only made his covert searching
more obvious and amusing. That it was a horse doing the searching did not seem
odd at all, prompting Jeff to reflect on all the changes that had taken place
since leaving Earth. Life was so rich now. He could not bear the thought that
it was likely to end this winter.

Leaving
the deciduous forest behind, they followed the course of the Vana until
reaching its origin at the confluence of the Farga and the Vekka. Fording the
Vekka, they continued north. Fall was at hand and accelerated by their passage
into higher latitudes. Under other circumstances Jeff would have reveled in the
chill mornings and heavy warmth of noon. Leaves were beginning to hint at the
riot of colors they would soon display, but he hardly noticed them.

Well
into their second week on the trail, Jeff and Cynic had fallen back into the
silence of old, solitary habits. Fine clothes left behind he wore the travel-worn
leather pants and boots purchased in Khorgan. In addition, Jeff sported a new
shirt made of homespun wool. Pulled low over his eyes was the same floppy
leather hat, feather rumpled but still waving.

Several
days out of Valholm, gray clouds rapidly obscured the morning sun. The
temperature plummeted, and by late afternoon large snowflakes danced around
them driven by a breeze that smelled of falling leaves. Jeff shivered while
making camp, but not from the cold. Having earlier speculated that a period of
glaciation was in retreat, he desperately hoped for a mild winter. That, he
knew, was grasping at straws.

They
ran across a hunter from Valholm packing a load of venison the next day. He
greeted Jeff with great warmth, stirring Jeff to pick up the pace in
anticipation of the reunion soon to come. They cantered into the village at
dusk. Outposts had spotted them long before.

Cynic
had to carefully pick his way to the meeting hall to avoid stepping on one or
the other of a swarm of children. The crowd of adults pressing close to call
out greetings further complicated the task. A number of musicians snatched the
opportunity to perform, adding the sounds of fifes and drums to the uproar.

“Nice
to be appreciated, eh buddy?”

Cynic
stopped in front of the hall.
“Considering what we have been through in
their service, it is the least they could do.”

Chuckling
at his mount’s comment, Jeff stepped from the saddle and into the crowd. They
pushed into the hall with him as he searched for Halric and Gurthwin. While
neither man was present, the evening meal was nearly ready and the crowd stayed
on to get an early start at the beer barrels.

It
wasn’t long before matters degenerated into a beer-swigging jamboree. Jeff
moved from group to group pounding backs and being hammered in return. At one
point he was slapped on the back at just the wrong instant and found himself
bent over coughing violently trying to clear a swallow of beer from his lungs.

Halric
showed up and shouted a degree of order into the mob before extending his own
enthusiastic greetings. The evening was complete when Gurthwin arrived,
grumping along as usual.

“It
is most gratifying to see you again, Jeffrey. That much has transpired, and
still more planned, is clearly written in your thoughts and fears. Do not be
ashamed! Your task is large.”

Rough
humor flew around the room like a summer thunderstorm, but Jeff’s return was at
the center of most conversations. His alien clothing spurred endless
speculation, prompting many to recall old ballads in search of information.
There was no doubt he would be called on for a recitation, and Jeff pushed his
tankard away. Villagers were still eating when the expected shouts for a tale
grew to a continuous roar. Walking to the center of the hall, Jeff decided to
lay it on thick.

When
he described their pursuit by the hyenas, the villagers seethed with tension.
Cynic’s heartbreaking dash across the flats had them on their feet shouting
encouragement, then horror when he stumbled. By the time Jeff finished
describing the battle, the hall was a madhouse of bellowed war songs and mugs
crashing onto tables. It was impossible to continue, and Jeff took the
opportunity to consider the next section. He decided to skip over it. Gurthwin
caught his eye and shook his head.

“This
has occurred. It must be related.”

“I
am shamed to have killed a woman.”

“The
shame lies in another world, the truth will be discovered in this one.”

Coming
out of his thoughts, Jeff found the hall silently expectant. He soon lost
himself in the battle to defend the caravan.

“…And
so my sword did pierce her heart, and she fell to her knees at my feet with
despairing cry. Then was I fully stricken with the horror of my deed. Yet still
she lived and looked into my face with silent plea, asking that death not embrace
her, for she was young and strong.”

Tears
had come to Jeff’s eyes, and he looked away for a moment before continuing.
“Yet again, what succor could I offer? What balm to ease death’s passage? My
cries to the gods went unanswered, and her spirit departed.”

Closing
his eyes, Jeff fought back a flood of guilt and new doubt. A bass voice pierced
his memories, rumbling a sonorous chant. A soprano joined in, singing
counterpoint. Then the hall was filled with solemn voices that ebbed and flowed
through the Song for the Dead. Opening his eyes, Jeff gazed around the hall and
saw many sympathetic expressions. None displayed blame.

Gurthwin
held his tankard high. “To the dead. May her spirit find peace and a new home.”

Everyone
dived for their tankards and roared out, “To the dead!”

Several
rounds of beer later the crowd began settling onto their benches. Feeling a
burden had been removed from his soul, Jeff emptied his tankard and picked up
the story in Khorgan. The villagers fell silent, eyes wide and heads shaking at
so many strange and wonderful things. Breaking into a smile, Jeff described his
meeting with Zimma.

Bellowed
laughter shook the hall, and a heavily muscled woman jumped to her feet. She
grinned around before calling out, “But did you bed her, Jeffrey!”

A
chorus of whistles and ground shaking stamping of feet set Jeff to laughing,
and to blushing.

“Her
temper reminds me of yours, Gerta, but I won through in the end.”

Roaring
laughter and another warrior jumped up, staggered, and almost collapsed onto
the table.

“You
must tell us, Jeffrey—with which end did you succeed?”

Trumpeting
laughter, Gerta pounded the man up alongside the head with a friendly blow that
sent him to the floor. Grabbing a tankard, she saluted Jeff.

“One
end is as good as another, eh Jeffrey?”

Face
contorted with laughter, tears streaming from his eyes, Halric found his feet
and eventually got everyone back in their seats.

Jeff
moved on to Tradertown, his voice ominous as he described Arzaks. Knowing an
enemy when they heard about one, a muttering rumble of growls and curses began
to swell. Matters came to a head with his discovery of Carl in slavery and
Zimma’s abduction.

At
that point both Halric and Gurthwin had to intervene as calls for revenge and
slaughter rebounded. Gerta and her sister, Ingid, were especially outraged.
Ingid waved a battle-ax around in such a fashion that those nearby hit the
deck. Halric persuaded them to sit down.

“My
friends, this is a tale to be remembered, but let us hold our peace so that it
may be told!”

His
rush through town searching for Zimma had every soul on the edge of their
seats. When Jeff described how he stood breathlessly listening behind the Arzak
tent, the room became deathly still. What he saw when he cut his way into the
tent led outrage and near riot to bloom anew in the crowd. His slaying of the
commander and guards was greeted with shouts of approval and a favorite battle
song.

Carl’s
rescue and retreat to the shore had them off the benches once again and
fingering weapons. He ended the recitation with his preparation for death, only
to be saved at the last minute by Zimma and Belstan.