Exile's Return (14 page)

Kaspar walked a short way with them and then turned off into the woods and started gathering firewood. Kaspar found enough deadfall that he didn’t need to cut anything. He gathered enough wood for two nights and then sat down. Exposed, the alien armor looked even more baleful in the fading light.

When the fire was going, Kaspar took out his rations and ate. He drank from a water skin, then opened up his bedroll. The goose down–filled roll would be welcome. It was going to be a cold night.

He kept the fire bright against any predators hunting and turned in, crawling into the bedroll. As he drifted off to sleep, Kaspar heard a wolf’s howl in the distance. He opened his eyes and glanced around. It was close.

He lay still for a few minutes, listening for an answering howl. Kaspar had no knowledge of the wolves in these mountains. In the mountains of Olasko, there were three breeds of wolf as well as wild dogs. The lowland wolves were dog-sized and hunted in packs, and were the bane of farmers when winter thinned the herds of deer, antelope, and elk. Wolves would eat anything, even mice, and if game grew scarce, they’d raid farms for chickens, ducks, geese, farm dogs, barn cats, or anything else they could take. It was rumored that they’d even hunt humans if starving, though as long as he had been Duke, Kaspar had never heard a report of such.

The dire-wolves of the highlands tended to run in smaller packs, and were noticeably larger of head and shorter of leg, and they avoided humans when possible. They were only slightly bigger than their lowland cousins.

The swamp-wolves of the southeastern marshlands of Olasko were simply lowland wolves that had taken to living in the wetlands—the only difference Kaspar could see was that they had a darker coat which camouflaged them with the darker foliage.

The howl was not answered, and Kaspar drifted off to sleep.

Sometime during the night, another howl woke Kaspar, and he came alert with his hand on his sword’s hilt. He listened but no sound except the wind in the trees below could be heard. He glanced over at the armor, a mute figure lying on the other side of the dying fire. After a long moment of studying the flicking light that reflected off the thing’s surface, he put down his sword and returned to sleep.

It was midday when Kenner and Flynn hove into view, carrying large backpacks loaded with supplies. They sat down heavily and Flynn asked, “No troubles?”

“There was a wolf somewhere close by, but nothing more.”

“Wolf?” asked Kenner. “Alone?”

“Apparently,” said Kaspar as he threw more wood into the fire. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” He inspected the stores. “If I calculate this right, here’s what I think we should do. Tomorrow morning, you two take the supplies…” Kaspar laid out a plan whereby they could move along the trail for a few days, leapfrogging one another until they had used up enough supplies to be able to carry the remainder. They rested that afternoon after ensuring they had enough firewood. Kaspar wasn’t too worried about the wolf, but he knew that bears could be brazen when they smelled food, and this time of the year—late summer—they were beginning their mating rut; the males would be aggressive and the sows would be hungry, looking to store fat for the coming winter’s hibernation.

As night approached Kaspar said, “We should probably stand watch. Just in case something smells our food and sneaks up on us.” After his own encounter with a gray-muzzled bear, from which he emerged with his life only because Talwin Hawkins had known how to slay it, he thought it best to forgo mentioning any specifics.

Kaspar elected to take the middle watch, letting Kenner and Flynn have unbroken sleep; they would be the ones hiking the next day and Kaspar would have ample time to rest. He spent the time on guard reflecting more upon his own life.

Black memories flooded in as he considered the arrival of Leso Varen. The magician had appeared one day in open court, a supplicant seeking a place to rest for a while, a purveyor of harmless magic. But he had swiftly become a fixture in Kaspar’s household, and at some point Kaspar’s view of things had changed.

Had Kaspar’s ambitions come first, or the magician’s honeyed words? Kaspar realized he had done things that now repelled him, and that the longer he was removed from those events, the more abhorrent they became. He remembered his last day at the citadel in Opardum. He had been convinced that he would be executed once taken prisoner, so he had been determined to fight to the death. He had had no idea of who was behind this onslaught from Kesh and Roldem until Talwin Hawkins had broken into the last room Kaspar and those loyal to him defended; and then it had all made evil sense.

That Quentin Havrevulen was with him was ironic to the point of black comedy. When Talwin revealed himself to be the last of the Orosini, Kaspar at least understood his motives, and he almost applauded his guile. Talwin had been so well disguised as a squire of the Kingdom that he had fooled even Leso Varen’s magic. The defeat had been swift and overwhelming.

But what had taken Kaspar most by surprise was the final disposition of his life—being banished to dwell upon his misdeeds. And he cursed Hawkins for it, because it was having precisely the effect intended. For the first time in his life, Kaspar was experiencing remorse.

Kaspar wondered how many women like Jojanna and boys like Jorgen had died. Before he had been banished to this land, he had seen them not as people, but as obstacles in his plan of conquest. His dreams of grandeur, to sit the throne of Roldem—not the most powerful nation in the world, but the most influential, cultured, and civilized—all that was vanity. Murderous vanity which gained him nothing. For what would come next? Conquering the world? Somehow contriving to bring Kesh and the Kingdom to heel? Turning the Eastern Kingdoms into more provinces? Sailing across the sea to bring order to this chaotic land? And then what? The fabled continent to the north—whose name he couldn’t even recall? Invade the Tsurani homeworld? How much was enough?

And when all was done, what would he have to show for it? He was a solitary man, with only one person in the world—his sister—for whom he felt a shred of love, and there was no one with whom to share the dream.

Kaspar sat down and regarded his two sleeping companions. Flynn had a wife. Kenner a girl he hoped waited for him, but both had dreams that could be realized, not impossible fantasies of power and control. Control was an illusion, his father had told him. Now he began to understand. He envied these two men, men who were hardly friends, but at least men whom he trusted. There was nothing of ambition or avarice left to either of them. They were simply men struggling to free themselves of a curse and get back to a normal life.

Kaspar wondered what normal life would be for him be once he was free of this geas. Could he ever be satisfied with finding a woman, settling down, and fathering children? He had never really wanted to have children, though his time with Jorgen gave him a sense of what it would be like to have a son. Children had always been the eventual product of a state marriage, tiny guarantees of good behavior on the part of neighboring states. The idea of loving one’s children had always seemed quaint, at best.

He woke Kenner, who nodded and changed places with him without speaking, so as not to disturb Flynn. Kaspar wrapped himself up in his bedroll and lay quietly, waiting for sleep to come.

But sleep did not come easily, for inside he felt a dull, swelling ache, a pain that was unfamiliar to him, and made him wonder if he was getting ill.

After a time he realized what this alien feeling must be, and when he did he wanted to weep, but he didn’t know how.

The wolf came an hour before dawn. Kaspar sensed something a moment before Kenner screamed. Kaspar and Flynn were both up with their weapons drawn just in time to see the wolf rip out Kenner’s throat.

“Grab a firebrand!” shouted Kaspar.

The biggest wolf Kaspar had ever seen was a dire-wolf he had hunted in the mountains of Olasko. It had easily been six feet from nose to tail and weighed in at over one hundred pounds. This animal was close to half as big again. The beast was seven or eight feet long, weighing as much as a man: Kenner never stood a chance once the animal leapt. Kaspar gripped his sword and wished for a spear. He did not want this monster getting in close, yet the sword was only effective as a thrusting weapon. It would have to be a near-perfect thrust to kill it.

The wolf let go of Kenner’s limp body and growled a warning. Flynn had pulled a brand from the fire and held it in his left hand, while waving a sword with his right. “What do we do?” he asked Kaspar.

“We don’t let it go. It’s a man-eater, and it’s smart enough to scout out the camp one night, and come back the next. We have to kill it, or injure it so that it’ll crawl off somewhere to die.” He glanced around. “Circle to your right, keep the torch in front of you. If he charges, thrust the flames in his face and try hard to cut him as he goes by. Otherwise, drive him around the fire to me.”

To Kaspar’s surprise, Flynn showed unusual resolve, for the beast would make even the most experienced hunter hesitate. The creature lowered his head in what Kaspar recognized as a crouch before a spring.

“Get ready! He’s likely to leap!”

Flynn took the initiative, and with a short hop thrust the torch at the creature, causing it to shy away. With a torch in his muzzle, and a campfire to his right, the wolf jumped away to the rear and left, landing almost sideways.

If only I had a spear!
Kaspar thought, cursing silently. He hurried around the fire and the creature turned. Seeing no flaming brand, the wolf was emboldened: he leapt at Kaspar without a warning crouch.

Years of experience saved Kaspar’s life, for he recognized the single explosive leap as soon as it began. Rather than moving to his right, away from the beast as would be instinctive, Kasper spun to his left in a reverse pivot, swinging his sword parallel with the ground.

As he hoped, the blade took the creature across the chest, and as the shock ran up Kaspar’s arms, the wolf let out a wailing yelp. Kaspar continued his turn, and came around, in case the wolf spun and attacked again.

Instead, he saw the creature thrashing on the ground, trying to get up on a severed right foreleg. In pain and confusion, the animal snapped at its own wounded leg, causing itself further pain. Kaspar had cut off the creature’s leg above the carpus.

Flynn came over as the wolf righted himself on three legs. “Wait!” said Kaspar. “It’ll bleed out. If you get too close it can still tear your throat out.”

The animal tried to advance, and fell muzzle-first to the ground. It howled, scrambled up again, and tried to turn, again falling. “Bring the torch,” said Kaspar.

“Why?”

“Because we need to make sure it dies.”

They followed the wolf as it tried to make its way down the hillside and into the trees, but after fifty yards it fell over and lay there, panting. The two men approached close enough to observe it in the torch light, yet far enough away to remain safe.

At last the animal’s eyes rolled up in its head and Kaspar took one quick step forward and drove the point of his sword into the its throat. It jerked once, then lay still.

When it was over, Flynn said, “I’ve never heard of one that big.”

“Neither have I,” said Kaspar. “This breed doesn’t exist in Olasko, or anywhere else that I’ve heard about.”

“What do we do now?” asked Flynn.

Kaspar put a hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “We leave the wolf here for the scavengers. Then we bury Kenner.”

The two men turned and silently returned to camp.

Kaspar grunted with the effort.

He and Flynn had rigged up the armor so they could carry it hammocklike in a sling, with Kaspar at the head and Flynn at the feet. They had each loaded up a backpack, and now they struggled to negotiate the narrow gorge.

Rock faces rose up on either side of them. The sense of menace was palpable. It was as if the uninvited might be crushed between two giant stone palms at any time. Even in the bright morning sun it was gloomy inside the ravine, with only a strip of blue sky showing high above them.

“How are you holding up back there?” Kaspar asked. He was worried about Flynn. With Kenner’s death, it seemed that whatever reserve of strength Flynn had was gone. He seemed to be a man resigned to inevitable death. Kaspar had seen that expression on the faces of prisoners led away to his dungeons, men who were to be tortured or killed for one reason of state or another.

“I’m all right,” said Flynn, his voice lacking conviction.

“I think I see something ahead.”

“What?”

“The ravine is ending,” said Kaspar. As they rounded a curve in the rocks, he could see that the terrain ahead opening up. They left the gap and entered a large plateau, with a path leading straight across it. “Let’s rest.”

Flynn didn’t argue, and they put the armor down. Each man then unshouldered his pack and put it on the ground.

Kaspar said, “Do you see any shapes against the rocks over there?”

Flynn squinted against the brightness. It was one of those summer days when the sky was high, the air almost alive with the heat. The light was glaring after the hours they had spent in the ravine. “I think so.”

They rested for a few minutes, then took up their packs again, and hoisted the armor. As they walked across the plateau, the odd shapes resolved themselves. Against the mountains, a small city had been fashioned, and the plateau gave way to a plaza.

Some buildings were cut into the rock, while others were free-standing in the plaza. Their shapes were mind-numbing, with lines and curves that confounded the eye and nagged at the senses. Hexagons, pyramids, a pentagon, a rhomboid; great obelisks jutting straight up between the buildings. These were also oddly fashioned, with a curved face, then a flat one, or a defiant-looking three-sided tower next to a spiral. “Let’s put the armor down,” said Kaspar.

They lowered the armor and again took off their packs, and Kaspar walked to one of the obelisks. “It’s covered in runes,” he observed.

“Can you read them?” asked Flynn.

“No, and I doubt any living man can,” answered Kaspar.

Flynn looked around, “This must be the City of the Dead Gods, then?”

“Must be.” Kaspar looked around and inscribed an arc with his hand. “Look at the design. No human mind could imagine this.”

Flynn looked around. “Who do you think built it?”

Kaspar shrugged. “The gods, perhaps. Those still living.” He stared about. “Do you see anything other than tombs?”

Flynn slowly turned a complete circle. “They all look like tombs to me.”

Kaspar walked over to one and saw a word inscribed above the door.

“Can you read that?” asked Flynn. “It’s like nothing I’ve seen before.”

“I’ve seen it before, but I can’t read it.” Kaspar had seen runes like these on parchments in Leso Varen’s study. “It’s some sort of magical writing.”

“Where do we go now?” Flynn asked.

“The Father Elect said only that the Keepers abide in a bastion above the Necropolis but below the Pavilion of the Gods. We must find a way up, I suppose.”

They moved deeper into the City of the Dead Gods.

The plaza ended in a massive façade carved into the face of the mountains. Four words were carved on it. “What is this place?” asked Flynn.

“The gods know, but I don’t,” said Kaspar. “The entrance looks like it goes straight back into the mountain.”

Flynn looked around. “Kaspar, do you see any way up?”

“No. And I don’t remember any trail splitting off, or heading upward.”

“Kaspar, I’m tired.”

“Let’s rest.” Kaspar set down his end of the armor and Flynn did likewise.

“No, I don’t mean that kind of tired.” Flynn looked pale, his features drawn. “I mean…I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

“We’ll do it for as long as it takes,” Kaspar said. “We have no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” said Flynn. “I can just wait to die.”

Kaspar had seen that look before. It wasn’t the same resignation he had seen after Kenner’s death, the look he had seen in the faces of prisoners doomed to die. This was the look of a hunted animal when it had stopped struggling and lay back with a glazed expression, waiting for death to take it.

Kaspar took a step forward and with as much strength as he could muster slapped Flynn across the face. The smaller man reeled, then fell back, landing on his backside.

Eyes wide and filling with tears from the slap, Flynn looked up in astonishment as Kaspar came to stand over him. Pointing his finger at Flynn, Kaspar said, “You’ll not die until I tell you it’s time to die. Do you understand?”

Flynn sat stunned, then suddenly he laughed. He kept laughing until Kaspar realized he was verging on hysteria. Kaspar reached down, offering Flynn his hand, and pulled the other man to his feet. “Get a hold of yourself,” he commanded, and Flynn’s laughter ceased.

Flynn shook his head. “I don’t know what happened to me.”

“I do. It’s despair. More men have died from that than all the wars in the world combined.”

Flynn said, “I guess there’s no getting around it. If we’re to find these Keepers, we need to go in there.”

They picked up their burden and moved toward the cavernous opening. They climbed low broad steps into a large doorway and entered.

They stopped in the center of the vast hall. A gray light infused the interior as if sunlight had been filtered through overcast skies. The walls, floors, and ceilings all seemed to glow with a soft amber hue. The hall was empty, save for four huge stone thrones, two on either side of the hall. Kaspar looked at the closest one and said, “There’s writing on the base of the throne. It’s in many languages. I can read the word
Drusala
.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps the name of the being who is supposed to sit on that throne. Or perhaps it’s the name of a place whose ruler is supposed to rest here.”

The only other feature of the hall was that the wall opposite gave way to a vast cavern, leading off into darkness.

“I suppose that’s the way we must go,” said Kaspar.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” came a voice from behind. “Unless you know exactly where you’re going.”

Both Kaspar and Flynn tried to turn, getting caught up in the rope harness they had rigged. By the time Kaspar had dropped his end of the armor and turned, the stranger was standing almost within touching distance.

It was a woman of middle years, her head covered in a shawl, but enough of her hair showed to reveal some gray in the black. Her eyes were dark and her skin fair, but Kaspar suspected if she ever saw any sun she would be darker than she looked.

There was something unworldly about her, but Kaspar couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Perhaps it was simply the atmosphere of the place, and the fact that she had managed to approach undetected.

“Stay your hand, Kaspar of Olasko. I am no threat to you.”

Flynn appeared to be close to hysteria again. “Who are you?”

She seemed mildly amused by the question. “Who am I?” She paused then said, “I am…Call me Hildy.”

Kaspar approached warily, his sword not entirely lowered. “Forgive my trepidation, lady, for you must understand that lately my friend and I have been visited by more strange occurrences and ill events than most men experience in a lifetime. Since we are hundreds of miles from what passes for civilization in these parts, and since there is apparently only one way into this hall, it’s troubling to find anyone else here, no matter how unthreatening your demeanor. So please be forbearing if I am less than trusting at this time.”

“I understand.”

“Now, how do you know me?”

“I know a great deal, Kaspar, son of Konstantine and Merianna, hereditary duke of Olasko, brother to Talia. I could recount your life from the moment of your birth until this minute, but we don’t have the time.”

“You’re a witch!” cried Flynn, making a sign to ward off evil.

“And you’re a fool, Jerome Flynn, but after what you’ve been through, it’s a surprise you’re even sane.” She ignored Kaspar’s sword and walked past him to stand next to Flynn. Touching him, she said, “Your suffering will be over soon, I promise.”

Flynn appeared like a man reborn. One instant he had looked on the verge of total collapse, and in a the next he was a man refreshed, filled with joy and resolve. Unable to control the smile on his face, he said, “How did you do that?”

“A one-time acquaintance of mine refers to them as ‘tricks.’ I have more than a few.” She turned to look at Kaspar. “As for who I am, you could not understand. Let’s say that I am but an echo of the being I was in ages past, but contrary to the opinion of some, I’m not yet completely dead. I am here to help you, Kaspar; you and Jerome.”

Kaspar turned to his companion. “You know, I never knew your name was Jerome. I’ve just called you
Flynn
all these months. You never said.”

“You never asked,” said Flynn. “And you never told me you were the Duke of Olasko!” He laughed. “I don’t know why, but suddenly I feel wonderful.”

“Magic,” said Kaspar. He nodded toward Hildy.

“Only a little. I don’t have much to spare, unfortunately.”

“How did you know we were here?” asked Kaspar.

“Oh, I’ve been keeping track of you for some time, really,” said Hildy, her dark eyes fixed upon Kaspar. “It started quite by accident, really. You came to my attention when you entertained an old adversary of mine. He resided in your citadel and caused a great deal of trouble.”

“Leso Varen.”

She nodded. “It’s one of many names he’s had over the years.” She turned and looked at Flynn. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said.

Flynn quietly sat down on the floor, then slumped over and fell asleep.

“I haven’t much time. Even keeping up this…appearance is difficult for long periods. I know you have questions, but for the most part they must go begging. Here’s what you need to know, Kaspar.

“Circumstances have brought you to a crossroads in the fate of nations and worlds, and even the tiniest choice may have consequences beyond imagining. You were, by any measure, a cold-hearted, mean bastard, Kaspar—a murderous, ambitious, unforgiving monster.”

Kaspar said nothing. No one in his life had ever spoken to him in this way, and yet he was forced to admit that every word was true.

“But you have a chance given to few men in their lifetime, a chance to change, to do something selfless and heroic, not because anyone will know, or even appreciate what you’ve done, but because it will restore some rightness to a world you’ve done your best to make wrong. It may mean the difference when you go before Lims-Kragma and are measured for your next life on the Wheel; you’ve spent mere weeks being a peasant farmer, so imagine what a lifetime of that would entail. Redeem yourself, and you may escape that fate.” With a slight smile she added, “Though I doubt anything you could do would gain you another life of power and privilege.

“In a few minutes, Flynn will recover, and then you must enter the cavern. Therein is a path that runs beside a river. It is a difficult path to find, but if you search to the left hand side you will find it. You must not cross that river, for on the other bank is the land of the dead.

“Stay on the path and you will find your way to the bastion on the mountain. There you will meet the Keepers. They will not want to speak to you. When they attempt to turn you away, give them this.” She held out her hand and Kaspar took a token from her. He examined it. It was a simple copper disk, with a rune on one side and the face of a woman on the other.

“This looks like you.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” She waved away further questions. “Time grows short. The Keepers will not give you much satisfaction, but you still must go there and learn what they have to teach you. Understand this: they will tell you the truth,
but it is only the truth as they know it
. Their perspective is limited. When you are finished there, you will understand where you must go next.

“But above all else, there is one thing you must believe. The fate of this world hangs by a thread. It has since an age before man, back in the time of the Chaos Wars. There are forces loose which are relentless: worse, they are clandestine and almost impossible to detect. You were the unwitting tool of these forces.”

“Leso Varen,” said Kaspar, not surprised. “He used me.”

“As he has used others and will again.”

“He’s dead,” said Kaspar. “Talwin Hawkins broke his neck.”

“He’s been dead before,” said Hildy. “You will discover should you cross paths with him again that he’s like a cockroach. You just
think
you’ve stamped him out.”

“If I see him again, I’ll happily test the theory with a sword’s point.”

“You may not recognize him. He has the facility to change his appearance. He’s an annoyance to me, but a deadly risk to you. If you ever face him again, you’ll need powerful allies.”

“Where shall I find them?”

“You will find them when you get rid of that,” she said, indicating the armor.

“What is that?”

“Something left over from a time before man. You’ll learn some of the truth from the Keepers.

“Now, I must depart. Wake Flynn and take him to the river, then follow the road. And remember, I have picked you, not Flynn. At the end, you will be alone.”

She stepped back.

“Wait!” he said, “What do you mean ‘alone’?”

But she was gone.

Kaspar stood motionless for a moment, the sensations of contentment and pleasure he had experienced in her presence slipping away. When he turned, he found Flynn reviving.