Exile's Return (9 page)

“One cannot be too careful. It had occurred to me that your story was so improbable, and your demeanor so unlikely, that you could be incredibly clever spies. I doubted it, but as I said, one cannot be too careful.” He smiled and drank again. “Our enemies would not hand us a major victory simply to lull us into a false sense of superiority. Besides, if we take the two villages to the south, Sasbataba will be forced to sue for peace or be utterly defeated. The King’s an idiot, but his Generals are not fools. We’ll have a truce in a month from now.”

“Something to look forward to,” said Kaspar.

“It should make your journey to the City of the Serpent River somewhat easier,” observed the General. “You have no idea how nasty some of these border skirmishes can get and the terrible effect they have on commerce.”

“I believe I do,” said Kaspar.

The General looked at him a long moment, then said, “You are a noble, yes?”

Kaspar said nothing, but he nodded.

“Your companions, they do not know?”

Kaspar sipped the wine and after a moment said, “I do not wish them to know.”

“I’m sure you have good reason. You are, I gather, a very long way from home.”

“Halfway around the world,” said Kaspar. “I…ruled a duchy. I was the fifteenth hereditary Duke of Olasko. My family had direct ties to the throne of Roldem—not the most powerful, but one of the most influential kingdoms in the region—by descent and by marriage. I…” His eyes lost their focus as he remembered things he hadn’t thought about since meeting Flynn and the others. “I fell prey to the two worst faults of a ruler.”

Alenburga said, “Vanity and self-deception.”

Kaspar laughed. “Make it three then: you neglected ambition.”

“The power you inherited wasn’t enough?”

Kaspar shrugged. “There are two kinds of men born to power, I think. Well, three if you count the fools, but of those with a mind to rule, you are either a man content with what providence has given you or you will always seek to enlarge your demesne. I was given to the latter disposition by nature, I fear. I sought to rule as much as possible and hand down a legacy of greatness to my heirs.”

“So ambition and vanity in large measure.”

“You seem to understand.”

“I am related to the Raj, but have no ambition save to serve and bring peace to a troubled region. My cousin is as wise a young man as I have ever met. I have no sons, but even if I had, I could not imagine a finer young man to care for what I have built. He is…remarkable. It’s a shame you’ll never meet him.”

“Why never?”

“Because, you are anxious to be on your way as soon as you can, and heading north to Muboya is hardly along your planned route.”

“Then I guess you’re right. So, we’re free to leave?”

“Not quite yet. If we lose, based on this mad plan of yours—”

“Mine?” exclaimed Kaspar with a laugh.

“Of course it is, if we lose. If we win, I am the genius responsible for the stunning victory.”

“Of course,” said Kaspar, lifting his cup in salute and then drinking.

“It’s a shame you’re so intent on returning home. I expect there’s a wonderful story behind how a powerful ruler of a nation finds himself traveling with a band of merchants on the other side of the world. Should you choose to remain, I know I could find you a position of some authority here. Men of talent are at a premium.”

“I have a throne to reclaim.”

“Well, you can tell me about that tomorrow night. Go and tell your friends that if we prove victorious in the next few days, you’ll be on your way in a week. Good night to you, Your Grace.”

Kaspar smiled at the use of the honorific. “Good night to you, my Lord General.”

Kaspar returned to the house and bade the soldiers who escorted him a good night. As he entered, he wondered how much of his past he would reveal to the General over the next few days and he realized that talking about it to someone who understood the nature of rulership had been a relief. Then, for the first time, he felt the need to examine some of the choices he had made. He was less than a year removed from his previous life, yet at times it seemed much farther away than that. And many of those decisions now gave him pause: why had he desired the crown of Roldem so ardently? After spending months shoveling steer-manure over Jojanna’s vegetables, carrying crates for mere coppers a day, and sleeping in the open without even a blanket for warmth, ambition seemed an almost ludicrous concept.

Thinking of Jojanna made him wonder how she and Jorgen were doing. Perhaps there might be some way to send them a message, to pass along a tiny part of the wealth he carried in that wagon. What he would spend on a new set of clothing when he returned to the Kingdom would make them the richest farmers in the village.

He sighed and put that thought away. There was still a very long way to go.

Kaspar bounced on the seat.

He was taking his turn driving the wagon, a skill he decided he had never really needed to learn, as they traveled a relatively rocky portion of the old highway. The wooden wheels groaned and creaked every time they bounced over a rut in the road, and the constant rattling was leaching out any patience Kaspar had. He would be so very glad to see the last of this wagon.

He turned his mind away from his physical discomfort and took in the scenery. The land around them was turning cooler, and a darker green as they headed south. Kaspar found the notion that the hotter lands were in the north, along with the season here being opposite of his homeland, very odd. They were heading into the hottest part of the summer in this region, readying for the Midsummer’s Festival, Banapis, while in his homeland of Olasko, the Midwinter’s Festival would be celebrated.

The landscape was charming though, thought Kaspar, a series of rising hills and meadows, green farms and thick forests set away from the road. A high range of mountains was visible in the distance to the southwest. Kaspar knew from discussions with those on the road that those would be the Mountains of the Sea. The Serpent River was closer now, running a course to the west before turning south again, and they would reach a ferry landing two days south of Shamsha. Here they could abandon the wagon and book passage on a river boat heading down to the City of the Serpent River. They were seventeen days south of Higara and still two days away from Shamsha, the first thing that would pass for a small city according to what travelers they had encountered had told them.

Now that they were away from the many nameless villages they had driven through, Kaspar found the dreams were returning. From the occasional outcry as one or another of his companions awoke from a troubling dream, he knew the others were suffering from the same affliction.

Kaspar rode up beside Flynn and said, “If there’s a temple in Shamsha, maybe we might find a priest to take a look at our dead friend?”

“Why?” asked Flynn.

“Doesn’t it disturb you just a little that the farther we get from where you dug him up—”

“We didn’t dig him up,” Flynn interrupted. “We traded with those who did.”

“Very well,” Kaspar said. “How about, since you came into possession of him, people have been dying all the time and the farther away we get from where you got him, the more vivid and troubling the dreams have become?”

Flynn flicked the reins to move the sluggish horses along. He was silent a while, then said, “You’re suggesting it’s cursed?”

“Something like that.” Kaspar paused then said, “Look, we all know that once someone gets involved or…touches the damn thing…well, however it works, we can’t just leave it. Maybe you’re right and the magicians at Stardock will want it and pay a bounty for it, but what if they can’t…get us to give it up?”

Flynn flicked the reins again. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Well, think about it,” suggested Kaspar. “I would really like to be able to make a choice about where I go once we reach Port Vykor.”

“But your share…?”

Kaspar said, “We’ll talk about it when we get there. Riches are not something I dwell on; getting home is.”

A moment later he saw something in the distance. “Smoke?” he said to Flynn.

“A fight?”

“No, it looks more like we’re getting within a day or so of the city. Probably smoke from the city hanging in that low valley ahead.” He looked around. “We should camp soon, and get an early start. If we push it, we’ll be in Shamsha by sundown tomorrow.”

The area through which they passed was lightly forested, with farms scattered around the countryside within an easy ride of the highway. Several streams cut through the landscape as well as two rivers of sufficient size to require that bridges be erected over them. They found a patch of pastureland not too far from the road, next to a stream, and Kaspar was thankful for that; he was planning on a hot bath in Shamsha, but a quick rinse in the cold stream before then would be welcome.

So often had they made camp together that the four men followed a well-worn and silent routine. Kaspar watered the horses, and watched the other three fall into easy rhythms, Kenner starting the fire, getting ready to prepare the evening meal, McGoin seeing to the horses’ fodder when Kaspar brought them back, while Flynn unloaded the bedding and foodstuff from the wagon.

Kaspar was developing a strange relationship with these men; he wouldn’t call them friends exactly, but they were comrades, and he realized that throughout his entire life he had little experience with such. His only exposure to this kind of thing had been as a boy, when spending time with his father and watching a few of his father’s close friends at an intimate supper, or out on the hunt.

As a boy Kaspar had always been painfully aware of the issues of rank that surrounded him as the sole heir to the throne of Olasko. He had numerous playmates as a child, and no true friends. The older he got, the less sure he was if someone sought him out for the pleasure of his company or to simply gain an advantage. By the time he was fifteen, Kaspar found it easier to assume everyone, save his sister, was seeking personal favor. It kept things simple.

Kaspar returned to where the others waited and turned the horses over to McGoin who helped him stake out the animals. Then the two men portioned out the grain to the four horses.

This done, Kaspar declared, “I’m going for a swim.”

McGoin said, “I think I’ll join you. I have dust in places I didn’t know I had places.”

Kaspar laughed at that; and even though McGoin had said it a hundred times, each time Kaspar chuckled.

The two men stripped off and waded into the stream. It was cold, but not bitter. They were far enough south in early summer, and it was refreshing.

As they swam and bathed, McGoin said, “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About this curse business.”

“I’m no master of dark lore, McGoin. All I know is that since the moment I met you lot I’ve felt cursed.”

McGoin hesitated for a moment, blinked, then started to laugh. “Well, you’re no Princess of the Festival, yourself, Kaspar.”

Kaspar nodded. “So I have been told.”

McGoin said, “If you don’t mind me asking, what was it you and the general were on about after supper those nights?”

“We played chess. And talked about being soldiers.”

“I figured something like that. I never served. I’ve had my share of fights—started out as a cook’s monkey on caravans down into Kesh my father organized and worked my way up from there. Had more than one run-in with bandits along the way.” He pointed to a nasty scar that ran down his left side from armpit to hipbone. “Got this when I was only seventeen. Damn near bled to death. My father had to sew me up with a bloody canvas needle and twine. Then I damn near died of the fever when it festered. Only a priest of Dala saved me that time, with some medicine and a prayer.”

“They have their uses, the priests.”

“Seen any of the temples down here?”

“Can’t say as I have,” Kaspar replied.

“Mostly in the cities, but once in a while you see one out in the middle of nowhere. Really strange bunch of gods. Some of the ones we know, though they’ve got different names. Guis-Wa here is called Yama, for one. But lots of gods I’ve never heard of. A spider god called Tikir, and a monkey god, and a god of this and that, and more demons and whatever you call it…just a lot of temples.

“Anyway, I was thinking, if you want a priest to look at what’s in that coffin, seems to me we ought to think just what sort of priest we’re talking to.”

“Why?”

“Well, back home I tithed to Banath.”

Kaspar laughed. “The god of thieves?”

“Of course. Who better than to keep thieves from robbing me blind? And I also made offerings to other gods, but what I figure is each is concerned with their own…I don’t known, call it a plan.”

“An agenda?”

“Yes, that’s it! They’ve got their own agendas…But what I’ve been thinking is what if that thing in the coffin is something that a temple might find useful—maybe even useful enough to cut our throats and dump us in the river (all the while saying a prayer for our journey on the Wheel, of course)?”

“I think we should talk it over with the others.”

“Good idea.”

They returned to the others as Kenner portioned out the evening’s rations. It was a staple diet Kaspar had grown inured to: dried oat cakes, dried fruit, dried beef, and water. Still, it was a banquet compared to the bitter fruit he had lived on for two days when first coming to this land.

Kaspar discussed McGoin’s idea with Flynn and Kenner; despite their concerns, they decided it would still be best to consult a priest in the next city. They chatted after eating and then settled in for the night.

Kaspar awoke. He had banged his head so many times on the wagon above that he came wide awake and rolled over, his hand grabbing the hilt of his sword, and crawled out from under the wagon before standing up. He looked around, his heart pounding.

No one was standing guard. “McGoin!” he shouted, waking up Kenner and Flynn.

Both men were out from under the wagon, weapons in hand, in an instant. Kaspar glanced around and saw no sign of McGoin.

A shout from beyond the firelight had Kaspar and the others racing. Before they were three steps on their way, a scream cut through the night that froze them in their tracks. It was McGoin, but the sound he made was a shriek of terror so profound, so primal, that each man’s first instinct was to turn and run. Kaspar said, “Wait!”

Flynn and Kenner hesitated, then came a gurgling, strangled scream that died suddenly.

Kaspar shouted, “Spread out!”

He had taken less than a dozen steps when he came upon McGoin, or what was left of him. Beyond him, a thing—roughly man-shape but of much larger proportions—stood in the darkness. It had shoulders twice the size of any man living, and its legs were reversed, like a horse’s or goat’s hind legs. The face was obscured in the darkness of a moonless night, but Kaspar could see there was nothing remotely human about it. At the creature’s feet lay the body of McGoin. His head had been torn from his shoulders, and the creature had ripped off his arms and legs, tossing them aside. The trader’s torso had been pulled apart so that no piece of his anatomy was recognizable; he had been reduced to so much bloody pulp and meat.

Kaspar held up his sword and shouted, “Circle behind it!”

He didn’t wait to see if the others obeyed his command, for the creature was full upon him. He struck out and the creature raised its arm to block. When Kaspar’s blade struck, sparks flew, as if metal was striking metal, although the sound it made was as if he had struck something made of very hard leather, and the shock that ran up his arm surprised him. He had never hit something this hard, even a man in armor in battle. He barely could hold on to his sword.

Flynn came at the creature from behind and struck it hard at the joint of head and neck, and all he did was achieve the same sparking display. Having no other ideas, Kaspar shouted, “Back to the campfire!”

He faced the creature as he backed away, fearing to turn around lest the thing prove faster. He sensed rather than saw Flynn and Kenner racing past, and he shouted, “Get brands! If steel won’t hurt it, maybe fire will.”

As Kasper backed into the circle of the campfire’s light, he could see the monster’s face. It looked like a demented ape, with fangs that were exposed when it curled back its lips. They were black, as were the gums. The eyes were yellow and had black irises. The ears looked like nothing as much as webbed bat wings, and the body like the torso of a man or large ape stuck upon the legs of a goat. Kaspar heard Flynn shout, “Step to your left!”

Kaspar did so and Flynn ran past him, thrusting a flaming torch at the creature. It recoiled, but it didn’t turn and flee. After a moment, Kenner shouted, “The fire doesn’t hurt it. It just seems annoyed by it.”

Suddenly Kaspar had a thought: “Hold it at bay!”

He raced for the wagon and leapt into the back. Pulling aside the tarpaulin, he used his sword to pry up the lid of the coffin. He reached in and took the black sword that had been placed with the armor and jumped down from the wagon. With three strides, he stepped between Flynn and Kenner and lashed out with the sword.

The reaction was instantaneous. The black blade struck the creature and instead of just producing sparks, the edge cut into the thing’s arm. It howled in pain and stepped back, but Kaspar was on it, pressing his advantage.

He lashed out, first high, then low, and the monster stumbled back. Each cut brought a howl and finally the creature turned to flee. Kaspar leapt forward. He lashed out, taking it across the neck. The head went flying off in a graceful arc, and then dissolved into mist before Kaspar’s eyes. The monster’s body fell forward and also started to turn to vapor before it struck the ground. By the time Kaspar could kneel to examine it, it was gone. There was no sign of a struggle.

“What was that?” Kaspar breathed.

Kenner said, “I thought you might know. You’re the one who thought to get the black sword from the coffin.”

Kaspar realized the sword was thrumming in his hand as if he stood holding the rail of a ship which vibrated from slamming against the waves. “I don’t know why I did that,” said Kaspar. “It just…came to me to get this sword.”

All three men were staring out where McGoin lay and Kenner said, “We need to bury him.”

Kaspar nodded. “But we need to wait until dawn so we can find all…” He left the thought unfinished. All three men knew their companion was scattered over a wide area and the grisly task of gathering up all the pieces of him and putting them in a grave lay ahead. It was something better done by daylight.

They felt the presence before they heard anything. As one, all three men turned to see the black armor, standing upright behind them. Kaspar turned, the black blade at the ready, while Kenner and Flynn held up the burning torches and retreated.

The armor made no threatening gesture, but slowly held out its hands, palms upward, and waited. After nearly a minute of no one moving, Kaspar took a single step forward and waited. The armor remained motionless.