Night Winds (25 page)

A tangle of yellowed bones filled its bottom, she saw as she leaped scrambling across. Then into a brush-grown ravine a dozen painful strides beyond. Wriggle snake-like down its slope, where bones line the eroded dirt like cobblestones. They are stopping by the trench, making certain their quarry doesn't hide there...

The gully emptied into a wash of detritus and sparse scrub. Beyond lay a thick stand of broken trees--cover, if she could reach it. She darted onto the wash, keeping low.

"Yee-hee!"

She skidded on the loose rubble of the clearing. Half a dozen horsemen broke through the patch of woods ahead. They had encircled her.

"Here! We got her!" They pounded toward her.

She spun, but there was no escape behind. The others were pelting down from beside the ravine she had quitted. She stood in full sight in the low scrub of the wash. Again she whirled. She was trapped.

Fear twisted her face. They laughed as they closed on her, this band of forest outlaws who would take their time before letting her die. Hard-faced killers whose plundered gear was as mismatched as the men who wore it. They moved in slowly, tempting her to try to run through their circle.

She sobbed a curse at them--half-crouched, backing away as one moved closer, spinning about as another crept still closer from behind. They were playing with the prey who had cost them so much toil. A circle of grinning wolfish faces, casually moving in across the space of washed stone and dry bones.

The lead horse of the group that had waited in the timber stalked toward her. Its fat rider was the bandit chief, Grey--who had let his men drive his quarry into his dread grasp. His blubbery lips twitched in a triumphant grin.

Then his horse stumbled, its hoof breaking through the gravelled crust with an eerie brittle smash.

Man and steed screamed in tearing agony. From the splintered bubble beneath the wash erupted a spewing mist of black vapor, flowing heavily across the barren space.

The horse plunged to the ground, spilling its rider in a writhing heap that spared him the mercy of a broken neck. She could see the blackened skin slough away from blistered features as the outlaw leader screamed mindlessly for a moment longer. And already the black mist had billowed over those who were with him.

Those who yet could, fled in desperate panic. The black vapor swirled like a hell-driven cloud, flowing across the wash--breathing its searing death upon all who were near.

The wind was blowing back toward the ravine, she saw, and carefully gauged the spreading cloud. Of those with Grey, all lay shrieking on the bone-strewn gravel. Those who had hounded her were trying to outrace the mist, in their terror forgetting their prey.

Somewhere she found strength for a final burst of speed. Perilously skirting the advancing cloud of vapor, she escaped its withering tendrils and reached the patch of forest that lay upwind. The vapor would slowly dissipate, but by the time the survivors regrouped it would be dark--if any still had heart for their game.

On failing legs she stumbled into the shelter of the gnarled trees. And into the grasp of the man who stood watching from their shadow.

She opened her mouth to scream, but already one spade-like hand smothered her lips, while the other enclosed her wrists. With desperate strength she struggled against him, but he held her fast with casual strength.

"Quiet!" His voice rumbled in her ear. "I won't hurt you!"

She shuddered and hung limp in his arms. Her heart hammered painfully, but it was useless to try to break away.

He removed his hand from her lips, but retained his grip on her wrists. "Don't worry, I'm not with them," he told her. "Let's just rest easy now, and let the survivors distance between us. I think they're too demoralized for any more of this."

He added, "What's your name?"

"Sesi," she admitted, after a pause. She twisted about to get her first good look at the man who held her.

No wonder she had not seen him as she plunged into the trees--he might have been one of the gnarled and massive trunks come to life. While he was not much above the average height of a big man, he was built on the solid scale of an ancient oak. Chest and torso broad and hard as some mighty bole, pillar-like legs, arms thick with corded muscle--all gave him an aura of massiveness more than size, of awesome and irresistible strength. The long-fingered hand that pinned her wrists was large and sinewed; coarse red hair furred its back and the thick forearm. He wore a leather vest trimmed with tufted wolf fur and silver conchos, laced half-open, and a shirt of light mail beneath. Tight leather trousers flared to cover high riding boots. A heavy knife was sheathed at his belt, and the curiously wrought hilt of a broadsword protruded from behind his right shoulder. Sesi had never known a man to carry his sword strapped diagonally behind his back, and she judged him an outlander.

A short beard rusted his coarse-featured face and nape-length red hair was tied by a leather band sewn with bright bits of girasole above the craggy brow. His eyes... Sesi shivered. Cold, blue. Eyes of a killer... eyes that had watched many a man die, had absorbed a fragment of each death, and the essence of death flamed within their blue depths.

"I am called Kane."

And Sesi tore her eyes away, wondered for a moment whether her escape from her pursuers had been good fortune.

Kane released her, and she pulled away from him. Her wide eyes regarded him nervously, as she tried to gather the edges of a tear that opened her shift halfway up her side.

"Who were they?" He asked casually.

"Bandits. Scavengers. Their sort prey on travellers in the mountains nearby. Sometimes they slink into the battlefield to steal from the dead. Masale decreed that this all be left untouched as a monument to his victory--but no one guards the field, and the vultures creep in for what they can steal. There is iron, gold..."

"I see bones."

"There are bones."

"Why were they chasing you?"

Sesi knotted the frayed edges of her gown over the tanned curve of her hip. "Can't you guess?"

He studied her, then shrugged, face impassive. She could not read his thoughts. "They went to great effort."

"You saw?" She combed fingers through her tangled mane.

"I was curious to know why a gang of petty killers was so desperately searching the forest."

"Why are you here? This land is forbidden to all."

"Do you live here?" he asked instead.

"There are a few of us," she told him uneasily,

"Then I'll take you there."

"I can find my way."

Kane shook his head. "It's growing dark, and this land is treacherous with overgrown pits and unexploded shells--as those who hunted you learned. My horse is not far."

Sesi shrugged wearily and followed the stranger. It seemed dangerous to trust a man with eyes like Kane's, but then she had little choice.

The fire-blackened stone walls stood roofless beneath greying skies. Ragged gaps in the masonry evidenced the impact of stone missiles flung from mammoth siege engines from the fortress high above. One wing lay in a smashed jumble of weed-grown debris; the main hall was gutted to bare walls. Incongruously spared amidst splintered stone, a stained glass rose window flamed red, gold, and blue in the dying light.

Once the wooded plain at Lynortis's feet had known many stately manor houses such as this. Two years of unleashed hell had smashed the land and its people like a princess's doll-things in the path of a mad stampede. The marvel was that this much of the mansion yet stood one stone upon another.

A far wing--once kitchens and servants' quarters--showed a streak of smoke from a broken chimney. Yellow light leaked through chinks in the boarded windows, and the broken roof showed crude repairs. A gaunt-ribbed cur snarled from the shelter of a wall as Kane approached.

"Let me down. They'll want to know," Sesi slipped from Kane's saddle and limped toward the low stone building.

Kane sat on his horse, sensing the eyes that watched from within. Casually his fingers freed the clasp that held his scabbard to his left hip. A tug on the hilt would pivot the scabbard on its shoulder swivel, freeing the blade in an instant.

"Hranal!" She pushed at the door. "It's all right. Let me in."

The dog--he was not growling a challenge. He was snarling in fear. Kane realized it just as the door was flung open.

Her scream and the scrape of Kane's blade clearing the scabbard shivered in the air at the same instant. Kane spurred his mount toward the door, but already strong arms had yanked Sesi inside.

The door was too low, or Kane would have bolted through--with room to maneuver, a mounted swordsman could break up any free-for-all. Instead Kane leaped from his saddle and squinted into the dimness within--warily holding onto the reins. Several shadowy shapes struggled inside the low-ceilinged room. Kane started for the door, and a tall figure barred his way.

"Kane! Wait!" the man shouted. "This isn't your fight!"

Kane paused, watching the other's poised blade. Inside, the struggle subsided. The figure stepped from the doorway--a broad-shouldered blond man in silver-studded mail.

"Kane! By the Seven! I said that has to be Kane when I saw you ride up!"

"Hello, Jeresen." There were lines of hard living and a long sear that had not been there fifteen years before, but the face was one he knew well. A suggestion of paunch and shadows beneath his eyes indicated the mercenary captain had lived well before hard times left their recent mark.

The big blond-bearded man grinned and sheathed his sword. "Been a long time, Kane since you and me put Roderic on his brother's throne."

Kane nodded, casually lowering his swordpoint. "That was a good fight, Jeresen. What eventually happened after I had to leave?"

Jeresen chuckled. "After Roderic calmed down, I got your old job. Now and again someone would have doubts as to the justice of Roderic's claim to the throne--enough to keep it interesting, and remind Roderic he needed me and my men. Few years back, Roderic bit into a kidney with some unsuspected spices in it. After that, all hell broke loose, and when we finally cut our way out of there, there wasn't much left of us. Since then we've done one thing or another. Yourself?"

"One thing or another."

Jeresen eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

"Going from one place to another. Lynortis is a good place to pass through when you don't care to meet anyone."

"Yeah, I'll bet," grinned Jeresen. "What were you doing with the girl?"

"Picked her up along the battlefield. She was running from a gang of bandits, until their leader's horse smashed an unexploded gas bomb. I was carrying her back here hoping for shelter for the night."

Jeresen swore exultantly. "That was that son of a bitch, Grey! So the goddam fool busted open an old Lynortian gas bomb, did he? Wish I'd seen it! The bastard was trying to steal the key to a fortune right out of my grasp!"

"Key to a fortune?"

"Yeah, that's what you had cozied up on your saddle with you just now. Hell, come on in, and I'll tell it over a few bottles. There's gold enough in this to share with all my old comrades."

Kane returned his sword to its scabbard and followed Jeresen into the mined wing. Inside were maybe ten armed men--blond Waldann mercenaries under Jeresen's command. Kane recognized a few faces and exchanged greetings. He guessed there must be others who had not joined them--unless this battered handful were all that remained of the once formidable troop that had followed Jeresen northward to earn a living by their blades.

Sesi, her arms tied behind her back, hunched miserably in a chair. Her eyes sought Kane in desperate hope. There was blood on the stones of the floor, and the old couple who cowered in one comer of the kitchen would not help her. Neither would the heavyset man who lay in the center of the crimson stain. Kane looked away and sat down at the long table.

"Hranal! Wine!" Jeresen yelled to the elderly man, who was dabbing at his smashed lip. "Wine for us now--then have your woman cook meat. Make it good, or you know what to expect. Laddos, go with him."

He sat across from Kane. "The place is a ruin, but the cellar still has bottles of rare vintage unbroken by the siege. So you're only passing through. There's a coincidence."

Kane declined to press matters. "A fortune, you were saying."

The Waldann captain grunted. "Silver, gold, gems--as much as every man can carry if we're quick."

"How quick?"

"We'd better be out of here by daylight."

"There's nothing here but the bones of two armies."

"More than that if you know where to look," Jeresen assured him. "Been near thirty years since Lynortis fell, but what we're looking for won't have rotted."

The old man returned with dusty bottles of wine. Jeresen watched him pour with relish, warming to his tale. "Hell, Kane, you know the story as well as I do, probably. How Masale of Wesvetin gathered together an army from the slopes of the Myceum range and marched with a hundred thousand men to carve an empire from the lands of North Lartroxia. In the path of conquest stood Lynortis, a fortress city carved from the top of a mountain and said to be unassailable. The lords of Lynortis ruled the great valley stretched below, and the citadel had for centuries considered Lartroxia's plains its fief. Masale knew Lynortis had to fall. He ravaged the towns and holdings at the city's feet, then laid siege to Lynortis itself. A hundred thousand men against a single fortress.

"It wasn't battle; it was endless slaughter. Unassailable walls atop a sheer pinnacle of rock. Gods! How many thousands died in senseless assaults! Two years Masale besieged Lynortis. Two years his giant siege machines hurled rocks, spears, and flaming balls of pitch at the fortress, and the catapults of Lynortis returned the barrage undaunted--and rained death in glass shells of burning phosphorus and deadly vapors fashioned by the wizards of Lynortis from secrets they found under the earth. Plague and famine slew thousands more. The conqueror's army rotted away before his eyes; the entire land became a desert of destruction--still Lynortis withstood Masale's siege. Masale, who bad never lost a battle, could not bring the fortress to its knees, not by might of arms, not by starvation--for Lynortis somehow was provisioned.