The Cutting Edge (6 page)
Authors: Dave Duncan
Thaile turned to stare at the towering ramparts of the Progistes. "Death! Murder!"
"What's wrong?" Vool demanded, arriving in blustering incomprehension. "What happened? What's wrong?"
"She's Feeling something!" Frial said. "Tell me! Tell me!"
"Thousands of men!" Thaile cried. "Pain and death! A battle? Yes, it must be a battle. Oh, Mother, Mother! So much death! So much hate, and suffering!"
She buried her face in her mother's shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. Frial and Vool gazed at each other in horror.
If Thaile was truly Feeling a battle, then it must be beyond the mountains, Outside, far away.
There were never any battles in Thume. May the Keeper defend us!
Frial could Feel nothing at all.
Blow, bugle!
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
— Tennyson, The Princess, IV
Youth comes back
1
The well-named Battle of Bone Pass came three days after Karthin, and this time the outcome was never in doubt. The djinn army was cut into three portions and then systematically butchered, the caliph himself being wounded and many of his best generals slain. The legions herded away seven thousand prisoners, and no one counted the dead heaped in the wadis.
Pandemia was very big, and the Impire comprised more than half of it. Imperial couriers traveled faster than anyone else in the world, yet reports from outlying areas took weeks to reach the Opal Palace in Hub.
Sorcery was instantaneous. That same evening Warlock Olybino materialized in the imperor's bedchamber and smugly told him the good news.
Many times throughout his long reign, Emshandar had been given secret tidings by one or other of the Four. Knowledge was power, and no one knew it better than he. He had often used such covert information to great advantage in the eternal ferment of Hubban politics, and only very rarely had he ever gone public with it before the mundane reports arrived-a good conjurer never shows all his pockets.
This time he made an exception. A man who will not see ninety again cherishes every minute the Gods grant him. Emshandar could not afford to wait a month or two. He considered holding off until his golden jubilee, just three weeks away, but even that seemed rash at his age. At dawn he summoned the Senate, and at noon had himself carried to the Rotunda to give it the news in person. He would not have been surprised to learn that it was the last time he would make such an appearance; he would have enjoyed the occasion anyway.
One of the main reasons the Impire had prevailed for three thousand years was that the imps were united and their enemies were not. Other peoples tended to fight among themselves, a habit the Impire encouraged and exploited. The djinns were even worse than most. Throughout history, the emirates and sultanates of Zark had squabbled like starving rats and thus been easy pickings whenever the imps felt an itch to loot and oppress someone.
Back in 2981, one of the petty kings had proclaimed himself caliph and set out to change the ancient pattern. Many others had tried in the past, but this caliph had turned out to be a military genius. He had succeeded where they had failed, welding the innumerable principalities into one ominously coherent and hostile state. No one doubted that when he had finished making himself overlord of all djinns, he would carry the black banner of Zark against the Impire. The caliph's ever-growing power had shadowed the closing years of Emshandar's reign like a rising thunderstorm.
Gaunt and stooped, palsied but triumphant, the imperor proclaimed his victory from the Opal Throne. He went on to predict that Bone Pass had broken the power of the upstart forever. The caliphate would collapse within weeks.
The senators cheered the old fox as they had not done in a generation, and ordered the bells of the Impire rung for three days. They almost carried a motion conferring the title of "the Glorious" on Shandie, but the imperor interrupted to announce that of course he would bestow a dukedom on Proconsul Iggipolo. The Senate took the hint and dropped any idea of honoring the commander of the XIIth above his fellow legates. Subsequent speakers were careful not to mention Shandie at all.
There was no need to give the lad any highfalutin ideas!
Which pleased his grandfather.
In the ensuing days the sound of bells rippled out from the center, bearing the glad news to every corner of the Impire and eventually to lands beyond. By summer word of Bone Pass had traveled even as far as Nordland, in the far northeast. The jotnar had already made their contribution to the Year of Seven Victories, when a group of thanes had expanded the usual spring training into an ambitious looting expedition up the Winnipango and run into the XXIVth Legion by mistake.
The survivors badly needed an easier foe to restore their morale. Those who had not participated must demonstrate that they had not stayed home out of cowardice. Word of the caliph's downfall caused them all to raise their flaxen eyebrows and contemplate the prospect that the defenses of Zark might now fall back from their recent regrettable efficiency. Not much was said, but several longships began loading supplies and an ominous buzz among the steadings told of axes being sharpened.
By the time the harvests were ripening in the south, word of the Battle of Bone Pass came even to the other end of the world, to the tiny kingdom of Krasnegar in the far northwest, on the shores of the Winter Ocean. There was nowhere more remote than that.
It was brought there by a Captain Efflio, master of a grubby little cog named Sea Beauty. Although jotnar were far better sailors than imps could ever hope to be, they could not compete with them in business, so the coastal traders of the Impire were often owned by imps. Usually there would be jotnar among the crew-never too many, though, lest they be tempted by ambition.
Efflio was elderly, lazy, and asthmatic, but shrewd, even by impish standards. He was also a fair sailor, a trait he could reasonably assume was due to some jotunn blood in his veins, for any family that had lived for long within reach of the sea was likely to have had unfortunate experiences with raiders.
Having delivered a cargo of garlic and onions to the city of Shaldokan at a good profit, he wheezed his way along the docks to the nearest impish tavern and began eavesdropping on conversations. Within the hour he picked up word of a potential hire. Some rural duchess wanted some horses shipped to a place he had never heard of. Her agent was having trouble arranging the matter, because livestock was about the most unpopular haul on the four oceans. The garlic had already made Sea Beauty detectable for two leagues downwind, so Efflio had little to lose in that regard. He also knew that the secret of transporting animals was to starve them to within an inch of their lives-what doesn't go in can't come out. He set off in search of the broker. TWo days later, when he was almost ready to sail, he summoned his bosun,` Krushbark, who stood half as tall again as he did and was very anxious to raise anchor before some of his recent shore activities caught up with him.
"Gnomes," Efflio said sadly.
"What about 'em, sir?" Krushbark inquired through bruised lips. He was blinking blearily down at the captain as if there were too many of him on deck. His eyes had a heraldic appearance, sea-blue irises set in very red whites.
"Someone will have to muck out the hold," Efflio explained, taking it slowly and not speaking any louder than necessary. The duchess' agent had been very insistent that the horses arrive alive, so they would have to be fed something in the next month. "I tried to hire some gnomes to do that. Gnomes don't like cold places, and they won't sign on when I tell them we're headed north. "
The bosun thought about that, then rubbed his eyes with fists like tree stumps.
The captain tried again. "You want to tell the lads they'll have to muck out? "
"Gnome work!" Krushbark said. "Gnomes don't mind that sort of work. "
"But no gnomes will sign on."
"Ah. " Krushbark ran fingers through his mop of barleycolored hair. "Gnomes! How many did you want, sir?"
"Two should be plenty," Efflio said patiently.
"Gnomes," Krushbark agreed. "TWo gnomes."
"Good man," said the captain.
An hour or so later the bosun came back on board with a couple of gnomes under each arm. He'd brought extra, he explained, because he hadn't been sure how hard a gnome should be hit. Efflio made no comment about additional mouths to feed-gnomes were easily satisfied, and he preferred not to argue with his bosun unless he had to.
Sea Beauty set sail at once.
It was late in the season for a journey to Krasnegar, but the Gods were lenient, and the cog made fast time. She encountered no ice. She lost no gnomes, and only two of the horses. The crew fared well then-especially the gnomes, who were willing to eat everything from the shoes up.
One sparkling morning with a fair breeze blowing, Sea Beauty sighted her destination. For days she had skirted a low, treeless land, a barren plain bereft of inhabitants or landmarks. The island peak of Krasnegar jumped up over the horizon so unexpectedly that Captain Efflio felt it should have shouted, "Boo!" As more and more of it came into sight, he began to feel very uneasy. Eventually his qualms grew strong enough that he ventured to climb the mast for a better view, a feat he had not attempted in the last ten years.
Then he could no longer doubt. He had been here before! The great rock like a slab of yellow cheese, the spiky black castle on top, and the little town running down one face-they were unmistakable. He had been second mate on Champion at the time. That had not been yesterday, nor the day before either, but even so he should have remembered the name or recognized the description. He never forgot a port he had visited, never! At the very least, no matter how long it had been, he should not have forgotten that landmark rock.
He remembered it now, of course ... vaguely ... a humble little outpost, despite its imposing castle. It was home to both imps and jotnar, which was very unusual, and an independent kingdom-probably remaining so only because neither thane nor imperor could see anything in it worth stealing. A nonentity of a place.
Nevertheless it was set all by itself in the bleak north, where there were no other good harbors. Why was it not better known and more talked about? Why had he forgotten it so completely? Not just him! Back in Shaldokan, he realized now, there had been surprisingly few people able to give him directions to this place, or tell him much about it.
Like all sailors, Efflio disliked any hint of the occult, and this uncanny anonymity certainly smacked of sorcery. He had heard tell once of something called an inattention spell that could produce such effects.
Wheezing nervously, he had barely started his descent before he detected a change in the creaking of the mast. To add to his alarm, then, he saw that the bosun was coming up after him. Efflio tried to shout at the dumb ox to belay that, but he had no breath left for shouting-or climbing back up to the crosstrees, either. So he stayed right where he was, wishing he had replaced the rope ladder the previous summer, when the hands had first begun griping about its condition.
A few moments later the jotunn arrived behind him, feet a rung or two lower. He wrapped an arm around both mast and captain and peered over his shoulder. A passing gull shrieked in derision at the sight.
"Krasnegar!" Efflio whispered, having trouble making any sound at all with his face being squashed against the ropes. He felt the bosun's porcine grunt before the sound emerged beside his ear.
"You ever been here before?" he asked.
"Dunno," the giant said. "The dock looks kinda familiar." The captain could not make out any details of the harbor yet, but jotunn long sight was notoriously sharp.
"And what's that?" Krushbark demanded, pointing seaward with his free arm and causing the mast to creak ominously. "Fishing boat?" Efflio wheezed. By squinting hard, he could just make out a tiny speck in the far distance, bobbing on the long green swells.
"With kids in it?" the bosun demanded.
No imp could resist a mystery. By holding his next tack, Efflio had little trouble in closing on the dory. Then he hove to and studied the curious sight.
The cockleshell was indeed manned by two children, and it was barely big enough for both of them. The girl was an imp and the boy a jotunn. Normally that combination would suggest abduction and rape, but they were too young for that-twelve or thirteen, perhaps. Moreover the girl waved cheerfully, seeming undistressed. The boy just kept rowing. The tiny boat rode up and down over the swells.
Efflio had been a father in his time. He might very well be a grandfather by now-he had no way of knowing, having lost touch with his various offspring years before. He thought of himself as a kindly man, as long as kindness came cheap enough, and he did not enjoy the idea of these two waifs being blown away into the wastes of the Winter Ocean.
Furthermore, although the boy's ragged shirt and pants were unremarkable, the girl's green gown was a fine garment, lady's wear. Something shone very brightly in her hair. There might be a reward. There might even be salvage, although the little dinghy was not worth much. Efflio decided that his duty was to rescue this strange expedition.
"Throw them a line! " he ordered.
An absurd argument then developed. The boy stayed silent, leaning on his oars, while the girl refused the line, shouting that she did not want to be rescued. The sailors, having their orders, insisted.
Eventually the child yielded. The boat was pulled in; the two children climbed a rope ladder to Sea Beauty's deck, and the dory was hauled aboard. The ship heeled over to the starboard tack, resuming her voyage to Krasnegar.
The girl came stamping aft to where the captain was watching, the boy trailing behind her. She was very angry. Her dress was a gorgeous thing of sea-green silk, now somewhat marred by salt water and fish scales, and perhaps a trifle small for her. If that miracle on her head was what it seemed, then it was worth a fortune. Those pearls around her neck couldn't possibly be real, could they? Efflio began to think more seriously of salvage. The day might turn out to be more profitable than most.
"Why did you interfere?" she demanded shrilly, eyes flashing. Her dark hair had been pinned high on her head, but it was now falling loose. The tiara had slipped to one side. She was gangly and flat-chested, but she already had the self-confidence of the stunning beauty she would be in another two or three years.
The boy was taller and heavy-looking, the sort of flaxenhaired jotunn brat that could be found by the score in any port in Pandemia. In two or three years he would be sprouting like a sunflower. Typically, he was scanning the ship and ignoring the people.
"First tell me who you are! " Efflio said.
The child tossed her head, and the wind shook more of her hair loose. "I am Allena the Fair, and this is Warlock Thraine. " Efflio remembered the ballads his mother had sung to him when he was a child. The mate and the helmsman and a couple of others were listening, and grinning. Feeling strangely nostalgic, he bowed.
"I have the honor to be your Majesty's most humble servant, Admiral Efflio, Master of Sea Beauty and Lord of the Winter Ocean. Allena the Fair, obviously. I ought to have recognized your Majesty at once. But Warlock Thraine was a pixie. Are you sure this one isn't an imposter?"
The boy did not seem to hear; the girl pouted. "A great sorcerer can look like a jotunn if he wants to!"
"That's true," Efflio agreed. "But a jotunn who claims to be a pixie in disguise is definitely not to be trusted! Are you quite sure he is Warlock Thraine, your Majesty?"
The girl flushed and dropped her eyes. "It was a game, but you needn't make fun of me! "
"You mean that boat isn't really the famous Ark Noble and that isn't Warth Redoubt I see ahead of me?"
The onlookers guffawed. The castle ahead was Krasnegar, and the name scrawled in red lead on the dory's bow was STROMDANSR.
"Of course not!" The girl had turned even redder. "Warth Redoubt was much bigger! "
"How many head?" asked the boy, sniffing the air. "Twelve," Efflio said. "Your names? Real names?"
"I am Princess Kadie of Krasnegar. He's Gath, my brother. " About to lose his temper, Efflio caught the mate's eye, which was twinkling like a beacon.
"You should'ov piped them aboard, Skipper!"
"Or else I should throw them back!"
The girl tossed her head again. Oh, she was a vixen, that one! And she was obviously the brains of the pair. The boy was being very quiet, gazing blankly at the rigging, but he did not seem scared. He was probably just dull-witted, for her make-believe had left him doing all the rowing. Once she had perfected her techniques on her dumb brother, the minx would have males dancing to her tune for the rest of her life.
The boy completed his study of the lines and turned his steady stare on the captain. "How close to the wind will she sail?" he asked, and waited solemnly for an answer.
Efflio told him, taking a harder look. There was a surprising brightness in those big gray eyes-odd-colored eyes for a jotunn, quite a dark gray. When jotnar had gray eyes, they were a pale, foggy shade. And the kid's hair stuck up in golden spikes all over his head, which wasn't usual, either. So he was not purebred jotunn, and the girl's claim that he was her brother might be believable. Mixed bloods tended to favor one parent over the other. She might have meant "half brother" anyway.
She had breathtaking green eyes. How could Efflio have missed those? He had never seen such green eyes before in his life. So she was not pure imp, and she might well have jotunn blood in her, because her ridiculously inappropriate dress was a skimpy thing that left her arms and shoulders bare, yet she seemed unaware of the spray and the whistling wind. Efflio himself was swathed like a bear, and the gnomes had been huddled under blankets in the galley for days. The boy had bare arms and bare legs. He obviously felt the cold no more than did Krushbark, whose shirt was open to the waist.
Who were these two orphans of the sea? Again the captain felt uncomfortable prickles of superstition. If those were real emeralds in the crown-thing on her head, then he ought to throw the livestock overboard and head back to the Impire at once. He could live out his days in luxury on what he would get for that. He could buy off the crew with one pearl apiece from the necklace and send the kids home somehow.
But if there were occult forces at work, then the children might be something much closer to the mythical Allena and Thraine than they looked. And as for her being a princess-and the boy presumably a prince ... well, who could say what was possible in this forgotten, eldritch outpost?
Then he felt a sudden shift in the motion of the ship as Sea Beauty entered the bay. The far end was closed by a splatter of small islands, forming one of the finest harbors Efflio had ever seen-certainly the finest he had ever forgotten. The great rock stood high on one side, its nearer face plastered with town. The landward shore bore only a few cottages and haystacks.
So it was too late to take the treasure and throw the horses overboard, even if he ever would have done such a thing. He shouted to the mate to shorten sail and laid course for the quay.
Sorcery or not, Krasnegar made a good first impression. It had a prosperous, contented air about it that Efflio could not quite identify. There were no trading vessels moored at the docks, only fishing smacks and a couple of small whalers. Lobster pots in stacks, nets drying over racks, blubber being rendered in cauldrons over fires . . . Women sat in rows and gossiped as they mended nets, while others cleaned fish and tossed a steady rain of them into the salt barrels. Men similarly wrangled while repairing oars and harpoons. It all seemed very healthy and normal.
It reminded him somehow of Impport, on Krul's Bay, where he had grown up, although Impport was much flatter. He had a daughter in Impport. He probably had a daughter in Impport. He hadn't been back there in twenty years.
He would never want to live in a town built on such a slopenot with his chest-but he could see little wrong with the place otherwise. He was beginning to remember it now. It had a wellorganized, impish feel to it, and yet the people held their heads high and did not peer over their shoulders before they spoke. That might be the jotunn influence. Most of the people he could see at the moment were blond, but of course jotnar would gravitate to the docks, and the imps to the landlubber businesses within the town.
Krushbark hailed a man ashore, who shouted willingness; a line curled through the air. The man caught it expertly, looped it around a bollard, and threw it back. Then he went to the next bollard and the process was repeated. Hands began hauling the cable, as the helper waved cheerfully and went on about his business. In impish ports, he'd have demanded money for that trifling assistance. Sea Beauty nudged the dock, then nestled coyly in against it.
Without even waiting for the plank to be run out, a man vaulted over the side and came striding aft with the air of a predator thirsty for blood. Efflio took a step nearer the pin rack; Krushbark dropped the rope he had been coiling and moved quickly to the captain's side. But it was not the captain the newcomer was after-he came to a halt in front of the children. He put his fists on his hips and glared down at them.
The boy smiled shyly. The girl raised her chin and tried to project poise.
For a moment there was silence. Efflio wondered what other misfits he would find in Krasnegar-this man looked for all the world like a faun, but fauns rarely roamed far from the jungles of Sysanasso, far away in the Summer Seas. He was also much larger than any faun Efflio had ever seen, larger than most imps, even. Nevertheless, his face was a deep-tanned faun shade, his hair a brown tangle, and his nose looked as if it had been stepped on in his childhood. Faun.
His jaw was too big, though, especially now, being stuck out like that. Part jotunn, maybe?
Fauns were very good with animals. If he is a faun, Efflio thought, then one gets you twenty he's a stockman, and he's come to get those stinking brutes out of my hold. The newcomer wore ragged work clothes-and yes, his boots had been through a stable recently.
But that raised the problem of how this exiled faun could have known Sea Beauty was bringing the livestock. Again the uncanny tingled the captain's scalp. Much more of this and he would start jumping at shadows ...
He had seen the dory on deck, and the children, of course. "Hello, Papa, " the girl said.
"And just what do you think you are doing with those?" the newcomer demanded.
"Which those, Papa?" the girl inquired sweetly. "You know which those, and don't call me that!"
"But it's much more ladylike than `Daddy' or `Pop' or-" The hostler growled dangerously. "What are you doing with your mother's jewelry?"
Efflio relaxed-he had still been secretly wondering if he had missed a good bet for instant wealth, but if the jewelry belonged to the wife of a man who wore such despicable stable rags, then they were certainly not real emeralds and pearls. Even fakes of such good quality would be worth a fair amount, though.
The girl was trying to seem unruffled. "She lets me borrow them when I dress up. I was being Allena the Fair, and Gath--"
"She never said you could wear them out in the town!" her father roared. "Or in a boat! "
"She never said I couldn't!" the girl protested, but she was starting to wilt before his anger.
"And look what you've done to your dress! "
"It's my old one. It's too small now! Oh, Daddy ... Please don't be angry!" She sniffled, and an artful tear ran down her cheek. Her brother was watching in attentive silence, apparently unconcerned, or letting her do the negotiations.
"Angry?" the faun said. "I'm speechless!"
Perhaps that had been what the child intended, but now she tried another tack, with a dramatic gesture at the audience. "Daddy, these pirates captured us! They forced us to come aboard their ship and-"
"Kadie! " the man thundered. But he turned and made a quick scan of the onlookers. He picked out Efflio at once, although most would have guessed one of the jotnar. "Cap'n? Your pardon! My name's Rap." He held out a hand. "I have to thank you for rescuing these brats, I fear. And the skiff, of course."
Efflio introduced himself. "My pleasure, Master Rap. No harm done, and we'll waive transportation fees. Where do I go to lodge a claim for salvage?"
He had spoken mainly to amuse his own listening officers, but the stablehand did not reply with a blank stare as the captain had expected. He apparently caught on at once. A small smile puckered a corner of the big faun mouth, and the gray eyes twinkled.
"Imperial maritime law doesn't apply here, Cap'n. In any case, she had a crew aboard, surely? And she was underway? I think you'd have trouble getting her declared a derelict. "
"That might be," Efflio admitted regretfully. It had been worth a try, though.
The faun laughed. "Indeed, my daughter's countersuit for piracy might take precedence-but I suspect the local admiralty court will award prize money of a few beers, at the least. Where exactly were they?"
"About three leagues along the coast. "
"We were not!" the girl shouted.
"Hold your tongue, Kadie. I am very grateful to you, Cap'n, and of course their mother will be also."
"We were half a league out, Father," the boy said quietly. "The tide would have brought us back. "
The hostler hesitated, then shrugged. "All the same, it was very foolish. Next time take a sailboat."
Efflio felt rather nettled that the boy's word was obviously being accepted over his, ever if it was the truth.
"Sorry, Father. I won't do it again. "
"Good. We'll discuss it later. Now, Cap'n, we've been starved for news lately. What word of the imperor? Is the old rogue still chopping off heads with wild abandon? "
Efflio had never been a loud-mouthed patriot, but he felt himself bristle at the man's impudence. Then he remembered that he had strayed beyond the bounds of the Impire. This disrespectful cowboy owed allegiance to the king of Krasnegar, up there in his castle, not to the imperor. Even so, his master ought to beat him for insulting his betters.
"The Gods continue to shower blessings upon his Imperial Majesty. "
The faun chuckled. "They wouldn't dare not! Old Foxy would summon Them to his court and frighten Them to death!" He spoke as if he and Emshandar IV were old friends. Insolent, blasphemous peon!
"His arms have won several glorious victories of late," Efflio said stiffly. "The legions have struck a notable blow against the goblins at Pondague. They have retaken the pass and are building a wall across it, so the green vermin won't cause any more trouble with their raids."
The faun looked distressed. "You haven't heard the last of the goblins, Cap'n."
But of course Krasnegar itself must be on the borders of goblin country. Efflio scanned the dock quickly, wondering if he had overlooked any greenish faces. "Do they ever bother you here?" he asked uneasily.