The Return of Kavin (30 page)

Kavin had gone to stand beside Yorgan, at the steering staff; and Thuramon remained amidships with Hugon and Gwynna. Zamor came on deck, and saw the nearing land. He called out, toward the upper air, “Fraak, you scaly clown, return!”

Fraak sailed down, and landed on the deck. Zamor regarded him with a grin.

“Can you see the land, ahead there?” Zamor asked.

Fraak rattled his wings, and settled himself. “I have been there, today!” he said. “There’s a man on the shore!”

“I’d hope there’d be a number of them,” Zamor said. “We’ll need horses, and food. Hugon, is that place as empty as I’d heard it was, then?”

“I don’t know,” Hugon said. He extended an arm, and Fraak leaped into his favorite position. Hugon grimaced. “Gods, the fish diet you’ve been on has given you both weight and…” He sniffed at Fraak’s triangular, fanged mouth. “Phew, a certain air as well.”

“I
like
fish,” Fraak said.

“There’s no doubt of that,” Hugon said. “But you’ll have to try another diet for a while; we’re faring inland.” He glanced shoreward thoughtfully. “You saw men on the shore, there?
Fishermen, perhaps?”

“One man, big, wearing scales like mine,” Fraak said. “He was Kavin.”

Hugon’s head snapped round, and he regarded the dragonet with a puzzled look.

“Kavin?”

“He’s standing on the shore,” Fraak said, confidently.

“No, he isn’t,” Hugon told him. “Look, there he is, on the deck above us.”

Fraak allowed a thin eddy of smoke to curl from his nostrils, and opened his yellow eyes wide. Then he said, “He’s there,
too.”

“Wait, now,” Hugon said, and considered the matter. “You saw a man who looks just like the Prince, and he is standing on that shore beyond us?”

“Just like,” Fraak said. “He wears scales, like me. But he’s very bad, the one there.”

“Oh, he’s bad? Why? Did he shoot at you?”

“No!” Fraak said. “He only stands, waiting, and looking out to sea. But he has no…” Fraak stopped, searching for the word. Then he emitted a rippling series of notes, in the dragon tongue. “He has none,” Fraak added. “I never saw a man who had none before.
Except dead men.”

“Thuramon?”
Hugon called to the wizard, who turned toward him. “Listen to this. Fraak, what is that, the word you used? The thing you noticed about the man on shore?”

Fraak uttered the notes again. “He had none,” Fraak repeated. “But he looks like Kavin, except that his hair is dark.”

Thuramon bent a dark gaze on the little dragon, and his fingers touched his beard, pulling thoughtfully.

“This man… who looks like Kavin,” Thuramon said. “He is alone?”

“No, there are more like him, but little men, hairy,” Fraak said. “As many as…” He held up a clawed foot, and counted. “That many,” he said, extending all five claws. “They haven’t got any…” the musical phrase again”… either.”

Thuramon glanced at Hugon and Gwynna. “He means a certain quality,
an
… object, which those men don’t possess,” the warlock said, in a tense voice. “Do you know what that is? No? I can’t find a word that describes it, except… a soul.” His eyes held Hugon’s. “That would be the common word, but it is inaccurate.
A true self, the eternal and permanent reality of a man.
And these men, who wait for us… yes, I think it is for us they wait. They have no souls. They are, in one sense dead. But they can move. And slay, I think.”

The Virgin’s sail slatted as she came about. The bay had narrowed; a broad river entered, and the shore was green with trees and grass. Among the greenery, old walls stood, broken by time and nearly covered; and up river, there were roofs, a village of some sort.

But there, on the bank, figures stood, still as statues. The foremost figure was a man, in a garment that seemed to shine with a coppery glow in the sunlight; it was too distant to see his face as yet. But he stood, with an inhuman stillness, waiting, as the ship drew nearer.

FOURTEEN

Gann waited, and watched the small vessel as it tacked toward the rivermouth. Wind driven, he thought. Nowhere in this world was there any power other than man’s muscle, the strength of beasts, and the force of wind and water.
Weakness.
That would change. Man was meant to bend the forces of nature to his will. The phrase echoed in Gann’s strange dead mind, a record of words heard long ago in another world.

He felt the presence of the other, close now… so close that it was as if life flowed into him, out of that one, warming him, easing the pain that still burned in his flesh. He had known that the other would come here, and had traveled far, to this place, far and fast.

There were only a few charges in the weapon, Gann thought. It was most necessary that the body of the
Other
not be damaged in any way; of course, the people with him were of no account in the matter. But at this range, accuracy might be difficult.

And yet… the wind-driven ship was moving outward, toward the other shore, and up into the river. It was possible that the primitives aboard it feared strangers, and were fleeing him, Gann considered. He estimated the growing distance. The vessel must be brought closer.

He lifted his arms and called, loudly, in the language he had learned from his human machines.

“Ship!”

Distantly, heads were visible at the rail. One of those was the Other, Gann knew, and the hunger welled within him. He cried out again.

“It’s the
Other
,” Kavin said, in a low voice. “He that I saw
lying
in a tomb of ice, dead… my other self. Thuramon, it’s he!”

“It is he,” Thuramon said, coldly. “Now I know what new tool Ess has sent against us.”

“He is myself,” Kavin said, his eyes on the shore. “Myself!”

“Yes,” Thuramon said.
“In a certain sense.
You owned that body once, and you left it; that which is truly yourself fled out of that flesh, and sought rebirth. But in that world, that body was not allowed to die completely. Against the Law of Life and Death, it was kept, half-living, as you saw it once before.”

The ship was close to the high banks of the far shore, and Yorgan called out, to one of the other men, to keep watch as they moved. On the other bank, Gann walked with steady strides, keeping pace, while five shambling figures followed him.

“He has acquired those poor creatures, too,” Thuramon said, almost to himself. “Made them…”

“He is
myself
!” Kavin said, in a voice filled with agony. And suddenly, he clutched the bulwark, and lifted his body, half over the top rail; he twisted, swinging a leg over, ready to plunge into the river and swim to that bank.

“Zamor!”
Thuramon cried out, clutching at Kavin’s belt.
“Hugon, quickly!”

Hugon came, running, and got hold of Kavin’s arm; but the other pulled free, with unnatural strength. Kavin’s eyes were strange, glazed and mad.

Then Zamor reached him, and his huge arms clamped about the prince’s waist, heaving; they fell to the deck, and rolled in wild struggle. Then Zamor’s fist rose and fell with a meaty thud, and Kavin lay unconscious.

“I had to strike,” Zamor muttered, rising to his knees beside the other. His big hand touched Kavin’s face. “By the Snake’s mercy… no, he will not be hurt too badly.” He got to his feet, looking apologetic; but Thuramon nodded.

“That was well done, Zamor,” he said. “Had he reached the other bank, the
Other
would have him now.” Thuramon turned, to stare at the distant mailed figure, which had paused.

“He could make himself one with Kavin,” Thuramon mused. “That cold and monstrous mind, in a soul and a body that could live as other men do… it’s not strange that Ess could seize him so.”

“We’d best bring the ship in, up there,” Yorgan called down. “There’s a landing, and a village, see there?”

On the other shore, Gann waited. He called to his
Other
; but the Other could not come. It would be necessary to use his weapon, he thought. The ship was nearly out of range, and in a moment it would be. Gann lifted his arm, and sighted the thing he carried, carefully.

There was a glare of violet light, and a crash of sound.

The bolt struck the ship’s side, high and near the stern; it burned a hole the size of a man’s head through the stout timbers and planks, upward, and out through the decking. And also through one crewman, who screamed, and burned like a torch before he fell to the water. In the blackened hole, small flames burned.

“Douse that!” Yorgan barked to the other seamen, setting example with a bucket. They threw water on the flame, while Yorgan ran to the rail, uttering a curse of magnificent complexity.

“May the gods rot my gut, that filthy bastard that did this is out of range!” Yorgan snarled, sighting a crossbow. But he loosed the bolt anyway; it struck the water, halfway across.

“Killed poor old Bungt, the motherless dogsgut!”
Yorgan grated. “Yonn, lash a line to the bows, and come help me get the boat overside! I’ll tear that scum’s foul eyeballs out with my fingers, damn him!”

“Wait!” Thuramon thundered, commandingly.

Yorgan paused, his fury-flushed face turned toward the warlock.

“Wait?
For what, till he burns my ship about me?”
Yorgan’s voice broke, and tears streamed on his leather face.
“Bungt!
He sailed with us these five years, man! The dog threw fire and killed him, and not a challenge out of us or that one!”

“His weapon can slay you before you reach him,” Thuramon answered, calmly. “But he is no longer close enough to fire it a second time, or he would have done so. And he cannot cross running water.”

Yorgan stared at Thuramon, and his face paled under the sea tan.

“He… cannot… cross running water?” Yorgan knew well enough what it was that could not cross a running stream. He shuddered, and uttered the word, low.
“Vrykol!”

“No, not that,” Thuramon said. “But nearly. Yorgan… let me manage this. I have the skill.” He touched the man’s arm. “I know your sorrow. Be wise, though. Remember the safety of this ship, and the others.”

Yorgan uttered a wordless sound, and turned away.

“I must set a stronger barrier between us and that thing,” Thuramon muttered. He glanced at Kavin, who still lay unconscious on the deck. “Especially since the creature will call again.”

The others had gone to the shoreward rail, and were looking down toward the houses that lay along the riverbank. They were low, log and wattle buildings, thatched; a few chickens wandered among them, and farther along the bank, small boats lay under a shed. All in all, it seemed a typical fishing hamlet, Hugon thought. But it seemed odd that no one had come out of the houses. He saw a faint eddy of smoke from a chimney, and pointed it out to Zamor.

“They might be afraid of us,” Zamor said. “There have been pirates, in these seas.”

“They would have to be blind not to see we’re no such thing,” Hugon muttered.

“We could go and see,” Gwynna suggested.

“We?”
Hugon looked at her. “My lady, this is man’s work. If you’ll excuse me…” He swung himself up and over the rail, to drop to the river bank; he laid a hand on his sword, and moved forward, but did not draw. It might be best to seem as friendly as possible, he thought, moving slowly toward the house where he had seen the smoke.

Behind him, he heard a faint sound and whirled; then glared at Gwynna, who came toward him. She carried a crossbow, with a competent air, and smiled sweetly at Hugon.

“Well, if you must,” he said, and turned. But before he could move, a new sound intruded.

Thuramon’s voice rang out, in a thundering shout, strange words that meant nothing to Hugon’s ear. As Hugon stared toward the ship, a cloud of white vapor eddied up out of the moored vessel. Thuramon’s voice echoed out again, and the cloud swelled larger; it poured, like thick milk, out and over the river.

The cloud spread, and stood like a white wall; the other bank vanished, hidden completely.

“It seems Thuramon is about his craft again, thank the Goddess,” Hugon grunted. “That would be a barrier to any more lightning bolts from that demon on the other bank, I hope.”

He turned toward the house again, and reached its door; pushing it open, he looked inside.

“Nothing but a fisherman’s hovel,” he grunted, and stepped in.

On a stone hearth, a fire smouldered, nearly out. Pots and plates stood in disarray, as though a meal had been interrupted. And other objects, scattered about, seemed to say that those who lived here had departed in haste, gathering up whatever they could carry. Hugon turned and went out again; Gwynna was coming from another house.

“They’ve all run away,” she said in a puzzled voice.

“Something to do with our mailed friend over there,” Hugon said. “Though Thuramon said he couldn’t cross here… but there may be a way for him, farther up the river. I wonder if he’s been here, and the villagers ran… like wise men, at that.”

They went back toward the ship; Zamor came toward them as they approached, and Fraak as well, sailing down to the ground.

“The dragon says he saw men, fleeing out to sea, in small boats,” Zamor said. “They went by another channel, eastward, so we didn’t see them. Those would be the village folk.” He stared about. “I wonder what could frighten fishermen so much. That creature over the river… he doesn’t look any more than a man, to me. He’s got no more than five others with him.”

“He is more than a man, Zamor,” Thuramon’s voice came from above, at the ship’s rail.
“Or less than one, if you wish.
But you cannot fight him with your hands alone. He carries a deadly tool, for one thing; and both he and his creatures will not die as easily as a man might, though you break them into pieces.” Thuramon laughed wryly. “Die, indeed. They are long dead, in a way, already.”

“Well, then, we’d best leave them as quickly as we can,” Hugon answered.
“Ah, Prince Kavin!
Awake again?”

Kavin stood at the rail, rubbing his head with a rueful grin. Zamor looked up and spread out his big hands in a gesture of apology.