The Return of Kavin (4 page)

Hugon looked at her, and thought, privately, that it was the first time he had heard her speak a word that was not an angry thrust at
himself
.
Fear?
He wondered what could make that iron-willed young woman feel even so much as a trace of fear… she who had not shown fear of the storm, or the sword.

“It’s recorded, in certain places… old, rare books,” she said, staring into the fire. “There were many others, before mankind… uncountable years ago. As there are many others, creatures as wise as man but not like man, in other worlds.
Worlds that touch our own, sometimes.
You know of tales that say the first High King of Meryon, and many folk with him, came to this world out of another, across the northern seas. And others tell tales, like that…”

“Tales, my lady, not certain truth,” Hugon said. “I have always sought truth, myself…” He chuckled. “And found very little of it, I fear. But a great deal of what the world holds wisdom I’ve found to be the sheerest nonsense, too.”

“Oh, so?”
Gwynna looked at him.
“You, a truth-hunter?
I heard differently, Hugon. I thought it was gold you sought, not truth.”

“The two aren’t enemies, lady,” he said, smiling. “One may often buy one with the other, in fact. But, alas, I’ve found little of either commodity.” He leaned back against a log, stretching his toes toward the fire luxuriously, and scratched himself. “You know my name and something of the rest. I might have stayed at home, in the glens and rocks, and my ancestor’s drafty halls… not my own, since I’m a second son. Indulged myself in the customary amusements of my folk… peasant girls, hunting, drinking and eating, and the music of the bagpipe…” Hugon laughed, looking around the circle of faces. “I’m something of a performer on that monstrous instrument; I left a fine one in Mazain, with all else I possess, except my honor.” He sighed, dramatically rolling his eyes skyward.

“Your honor, sir pirate?”
Gwynna asked, ironically.

“Of course,” he said, gravely. “Look you, lady. I have killed no man who did not first threaten my life. I’ve stolen nothing from any poor man, and tupped no woman who was not willing enough. I have never broken my given word, nor raised sword against my king…” He stopped and looked at her, hard. “Ah.
A tender point?”

“The High King offended
me,
before I did what I did,” she said, her green eyes meeting his unflinchingly.

He shrugged. “A point I’d not argue, having little knowledge of the ins and outs of high policy. But I have my own honor, and it seems undamaged, so far.”

Zamor grunted, and his teeth gleamed in a smile.
“As I do, Hugon.”
He looked at the girl, his face like black stone. “The lady seemed to think otherwise when she whispered to me a little while ago. It might be better if I make the matter clear.” He looked toward Hugon. “You flung that
sword, that
slew a man whose arrow would have killed me. By Numori custom, we are spear brothers, each to the other, and I now declare this before witnesses.” His huge black hand stretched out, and clasped Hugon’s wrist. “Before the Great Snake, I call you brother.”

“And I, you, before the Snake,” Hugon said, in a formal voice, and grasped the black wrist with his own hand. They let go, simultaneously, and Hugon rubbed his wrist, grinning.

“Great Goddess, but you’ve a grip on you, man,” he said. He glanced around. “As for witnesses, well…” He chuckled. “These two
gentlemen,
and a lady…”

Hazarsh had risen, and was prowling restlessly on the other side of the fire, casting glances toward the darker areas of the scrubby woodland. Gorash had lain back, and was apparently asleep, and the dragonet was curled at Hugon’s side, also with closed eyes.

Suddenly, Hazarsh bent low, prodding at the ground with his finger, and uttered a grunt of surprise. He picked something up, and came toward the fire, holding it out.

“Hey! Look here!”

Hugon came to his feet and took the object.

“A gold bezand!” he said, and whistled in surprise.
“And with the head of the Emperor Avor II… barely a generation gone!”

“Here now, sir, let me have that back, will ‘e?” Hazarsh said, anxiously, and Hugon returned it with a grin.

“If you find anywhere to spend it, be sure and tell me,” he told Hazarsh. Zamor, too, had risen to his feet and seen the round gold coin; he rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.

“It could be sea raiders, leaving treasure bidden here,” he said.

“Not impossible,” Hugon agreed. “But I wish they’d left a boat, instead. I’ve no ambition to stay here forever.”

“Well, now, brother,” Zamor said slowly, hitching his swordbelt up, “I’m fairly full, warm enough, and there’s a day of light left. If this place has been visited before, there might be a boat.”

“Or at least the means to make one,” Hugon agreed. “Shall we explore a while?”

“Hey, now, I don’t know…” Hazarsh said, uneasily. “It might be that this is the Island of the Old Ones, like the tale…”

“Stay here, then, if you want to,” Hugon said, agreeably. “Myself, I doubt there are any Old Ones left alive, here or anywhere else, but if there are, they can eat you as well in one place as another, can’t they?”

“Ow,” Hazarsh said, thoughtfully. “Might be best we stay together, yes?”

Gorash had awakened; he sat up with a grunt. “I’m coming too, gentles. Four’s better than two.” He got to his feet, glancing enviously at the swords worn by Hugon and Zamor. “But I’d feel safer
wi
’ a blade of me own, I would.”

“Have you been down yonder beach yet, Gorash lad?” Hugon asked, lifting an eyebrow. “There were half a dozen of our late shipmates, feeding the crabs there. If the tides haven’t taken them, there might be a weapon or two among ‘em. Go search… we’ll wait, willingly.”

Hazarsh followed Gorash, and the two went down toward the gray sands. For a while, Hugon and Zamor stood watching their distant figures roaming along the tidepools, and pausing whenever some dark shape lay still. Then they heard a shout, and saw the two returning, each waving a short sea-sword triumphantly.

Gwynna had sat, watching the proceedings without a word. Now she lithely stood up and stretched.

“It seems I have little choice,” she said to Hugon. “I must accompany you, I suppose.”

“I’ve seen no signs of danger here,” Hugon said. “You may remain by the fire, if you choose.”

“Men are always offering me that woman’s privilege,” Gwynna said, and smiled slightly. “I think I’d prefer to go with you. With any luck, I may be able to see you fall into some really unpleasant misfortune… eaten by wild beasts, perhaps. Or, if this is really the Island of the Old Ones…”

“Please, lady, I’d rather not hear about that,” Gorash said, hastily.

The group moved slowly off, following the shore’s direction, along the upper ridge; through scattered, wind-bent pines, walking watchfully. Hugon, Fraak seated on his shoulder, led the way; once, he glanced back and noticed the Lady Gwynna following with long strides, apparently not hampered at all by her thin sandals. Unwillingly, he felt a liking for the wench, though, as he thought, she had a tongue like a razor and the mind of a serpent.

But a real woman, not a delicate court flower as he’d thought her to be, at first. A woman of Meryon, the best kind, Hugon thought.

“Here,” he said suddenly, halting. The others came up beside him as he pointed ahead. “There’s a bit of a wall, like the others I saw inland. Matter of fact, this wall seems in better shape. Let’s have a look.”

Seen closer, the wall was obviously the work of hands… but not necessarily human hands, Hugon thought, with a slight chill. It could be the foundation of a building, a long course of gigantic blocks that seemed to melt back into the rocky hillside.

But the blocks were huge, smooth masses of something that looked like black volcanic glass, and each fitted to the next with hairline tightness. Looking at them, Hugon could not think of any craftsmen of his world who could work such stone so well.

“It’s only a wall,” Zamor said, and prodded at it with his sheathed sword. “Anyone could have built it.”

But Gwynna was looking at it, her fine-boned face pale.

“Could anyone?” she said, in a low voice, and turned away.

There was nothing else for another quarter of a mile; then, they came to the road.

It began in the gray beach sand, and ran, straight as an arrow’s flight, inland. Wide, and made of the same glassy black stuff, it was certainly a road.

“Well, now,” Zamor said. “A road goes to a place, doesn’t it? A village, perhaps, or a castle…”

“I saw another road like this, back among the pines,” Hugon said. “It ran a short distance, and stopped.
From nowhere to nowhere.
You’ll perceive that this one appears to begin nowhere.”

“No reason for both ends of a road to resemble each other,” Zamor pointed out, and turned, to stride forward along the black stone. “It’s easier walking than yonder gravel, anyway.”

The rest followed.

The road ran, slanting slightly upward, but undeviatingly straight, between piled ridges of rock on which the twisted pines grew sparsely. The sun was higher now, and the air warmer; it suddenly occurred to Hugon that their only drink was the wine in that single jar they had brought from the beach, slung now on Zamor’s shoulder.

“Fraak?” he said, softly. The dragonet peered down from Hugon’s shoulder.

“Could you fly up, and look about?” Hugon asked. “Look for water, especially… a pool, perhaps, or a river. Or people.”

Fraak trilled a falling note. “I do!” he said, and launched himself from Hugon’s shoulder, wings beating, upward at a sharp angle. The group of people stood, watching the dragonet flying higher and higher, until he was only a speck against the brightness. He circled in wide swooping curves; then he descended, arrowing almost straight down with folded wings, until he was dangerously close to the ground. His wings opened, with an audible snap, and he swooped in, to Hugon’s shoulder.

“Eeee!”
Fraak cried excitedly; his wings opened and closed, and he panted puffs of pale smoke. “I saw something!”

“All right, all right, be calm,” Hugon told the little dragonet, stroking its scales. “What did you see?”

“Something!”
Fraak panted.
“Big, big, moving.
There, there, that side, and that side!”

Zamor’s hand dropped to his sword hilt; Hazarsh and Gorash stared at the rocky slopes, and Gorash muttered something under his breath. Gwynna made no sign, except that her green eyes widened somewhat. “What was moving, Fraak?
People?
Animals?”

“No, no, not people,” Fraak said, and moved his whiskers in a puzzled way. “Not animals.
Like people, but bigger, and not right.
Long arms, long, long arms, and all gray. Many! Hugon, we run, run, now!”

“Long arms and gray color?”
Zamor asked, frowning. “What could that be? Little lizardkin, what did you see, anyway?”

“I am afraid!” Fraak said, and snapped his wings again. “Please, run! Run!”

“It might be a fine notion to take his advice,” Gwynna said. Hazarsh had already done so; he was pelting away, down the road in the direction from which they had come, back toward the sea. Gorash was behind him, but not far behind.

“No!” Fraak squalled, suddenly, rising a few feet in the air, and then settling back on Hugon’s shoulder. He flapped with wild agitation, crying out again. “No, no, wrong way!”

Hazarsh was a tiny form, now, far down the road.

Then, from either side, something moved, coming out of the gray rock, something that seemed almost the same color as the rock
Whatever
they were, they were twice the size of the running figure; erect, walking… but they were not men. Two came from one side, and three from the other, moving with surprising speed, and blocking Hazarsh’s path. He seemed to stop and try to run back, but there was another behind him.

Gorash, still a distance behind Hazarsh, had turned, and was returning at an even faster speed, head downward and arms flailing wildly. The gray shapes hid Hazarsh briefly; then they seemed to move back into the slopes. And Hazarsh was… gone.

“Run away!” Fraak cried again. Hugon shuddered, staring back down the road; he grasped Gwynna’s hand with his left, and drew the long blade with his right. Beside him Zamor’s sword slid out, with a snicking sound.

“Let’s make haste,” Hugon said, making an effort to sound calm. Gwynna’s hand tightened suddenly on his own as they began to move. Then, gasping horribly, Gorash arrived; he was unable to run farther, but he kept on, moving as fast as he could, choking out words as he went.

“Demons!” he choked, looking back at the others.
“Gh-ghosts!
No…
FACES!”
He staggered on, his breath tearing in huge gulps.

Hugon broke into a trot, and Gwynna with him; Zamor came beside them, his sword out, his long legs loping easily along.

“No… faces, he… says!” Hugon panted.
“Sounds… inconvenient!”

Zamor barked a deep laugh, but with a note of tension; and the dragonet lifted into the air, sailing just over their heads and uttering a rising and falling whistle of excitement.

Then, just ahead, Hugon saw the odd structure, and called out, pointing. It was atop the ridge on the right of the road, a round, squat tower of black stone. As they came closer, abreast of it, it loomed against the sky; a narrow path led from the road, up to a single narrow doorway in the tower’s wall. Hugon came to a stop, panting.

“Zamor, look there!” he puffed. “Like… a guard tower, it might be… one door, and no windows!”

“Better than an open place like this,” Zamor said, staring at it. “Unless… ah, but there’s nothing alive in that.” He began to mount the path, and the others followed. Gorash, seeing them go, returned, and went up after the other three, chattering with fear as he went.

Zamor, at the narrow doorway of the tower, paused to stare into the shadowy interior; he turned, and called out, “Empty!”

Then, they were all inside, gasping for breath; Hugon leaned against a wall and stared about him, while Gorash collapsed in a gibbering heap, and Gwynna leaned on Hugon’s shoulder, her breath coming hard.