The Return of Kavin (7 page)

In the silence, Hugon felt cold. He listened, trying to understand.

“Think now of worlds folded upon worlds, time turning upon itself like the spiral shell of a sea worm, and days that return again, the same yet changing,” the old man said. His eyes held steady, earnest. “Yesterday becomes today… and today, yesterday, and worlds spread on, through an endless time and space… and only one thing remains constant and real through the spinning mist.
One thing alone.”
He stared, hard, into Hugon’s eyes.
“The living spark that shapes itself, into man.
Or into other beasts,
who
live, spawn, and die… but the spark lives.”

“This I know already,” Zamor said in his deep voice. “We are taught, in our Almor lodge…”

“Were you taught this, too?” Thuramon asked.
“That a man may live in two, in a hundred places and times… at once?
That he may move in many worlds at once, in one as a prince,
another a
beggar… or that his life may fold backward upon itself, so that he meets his own form in a shadowed street?”

Zamor grunted. “Certain things were told us,” he said. “And we also learned that other things should not be told.”

“Now, there’s wisdom,” Hugon said.

Thuramon paused a moment, then went on. “Kavin… returned, as the tale has it. But Kavin… not another Kavin, understand, the same Kavin… slept, gripped in the sorcery of the creature called Ess. A third Kavin, too, had once passed through such a magic… but I will not speak of that. Then, Kavin awoke, and returned at last, to find a land grown great, and his name a legend.”

“That’s like the ballad of Ernas the Lost,” Hugon said, slowly. “How he spent a night in a magic hall, and came back to find he had been gone a hundred years…”

“And it might be that tale was true, too,” Thuramon said. “Kavin returned, as Ernas did. But, in one way, the Great Goddess gave him a gift… unearned, like most of
Her
gifts. That in spite of his rejection of that
Goddess,
thrice repeated.”

“She is known to be whimsical,” Hugon said.

“Indeed,” Thuramon said. “Whimsical. I said that Kavin came back, to a land that had forgotten him except as a tale, ruled by his distant descendants… and there was still one who waited.
A curious… person.
You may say a witch woman, if you like; one not at all
like
other women, but still… more a woman than most. She had waited for Kavin. Now his wishes are fulfilled. He did not wish to be a ruler, and he is no ruler; he desired peace, and he has it.”

Hugon stared. “You speak as if he lived… now?”

“He does,” Thuramon said. “He is horse master to a lord of Koremon… one of his own
descent
. He lives, contentedly, with a fine woman… who is, to all appearances, no more than a woman… beside a lake, in which he sometimes fishes.”

Hugon leaned back and blew a deep breath, eyes wide.

“Now there’s a tale,” he said, quietly.

“A tale, indeed,” Zamor said. “Lord Snake, what a tale. This Kavin, then… he’s found what he wishes, eh?”

“Certainly,” Thuramon said, and he smiled, wryly. “So, surely he will be discontented, in due time.”

“Wait, now,” Hugon said. “If that’s so… then who returned to Koremon, as the story has it? Who ruled, in Kavin’s name, spawned my own ancestor and all the rest… and who’s buried there in Kavin’s tomb?
Some imposter?”

“Kavin himself,” Thuramon said. “Both are the same.”

“I don’t understand,” Hugon said, and shrugged.

“I didn’t think you would,” Thuramon told him. The warlock began to smile, slowly and disquietingly. “You too have a most curious fate, young man… and I doubt not you will find it just as hard to understand, though you struggle a lifetime’s worth.”

“Ah, now, no prophecy, please!”
Hugon cried, grinning. “Look you, old sir, I’m willing to believe your tale, take my oath I do. But my blood’s been cooled enough… no more wizardry for now, I beg you. Those strange wee books you’ve got there… have they more of these mysteries in ‘em? Or maybe these Old Ones liked a comic tale, or a romance, as we common humans do… or possibly there’s a bawdy verse written there? Can you read them?”

Thuramon chuckled. “There might be anything here… even what you suggest, though I doubt it. No, I cannot read them, not with ease. A few words, here and there…” He sighed. “There’s the lengthy work before me. Somewhere, among these books, or in those other things you helped me carry, there’s a secret I require. I think I found the correct books… but it will be very long before I find that key, itself.”

“What key?” Hugon asked.
“Something of magic, then?”

“Call it that,” Thuramon said. “A key… that will find a way back for me… no, I can’t say more.”

Hugon was silent for a while. The talk had disturbed him. Yet he could not understand why that should be so, and that fact also disturbed him. He leaned back, and stared at Gwynna’s straight back, in the forward end, biting his lip.

Finally, he stood up and made his way forward, to pause just behind her.

“My Lady,” he said, quietly.

“I would prefer not to speak with you,” she said, distantly.

“Will you accept my compliments, at least?” he said.

“Compliments?
Her eyes blazed, as she looked back at him.
“A compliment, from you?
I’d prefer an insult.”

“You have a fine handed way with a meal, lady,” he said, smiling down at her.
“And with a sword.
Also, you held the march with us, without complaint. For all that, accept compliment.”

“Spit your damned flattery on a rusty swordblade, and go sit upon it,” she said, in a level voice.

Hugon chuckled, and returned to the after end, smiling.

“Ah, but that’s a fine lass,” he said, to Zamor.
“A fine, fine lass.”
And he chuckled again.

FOUR

A stiff morning breeze propelled the boat along the green coast of Lower Koremon. Ahead, the dark mass of rock lifted on the horizon; the fabled Isle of Dragons. The boat tacked, and sailed through the sound that lay between that island and the mainland of Koremon itself. On Thuramon’s advice, they kept as well away from that dark rock as possible; but even so, Hugon saw a distant flying thing, high overhead, that was no bird. He watched it as he steered. It slanted down toward the island and vanished there.

Fraak perched on the prow, his triangular head lifted,
his
bright eyes following that distant flight with silent wonder. As he watched, his wings lifted, moving uneasily, and he sang a low deep note.

“Like me?” Fraak asked, turning his head.
“Eee?”

“Like you, handsome one,” Thuramon told him. “But a great deal larger.” He scratched the dragonet’s head.
“And wiser, small one.
Much wiser.”

“Not as pretty?” Fraak asked.

“Well. Probably not,” Thuramon said, and chuckled quietly.

Hugon glanced at the dragonet and laughed; then, he watched the shore again, intently.

Far ahead, white sails lifted on the horizon, a ship that moved across the boat’s course, going landward. Now it was visible, a tall-prowed, round-bellied merchantman, rolling in the swell.

“That one would be going into Drakosa town,” Thuramon said. “There, you can see towers, and the outer seawall.”

Hugon steered in the merchant’s wake, watching the town grow clearer on the skyline. Now, a slim swift ship came, sliding past toward the open sea, a long pennant flying from its topmast; and on the beam, Hugon saw the masts of fishing boats in a distant convey. Gulls wheeled overhead, crying.

“Now my day of ease is over,” Hugon said, gloomily. He shifted on the seat and sighed.

“What’s your woe, brother?” Zamor, who had been lying with closed eyes on a fold of sail, sat up on one elbow, grinning at Hugon. “Ah, there’s the town! Ha!” He stretched and licked his lips. “I swear by the Snake, I’ll not set foot on any ship again if I’m not compelled to at sword’s point…”

“We’ve problems in plenty,” Hugon said. He jerked his thumb at the still-aloof Gwynna. “There’s our prime one. The warlock here’s told me much about the customs of Koremon, and it seems we’ll have to be watchful, or our bird will fly.”

Zamor looked inquiring.
“Customs?”

“If she’s called a slave, we’ll have no right to bring her ashore,” Hugon said. “They’ve a law against it, being civilized folk. She’ll never keep her teeth together, damn it; the moment we’re ashore, she need only cry for the civil protection, and we’ve no merchandise left. Ah, well…” He shrugged.

“I hadn’t any special wish to become rich,” Zamor said, teeth flashing. “Not woman-selling, at any rate.”

“Ah, but I did,” Hugon said. “Never having had more than two or three gold pieces together, I wondered what it might be like to have… oh, a bagful. Possibly to ride home to the glen with a jingling pocket, on a fine horse…”

Thuramon listened, and now he leaned closer, with a thin smile, stroking his beard.

“You’ve done me some small service, you two,” he said, in a low voice, and glanced at the girl’s back. “Also… I’ve another reason for… ah, assisting the gods’ will, as it concerns you, Hugon. Will you accept my assistance?” Hugon felt a warning memory; magicians’ help was often a surprisingly overpriced article, he thought.
But still…

“Assistance?”

“A small spell,” Thuramon said. “I must admit, in spite of long years of study, there are still many things I cannot do.
To render a woman tame and venomless, permanently…
I doubt any warlock can manage so mighty a wonder. But to calm her, and make her silent… or as silent as she can be, without injuring her to any degree… that, I may do.”

“Hm.”
Hugon considered the matter.

“Best speak soon, young man,” Thuramon said. “There’s the quayside in sight.”

“It would seem the only way,” Hugon muttered. “Do it, then.”

Thuramon rose, and moved toward the prow. He called out, in a soft voice, “My Lady Gwynna.”

She turned, and looked up toward him. He drew something from his sleeve, a small bright
object, that
swung from a silver chain, and held it out, swinging it slowly.

“See… see…” Thuramon said, in a low, singing voice. He was staring down at the girl, whose eyes seemed glassy, as she watched. Now, he bent lower, and began to whisper in her ear. She sat, eyes fixed, as he backed slowly away; she seemed not to see anything.

Thuramon continued to move back, till he came to the steering seat, where Hugon waited; he lowered his plump body down, grinning.

“Now, lad, take this,” Thuramon said, holding out the bright object. Hugon took it, and looked at it; it was a small, flat disc of crystal, on which an odd, angular letter had been deeply cut. It was suspended from a thin silver chain; and as it lay in his palm, it seemed almost living, warm.

“The lady will do as you say,” Thuramon told him.
“At least, in most things.
Only an amateur of the Art would guarantee what a woman will do in all particulars, certainly not I. And the spell will last at least an hour or two, possibly as long as half a day, though no longer. She will awake, then, with no memory of what has happened, but completely herself again.”

“Herself,” Hugon said, flatly. “Oh, well…”

“Wait,” Thuramon told him. “Keep that bauble; whenever it seems necessary, you need only show it to her, and in a moment, she will again be as she is now.”

“Ah,” Hugon said, more cheerfully. He put the jewel away.

“But there’s a slight flaw.”

“I thought as much.”

“Each time ‘tis used, she will resist it more,” Thuramon said. “The duration of her enchantment will grow a little shorter each time, and then, at last, the time will come when the jewel will no longer work at all. I cannot say how often it can be used; a dozen times, possibly more. But not much more, you understand. So, use it sparingly, with care.”

Hugon glanced ahead; the girl still sat, eyes fixed. He called out, “Gwynna, come here.”

The long quays of the city were closer. Hugon watched the girl as she came obediently toward him, and kept an eye on the nearing docks as well. She stood, waiting, and he told her to sit down. She did it, without a word.

“Gods,” Hugon said fervently, and paid attention to his task again. The boat swung and ran in beside a stone wharf; Zamor leaped ashore, and drew a line around a squat pillar, tying it. Then, Thuramon lifted his treasures ashore, handling them as if they were children, delicately.

A man in an embroidered cloak, and a jerkin with a glittering emblem on its front, was descending to the dock, followed by two fat individuals bearing staves. Hugon, looking up, had no doubt that these were Drakosa’s civic guards; in all towns, he thought, such functionaries seem to have the same look.

But they seemed to know Thuramon; the cloaked man bent, in a deep courtesy, to greet him.

“These others are guests of mine,” Thuramon told the man, with an inclusive gesture. “There’s no need to require a port tax.” And the fellow departed, with a few more bows.

Hugon lifted the girl ashore, and followed her himself.

“You seem to be a citizen, here,” he said to Thuramon.

“I have a sentimental feeling for the town,” Thuramon said. “I returned here, a few years ago, and keep a house in the city. Ah, that reminds me. Would you gentlemen care to aid me in carrying these small matters?” He indicated the sack and the other things.

“Why not?”
 Zamor said, and gathered up a load; Hugon followed suit. Fraak, chuckling, settled on his shoulder, and the girl followed, her eyes still empty. They followed the warlock up the stone stair to the level of the street.

The streets that led into the town were crowded with people, busy with life and noise. As the four moved through the narrow roads, Hugon and Zamor stared about, curious as a pair of country yokels, and Fraak’s head swiveled to and fro as he too drank in the sights.

The houses were tall and ornate, brightly painted in many colors, and the town was cleaner to Hugon’s nose than many such places where he had been before. The people looked to be a handsome, cheerful-looking breed; they were much like the Meryon folk from whom they had come. Hugon noticed that there was another type as well, small, brown-skinned folk who seemed to mix with the others on equal terms.

They passed into a broad square, lined with ancient trees, past a squat round temple that bore the glyph of Orcas, the Sea God; across the rooftops Hugon glimpsed the arches of other temples. A tolerant place, he thought, recalling that these people worshipped the Great Mother in their own tradition; but it seemed evident that they permitted other gods as well.

He saw men of a dozen races passing; once, a couple of kilted Grothans, and then a white-robed, hawk-nosed nomad of the western plain beyond the sea. There were three or four sallow men with slanting eyes, dressed in furs and barbaric jewelry, 
who
 passed chattering in a singing tongue that Hugon did not recognize. And there were still others of nations that he did not know; seamen and traders, he guessed, from the general look of them.

Thuramon turned up a street lined with busy shops, where merchants chattered loudly with buyers; past shelves loaded with all sorts of goods.

“Great Snake, what I’d give for such a spell as you’ve 
laid
 on that lass,” Zamor observed, grinning. “Look there, Hugon. She’s passed every shop without turning her head. If I could use such sorcery on my own wives…”

Thuramon beckoned them on. They turned into a broader, less noisy street, lined with tall houses, and came at last to a low green door in a white wall. Thuramon knocked.

The door swung open almost at once; a squat, extremely hairy man stood there, so short that he was almost a dwarf. He grinned up at Thuramon, and bounced on his heels, making a curious chittering sound as he swung the door wide, but saying nothing.

“Come, and welcome to my humble home,” Thuramon said, and they followed him within; the hairy one closed the door behind them and bounced ahead, still chittering.

They were in a garden, where oddly shaped trees overhung neat plots of flowers and herbs. Beyond, the white stone front of a great house rose, and a wider door stood open on a broad hall. Two more of the hairy servitors stood waiting, dressed, like the first, in brown leather, and like him uttering pleased and wordless sounds, and bouncing up and down.

“Sir 
wizard
,” Zamor said, staring at those servants, “if I offend, forgive me… but there’s something most familiar about these housemen of yours. Haven’t I seen their like swinging in trees in my own land?”

Thuramon glanced at him and chuckled. “True,” he said. “They are indeed apes. I find them the best of servants, being cleaner and more dexterous than some of human kind… and also, they cannot speak any word of human kind, and therefore do not gossip at all.”

He led them into the great hall and paused, motioning to an ape servant. The servant took their bundles, gathering all together in his long arms, and scuttled away purposefully. Another servant grinned and bounced on his heels, waiting.

“This one will lead you to your rooms,” Thuramon said. “You may remain my guests as long as you wish. I myself am a somewhat solitary sort, and may seem lacking in politeness… forgive me, if you will, if I am not seen often.” He paused, pulling his beard thoughtfully, and stared at the girl. She stood, like a statue, staring at nothing. “There’s another matter, however,” the warlock said, slowly. “Are you still resolved to hold this woman to some ransom?”

Hugon shrugged. “If possible,” he said.

“As you wish,” Thuramon said. “But in this, I will not aid you, beyond that small spell I gave you. Nor hinder you, either. If you can keep the girl, do so. But she is clever, and no law of this land will aid you to hold her.” He sighed. “For a time, until you decide your course, I will instruct my servants not to permit her to leave this house. But I will do no more, and if she insists, I must give way finally.”

Hugon nodded. “Understood,” he said. “I’ll ask no more than that, and thank you for so much.”

In the upper story of the house, there were high-ceilinged, cool rooms, furnished richly; and to Hugon’s vast pleasure, a great pool of warm water steamed in a marble-walled room beyond the others. Glancing into that room, he chuckled with pleasure, and scratched his salt-crusted head, anticipating.

Hugon took the girl’s arm, and led her into one of the rooms; he had her sit down, and left her there. In another room, he found Zamor, already busy with a table full of hot food that a hairy servant had brought. The big black glanced up, grinning, his mouth full.

“Mmpf! he said, gesturing. “You’ll find some fine bits of clothing piled there… ought to tickle your foppish ways, brother. It’s a fine host indeed, our wizard is.”

“A bath’ll be even more to the point,” Hugon said. “I’ve gone unwashed since I was first flung into the galleys, except for rain and the sea. I’m off to drown my fleas. Save some of that wine for me, eh?”

When he returned, Zamor was sprawled on a pile of furs, grunting in satiate comfort; and there was still ample food and wine left, which Hugon assaulted. Zamor, opening one eye, commented on the other’s newly donned finery with a deep laugh.

“I don’t deny it, friend Zamor,” Hugon said, and selected a fat bird from his plate. “I’ve a touch of peacock in my nature, but it does no harm. Alas, it’s a world where a man’s judged too readily by his cloak and not his works.”

“How long, think you, will it be before the girl returns to 
herself
?” Zamor asked, closing his eyes again.

“I’ve no idea,” Hugon said. He drank some wine, and pushed back his chair. “But I’ve regained my strength to deal with her, thanks to Lord Thuramon’s excellent cook… whoever or whatever that one is.”