The Return of Kavin (9 page)

Hugon looked at her in silence. Finally, “Stab me! I do think you’re speaking truth!”

“I am,” she said. “If you were not such an honest man… no, I mean the word… you could know nothing of the black webs of intrigue in the court of the Emperor and among the lords and great ones of Mazain. Like… like nothing else on earth.”

“I may not be quite 
so
 ignorant of those things as you think, lady,” Hugon told her, “Then, your wealth, and your husband’s estates…”

“By now, a hundred kinsmen are tearing those estates to fragments,” she said. 
“Each with a train of lawspeakers, and a retinue of forgers creating false documents daily.
 Not one of Barazan’s kinsmen would aid my return, believe me. 
Ransom?
 Why, there are some of my cousins-by-marriage who’d gladly pay you for evidence of my death.”

“So,” Hugon said, and stared down at his plate. 
“And so much for my attack of… honorable feelings.
 
Why, by the Great Mother, I’m not even given the choice of doing rightly, damn it.”

“Now, friend,” Zamor said, and grinned. “Can we not make the other arrangement and hand the lady over to your own king?”

Hugon looked up. “Well… no. No, I think not.”

“Sometimes…” Gwynna said, in a low voice, “
sometimes
 I think I would accept the axe for a day in Armadoc again.” She sighed.

Zamor looked at her gravely. “As I would see Numori land again,” he said in a low voice.

Hugon looked from one to the other. “Well, I don’t pine for the windy glens of home, myself,” he said, but then, “not… too often at any rate. And I need only remember my oath, taken loudly in my clan’s hall the day I left… that I’d return only when I’d made both fame and fortune.” He grinned. “Wherefore, my clansmen bade me goodbye forever, having no confidence at all in me.

“But you 
could
 return, if you chose,” Gwynna said. “Or Zamor could.”

“I shall,” Zamor said. “One day… though it’ll be a long journey. You know where Numori lies?”

“North of the Empire of Mazain,” Hugon said. “But that’s like saying nothing at all; there’s much land north, and no maps worth having of it all.”

“That’s the worm in the winecup,” Zamor said. “The Empire lies sprawled across any path I might take to my own land. And I’ve no ambition to find myself back in the Empire’s grip, or pulling another oar in one of their galleys.” He leaned back and sighed. “It may be a long road home. 
Around the edges of the world, so to speak.
 For instance, I might find a ship from here to northern lands, even as far as Thulan. Thence, cross the northern end of the Middle Sea at the narrowest part, and go into the hot lands there, where there are jungles and naked savages…” His eyes became intense. “And then southward again, till I come to the Numori kingdoms… it is possible.”

Hugon nodded. “It could be done, though a long journey, as you say. But I wonder…” He frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve heard tales of an ancient land, like a great island, east of here…”

“East, from Koremon?”
 Zamor shook his head. “No. This is the most easterly of all the kingdoms of men. There’s nothing south but the sea of ice, nothing east but the world’s edge. And anyway, brother, 
it’s
 north and west I’d want; there’s Numori. What’s east to do with it?”

Hugon stared at the big black man. “Why, if one sailed east, in time you’d come upon the western shores of the Empire, of course. 
Or the deserts, north of the Empire.
 Unless there’s another land, in the east, between… as I said, there are tales.”

“East, to end in the west?”
 Zamor looked at Hugon, puzzled.

“But the world’s round, man,” Hugon told him. “Round, like an apple, d’you 
see
?”

“Oh, come,” Zamor said, and laughed. 
“More of your joking?”

“No, I swear it,” Hugon said. “Many wise men, nowadays, know of this. 
Some seamen, too.
 In the Imperial Schools, for example, there is a map, made in the form of a globe… and I’ve seen another such in the schools in Grotha…”

“Round, you say?” Zamor said again. “Well. Round, then, though only the Snake knows how that can be… but round, or shaped like a dish, or whatever, I’ve no taste for sailing any more than I have to, and certainly not into a sea I don’t know. Man, I 
know
 my way home, as it is.” He chuckled. “And I’m in no great hurry, anyway. Numori will remain where it has always been till I get there. Eh, now, you could come with me, brother. I’ll find you a pair of fine plump girls for wives, and there’s all else you could ask for in life there. 
Why not?”

Hugon grinned. 
“Why not, indeed?
 Who knows, I may do that!”

Gwynna looked from one to the other and laughed, sharply.

“Gods, I’d give anything to be a man, and free to choose any road I wanted,” she said in a bitter voice. “The two of you, with nothing to hold you anywhere…”

“And not much to pay our way with, either,” Hugon pointed out.

She put her chin in her hands, looking down at the table. “While 
I
… I dare not go back to Armadoc, and I am a stranger in this land. And who knows what’s left for me in Mazain…” Her eyes were shadowed. “Except what I’ve already had of it, and that’s more than I wanted.”

Both men were silent, looking at the girl. Hugon shrugged, “I’ve no advice, lady. Though… well, if the warlock can ever be brought away from his treasure of books, Thuramon might…”

“Thuramon might do what?”

The warlock stood in the door of the room, looking at the three. Hugon pushed back his chair and stood up.

“Why, give the lady the benefit of your wisdom, sir,” Hugon said. “A wizard as learned as you are might aid her to decide her fate.”

Thuramon’s eyes turned on Gwynna. “Decide? She chose her own fate long ago, as we all do. But, if she likes, I’ll give her this much.” He came toward the table, and Gwynna turned to look up at him. Hugon saw her eyes as she stared up at Thuramon; and for the first time since he had known her, there was fear in those green eyes.

“I do not need to read the lines of a hand, nor the stars of your birthdate,” Thuramon said, quietly. “By my Art, I will tell you this much. You have caused the death of men, which is no very important matter in the eyes of the gods; you have betrayed your sworn word, but so do most people, sooner or later. You are neither better nor worse than any other. I say this to you so that you may remember it while you live, woman.”

She continued to stare at him, her face growing paler; her tongue suddenly darted out, moistening her red lips, but she said nothing.

“Now,” Thuramon continued, “I shall give you this. You will find that which you have never possessed before, and you will wish for no other possession. You will be fortunate, more than most people are.” He chuckled grimly. “Such is the justice of the gods that you will never pay any price for the sorrows you have already caused… except if you freely choose to pay.”

Gwynna shuddered, her green eyes wide.

“I… don’t understand,” she said, in a low voice.

“Neither do 
I
,” Thuramon told her. He seemed to forget her at that, and turned toward Hugon. “But you…” The old man pulled his beard, scowling at Hugon. “I’ve no claim on you now, young man. I will compel nothing.”

“I’m glad of that,” Hugon said. “Since I’ve no doubt you could set me dancing jigs or crowing like a rooster if you wanted to. You’ve the air of someone who wants a service done, I think.” Hugon spread his hands wide apart. “Good warlock, I’m entirely at your service. I’ve all the time in the world; no work would be too hard, for your magnificent hospitality… and for such a breakfast as I’ve just had.”

“You’d best be careful with such offers,” Thuramon said sourly. “You might be taken seriously. 
In fact…
 I do intend to ask a service. 
But more of that later.
 
Now…
 I would bring you to meet a kinsman. He waits in my study.”

“By all means,” Hugon said. “Your kinsman…”

“No,” Thuramon said. 
“Yours.”

Hugon looked mildly surprised. Thuramon turned to the door. “Come,” he said shortly, and went out; Hugon followed.

The warlock led him along a wide stair, up to a heavy door, which opened at Thuramon’s lifted hand. Within, a huge room lay before Hugon’s eyes. There were odd devices ranged on the walls and on tables; towering shelves of books and rolls, and narrow windows closed with iron shutters. The room was lighted by lamps, though it was day.

But the man who stood at the other side of the room, his back to the door, was the central item in that room, to Hugon. As the door closed behind Thuramon and himself, he stared at the man’s back with a queer chilled feeling of… familiarity. He felt that he knew that man… but not merely knew him; that he was in some way, unbelievably, a part of him.

Then the man turned and put down the roll of parchment he had been reading; he stared at Hugon, silently.

To Hugon, it was as if he were looking into a mirror; it was his own face, and more. Not merely likeness, but something more subtle; an inwardness that was his own self, duplicated. And yet, the other was not like him, not in everything. He was older, by a few years, Hugon thought, though no more than that. Yet his hair was gray, silver-gray.

Thuramon looked from one to the other, and nodded, slowly, as if satisfied of something.

“Hugon of Kerrin,” Thuramon said, slowly, “
here
 is your kinsman, Kavin of Hostan, now called Orm.”

“Kavin… of Hostan,” Hugon repeated. The other regarded him, gravely silent.

“I… have heard such a name,” Hugon said with effort. 
“That prince Kavin who… no, of course not.”
 He looked at Thuramon, and back to the other. “Kavin, who returned here to be Koremon’s first king, long years ago. Who died and was most properly buried… or, according to you, Thuramon, did not die, but slept until this generation.” Hugon stopped, and shook his head. “No, really, I can’t believe that tale you told me, warlock. Who’s this, who looks so much like 
myself
? Come now, let’s cease playing these games.”

The man called Kavin smiled, and spoke. “It is the truth, Hugon of Kerrin. If you’ve trouble believing such things… well, so do I.”

Thuramon grunted, sourly. “And while you both stand and gawk, I must wait. Listen, now. This is indeed the same Kavin who came back to this land only a short time ago; took the name of Orm, and became master to one of his own descendants, it seems.” Thuramon glowered at both of them. 
“And took a wife, too.
 Not any ordinary woman, but a lady who…” The warlock stopped, coughed nervously, and glanced around the room. “A lady of great intelligence and charm.” he said. “In case she happens to be listening.”

Kavin laughed suddenly. “She could be,” he said.

“Listen, now,” Thuramon went on. “It seems I have much to explain to both of you, and little time to do it. 
To begin…
 I would ask your pardon, Prince Kavin.”

“For what?”
 Kavin asked. “But take it, in advance…”

“For a long deception,” Thuramon said, slowly. “For all that I did not speak of, in our former acquaintance. 
For the devices by which I caused the course of your life to be changed, and therefore for this time.”

He looked down at the long table, piled with books, and among them some of those tiny 
rolls
 from the island archive.

“I have nearly reached the secret I have been pursuing, for so long,” Thuramon said, his hand touching the books. “But I have also found much more, here, in these. Prince, I was born… elsewhere. Not in this familiar world of yours, but in a place…” Thuramon paused and shook his head. “A place, that to you would be nightmare. A world brought down by… wise men. I fled, and saved myself. Then, I learned that the evil which destroyed my world was creeping into this one as well. I came to that land called Dorada, as you know…”

Kavin’s mouth set into a grim line, and his eyes were bleak.

“Dorada,” he said.

“You were only a wild boy, then,” Thuramon said. “There was a ship, a white, beautiful ship; a sea-
gift,
 found adrift and brought to Dorada. You named it your Luck.”

“It lies here, in this city,” Kavin said, his voice distant. 
“An ancient trophy now.
 I… went and looked at it.”

“That ship came from another world, too, Prince. Not the same world as mine… but another. This world of yours is like a crossroads, where many pass through… here, there are the lost ships and the lost tribes of a hundred worlds,” Thuramon said. “But I used the gift of the ship, as I used other events, to turn you to the work I needed. Time and again, I turned the course of things toward the time… that time when you would do what you did. You came to the place where evil entered this world and closed the gate… and met the doom.”

Kavin looked at Thuramon directly. “I lived. And I gained my wishes. Doom, you say?” He glanced at Hugon. “It seems I left enough of my blood to put a face on this man that’s more like me than I find comfortable. I don’t understand how that can be, since… well, there it is, anyway.”

“My ancestor was called Brahon,” Hugon said. “He was the son of… of your daughter, the lady Isa.”

“MY daughter?”
 Kavin stared at him. “I left two sons, but no daughters…”

“The Kavin who ruled Koremon, for all those years, left a considerable progeny,” Thuramon interrupted. “No, wait. I must insist, for reasons I shall give you later. He 
was
 
yourself
, in complete truth.”

Kavin shrugged. “Very well, then he was,” he said. “He seems to have enjoyed himself, at least, kinging it here in Koremon.”

“Let me go on,” Thuramon said. “You met certain masters of that place, the valley of the Gate. You saw a body, one who seemed dead… and who resembled you as much as Hugon here does. And who was also yourself, Kavin; yourself, sleeping, not truly dead. 
But not alive, either.
 You have lived before, as all men do, and what you saw was the body you once were.”