Treachery of Kings (37 page)

C
OME LOOK AT THIS, BOTH OF YOU,” BUCERIUS
said, cupping his enormous hands above his brow. “I been expectin’ it, hoping it wouldn't be.”

At first Finn could see nothing against the glare of the eastern sky. Then, they were there, three small brightly colored spheres, very close together, somewhat higher than Bucerius’ balloon.

“They've caught a good current up there,” the Bullie said, clenching his fists around a heavy rope line. “Just fool luck is what it is. Isn't a balloonist anywheres who'd know it be there.”

“Anything we can do?”

The Bullie frowned at Finn. “Can't get up there, if that's what you mean. Not without tossin’ all of you out, which isn't too bad an idea. I can't dump ballast, neither. Isn't enough to do much good.”

“So we wait,” the seer said.

“They got a wind beats the Westerlies a mile. Might be we'll get us one too.”

Bucerius made no effort to pretend he thought such a miracle would happen anytime soon. …

“W
E'LL MAKE IT,” FINN ASSURED LETITIA. “WE'VE
come this far. Nothing can stop us now.”

He was well aware how absurd such words must sound, but Letitia was kind enough to say nothing at all. Even Julia Jessica Slagg kept her silence. In respect, Finn thought, of the tragedy that was about to befall.

“Bucerius says we've passed just south of the battleground, which means we're halfway, on the other side of the Swamp of Bleak Demise. Our side, and that's good. We've a way to go, of course”

Finn paused, for the sun had disappeared behind low purple clouds, and the breeze had picked up considerably, bringing the three balloons closer still. Now, the Heldessian coat of arms was quite clear on the flanks of the racing spheres.

“If the velocity of the wind remains the same at our level and theirs,” Julia said, “they will approach us less than a hundred and seven feet above us on a south-southwesterly course. In about nine minutes, I believe.”

“Shut up,” Finn told her. “I'm sure our captain doesn't need any navigational help from you.”

“No, I don't,” Bucerius said, looking somewhat appalled. “I don't, but that ugly's near right.”

“I shall say no more,” Julia said.

“Good. That's a splendid idea.”

“Finn,” the seer shouted, “over here!”

Finn moved quickly to Oberbyght's side.

“See that? In the first balloon? I'm certain that's Maddigern himself. Right below the guiding cords.”

“I don't see how you can tell.”

“Trust me. That's him, for sure. I'd know that brute anywhere”

A flash of bright light, then a thunderous roar reached Finn's ears. Something like an angry hornet whined by overhead.

“Damn ‘em all,” Bucerius said, gripping the basket's side. “It's muskets they be using. They mean to bring us down.”

Another flash, and another after that. The first shot missed, but the second tore at the craft's tangle of cords. Finn could see now that Maddigern was the sole musketeer. One of his Guardsmen would hand him a loaded weapon, and take the empty back.

Another shot ripped away a section of the webbing that held the bloated sphere intact. The balloon dipped, swayed drunkenly, and righted itself again.

“He's a better than fair shooter,” Finn said. “Next time he'll hit the bag itself!”

“No, he won't be doin’ that.” Bucerius looked grim. “He's not trying to kill us, he's trying to take us down.”

Finn showed his surprise, for he failed to understand.

“He hits the bag, we'll go up in a ball of fire,” Bucerius explained. “If he cuts enough of them lines—which is what he's doin’ now—he knows I'll have to set her down ‘fore we lose control.”

The Bullie paused. “He wants his princess back, don't you see? With us stuck down in that killin’ swamp, it's him that'll have the winning hand, not us.

“He can land enough louts to finish us off, ‘less we give her back.”

“He will, too,” said DeFloraine-Marie, tossing them all a haughty glance. “You'd best do what he says, Bullie. He'll show you no mercy if you don't let me go.”

Her words were nearly lost as Maddigern fired again. The wicker basket sagged dangerously, as cords parted with a whine overhead.

“That damn near does it,” Bucerius cursed. “Another shot an’ I got to put her down.”

“And submit to him? A stinking Badgie?” The seer's face darkened with rage. “I'll give him something to ponder, he thinks he can stand up to me!”

The sorcerer raised his hands high above his head and shouted at the wind, trembled and shook, swelled up like the great bloated sphere above. From his mouth spewed a gabble, a blabber, a meaningless jabber that made Finn's hair stand on end.

Then, to Finn's horror, the balloon next to Maddigern's blossomed into a white ball of fire, a small and blinding sun. Finn heard the horrid shrieks of pain from the craft as it disappeared from sight.

“No, don't,” Finn shouted. “Leave them be. We don't have to do that!”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the second sphere seared Finn's eyes and vanished in a wink.

He's playing with him, taunting him, saving him till the last….

Oberbyght raised his hands high once more, and Finn could see Maddigern clearly, his features betraying no expression at all.

Finn gripped his hands tightly together, and brought them down soundly at the base of Oberbyght's skull. The sorcerer collapsed without a sound and fell limply to the basket's floor.

Finn glanced at the Badgie once more. Maddigern knew what had happened, but he didn't move an inch.

“Get a line ‘cross her shoulders,” Finn called out. “Let her down, quickly, and let that maniac see!”

Bucerius nodded. DeFloraine-Marie's eyes widened, but she didn't protest.

“We're driftin’, losing it fast,” the Bullie said. “I can't hold her up long.”

“We don't have to. He knows that.”

The princess didn't say a word as she tossed the Bullie's blanket aside and lifted her legs over the rim of the basket. She caught Finn watching and grinned. Then the Bullie lowered her slowly away, down to the dark, tangled mass of green below.

Maddigern held off to the right, watching the princess descend. Finally, she touched the ground lightly in a small clearing, loosed the line and waved, then stood there and waited, huddled against the chill.

“We can make a couple of miles,” Bucerius said. “Can't promise much after that.”

“You'll do what you can,” Finn said. He glanced at Letitia, then turned and looked back.

“He's going down to get her. He's not concerned with us.”

“Fine.
I'm
concerned with us,” the Bullie said, “for there's many a craft what's gone down in the Swamp of Bleak Demise, but I never heard of one comin’ out again. …”

I
'LL GET YOU FOR THIS, FINN, BY DAMN, I PROMISE
you that,” said the seer. “My head's about to split, and I expect there's extensive damage that's yet to unfold.”

“I expect you'd best save your strength,” Finn said. “We've a long way to go and it's coming on night.”

“A long
way?”
Bucerius gave a weary laugh. “There isn't no end to this swamp, not for more miles than you can count. And I doubt we'll last the night. Not with all the monstrous things that be roaming wild in this place.”

“What kind of things would that be?” “I just said. Monstrous things.” “I haven't seen any yet.”

“You won't, neither. Not till you're inside one of their gullets lookin’ out.”

T
HE SWAMP, INDEED, WAS A STRANGE AND ALIEN
place, with its enormous trees, stale black water, and great fleshy plants. Vines as thick as a man coiled around every tree in a vicious stranglehold. Yet, except for annoying swarms of bugs, no monsters had shown up in the night. And, as a new day appeared through the thicket overhead, everyone save the seer seemed no worse for wear.

“You should never have let that savage go,” Oberbyght
complained, as he hunched before the small fire, eating a peculiar spotted fruit Letitia had found.

“You don't know their kind, or you'd have let me finish him off. What you have to do, boy, is get them before they get you.”

“I have no love for Maddigern,” Finn said, “but I don't think returning savagery with worse than savage acts makes us better than them.”

The seer made a noise in his throat and waved Finn's words away.

“It's a wonder you've stayed alive with fool thoughts like that. You don't know what that cunning fellow did to me. I made a good, honest living before Maddigern came along. My great-great-grandfather came up with the bit about the Deeply Entombed, and handed the business down. It's been smooth sailing ever since.

“By damn, there was a first-class seer. I'm good, mind you, but no one was ever as great as old Unterbyght himself. No one can conjure up something like that bell anymore. Not today, they can't. ‘Course
he
could figure when the fool thing'd go off. I confess, I never got the hang of that.”

“Blocks and Socks,” Finn said. “I'd be shamed to admit I had a hand in anything as cruel and vile!”

“What?” Oberbyght winced, as a fresh pain shot through his head. “My family performed a
service
, boy. Everyone has to believe in something, you know. And the royals love it. Always have.”

“But it's not something real,” Letitia said. “It's just something made up.”

“Well, yes, but they don't know that. There's the thing about your first-rate religion, young lady. If you know what it's about, it's no good at all.

“I would have been fine, if I hadn't brought Maddigern in. I didn't exactly
bring
him in, you understand. He stumbled on the thing and I had to go for thirty
percent. Offerings aren't what they used to be, I'll tell you that. This King's a miser, is what he is.”

“And DeFloraine-Marie,” Finn said.

The seer's mouth curled in disgust. “It was always an uneasy thing between Maddigern and me. But it wasn't too bad until she came along. That's why I had to get out.

“I know Maddigern killed Dostagio, of course, not you. I expect the poor fellow caught the Badgie with the lady somewhere. Dostagio was a loyal servant. Would have gone straight to the King.”

Finn shook his head in disbelief. “And I thought Llowenkeef-Grymm was a fool for believing all that nonsense about eternal naps. I suppose he was, but they were all duped by you and your scheming kin.”

“Someone's got to do it,” Oberbyght said, looking hurt, looking pained, at Finn's remarks. “I don't see why it shouldn't be me. …”

L
ATE IN THE AFTERNOON, WILTED BY THE DEADLY
heat eternally trapped within the great swamp, Finn stopped his party by a small patch of dry land, under the thick bole of an ancient tree. Insects whined about his head, and a very ugly fish turned lazily in the dark and fetid stream.

Across the water, deep within the shadow of a strangled grove of trees, a veil, a milky haze, rose above the dank and odorous ground.

Finn stood and watched a moment, for he was ever fascinated by the constant, smoky mist that hugged the earth in this primeval place. The world might have been this way in ancient times, or so some scholars said. There might well have been monsters here, as well, far more vicious than the ones in Bucerius’ head…

Then, as if a cloudy mask had slipped away, he saw this misty world for what it was, a host of wispy phantoms, the
specters, grisly ghosts, huddled silently across the way. Coldies, the lifeless, the husks, the lonely dead. Hundreds of them, thousands, likely more than that, simply watching from the dark.

Here, then, was the host of sorrowful wraiths, the forgotten armies of the present and the past, who had roamed the Swamp of Bleak Demise for seven hundred years.

Did they remember, he wondered, did they recall the horrors that had brought them here? Sadly, he was certain that they did, for he had learned from others of their kind that death seemed to bring small comfort from the worrisome sphere of life. …