Virtue Inverted

by Piers Anthony

  “Jack, when have I ever gotten anyone in any trouble? You treat us like a couple of vagabonds!” He nodded for Benny to hop onto the seat.

  “Look out for him, Cyc.” Jack yelled to the bearded man. They both nodded at each other, as if sharing some unknown agreement.

  Benny waved goodbye to Jack one final time, and shouted a farewell to Nadia and Nap, who’d barreled out of the front door just in time to wave goodbye as well. Nap took one step too far and fell face first into the horse trough. Benny chuckled and turned around in his seat, staring at the mule, which was transporting them out of Gant.

  “We’re gonna have to do something about that hair, boy,” Beranger spoke. “We got a lot of open road and camping ahead of us. Those locks and soft facial features might give a man some ideas!”

  He cackled like a banshee, and Cycleze’s chest heaved again as he laughed without noise. He looked down at Benny and shrugged, as if saying he doesn’t mean anything by it.

  “I’m not a queer!” Benny retorted. Beranger began laughing even harder.

  “Then stop looking like one!”

  Most of their travel consisted of long, obscene rants by Beranger, usually directed at Benny. They traveled through the mountain paths, stopping at night and sleeping off the road. Benny quickly saw how paranoid Beranger was, because every night Beranger and Cycleze would rotate every two hours to stand watch for anything creeping up on them. This perhaps wasn’t a big thing when camping in the wild, but from what he already knew about Beranger, he wouldn’t doubt that the duo had made enemies during their travels. The forested mountains slowly dropped into more level terrain, and soon the forests thinned out into grassy plains. The temperature grew from a mountain chill to a scorching midday heat as the wagon rattled along. All the three ate and drank were water, beef jerky Jack had given them, and whatever animals Beranger felt like killing at night. One morning, when they were getting ready to go, Benny’s curiosity finally caused him to peek in the bag that sat in the wagon bed. There was a putrid smell Benny had never encountered before, and as he undid the string around the bag, the morning sun beamed down on a severed human head: green and bloated, with the hair falling out and blisters formed on the skin. The face was contorted in a horrifying scream that decomposition had only worsened. Benny immediately dropped the bag, lurched over and began to puke. Beranger stopped adjusting the mule’s harness and a look of annoyance crossed his face.

  “Shit! He looked, Cycleze. He had to look!” He threw his hands up and chuckled sarcastically. Still bent over, with vomit stringing from his lips, Benny looked at Beranger.

  “It’s a…it’s a…” Benny stuttered.

  “A head,” a croaking voice said from behind him. Benny turned around to see Cycleze, arms crossed on his chest and standing still as a statue. Those were the first words the man had spoken since Benny met him.

  “Don’t act all shocked, Benny my boy. You knew about the work I do, and like I said,” He reached into the wagon and retied the top of the bag. “He was just an escaped fugitive.”

  Benny said nothing the rest of the trip; the image of the bloated, discolored, contorted face haunted his ever-waking thought. In the far distance, Benny could see the beginning of another forest, although not nearly as thick as in Gant. Soon they were deep in a pine grove, and not long after that they came upon a small village. It wasn’t nearly as large as Gant; the Fox Den would dwarf the largest building. This barn-like building was on stilts, with stairs in front leading up to a loft area where Benny could see a table and several men dressed in furs, hovering over a portly man looking at something Benny couldn’t see. Beranger stopped the cart in front of the building.

  “Is Tak Larson here?” he asked a small boy sitting on top of an old barrel. The boy pointed up to the loft but said nothing.

  “Stay here…I have a gift for Tak,” he grabbed the sack containing the unidentified head and marched up the stairs.

  “Who’s Tak?” Benny asked Cycleze.

  The man said nothing. Benny looked back up at the loft, but at this close he couldn’t see anyone. He heard a thump followed by the surprised yelps of several men. One voice, louder than the others, chastised Beranger both for interrupting a meeting as well for dropping a human head onto plans for a community hall. There was some more talking followed by a loud crashing noise, more screaming, and a demand by Beranger.

  “Live up to your word!” he shouted.

  Benny ran up the stairs, not stopping to think. When he got to the top, everyone turned to look at the boy. Beranger had his spiked club at the portly man’s neck. Two men had fallen back on the floor, the table was smashed in half, and one frail man stood in a defensive posture, half-heartedly holding a short sword in front of him.

  “Go away, Ben.” Beranger said.

  “Um…okay.” Benny replied.

  When Beranger finally walked back down the stairs, his club was transformed back into the small metal rod, and in the other hand he held a hefty bag of coins. He winked at both of his companions and climbed back into the wagon seat.

  “He got pissy because I interrupted some meeting. Didn’t want to pay the bounty…said I was supposed to take care of business in private. He paid up though.” He chuckled.

  “Beranger? Dale Beranger?” A young elf dressed in a white messenger's cloak called out, standing in the middle of the encampment.

  “What the hell do you want?!” Beranger yelled.

  The elf ran swiftly over to Beranger and gave him a slip of parchment. He read it, laughed out loud, and threw it back at the messenger. The elf gave an annoyed look, turned, and before Benny could see where he went, sprinted out of the camp.

  “Who was that?” Benny asked.

  “An elf messengers from Galver Dorn. Looks like Duke Dijon has a job for us,” he said.

  Chapter 6

  They were on the way to Galver Dorn, the wagon now trundling through mixed oak and pine forests. Benny found it interesting because he had not been this far from Gant before, but the men were plainly bored.

  “Do you want to take the reins for a while, lad?” Beranger inquired. “You might as well get in some practice for when you take the wagon back to Jack. We won't need it after this next mission.”

  Benny jumped, thinking he was dreaming. Why was Beranger acting so civil all of a sudden? “Uh--” he said, mentally flailing.

  Both men laughed. “I’m not always a belligerent hick,” Beranger said. “When dealing with these inbred country yokels, you have to act like one. Always bring yourself to the same level as those you interact with. You’ll know their way of thinking, how you should conduct yourself, and how you can control the outcome of any situation. Understand?”

  “Sure…it makes sense,” Benny said, “despite being a little offended by the ‘inbred yokel’ remark.”

  “So how about the reins? My arms are getting tired.”

  “Sure, I can take the reins, if you wish. As long as I know where to go.”

  “There are several trails; they all lead to Galver Dorn from here. Pick the one you like, but stay out of sight when you can. We don't like dealing with strangers. Meanwhile, Cycleze and I will nap.”

  They trusted him enough to choose the route? “All right,” Benny agreed uncertainly. Something didn't smell quite right about this, but he couldn't place the problem. Certainly he could alert the others if any question arose. Were they testing him? He did know how to guide a horse.

  He moved up and took the reins. The others flopped down in the bed of the wagon and were soon asleep.

  Now that he was on his own, as it were, Benny found himself thinking about Nadia. He was satisfied that she had no interest in him; no girl did. But how could she have a thing for Beranger, who was crude, ugly, and a bully? Did muscle and money make that much of a difference? It was clear that Jack knew about it, and seemed not to fully approve though he called Beranger his friend. Maybe it was that being on the trail with a pair of ruffians was no place for a pretty girl. Benny
had no illusions about the kind of duty she would have to serve out here; any unprotected woman who did not submit voluntarily got raped. So it seemed she needed Jack's protection from rough men and from her own odd inclination for this one.

  In the afternoon, the men still snoring, they came to a three-way fork in the road. One was the broad main route that the wagon tracks showed was what most folk used. Another was a thin winding trail suitable only for travelers on foot. The third was just wide enough for the wagon. That was surely the road less traveled by, the kind that Beranger preferred. It looked nice enough.

  Except for one thing: there was a crude sign marking it with an X. That meant it was not supposed to be used. Why? All trails were public; no one had the right to reserve one for his own use. All these trails went to the same place, ultimately; he could not get lost. Still, warnings were not lightly ignored.

  Benny considered. What would Beranger say? He'd say take it and damn the presumptuous idiot who posted the sign. Signs were only as legitimate as the folk who made and enforced them. On to Galver Dorn. So Benny steered the horse to that one.

  It turned out to be a good trail, level and firm. The trees pressed in closely but not too closely. Benny was glad he had taken it.

  There was a roar ahead. Uh-oh; Benny didn't like the sound of that. But the trail was too narrow for them to turn, and backing up would be complicated; it wasn't that smooth. There was nothing to do but proceed forward, and hope the roar related to something else.

  Then the ground shook with the measured tramping of giant steps. Too late Benny realized his folly: he had taken a trail reserved by a mountain giant! There would be hell to pay.

  He glanced back into the wagon. Beranger and Cycleze remained sound asleep, not bothered at all by the bouncing of the wagon, the shaking of the ground, or the roars of the giant. That was amazing.

  Then he caught on: they were faking it. This was a sort of initiation, to see how well he handled a crisis on his own.

  He was not doing well, so far. He had gotten them into what could be real trouble, and had almost no idea how to get them out. He needed to admit it, and give them time to get clear of the wagon before the giant demolished it. This disaster was on his head.

  Yet something in him refused to yield to the obvious need. He was desperate to redeem himself if he possibly could. What could he do?

  The giant did not wait on his deliberation. A ten-foot tall monster man exploded into sight on the trail ahead. He was naked, with grotesquely bulging muscles and huge warts on his hands and feet. “Ho!” the giant exclaimed with violent satisfaction.

  “Uh, ho,” Benny said. If the giant was similar to Liverwart, he would be able to understand normal human dialect well, but be crude in speaking it. “Nice trail you have here. You take good care of it.”

  The giant stomped to a halt before the horse. “You got food?”

  “Not really,” Benny said. The wagon could have been piled high with food, yet barely feed this monster. As it was, their supplies were meager; they needed more.

  “Treasure?”

  “No.” What use would a giant have for riches?

  “Girls?”

  “No.” As if any human women could survive the savage lust of the giant.

  “Then what you bring for ransom?”

  “Nothing,” Benny said. “We're just passing through. It's really a public trail, isn't it?”

  “Me trail.”

  “No, not according to the law of the land. Nobody owns a public trail.” This wasn't going well.

  “Me trail,” the giant repeated with certainty.

  Benny tried another ploy. “Hello. I am Benny from Gant. Who are you?”

  “Me Kidneywart.”

  “Ah, I know Liverwart! Are you related?”

  “Shrimp me cousin. Weakling.”

  So much for that. “Well, nice to meet you, Kidneywart. We'll be moving on now.”

  “Plunder?”

  “No plunder,” Benny said firmly. “Now if you will just step aside, please.”

  “Then me eat you. And horse.”

  “Oh, I wouldn't advise that,” Benny said, alarmed.

  “Me dawdle long enough. Me hungry.” Kidneywart reached suddenly forward across the length of the horse and caught Benny about the waist. He heaved him up from the wagon seat and brought him to his out-sized face. He opened his mouth to expose an array of teeth like those of a horse. Benny was helpless.

  “One moment, if you please,” a voice behind Benny said.

  The giant peered beyond him. “Who you?”

  “I am Dale Beranger, traveler and warrior. Now I am asking you nicely: put down that youth, pigface, and get your sorry butt out of our way before I get annoyed.”

  “Me eat you next, man thing,” Kidneywart decided. He lifted Benny back up toward his gaping orifice.

  “I strongly recommend that you be reasonable, basilisk breath,” Beranger said evenly. “My patience has limits.”

  The giant put Benny into his mouth, about to bite off his head, literally. Then suddenly he flung Benny away. “Oww!”

  Benny dropped to the ground and scrambled to his feet, bruised but intact. He saw the giant doubling over in pain. Beranger, now standing beside the horse, had struck one of his feet with his spiked club. Blood was gushing from the wound.

  “Oh, have I got your attention now, sawdust brain?” Beranger asked. “Then please allow me to speak more plainly: get your horse ass out of my way before I am forced to chastise you, frog mouth.”

  If the giant was annoyed before, that was over. Now he was enraged. A tree-trunk sized club appeared in his ham-like hand. “Me pull ize you!” He lifted his weapon high.

  “Did you by any chance mean to say 'pulverize'?” Beranger inquired. “You should learn to speak more plainly, piss nose.” Then he spiked the giant's other foot.

  Benny, amazed, glanced at Cycleze, who was now seated on the edge of the wagon. He was surprised to see the man not only unafraid, but smiling slightly as if amused.

  “Oww!” Kidneywart repeated, doubling over again.

  This time Beranger clubbed his head, which was now in reach. The spike smashed into one eye and stabbed deep into the brain behind it. It was a killing blow. The giant toppled to the side, landing beside the trail with a crash.

  “You did warn him,” Cycleze said. “Politely.”

  Beranger shrugged as he wiped off his stained club. “He did not listen well.”

  Then the two men drew their knives and set about carving large steaks from the giant's body. Now they had plenty of food stored.

  Benny faced into the forest and vomited.

  In due course they resumed their trek. “I—I'm sorry I got us into that mess,” Benny said. “So that you had to bail me out.”

  Cycleze laughed. “We wanted the meat.”

  Benny stared at him. “You—you and Dale wanted me to steer into the giant's territory?”

  “Sure,” Beranger said. “We'd have had trouble running him down if we chased him. But he figured you were safe prey.”

  This was hardly complimentary to Benny, but he stifled that thought. For one thing, he now knew that the very last person he ever wanted to run afoul of was Beranger. That man had proven what a deadly fighter he was.

  “So you were testing me,” he said. “Giving me my head, to see what I'd do.”

  “That's right,” Beranger said affably. “And you did what you were told to. And you tried to handle it yourself. Not your fault that you haven't yet learned how to fight a giant. We'll teach you that in good time.”

  “Thank you.” That would have been ironic, were it not something he realized that he really did need to learn. “There must be other things I need to pick up on.”

  “Dozens,” Beranger agreed. “Keep your eyes open, see how we operate. You'll get there in due course.”

  That would be good. If he didn't get himself killed first.

  Chapter 7

  They camped the night in Kidneywa
rt Giant's massive stronghold, which was a structure formed of braided saplings with a bone stairway to a second floor and sod for a roof. It was comfortable enough, and reasonably weather-tight. There was a parlor containing hanging scorched carcasses and a fair amount of grain, right next to the open trench latrine. Evidently the giant had not been scrupulous about hygiene.

  “Feed the horse,” Beranger told Benny, indicating the grain with a thumb. “We want to keep him in fine fettle for Jack.” Benny fetched a metal pan, filled it with grain, and took it out to the horse. There was also a water trough so the animal could drink.

  “Now where is it?” Beranger mused.

  Benny decided not to ask what the man was looking for, fearing he would not like the answer.

  “There'll be a pit,” Cycleze said.

  “Ah, so,” Beranger agreed. He scuffed the dirt floor with one boot, and soon found a metallic disk with a stout ring in its center. He pulled on the ring, but it didn't budge.

  “A hand here,” he snapped at Benny.

  Benny joined him, and together they managed to heave the heavy lid up. Below was a dark hole. Had it really been too much for Beranger to do alone, or was he simply getting Benny involved? Did it matter?

  “Torch.”

  Benny took a torch from a crude holder in the main chamber. It smelled of swamp gas. Beranger brought out a flint and struck a spark, igniting the torch as Benny held it up. The flame was smoky, but it did provide enough light to illuminate the chamber.

  “Get down there,” Beranger said.

  Benny obeyed. He climbed carefully into the dark void, holding the torch aloft. Below was a dank mud cave lined with what looked like drawers. He pulled on one, and it slid out of its recess: a solid wood box. He lifted the lid. It was filled with sparkling jewelry and golden coins evidently taken from Kidneywart's victims. This was the giant's treasure!

  “Hand it up.”

  Benny propped the torch awkwardly against the side of the heavy box and hoisted it up so that the man could take it.