The Cursed

by Dave Duncan

  "I plan to work behind the scenes, Saj."

  "Scenery is transparent to sharp eyes. And you are a Cursed."

  "So was Pantholion."

  "Possibly, but he never admitted it!" The little man quirked his snowy eyebrows at her. "And he was a warrior. Nurz was civilized when Qol was a straggle of mud huts. Six times the empire conquered us. Five times we drove them out. In the end, Qol chose to rule here indirectly, letting us keep our own kings. They were puppets, yes, but Nurz retained its identity as a sovereign state within the empire. There were few such. My own family was older than the Karithian dynasty."

  Gwin did not see why this mattered, but her curiosity was piqued. Why had Wung sought out this highly confidential place to deliver a lesson in history? The macaws and cockatoos screeched mockingly.

  This is important! said the Voice.

  "Coalitions do not inspire loyalty, Gwin." The king was watching her reaction carefully. "Who will spill his blood for a committee? Who but the Faceless would fight for Frenzkion Zorg?"

  She nodded, feeling a tremor of excitement as things fell into place. "We need a figurehead?"

  He nodded. "Nurz could accept a figurehead emperor. I should swear allegiance to him as overlord—which is what an emperor is, strictly speaking. He must swear to respect Nurzian sovereignty in return, of course. He would have no real authority, but he would be a rallying point, a symbol. Men will die for symbols."

  "That is an incredibly generous offer, Sire!" She hoped her suspicions were not too obvious. What ruler ever surrendering his autonomy voluntarily?

  "It is a very Nurzian concept. We have outlasted the Qolians. We survived the Zarda. Now we are starting to flower again in our own way. We may yet bear our own fruit. I do not wish to see a hundred years of progress shattered by the Karpana. A token empire would not be so very great a price to pay."

  A month ago she had bargained with the miller over the price of flour. Now she negotiated with dynasties. "You have someone in mind, Saj?"

  Wang smiled. "Your husband impressed me greatly last night. He is that rarest of all rarities, an honest man."

  Bulion? What by all the fates would he say to this?

  "He is only a farmer!"

  "He is a patriarch! Put a purple robe and a crown on him, seat him on a milk-white horse—men will cheer their lungs out for him. He is everyman's ideal of what a benevolent emperor should be. You can work behind the scenes then, Witch Gwin. You will be the emperor's wife and no one will question your presence."

  Now those absurd prophecies made sense. The emperor need not be a war lord. He could hire men to lead his armies.

  "All those self-proclaimed Renewers..." Gwin said wonderingly.

  "They went about it the wrong way! They tried to elevate themselves for their own glory. What Kuolia wants is someone worthy of its loyalty, someone willing to serve its needs."

  "Why didn't you mention this?" she asked the Voice.

  There was no great hurry. Wung Tan might have resisted the idea. Now that he has thought of it himself, he has persuaded himself.

  "I shall have to broach the matter very carefully, Saj," Gwin said. "Modesty may be even rarer than honesty, but my husband will not fancy himself in a crown."

  "You can talk him around, I am sure," the little man said. "Take him with you to Mokth and see what Quilm Urnith thinks of him. Say that I am willing if he is. Men fight for ideas. We can oppose the Karpana with the old idea of empire, the return of the Golden Age!" He leaned back in his chair, looking weary. "A Zarda empire will appeal... but we can worry about Hexzion Garab when the need arises, yes?"

  He suspected—oh yes, he suspected!

  Proclaim her husband emperor? It would not be easy to persuade him. And even if it were... "You said you would accept Dreadlord Zorg as war leader for a limited time. Is that another of my husband's qualifications, Sire? His age? He should last long enough to see the war out, but not much longer?"

  Wung avoided her eye for a moment. "That is a consideration," he admitted.

  #

  Bulion thrust with his spear and another Karpanon fell with a shriek. He cried out his triumph and heard his companions cheer his success. They stood shoulder to shoulder in an endless line, brothers-in-arms, advancing together over a litter of corpses. The evil foes fell like straw before them. He was strong and tireless, a Zarda warrior in his youthful prime. Here was Gamion, deathleader in the Hearteaters, weeping tears of pride as his youngest son, his precious boy, proved himself worthy of the ancestral line. There was Polion, splattered with blood, and laughing joyfully at his grandfather's prowess. The blood of Pantholion hammered in his arteries...

  "Are we going to have a thunderstorm?" Gwin inquired, "or is that just snoring I hear?"

  Bulion opened one eye. She was perched on the edge of the other chair, leaning forward with her hands clasped on her knees.

  He grunted. "I don't hear anything."

  She grinned. "Just my imagination, then. Are you too sleepy to talk?"

  "Sleepy? I'm not sleepy! Just thinking."

  Her smile grew wistful. "Thinking of the valley? I long for it too, love, I really do. That's what we're fighting for, isn't it? To make all the Tharn Valleys safe for peace-loving people?"

  Maybe. Bulion still had suspicions that some people wanted to revive the empire and put him in charge of it. He yawned and stretched.

  "I looked for you down at the butts," Gwin said cheerfully. "The boys are all very excited about those funny-looking Nurzian bows."

  "They're extra strong because they're lambasted," Bulion said knowledgeably.

  "I promised Wosion I'd ask Wung to give us some to take home."

  A farmer's wife on first-name terms with kings! He gazed wistfully at her smile, her slender arms, the swell of her breasts in her low-cut robe of silver and cobalt. Her hair was still too short for Zarda, but she wore a coronet of white daisies in it. She was the perfect woman, strong but gentle, poised by day, passionate by night. They called her the Witch here in Nurz, but he loved her. She cured dying kings and—he suspected—conspired to murder healthy ones. He was frightened of her now, this Cursed of Poul, this wielder of destiny. His turtledove had become an eagle before his eyes, but he loved her still. He did not think she would be his much longer.

  "How is he today?"

  "Wung? Oh, the old boy's much better!"

  "He's ten years younger than me."

  She winced. "Well he doesn't look it! Listen, love—I have to go and visit Mokth."

  "You?" Bulion heaved himself up in the chair. "Now you listen to me! You can't do everything yourself! You're only one woman—"

  "I am the Poulscath, the first in a hundred years." She shook her head sadly. "I didn't ask for it, but I've got it. If Quilm Urnith's scared, I can put some backbone in him with a Muolscath. If he's making mad plans to fight the Karpana by himself, I can calm him down. If I go, then I can win him to the cause, I'm sure. It won't take more than a couple of days."

  "If you can find him."

  She shrugged. "There's that. Let's just hope he's still at Jarinfarka—that's where he was a few weeks ago."

  "But if couriers can't get through—"

  She smiled triumphantly. "Wang's promised us an escort. Ching Chilith got a safe-conduct out of Hexzion Garab. We leave in the morning. You don't want to stay here, do you?"

  "Of course not." He wasn't sure what he did want. "Wosion and the others can come with us?"

  "Of course. As soon as we're safely across the Cockpit, they can head south to the valley. I'm sure the family is worried about us." She studied him anxiously. "You will come with me to Jarinfarka, though, won't you, Bull?"

  He sighed and turned away to stare at the shrubbery, not seeing it. "Nien, if you want to dismount from that tiger, then this is your chance."

  He waited, not looking at her, until she spoke again.

  "Not yet."

  "You'll always be welcome back in the valley."

  When she did no
t answer, he glanced at her again. Her eyes were shinier than they should be. She would not fake tears.

  "You want me?" he said. "Why? I can't help. I'm just a fat old farmer."

  "You're my husband. You help by being at my side and loving me. I can't do this alone. Will you make me choose between you and destiny? The Karpana will destroy the land, the people, everything. And you can help! If you'll come to Quilm's court and—"

  "You want a puppet emperor? Someone the people can cheer and the kings aren't afraid of? Ride around on a white charger and be everyone's grandfather while you work away unnoticed in my shadow?"

  She stared. "How did you... Where did you get that idea?"

  "It's been obvious ever since you began talking about a coalition." He just wished she'd come out with it a little sooner.

  "I didn't think of it! It was Wung Tan's idea!" She left the chair and knelt beside him, gripping his hand. "Bull, I swear I didn't think of this! I knew nothing of it until half an hour ago!"

  "All right," he said gruffly. "I believe you." Did he, though? "But I won't do it. I won't be a puppet, Gwin. I'm too old. I'm going home."

  "Not a puppet! A symbol of what we're fighting for. You know why Wung thought of you? He said you're—"

  "I don't care what that desiccated brown monkey said. I am going home. I will not play at being an emperor, not even for you. I love you, Nien. I will always love you, Cursed or not. But I will not share you with the rest of the world."

  She sank back on her heels and bowed her head. He wondered if she was talking to her Voice of Destiny. Then she said, "We have a week before you need to decide. Promise me you'll think about it? Promise we can talk about it again?"

  "No," he said. "I have thought about it. I have decided. You ride your tiger if you must, but this is where I get off."

  61

  That evening, Gwin held a meeting of her council. The palatial guest quarters were a vastly more pleasant setting than the gloomy cellar of the Hall in Raragash. Wide arched windows opened to an orchard terrace, admitting greenish arboreal light and the alien, spicy scents of Chan San. Parrots shrieked amid the branches. Color flamed everywhere, outdoors and in—from rugs and cushioned divans and tiled walls, from flowering creepers bedecking every tree. Even the smallest table was lacquered in scarlet and emerald. The bright-clad servants hovering in the background would eavesdrop on the conversation and report it to the palace officials, but that was unavoidable.

  As she swept in with Bulion, the company rose to its feet. The only other woman present was little Par a'Ciur, who smiled mischievously and sank into a curtsey. Responding, Bulion crooked an arm. Gwin laid a hand on it. Together they paraded around the room, acknowledging the men's bows with stilted nods like an emperor and empress of olden times. It was bittersweet fun. He was telling her what he thought of courtly honors.

  These fake formalities gave her a chance to glance over her retinue. Two members of the council were absent. Ziberor was skulking somewhere around the royal quarters, seeking signs of further treachery. In deference to Tibal Frainith, Gwin had brought no other Jaulscath with her from Raragash. That now seemed like an unfortunate error, since Wung Tan wanted Ziberor to remain as replacement for Nim Thong, the resident who had proved faithless and absconded. There was no mind reader available for the Mokth expedition.

  Labranza Lamith had stayed behind at the Academy. If her reports told the truth, she was loyally organizing expeditions of Cursed to come and aid the cause when they were needed.

  In her absence, the Ogoalscath representative was a rapscallion by the name of Orth Qolith. His youthful looks were marred by smallpox scars, and currently by faint bruising around one eye, the remains of a serious beating. The night he arrived, he had foolishly indulged in a game of dice with some palace guards. Their understandable dislike of his phenomenal good fortune had led them to dismember him—or so Niad claimed. She and Par had not healed him, she said, they had reassembled him. He seemed cheerfully unrepentant.

  Next to him sat stolid Baslin Diblichith, the Muolscath. Everyone was wearing many-hued Nurzian costume, but Baslin either had no color sense at all or did not care what he looked like. He was a sight to make eyes sore.

  Ordur, by way of contrast, dazzled in silver and blue that set off his eyes and golden hair perfectly. He sprawled on a cushioned divan like a prince of the blood. Ordur seemed to be enjoying palace life more than anyone—he was driving Jasbur half insane with jealousy.

  Next to him, Ching Chilith had remained standing, clutching a bundle of papers. If he was trying to project humility, he had forgotten to dress the part. Even in this palace, Ching's gaudy purple and chartreuse draperies would have shamed a peacock.

  The last was Tibal Frainith, too long for his chair, all bony arms and legs in threadbare Zarda clothing that seemed strangely out of place in that gaudy company. His presence was a surprise, for he had disappeared on arriving at Chan San, and this was the first time Gwin had seen him since. She had missed his dry good humor.

  "Welcome back, stranger! Where have you been these last few days?"

  Tibal raised his eyes from a moody contemplation of his toes. He said glumly, "I don't remember," and went back to staring at the floor.

  The others exchanged worried glances. Gwin bit off a question before it emerged. If Tibal saw trouble ahead, he must not say and she must not ask. She hoped he was just sulking at being in the same room as Ching Chilith.

  "Meeting convened, then!" she said. "Before we discuss the trip to Jarinfarka, is there anything else to report? Ching?"

  The secretary rustled his papers officiously. "His Majesty is rumored to have received word from Hamdish, Madam President." He raised his invisible eyebrows inquiringly.

  "News to me."

  He smiled faintly, pleased at being able to demonstrate superior snooping. "The message would have been sent before your letter arrived, of course, Saj. I gather it says what would be expected—Hamdish is sorry to hear that barbarians are causing trouble in the east and will consider sending forces to aid in joint defense if formally requested to do so."

  "Too little and, if at all possible, too late?"

  "That would be my assumption."

  "Very sensible of them," Baslin remarked. "Hamdish cities are well fortified. If the Karpana are anxious to pluck the western kingdoms, they may hurry on through without wasting time on sieges."

  That was typical bloodless Muolscath logic—no one commented, although Ordur curled his lip in disgust.

  "Hamdish is also rumored to have closed its borders," Ching added.

  At Gwin's side, Bulion uttered his familiar growl. "Which should prevent any request for assistance from even arriving? Miserable, slime-dwelling cowards, the Hamdishians."

  "Ours shall be the glory!" Gwin said brightly. She was becoming unpleasantly prone to uttering cheerful clichés. At times she even caught herself thinking that way. "But I'm sure our Muolscaths can always get couriers through border defenses. Can't they, Baslin?"

  "Certainly, Saj. Turn the guards into simpering jellies for you."

  "I'll speak to Wung Tan, then. Nurz has no love for Hamdish. If they're not our friends, they can be our enemies. We'll send an ultimatum— cooperate now, or we'll send the whole coalition army against them after we've dealt with the Karpana. That ought to bring them running."

  You're learning! the Voice said approvingly.

  "Is there anything else?"

  "The report from Labranza Saj?" Ching prompted.

  "I think everyone here has seen it."

  Tibal looked up bleakly. "I haven't."

  Ching gave him the letter and a disagreeable look.

  The report was encouraging. No one knew more about the covert use of fatalist powers than Labranza Lamith. Gwin had set her to organizing a Cursed Auxiliary—a corps of Ivielscaths to tend wounded, Jaulscaths to gather intelligence, and so on. The activity seemed to be going well. This pleased Gwin greatly, because it meant that the Cursed were still displaying
the enthusiasm she had aroused in them during her whirlwind trip around the crater villages, therefore her influence did not wear off as soon as she turned her back... that was assuming that Labranza was telling the truth, of course, and thus begging the question.

  "One thing you will notice in there, Tibal. The Shoolscaths have issued a joint proclamation. They predict an extended campaign, ultimately successful."

  Everyone waited for Tibal's reaction. For the first time, his gloom seemed to lift. "That isn't news to me," he said wryly.

  Even Baslin contrived to look pleased at that response, but Tibal immediately slumped back into despondency, ignoring the smiles he had provoked.

  "Very well," Gwin said. "We leave at dawn. I understand Om Balk is an easy and safe day's ride from here, and King Wung has promised us an escort from there. With luck we should be in Jarinfarka in another four days. My husband and family will leave us as soon as we are over the Flugoss." Unless she could talk sense into Bulion before then. "Secretary Chilith will remain here to deal with correspondence. Par Saj and Jaulscath Ziberor will also stay. We need another healer, Par."

  The little lady nodded. "Pang is very capable, and has a love of horses I find totally beyond comprehension."

  "And all the rest of you?"

  They nodded—Ordur, Baslin, Orth... Tibal continued to stare at the carpet.

  "And Jasbur?" Ordur said.

  "I'd like to keep the numbers down." Gwin could see no need for an extra Awailscath. She could see no need for Ordur either, except that he was loyal and a sharp thinker.

  He stuck out his jaw. "Both or neither, Gwin Saj! We've been together longer since you went on all fours, or longer. If we ever part, we may not know each other when we meet again."

  "I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking. Of course Jasbur can come!"

  "Thanks." He grimaced. "Frankly, I'll be glad to get her out of the palace. Have you seen how she flaunts herself around here? Shameless slut!"

  "Unless my eyes deceive me," said Par a'Ciur sharply, "you've been doing a fair bit of flaunting yourself, Councillor Ordur! That little piece in the red gown last night—or out of the red gown, I should say..."