Fallen

by Tim Lebbon

  THEY BROKE CAMP and mounted up, leaving the spare saddles behind and loading the empty horse with a pack saddle. The creature did not seem happy with this imposition—it was obviously bred to be ridden, not loaded—but Noon whispered soothingly into its ear, and soon they were ready to leave.

  Nomi sat behind Beko, and even before they left the campsite she felt the saddle cutting into her lower back. This would be an uncomfortable day.

  “We've left it a mess,” she said. The Serians were usually very particular about how they left a campsite, burying waste, scattering the fire's ashes and giving the impression that no one had ever stayed there. This time things were different.

  “We can stay and spend another hour clearing up if you like,” Beko said over his shoulder.

  They wended their way between trees and emerged eventually onto the plains. Leaving the hills and woods behind felt good to Nomi, but the landscape before them had just as many places to hide. Clumps of trees grew here and there, the land rolled and dipped subtly toward the near horizon; there were signs of halfhearted attempts to work the land: hedge lines, tumbled walls. They urged the horses into a trot.

  She and Beko said very little. After their intimacy, the air between them had felt loaded and tense, a potential that kept Nomi warm, nervous and expectant. But since finding the dead horses, breaking camp and heading for the border, the tension had evaporated. He had hardly looked at her, and the warmth in her belly had faded to a cool distance. So she sat behind him and smelled his familiar smell, and any thoughts she had of reaching out and holding herself against his back were soon dispelled.

  “Are you worried?” she asked at last. The morning was drawing on and the sun was high. They would be at the border with the Pavissia Steppes soon, and the next stage of their troubled voyage would begin.

  “Concerned that things will fall apart.” He sighed and stretched his arms above his head, the horse trotting on of its own accord. Nomi heard Beko's joints click and saw muscles tensing beneath his shirt. Are my scratches still on his back? I fear they'll fade, never to be replaced.

  “Ramus . . .” But she was not entirely sure what she wanted to say.

  “We had a strong group, Nomi,” Beko said. “Two Voyagers with high hopes, myself and five Serians I trust with my life. Enough horses and equipment. But now we're fractured. And we've hardly even begun.”

  “What do you think of what Ramus said?” The question had been burning, because none of the Serians had commented on the argument and what had been revealed.

  Beko shook his head but did not turn around. “That's none of my business, and I've no right to judge.”

  “Thank you,” she said, though she was not certain he had spoken through kindness.

  They rode in silence once again. She looked back at Noon, Ramin and Konrad bringing up the rear, and ahead at Rhiana, where she scouted their route half a mile away. She could just see the tall Serian, looking around confidently, as her horse climbed a slight incline. Nomi wished she could feel as much confidence . . . but she also wondered at the simplicity that Ramus claimed she dwelled within. Nothing in my life is simple, she thought bitterly. Ramus was so wrong there.

  “And us?” she whispered, surprising the silence.

  Beko turned around and looked at her, and she could read nothing in his eyes. That frightened her. She remembered his face above hers, eyes half-closed, hair damp with sweat and hanging beside his face. There had been desire there, and a fulfillment of an aged lust.

  “That caused problems,” he said. “Right now, and for the duration of the voyage, I'm your Serian captain.” He turned away and took up the reins, urging the horse to catch up with Rhiana.

  AS THE DAY wore on, Nomi's anger grew. It was like a flower blooming in the sun: stunted with shock that morning, stretching high at midday and spreading into an encompassing bloom come late afternoon. The heat of the day, the wear of the saddle, Beko's cool silence, the dust and flies and sunburn, all conspired to make her irritable and annoyed—bad companions for anger. When they finally stopped within sight of a border post, Beko slid from the horse and held out his hand to help her down.

  “I can get down on my own,” she said. “Keep your hands to yourself, warrior.” She had not meant to sound petulant, but Beko's surprised reaction meant little to her right then.

  Ramus stole from me. This was the thought that had implanted itself in her mind, seared there by the sun. He stole from me. First Timal, and now those parchment pages that Ten brought to me, and which I paid for. He rode away with them, self-righteous and superior, and it was not only me who wronged him.

  The anger simmered, ideas surfaced and sank again—dangerous ideas, and some of them brutal. If such thoughts had not concerned Ramus, he might even have been impressed at her maliciousness.

  They had been approaching the border along a rough trail, lined on both sides with young trees which had evidently been planted in some attempt to mark the route. They could have gone cross-country and avoided any contact with the border guards, but Nomi had insisted that they converse with the Chieftains' militia. And now the border was at last in sight.

  “Small border post,” Rhiana said, riding back to join the main group. She and Beko had ridden together several times that afternoon, chatting about the terrain, the weather and what they might meet when they arrived at Marrakash's southern extreme. The border guards were a hard breed, but they often had valuable information about the state of things on the Pavissia Steppes. Both had agreed with Nomi; it would be worth suffering the guards' surliness to gain knowledge.

  “Have they seen him?” Nomi asked.

  Rhiana looked at her like a mother regarding a naïve child. “I haven't been close enough to ask. They're not the sort of people you talk to on your own, Voyager.”

  Nomi stared at the Serian, refusing to look away. Piss on you, she thought, and she hoped it gave her expression feeling.

  “How many?” Beko asked.

  “I saw eight. Four at the post, four more spread along the ridge. Which means there are sixteen, maybe more.” Rhiana smiled. “But they'll not give us trouble.”

  “No?” Beko asked, surprised at her certainty.

  “Ever hear the saying ‘small world’? I saw their leader. Bastard called Volkain.”

  “And you know him?” Nomi asked.

  “I fucked him.” Rhiana stared again and this time Nomi looked aside. There was an uncomfortable silence.

  “Can you give us details, please?” Ramin called, and his jocular tone went a little way to melting the atmosphere. But only a little.

  “Later, when you're eating dinner,” Rhiana said. “My turn to cook. And Pavissian giant stoats have the tenderest testicles I know.”

  “You're supposed to cook and eat them, not fondle them!” Ramin laughed at his own joke and the others joined in. Even Nomi managed a smile.

  “We all go together,” Beko said. “Show of force. The fact that Volkain and his militia know you only aids us.”

  Rhiana nodded, and offered Nomi a tight smile, which she took as an apology.

  Nomi smiled back, but inside her thoughts were all of Ramus. Has he been through, what did he tell them, what did he say, what can they tell us about him . . . ?

  Beyond the border, in the wilder lands of the Pavissia Steppes, perhaps she would feel ready to permit less civilized thoughts.

  THE BORDER POST was set back from the trail. It was a randomly constructed building of timber, rushes and mud, extended here and there over the years into a disorganized sprawl. The long curved wall facing the trail was built of stone. It contained several arrow slits, and one end was stained black by an old fire. A moveable fence of woven rushes spanned the trail level with the building. It looked almost comical, because the grasslands on either side were just as passable. But the three guards standing beside the gate did not encourage laughter.

  Nomi had rarely seen such mean-looking militia. The woman was short and fat, hair completely shorn to show a n
etwork of spiderweb scars across one side of her scalp. She carried a spear and wore a variety of swords and throwing knives around her waist. Her expression did not change at all at their approach. The other two were men, both huge, looking as though their rolls of flesh could swallow arrows and bolts.

  “Suppose there's not much to do here but sit and eat,” Nomi muttered, and was pleased when she heard Beko's short laugh in response.

  “I saw Volkain from a distance!” Rhiana called. “Best way to see him too. Can you not come out and greet us, Volkain?”

  “No Volkain here,” the web-scarred woman said.

  “Rhiana!” a huge voice boomed. A shadow moved in the shade of the building, emerging stooped because the reed canopy was too low to accommodate him. And if the men at the gate were huge, this man was a giant. A head taller than Ramin or Rhiana and perhaps twice Beko's weight, he walked with a self-assured gait and wore a comfortable grin. “By all the pissing gods, Serian, I didn't think I'd see you again for a while.”

  “I've been looking for you ever since that night,” she said. “You hit all the right spots, Volkain. I haven't slept a wink since without feeling your weight in the bed beside me.”

  He bellowed laughter and slapped his hip. Two other militia emerged behind him, these carrying bows with arrows already strung.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Volkain said. “But last week I met a pretty mountain wolf. She howls!” He strung out the last word, performing a passable impression of a wolf's call.

  It was only as he leaned back into the howl that Nomi noticed his third arm. It curled out from his left shoulder, pointing forward instead of sideways. There was a small crossbow strapped around its wrist, and in place of hand and fingers sprouted three metallic spikes.

  She'd heard of the Cantrassan chop shops, but this was the first time she'd seen one of their subjects. It was rumored that nine out of ten who went there died on the table, before the places had been shut down.

  Rhiana joined in the howling, and Volkain coughed, spat and laughed.

  Nomi was unnerved by the display. She wondered how many travelers these militia met, and what payment they extracted for anyone wishing to pass through. And beneath Rhiana and Volkain's bluster, she sensed something more sinister.

  “What is this?” she whispered.

  Beko half turned, and whispered over his shoulder. “Testing the water.”

  “Who are your friends?” Volkain asked.

  “I'm glad you asked.” Rhiana dismounted and stretched, and Nomi was sure there were more curves to the Serian than she had noticed previously. “Curses, that saddle makes me sore in places I never knew I had.”

  Volkain eyed the Serian greedily, the look in his eyes unmistakeable.

  “So, my friends and I are on a bit of a journey,” Rhiana said. “Indeed, a voyage.”

  “You have a Voyager among you?” Volkain said, and his voice changed immediately, from vaguely threatening to fascinated. He lowered his third arm, as though to hide it away, and scanned the small group. When his eyes alighted on Nomi, she offered him a half smile.

  “Voyager Nomi Hyden,” Rhiana said.

  Volkain came forward, out of the shadows and into the sunlight. “We're honored!” he said, and Nomi saw that he meant it. And here I am, she thought, judging by appearances.

  “It's my honor,” she said, and Volkain laughed at that, but politely.

  “Can I ask where your voyage takes you?” he said. “We've had a few of your colleagues come this way since I've been in charge. A year? Two? Maybe even three years.”

  “Any recently?” Nomi asked.

  He ignored her question. “They always pay their way.”

  “What's the fee?” Rhiana asked.

  Volkain shook his head, as though deeply offended. “For you, Rhiana? You have to ask that?”

  A brief silence, a nervous pause.

  “There's no fee for a friend.”

  Rhiana smiled and gave Volkain a brief bow.

  “Although . . . I lie,” the big man said. “The fee is to drink and eat with us. We have some fine root wine, and the best air-snake steaks for a hundred miles around. And I'm sure you'll want news of steppe marauders and the like, yes?”

  “If we could trouble you,” Beko said.

  Volkain turned back to the building, flapping one of his natural hands as if at a bothersome fly. “No trouble! Maybe you'd like to buy some horses too, eh? I'm sure there's a tale behind that.” He chuckled to himself.

  “No horses here,” the woman at the gate said. Her expression had not changed at all.

  _____

  THE INSIDE OF the guard building was surprisingly well appointed, considering the haphazard exterior. Each militia seemed to have his or her own sleeping niche, and many of them were personalized with wall hangings, clothing and charms. The central living area was scattered with chairs and several low tables, and from the ceiling hung yet more charms: rope knots, luck crystals woven into dried reeds, an array of animal parts to which were ascribed various fortunes. The whole display swayed in unison when Volkain slammed the heavy door, and he was tall enough to have to wave them out of his way as he crossed the room.

  “Sit,” he said. “My people will care for your horses.”

  “You live in luxury,” Rhiana said.

  Volkain laughed again, but the unabashed good humor had slipped slightly, as though he was upset at her veiled criticism. “We do well,” he said. “We trade with people crossing the border.”

  “Charge them passage, you mean?”

  Volkain shrugged. “They pay us for safe passage and information.”

  Rhiana looked around and Nomi thought, Don't say anything else against him; we need him on our side right now. Of course, she had no idea of the history between these two. Other than Rhiana playing her games with Volkain, the Serians seemed relaxed and at ease. Beko had sat down and was leaning back in his chair, perusing the display of charms. Noon and Konrad had gone to find the toilet room, and Ramin was walking slowly around the large room, casually but obviously exploring the building.

  “We'll take whatever hospitality you can offer,” Beko said. “And we'll happily pay our way.”

  Volkain sat opposite Beko, his chair creaking ominously. He leaned back and mimicked the Serian's relaxed pose, third arm resting across his stomach. “As I said, Serian, there's no charge for a friend. And as you're a friend of a friend, no charge for you, either. Well . . .”

  Here it comes, thought Nomi. Here's the reveal.

  Volkain looked at Nomi and smiled. “The only charge—and you'll forgive my childlike enthusiasm—is that your Voyager tells me a tale from one of her journeys.”

  “And that's it?” Beko asked cautiously.

  “What can I say? I'm fascinated. And though I sit here in my luxurious border post, a wanderer's heart beats in my chest.”

  Nomi smiled, and found that she was warming to this man. “I'd be happy to,” she said.

  Volkain sat forward, expression eager. “So where have you been?”

  “My area of interest before now has been Ventgoria.”

  Volkain stood quickly, chair grinding across the wooden floor behind him. Nomi saw Ramin tense, and Noon's hands fell to his belt.

  “I have wine!” the border chief said. “Good wine! I'll get it.” He drifted into one of the side rooms and returned beats later with a large, dusty bottle of Ventgorian wine. He grinned. Then he used a spike on his third arm to pull the cork.

  THEY DRANK AND ate, and Nomi told Volkain tales of Ventgoria. He absorbed them like a child learning new words, reserving his questions until she had finished her tale. And there were many questions. The Serians seemed to enjoy the rest, and occasionally another militia would appear at the door to ask questions about the horses. Noon eventually went out to oversee the care of their mounts, and when he returned, several of the militia came in with him. He was laughing and joking with them, and Nomi felt herself relaxing even more. The wine, the atmosphere, even
the company went some way to distracting her from what had happened over the past two nights.

  Stories told, hunger and thirst satiated, Nomi asked the question that had been troubling her ever since they had arrived.

  “Two of our group came on ahead,” she said. “My friend and a Serian companion. A woman. Did they come this way?”

  Volkain's smile changed. No muscle twitched, but though the smile was still there, it left his eyes. “Ah, so now here's the thing,” he said. “You've lost horses, your friend has moved on ahead of you and you're on a voyage you choose not to share with me.”

  “It's difficult to explain,” Nomi said. “It's shared with no one.”

  “The Guild?” Volkain asked.

  Nomi shook her head slightly, and the militia raised his eyebrows.

  “Well, then, perhaps when you return this way, you'll share your tale with me.” He stood from his chair, the movement effectively ending the conversation. As he went to leave, Beko stood as well, and the men faced each other across the room.

  “Did they pass through?” Beko asked.

  Volkain looked from him to Rhiana, to Nomi. Then he glanced up at the charms hanging about his head, and Nomi thought, I could pay him with the charm Ramus bought for me. I've no need of it, and whatever the charm breather placed inside will likely do me no good. But then the big militia smiled again.

  “No need for secrets,” he said. “He was a troubled man. And pained. I asked him for tales of his voyages, and he refused. But he left me with a promise that was payment enough. He told me that his was the greatest voyage ever, and that I would be the first in Marrakash to hear of it upon his return.”

  “He spoke the truth,” Nomi said. “And we're on that voyage together.”

  Volkain shook his head. “I may be a mere border guard, Voyager, but be kind to my intelligence.”

  Nomi smiled and nodded.

  “He bought a charm from me, and we talked about the current state of the Pavissia Steppes. He told me you were coming— mercenaries and murderers, he said. And then he went on his way. His Serian said nothing, just stood at the gate with their horses and stared through my guards. They didn't eat or drink with us, and I was happy to see him leave.”