Death's Paladin

by Christopher Donahue

  A dozen disarmed Riverines sat, tied in groups of three. Voskov’s troops and swamp men enjoyed the plantation’s women and the rest of the loot in the usual loud and wasteful manner.

  Durinetav and a trio of trusted men stood by a cart. Isolate the real treasure. Good man.

  On seeing Voskov, Durinetav gave a sharp salute, fist to chest. “There are three chests of coin, plate and jewelry. The large sacks contain blocks of rare dyes. The swampies say the stuff is worth more than its weight in gold. The small sacks are even more valuable―seed for more dye plants.”

  “Good work, Durinetav, once again.”

  The young man beamed.

  Voskov tapped Shuma on the shoulder and pointed toward the cart. “Take the seeds to your people. It’s your future to burn or plant.”

  Shuma looked up, his wide eyes seeming even wider against his dark brown skin. Durinetav opened his mouth to protest.

  Voskov arched an eyebrow. “Do you want to stay here and plant those seeds? Do you think that the queen wants to become a farmer? We have enough loot for her here.” He called out toward the line of corpses. “Bringer, can you spare a couple of your troopers to stand watch for my men?”

  Before receiving a response, Voskov turned back to Durinetav. “You’ve fought harder than most. More importantly, you’ve used your head. Now go enjoy yourself. When you and the troops are done, split the food across both barges, put the Riverine soldiers and the reasonably healthy younger women on the big barge along with this cart and all the wine. I want to keep the Riverine soldiers alive until we really need them―this goes for any future fights too. The ones Bringer has to raise now will be useless to us by the time we attack Blue Harbor.”

  The grinning Hykori saluted again and ran off with his men while wine and other loot remained.

  Shuma gathered five surprisingly small sacks in his arms. “You could buy a plantation like Umaldi’s with any two of these, Duke Voskov. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m sure.” Smoke no longer rose from the building. “The queen needs a palace to hold court while her generals and loyal subjects take the Delta for her. This will do nicely. Find some of your people who used to work inside here and have them ready to serve the queen.”

  Shuma set the sacks down. “Many will be anxious to serve the queen. I will choose the best.”

  Voskov’s mind raced ahead. “Your people are attacking four smaller plantations on this tributary right now. If this fool Umaldi was ready to abandon his home, these others will be frantic for a rescue.” A woman’s shriek disrupted his line of thought. Refocusing, he pictured the map his scout had sketched of the region.

  Shuma spoke slowly as if he was repeating himself, “Yes, they are. All should go smoothly. I will send the men here along the eastern tributary and start putting pressure on those plantations. When my men move into the eastern region with stories of victory, you will see that there are a lot of us hiding in the mud.”

  Voskov had expected to have a few skulks to use as scouts. These swamp men were turning into a real asset. A mosquito bit his neck. He slapped and brought away a bloody smear on his hand.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Karro stepped out of the bath house and into the Dancing Hare’s sunny courtyard. After draping a towel around his neck, he picked up his weapons and gear from the bench near the doorway. His movements felt smooth and relaxed. The regular, vigorous workouts these past days had shaken some of the months of travel from his frame.

  Groans drifted from the bath house. This morning, five other travelers had jumped at a chance to exercise with a Knight of Auros. He waded through most challengers during the sparring. Count Myuriev, an envoy from the Shushkachevan emperor, had proven to be a tough opponent. The count’s sneering attitude added to the match’s pleasure. I should feel bad about dragging it out at the end. A loud cry of pain echoed out of the bath house, followed by some very coarse cursing in Shushkachevan. The language lent itself to expression there.

  Grinning from a general feeling of well-being, Karro started for the Dancing Hare’s common room. A good workout and a thorough wash left him with a powerful appetite. The food this near to the palace was uniformly good.

  When Karro reached the covered porch, Lady Kestran opened the door from the common room. A smile lit her face. She wore lip paint and face powders appropriate to a noblewoman visiting court. He found it intriguing to know that under the carefully piled auburn and gray curls and faint mist of perfume was a tough and resourceful woman. She had shed the effects of the long trek through the Macmar hills rather fetchingly.

  Kestran glided up to Karro and brushed her fingers along his jaw. “I should trim your hair before we go to the palace. I have a feeling we’ll receive an audience today.”

  His bright mood darkened at the thought of the Palace of Tuskaran Kings. He and Lady Kestran had been denied an audience with King Chuvrek III for four days running. Minor nobles and even priests of the Old Gods went straight in while he and Kestran waited.

  The chamberlain dropped heavy hints that a bribe would shift audience priorities. But a Knight of Auros shouldn’t need to bribe his way in to see a faithful king. I wouldn’t pay that creature even if I had a saddlebag full of rubies. Paying a man to do his duty is―

  “My Lady, you seem very confident.” His face tightened as suspicion crept into his thoughts. “You didn’t pay that reptile, did you?”

  Kestran became fascinated with her painted fingernails. “We’ve spent nearly a week waiting here because you’re too stubborn to deal with Chuvrek’s court. If we do it your way, we’d spend much more than that bribe on lodging before we saw the king. The king can ignore you longer than you will tolerate being ignored.”

  A growl rose from his throat.

  Kestran’s eyes flared with annoyance. “That worm couldn’t leave us waiting if the king didn’t wish it. Chuvrek is not his father. You simply don’t rank highly with him.”

  Karro snorted. “I don’t appreciate you going around me.” Grudgingly, he continued, “Still, we have too much to do to waste time butting heads with some evil little toad.”

  Kestran gave him a dazzling grin followed by a long, warm hug. Releasing him, she patted his cheek. “I’ll turn you into a man with some moving parts yet. If you’re to be my husband, you’ll need a few of those.”

  Karro’s unease at facing a hostile king was replaced by a new discomfort.

  The Palace of Tuskaran Kings still impressed Karro. Its history could be traced at a glance. The central buildings were seamless, yellow marble. Scores of round Hykori-style windows left the interior well-lighted during the day. Surrounding those buildings wrapped a massive granite wall in the Macmar fashion. The wall stood the height of four tall men but did not screen the interior completely. Circular Tuskaran gun towers rose like stone mushrooms from the simple Macmar walls. A dry moat and low artillery bastions made the palace a match for any force of Tuskaran-style rebels. The palace used to inspire him, now it left him feeling despair. I wonder how the Shusk emperors will change it when the next conquerors drive them here from the Plains?

  Lady Kestran, sporting a fine blue velvet dress, walked at his side. Within sight of the palace, she removed her hand from the crook of Karro’s elbow. She didn’t take her eyes from the palace, but asked “Why call this mess the Palace of Tuskaran Kings? Our mark is less on it than any of the previous owners’.”

  Karro stopped, speechless at such disrespect for the palace of the king. He opened and then closed his mouth as he searched for a response.

  She patted his arm. “I know, just a vanity. I guess it is like the new palace guards’ uniforms. Each new king feels compelled make his mark. It makes men feel less mortal.” After a moment’s thought, she said, “I don’t suppose I’d like to live in a place called the Refuge of Defeated Kings. It may be more accurate, but it would be terribly depressing.” She gave a light laugh.

  Her attempts at humor didn’t dispel Karro’s mood. The sight of
Chuvrek’s guards still bothered him. The men wore calf-length mail hauberks much like Karro’s own. Instead of helmets, they had mail coifs with reed and feather vooregas. Seeing Old Gods’ bits of magic protection at the gate of a “faithful” king stung him like salt in a wound.

  As they climbed up the stone ramp and crossed the drawbridge, Lady Kestran dropped back a step. At the gate, the guards shifted nervously. The leader had the decency to look embarrassed as he issued the challenge. “You are recognized, Karro of Kulkas, as a noble of true blood. Leave your weapons here and enter with the dread king’s protection.”

  Chuvrek II would no more have stripped a Knight of Auros of his weapons than he would have left the palace without his own crown. That Chuvrek III no longer acknowledged Karro’s status as a Knight did not bode well. While Karro turned his sword over to a young gate keeper, Lady Kestran was passed without challenge.

  The young man placed the weapon midway down a long rack. Bribe paid or not, Karro was on the verge of demanding his sword back and quitting the palace when Kestran slipped her arm inside of his. The shock of such a display inside the palace shot him straight back to his days as a newly Devoted warrior.

  “You blush well for such an old man,” Kestran whispered. “Look around. I daresay the new king seeks a less formal rule. Let’s hope he is truly flexible in his thinking.”

  A small procession swept unchallenged through the gate. At the head of a dozen or so commoners of mixed blood paced a priest of Sivek, the ancient god of war, and a priestess of Eschana, the goddess of new life. While Kestran’s expression stayed neutral, the priestess’s scandalous robes made Kestran blush in turn. Something else about the procession bothered him.

  Sivek’s priest keeps his mace. The new king places his trust badly. But something more is happening here.

  When the procession had passed, Kestran said, “With the likes of the Eschana around, no one will notice me on your arm. I wonder what Chuvrek hopes to gain from the Old Gods?”

  Karro led Kestran through the gatehouse and across the parade grounds toward the Hall of Audience. More signs of the Old Gods assailed him. A wicker image of a mounted man stood in a niche by the plain Hall door. That niche used to hold a golden starburst to symbolize the True God. All the guards wore one style or another of vooreega. Some of the reed frame charms had already fallen into poor repair, their bearers not happy with the change.

  From the far end of the parade ground a small party headed for the gate. At the head walked an old man in yellow robes. Bringing up the rear, behind a pair of overloaded carts, marched a Defender and a pair of Mist soldiers. They paid attention to no one. Out with the new God and in with the Old Gods?

  The chamberlain met them at the entrance to the Hall. He bowed deeply to Kestran. He wears more gold than a Shusk pimp. Chamberlain used to be a post of trust and honor.

  “My Lady”―he pointedly glanced at Karro and said nothing―“the dread king of all true Tuskarans will see you shortly. He has to receive the days’ augury first.”

  It was all Karro could do to restrain himself. Kestran took an offered chair while Karro paced with frustration. He stopped in mid-stride, snapped his fingers and spun to face Kestran. “It was that procession.”

  Kestran looked at him blankly. “The procession with the Eschana, when we came in? I would expect a man to remember that particular display.” She grinned playfully. “They are probably the ones playing at omens with Chuvrek right now.”

  Karro lightly grabbed her shoulders. “It wasn’t them that struck me as odd, although the Eschana did misdirect my thoughts at the time.” That last earned him the flash of a frown. “No, what was strange were the followers.”

  Kestran shrugged. “They were just commoners. All had some Tuskaran blood, but that’s normal near the capital. I saw nothing strange about them. What did you see?”

  “That was exactly what I saw. Mixed blood commoners. One reason the worship of the True God and the honoring of the Greater Servants took solid root in the Kingdom was that the priests of the Old Gods absolutely refused to accept any but pure blood Tuskarans. For your whole life, the distinctions between pure and mixed blood Tuskarans have been mainly those of status, and a few of the oldest laws. Under the True God, a Tuskaran is the same as any other worshiper. Under the Old Gods anyone of less than pure blood was only an animal―a conceit the Mist heretics stole from the Masters.”

  She raised her hands palm upwards “And?”

  “Openly favoring the True God, Chuvrek II had support of most people in the kingdom. However, the most conservative and richest clans felt like the king had traded in the Tuskaran heritage for a Macmar faith. It gave them an excuse to hold back support during his reign. Young Chuvrek must hope to get the old and new faith both to support him. Opening the Old Gods to most citizens would make recognizing them less of a threat to all the mixed bloods. He must hope to tap the most rigid clans for support without losing those who follow the True God.”

  Hot contempt rushed through him. “Chuvrek would have no trouble finding priests of the Old Gods to parade with mixed-bloods. Whatever tenets the Mist may claim, they are whores at heart. They always were.”

  Kestran stood next to Karro. “If I understand you, the king won’t reject the True God. Ulneriev has outlawed Auros and Carranos in the Empire and Chuvrek gained the refugees from those Temples. All Chuvrek need do is tolerate both faiths, keep each from antagonizing the other, and he’ll gain the support of all of his subjects.”

  Karro stroked his chin. “I just don’t understand why he so openly favors―”

  Amid loud Shushkachevan cursing, a group of newcomers joined them in the antechamber. Count Myuriev limped near the back of the party. When he spotted on Karro, his eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Good day again, Count Myuriev. Do you plan to see the king today?” Karro gave a short bow, just deep enough to be polite. The chamberlain entered the room before the count formed an answer.

  “Ah, Noble Ambassador. The king has finished his daily devotions. He will be pleased hear the words of his equal, King Ulneriev, when he has concluded business with these Tuskaran nobles.” The chamberlain left, a thick aroma of rare syuvan flowers the only sign that he had been there.

  The count limped to a padded bench and sat with a slight groan. His servants and disarmed guards fell into place around him, silently. “Perhaps I will see the king today. If the words of the emperor are less important than those of landless petty nobles, perhaps I will return home and tell my master that your king doesn’t have time for us. I’m certain that the emperor would understand, aren’t you?”

  “My experience on what Ulneriev is capable of understanding is limited. He forgives rebels and expels the men who saved his Scepter and his life,” Karro said in slow Shushkachevan. The language lent itself in expressing contempt as well as curses.

  Count Myuriev looked down and bobbed his head. In smooth Tuskaran, he said, “Yes, I suppose you have a right to feel that way. If it helps, those of us who didn’t join the rebellion have been propelled to great heights.” He gave Karro an honest smile. “There is forgiveness and forgiveness, if you take my meaning. The emperor is not a fool, although all men do foolish things.”

  The door opened again. Inside the dark hallway the chamberlain waved Karro and Kestran to join him. “The dread king will see you now. State your business quickly and address him as ‘dread king.’ Any religious titles that his father favored are no longer appropriate.”

  Karro grabbed the man’s robe and whispered, “Do you mean that he has rejected the True God?”

  The chamberlain’s fear was real. He wrapped long, thin fingers around Karro’s wrists and tugged weakly. “No, no Knight of Auros. He honors the New God and the Old Gods equally and won’t favor one publicly over the other.”

  As Karro released his grip, the chamberlain pushed away and broke into a near run. Karro barely suppressed a grin. Kestran took Karro’s arm and the pair entered the main hallway to the throne r
oom.

  The sunlit hall seemed bare to Karro. As they fell into a sedate walk, Kestran whispered her appreciation of some of the artworks gracing tables and walls along the way. Many pieces were missing since his last visit. The remaining ones were pretty enough, but the expensive golden works were gone.

  When they reached the throne room, four guards pushed open the massive doors.

  Guarding the throne seemed pointless. The real protection of the Tuskaran throne would have to be at or beyond the kingdom’s borders.

  Somberly dyed tapestries blocked the high windows that used to light the throne room. Most tapestries depicted legends of the Old Gods. The chosen scenes could also be interpreted as being from the histories of Auros and the other Greater Servants. Chuvrek walks a fine line.

  Karro’s vision adjusted to the darker chamber. Grudgingly, he admitted that the darker room lent itself better to the heavy Tuskaran royal furnishings.

  The massive priest of Sivek and the buxom Eschana remained on the landing behind the throne. The dripping remains of the morning’s auguries covered their altar. They made no move to leave.

  Chuvrek III looked down on his subjects with the affection a serpent might hold for a mouse. Karro had never met this king, but felt as if he was being sized up as a useful tool.

  The young king wore a well-made, but not ornately stitched velvet jacket and cap in the family colors of red and gold. He sat on the massive wooden throne with a leg tucked under him and leaned on its carved wooden arms. His sparse auburn beard seemed even thinner due to its length.

  Chuvrek stroked his beard before beginning the audience. The chamberlain announced Karro simply as a noble of the House of Kulkas and Kestran as a daughter of House Balkhaz. While the chamberlain listed the many titles and holdings of Chuvrek, Karro exercised his memory. Some of the towns claimed by this Chuvrek had been lost by his father to Shushkachevan attacks. Karro knew of no offensive successes by the current king or other forms of recovery.