Suvlochin halted his crimson-scaled mount and shouted, “I hope you have hard coin, duke. This swamp is no place to go for pleasure.” His pale blue eyes did not match his friendly grin.
May Suvlochin be the first of many.
Chapter Fifteen
Karro slid his left arm around Kestran’s waist and pulled her close. She shook her rich hair down across his face. It piled on his pillow, enveloping him in her scent.
She lowered herself, pressing along his left side. Her hand slipped into his loose linen shirt, nails tracing across his chest. Her kisses started at the base of his neck and moved up along his jaw line. This near to dawn, stubble along his neck was rough and her kisses became lighter. Karro briefly considered getting up and shaving but dismissed the idea as Kestran’s kisses tracked toward his ear.
Her voice was a husky whisper. “My lord, I will make you a very”―she nipped lightly on his earlobe―“very good wife.” The warm feeling keeping him prone became a different kind of heat. He ran his right hand along Kestran’s hip, following the dip of her waist and over to cup an ample breast.
With a soft laugh, Kestran stopped his hand as it began a journey down her ribs and toward her abdomen. “My lord, I want that too. Until we’re married we should wait. I don’t want you to feel guilty in the light of day.”
He groaned and rolled onto his back. He forced his breathing to slow. It didn’t help when Kestran followed his roll, her breasts pressing against his chest. She whispered into his ear, “Tradition demands we wait. But when the time is right, I will come to you with my dowry on my arms and around my neck. Later, I will be your lady or wear a yellow skirt or whatever you wish.”
She took his hand from her hip. “But a woman can’t let her intended ride off to war without some … token.” She flicked top tie on his shirt open and kissed the hollow of his throat. Her next kisses followed the other ties as she opened each.
Cannon boomed in the distance. The rumbling intruded on this moment with Kestran. Sleep fell away, the dream slipping from his grasp along with the dream-Kestran. How long had it been since he dreamed of someone still living?
The door rattled under an insistent pounding. “Karro, do you intend to sleep away the cool of the morning?”
Karro ran his hand over his face. Sweat left both damp. Count Myuriev’s gruff voice made a poor substitute for dream-Kestran’s soft tones. The first weeks of summer had passed since he last saw her.
He coughed to clear his throat. “Leave the door intact. I’ll come down for our morning training, Myuriev.” The assault on the door ended.
Karro stood, stretched and took up his razor. While shaving, he thought about his last evening with Kestran. He mused on how Ystret used similar techniques to stay in his thoughts. After two hundred and sixty years, he still remembered.
Moments later, Karro opened the door and stepped into the upper hallway of “The Honest Clansman.” The open gallery looked onto a surrounded patio serving the same duty as a common room in cooler lands. The inn’s sign, a tattooed Macmar noble with a suckling pig under one arm and a strongbox under the other, shone in the morning light.
Count Myuriev leaned on the stair railing, he turned when Karro pulled the door shut. “Disgusting habit, Karro. Why would any man put a blade near his throat? Even your own folk have abandoned shaving away their beards. It’s neither right nor pleasant to see so much of a man’s face.” Myuriev patted his beard affectionately, the newly rolled and oiled curls rippling down to his collar.
The Shushkachevan noble shook out his bleached, calf-length tunic. The brightly colored silk sash around his waist and intricately embroidered vest made him the picture of a Plains noble. Myuriev picked up his long-eared Shushkachevan cap and led the way down to the patio.
Karro followed the shorter man, sliding from side to side as he stretched leg muscles and tendons for the practice bouts. Over the past weeks, the count had shown steady improvement. The last few days’ bouts had taken several passes before the count yielded.
At the bottom of the stairs, before Myuriev could avoid conversation with a cup of morning-wine, Karro asked, “Is your master here? At Driskel, they said he would be at Subec.”
Myuriev shook his head. “The magistrate of Subec says that the emperor has urgent business at…” The count pressed his hands to his forehead. “Even a Tuskar should take this hint. The emperor will not see you. We can chase him across the Plains until your appointment at mid-summer has passed and you will only make Ulneriev look like an idiot.”
Karro had expected this burst of candor back at Ctarion when word placed the emperor at Driskel. They had followed, or chased, Ulneriev into the eastern portion of his Empire.
Myuriev pointed back at Karro’s room. “Spend your king’s silver. Hire as many half-breed warriors and cast-off Temple men as you wish; my emperor won’t stop you. The East Wind knows you’re not spending any of that treasure on women or wine.”
Karro felt a bit of satisfaction at outlasting Myuriev’s patience. I’ve had centuries of practice at this game. He could start raising infantry here in Subec. With hard marching and a sturdy supply train, they would reach HighGround by mid-summer.
Karro gave Myuriev a short bow. “I’ll start looking for troops after our practice. Are your bruises healed enough to try the push of lances?”
The Shushkachevan’s dark features paled. “No, I’ve taken my beatings like a man. Being downed again would bruise my pride.” He turned toward the inn’s long bar. “I’m satisfied to challenge a flask of wine this morning. When that’s done, I’ll arrange some wagons for your little army. Seeing you bested by a mere merchant would be more than what remains of my pride could stand.”
“Very good,” Karro said.
The warrior drew himself up, leaning on his spear, but not panting. This man looked to be more Shushkachevan than most of the others. Karro couldn’t fault his spear drill. It told of time spent in Temple training.
The spearman took two silver pieces from Karro’s hand. He sauntered over to join the others in the shaded part of the inn’s patio. Myuriev had purchased a tub of wine and several platters of bread and cheese to entertain the men Karro hired. The tub was Karro’s last test for the recruits. The new man dipped out half a mug, filled the rest with water and leaned against a wall, passing that test too.
Two men came approached Karro’s table. They appeared to be an older boy and his grandfather, both with Macmar and Hykori traits. The tattooed old man said, “Holy One, I can’t wield a weapon well enough to guard my comrades, but my hand is steady with an arrow-spoon or stitching a wound. The boy’s way with an arquebus is truly a gift from Auros. We have nothing left for us here. Lead us where we can serve the True God.”
The young man closed his eyes and went through the armsman’s dance. In eighteen steps; he checked, loaded, primed, fired and cleared an imaginary arquebus. His balance was slightly off, as the dance was meant for a man carrying a bulky weapon.
Karro nodded and held out four silver pieces. The old man took one and closed Karro’s hand over the rest.
No other men waited in the sun.
Karro completed his notes. Two days of recruiting and he had twenty-one spearmen with their own gear and three men who could use the arquebus. The latter would not receive their proper weapons until the force reached Tuskaran lands. Firearms were one of the main reasons the Shushkachevans suppressed the Temples.
The Shushkachevan Winds worshipers cared nothing about the faiths of their subjects. The Temple’s combination of firearms and discipline, however, represented a real threat to Shushkachevan rule. Outside of the Temples, firearms were forbidden to any but Shushkachevan nobles. Then the emperor banned Temples themselves from their native cities.
Karro rolled his notes and tied the scroll. He would leave in the morning―if Myuriev delivered on his promise. Even as Karro closed the chest of the king’s silver, the count strolled onto the patio.
The top two buttons of Myuriev’
s dark blue hat were undone. The loosened sides flared out to shade the count’s head and neck. A thin, black-skinned man followed Myuriev.
Karro was on his feet, his sword half-drawn before he realized that the black man must be a Riverine. The Masters, the sun-blackened enemies of his youth, were long dead. Thinking of Kestran and Ystret had brought back memories of the Masters and their sun-cult. Karro shook his head to clear his thoughts.
Myuriev and the Riverine stood frozen in place. As Karro slid his sword back into its sheath, the count ventured a smile. “Perhaps I made a mistake, allowing you to raise an army inside of the Empire. But I jest.” His eyes held no merriment.
Karro held up his open hands. “Forgive me. It’s the heat and old memories. When I saw your companion, I thought I looked upon one of the Masters.”
Myuriev’s eyes narrowed in thought. After a moment, his eyebrows shot up and he laughed softly. “I would save myself some pain and cut my own throat before standing between you and one of those. That is, if any still lived.” He spat in the dirt. “No loss there.”
The black man was really more of a deep brown. Where a Master had a facial structure much like a Tuskaran, except with skin baked black by tlaven oils and the sun, this man’s features differed in many ways. His face was nearly round and his nose much broader than a Macmar’s. His hair, thin and crinkled, was unlike anything Karro had seen.
“If you’re done…” The man’s speech was typical of serfs of lands south of the Tuskaran kingdom.
Caught studying the man like an exotic animal, Karro felt his face heat.
“Save your stares for a full-blooded Unogovpi. I have only half of that blood.”
Myuriev snickered. “Aruna’s right. If you think he looks like a Master, you’ll make a very bad first impression with real Riverines. They’re much darker. I understand the men often shave their heads like the cursed sun-cultists too.”
Aruna shook his head slowly. “Only men of the Red Falcons shave their heads. It’s part of ritual cleansing.”
The count waved his hands in dismissal. “No matter. Karro can learn all that he wishes of Riverine customs soon enough. I have done as I promised. Go to the camp of Harenev, along the south wall of Subec. Give the man two hundred and seven silver pieces and he’ll give you eighteen loaded wagons. Use as many of Ulneriev’s debased silver pieces as you have. Harenev bargained rudely toward the end.”
Karro felt gratitude toward the Shushkachevan count. The man had lavishly provided silver as well as advice. Either he was much more broad-thinking than the rest of his class, or Ulneriev used Myuriev as a conduit to support the campaign ahead.
Wagons and supplies are good. Now for the draft animals. Karro’s lips turned down at the thought of horse-bargaining with Harenev. If Aruna’s was not a merchant, then why was he here? The thin frame under Aruna’s worn laborer’s tunic was not what Karro expected in a warrior.
Myuriev clapped his hands, clearly pleased with himself. “Any farmer could get you a deal on wagons and vegetables. I’ve excelled even myself with Aruna. It is a shame such fortune is wasted on a Tuskar, but I’ve always held your True God meddles more in the lives of men than the Winds ever have.” He turned a full circle in respect for the Winds officially worshiped in the Empire. “Aruna has the perfect draft beasts for your journey. He brought them up from the Delta and has nearly starved to death trying to sell them as meat animals or beasts of burden.”
“Not quite starving,” the dark man said. “But to slaughter one of my beasts without fifty men to share the feast would be a waste my heart could not bear.”
Aruna stepped close to Karro. Even his sweat smelled different. “The good count tells me that you are taking wagons into the Delta. Why, my pets are just the load animals you need. They thrive on thick, wet leaves, and their feet are broad for wading through mud. Unlike your spindly horses, my entrumas can swim like fishes. Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Myuriev nodded. “Yes, go and see them, Karro. I have a parched throat―taken on your behalf, I might add.” The Shushkachevan strode for the shaded bar.
Karro waved over the first two men he had recruited, troopers cut loose when the Subec Temple closed. He placed the king’s silver in their care and followed Aruna.
Aruna led Karro through parts of Subec he hadn’t seen before. The twists and turns led through older, narrower streets and alleys. There were fewer beggars here. The dirty shops and tenements housed people with nothing to spare. They passed a sad stable, the horses inside destined for cheap butchers’ shops. Karro’s hopes plummeted. The next buildings were pigpens, loud and odorous.
Aruna turned and grinned. “We are nearly there.”
They rounded a corner. A stench easily cutting through that of the hot pigpens assaulted Karro. He took a step back, his eyes watering.
“Oh, vile silespi!” Aruna shouted.
He raised his arms plaintively. “I paid those vermin to care for my entrumas. Even the by-blows of Hykori whores should be able to splash water on something as big as my pets.”
Aruna’s “pets” were the strangest things than anything Karro had seen, Voskov’s allies included. The entrumas looked like huge demon-pigs. Two dozen or more of the creatures occupied a churned-up series of muddy corrals. At the sound of Aruna’s voice, the entrumas started a weird, croaking wail. The nearest animals struggled through drying mud toward the shouting Aruna.
Many had bloody sores and seams cracked in tough-looking brown hide. One animal pushed out of the mud and onto solid ground. Its forelegs shook and its hide hung loosely. It nuzzled the ground near Aruna and then reared its head back and gave a sad but thunderous coughing cry. Others pushed through the mud near Karro. Their smell preceded them like a solid wave. Patches of dried mud stuck to their backs and sides. Seen face-on, the entrumas looked wider than they were tall, although the nearest one’s shoulders came as high as that of a light horse. Its broad face wasn’t much like a pig’s, of any size. Black eyes glittered an arm’s length back from the rounded tip of its blunt nose. It nudged at the fence near Karro. After a moment, it opened huge jaws and released a croaking belch. Coughing, Karro turned away.
“Come on, damn you!” Aruna shouted at Karro while straddling the fence. Four entrumas clustered near him, and another six pressed those. From the far corrals, the other beasts butted their fences and made the croaking sounds.
A group of Macmar shouted from the roof of the slaughterhouse behind the pigpens, but their voices had no chance against the rest of the noise.
A bucket bounced against Karro’s shin. Another one landed next to it.
“Get them some water,” Aruna shouted “They need mud and water or their skin will break away. I’ll get them food.” The Riverine hurried away before Karro answered.
Karro trotted to a water trough and filled both buckets. He climbed up on the corral fence and splashed one bucket across the back of the entruma that had blasted him with its breath. The water covered little over half of the animal’s back. He upended the second bucket across its face and shoulders. Its broad ears flicked water away, but the animal’s grunt sounded satisfied. Three others pushed forward for a splashing.
By sundown, Karro’s shoulders ached worse than from a day-long battle. Midway through the ordeal, Aruna demanded some coins to buy fodder for the starving animals. The corral workers had used up what fodder Aruna could afford and left two days ago. He had spent those days searching for buyers.
Karro collapsed next to the empty trough, massaging his shoulders. Aruna squatted next to him, elbows on knees, meshing his fingers behind his head. He sobbed softly.
Karro patted Aruna’s arm. “I’m sorry, but I can’t afford to care for your entrumas on a march. I can’t count on getting the fodder and water your animals need. We will march fast and hard. None of my men will have any idea how to care for them. I’m sorry.”
Aruna raised his head. “Do any of your men know the Delta? Do any know the safest ways to find your enemies?
Do any speak the language of the Unogovpi—the Riverines?”
Karro sighed. “No. I hope to find guides when we near the Delta. I count on the True God to direct me.”
Aruna chuckled sadly. “Ah, you sound like my father. Trust in the gods, they will put you on the right path.” His voice turned bitter. “The gods’ path put a man of the Red Unogovpi trying to create a life in a land dominated by the vile Greens. Only my father could raise entruma in this land, because only he truly loved them. What did he receive from the gods?”
Karro kept his peace.
Aruna shouted, “The gods let him see his herds slaughtered by the Greens and left to rot in the swamp. He saw his wife killed by a man who lacked the decency to stay in his grave.” Sobbing followed the outburst.
When he calmed a bit, Aruna said, “I took the last of my father’s entrumas out of the Delta to start a new herd and make his name famous throughout this land. All I’ve done is to drive them to this dry, harsh place to starve.” He grabbed Karro’s arm. “Please, let me come with you, back to the Delta. My entrumas can pull wagons better than any oxen. Your men can help me gather bushes along the way. My pets will eat anything green. You’ll make good time with them and when we reach the swamps, you’ll thank your gods that I am with you. Snakes and insects can’t harm my entrumas. We can fit your wagons with floats and go through places no boat and no cow-cart will ever reach.”
Karro leaned his head back against the post. Whether it was the rising of the lesser moon or a prod from Auros, the entrumas started a rhythmic croaking. It sounded like a working chant from his days as a Temple trainee. The song conjured memories of hard but satisfying work.
“Aruna, you make an attractive offer. Perhaps your gods and my own are working in concert.”
Death's Paladin Page 23