The Mermaid's Tale

by D. G. Valdron

  Another one swam up.

  “Fierce woman,” he said, “promise us you’ll come back and talk to us again.”

  There wasn’t anything more I needed from them, but...

  “I’ll come back.”

  I stood watching them as they swam off.

  I pondered my next move. It wasn’t too hard to get a couple of horses, I decided. If you knew who to look for you could probably find someone who could tell you about a couple of horses that had been borrowed one night, and had come back with traces of blood or mud on them. They would confirm, but they wouldn’t provide me with a key. I would have to know who to look for first.

  I’d be better off looking for a smallish male Orc with an iron knife and a taste for butchery. There couldn’t be too many of those around, I figured. Arukh with iron knives.

  We all had the taste for butchery.

  I came to a checkpoint. There hadn’t been one here before. I stared at it curiously. It sat at an intersection, a large diamond choking the square. It was rudely made with stonework and wood pulled from nearby buildings to form rough sloping walls atop which Dwarves stood. The tall stone buildings that sat at the intersection had been left alone. Inside I saw hide tents. It was very recent from the look of the tents. I smelled Dwarf fires from the tents, cooking their sour lichen tea.

  A dozen Dwarves scurried back and forth, making their notes, haranguing those who passed near. I went to the side that seemed least busy. Three Dwarves, a lancer and two archers, guarded that corner.

  “Stand,” a Dwarf barked as I came up to them, his lance pointed at me. Ugly thing, it was a kralance, with a barbed head that stuck in you, and a crosspiece partway down that held you off while you died on the end of it.

  I stopped.

  “Hagrik,” he said, the Dwarf word for Arukh.

  I grinned and bobbed my head at him.

  “Don’t try me,” he warned, shaking the lance. “And don’t say that word. I’ll gut you soon as look at you.”

  I stepped back.

  “Honourable sir,” I said.

  “What do you want?”

  “To pass, oh wise one,” I told him. I hoped there wasn’t a toll. I had only a few coins in my skin purse, enough for a horse.

  “What’s your Lodge? Vampire or Troll?”

  “Iron Pants the Troll, near the walls of the Kingdom.”

  I tried to bow obsequiously, habitually gauging their range.

  Their wall was not well made, perhaps five feet tall, sloping with many handholds. It was little better than a mound of rubble. I could scramble up it and be inside in seconds.

  “One of ours,” an archer whispered.

  “What the hell is it doing this far up, then?” the lancer snapped. “It’s Hagrik. It’ll tear your throat out as soon as look at you.”

  “State your business,” the first archer said. He had an arrow pulled, but hadn’t bothered to set it to bow, trusting his ability. He hadn’t dealt with Arukh before.

  I shuffled my feet, trying to select among lies.

  “Goblins,” I mumbled.

  “Ghoklins?” the archer said. They had nothing against Goblins. This far up the edges of Dwarf territory, it could only be Vampires or Goblins that frightened them.

  “Goblins want Arukh, for guard.” I tried to look stupid and ingratiating.

  The Dwarves looked at each other.

  “Goblins are getting involved?” the second archer said, with better pronunciation than usual. “That’s news.”

  “They wouldn’t use Hagrik, they have Hhoklokic,” the lancer grunted. Hhoklokic, Hobgoblins. “She’s lying to us.”

  “They might seek Hagrik, for more strength. Hhoklokic are tough, but there’s only so much they can do and so many of them. This could be important.”

  “She’s lying, she’s going to the bloodsuckers. We let her pass now, she’ll be coming over the wall at us in a week.”

  I cocked my head, listening to the conversation, as they shifted deeper into dwarf speech. There were enough Dwarf words, mangled and corrupted in the trade speech that I could get their gist. They were worried.

  They were in a bad position. The checkpoint was all right for controlling movement, but anything more, and they would be nothing more than an obstacle. War comes, Dwarves like these would be the first to die, defending some wooden shack that no one gave a shit about.

  I guessed they were all low totem Dwarves, hoping for advancement, praying to be out of there if anything happened. Looking for a way into the Kingdom houses.

  “No help for the Ghoklin until we see which way they swing. Maybe no help for them then either,” the Lancer snapped at me finally, ending the debate.

  I shuffled my feet and tried to look stupid and patient.

  “Back to your Lodge,” the lancer turned to me. “No work for Wamphyre, no work for Ghoklin. You want fight, we hire.”

  “Hire now?” I bobbed my head.

  “No hire now, go to lodge.”

  “No hire at lodge,” I said, aping his pidgin.

  “There’ll be a lot of hiring at the Lodge,” he said, “a big fight is coming. War.”

  “Always war,” I said.

  “Big one,” the older archer replied. “Big war.”

  I waited a minute or more, but it seemed like they weren’t going to change their mind.

  Finally I turned and stalked off.

  A trio of Kobolds followed me. They’d hung back. They had no hope of getting through the checkpoint, but they’d hovered behind, listening to the conversation.

  “Orc Nation! Hail, from the Secret Kingdoms.”

  One of those. I hissed.

  “Piss off,” I snapped, “there is no nation, and your kingdom,” I put emphasis on the word, “the Dwarves will crush you.”

  “They have tried.”

  “Arrah,” I snarled.

  “Is it true, what you said?” he persisted. “You go to join the Mothers? Are the Orc coming home?”

  Coming home? I almost spat at them. An image of dead goblin mothers flashed in my mind, and my anger deflated a little.

  “One Arukh?” I asked. “That’s hardly a movement.”

  “But where you go, others follow.”

  I stopped and stared hard at them.

  They backed up.

  “Arukh go where they are paid,” I said with finality. Daring them to respond.

  “Where do you go?” one asked.

  I shrugged. It wasn’t as if they’d go back and tell the Dwarves. Kobolds hated Dwarves.

  “Vampires,” I said, grinning without humour and showing them teeth. They drew back. They had little love for Vampires either.

  They tailed me for a distance, slowly losing interest. Kobolds are like that.

  I headed south, looking for a way through. I passed four more Dwarf checkpoints, before I found a street I could walk. Then after ten minutes walking, I came to a place where the Dead Men had blocked the road entirely. I backed away as they watched. I had to retrace my steps as far as the Goblin market.

  It was crowded in the Goblin market, with all manner of beings buying and selling. I passed the Street of Joy, and remembering the copper armlet, decided to return to it on my way back.

  Evening was falling and the sky was starting to feel comfortable. The sun was low, hiding behind clouds: the sky was full of reds and purples, making the shadows long, furtive and welcoming; places to hide; places to flee.

  The hives of the Goblins loomed like small hills, or the backs of strange beasts rising from the earth. In the distance, you could see the spires of the Dead Men, and behind it the massive stonework of Big Town.

  I headed north from there, walking up the wide, packed boulevards that lead to the Vampire kingdom.

  I came to a large clearing known as the Lesser M
arket. It was thick with stalls and trade buildings. This was one of the places where Dwarves and Vampires traded, but I could see other races in number. Off to my left, the tall buildings of the Dwarves, nine and ten stories, festooned with ropes and scaffolding, loomed in the distance.

  Something was wrong.

  My nostrils twitched.

  There was tension in the air.

  Horses pranced and tossed their heads, eyes rolling. Vampires rode with straight backs, perching neatly on their mounts. There were checkpoints, these large and heavily manned, almost stockades, along the Dwarf gateways. The Lesser Market was right up against the Dwarf kingdom, I realized suddenly.

  I’d never thought of it before, but most of the city was empty lands. Not truly empty. Spaces inhabited by people of all sorts, but not directly under any kingdom. Each kingdom controlled a lesser territory within the city, widely separated from the other kingdoms.

  Outside Dwarf kingdom, many Dwarves lived, perhaps most of them. So did Giants and Goblins and every other sort. Inside Dwarf kingdom, there was nothing but Dwarves.

  I made for the right edges of the market, meaning to creep along the sides. I brushed against cattle and warriors of different races.

  Every stall, almost every merchant had a handful of guards. They looked edgy.

  Suddenly there was an ululating cry, and a band of horses thundered down a boulevard almost on top of me. I scrambled to get out of their way.

  The Vampires let out a howl and wheeled their horses to meet the newcomers. Dwarves poured from the stockades, shouting and waving their weapons. Briefly, I paused near a tent stall staring in astonishment as the horses and their riders stormed past. My jaw dropped.

  The horses were ridden by men. Humans were riding horses! The two bands of horseriders, Humans and Vampires met, clashing, as the marketplace filled with dwarves on foot.

  I backed away from the tent stall just as it was trampled by a brace of cattle. The air was filled with cursing in a dozen tongues, the lowing and bellowing of cattle. The pungent smells of blood and smoke filled my nostrils. A Horseman swung at me. I grabbed his arm and pulled him down as I dodged under his horse.

  I didn’t look back to see what happened to him. I leaped forward, almost running into a Dwarf lancer. He jabbed at me, but I slammed his lance into the ground and jerked it from his hands. I stopped suddenly as a horse screamed and reared, falling heavily on its side. A Vampire slid off, his long body almost liquid. For a second, our eyes met, he grinned at me, and then leaped away.

  Behind him, the horse kicked futilely, screaming as its guts spilled out over the ground, its bile strong in the air.

  I darted left around the horse, coming across three Dwarves. One of them stared at me and I scuttled quickly backward, getting on the other side of the dying horse. I leaped onto its shoulder for a second, balancing as it heaved and bucked, looking all about me.

  There! Safety. A stone wall stood, backing a ruined trading stall. A small band huddled against it, staying out of the fight. I leaped off the horse and scrambled toward it. An arrow sped towards me but I dodged it, scuttling around a struggling group of horse riders.

  I leaped over the impaled corpse of a Dwarf and suddenly it was calm.

  The band at the wall faced me uncertainly. Behind me, the battle raged.

  “Arrah,” I said, hunching down and bobbing my head.

  It was a mixed group. A Troll, a couple of Arukh, Hobgoblins, Goblins. They stared at me.

  “Arrah,” one of the Arukh grunted. They parted a little to let me enter.

  Still hunched over, I scuttled forward until my back was against the wall. I breathed deeply several times, the smell of blood thick in my nostrils. The others’ heads turned to inspect me briefly, and then looked back to the battle.

  “Very bad,” one of the other Arukh, a grizzled male without a nose, said. His lack of a nose gave his voice an odd sibilant quality as air blew in and out of the ragged scarholes above his mouth.

  We watched the battle. At first, I found it hard to make any sense of things. Dwarves ran here and there, screaming and shouting, being ridden down by Vampires, or banding together in little clusters before dispersing to run screaming and waving their weapons, against Vampires on foot and riding horses. The Vampires and Humans riding horses swept back and forth across the market, fighting, parting, circling and fighting again.

  On the edges of the fighting, we watched, almost relaxed, as if watching some game.

  “Dwarves and Humans against Vampires,” I said.

  “Vampires aren’t doing well, no ground forces,” the grizzled Arukh commented.

  “Too much open ground to fight on foot,” the Troll said.

  Which was true. Normally, with this much open ground the Vampires would have swept the Dwarves away. That was why Vampires liked long open boulevards. And why Dwarves liked to establish barricades and checkpoints, to keep from being overwhelmed by the Vampire cavalry. They liked heavy massed attacks.

  “The Dwarves are doing all right,” someone said.

  We watched as a small band of Dwarves cut to pieces a handful of Vampires on foot, and further on, other Dwarves dragged Vampires from their mounts.

  “It’s the Horsemen,” the Troll said.

  He was right. As the sounds of battle ebbed and flowed, we could see that the Vampire riders were blunted by the Human riders, who stalled their charges, and harried them across the field. Vampires on horses held their own, but those who rode cattle found themselves caught between more maneuverable Horsemen and the Dwarves on foot. One after the other, they were dragged down.

  “Men on horses,” said a female Hobgoblin in amazement, “Mothers’ wonders.”

  “I’ve heard of this,” I said. There were grunts of agreement.

  Rumours of Horsemen had been darting around for months, but the Horsemen had rarely been seen in most of the city. They’d kept to the fractious swamp that passed for the Human kingdom, or the Human villages that farmed further up the river. They were outside the City mostly, increasingly whispered of, seldom seen.

  Still, I understood her awe. It was an amazing thing to see.

  “They’re not very good,” the Troll commented. “There, you see? They use straps on the horses heads, and blankets on their backs.”

  Yes, now that it was pointed out, I could see.

  “They sit rather than ride,” I observed. “The Vampires are better.”

  I remembered the man I had pulled off the horse when the battle started. He’d fallen heavily, no style at all. A Vampire would have slipped off and then slipped on again without a wasted breath.

  Several times we watched Vampires count coup on the Humans, knocking them from their mounts. Men were much more ruthless, without style or grace they hacked at both Vampires and mounts.

  A Horseman drove a lance straight into a horse’s chest. The animal flipped over. The naked Vampire riding it, smoothly used it’s momentum to catapult off, landing on two feet and taking a couple of languid steps. It ducked easily to avoid a Horseman’s swing and sidestepped the thrashing hooves of its former mount.

  It glanced almost regretfully at the dying horse and then turned, taking several casual steps. A Horseman rushed past it. The Vampire gracefully slipped away, slapping the horse’s flank as it went. The Horseman fought for control of his mount.

  The Vampire turned toward us, it’s leathery, sun-scorched skin catching the light for a second, and began walking nonchalantly in our direction.

  “It’s Traditional,” the Troll said, “City Vampires don’t have hides like that.”

  “Shit,” I said, “it’s heading for us.”

  There was a sudden chatter of voices from our group at this unwelcome development.

  Already, squads of Horseman had thundered past, checking us out. But none had confronted us. Our little band, obvious noncom
batants, looked too formidable and too well secured to pick a fight with. If we were lucky, we might sit the battle out and walk away.

  Unless there was a Vampire to draw attention to us.

  “What do we do?” a Kobold asked in panic. “It’s almost here.”

  The Vampire strolled across the battlefield as it might stroll across a meadow. It stepped around ruined corpses of people or animals once or twice, and dodged to avoid a blow, but apart from that it gave the fight no attention.

  “It’s dreaming,” the Troll said.

  “Keep it away,” the grizzled Arukh said over a sudden clash of metal. The breeze carried a sudden whiff of carrion to us. “We must drive it off.”

  A Hobgoblin laughed bitterly. “You try to drive off a Traditional Vampire.”

  It was female, we could see as it approached us.

  Our desperate debate ended as it stepped between our ranks and placed its back to the wall.

  “So be it,” someone said.

  The battle did not come to us though. Instead, it raged back and forth across the market.

  And suddenly, it was over.

  The Vampires were gone, the market seemed empty, but for random fires and a scattering of corpses.

  “Who won?” a Kobold asked, shattering the silence that the Vampire’s arrival had brought.

  “The Vampires are gone,” a Hobgoblin said.

  “Means nothing,” the old Arukh grunted. “They’ll come back with a stampede. Clear the place out. If the Dwarves took it, they can’t hold it.”

  “A lot of dead Dwarves. More dead of them than Vampires or Men,” the Troll said to himself. Had he counted the bodies? Trolls were peculiar like that.

  The Dwarves, on foot, had gotten the worst of it. They’d been trampled by the Vampires and Horsemen alike.

  “The men aren’t good enough riders to handle a stampede,” the old Arukh said.

  “They’re good enough to beat Vampires,” I grunted. I was thinking furiously, trying to absorb this.

  Humans had never counted for much. This was the Dwarves fight, at the gates of their Kingdom. In the wars of the Kingdoms, the Dwarves had always had to confront the speed and flexibility of the Vampires’ beast riders. Now they’d found riders of their own.