The Mermaid's Tale

by D. G. Valdron

  With shaking hands the farmer took the dice and rolled. They clattered in the bowel like dried bones in an empty pot, coming up three and five.

  “Uh,” the farmer began.

  “I win,” the Horseman announced. He started to reach for the dice.

  “What?” the farmer said, confused suddenly. There could be no question as to who had diced higher.

  “You cheat me,” the Horseman bellowed.

  We all jumped.

  “Ackh-h,” the farmer grunted, bending forward convulsively. Six inches of spear point protruded down through his chest. He tried to rise, eyes wild, blood on his lips, or perhaps it was just the spear lifting him. He lurched forward onto his stomach. Arms and legs kicking, as we scrambled away.

  His hand gripped my boot momentarily. I shook it off. Behind and above him, another Horseman, this one young and clean-shaven, grinning madly and holding the spear, forced him down with his foot.

  The Farmer made incoherent noises, struggling to plead, to beg, sobbing for his life. The bearded Horseman, smiling, put his boot on the Farmer’s head. The other Horseman, with the spear, pulled it back a little, a foot of blood soaked shaft now showing above the body and began to swing it back and forth like a churn. Under the wet noises of the spear in his chest, I could hear little tik sounds as the point skated up and down the inside of his ribs.

  Frightened, I craved a weapon desperately, but all I had was a small slitting knife concealed upon me. The Bartender had made a point of taking away obvious weapons. He hadn’t extended that rule to the Horsemen.

  One of the Dwarves, a younger one, with something like presence of mind, kicked wildly at the body.

  Spasming finally, the farmer went still, a river of blood gushing from his mouth.

  “A cheat,” the bearded Horseman said easily, “and no friend of ours. Tishaha folk. That tribe can be a bit... unreliable.”

  “Cheater,” the young Dwarf grunted. “Yes, we all saw him cheat. He--”

  His words left him. He’d run out of things to say.

  The Horsemen grinned at him.

  “There,” the clean shaven one said to us, his eyes sparkled, “now that’s how a friend acts.”

  I could feel my, everyone’s, heart seem to race suddenly, at the realization that we should have been kicking the body, that we should have leaped upon the farmer, and in not leaping, we might somehow be considered enemy.

  An older Dwarf, his face frightened, spat on the body. He had more moisture than I; my mouth was dry as a bone.

  For another instant, we all stood there, waiting to see what the Horsemen would do next. I was acutely conscious that the table of the Horsemen had gone silent. That my back was to them.

  I didn’t dare turn. There was an Arukh there who might know my face as well as I knew his.

  We waited.

  An immense pool of blood spread under the Farmer.

  “Well,” the Bearded Horseman said, easy and genial again. “I’m weary of gambling for now. I’m going to go have a drink with my friends. Someone clean off my winnings and bring it to me.”

  There was a murmur of assent. Two humans grabbed the legs of the Farmer and began to haul him away. Someone else dropped to their knees and began to paw with shaking hands through the pool of blood for coins.

  My knees were trembling.

  The bearded Horseman’s blue eyes rested on me for a second. I bowed my head in submissive fear, crouching at the knees. Then he turned. They returned to their table.

  One of the Dwarves began to head for the door.

  “Hey,” one of the Horsemen from the table called.

  The Dwarf froze, quivering like a deer.

  “Where you going? We might want to do some more gambling later. It’s always good to gamble with friends.”

  They laughed.

  One of the Bartender’s sons came to cast earth and ashes onto the pool of blood. We moved down a little, to be away from it. Squatting in a circle.

  With shaking hands, one of the Dwarves cast bloody dice into the bowl. As it rattled, it left little red stains on the inside.

  “Who...who is next?” he asked.

  “I don’t... don’t know,” another said.

  I took the dice, rubbing the blood in my palms. No one had bothered to even look at the numbers.

  I swallowed beer.

  “Pipes,” I said, trying to calm myself, speaking to no one in particular. “You were speaking of a better way to make pipes?”

  “Yes,” a Dwarf said quickly. “Pipes. I’ve always said that ivory made the best Pipes.”

  This was met by a deepening silence. Vampires controlled the ivory trade.

  “Soapstone, you mean,” another Dwarf said suddenly. “It’s soapstone you were speaking of...better than ivory.”

  “Yes,” the first one said, almost sighing with relief. “That’s what I meant.”

  The talk went on, careful and circumspect, with no resemblance to the things in our minds, but it went on. With each roll of the dice, we calmed ourselves. Still, nervous eyes shifted back and forth, and Dwarves pointedly took drinks from empty beer mugs, afraid to go and have them filled.

  I could no longer stand it. By tiny increments, I shifted until I could see the Horsemen from the corner of my eye. None of them, especially the Arukh paid me particular attention. His name, I’d learned earlier, was Tashifar. One of those very rare Arukh that bear a name. Sometimes one or another Horseman would look towards us and say something, the rest would laugh. The skin of my back slowly stopped twitching.

  The rest of the tavern was subdued. Almost everyone else trying to pretend everything was normal, hoping that the Horsemen did not visit upon them.

  From the corner of my eye, I watched my Arukh, watched him drink and joke with the Humans. He did not even seem to register my presence.

  The Horsemen, I had discovered, had arrived eight months ago with Tashifar among them. The killings had begun, as far back as I could trace them, seven months ago.

  One of the Dwarves, with more desperation than courage, went out back to water the wall. He came back. Others of the Horsemen, or the other Tavern dwellers went out. They came back. One man sickened, the Bartender’s sons dragged him out to the back, tossing him through a door and quickly returning. The man returned, walking unsteadily a few minutes later.

  Tashifar the Arukh stood. He began walking towards the back with an easy rolling gait, as the others joked behind him.

  Without trying to watch him go, I emptied a bowl of pipe weed into the last of my beer.

  When I was certain he was gone, I raised the mug and drained it. Bitter taste filled my mouth and I retched, bending forward.

  “Oh no,” a Dwarf said, pulling it away quickly, “not the bowl.”

  I widened my jaws and spewed a thin stream of beer vomit in front of them. Gasping loudly, I swallowed, working my throat, trying to keep it down a little longer.

  “Another one,” a voice said, one of the Bartenders sons. I felt hands on my arms, grasping me, pulling me away.

  “This one’s big, I need some help here,” his voice was tinged with desperation, as if afraid the Horsemen might choose to get involved.

  I retched again, vomit spilling down my front.

  Another pair of hands on me, I was pulled to my feet and half walked, half carried to the back. A man returning, got out of our way, as I trailed vomit. The bearded Horseman glanced at me, his eyes burning and attentive. Then someone said something to him and his eyes looked away.

  There was a walled courtyard in the back. I could see a small mound with a door, the cold room. The sons flung me out on my knees, only the Arukh, Tashifar, was there standing against the wall. I retched one more time as he glanced at me. He turned back to the wall, dismissing me. The sound and smell of urine was strong from him. I would have pref
erred him squatting.

  Time to kill.

  I stood quietly and took four silent strides towards him, drawing my slitting knife as I did so.

  “For the Mermaid,” I hissed, reaching around to cut his throat from ear to ear.

  Arukh speed blocked me, his hand closing around the blade, I smashed his head against the wall. Blood seeped from his hand but he did not let go the knife as he twisted in my grip. Frightened eyes met mine. My forehead slammed into his nose as he struggled.

  He reached for his knife, my hand followed the thrust of his arm, struggled with him for the feel of the hilt. Our bodies swayed together, straining with intimacy. I pulled his knife. A corner of my mind was disappointed to find a normal bronze, too large by a measure. He had another somewhere.

  He grunted, twisting against my strength. We stumbled two steps. His foot slipped in excrement, sliding into a knee-deep squatting pit. I followed him down as he used the movement to free himself from my grip. I slashed with his knife as he leaped and rolled, then leaped after him, dropping the slitting knife in the pit.

  He landed on his feet, wary and ready. I rushed him, slashing for his face; he blocked it with a forearm guard, metal scraping metal, swinging around to face me. Not good. I could tell by his stance that he was a trained fighter. I wasn’t trained. I advanced grinning fiercely, waving the knife. He backed up, raising his forearm guards.

  “Remember the Mermaid?” I asked as the knife glinted. Twice more I rushed, striking at him. Twice more he blocked with the guards. On the second, I grabbed the guard with my free hand. He launched a blow at my face. I ignored it and with main strength, swung him off his feet.

  He rolled, but I was almost on top of him. He barely evaded my thrust as I drew a line of blood at the edge of his guard. He backed away panting.

  Suddenly people began spilling out of the doorway from the tavern. Horsemen. They ranged against me automatically. The phrase “like wolves” shivered through my mind.

  I shifted and slid, so as not to be between them and Tashifar. He climbed to his feet, shaking his head, Horsemen at his back.

  “Ho Taz,” the Bearded Horseman called advancing on my side, “you have a new wench. Shame on you for not sharing.”

  “Careful,” the Arukh called. “She’s strong.”

  He began shifting to my other side as I backed a step. He came close; I slashed and snarled. He grabbed for the knife. Too late, I thought, I’d have to run. Wildly I looked from one to the other, trying to judge the weakest.

  “It’s all right Taz. We are used to Orc strength,” one of them said.

  “You don’t understand--” he cried.

  I leaped away from Tashifar, ducking under the swing of the bearded Horseman’s club. I held him close, hugging the breath out of him, swinging his body around, his feet in the air.

  I lifted him up and threw him at his companions. They got out of the way, even as he rolled and found his feet. I feinted, rushing the smallest, they converging at him. Then I saw the knife.

  For a second, that was all I saw. Black with grease, an iron knife smaller than usual with two edges, the second one notched. It filled my mind.

  Without being aware of moving, I was in front of the knife wielder. It was the clean-shaven Horseman who’d speared the farmer. My hand caught his wrist, freezing the knife in place. I looked in his glittering blue eyes.

  For a second, they all froze, seeming to glance towards him.

  “It was you. You killed the Mermaid,” I whispered.

  Something dark and ugly passed over his face.

  “So?” he replied.

  I raised my arm and thrust with the knife, as the clean-shaven Horseman flailed in my grip. But something was wrong, the knife didn’t move.

  Tashifar.

  Tashifar had my arm locked in his. I flung the Human away for a second to hit him. His grip loosened as blood flew from his nose and mouth but he didn’t let go. Yowling with rage I hit him again. He released his hold, staggering backwards.

  I turned looking for my Horseman. Others stepped in front of him.

  “Careful, my Prince,” one of them shouted, even as they moved to protect him.

  They advanced, trying to surround me. None of them coming too close. Arukh, especially female Arukh were much stronger than Humans. But Humans lasted longer. They aimed to use up my strength and then take me.

  Not behind a stinking tavern, I thought.

  I rushed them, and as they crouched for my attack, I went low, folding in and by force pushing between them. They turned even as I leaped past, blades whistling behind my back.

  In front of me, the Tavern door. Crude wooden boards flew apart before me. One of the Bartender’s sons appeared, a bucket in his hand. Then, just as suddenly, he was gone, the bucket floating in the air before me, I batted it away, ploughing through droplets of beer hanging in the air like beads.

  One of the Dwarves laid hands upon me. I twisted his head around, barely noting his surprised expression.

  Roaring voices, the presence of the Horsemen was like mist at my back. The tavern doorway yawned before me, a circle of light. Someone appeared in it, then they were gone and I was through.

  Horses. Tethered horses.

  Horsemen! A wild part of my mind screamed.

  I slashed the tethers, grabbing at a brown mare as they bucked and reared, panicked at my unconscious screaming.

  I vaulted atop the horse. It struggled under me, even as I slammed my fist against the side of its head. As it shuffled in a half circle I slashed at its flanks with Tashifar’s knife. Someone appeared in the doorway. The Prince?

  “Murderer,” I roared, and then I was gone.

  I rode low, slashing again and again at its flanks, spurring the horse harder as I held its mane and screamed in its ear. Its hoofbeats sounded in my ear like a second drumming of my heart as the ground was eaten up underneath us.

  I didn’t look back, just screamed and slashed, urging more speed to take us away from the Horsemen following behind. In my imagination, the hoofbeats of my horse magnified to a thousand behind me.

  Startled faces, Dwarf and Human looked up, and vanished as I passed them. I was into the Downriver, the horse foaming with exhaustion, its flanks slick with blood and still I drove it.

  The dark doorway of the Lodge appeared. I rode the horse within as it reared and scraped, trying to stop now that it had run out of room. As the horse struggled to keep its feet under it, I slid off, spinning around and around, waving the knife.

  There was no one behind me. Nothing beyond the lodge. They hadn’t managed to follow me.

  I roared with relief and frustration, feeling my body weightless, a force beyond rage and madness filling me. I lurched and lunged as the horse galloped away and Arukh fled before me.

  I howled.

  Now that I knew who it was, it took me only a little longer to be sure.

  I went back, I spoke to people, I asked questions and took answers.

  Eventually, I returned again and made report to the Elders.

  “The Horse King’s son: Faron. He has the knife. A stable boy from the mud road saw him take two horses out to the marsh grass. One of them had a burden in a leather sack. When it passed by again it had no burden, but there was blood on its flank. He frequented the street Shaman, Copper Thoughts. It was his gold the Shaman carried. There is no doubt.”

  Not after I had seen his eyes. Looking into those glittering eyes, there’d been no doubt at all.

  “Blinding,” I told them, “is a man thing. Tongue cutting is a man trick. The Horsemen are like wolves, they kill by butchery. He has taken this and made it part of his sex.”

  They didn’t say anything.

  “It is not just the Mermaid,” I said. “Others have died. Dwarves, Vampires, Kobolds, Hobgoblins.... I’ve gone back: for all the deaths, Horseme
n can be found around. One Horseman, can be spied for some... the Prince.”

  I waited. They sat in a circle around me. Finally one of them laid a small leather pouch before me.

  “You have done well,” he said. “Thank you.”

  I examined the pouch. A dozen pieces. A reward? The Troll said they’d already paid their commission to him to hold.

  “I can kill him for you.” I offered again what I had already promised in the beginning.

  “I can bring you his head,” I promised and then flinched with involuntary unconscious shame.

  I didn’t know how I would do it, now that he was warned. But I would do it.

  I needed it badly.

  “That will not be necessary,” their speaker told me. “We will see to these matters.”

  I felt bitter disappointment. I wanted him myself. Some part of me hungered for him. Somehow, this wasn’t about gold. I needed him to be dead.

  “What will you do now?” I asked.

  “We will speak to his people.”

  I thought of Mira.

  “And?” I asked.

  “We will speak.”

  “What good will that do?” I asked angrily.

  “It is our concern. Not yours,” they reminded me.

  Which was true as far as it went. But somehow I still needed to make him dead.

  “Mothers’ love be upon you,” I said in formal Goblin style.

  Khanstantin and the other Hobgoblins of the Brave Tohkzahli surrounded me. I’d gone searching for them.

  “Yeah, yeah,” replied Khanstantin easily. “Short life, quick death, somebody else and all that, Arukh. You have something to tell us?”

  “I have the name of your killer,” I told him.

  Behind me, always behind me, Vhoroktik grunted.

  “Which of the Horsemen is it?”

  Khanstantin laughed at my expression.

  “You’re remarkably honest for an Arukh,” he said. “All the names in your story, they were true names, so far as we can find.”

  “We wait. We hear the story of a mad Arukh who assaults a group of Horsemen and rides away shouting ‘murderer.’”