Empire of the East

by Fred Saberhagen

  II

  Duel

  In midafternoon Rolf came back, leading a loadbeast. The look of the animal suggested it might be a reject from the Castle stable that could not be expected to give useful service in the coming campaign. Slung on it were several containers that might hold food and water. Rolf had also armed himself, but not with two swords. A serviceable sword and a long, keen knife hung from separate belts cinched round his waist.

  The time since morning had tested Chup’s patience to the limit. First, of course, because he was not sure his fish was wholly caught. Secondly, the urge to move his legs had become almost overwhelming. Under his ragged trousers their muscles were far looser, and even seemed thicker, than they had been yesterday. The ache and tingle of returning life had turned into an itch for movement.

  Rolf said nothing but halted his feeble-looking animal just beside Chup. Then he came to catch Chup under the armpits, and with wiry strength heave his half-wasted frame erect. The gate sentries turned their heads to watch, as did some passersby. But no one seemed to care if Chup departed. He was a prisoner no more, only a beggar.

  Once standing, Chup gripped the saddle with his strong hands and raised himself, while Rolf guided his dangling legs into the stirrups. Rolf asked: “Are you going to be able to hang on, there? I wouldn’t want you to fall and split your head. Not just yet.”

  “I can manage.” Chup had forgotten how high riding raised a man. Rolf took the loadbeast by the bridle, and they were off, down the sloping switchback road that led first to the village and then the world.

  Rolf walked with long strides beside the loadbeast’s head: a position that let him keep the corner of one eye on Chup. Chup, for his part, breathed deeply with the joy of seeing the Castle gradually recede behind him, and the greater joy of surreptitiously testing his legs in the stirrups and feeling them respond.

  Before they reached the village, Rolf turned off the road. He led the animal down a slope of wasteland to the beginning of the desert. The autumn day had cleared, and had grown almost hot. Ahead of them, gently rolling flatness shimmered with mirage. Sparsely marked with vegetation, it stretched on to the horizon, where towered the Black Mountains, jagged and enigmatic. Rolf had chosen the only direction which led quickly to solitude, and was heading straight east from the Castle.

  Men in the service of the Lady Charmian were to be patrolling in the desert. That might or might not mean some help for Chup. He could not count on any.

  Neither Chup nor Rolf spoke again until the Castle had fallen nine or ten kilometers behind them. At this distance it plainly overlooked them still, from its perch on the low flank of a mountain pass. But eastward of this point where they now were, the lay of the land was such that a man going east could take advantage of declivities and brush, and perhaps never see the Castle or be seen from it again.

  Here Rolf stopped the beast, and, still warily holding its bridle, turned to Chup. “Tell me what you know.”

  “And after that?”

  Touching a water bag slung on the animal, Rolf said: “This I’ll leave with you, and the knife. The beast goes back with me, of course. You won’t be able to get anywhere, or to stay alive out here for very long, but that’s what you asked for.”

  Chup was curious. “How do you plan to judge whether or not what I tell you is the truth?”

  “You have no cause to seek revenge on me in particular.” Rolf paused. “And I don’t think you lie just for the sake of lying; do harm just for the sake of doing it. Also, I already know, on good authority, a few things more than what I’ve told you about what happened to my sister. Whatever you tell me should match with that.”

  Chup nodded several times. He had intended anyway to tell Rolf the truth; he could almost regret that Rolf would not live long enough to benefit.

  “The name of the man you want is Tarlenot,” Chup said. “He served as an escort commander and a courier between the Black Mountains and outlying satrapies. He may still; whether he still is alive I have no idea.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “His face, as you described it. I’ve heard that women found him handsome, and I think he shared their view. He was young, strong, of middling height. An uncommonly good fighter, so I’ve heard.”

  “And when did you see him last?” Rolf might have had his questions on a written list.

  “I can tell you that exactly enough.” Chup turned his face to the north, remembering. “It was on the last night of my journey southward from my own satrapy, coming here to the Broken Lands to take my charming bride.

  “I came on river barge down the Dolles, escorted by two hundred armed men. Tarlenot, with five or six, going northward, met us on the last day before we reached the Castle. He and his troop, being so few in unfriendly country, were glad to spend the night in our encampment.”

  “Who or what was he escorting then?” Rolf, listening eagerly, leaned forward. But he was not near enough, as yet, for Chup to lunge at him.

  “He was escorting no one. Perhaps he carried messages. Anyway, he had with him one captive girl who might have been your sister. As nearly as I can recall, she must have been about twelve years old. Dark-haired, I think. Ugly. Whether she had any closer resemblance to yourself I can’t remember.”

  “True, she was not pretty,” Rolf said eagerly. He shook his head. “Nor was she my blood relative. What happened then?”

  “I had other things to think about. I remember Tarlenot, if I am not mistaken, saying something about selling her, in the north. There was a tavernkeeper up there at a caravanserai—” Chup stopped, caught by a sudden thought. “Why, it comes back, now. On that night I dreamt, and it was most odd. I thought I wakened, while all the men in the encampment, even the sentries, lay sleeping all around me. Tarlenot rose up from his blankets, but I could see his eyes were closed and he was still asleep.”

  “What happened then?” Rolf was utterly intent, but none the less alert. And still no closer.

  Chup thought he might better have kept quiet about the dream. It must sound like some devious lie or stalling tactic. But now he had begun it.

  “I dreamt there came one from outside the firelight, taller than a man and dressed in full dark armor that hid his face and all his body. A great Lord, certainly, but whether of East or West I could not say. The earth seemed to sink down beneath his feet, as stretched cloth would yield to the weight of a walking man. He stood before the sleeping, standing Tarlenot, and stretched out his hand toward—yes, toward where the girl must have been lying.

  “And the dark Lord said: ‘What you have there is mine, and you will dispose of it as I wish.’ Those were his words, or very like them. And Tarlenot bowed, like one accepting orders, though his eyes remained closed in sleep.

  “Then all became confused, as in dreams it often does, you know? When I awoke it was morning. The sentries were alert, as they must have been all through the night. The girl was still asleep, and smiling. That recalled to me my dream, but then I forgot it again in the press of the day’s business.” The dream had been very vivid, and the way he had forgotten and then remembered it was odd. Quite likely it had some magical importance. But what?

  Chup asked: “The girl was not blood relative, you say? Who was she?”

  “I call her my sister; I thought of her that way.” Seeing how intently Chup leaned forward, gripping the saddle, Rolf went on. “She was about six years old when she came to us, the year I was eleven. The armies of the East had not yet reached here, but they were in the country to the south, and people fleeing north sometimes passed along our road. We thought Lisa must have come from some such group passing through. My parents and I woke up one spring morning to find her standing naked in our farmyard, crying. She could remember nothing, not her name or how she’d got there. She could hardly talk. But she had been well fed and cared for up till then; my mother marveled that she had not a bruise or scratch.”

  “You took her in?” Chup would find out all he could from the young fool. B
efore he should come close enough…

  “Of course. I told you, that was before the East had come upon us; we had food in plenty. We named her Lisa, for my true sister, that had died as a baby.” Rolf scowled, running thin on patience. “Why are you questioning me? Tell me what happened to her.”

  Chup shook his head. “I told you, what happened to her finally I do not know. Except for this: when we separated in the morning, Tarlenot spoke no more of going north and selling his captive, but of going east to the Black Mountains.” Weary of talking, Chup reached for the waterbag and got a drink.

  After probing Chup with his gaze for a time, Rolf nodded, “I think, if you were making up a lie, you would make one that was more satisfying and believable.” And yet Rolf hesitated. “Come, if this tale just now was a lie, tell me. The water and the knife will still be yours. And freedom, whatever it may be worth to you out here.”

  “No lie. I’ve done my part of the bargain, told you all I know.” Chup gripped his left leg with his hands and pulled it free of the stirrup, and then the right. He made them dangle lifelessly. “Come, get me down. Another moment or two, and this animal will fall beneath my weight.”

  “Swing yourself off with your arms,” said Rolf. “I’ll hold its head.”

  Chup, had he been honestly trying, might not have been able to manage getting off without using his legs. Whichever side he lurched toward, one of his limp legs hooked over the saddle, while the other dangled awkwardly in such a position that it was likely to be broken under him if he just let go and fell. Even a man seeking to be left alone in the desert to die would not like to start his ordeal with a broken ankle. The beast grew restive, while Rolf held its head.

  At last Rolf muttered impatiently: “I’ll lift you down.” Still holding the bridle with one hand, he stepped to the side of the animal opposite from where Chup was clinging at the moment. He freed Chup’s leg so it would slide easily over the animal’s back. Then, bridle still in hand, he moved back around the loadbeast’s head.

  He found Chup standing free.

  Rolf’s moment of surprise was time enough for Chup to half-lunge, half-fall, upon his victim. Chup learned in that first moment that his legs were still far from their full strength. They could do little more than hold him up.

  But they had served him well enough for a moment, and that moment was enough. Rolf’s hand had moved quickly, but still he had hesitated fractionally between drawing sword and dagger, and by the time his choice had settled on the shorter blade it was too late. Chup’s hand was there to grip Rolf’s wrist and argue for the weapon. Grappling as he fell, Chup dragged the other down upon the sand.

  The youth had wiry strength, and two good legs. He writhed and kicked and struggled. But already Lord Chup had the grip he wanted, on Rolf’s dagger arm. Rolf’s tough arm muscles strained and quivered, fighting for his life; the Lord Chup’s brutal power, methodical and patient, wore them down.

  The captured arm began to bend. It was near the breaking point before its hand would open and give the dagger up. Chup caught the weapon up, reversed; he did not want to kill Rolf until he had made absolutely sure the charm was still with him. If it was not, Rolf would have to tell him where it was. He clubbed Rolf along the skull with the butt of the knife, and Rolf went limp.

  Inside Rolf’s jacket, in an inner pocket buttoned shut and holding nothing else, Chup found the charm. No sooner had his fingers touched it than he snatched them back. When he took it, would it work on him as it seemed to have on this young clod? Turn him misty-eyed and doting over the treacherous woman whom he had wed for nothing but political reasons?

  Only briefly did he hesitate. If he would be a Lord once more, he had no choice but to take the charm into his possession and carry it to the East.

  The loadbeast, decrepit and lethargic as it was had run off a few strides and was still stirring restlessly. Chup called to it in a soothing voice. Then he muttered the three brief defensive spells that sometimes seemed to work for him—he was a poor magician—and drew the coil of hair out of Rolf’s pocket.

  It was an intricately woven circlet of startling gold, large enough to fit around a man’s wrist. Chup had no immediate feeling of power in it, but obviously it was no mere trinket; it was not dull or crumpled, though an oaf had kept it in his pocket perhaps for half a year, and had probably given it much secret fondling.

  Chup did not doubt for a moment that it was Charmian’s hair. It brought her beauty sharply to his mind, and he stood up, swaying on his reborn legs, gazing at the charm. Aye, his unclaimed bride was beautiful. Whatever else was said of her, no one argued that. Charmian’s was the beauty, made real, that lonely men imagined in their daydreams. He recalled now the ceremonies of their wedding. There had followed half a year of death, for him. But now he was a man again…

  Eventually he took note of Rolf’s stirrings at his feet, and tucked the charm into a pocket in his own rags, and bent to put an end to his victim. On Chup’s still-unsteady legs it was a slow bending. Before he could complete it, one of his victim’s feet was hooked behind his right ankle, and the other came pushing neatly at the front of Chup’s right knee. The warrior-lord had no more chance of remaining upright right than a chopped-through tree.

  When he landed on his back he lay still briefly, raging at his own foolishness while he pretended to be stunned. Pretending did no good, for the peasant was not fool enough to jump on him. Instead, Rolf was crawling and scrambling away, dazed-looking, but also plainly full of life. Chup struggled erect, and tried to hurry in pursuit. But instead of lunging and pouncing he could only stumble on his traitorous legs and fall again.

  Quickly he was up once more, holding his captured dagger. But Rolf too was now on his feet, sword drawn and pointed more or less steadily at Chup’s midsection.

  Something he had almost forgotten began to grow in Chup: his old happiness of combat. “At least,” he observed, “you have learned how to hold a blade since last we fought.”

  Rolf was not minded to talk or even listen. His face showed how he, too, raged at himself for carelessness. He lunged forward, thrusting. To Chup, his own response seemed horribly slow and rusty; but still his hand had not forgotten what to do. It came up of itself, bringing the knife in an economical curve to meet the sword. The long steel sang, shooting two centimeters wide of Chup’s ribs. Then quickly the sword slid back, to make a looping swing and cut. Chup saw it was coming downward toward his legs. They had no nimbleness to save themselves. He let himself drop forward, reaching down with his short blade to parry the stroke as best he could. He caught the sword blade in the angle between hilt and blade of his dagger, caught it and tried to pin it to the ground. But Rolf wrenched the sword away again. Rolf feinted twice before he struck again, but there was not much skill in his pretense, so Chup had time to get back on his feet, parrying the real cut even as he rose.

  Chup saw as they circled that the loadbeast was moving steadily away. No help for that. His eyes were locked on Rolf’s, and both of them were breathing harshly. So it went on for a little time, with nothing said. Rolf would advance and strike, or sometimes only feint. Chup parried, and faked attacking in his turn. With his short blade he could not very well attack a sword, held by a determined foe. If Chup had had his strong legs he could have tried and might have won—skipping back when the sword cut at him, driving forward then at the precisely proper instant for striking. Without perfectly dependable legs it would be suicide.

  A first-rate swordsman in Rolf’s place would have driven in on Chup, trying to stay just at the distance where the sword could strike but the dagger could not, pounding one stroke upon another until at last the shorter blade must miss a parry. Though Rolf was dangerous with a sword, he was far from masterly. Chup watched and judged him critically. Rolf was evidently determined he was not going to be tricked again into rushing to too close quarters with the Lord Chup. So he stood just a fraction of a meter too far away before he struck; and he failed to press his attacks. Against his eff
orts the knife in Chup’s hand could, with a minimum of luck, stand like a wall of armor.

  At last Rolf drew back a further step, and dropped his sword point slightly. Perhaps he hoped to provoke Chup into something rash.

  But Chup only dropped his own arms to his sides and stood there resting, panting honestly. His legs were stronger than when the fight had started, as if exercise were an aid to the demon’s magic. But in the joy of fighting, with health and strength and freedom come again, he had no great wish to kill.

  He said: “Youngster, come with me to the East. Follow and serve me, and I will make you a warrior. Yes, and a leader of warriors. You may never be a great one with the sword, but you have the guts, and if you live long enough you may absorb a little knowledge.”

  The murderous determination frozen in the young face did not thaw for an instant. Instead, Rolf closed again, and struck, once, twice, three times, with greater violence than usual. The blades rang, rang, rang. Ah, Chup thought, it was too bad, a good man wasted as an enemy. Chup would have to kill him.

  If he could. The desert this near the castle must be patrolled. Should a squad of Western cavalry appear, that would be all for the Lord Chup and his ambition and his golden bride. And, too, the sun was lowering. Suppose they kept on duelling here until nightfall? To fight with blades in darkness was more like rolling dice than matching skills.

  Rolf circled round him now, struck less frequently, and appeared to be thinking more. It seemed that he was searching for the proper way, trying strategies in his mind. He might hit on the right one. He would have the guts to try it if he decided it was best. Chup therefore had better get the initiative, and soon. How? He would dare Rolf, anger him, play on young impatience.

  “Come here to me, child, and I will impart a little knowledge. Just a little spanking is all that I intend. Come, no reason for you to be so much afraid.”