“Strangers, sir,” the sentry said. “Poz brought them from Drievabor. They just came walking down the road into town yesterday. These two claim to be armorers sent from Seidabar; Poz said the priest didn't explain himself.”
Lord Duzon stepped out of the tent. He wore the red tunic and gold insignia of an Imperial captain, somewhat the worse for wear, and bore a sword on his belt. His hair had obviously been trimmed and curled some time ago, and left untended more recently. He was almost a head taller than Darsmit, slightly taller than Vadeviya, and the top of his head came to the level of Malledd's nose.
He looked the three newcomers over from temple to toe, giving the oversized Malledd particular attention, then told the sentry, “Anyone Lord Kadan sent would have papers, and probably an escort. Did they?”
“No, sir,” the sentry admitted.
“Then is there any reason to believe them?” Duzon demanded. “How do we know the Nazakri hasn't decided to send a few spies to take a closer look at us?”
“Well, he's a priest, sir,” the sentry said hesitantly.
“He's an old man in a white robe,” Duzon answered. “We don't know he's a priest.
“Poz said they came down the road from the west, not across the bridge.”
“Poz can be fooled. They could have circled around.”
Malledd spoke up. “Lord Kadan didn't send us,” he said. “We came on our own. We were apprenticed at the Imperial Armory, but we thought we'd be more use here.”
Duzon looked up and met Malledd's gaze for a moment, then asked, “And the priest?”
Malledd shrugged. “He can speak for himself.”
Duzon turned to Vadeviya. “Well?” he demanded.
“Thank you so much, Malledd,” Vadeviya said. “My lord, I am indeed a priest, from the temple in Biekedau. I came because I believed the gods wished me to come.” He grimaced. “Some of them, anyway.”
“Biekedau – perhaps we can test that,” Duzon said thoughtfully. “Gars, who's awake from the Biekedau Regiment?”
“I don't know, sir,” the sentry said unhappily.
“It wouldn't prove anything if they don't know me,” Vadeviya said. “I was a temple scholar; most of the ordinary citizens wouldn't know me.”
“You have some men from Grozerodz, don't you?” Malledd said. “They'd know me.”
“Grozerodz?” Duzon eyed Malledd with renewed interest. “Name them.”
“There were six or seven, I think – Onnell, and Timuan, and Bousian, and Ozerga, and Orzin...” He frowned, trying to remember whether Nedduel had gone.
“I know Onnell,” Duzon said. “If he'll attest to your identity, I'll believe you.” He smiled. “They grow them big in Grozerodz, don't they? I thought Onnell was big.”
“He is,” Malledd said. “I'm just bigger.”
Duzon chuckled. “Indeed,” he said. Then a thought struck him; his smile vanished, and he cast a sideways glance at Malledd.
Malledd noticed this, and waited, dreading the inevitable question – “What did you say your name was?” Onnell must have told this Lord Duzon who Malledd was. If the two knew each other, and Duzon claimed to be the divine champion, that was hardly surprising.
The question didn't come. Instead Duzon turned away and ordered, “Wake up Onnell and bring him here.”
“Yes, my lord,” the sentry replied; he turned and hurried away.
“He's asleep?” Darsmit asked.
“Everyone's asleep,” Duzon answered. “We're fighting nightwalkers, remember? Fight all night, sleep all day – that's been our schedule for some time now.”
“Um,” Malledd said.
“Poz didn't tell you?”
“Poz was the guard who brought us from Drievabor?” Malledd asked. “He didn't even tell us his name.”
“Indeed,” Duzon said. “But you're here.”
Malledd nodded. “He took us to see someone who claimed to be Lady Karmaran te-Drieva's housekeeper. When we said we'd come to help against the rebels, she sent us here, with him as our escort.”
“How are matters in Drievabor? We've had no word in triads.”
Malledd hesitated, and glanced at the others.
“We don't know,” Darsmit said. “The guard and the housekeeper were the only living people we saw. She said Lady Karmaran was asleep – and everyone else, too.”
“We weren't sure there really was anyone else,” Malledd remarked.
“Oh, there are still people there – or at least there were,” Duzon said. He frowned thoughtfully. “Some ran, of course, but there were still plenty. So they're on a nocturnal schedule, too? Maybe they've had nightwalkers raiding. We'll want to send someone to check on that.” For a moment he sat, thinking, and the three newcomers waited silently. Finally, Malledd cleared his throat.
“Ah,” Duzon said, looking up. “Sorry. So you've come to help?”
“Yes,” Malledd said.
“We can use all the help we can get, so I hope you three are who you claim to be.” Duzon frowned. “You wouldn't happen to have heard any rumors about just when Lord Kadan intends to send reinforcements, would you?”
“No,” Malledd said. He glanced at Darsmit.
“Nothing helpful,” the little man said. He glanced at Vadeviya.
“I'm afraid not,” the priest said. “There were rumors, of course, but nothing one could trust about exactly when. The stories contradicted each other.”
Duzon sighed.
“We're eager to help,” Malledd said. “Is there a forge in operation for your armorers?”
Duzon let out a harsh bark of laughter. “No,” he said. “We've no forge, nor armorer, nor any use for one. Our only armorer was killed three days ago.”
“Then we'll have to build...” Malledd began.
Darsmit put a hand on Malledd's arm, silencing him, and asked, “What do you mean, no use for one?”
“We take our weapons from the dead,” Duzon explained. “We have no time to spare for forging new blades when the riverbanks are strewn with old ones. After all, our numbers aren't increasing.”
“But you said you could use our help,” Malledd said.
“Of course – as soldiers,” Duzon explained. “We need anyone who can swing a sword, not men who can make them.”
“We're not soldiers,” Malledd protested. “We're swordsmiths.”
“Stay until sunset,” Duzon said, “and take a look at our troops. Most of them aren't soldiers, either. We have a few real soldiers, but most of our men are half-trained farmboys, and we've made up our losses with cooks and camp-followers and conscriptees – we've called in every man in the area who hasn't run west. Not just men – we've recruited some of the wives and daughters, too. Hell, we've given bows and swords to the stronger whores who followed us up from Drievabor!”
Malledd was about to protest when he heard someone call his name. He turned, startled, to see Onnell approaching.
“At last!” Onnell shouted, striding up. “At last you're here, Malledd! I knew you'd come!” He flung his arms around Malledd, embracing him – and catching him completely off-guard; Malledd could do nothing but stare in astonishment.
“Then you do know him,” Lord Duzon remarked sardonically. “At least, I haven't seen you hugging any other strangers.”
“Of course I know him,” Onnell said, releasing Malledd. “This is Malledd, son of Hmar, one of the two blacksmiths in Grozerodz.”
“And these others with him?” Duzon asked, gesturing.
Onnell glanced at Darsmit, then at Vadeviya, then shook his head. “I've never seen them before,” he said. “If Malledd said they're trustworthy, though, then they're trustworthy.”
“You seem to put great faith in an ordinary smith,” Duzon commented.
Onnell stammered and Malledd almost thought he was going to blush. “I've known Malledd since we were children,” he said. “He's a good man. I'd trust him with my life.”
“You may well be doing exactly that tonight,” Duzon said.
“I'll do it gladly,” Onnell said. “Malledd, it's been looking bad for us – they're wearing us down, and all we've been able to do is hold out and wait for reinforcements that haven't come. But now you're here!”
“I'm just one man,” Malledd muttered unhappily. Onnell wasn't coming out and proclaiming Malledd the chosen champion, but he was doing just about everything short of that – and how could Malledd hope to live up to such expectations? Despite his divine gifts he was just a man, not even a real soldier.
“One man?” Darsmit protested. “One of three, rather.”
“Um,” Malledd said.
He stepped back to make room for his companions, but before he could speak to make introductions Darsmit stepped forward and said, “I'm Darsmit.” The little smith held out a hand for Onnell to clasp. “This is Vadeviya, from Biekedau.”
“I'm honored to meet you,” Onnell said, taking the hand.
This seemed like an excellent opportunity to divert the discussion away from himself; Malledd asked, “What about Timuan? Is he here?”
Onnell's face fell.
“Timuan is dead,” he said. “We don't know exactly how it happened, but we found him among the slain the night before last, and beheaded him.”
Malledd blinked in surprise. “Beheaded?”
Onnell nodded. “It's necessary,” he said. “If the head is left attached to the body the spirits can turn the corpse into a nightwalker. Cold iron and flowers won't keep them out, not with Rebiri Nazakri guiding them, but a nightwalker needs both heart and brain.”
Malledd stared at Onnell's calm, grim face. This was his old compatriot, the rowdy troublemaker who never meant anyone any harm, talking about nightwalkers and corpses as if they were his everyday fare – and here, they presumably were his everyday fare.
What had Malledd let himself be talked into? He should be home with his family, or back in Seidabar making swords, not here in this forlorn, sleeping camp.
Darsmit shuddered. “So there really are nightwalkers?”
Onnell nodded. “About eight thousand of them by our latest count, and so far as we know we're all that stands between them and Seidabar.”
“You are,” Malledd said. “The countryside is largely deserted. The army was still in Agabdal when we left.” He hesitated, then asked, “Timuan is really dead?”
“Blast,” Duzon muttered. “Still in Agabdal?”
“Yes, he's dead,” Onnell said unhappily. “So is Ozerga. Orzin lost a leg – an axe hacked his thigh open, and there was no way to save it. He may live, but we don't know for sure yet; he was feverish and sick last I saw. Bousian got a slash across the face that may cost him an eye, but he's otherwise still fit. Nesalas deserted – we haven't heard anything since he left, so we don't know whether he got home safely or got ambushed somewhere. Delazin and I are still fine – or as fine as anyone can be here, fighting those things night after night.”
“It's bad?” Malledd asked.
“Very bad,” Onnell confirmed.
“I told you we needed men more than swords,” Duzon said wearily.
Darsmit looked up at Malledd. “Are we going to stay? Maybe we should go back to Seidabar.”
Malledd shook his head. “You know better than that. I can't go back. If you want to, I won't stop you.”
Darsmit hesitated. “Maybe I could get in to see Lord Kadan, tell him how bad it is – ”
“He knows,” Vadeviya said.
“We've been sending messengers,” Lord Duzon said. “New Magicians.”
“We saw them,” Darsmit said. “When we were traveling.”
“And you've used the magician priests,” Vadeviya said.
“When we still had them,” Duzon agreed. “They're all dead now. I suppose it happened while you were on the road. We'd hoped to get more from Drievabor, but the high priest there won't send anyone.”
Vadeviya made a strangled noise. Darsmit looked uneasily from Malledd to Vadeviya and back, but said nothing.
Malledd studied Onnell's face, then glanced at Duzon.
He had known all along that he was going into danger; was he going to give up now? He had come this far to carry out his duty to the Empire; why should he turn back? He had known all along that the gods hadn't appointed him to be their chosen swordsmith; the champion's job was to fight, not equip others.
“I'm staying,” Malledd said. “And fighting.”
“As am I,” said Vadeviya immediately.
Darsmit sighed. “This wasn't what I planned,” he said. “I thought I'd be making swords, not fighting.”
“You can go, if you like,” Duzon said. “We don't ask anyone to stay whose heart isn't in it – those are the ones the nightwalkers kill.”
Darsmit swallowed. “No,” he said. “If Malledd stays to fight, so do I.”
“Malledd's staying,” Onnell said. “Then we'll need to find weapons and armor for all of you. Come on.” He beckoned, and started to lead the three new arrivals away.
“Wait,” Lord Duzon said.
Onnell stopped dead, turned back, and bowed. “My apologies, my lord. I thought we were dismissed.”
Duzon hesitated, looking from Onnell to Malledd and back. Malledd watched the nobleman's face; Duzon was clearly debating with himself about what, if anything, he was going to say.
Malledd thought he could guess what the captain was considering. He waited.
“Onnell,” Lord Duzon said at last, “you say this man Malledd is a blacksmith?”
“That's right,” Onnell said quickly. “Our village smith. One of them, anyway. His father's the other.”
“Is he, perhaps, anything more than an ordinary smith?”
Onnell hesitated, glanced at Malledd, then said, “If he is, I'm not the one to ask, my lord.”
Duzon studied Onnell thoughtfully for a moment, but Onnell didn't flinch; he stood calmly, waiting. Malledd smiled to himself; Onnell had kept his promise after all.
“Go,” Duzon said, waving at Onnell. “All of you – except Malledd.” He turned to the big smith. “If you would step into my tent for a moment, Malledd, that we might have a word in private, I'd be in your debt.” He lifted the tent-flap.
For a few seconds the six men – Duzon, Malledd, Onnell, Darsmit, Vadeviya, and Gars the sentry – stood motionless. Then Malledd shrugged; if he was going to be a soldier he'd have to follow orders.
“As you wish, my lord,” he said. He ducked down, bending almost double to get into the tent.
Duzon followed him. The other four hesitated a moment longer, then drifted away.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Duzon gestured toward a folding chair, and Malledd cautiously lowered himself into it. The wood and canvas scarcely looked strong enough to hold him, and in fact the wood did creak ominously, but the fabric held and the seat was surprisingly comfortable.
There was only the one chair; the tent's other furnishings were a table, a cot, and two large chests. Duzon settled himself on one of the chests and contemplated his guest.
Malledd gazed back, trying not to stare rudely. At last he asked, “May I inquire, my lord, why you wished to speak to me in private, yet haven't said a word?”
“A fair question,” Duzon acknowledged. “One I might ask myself, if the truth be told. I'm not sure I have a sound reason; I have, rather, a suspicion, one that may perhaps be utterly foolish.”
Malledd suppressed a sigh. Was it really as obvious as all that? This man had only just met him, and apparently had already guessed the truth. Darsmit and others had figured it out during the fire, Onnell and Vadeviya had been told, but this Lord Duzon seemed to have divined it as if by magic.
He knew he should ask what Duzon suspected, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to carry the conversation any further; if Duzon wanted answers he'd have to work for them. Instead he simply sat.
For his part, Lord Duzon was fascinated by this stranger. He was huge, perhaps the biggest human being Duzon had ever seen, yet he carried himself
with grace, with none of the puppy-dog clumsiness so many big men displayed. He was somehow appealing in appearance without being truly handsome; of course, he was hardly at his best just now, with the dust of the road on him, his hair and beard shaggy and ill-kept, his braid crooked and trailing loose wisps. Perhaps were he properly cleaned up and more elegantly attired he might be called handsome.
And from Onnell's reaction to his arrival... well, Duzon had noticed when he first met Onnell that Onnell seemed to think he knew something about the divine champion, and he had greeted Malledd as if the smith were salvation made flesh.
Was this, then, the chosen of the gods?
If he was, just how did one ask a divinely-appointed savior to affirm his role without sounding like a player in a bad melodrama?
“You heard what I asked Onnell,” he said at last, watching Malledd's face closely. “Are you anything more than an ordinary smith?”
Malledd shrugged. “I'm a husband and father, my lord – I have a beautiful wife and three fine children, and I'm sure that to them I'm not just the village smith. I try to be a good son to my mother and father.”
“And what are you to the gods, Malledd?”
Malledd replied slowly, “Which gods? What would I have to do with gods? I'm no priest, if that's what you mean.”
Duzon frowned. The man was being evasive – but why?
The obvious answer was that he wanted people to think he was the divine champion while he did not actually make any such claim; Duzon could hardly fault him for that, since he had attempted the same thing often enough himself. A corner of his mouth twitched upward at the realization.
Interesting, how annoying that game could be when one was on the other end of it.
However, he wasn't at all sure that this Malledd was, in fact, playing the same game. Malledd had brought a priest with him – that might be significant. Clearly, Onnell thought Malledd was something special, presumably the divine champion – but he had not said so, even when offered the opportunity.
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