by K. J. Parker
“What?” Addo sounded very surprised by that. “All right, where’s Suidas? Is he all right?”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Giraut said. It had just dawned on him that they were in the middle of nowhere, with no horses, food or water. “Addo, what the hell is going on? I thought the Aram Chantat—”
“Obviously not,” Addo said quietly.
Suidas thought he could hear a bubbling noise, like water simmering. It was Iseutz, crying. He shot her a startled look and moved away, as though it might be contagious. “We need to find their horses,” he said sharply, as if he’d found a fault in her that linked cause with effect. “They didn’t walk here, you can bet your life.”
Addo, who was staring at Iseutz, nodded. “My guess is they’re tied up round the corner somewhere. They’d be out of the way there, less likely to be spooked by the noise.”
“Yes, all right,” Suidas snapped. “Why don’t you run ahead and see if you can find them?”
“I’ll go,” Giraut heard himself say, and he broke into a run. It occurred to him as he scrambled over the low wall of rocks that Suidas might have been wrong and there were more than eleven of them; a couple held in reserve, maybe, to watch the horses. Somehow, though, he felt he’d rather take his chances than stay with his friends. He stopped and looked round, and listened. Nothing. The road in front of him was straight, the sides of the defile sheer and vertical. You might just be able to hide six stone-coloured mice there, if you could teach them to sit perfectly still, but not eleven horses.
“They’ve got to be somewhere,” Suidas growled, when he’d reported back. “And fairly close; the Aram Chantat despise walking.”
“Maybe someone brought them here in a cart,” Phrantzes said. It was the first time he’d spoken in a long while, and he might as well not have bothered. Suidas ran a little way up the shale slope, lost his footing and came tumbling down in a comical tangle of arms and legs, landing on his back with his feet in the air. Nobody laughed. He jumped up and kicked a stone, which went skittering down the road. “This is stupid,” he said.
“They left someone to watch the horses,” Addo said, “and he’s taken them and gone off.”
“There were eleven of them,” Suidas roared. Giraut winced. Addo didn’t move. “I’m guessing there were at least twelve,” he said quietly. “I think we’re going to have to walk.”
Without a word, Iseutz sat down on the ground. Phrantzes said, “I think we ought to stay where we are. Sooner or later the Permians will realise we’re overdue and send someone to find us.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Suidas shouted at him. “Who do you think sent those men? Who do the Aram Chantat work for? Well?”
Addo frowned. “Suidas …”
“And you can shut up, for a start. Where were you when the fight was on? You’re pathetic, the lot of you.”
“Yes,” Addo said quietly, “but I can be pathetic and right at the same time, and yelling at us isn’t helping. And you’re right, we can’t stay here, but I don’t think there are any horses. We really ought to get going.” He stooped and picked up a sabre. “Never used one of these, but I guess the principle’s the same. Which way?”
“Straight on, surely,” Giraut said. “After all, they think they’ve killed us, so they won’t be expecting us.”
“No, that’s stupid,” Suidas snapped. “We’ve got no idea where they may have come from.” He paused to think, and nobody seemed prepared to risk making a suggestion. Iseutz wandered off and collected an armful of sabres. “But we might as well go straight on,” Suidas said. “Really, it doesn’t make a lot of difference. I don’t think anywhere’s safe in this country right now.”
“Fine,” Giraut said, in a high, loud voice. He suddenly felt very angry, though he wasn’t sure why. “Let’s go back, then. Scheria’s that way, somewhere.”
“What we need,” Addo said, in that keeping-calm voice he’d used earlier, “is somewhere we can get food and water, if at all possible to steal or trade for some horses, and just maybe find out what’s going on. Suidas, you’re the only one of us who knows anything at all about this horrible country. Any suggestions?”
Suidas shrugged. “I never came this far. None of us did. All I know is, Luzir’s straight on till we hit the main road again, then head east. How far I couldn’t tell you. There’s farms down on the plain, though,” he added. “At least there were during the war. It’s what passes for good farmland in Permia, about the only half-decent land they’ve got.”
“Then we’ll go that way,” Addo said. “Problem solved.”
They’d been walking for a couple of hours, in rather fragile silence, when Iseutz spotted a cloud of dust up ahead. They scrambled off the road into a shallow gully, wholly inadequate cover but all there was, and waited. After what seemed like a lifetime, it grew bigger and closer, and eventually turned out to be a large open-topped coach, drawn by four black horses. There were two men in it: a big, bald man and a young man in bright green livery, presumably the driver. Suidas pressed his finger to his lips, and they waited till the coach rolled past them. Then Suidas jumped up, vaulted into the back of it, stepped over, kicked the driver out, grabbed the reins and drew to a halt. The bald man sat frozen, his mouth open. Addo walked up to him and smiled.
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said, “but we need your coach.”
The driver was picking himself up off the ground. He got upright, then fell over again. He’d damaged his leg in the fall. The bald man didn’t move or speak.
“We’re duly accredited diplomats,” Addo was saying, “so it goes without saying you’ll be fully compensated for any expenses and inconvenience as soon as we get to Luzir Beal. Did you just come from there?”
The bald man was staring at the sabre in Addo’s hand; also, Addo remembered, they were all fairly liberally spattered with dried blood, especially Suidas. “It’s not as bad as it seems,” he said brightly. “We had the bad luck to run into bandits. We fought them off, but not before they trashed our coach and killed our horses. And we really do have to get to Luzir as quickly as possible. I assure you, you’re perfectly safe.”
The bald man was still staring, but it was a different stare. “You’re going to Luzir?”
“That’s right. We’ve got a very important appointment there, which we absolutely can’t miss.”
“You’re them, aren’t you?” the bald man said. “The Scherians. The fencing squad.”
For three heartbeats, dead silence. Addo opened his mouth, but no words came out. Suddenly, Suidas laughed – a terrible sound, like the roar of an angry predator. Iseutz went bright red, and mumbled, “Yes, that’s us.”
“My God,” the bald man said. “I tried to get tickets to see you, but they’re all sold out. My God.”
“Tell you what.” Suidas loomed over him like the biggest tree in the forest. “You take us to Luzir, and we’ll get you the best fucking seat in the house.”
“Really?”
“You have my word of honour,” Suidas said solemnly, placing his right hand over his heart. “Our manager here’ll see to it, won’t you, Phrantzes?”
“I’m sure something can be arranged,” Phrantzes said. “And of course we’ll—”
“So that’s a deal, then.” Suidas sat down next to him. “You’re happy, we’re happy, everybody’s completely bloody ecstatic. Well get in, for crying out loud,” he roared at the others. “We don’t want to keep this gentleman waiting, do we?”
Their host’s name was Gosdaty Branko; he was a mining engineer, recently retired, lost his wife about eighteen months ago, living in one of the nicer suburbs of Luzir Beal, absolutely fanatical about fencing, been following it since he was a boy, never done much himself, of course, never had the skill or the stamina, but watching it, well, fencing was his life, always had been, although of course while he was working he hadn’t had many opportunities, but the town he’d mostly been stationed at, Totas Partz, they wouldn’t have heard of it, but it was roughly halfway betw
een Joiauz and Beaute, so quite often they had warm-up fixtures there, it was a great opportunity to see the stars of the future before they became famous, so over the years he’d seen them all, Dushan, Stiban Meko, Porisa, now he’d actually seen Porisa twice, he’d been lucky, two weeks’ leave and his wife away visiting her family, so he’d driven over to Beaute and seen him fight what’s his name, they knew who he meant, Corta, which was a memory he’d treasure until the day he died, but if anyone had told him then that one day he’d be riding in a coach with the Scherian national team, well, he’d have laughed in their faces, and as for a front-row seat at the Luzir Guild house, well, things like that simply didn’t happen to people like him, it was like sort of a dream come true in a way, though who’d have thought, ten years ago, that he’d have lived to see the day when a Scherian team came to Permia, because of, they knew, the War and all that, which he’d missed, of course, being in a reserved occupation, and personally he bore the Scherian people no ill-will at all, all water under the bridge as far as he was concerned, in fact he’d been following Scherian fencing on and off for years, always wanted to see a Scherian fight, fascinating technique, but of course reading about it just wasn’t the same, and was it possible that the gentleman sitting next to him was none other than the great Scherian champion Suidas Deutzel?
Addo, Giraut reckoned, was dying. On his left, the bald Permian was slowly poisoning him with his incessant steam of drivel. To his right, Iseutz was squashed so close on the narrow bench that she was practically sitting in his lap, and embarrassment was clearly driving nails into his soul. He likes her, Giraut suddenly realised, rather a lot. He had to put his hand on his face and hold his mouth still to keep himself from grinning.
Suidas, on the other hand, seemed happier than Giraut had seen him before. He was sprawling in his seat, one of his legs hooked over the side of the coach, his arms folded on his chest like a neatly laid-out corpse. He was still covered in dried blood, and smiling. Phrantzes was admiring the view, a strange thing to do in such a miserable landscape. Every time the coach went over a rock or a pothole, the driver groaned as the jolt jarred his unset broken leg.
At least, Giraut told himself, there was now no question of continuing with the tour. If Suidas’ furious hints were right, and he could see no reason why they shouldn’t be, their hosts had sent Aram Chantat to murder them on the road. Politics, presumably; the war faction looking to provoke an incident, although he had an idea that such an interpretation was hopelessly simplistic. It hardly mattered. The important thing to bear in mind was that they were on their own, abandoned and betrayed by their hosts, therefore relieved of their obligations towards them. If they could make it that far, they could go home.
In which case, Giraut couldn’t help wondering, why were they heading for Luzir Beal? Obviously he couldn’t ask, not with the Permian sitting there, but he was sure Addo and Suidas between them had a plan of some kind, and on balance he didn’t mind not knowing what it was, since he was sure it’d scare him to death. He trusted Addo, or rather he could see no reason why he shouldn’t; he clearly had more than a touch of his father’s gifts of leadership and strategic ability, and somehow he seemed to have got Suidas under control, at least for the moment. Iseutz, he thought, was dangerously quiet. Either she’d collapsed or she was working up to an explosion, and neither possibility was likely to be helpful. Phrantzes obviously didn’t count any more. Trust the Carnufex, he told himself, that’s what Scherians do in a crisis. Even so, he was mystified. The logical thing to do would be to cut the bald man’s throat and throw his body off the coach, then turn round and head for the border. But presumably that would come later. Patience was all that was needed, and everything would be fine.
So he was patient, and his patience was rewarded. Eventually, as the afternoon wore on into evening and the shadows grew long, the bald man talked himself to sleep; his head slumped forward into its ample nest of chins, and he started snoring gently. When Giraut was satisfied he was really asleep, he leaned forward, getting as close to Addo as he could.
“Addo,” he said, “where are we going?”
“Luzir Beal,” Addo replied.
A curious answer. He glanced sideways. Suidas was looking down, picking flakes of dried blood out of the hairs on the back of his left hand. “Why? Surely we don’t want to go there.”
“Oh, I think we do,” Addo said crisply. “We’ll be well behind schedule, of course, but that can’t be helped. They’ll just have to rearrange, that’s all.”
Giraut felt as though he’d just been kicked in the head. “Suidas?”
“Only place we can go,” Suidas said, not looking up. “We won’t last five minutes wandering around the countryside, not if they’re trying to kill us. The only safe place for us is where there’s loads and loads of witnesses. Think about it,” he added. “They tried to ambush us in the middle of nowhere, right? And they wanted to be able to say it was bandits, or possibly rebels, I don’t know. I’m not saying we’ll be safe in Luzir Beal, but we stand a better chance there than anywhere else.” He lifted his head and grinned. “Someone’s going to be really, really pissed off when we show up,” he said, “I’d love to see their faces when they find out.”
“There’s a chance we might be able to get in touch with our own people,” Addo went on. “Tzimisces, for example. I can’t believe he hasn’t made some sort of arrangement for getting us out if things go badly. It pains me to say it, but he’s probably our best bet. Anyway, Suidas is quite right. The last thing we want to do is make it easy for them by drifting round the wilderness in a small cart.”
The bald man suddenly groaned, shuddered and opened his eyes. He blinked several times, then yawned. “Did I just nod off?” he asked.
“Did you? I didn’t notice,” Addo replied. “Sorry, I was miles away.”
“That’s all right,” the bald man said generously. He looked away to his right – nothing but flat, rocky waste as far as the eye could see – and nodded happily. “We’re almost at the edge of the Table,” he said. “Be going downhill soon, and then it’s just a short way to Luzir.”
“How can you tell?” Giraut had to ask.
The bald man grinned. “Over there, see? On the skyline. See those hills?”
Admittedly, there was a pale grey smear that could have been hills. “What about them?”
“Third from the right, that’s Scopoda. Soon as you see that, you know you’re nearly there.”
“I’m sorry,” said Giraut. “I don’t think my eyesight’s as good as yours.”
“Oh, you can’t miss it. Plain as the nose on your face. Looks a bit like an upturned bucket.”
Giraut shrugged. “You know this road well, then?”
“Oh yes, I was raised in these parts. Used to come this way with my dad, he was a haulier. Military work mostly, though he wasn’t military, independent contractor. Made his pile hauling silver ore, then the War came, you know how it is.”
Giraut fumbled in his mind for something to say. “It’s very kind of you,” he said, “giving us a lift like this. We must be taking you right out of your way.”
The bald man did a big shrug. “Oh, it’s my pleasure, really. The chance to meet the Scherian national team—”
“Where were you going, as a matter of fact?” Iseutz seemed to come back to life.
“Me? Oh, just a quick run out to Beaute. I’ve got cousins there, I like to see them now and again.”
“That’s very brave of you,” Iseutz said, “with a civil war going on.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call it that,” the bald man said. “Just a bunch of layabouts and troublemakers with nothing better to do. The authorities’ll have them sorted out in no time, you’ll see. We’re lucky we’ve got really good security forces. I know I’m biased, well naturally, but I think our police are the best in the world, no offence, I’m sure they’re really good in your country too, but ours are pretty damn reliable if there’s ever any trouble.”
“You’re
not worried, then,” Iseutz said. “About your cousins.”
“Worried? No, not really. They’re sensible people, they know to keep off the streets.”
“Of course,” Addo said. “Stay at home and don’t go out, that’s what a sensible person would do at a time like this.”
For a fat man, he moved surprisingly quickly. Before Addo could stop him, he’d opened the door and nearly made it off the coach. But Suidas grabbed him before he could jump, at which he produced a knife from nowhere at all and tried to stab Suidas’ hand. Addo caught his wrist, then had to let go as the man tumbled backwards out of the coach. Suidas sprang forward and pressed the blade of his messer against the side of the driver’s neck. “Stop the coach,” he said. “Addo.”
But Addo was already out and bending over the bald man’s body. “His neck’s broken,” he said mournfully.
“Fuck,” Suidas replied. “Never mind, we’ve still got the driver.”
But the driver either didn’t know or wasn’t saying, even with Suidas at his most persuasive, until Iseutz made him stop. He gave up and told the driver to keep going.
Suidas sat down again. “Well, we’ve still got the coach, at any rate,” he said.
“Who the hell was he?” Giraut demanded.
“Someone sent to pick us up,” Suidas replied with a shrug. “Or to make sure we’re dead. There’s no money in this cart, or he could’ve been sent to pay off the Aram Chantat.”
“Or bring them back,” Iseutz said. “Since they didn’t have any horses.”
“Maybe.” Suidas yawned. “I don’t suppose it makes any difference in the long run. And we’ve got transport, so we’re better off than we were.”
They slept beside the cart, trying not to think about food. Finally, when the sky was roughly the middle blue of the Redeemer’s robe in a temple fresco, they made a unilateral declaration of dawn. Suidas backed the horses into the shafts and they tried to wake up the driver, only to find he’d died in the night.