"Thanks." Respect; that felt good. Next question: is Cullinane's respect worth going through this again? Next answer: I'll duck that issue for as long as I can. "But this idea of yours—you're not going to tell me yet, are you?"
"Nope. A little frustration is good for the soul."
"I'm not going to like the answer, am I?"
*Nope.* Ellegon snorted. *Not one little bit.*
Chapter Five
The War Begins
If ever there could be a proper time for mere catch arguments, that time surely is not now. In times like the present, men should utter nothing for which they would not willingly be responsible through time and in eternity.
—Abraham Lincoln
Ahira sighed, shaking his head. I should have known better, he thought. I really should have.
*Correct.*
Thank you, Ellegon. The dwarf spat. Thank you very much. Any sign of trouble on the Waste?
*I would have mentioned it if there were.*
"Is. There. Any. Sign. Of. Trouble. On. The. Waste?"
*No. There is nothing visible on the Waste.*
Good. Stay on watch. The dragon didn't answer; Ahira decided to take that as an assent. "Karl?"
"Yes?" The big man turned from his conversation with Andrea and the grimy little girl.
"We need to talk. Take a walk with me."
"Sure. Give me a minute." Karl patted Andrea on the arm and smiled down at the silent little girl, who clung to Andrea's arm as though it were a lifeline. "See if she'll let you give her a spongebath—and dig up something else for her to wear." He switched to English. "Push for the bath," he said in a low voice, "and give her as thorough a going-over as you can. She's been through a rough time, and we'd better know if there's anything physically wrong with her."
Andrea pulled the girl closer. "Why not just give her more healing draughts? We've still got some left from what you found in the slavers' wagon, no?"
"Only three bottles. I don't know how long they'll have to last. We can't afford to dispense the stuff when it isn't necessary, just as a precaution."
"And if she does need some?"
Ahira grunted. "Then we give to her. Karl, I do want a word with you. Now."
"One more thing." Karl switched back to Erendra and raised his head. "Chak, keep an eye on the bowman. It won't be for much longer."
Sitting across from the bound youth, Chak nodded, then jerked his thumb at a large wooden trunk next to the boxy slave wagon.
"Yes, Kharl, but do you mind if I go through this trunk while I do? I might find something. Maybe another bottle or two of the healing draughts; maybe some more coin."
"How do you plan on opening it?"
Chak smiled. "I think I can find a key."
"Go to it, then."
Across the clearing, five other former slaves sat talking with Walter and Riccetti. Three men, two women, all of them filthy, although none were apparently injured; despite his protestations, Karl had been generous with the bottles of healing draughts he had found in the slavers' wagon.
There wouldn't be more of that coming their way, at least not from the Healing Hand Society; the Hand acolyte had been more than clear on that point.
"Well?" Karl raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"I sent you into Metreyll to pick up provisions and supplies, not six—no, seven more mouths to feed."
He shrugged, his shoulders threatening to split the seams of his worn leather jerkin. "I would have brought back all of them, if most hadn't wanted to—
Crunch!
Ahira snatched his battleaxe from his chest, tearing the handle right through the straps that bound it to him. A thumb-flick sent its leather sheath spinning away.
Cullinane drew his sword and spun around into a crouch. "What the—?"
"Sorry," Chak called out, as he stood over the shattered trunk. He hefted the sledge. "But I told you I'd find a key."
Ahira looked down at the torn leather thongs that had secured his battleaxe to his chest. "Nice friend you've got there, Karl."
He chuckled. "Take it easy, Ahira, you're all tensed up."
Ahira stared pointedly at Karl's naked blade. "And, of course, you're not."
"Well . . ." He slipped the saber back into its scabbard.
"Never mind." Ahira raised a palm. "Never mind. What is this insane plan of yours?"
Karl shook his head. "In a while. First, how's Doria doing?"
Ahira spat. "They wouldn't let me see her. The acolyte I spoke to said that she's being 'fully integrated into the body of the Society,' and that any contact with outsiders—outsiders—was forbidden." Be well, Doria. May you find with the Hand all that eluded you with us.
"You think she's okay?"
"Hope so. If she isn't, there's not a damn thing we can do about it." Frustrating, but true. The Matriarch of the Healing Hand Society had protected the Hand preserve against the powers that had devastated the Forest of Elrood, turning it into the Waste. Handling a few warriors and a novice wizard wouldn't cause her to work up a sweat. "Unless you feel like storming the tabernacle."
Karl snorted. "Fat chance. As to how I think we ought to proceed, how about you gathering everyone around, while I have a talk with Andy, so that—"
"Kharl! Kharlkhulinayn!" Chak ran toward them, a long, thin piece of metal held high in his hands. "Look!" He jerked to a halt and handed it to Karl, holding it carefully as though it were a fragile piece of glass. Chak smiled broadly, as though he had just presented Karl with the Hope diamond.
Ahira looked at it. It looked like an oversized butter-knife, actually; the flat blade was almost three feet long. He reached over and tested the edge against his thumb. Dull as a butterknife, too. "What is this?"
Chak stood back. "You don't know? That, Ahira, is a woodknife."
Karl cocked his head to one side. "I'm no wiser; what is a woodknife?"
"Look." Chak lifted it from Karl's outstretched palms and walked to a nearby sapling. Holding the handle with just thumb and two fingers, he slashed at the trunk, as though in slow motion.
The blade passed through the trunk as though it weren't there.
With a rustling of leaves, the sapling crashed to the ground.
"See?" Chak said, bouncing the blade off his own neck. "It cuts only through wood. Nothing else. Quite a find, eh? I expect we're going to find quite a bit of use for this, where we're going."
What the hell did that mean? "Karl? Would you please tell me what you're—"
Cullinane raised a palm. "Tell you what: Why don't you gather everyone around, so I only have to go through this once. No rush; I've got to talk to Andy first, soon as she's finished bathing the girl. Private matter."
What's going on with the two of them now? I thought they'd worked things out. Ahira opened his mouth, then closed it. None of my business. He nodded. "Fair enough, but this had better be good."
"It will be. I hope."
* * *
Karl led Andy-Andy well away from the camp before sitting both of them down on a fallen log. "How's she doing?"
"Not too bad, at least physically. A few bruises, some abrasions were all I could find. But I'm not up on anatomy . . . it's too bad you can't check her over." She left the obvious unspoken; a little girl who'd gone through that particular kind of hell didn't need any man poking and prodding at her.
He chuckled thinly. "Two weeks of premed doesn't make me an internist. If you can't find anything wrong with her, I probably couldn't. Well . . . just keep an eye on her; we can always dose her again later if she needs more.
"But that's not why I needed to talk to you." I wish I could put this off a bit longer, but— "I've got a question for you."
She smiled up at him. "I can guess what it is. I've heard that fighting hikes up the ol' hormones, eh? Well . . ."
"Shh." He shook his head. "This is serious. I've got something to ask you, then something to tell you." And I hope I'm doing this in the right order.
Her face matched his somber t
one. "Okay, Karl. You are serious. About something."
He took a deep breath. "The question is this: Will you marry me?"
Her eyes opened wide. "Will I what?"
"You heard me." All of a sudden, he didn't quite know what to do with his hands. They clutched aimlessly at the air in front of him. "I know we don't have a priest around, but we could improvise some sort of ceremony. Marry me—you know, live together, have kids, the whole bit."
She threw up her hands and laughed. "Karl, just 'cause we've slept together a couple of times . . ."
"It's not that." Not just that, he amended silently.
"If it's not that, then it has to be something else, something that's pretty impor—no." Andy-Andy paled. "I'm pregnant? I must be, but how do you know?"
"Ellegon. He can detect the pheromonal changes. But how did you guess?"
"It's the only thing that makes sense. We haven't discussed this before. . . ." She shook her head. "Dammit, Karl, I'm not ready to be a mother, and—"
He raised a palm. "And we can take care of that. If necessary."
"How?"
"Do I have to go into details? Just take my word, please. It can be done."
"How?"
He shrugged. "This isn't exactly the way this was supposed to go, you know . . . Okay, think about it: We've got a lot of healing draughts, and I think I can improvise the tools for a D&C. I know I'm not a doctor, but we've got room for error. It'd hurt, but the draughts can protect you from any risk of infection, any permanent damage. If you want an abortion, you can have it. Up to you," he said, trying to sound casual, failing miserably. The thought of himself performing the abortion bothered Karl, not the notion of an early abortion itself. He'd never bought the idiotic notion that a microscopic blastula was a human being.
Doing a primitive abortion here isn't the only choice. We could try to sneak you back home, through the Gate. But I really don't want to try getting past The Dragon again, and I'm sure as hell not going to suggest that.
She tented her hands in front of her mouth and chewed on a forefinger. "Let me think, okay?"
"Fine. Take your time. Is . . . is there anything I can do?"
"Just leave me alone for a while."
"Andy—"
"Please?"
He stood. "Okay—but I've got to go talk to everybody else; Ahira's on my back. Join us in a few minutes?"
"Maybe. Just . . . just give me some time."
He nodded. "I love you, you know."
"I know." She smiled weakly. "Now get lost for a while."
* * *
"Please listen," Karl said in Erendra, as he stood in the center of the circle of faces. "I've got something to say." He paused to look at them. With one exception, all of the former slaves still looked scared. The exception was Chak. His smile almost radiated trust as he sat tailor-fashion, his right hand never straying far from the hilt of his falchion.
Lou Riccetti's round face beamed up at him. Trust to Lou to work things out, if they involved numbers. And those economics courses he'd taken didn't hurt either. Riccetti nodded reassuringly.
Ahira scowled. As usual. He didn't like being kept in the dark. Probably he wouldn't like what came next any better.
And then there was Slovotsky. Walter, if I can ever figure you out, I'll admit to being a genius.
*Actually, Walter's easy. He's—*
Shh. Karl went on: "For those of you who don't know, there are people after my head. When I met Ellegon, he was chained in a cesspit in Pandathaway. I didn't like that; I freed him.
"The Pandathaway guilds didn't like that. They sent slavers out after me. After all of us. They caught up with us in the Waste.
"We managed to get away, and then kill all of the bastards. By now, Pandathaway probably thinks that I'm dead." The Matriarch had said that he couldn't be located while on the Hand preserve, and certainly a location spell couldn't have spotted him during the period that he had been home, on the other side of the Gate. "They will soon be hearing that I'm alive.
"There's probably nothing that we can do to prevent that." Twenty yards behind Ahira, the bowman glared over at him. "Even if we killed him; the other freed slaves will talk.
"I propose that we don't even try. Instead, I suggest that we do two things. First, Chak knows of an uninhabited valley in Therranj. I propose that we move there, and settle down; raise food and cattle, everything. We'll have to send another party into Metreyll to pick up some more supplies and animals, cattle, sheep, goats, chickens, whatever we need. The trip will take a while; and building houses, clearing fields, planting crops, all of it will be hard work. But once we're settled in—"
Walter shook his head. "That won't do it. Pandathaway is ticked at you, Karl; they won't let a bit of distance stand between them and revenge." He shrugged. "It might buy us some time, but that's all."
*Notice the "us"?*
Yes. Now, shh. Karl held up a hand. "No. I'm not going to spend much time there for the first couple of years; certainly not enough to be located and found. Instead . . . Lou: Explain a bit about supply and demand, and how that affects economic utility."
Riccetti picked up his cue as though they had rehearsed it. Which they had, of course.
He stood. "The price of anything depends on two things: how much of it is available, and how badly people want it; supply and demand. If anything—anything—gets too expensive, then people start to find substitutes. That applies to swords, to grain, to cattle—and to slaves. Karl's talking about making slaves too expensive."
"Exactly." Karl folded his arms across his chest. "And we'll do that by making slave-taking too expensive, too risky a business. I'm talking about doing the same thing that we did yesterday, but on a larger scale. We'll hit every caravan we can, force the Slavers' Guild to beef up their caravans, adding more and more guards, cutting down on the profits from slaving. And we'll keep doing that until the system starts to collapse."
Shaking his head, Ahira spat. "That's just plain silly. There are a lot of slaves, Karl; you won't affect the price of slaves one whit. Figure that Pandathaway alone imports, say, three, four thousand slaves per year. Right now, they get them via raids on Therranj, Melawei, and so forth. Let's say that each caravan has twenty slaves, and that you hit—and free—one caravan each tenday. And let's assume that every one of the freed slaves either joins us in this valley of yours or finds his or her way home.
"That's only a thousand or so freed slaves each year." He shrugged. "It'll drive up the price a bit. But that's all."
Smiling broadly, Walter Slovotsky nodded. "Beautiful, Karl. Dammit, James, you're wrong; it'll do more. Once we've demonstrated that we can take on slavers and get away with it, others will start doing it, too. Everyone has shied away from crossing the Slavers' Guild because of the fear of retribution. Once we show that we can get away with it, most of that fear will be gone.
"It's a sure bet that some of these unemployed mercenaries will try to get into the business. And since they'll have stolen the slaves, they'll be afraid to sell them. They'll have to free them, making their profit off money that the slavers carry. Just as we did." He hefted his now-full purse. "A nice bit of thinking it through, Karl. That is what you're talking about, isn't it?"
"Yes."
From across the clearing, Andy-Andy's voice called, "It's crazy, you know." She walked quickly toward the group.
How did she hear?
*I echoed your words.* A mental smirk. *And if you're really nice to me, I won't relay your thoughts without permission.*
I didn't know you could do that. Although it really wasn't all that surprising, come to think of it.
*You didn't ask.*
He scowled. Well, then, relay this. He stopped himself. Never mind. "Andy—"
"Later." She smiled. "We'll have plenty of time, on this trip to that valley of yours. But we'd better move quickly." She placed the flat of her hand on her stomach. "Before I start to swell."
Karl couldn't help smiling.
&n
bsp; Ahira shook his head. "This is insane, you know, but . . ."
"But what?" Riccetti frowned. "It makes perfect sense."
"But let's try it." The dwarf bounced to his feet and stuck out his hand at Karl. "You can count me in." As they shook hands, Ahira shrugged. "It's worth a try." He turned to the freed slaves. "You may either come with us, or leave. Anyone who wishes to leave us should see me later."
Slovotsky smiled. "All we have to do is take on a few thousand slavers."
Andy-Andy shook her head. "There's one other thing."
"Oh?" Ahira cocked his head. "What am I missing?"
"We've also got to stay alive."
Karl nodded. "That is the keystone of the whole plan, after all."
A gout of fire roared into the sky. *Nice keystone.*
* * *
Ellegon at his side, Karl smiled down at the bowman. "I'm going to turn you loose. We'll give you a waterbag and a knife; start across the Waste tonight. I want the extra time to get clear of here." As the youth glanced over at the string of horses, Karl shook his head. "If you try to leave before then, or raise a hand to any of us, or steal a horse, I'll have Ellegon eat you."
The dragon leered. *Please try to leave early. I could use a snack.*
The bowman glared up at Karl. "The Pandathaway Guilds' Council will hunt you down like an animal. They will find you, Karl Cullinane. And, my Lord Mehlên willing, I will travel to Pandathaway to watch you die."
Karl smiled. "Have Lord Mehlên give them a message from me. Tell them: Karl Cullinane is alive, and . . ." He let his voice trail off.
Did this make any sense? Here I am, an expectant father, and I'm asking for trouble. Ahira was right; this is absolutely insane.
*You made a promise to the Matriarch. And though she will not help you further, will you keep that promise, or not?*
Karl looked across the clearing to where the little girl was smiling at Andy-Andy over a bowl of stew. Not much of a smile, but a smile nonetheless. And a very special sort of smile. . . .
Yes. Hell, yes. He cut the bowman loose. "Tell them this: I'm hunting them."
The Sword and the Chain Page 7