by Dave Duncan
Dosh mumbled thanks, eating with one hand and leaning on the spear with the other. He hobbled down the slope, feeling every muscle, every joint. And a long way to go today, D’ward had said.
“Food? Can you organize the food? Someone’ll have to get out ahead and buy—How much money is there?” Shamedly, he said, “I’m all in, brother! I need help.” He mustn’t let D’ward down, but asking for help was not something he was good at.
“Course. Soon’s I’ve seen to those feet.”
Giving thanks wasn’t something Dosh was good at, either. He tried.
As they neared the trail, “While we’re at the river, Brother Prat’han, would you do me that water thing you do with converts?” He received a thump on the back hard enough to knock his knees together.
The big man laughed delightedly. “I think D’ward would like to baptize you into the Church himself, Dosh.”
“He won’t mind, and I’d sort of like it from you, I think.”
“I’d be honored to! Can—can you tell me even a little?”
Little what? Then Dosh saw the torture of curiosity in the Nagian’s dark eyes. Oh, that!
“We went to Niol, to the temple. He announced who he was, but they didn’t even try to arrest him. They didn’t dare! Wonderful things…” Where could he even start? “I saw Visek! Not a god, just two old mummies. Oh, Prat’han, he’s right! Everything he says is true! I was so wrong and all of you weren’t. You believed and I didn’t. I do now. I’ve been a fool, a terrible fool!”
The potter laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “I asked D’ward about that a couple of days ago. He said bigger brains need more evidence and I ought to mind my own business.”
“Bigger fools need more evidence, you mean.”
“True. But that’s not what D’ward said.”
They looked at each other and grinned. And then they laughed.
28
Julian and Ursula had arrived in Nosokvale the previous evening, only to learn that the Liberator had already passed through. They had followed his trail over Thadrilpass, and now they were descending into Niolvale.
An hour or so ago, Julian had been greatly impressed by his first glimpse of it. For one thing, it was much larger than any Nextdoorian basin he had seen so far, its encircling walls dwindling away to vanish over a flat horizon. For another, it was superbly fertile. The bare, dry foothills of Niolslope plunged abruptly into a flatland symphony of green and silver. To the north many little white villages shone like pearls in the morning sun, and from higher up he had seen a city that T’lin said was Niol itself. Southward lay lakes, swamps, and rivers, with only scattered islands cultivated.
Now he was less concerned with geography than demographics. Just how many people were in that crowd down there? It wasn’t a full battalion, he decided—closer to three companies, say seven or eight hundred. The vanguard was almost out of sight already, advancing into the marshlands along a narrow, winding track.
Dragons disliked traveling in close order, so conversation was rarely possible except at halts. While still a thousand feet or so above the road, T’lin Dragontrader shouted, “Zappan!” Starlight stopped obediently. The other dragons closed in around him, puffing and belching, peering at one another and their riders with their intelligent, jewel-bright eyes.
“Dragons do not like water,” T’lin said, scratching at his coppery beard and scowling.
Why should that be a problem? “I don’t suppose there’s any doubt that’s Tyika Kisster’s band, is there?”
“No, Saint Kaptaan. I have never seen a gathering like it before. It must be.”
“But larger than it was in Joalvale?”
“Oh, many times, Holiness.”
“Where are they going?” Ursula sounded grim and looked grimmer.
“The Thadrilpass road divides here, Holiness. That way leads to Niol. I think the other must go to Shuujooby. That would be the shortest road to Lospass and Jurgvale…. I am not sure. I have been to Shuujooby, but not by this way. Dragons do not like water.”
“Probably stiff with mosquitoes,” Julian suggested cheerfully. He did not see why Ursula should be in such a sour mood all of a sudden. She had been enthusiastically playful in the tent before they emerged for breakfast, which might be one reason he was feeling so jovial himself. Was she piqued that Edward had collected so many followers so quickly? That seemed rather petty of her. Bloody good show and more power to him!
“Exeter will be out in front,” she said crossly.
“Can’t imagine a prophet not leading the chosen people in person, certainly not Edward. Let’s amble on down and find out.”
T’lin rolled his eyes, clawed at his beard with both hands, and growled, “Dragons do not like water!”
Oh. Now Julian had caught up with the parade. “You mean we should have arrived a little earlier and cut him off?”
Ursula shot him an exasperated look. “A brilliant observation.” She turned to survey the ridges of Niolslope behind them and then addressed T’lin again. “What is there at that Shuujooby place?”
“Just a village, Holiness.” T’lin thought for a moment. “There is a ruined temple, half buried in sand.”
Ursula nodded to herself. Julian could guess that she was thinking node! If Exeter was gathering mana and followers by preaching, then he would certainly do so on nodes whenever possible.
“But we can cut back through the hills and get in front of him?”
“Certainly, Holiness.”
It was a reasonable suggestion, for dragons were the ultimate in cross-country transportation and the barren hills ideal terrain for them, but Julian was damned tired of sitting on a Brobdingnagian lizard all day, strapped in place like luggage with nothing to do except shout the occasional “Zaib!” or “Varch!” or “View halloo!” “Let’s send T’lin and the mounts around that way. I wouldn’t mind a chance to ride shanks’ pony for a change.”
“Walk?” She snorted. “In the middle of that rabble? You’ll get your wallet lifted and fleas in return.”
Julian refused to be nettled. “I haven’t got a wallet. We came to find out what Exeter’s up to, remember? Be a jolly good idea to hear what his crusaders think of him first.”
She pouted, apparently unable to refute his arguments. The more Julian considered what he had just suggested, the wiser it seemed, but obviously Ursula would not back down and agree with him. She just did not want to walk and he did, and he could profitably investigate what Exeter was up to. Language might be a problem. His Joalian was still sketchy and there would be no Randorian-speakers this far from Randorvale. He knew someone who could get by in Joalian, though.
Dommi was sitting impassively on Bluegem’s back, waiting for the votyikank to issue orders. His copper hair shone in the morning sunlight because he had removed his hat, but his face glowed almost as redly, because he had refrained from removing anything else. Which reminded Julian that he too was clad in mountain furs and liable to melt at any moment. He unbuckled his saddle belt and called over to his valet.
“The blue Joalian breeches, if you please, Dommi. And the orange smock. Or do you think something more conservative for a religious convocation? Possibly the forest green?”
Dommi was already standing by his stirrup to help him dismount. “The orange might be an overly brightness, Tyika, if you wish to remain inconspicuous. And may I suggest the bubblerskin half boots? If I might have a moment, I could give them another coat of wasp oil, although I believe they are watertightest already.”
“Oh, I’m sure they are. And I trust you to tie me a hanky-spanky turban.”
As his batman headed for Bluegem’s panniers, Julian began loosing a few buttons and eying the nearby boulders to decide which one was the gentlemen’s changing room. “A snack for me to take with me, too, Dommi? And one for yourself if you want to come along.”
Dommi looked around, beaming. “I shall be most honored to accompany you, Tyika.”
Ursula was still mounted, still s
cowling, staring down at the disappearing multitude. If Exeter had been drawing mana from so many for the last few weeks and not spending any of it on miracles, then he might not be the pushover she had anticipated. Then there would have to be honest negotiation, not any Svengali-type mesmerism.
“Look, old girl,” Julian said, “I’m not trying to queer your pitch. I swear I won’t even mention you, all right? No hints, warnings…I just want to sound him out. Dommi and I will walk. We’ll meet you at Exeter’s headquarters this evening. At Shuujooby or wherever.”
She surrendered with a shrug, as if it didn’t matter what he did. “Don’t bring the fleas with you.”
Dommi had produced the required clothes, all seeming new-washed and freshly pressed. Time to change.
“You could ride as far as the river, Holiness,” T’lin suggested, looking worried at this sudden change of plan.
That was only half a mile or so, and by the time Julian got there the stragglers would still be crossing. “No, I’d attract too much attention. You’ll take good care of Saint Ursula, won’t you? What’s that striped thing? Not my turban? For crying out loud, Dommi, you don’t expect a gentleman to appear in public in that, do you?”
An hour or so later, Julian began to wonder if his decision to walk had been unwise. Two hours later, he was sure of it. The steamy air reeked of wet vegetation and was every bit as well supplied with mosquitoes as he had predicted. Reflecting off the water, sunlight came at him from both above and below. His sweat-soaked smock and breeches clung to him like leeches. So did the leeches. The track was narrow, muddy, winding, and crowded; he could make little progress in his efforts to work his way to the head of the line and steal a private word with Exeter. Here and there the trail would cross an island, and then he could speed around the other travelers, except when the adjacent land was planted in crops. The inhabitants had emerged from their bushy little shacks to stare at this mysterious migration passing through their lonely little world. It must seem like a strange dream to them.
Still, he was moving faster than any, so he would catch up with the leaders sooner or later. The only people who passed him were two men running, both carrying spears and shields. They shouted to clear the way and trotted through, dribbling sweat in the sticky heat but soon vanishing beyond the crowds ahead. No one else seemed to be armed, and yet no one had reacted to them with surprise or alarm.
“Interesting!” Julian said. “Wonder who those jokers are?”
“I saw them when we started, Tyika, up a tree. I am believing that they may be Nagians, Tyika.” Dommi’s face bore no expression at all, only freckles. He must know as well as Julian did that Exeter had spent his first year on Nextdoor in the Nagian army.
Scouts, perhaps? Left behind to watch where the dragons went?
By and large, the pilgrims were not nearly as helpful as Julian had hoped. Their Joalian was more idiomatic and very much faster than the Joalian he had studied at Olympus—even Dommi often failed to understand their accents. When he could, the halting translation made the conversation stilted and awkward. Most of the crowd seemed to have very little idea why they should be part of this strange expedition, except that Holy D’ward was the prophesied Liberator, he would bring death to Death, he had called on them to join the Free and follow him. It was a perfect example of charisma at work. They were following Exeter because he was a leader, which Julian had known already. Most of the strangers in Olympus could have achieved the same effect as easily, had they ever had cause to risk the wrath of the Pentatheon and the civil rulers of the Vales.
The congregation was a curious cross section of Valian society. Some were in rags, others plump and prosperous. Julian saw ancients staggering along on canes and the arms of younger folk, sturdy young adults with children, babes at their mothers’ breasts. He began to have misgivings that had not occurred to him before. Did Exeter have any ideas of how drastically he was disrupting the lives of all these hundreds of people? Where was he leading them and what was going to happen to them? Whether he won or lost his insane gamble, he was creating social chaos. However one regarded the justice of his cause, he was being blasted unfair to the participants. Damn it, they were more victims than participants! Julian could not recall anyone at Olympus offering that argument.
Around the middle of the day, many of the pilgrims settled themselves in the shade of trees or bushes to rest. That thinned out the crowd on the road considerably. Musing that mad dogs and Englishmen could take the same attitude to the noonday sun on this world as well as any other, Julian increased his speed. Dommi produced lunch from his pack, and the two of them ate as they went.
Then Dommi suddenly whispered, “Tyika?” and stopped. Here the road ran over a low, rocky island, too small to cultivate. It was graced with some willowlike trees, though, and a group of ten or twelve pilgrims had halted there to rest. There was an argument in progress. Julian could not follow the jabber, but apparently Dommi was picking up at least some of it. He was frowning.
The center of the squabble was a short, blond youngster perched on a boulder. He had no turban; indeed, he wore only a loincloth and sandals, and his feet were bandaged in bloody rags. The others were clustered on the ground around him, like pupils around a teacher. The class was definitely unruly, though, shouting objections. Then Julian saw what Dommi had perhaps noticed right away—most of the audience wore the gold earring of the Undivided. They did not like what they were hearing.
Obviously the kid waving his hands and bellowing was a native; if he had the charisma of a stranger, his message would not be meeting such resistance. Equally obviously, he was sincere in whatever he was saying, growing louder and more flushed by the minute with the righteous anger of a fanatic. He was not really a kid, although his small size and fair coloring made him seem boyish, a slightly balding cherub. A very angry cherub! He might be a Pentatheon believer denouncing the Service’s imported theology or perhaps a Liberator disciple. The hitherto simple theology of the Vales was starting to become complicated.
After a few minutes Dommi jerked his pack higher on his shoulders and shot Julian an apologetic glance to indicate that he was ready to move on.
“Stay longer if you want.”
“I have heard it all, I think, Tyika. They are repeating themselves.”
“Right-oh!” As they resumed their march, Julian waited for enlightenment. Dommi remained silent.
“What was the argument all about?”
“I think it was theology, Tyika.”
“You astonish me. Actually, you don’t surprise me at all. Who was arguing what?”
“I only caught a few words, Tyika.”
“Let’s have those, then.”
Dommi became surprisingly reticent, his English even more convoluted than usual. Eventually he admitted that the little preacher had claimed to be a close follower of the Liberator and the bone of their contention had been the nature of the afterlife. Until now the Church of the Undivided had followed the Pentatheon’s example in promising that the faithful would find eternal bliss among the stars of heaven, while the evil would linger alone forever in darkness. The Liberator apparently had other notions of what the Undivided intended, although Dommi seemed genuinely uncertain what those were.
That explained his troubled frown. The tyikank were now disunited, so his loyalties to the Service and to Exeter, his former master, were being put in conflict. Certainly Olympus would not be happy to hear that the Liberator was splitting its Reformation into rival sects. The Pentatheon might be very pleased.
“It’s probably just a misunderstanding,” Julian said airily. After trudging along for a while, hearing nothing but footsteps squelching in the mud, he decided that the contention he had witnessed required a bigger bone. And obviously Dommi still had misgivings.
“There was more to it than that, though, wasn’t there?”
More hard work on Dommi eventually extracted an admission that the afterlife had been a side issue. The main debate had concerned the na
ture of the traditional Valian gods. According to the Church of the Undivided, Visek and Co. were demons. The Liberator was teaching that they were human enchanters.
That was the truth, of course. It was also a major difference in doctrine.
Julian said, “Damn!” This was much more serious. Prof Rawlinson and the others who had written the True Gospel had thought hard and long before introducing a deliberate falsehood, but they had eventually concluded that it would be simpler and safer to invoke demons than try to explain charismatic strangers, because demons were evil by definition. That was the official explanation. Julian was quite certain that their real reason had been that the apostles themselves were charismatic strangers. To equate the leaders of one side with the leaders of the other would provoke questions about the difference between them. Better to brand the opposition as demons than to argue that they are the baddies and we are the goodies. The obvious answer to that was: “Sez who?”
“Damn!” he repeated. “What the blazes does Exeter think he’s up to?” He did not realize that he had spoken aloud until Dommi gave him an answer.
“He is taking help from them, Tyika!”
“He’s what?”
Dommi nodded miserably, his face so wobegone that it seemed surprising all his freckles did not jump off and run for cover. “The man on the rock said that the Demon Irepit appeared in Rinoovale at the side of the Liberator. She dispersed a troop of the queen’s soldiers for him. And he said that he himself went with the Liberator last night to Niol and saw the Demon Visek in the temple with his own eyes, Tyika!”
Julian used some words he had not uttered since the Battle of the Somme. Had Exeter sold out to Zath’s opponents in the Pentatheon? Foghorn and the others had been absolutely right. The Liberator was going to bring the Church of the Undivided crashing down like Samson’s temple.
Ursula would have forty purple fits.
29
The trail rose over an island, which bore a small farm at one end, the rest being upholstered in shoulder-high bushes. Five men with spears and big round shields stood guard along the west side of the trail. No napoleonic genius was needed to surmise that Edward Exeter might be taking a siesta in the shade somewhere at their backs.