by Dave Duncan
Dosh laughed aloud. He felt almost as excited as he’d ever felt in all his years of perversion and debauchery. “Tell me! Tell me!”
D’ward put an arm around his shoulders. “I’m not clear on the details yet. But if I give you an order tonight or perhaps tomorrow…We’ll need a signal. Suggest one.”
“‘Good old days’?”
The Liberator’s brief smile acknowledged the humor. “Yes, that’ll do. So if I mention the good old days, that means I want you to do whatever I ask then, however wrong or crazy it may sound. Or it may seem absolutely trivial, but it will be deathly important. Whatever it is, will you do it with no argument?”
“Yes, master. Of course.”
“Thank you. That’s all I can tell you now.”
“I promise.”
The Liberator gave Dosh’s shoulder another squeeze and then took his arm away. He had left a burden there, though. What orders could possibly be so terrible that Dosh would be tempted to refuse them?
54
“I know you are hungry!” Eleal cried. “So am I. So, I am sure, is the Liberator, for he will not eat when you cannot. Remember how he spoke to us in Thovale, saying that those who hunger and thirst after righteousness shall be filled?”
She must hurry up and finish now, for it was almost dark and she was supposed to be up at the house. Pity! Her speech was going very well. She was enjoying it, and she thought her listeners were enjoying it too. They were certainly attentive. The little clearing was so packed with people that she could barely see the campfire. The woods all around were packed also, and yet when she paused for breath the night was still. Barely a cough, only the ticktock of woodcutters in the distance. Earlier she had caught snatches of other shield-bearers preaching elsewhere on the hill, but not anymore. Hurry.
“But he has also warned us that mortification of the flesh can be carried too far. And so that message I gave you, that you will feast tonight!” She paused while a sigh of wonder swept the wood like a breath of wind. Did they think the Liberator might have changed his mind since she began her talk? “Be patient, therefore, brothers and sisters! It will be a sign unto you! Tonight Trumb will eclipse.”
They all knew that. The great moon hung over the jagged teeth of Thargwall like a green plate, glistening in the winter night. Before dawn it would certainly fill out to a circle and then fade to black.
“No matter the misguided pagans worship that disk as one of their false gods, for the Liberator has taught us that it is only a blessing from the One, to brighten darkness. Is not the circle His symbol? It is a sign of God, not of the so-called Man. You know how the pagans tremble when that light is eclipsed, believing that Zath will send reapers to steal away souls. Well, Zath’s days are numbered. It is written that the Liberator will slay him, and he has come to Thargvale to do that.”
Another sibilant murmur.
“We are greatly blessed to have traveled with him, all of us. Friends and family behind at home will revere us all our days because we are here and they are not. Harken to what the Liberator said to us at sunset! He said that before Trumb eclipses again, Zath will be dead and there will be no more reapers!”
Louder, longer, came the reaction. Naturally—the shield-bearers themselves had cheered when they heard that news. Trumb’s eclipses often came nine days apart, sometimes only four, rarely more than a fortnight. She raised her voice over the rumble.
“And therefore tonight, when the green moon darkens, we feast! We are the Free, and we shall celebrate tonight the certain death of Zath! So promises the Liberator, in the name of the One True God. He bids us remember this night all our days and all our years, so that evermore, when midwinter comes and the sun turns, we shall feast and make merry in remembrance and thanksgiving. This be his command to us. Let us pray.”
She kept the prayer brief, made the circle sign, and stepped down from the stump. Her head was pounding with reaction as if she had just come offstage after playing some great role. Which was apt, she supposed. What greater part could there ever be than this? Voices were rising excitedly all around. She looked for her shield before remembering that it was still slung on her back. Willing hands passed her staff and her pack. The crowd parted to let her through. She saw eyes glinting with tears in the moonlight, she felt hands reach out to touch her gently as she passed. She did not enjoy that for it reminded her of how men had fondled her flesh in the Cherry Blossom House. Here they were doing it for other reasons, of course, but she still did not like it. She was only D’ward’s mouthpiece, unworthy of such adulation. She hurried off, up the hill.
Since she had joined the Free, she had never known D’ward to take over a building. It was yet another sign that things were changing. The absence of any new recruits today, the fact that they were now in Thargvale, which had always been their objective, D’ward’s unique promise of a feast…events were hastening toward their climax, and one tiny part of it was Eleal Singer.
Singer? She did not sing now, except when everyone else did. She really ought to change her name. Eleal Preacher? She considered asking Piol’s advice and chuckled as she imagined his reaction, telling her not to get swelled-headed. Eleal Actor? She performed before great audiences now, greater than any Grandfather Trong had ever imagined, but she wasn’t really acting. Plays were fiction, mostly sinful nonsense about evil people who claimed to be gods, but every word she spoke now was true. She only repeated what she had heard D’ward say, or what Piol and Dommi had written, which again was only what D’ward had said in public or in private instruction.
Puffing and leaning on her staff, she emerged from the wood at the entrance to the house. It was a spooky place, two storeys high, long abandoned. The windows were empty eyes, the door a vacant mouth. Once there had been gardens around it, but they had run to weeds, dead winter straw crackling under her feet. Stark, unsightly trees raised branches against the sky in frozen agony.
Two young men sat on the steps, chatting. They jumped up when they saw a shield-bearer and made the circle. She, having both hands full, raised her staff in salute instead. She paused to catch her breath. “Blessings of the Undivided! Am I the last?”
They exchanged worried glances. One said, “Don’t know, Mother. There’s another door.”
Mother? Now that was amusing! She was younger than they were. Mother Eleal? Eleal Mother? “Well, D’ward says that the last shall be first.” Making a mental note to ask him or Piol what that meant, she went on up the steps.
She found the others gathered in a large, high-ceilinged room. A fire crackled cheerfully in a fireplace at one end, but most of the light came from Trumb’s great disk, blazing in through three huge windows. Cobwebs festooned the gaps between jagged edges of glass, and the mullions cast hard shadows on the floor. The floor, she noted, had probably been a fine expanse of mosaic at one time, but it was so littered with a mulch of dead leaves that little of it was visible. Someone had thought to sweep a clear space in front of the hearth, or the first spark would have sent the whole place up. The air was musty and earth scented.
She made a hasty count and decided she was not the last. In the absence of furniture, the shield-bearers were sitting in twos and threes on their own bedrolls, not clustered at the fire but grouped around the walls. Seeing Piol’s shiny scalp alongside Hasfral Midwife’s silver mop, she went to join them, dropping her pack and sitting on it before she dealt with shield and pole. She released a sigh of content.
“I heard you speak,” Hasfral said, leaning around Piol. “Some of it. You were marvelous! I do enjoy your sermons!” She patted Eleal’s knee and smiled her motherly smile.
Eleal mumbled thanks. She would have been ecstatic to receive such praise had she been acting. For preaching, it seemed inappropriate. All she did was quote the Liberator. With a little practice, anyone could do the same. Besides, talent was a gift from God, D’ward said, more an obligation than anything to get swelled-headed about.
“Where’s D’ward?”
“Out t
here,” said Piol, “with Kilpian and Dommi. And don’t ask us what they’re doing, because we don’t know.”
“Not so,” Hasfral corrected. “We know what they’re doing. We just can’t decide why.”
The windows looked out on a courtyard enclosed by two wings of the house and a high wall. Like the gardens outside, it had degenerated to a wilderness of trees and shrubs run riot. In summer it would be a dense jungle of greenery. In winter it was a brown tangle of death and decay. What might have been a lawn had become a small hayfield. Three men were moving around there—dragging away thornbushes and brushwood, apparently.
“They can’t be planning a bonfire. It’d burn the house down.”
“They’re clearing a space,” Hasfral said. “I think we’re going to have a ball. May I have the first dance, Piol?”
He coughed his dry little laugh. “If you promise not to tramp on my bunions. Personally, I hope we have the feast first.”
“Has D’ward ever promised a feast before?” Eleal asked. She could eat a mammoth, medium rare with lashings of mapleberry sauce.
The others said, “No,” in unison.
“Must have been a lovely garden once,” Hasfral said wistfully. “That’s a lantern tree and a giant spindle nut. Those small ones are sesames; beautiful in spring, they are.”
Footsteps scrunched outside. A small man marched in, his blond halo identifying him instantly as Dosh Envoy.
“Twenty!” said Tielan, from somewhere near the fire. “Now we can start.”
“Twenty-three,” Dosh retorted. Two others followed him in. “Alis and Kaptaan, and you mustn’t forget D’ward himself.”
While Tielan protested that he hadn’t, the newcomers found places. The men outside must have concluded their work, for they were approaching.
Eleal had almost never seen all the shield-bearers gathered together like this, with nobody else. Well, almost nobody else. Alis and Kaptaan didn’t count—they were special. They were not shield-bearers or friends. They did not preach or undertake specific responsibilities. They just were. The Liberator knew what he was doing. Laws were for evildoers, he said. The righteous were guided by principles.
Kilpian and Dommi stepped over the low sills and stamped across the room to their bundles. D’ward followed, looked around, counting. He remained standing.
“Blessings!” he said. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes!” said almost everyone.
He sighed. “So am I! We’ll have to wait awhile yet, I’m afraid.” He strolled over to the fireplace and turned his back on it. “A few of you may be worrying that I’m about to produce a sacramental supper. I’m not. That is not what we’re here for. We have no bread and no wine, anyway.”
He began to move again, sauntering along the big room. “You wonder what’s going to happen. The One will provide. Bid’lip? Any signs of trouble?”
The soldier’s deep growl came from the darkest corner. “No, sir. But they’re out there. Lots of ’em. You can smell moa on the wind.”
“I’d rather smell a moa than its rider! Colleagues…” D’ward turned and started wandering back, peering at faces. “Yes, I am proud to call you colleagues. You have all realized, I’m sure, that we have arrived at an ending. I marvel that the Thargians let us come even this far. I will not tempt them further, for there are thousands of people out there who would make good mine workers.”
He continued to wander, speaking now to one group, now to another, but audible to all. “Yes, this is an ending. All those good folk we brought with us have played their part. Like wedding guests who lead the bride and groom to the chamber, they must now depart in peace, their portion done.”
And would the Liberator also depart? Vanish in a blink as he had come into the world, the Free dispersed, scattered, perhaps persecuted. What then of Eleal Singer? She could not go back to the Cherry Blossom House. There was little call for a preacher of heresy. Although her leg no longer barred her from the stage, her eyes had been opened and she knew how evil most of the plays were, filthy pagan legends; she would certainly never dream of entering Tion’s Festival. As for marriage, a woman’s normal lot…no matter what husband she found, she would compare him with D’ward every time she looked at him. She must pray, and the One would provide.
Even if He didn’t, D’ward would never forsake her.
He was still talking. “An ending but also a beginning. I was told of this house by a friend who lives not far off. He said that its owner and his sons were taken by reapers, many years ago, and the old place had remained deserted ever since, as no one knew who owned it. It was a noble place once and it will be noble—Aha!”
Footsteps crunched on dry leaves outside the door and then halted. Eleal could not see who was there, but D’ward could, and he smiled a welcome. “Kuchumber Boatman, isn’t it? You came for Dosh, I assume.”
Dosh was already on his feet, heading for the exit. D’ward watched them go until there was no more sound, and then began to pace again.
“That means we have visitors, so the house must wait till later. Let us plan the feast. How much food is left?”
Dommi said, “None, master!” and a few others muttered agreement.
“None at all?” D’ward stopped in the center of the room. “No food! There is no food, but the Liberator promised us a feast, so now he will call on the One, who will shower miracle wheat from the heavens like hail?” His voice was soft and bantering, yet it had a razor edge. “Oh, my friends, have I not told you that you were given brains to think for yourselves? You would die of thirst underwater. The Lord has already provided what you need, if you will but look. Did I not just tell you that we have reached an ending? Dommi, how many wagons would be needed just to haul the infirm and small children?”
“Four, perhaps five—”
“So save five oxen and—Ah, now you see?” The Liberator smiled as the old house rang with laughter.
55
Julian whispered a quick explanation to Alice. She chuckled. The shield-bearers began planning the feast, joking about the best ways to cook llamas, rabbits, and tusk oxen. They would be edible but tough as rope, likely. D’ward listened with tolerant amusement.
What a performance! Could have used more like him in the trenches to buck up the lads and lead them into battle with their heads high. But this wasn’t really funny, dammit! The Liberator must meet Zath alone, man to man—that was the sword above the throne. That had always been the plan, David and Goliath. Exeter had specifically not staged a travesty of the Last Supper, but he was sending the Free home, and he’d dropped bags of hints that he was pulling out.
Alice tapped Julian’s shoulder. “He said all the rabbits?”
“Yes. Why? What’s wrong?”
She frowned. “Nothing.”
Yes there was. What?
A quick look the other way showed that Pinky was wearing his sleepy-eyed thoughtful look as he watched the byplay. He, too, had noticed something awry.
“Tell me,” Julian whispered.
Alice shrugged. “If they slaughter the excess oxen and all the rabbits, then how is he going to Tharg?”
“Good question.” Julian mentally kicked himself for not seeing that. It would take days on foot, and Thargians did not tolerate strangers wandering around their vale. They would especially resent the man who had laid a historic humiliation on them only four years ago. Zath would lay his own traps. Of course Exeter had enough mana now to defend himself from mundane attack—or even teleport himself across country from node to node if he chose—but either would be a foolish waste of power. He might have hidden one rabbit away somewhere for his own use.
Alice had been expecting to go to Tharg with him.
And so had Julian Smedley. Damn! He didn’t want to be sent home with the children. Exeter knew what he was doing, certainly—clearing ground in the courtyard, sending Dosh off on a secret errand. How and where did he expect to meet Zath? Was he even going to Tharg at all?
Now he was raising a han
d for silence. Ye gods, but he was a cool one! Only his tendency to pace around showed the strain he must be feeling, and that might be due to the virtuality of this node. It was localized, but very intense.
“We are about to have visitors.” Exeter walked over to the central window and sat on the sill, so that the light was behind him, leaning against a mullion and stretching out his legs, cool as the proverbial cucumber. The great room fell silent. A bat-owl warbled its ghostly call out in the trees. Farther off, some of the Free had begun a singsong. Footsteps approaching…
Dosh entered first and stepped aside. Three men followed, coming to a halt just inside the doorway, looking around for the leader.
None of the three was dressed for riding moas. The chappie in the center was a massive figure in full armor, boots and crested helmet making him tower over the others. His cleanshaven chin showed he was a Thargian, had there been any doubt. His scabbard hung conspicuously empty at his side. Wee Dosh had done extremely well to persuade him to disarm. From a Thargian point of view that would be a very poor start to negotiations. The other two wore civilian garb: fur hats, long fur robes. The one on the right sported a trim, gray-streaked beard, the one on the left a heavy black mustache. Now there was a surprise! Julian glanced at Alice, but she was still studying the visitors and probably did not know the significance of that facial hair.
If they were waiting for introductions or words of welcome, they were evidently going to be disappointed. No one spoke a word. Then the soldier picked out the man in the window as the likely head boy and marched forward, his heavy boots scuffing up dust clouds from the litter of humus. When he was in the center of the room and just into the moonlight, he stamped to a halt. His greaves flashed streaks of Trumb’s green fire.
“I am Kwargurk Battlemaster, ephor of Thargia.” His accent was as thick as road tar, but—Good Lord! An ephor in person? And speaking Joalian, too!