by Dave Duncan
“I am the Liberator.” Exeter showed no awareness that he was being granted an unprecedented honor.
Kwargurk grunted contemptuously. He waved a hand to indicate his companions. “Petaldian Ambassador from Joalia and Tanuel Ambassador from Niolia.” Neither moved.
“I am the Liberator,” Exeter repeated. He crossed his legs. He was in the presence of one third of the Thargian government and representatives of the other two great powers. Julian suppressed a strong desire to whistle a cheery tune.
The ephor growled deep in his throat. “Let us speak in private.”
“No. These are my friends. I hide nothing from them.”
“Friends? How many cohorts can you field?”
“None. I am armed with the word of the One True God.”
The ephor glanced around the desolate, unfurnished chamber and then down at the young man lolling on the windowsill. His voice was a sneer. “He does not pay you well.”
Exeter’s voice was higher pitched and quieter, but it was steady and plainly audible. “He pays better than you can imagine, Ephor Kwargurk, but you did not come here to trade insults. State your business.”
“You and your rabble have violated our borders. Your persons are forfeit. The penalty is death or slavery.”
“I know that.”
“Why? What is the reason behind this insanity?”
“Our business is God’s business. It does not concern you, Ephor. You came to offer terms. State them.”
“Not offer, heretic—dictate! Hear, then. You who call yourself the Liberator will proceed to Tharg with all deliberate haste, taking no more than ten companions, and will present yourself there to the authorities, who upon examination may decide to put you on trial. The rest of your followers have two days in which to leave Thargvale or endure the consequences.”
Julian heard Pinky utter a faint hiss of surprise or relief. Make that both. By letting the Free leave unscathed, the irascible Thargians were breaking all their own rules. If Exeter had not been tipped off in advance, he was a fantastic guesser. Obviously this was how he planned to journey to his rendezvous with Death—as a guest of the Thargians. Would he accept the offer of ten companions or insist on going alone?
Julian whispered a hasty explanation to Alice: “He’s done it! He can go on to Tharg and everyone else is free to depart!” He squeezed her hand and she returned his grin. Triumph!
Exeter uncrossed his legs and rested his forearms on his knees. “What are Joalia and Niolia doing in this?”
The ambassadors exchanged glances. Tanuel cleared his throat loudly, or perhaps he was just blowing his mustache out of the way. “You have deluded many citizens of Nioldom and even some of Niolia itself into following your mirage. I made representations on their behalf to the noble ephors and their excellencies agreed to treat the matter with the outstanding leniency that Ephor Kwargurk has just described. You have many persons from Joalia here also. Honorable Petaldian Ambassador will confirm, if you wish, that his government’s views are concurrent with mine. We have assembled a stock of foodstuffs to provision the refugees’ return journey—at no small cost, I may add. You should know that the Thargian government’s concessions are historically—”
“I think we understand. Thargia would love to load up its slave pens, but it doesn’t want to antagonize all the Vales at the same time. The chance to take so many hostages must be mouthwateringly tempting, though. A more weighty consideration would be that the omens and auguries are especially ambiguous just now?” Edward stood up, revealing that he was as tall as the ephor. His next words cracked out like pistol shots. “Your terms are rejected. Leave this camp.”
Alice understood the tone, and her nails stabbed hard into Julian’s hand. Pinky gasped. Others among the shield-bearers were reacting similarly. Petaldian Ambassador uttered undiplomatic obscenities. A six-foot pillar of bronze viewed from the side in partial moonlight should not be able to express astonishment without speaking, but somehow Ephor Kwargurk managed it.
Tanuel Ambassador hurried forward, his voice emerging as a trembling bleat. “Young man, you will have the blood of innocent thousands upon your head! Ever since your destination became obvious, I have worked night and day to persuade the Thargian—”
“Your motives are honorable. The One will not be unmindful of them, nor of Petaldian Ambassador’s. But we will be guided by our God and heed not the butchers who reign in Tharg, worshipping evil. The blessings of the Undivided go with you all.”
“You really are insane,” Kwargurk growled. “My colleagues and I did not believe that so many would follow a maniac.” Turning slowly, he surveyed the hall. “Will none of you break free from the madman and seek to avert bloody catastrophe?”
No one spoke. Not that Julian was not tempted…
“Truly,” Exeter remarked, “this concern for the welfare of others is a welcome innovation among Thargians. There is hope for you yet, when I have ripped out the foulness that contaminates your city. Go, ephor. Go back to Tharg and tell your murdering Zath that his hour has come.”
For a moment the giant seemed to balance on his toes, poised to seize the insolent preacher and snap his neck. Possibly he tried to, although no tremor of mana disturbed the virtuality of the node. Then all three envoys turned and stalked away. The two diplomats were doubtless downcast at their failure. It was hard to believe that the Thargian was feeling anything short of homicidal mania. All three vanished out the door, crackling dead leaves into the distance.
As Dosh was about to follow and see them off, Exeter called him over. For a moment the two conferred, then Dosh departed also.
Julian was returning Alice’s wide-eyed stare. “He had it all! They gave him everything he could have asked for, and he turned it down flat. This is insane! He’s bloody bonkers.”
“It’s a rum go,” Pinky muttered.
“Never thought I’d agree with a Thargian. He is crazy, as the man said. He must be.”
Alice chewed her lip. “He knows what he’s doing, I’m sure.”
“I’m not,” Julian growled. He turned to regard Pinky. If anyone had a mind devious enough to understand this, then he did. “You make head or tail of it?”
Pinky lowered his eyelids dreamily. “Indeed we must suppose a complex gambit, mustn’t we, mm? A ploy being made on several levels, I suspect. Wouldn’t you agree with that? Different message being passed to different listeners, as it were…”
Alice said, “Sh!”
Exeter had moved to the center of the hall. He had just declared war on Nextdoor’s equivalent of the Prussian Empire and now he was talking of trivialities as if nothing at all had happened.
“…was telling you of this fine house, fallen on hard times. We must now consecrate it to greater service than it knew before. Let us make this building the first temple of the Undivided, to give witness to the Truth, to minister to the suffering and unfortunate. A temple must have a high priest or priestess, some holy person well fitted. Who among you is most worthy?”
He stopped and looked around. No one spoke. Julian wanted to scream, Who cared about a bloody temple? He glared at Pinky, but Pinky was frowning at this latest Liberator outrage. The Church of the Undivided had staunchly refused to establish permanent chapels in the belief that they would attract persecution like wasps to a picnic.
Exeter sighed. “No nominations from the floor? Oh, my friends, do you not see yet? Is it not obvious? Only two of us here are mentioned in the Filoby Testament. She knows what it is to be penniless and wretched. She knows what it is to be crippled. I have even heard tell of those who mutter that she should not hold up her head among honorable people. Shame, shame! It is those proud popinjays who should hang their heads in her presence. Eleal Highpriestess, come forward.”
At the far end of the hall, Eleal clambered to her feet, apparently being pushed by her companions. She walked forward slowly, shoulders hunched, her arms tight around her breasts. Superb actress that she was, she could not possibly be fakin
g that shock and reluctance. Exeter embraced her.
“Now, priestess,” he said, releasing her, “we need a Circle. There is a nail in the wall above the fireplace, and you have a shield that would sanctify this hall without any further words from us. May it ever remind us of the Warband who fell so bravely as the first martyrs of our church…. They will not be the last. I shall consecrate it and this temple in the name of the Undivided and all of you shall watch and listen and remember, for soon you will carry the word to all the Vales and to lands beyond.”
Horsefeathers! Either the blighter had come completely unhinged or he was killing time until something happened or…or…or Julian Smedley was a monkey’s uncle. Why had Exeter spumed the ephor’s offer of safe conduct for the Free? Pinky knew, or suspected, if he could ever be persuaded to get to the point.
But Pinky was glaring at the ceremony now being organized before the fireplace. Again Exeter was going his own way with his own schismatic sect—the Church of the Liberator, probably…. And Eleal as high priestess! Not a stranger, even. A girl in her teens, a native, and an actress! A former harlot! No wonder Pinky was seething. It was surprising the man hadn’t turned in his shield already. Of course, he must assume that he would be able to overrule a mere—
No! If Exeter cut loose and left the Church of the Liberator to fend for itself, then certainly Pinky would expect to run it as he had run the Service, the rat behind the wainscot. But that program depended on the believers surviving tomorrow’s apocalypse. The Thargians would come at dawn in fire and slaughter. The old, the infirm, the children, would be put to the sword and the able-bodied marched off to the mines in their thousands.
The awful truth reared up like a monster in a nightmare: Exeter had brought all those innocents here to die for him, just as the Warband had died. That was why he had refused the Thargian terms. More martyrdom, more human sacrifice! Wholesale massacre—wholesale mana! He was going to try and beat Zath at his own game.
56
Dosh trotted down the steps and set off after the Thargians, crunching leaves under his boots. The night was calm but turning cold, and Trumb’s disk was almost a perfect circle, so the eclipse would start soon. He could find his way along the path by moonlight. If it had gone by the time he returned, the fires twinkling among the trees would guide him. Snatches of hymns mingled with popular folk songs told how the Free were celebrating the Liberator’s triumphant promises. They were showing their faith.
Shamefully, Dosh’s faith had not been as strong as it should be. He knew Thargians and how jealously they guarded their borders. He had been very relieved when he heard them promise to let the Free depart unmolested but also very astonished, which he should not have been. He should have trusted more in D’ward and the power of the Undivided.
Catching a glimpse of the envoys in front of him, he slowed down. D’ward had told him to speak to them when they had left the woods and not before. He could hear the mutter of their conversation, the clink of the ephor’s armor.
When D’ward rejected their terms, Dosh had been as surprised as everyone else. He should have had more faith. Just why the Liberator had chosen to proceed in the way he had was still a mystery, but he always knew what he was doing. Trust in the One! It would be the Thargians who would be surprised when they heard the message Dosh brought. They would curse, undoubtedly, but they would certainly accept, and it would be fun seeing their faces.
The real mystery was why D’ward had made so much of this mission. He had used the code words that meant Dosh was to obey without question, but it had not been necessary. Dosh would have been overjoyed to undertake this task without that. He could not imagine what problem D’ward had foreseen. Perhaps he had expected something else to happen, or had been considering several plans, and the worst had not happened. Why, then, had he used the code words “Good old days”?
“Dosh, darling?” A figure stepped out of the trees before him, from deep shadow to bright moonlight.
He yelped in horror and reeled back. His heel caught against a root and he fell, landing on his seat with an impact that knocked all the breath out of him. He gaped up at the apparition.
She was stark naked. She was hardly more than a child. She was also very pregnant, her breasts and belly distended. Her golden ringlets hung below her shoulders.
He turned his head away and closed his eyes. “Sister! You must not display yourself like that! It is unseemly. It is contrary to decency.”
In midwinter, too! She must be having some sort of brainstorm. He’d heard that imminent motherhood could have strange effects on women. He was not sure if this sort of madness was commonly one of them, but madness was the only possible explanation. She was in need of help. He scrambled to his feet.
She laughed, a laugh like a tinkle of silver. “You always liked me like this before, lover.”
Dosh reached out and clutched a tree for support. The roughness of its bark under his hand reassured him that he was awake and not dreaming. The voices of the Thargian embassy had faded into the distance. He stole a quick glance out of the corner of his eye and she was still there. In fact she was closer.
“Go away! Go back to your husband at once!”
“Husband?” She laughed again, nearer than ever. “Don’t you remember me, Dosh? After all the happy times we had together?”
He stole another glance—at her face, only her face. It was a very lovely face, soft and fair and smooth. She was much too close. He looked away.
“I have never seen you before in my life!” he squealed.
“Well not like this,” she admitted. “This is last year’s model. Lovely, isn’t she? Or she was. One of the guardsmen did the damage, I think.”
Dosh’s knees trembled with the shudder of terror and horror that ran through him. Oh, God preserve me!
She laughed again, and somewhere in the deep crypts of his mind, down in the foulness where the nightmares lurk, there was something unbearably familiar about that laugh. “Memories starting to come back, are they?” she teased. “It’s easier to wipe them clean than bring them back, but we’ll see what we can do. Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
Nausea burned in his throat and cramped his gut. He pressed his face against the prickly tree bark. “Go away! In the name of the One True God, I bid you begone!” He began to pray, but silently, so she would not hear how frightened he was. God would hear. God would help him.
After a moment, she said sweetly, “I’m still here, Dosh. Are you sure you don’t want to kiss me?”
Never! Never, never again! That sort of sin was all behind him now. He had a job to do, a very important job. D’ward was depending on him. He spun around the tree, bypassing the girl, and sprinted away along the path, stumbling and staggering, trying to fend off the trailing branches but missing some of them, which stung him across the face.
“Goodness, what a hurry!” she trilled, right at his back. “It isn’t very good for this body to run like this, Dosh. Suppose it drops its brat right on the path here? And you won’t get away from me like this, you know. What a surprise the ephor will have when we turn up together! Will he take your message as seriously as he should, do you suppose?”
Dosh stopped dead. The girl cannoned right into him and wrapped her arms around him, laughing gleefully. He struggled to free himself, and of course she was far stronger than she looked. She weighed as much as he did, and her mountainous belly seemed to get in his way more than in hers. The two of them staggered to and fro, banging into branches and saplings. He cursed between clenched teeth, he tramped on her bare toes, and she just trilled her ghastly mocking laugh. At last he managed to free an arm. He punched her in the face as hard as he could, hurting his knuckles.
She released him and fell back a step. Again she was in full moonlight.
“Darling, does this mean you don’t love me any more?” Her smile displayed a missing tooth and blood coursing down her chin from a gashed lip. Her swollen bosom heaved as she panted. “Or are you just remember
ing how I enjoy rough play? Hit me again. Kick me!”
He was trembling so hard now that he could barely speak. “You are not a god! You are a foul, evil sorcerer—like that pair of mummies that call themselves Visek!”
“This is true,” she said, looking down at the dark stream flowing over her breast and splashing onto her protruding belly. “It was naughty of D’ward to tell you, but it is true.. That needn’t come between us, lover. We can still do all the things we used to do.”
“You bewitched me!” His voice broke. Tears of frustration blurred his sight. Memories were starting to writhe in his mind like worms in rotten meat. Naked girls, naked boys…Worse, the faces were starting to come back, and the sounds of laughter and screaming and gasping and pleading. “You cast spells upon me….”
She stepped forward. He retreated until he ran into a tree and could go no farther. She was so close that her nipples touched his coat and he could smell her sweat.
“Sometimes I did,” she said huskily. “But you didn’t really need them. You were the most inventive playmate I have ever had, Dosh. So tough, so versatile, so resilient. You’re too old to be Tion now, of course, but we could still have fun together. Even if all we do is just watch the others—”
“Go away!” He closed his eyes. His fists hurt, he was clenching them so hard. “I will have nothing more to do with you ever again!”
“You will if I want you to!” she said sharply. “I can take you away from here before D’ward knows a thing about it. Well, if last year’s model doesn’t interest you, how about this year’s?” A man’s voice added, “These ones wear better.”
The change of pitch warned Dosh what had happened. Reluctantly he looked. Now Tion was a boy—slim, narrow shouldered, dark haired, and startlingly handsome. Naked, of course. He pursed his lips invitingly.
“Go away!” Dosh screamed. He was powerless against such sorcery, and yet D’ward was relying on him. If he failed to deliver the message, thousands would die and all the Liberator’s plans be ruined.