by Dave Duncan
He resented being called a boy, but Onica Mason must be a great deal older than she seemed.
"I'd love to stay,” he admitted. “I'd love to see more of the Vales, and meet the people who knew my father. At any other time, I'd jump at it. Now—there's a war on. I must go Home and do my bit."
"Does you credit, I suppose,” she muttered. “You'll have time to change your mind if you want to, because I can't take you straight to Olympus. Cuddles can go across country, but not with two riders. I did not expect to find you living, Mr. Exeter. I didn't bring a spare mount. I didn't bring warm clothes for two. You'd freeze your arse up there.” She gestured at the towering peaks of Susswall.
The conversation was not heading in favorable directions.
"You can go over that?"
"Dragons can. They don't like the heat down here, and Nagland's even hotter. Furthermore,” she added, “to take a dragon into Nagland would be like riding one down Whitehall."
"Conspicuous?"
"Quite. Rothpass is ranked as easy. By Valian standards, that means you can walk over it if you have the legs of a goat. I'll take you to the summit, though, and set you adrift there. I'll go over the hills to Olympus and report. You go down into Nagvale. The first village you come to is Sonalby. Ask for Kalmak Carpenter. He's one of ours, in the religious branch. The code question is, ‘What do you get when you cross a wallaby and a jaguar?’”
"And what's the answer?"
"The kids’ answer is, ‘A fur coat with pockets.’ If you get that, then you've found the wrong man. If he says, ‘Sunrise over five peaks,’ then he's sound."
Straight out of Kim! “And what do I do with Kalmak Carpenter when I've got him?"
"Mostly keep your mouth shut. He's a local, so he doesn't know what you know, but he's trustworthy, a good man. Stay with him until we send someone for you."
"How long?” he asked, trying not to show his doubts.
"Couple of weeks. Travel's slow here. I'll have you Home inside two fortnights, Exeter, promise.” She twisted her awkward mouth in a smile. “A month, that means."
What could he say? “Fair enough."
She glanced at him quizzically.
He shrugged. “They all say the war'll be over by Christmas."
"So keen to kill? How long till Christmas?"
That she had to ask was a shock, a reminder of how very far away England was.
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59
"WELL, THEY OBVIOUSLY DIDN'T SENSE US,” MASON said. “Let's go."
Edward rose from the wall with relief. “What happens if they turn back and follow us?"
"Down here, they'd catch us easily. This is moa country. They can't handle heights, though. We'd have to try to get to the hills.” She walked on for a few minutes, then added, “But we wouldn't make it."
"You know, you're full of cheerful information."
She chuckled. “If there's only two, I may manage to handle them."
He wondered how the members of the Service came by their mana. It might be an impertinent question.
The three of them walked in silence back down to the dragon, and again Edward had to squeeze himself into the gap between Mason and the bony plate. It was about as comfortable as riding on handlebars.
Once on the road, though, Cuddles ran smoothly. They sped by the temple, detoured around the town, and rushed on through the night, heading west.
He tried to keep watch behind. He felt worn-out by this interminable day. A few hours’ sleep and he would be ready for anything. Talk was too difficult, so he just sat without speaking, wishing he could dismount from his uncomfortable perch—wishing, too, that he had not been such an unmitigated bounder as to walk out on Eleal when she needed his help.
After half an hour or so, Onica pulled the dragon in behind a copse of trees and made her lie down so the riders could dismount. There they were hidden from view but could look back along the dirt track crossing wide meadows of moonlit grass. They would see the reapers if they came.
"Just a short break,” she said, stretching. “Hungry?"
"If you are going to eat, I could nibble something."
"Like a roast ox?"
"With potatoes and gravy, please."
She rummaged in one of the panniers and produced a small bundle wrapped in a cloth. She sat down and opened it, revealing some lumps of a hard bread. Edward was more than happy to sink to the grass and stretch out, finding new joints to put his weight on. He bit into one of the crusts. It was nutty and fresher than it looked, with a pleasant spicy flavor.
The golden-haired youth squatted down and took one also.
Edward said, “How the devil?..."
The boy smiled at him, chewing.
"What?” Onica asked.
"Nothing. Forgot what I was going to say. Tell me about Zath."
She grimaced. “What do you want to know?"
"Well, I don't like having an enemy who tries to kill me for something I haven't done and don't intend to do. Suppose I wrote him a note—"
"He'd never believe you! Zath's the worst of them all. I told you the native theology is only an approximation. The Man has always been god of both creation and destruction, symbolized by his hammer. Zath was his persona as god of death, but no one ever assumed the role—who would want to? About ... oh, about a hundred years ago or so, someone did. Whether he asked Karzon for the post or it was all Karzon's idea, I haven't the foggiest. Doesn't matter. Zath invented the reapers. He may have stolen the idea from Indian thuggee."
"Their murders give him mana?"
"In spades. Human sacrifice died out a long time ago on Nextdoor, just as it did at Home, but it generates huge amounts of mana. He's enormously powerful because of it, although his technique's very wasteful—the deaths don't happen on a node, and they're mostly a long way away from Zath himself. It's just that there are so many of them. In doctrine he's only an aspect of Karzon, but in fact he's by far the stronger now. The Five are worried about him, worried he may decide to promote himself to full Pentatheon membership."
"Can't they gang up on him?"
She laughed grimly. “Honor among thieves? Who bells the cat? Mana is power and power always has friends."
He looked at the youth, who grinned, shrugged, and went on eating.
Mason fell silent too. She seemed to be thinking hard, so Edward respected her silence. He had decided that Onica Mason knew what she was doing. She was a very competent ... whatever she was.
Cuddles was grazing without standing up. She could probably do so for quite a long time before eating everything within the reach of that serpentine neck. Trumb was setting behind the peaks. Yellow Kirb'l had appeared, low in the south. He considered asking for an explanation of that rogue moon's motion but decided he was too fagged out at the moment to take in a lecture on astronomy.
Onica reached for the cloth. “Finished? Time to be on our way."
"Yes, thank you, ma'am.” He stood up and peered back along the road. He could see no sign of the reapers. As they walked back to the dragon, he blurted: “Did you know my father?"
"Yes."
"I'd like to hear about him some time. I feel I hardly knew him."
She clambered into the saddle, keeping her back to him as she answered. “I knew him intimately. Does that shock you?"
"Of course not!” It did, though. He had never imagined the guv'nor having a lover. The information saddened him, emphasizing that his knowledge of his parents was that of a twelve-year-old. He had never really known them, and never would. They had died because of Zath and the Filoby Testament.
Onica held down a hand and helped him up with a surprisingly powerful heave. He wondered how old she was.
"He was a fine man, widely respected. I was very much in love with him. We drifted apart later. It was long before he met your mother, of course. All right, Cuddles, old girl. I know you're tired. Wondo!"
Did that long-ago affair explain why Monica Mason had come to aid Cameron'
s son? But why had she gone visiting her former lover at Nyagatha? That sounded like bad form, or was he just naive? There were too many questions to ask, too many pitfalls and unforeseeable hurts lurking in the possible answers.
He lost track of time. Uncomfortable as he was, he began to find the motion of the dragon soporific. He tried to keep watch behind them, but in the moonlight he probably would not have been able to see the reapers approaching until it was too late to do anything about them. Trumb and Ysh had set; now golden Kirb'l ruled the sky. The night was taking on a sense of nightmare, one of those awful dreams that never end.
Then Onica shouted something and pointed.
Houses. Lameby.
She skirted the hamlet, cutting across fields. Cuddles turned out to be as skilled as a horse at jumping fences, although Edward found the landings exceedingly unpleasant. Then they were on the road again, and it angled down into a narrow ravine, a dry streambed. A steady, low-pitched roar must be the voice of Susswater.
"Damn!” Onica said. “Zappan!"
The dragon stopped, claws scrabbling in gravel.
Silence, except for the bone-jarring rumble of the river, not even a whisper of wind, here in this little gorge ... Walled on either side by steep cliffs, the track disappeared around a sharp bend about fifty yards ahead. The gap showed a glimpse of mightier, moonlit cliffs in the distance, and the far end of a bridge. Like the one he had seen at Rotby, it was suspended from heavy chains, but here there were no towers. The anchors must be set in the rock of the canyon itself. The near side was hidden around the corner.
"Trouble?” he whispered.
"At least two of them,” Onica said. She sighed. “It's a logical place for an ambush. I should have thought of it."
"We can go back?"
"And then where? Cuddles needs rest, even if you don't. I think we'll try the direct method. Saint George and the dragon will now perform! Get down."
"Ma'am, I—"
"Get down!"
The command was spoken quietly, but it must have been backed with mana, because his feet hit the dirt an instant later. He staggered.
"Here goes the charge of the Light Brigade,” Onica said.
"No, wait!"
"You can't help. Keep your fingers crossed, Exeter. Remember Kalmak Carpenter. Zomph!"
Cuddles shot forward, claws spraying stones. She hurtled like an arrow along the road, leaned into the curve, and disappeared.
He choked back a shout of anger. He stood there on the gravel, feeling like a pampered brat. The smirk on the youth's face did nothing to help his feelings. Bloody young exhibitionist, parading around in the nude!
"Well, come on!” he snapped. “Let's try to help!” He began to run, and the youth loped along at his side without a word.
The worst part was that he heard nothing at all—no screams, nothing. Cuddles came into view again, streaking across the bridge like a runaway lorry. Her claws must have made a considerable racket on the timbers, but the roar of the river below muffled it completely. At the far end, the dragon did not turn to follow the road, but went straight up the cliff face like a gigantic fly. She had no rider. In moments she vanished over a ledge. He caught one more glimpse of her, higher up, and then she had gone.
He stopped in dismay. The river rumbled, his heart thumped madly.
He wondered if he was the victim of some horrible hoax and rejected the notion as madness. Something had spooked that dragon!
If Onica were alive, she would come back. If she had died, she would not have accounted for all the reapers.
Now what? Eleal had explained that ordinary weapons were useless against reapers. Onica might be lying on the road, hurt and in need of help. If any of the enemy had survived, then they might well be able to sense him as Mason had sensed them—he did not know the extent of their powers. He bent and fumbled in the gravel until he had found a couple of rounded rocks that would fit his grip. He put one in his pocket and stood up. He would not likely have time for more than two shots.
What was the reapers’ range? He racked his brain to recall that brief glimpse he had caught earlier. Fifteen yards? Hard to say in the dark, just two black shapes in the night. He had better allow twenty, at least. A cricket pitch was twenty-two yards long.
He turned to his cryptic companion, who was watching him with amused contempt.
"Are you going to help or just stand there displaying yourself?"
This time he got an answer. He had spoken in English, but the reply came in Joalian:
"You go ahead, D'ward dear. I'll be very interested to see what happens."
With a snort of disgust, Edward started forward. He walked as quietly as he could, although he knew the river would mask any sounds he made. The youth sauntered along beside him.
Edward ignored him, keeping his eyes on the corner ahead, rolling the stone in his hand, forced his breathing to stay slow. The corner was not a knife-edge, just a very sharp bend. He moved close to the wall, crept forward more slowly. One step at a time now...
He saw a body. And a dark-robed form bending over it. Now! Quickly!
He sprinted forward. The reaper looked up, surprised, then rose, brightly lit by moonlight. He raised an arm....
Edward pivoted and bowled his best fast ball. For a moment he thought he had left it too late—a spasm of pain shot through his arm.
He hadn't, though. The reaper had no chance to dodge a missile moving at that speed. The rock took him between the eyes with an audible crunch. He went down, as if he had been hit by a sledgehammer.
Edward stumbled to a halt, rubbing his tingling hand and fighting waves of nausea. He did not want to think what that rock would have done to a human face. He had probably killed a man, or at least maimed him horribly. Worse, if the reaper was not dead, then he could still be dangerous. Dare Edward go closer to finish him off? Could he kill an injured man in cold blood? There were other bodies, but no one standing or moving.
He hurried forward. The first two were both reapers, and the one he had struck down was still twitching. The next was another reaper, sprawled in a contorted way that suggested he was very dead indeed.
Onica lay at the beginning of the bridge. She was dead, too. Her face was a lurid color in the green light, and twisted as if she had died in agony. A black trickle of blood had flowed from her mouth. He closed her eyes as he had closed Creighton's.
First Bagpipe, then Creighton and the Gover man—now Mason, too! How many deaths must he trail behind him?
Sudden realization made him leap to his feet. He turned to face his companion, the youth with the golden curls, the one who wore nothing but the light of the joker moon, the one who had not ridden on the dragon but had turned up at every stop. He had appeared at the theater with Mason, but she had not brought him. Mason had not even known he was there.
The two stood and looked at each other, the youth smiling, Edward fighting against tides of fury and despair, racking his brains. Out of the frying pan! I demand to see the British Consul! Bring in the gunboats!
What was the proper form for greeting a god? A local chieftain could be accorded respect, within limits, but Tion was not a secular authority, nor even a high priest or witch doctor. He was a brigand, a parasite, a first-class fraud. A native would undoubtedly throw himself in the dirt at this point, but no Englishman should grovel like that to anyone, and this young bugger ranked lower than a Sarawak pirate. Grovel? Edward wanted to smash that pretty face to pulp.
"I suppose you're Tion?"
The boy uttered a high-pitched laugh. “And you are the Liberator! Do you like this body? It was a present from Kirb'l.” He turned around to display it. “He's a maniac, but he does appreciate my tastes."
"A present?"
"Or you could say I won it in the festival. I win one every year—my prize! Do you like it?"
Was there any good answer to that?
"It's a fine representation of the young Apollo."
Apparently Tion understood the reference, fo
r he flashed white teeth in a smile of pleasure. “Thank you! You're quite nice-looking yourself, you know. I say so, and I am the ultimate authority on such matters."
Fury! He must be mad as a March hare and dangerous as a hungry shark. With his superhuman power, he had turned up like a deus ex machina and then done nothing at all! “Why didn't you save her?"
The god pouted. “Why should I? She was only one of those meddling, idealistic nobodies from the Service! They won't last. It's been tried before. I've been around a lot longer than the Service, and I shall be around when they're all dead and forgotten."
"I'm sorry she's dead!"
"Well, you shouldn't be!” The Youth sounded peeved. Then he smiled. “We mustn't leave the evidence lying around, though. It's unsightly, having bodies all over the place. Drop them in the river."
"I won't take orders—"
"Yes you will,” Tion said quietly.
Before he knew it, Edward had bent to take hold of Onica's feet. He tried to let go, but his hands refused to open. His feet started to move, and he began dragging her out onto the bridge. There the roar of the river was deafening. A cold, misty wind blew along the canyon. The planks were slippery.
"Damn you!” he shouted. “She deserves a decent burial at least!"
"No she doesn't. This should be far enough."
Sick at heart, Edward pushed the body out through the chains and watched it dwindle away to a speck before it vanished in the surging foam of Susswater, far below.
He found himself hurrying back to the corpses, and then he stopped resisting the compulsion. He did not care about the reapers, but he felt shamed at having treated the woman so, even if he had had no choice. Tion strolled beside him, making no effort to assist. Manual labor must be beneath a god's dignity.
"This one she ran down with the dragon,” he remarked. “But too late to avoid his power, of course. And you got the last of them, dear boy! Nasty vermin. You are a very good thrower, aren't you?"
Edward almost choked on his anger. “Why didn't you save the woman?"
"Because I chose not to, of course. She was trespassing. So were the others. I warned Zath to keep his trash off my lawn. Giving powers like that to natives is quite disgusting."