by Tom Deitz
“Close enough to walk when you've been riding all day,” Inon sighed. “Orkeen, you can untie the prisoners' legs, but keep them hobbled.”
“Aye,” Orkeen managed from the ground, where he was still clutching his crotch.
“Now.”
Orkeen staggered to his feet, shooting Inon an evil glare when he thought his commander wasn't looking. Merryn merely watched in bland amusement as Orkeen—with Ivk and the remaining man, Tahlone, observing—placed hobble-cuffs on Merryn's ankles. Tahlone, who seemed older and more world-weary than the rest, stared impassively while Krynneth was also unhorsed and freed.
A moment later, they were walking north, where a line of trees showed beside what Merryn reckoned might be a river. The land underfoot was more sand than anything else, for the summer winds blew from the south and carried grit that way, but this finger of the Flat was not as bare as most of that no-man's-land.
In fact—as she discovered to her surprise when Orkeen, who walked ahead of her, moved aside so she could actually see—there was, or had been, a small hold here.
The architecture proclaimed it Eronese, as—once they'd forced the locked gate in the high outer wall—did the artifacts ranged around the forecourt, including what had been a caravan of the sort used on treks. Everything looked abandoned, however, and any paint the caravan had sported that could have given some clue to its origin had long since been washed, scoured, or sun-bleached away. No carved clan sigils were visible, either, which said a lot right there—notably that the hold had probably belonged to clanless folk, a fair number of whom had gone west in the years before the plague, or else fled it.
In any case, the buildings looked solid, if hastily built, though the caravan had already been old when the plague began. Too bad there was no way to discover more without being free, and she didn't see that as an option anytime soon.
She wondered if Krynneth had drawn the same conclusions. More to the point, she wondered if he'd drawn any conclusions at all. Ever since their capture, he'd been silent, like a man who had endured one thing too many and retreated inside himself. Perhaps he had. As it was, she'd heard him speak exactly four words since they'd fallen in with these folks: “Piss,” “shit,” “yes,” and “no.” Those kept him from soiling himself, which was apparently all their captors required. That she was the prize was obvious.
Wordlessly, almost cautiously, they pushed through a second gate into a walled side court, of which the hold itself made one side, while another consisted of a row of stables so solidly built they seemed an outlandish extravagance.
Inon studied the area appraisingly, nodded satisfaction, and tossed his reins to Shaul. “Geen country,” he said tersely. “That's why the stone and the bars on the windows.”
Merryn blinked at that: She hadn't noted those things and probably should have. Especially the windows. Geens were pack hunters and as likely to hunt at night as by day. They were also smart enough to raise wooden door latches and open shutters. Thick walls and steel bars were the only sure defense where they were common. And since they liked to eat horses, and stabled horses were easy meat—well, that explained the sturdy construction.
“I need a bath,” Inon announced abruptly.
“So do I,” Ivk—whom Merryn had decided was Inon's nephew—agreed. Orkeen snorted.
Inon glared at him. “We all do, actually, but we can't leave the prisoners unguarded, and I don't want to bring them with us.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, eyeing the stables. “Ivk, see if there's somewhere we can lock them away unsupervised in there. A tack room or feed room, maybe.”
Ivk nodded, and he and Tahlone half led, half dragged Merryn and Krynneth to the long, low, stone-walled building. Typical of such places, a single main door gave on an enclosed exercise area that fronted the standard eight stalls, all of which sported sturdy oak doors, with two more rooms flanking that area at either end. One of those doors had stripped its hinges, however, while another opened onto a room that had lost its roof, which only left two options unless they used the stalls. “Together or separate?” Ivk wondered aloud.
Tahlone patted his pouch. “Only got one lock, so I guess it'll have to be together.”
Leaving Merryn and Krynneth in Tahlone's care, Ivk tried both doors and decided on the right-hand one. “In,” he said in Eronese, motioning them forward. Merryn thought about balking, but Tahlone's sword suddenly pressed against her back. Oh well, if she was lucky, she'd get a chance to talk to Krynneth alone for the first time since their capture.
A final shove sent her sprawling into old hay atop cobblestones, and she was just starting to rise when Krynneth piled in atop her. The door slammed. The key grated in the lock.
“Could be worse,” she said aloud, not so much to Krynneth as to convince herself. At least it wasn't as dark as she'd feared, for the room sported a pair of narrow, barred windows that looked into the side court. Shaul was leading the horses there now, prior to stabling them. Inon was nowhere to be seen. Likely he'd made good on his vow to bathe in the river. Which struck her as odd. Even the poorest Eronese hold had a bathhouse.
But probably not running water, at least not here.
“Piss,” Krynneth said abruptly, sounding distinctly embarrassed. Merryn rolled her eyes, thinking he was asking for aid. She glanced around at him, but he was facing the wall by then, and the sound of liquid splattering against the stone was loud in the dusty gloom. At least they'd given him that much dignity: tying his hands so he could reach himself. Which set her to wondering exactly where the limits of their consideration lay.
Inon wasn't a bad sort, if one remembered that he was a soldier from a defeated army. Ivk was also a decent lad, if naive and given to worship of his kinsman. The other three had the feel of men who were used to being commanded—and hated it, but weren't smart enough to function well in an alien land on their own. Which perhaps explained their brutality. It was sublimated frustration given an outlet in the most obvious symbols they had to hand. At home—if they had homes—they were probably decent men as well.
Krynneth had finished by then and turned around, looking sheepish. Giving the little puddle in the corner a glare of contempt, he shuffled over to stand beside her, then slowly let himself slide down the wall. She sank down beside him. “Damn,” he said. A fifth word.
“Yes,” she replied sadly. “I agree.”
To Merryn's surprise, she dozed—though not for long, for the light was much the same as it had been when they'd been imprisoned. The shadows were a little longer, she reckoned, but not enough to account for more than half a hand.
Still, much had changed in the courtyard that their captors were evidently making their base in lieu of the house. Tahlone had a fire going, and Shaul was making constant trips into what must've been the pantry, for he kept emerging with food.
And drink.
Drink they all approved, judging by the howls of joy that greeted its arrival. Eight, Merryn thought, when she saw one distinctive barrel. That's walnut brandy! Which was as potent a beverage as existed. They'd best go easy with that, she reckoned, then chuckled to herself. Knowing soldiers, they wouldn't. She'd enjoy their headaches the next day— if those headaches didn't translate into violence toward prisoners.
Inon was back from his bath now, and wandering around in just his breeches, revealing a fine, compact physique. Ivk had evidently fallen in fully clothed and returned in a blanket, which Orkeen had promptly grabbed, leaving the naked youth to chase him around the yard while Inon watched, his expression a mix of amusement and disgust.
It was nearing sunset, and Tahlone was making dinner over a fire, which told Merryn that the kitchen itself had collapsed. Still, the food smelled heavenly—for camp fare. She caught the scent of onions and garlic, which had probably been hung dried inside, preserved by the arid climate thereabouts.
In any case, her captors seemed more interested in the drink than the food, and more again when three bottles of wine and one of beer were found and opened. The la
tter spewed half its contents before Orkeen stuffed it into his mouth, to the applause and laughter of the others. Ivk found a small cask of mead and filled a mug. And nursed it, Merryn noted with approval, for by so doing, he was showing himself the wisest of the lot. She had her eye on him: As youngest, he might also be the most susceptible to bribery—or guile—of whatever kind she could contrive.
It being summer, darkness came late, so the men were still full awake by the time they'd finished their meal, which meant they still had plenty of time for drinking—which seemed to be their intent. Merryn tried to hear what they were discussing, but only caught snatches. Inon, however, was far enough into his cups to be espousing details of his ever-evolving scheme to use the regalia to assemble a band of followers with whom to contest the crown. Orkeen—the drunkest of the lot—was claiming first one high-ranking title, then another.
“Won't matter,” Shaul grumbled, “if we don't know for absolute fact that we've captured the real thing.”
“I saw it at the battle,” Inon snapped back. “Close up.”
Orkeen shrugged. “I saw a bloody lot of armor, and all of it well made.”
“Yeah,” Shaul chimed in again, cheerfully drunk, “but how come you had time to look at armor, anyway?”
“I didn't—until the last. Not until Avall and Lynnz were preparing to fight. I was in the third circle out from them. I saw.”
“One way t' prove it,” Shaul said.
Ivk looked up sharply. “Not smart,” he muttered.
Already drunk, Shaul turned nasty all in a moment's time. He turned in a flash and stomped over to where Ivk sat quietly. Ivk had barely time to raise his arm before Shaul backhanded him across the face, catching his mug of mead in the process.
Orkeen howled with laughter, but Inon and Tahlone were on Shaul in an instant, hauling him off Ivk, who was bleeding from the nose. “You're drunk,” Inon growled. “Now leave the boy alone. If you want to do us all a favor, take a bath. You stink.”
Shaul stiffened, then managed to jerk free of Tahlone long enough to swing at Inon. Inon fended him off well enough, but Shaul was persistent—and larger. A final jerk freed his other hand, and he hurled himself full into Inon. Both crashed to the ground close enough to the fire to knock one log free. Ivk hopped back, then started to dive into the fray on Inon's side, but Tahlone reined him back with a curt, “This has been coming for a while, might as well let them finish it.”
Merryn could only watch with a certain grim satisfaction as the two men struggled on the ground. Eventually Inon got Shaul beneath him, striding his hips and pinning his arms to his sides, while the larger man wriggled, twisted, and swore.
“Enough!” Inon kept yelling, sounding more than a little drunk himself. Which made sense if he'd been into the walnut liquor, as it tended to do its damage all at once.
“Enough! Enough! Enough!”
“Enough indeed!” another voice roared from the direction of the house. The voice had a hollow sound, but Merryn recognized it exactly as Inon did.
“Orkeen, stay out of this,” Inon shouted.
“By the Gods, I will not!” Orkeen yelled back, and stepped into the light.
Merryn's blood froze.
The helm gleamed on Orkeen's head. His right hand held the sword; his left, the shield.
He hadn't activated them, as far as she could tell, but that was surely sheer blind luck.
“Take that off!” Inon roared without relaxing his grip on Shaul.
“Mine now,” Orkeen laughed roughly. “If you're good, I might still let you have, oh, say, a province. As long as I get to be king.”
“Idiot!” Inon yelled again. “Ivk, Tahlone, tend to him.”
Tahlone was on his feet at once, but Ivk hung back, clearly reluctant to engage in violence with someone he knew—who was also drunk and wearing magic armor.
“Stay back!” Orkeen warned, leveling the sword at the both of them as Tahlone dodged past Inon and Shaul.
And in that leveling, he shifted his grip, which finally triggered the blood barb in the hilt. At least that's what Merryn assumed afterward. What she saw was a sudden jerk in Orkeen's sword arm. With it came another from his shield side, by which she assumed one shift had prompted another.
He still hadn't activated the helm-gem, however, which meant the other two were both feeding him power, while also, in a sense, contending for attention.
And Orkeen was an enemy to everyone the gems knew. They wouldn't like what was happening.
“Eight,” Merryn gasped, clutching at Krynneth's arm. “Oh, Eight, Kryn—”
Lightning masked the rest.
An explosion of light, rather, followed by a clap of thunder and a roar of flame that raked out from the sword's tip to blast the tree nearest the campfire.
“Orkeen!” Inon yelled, and finally released his hold on Shaul.
Too late, because the power had hold of Orkeen but Orkeen could not control it. And as reflex sent Inon rushing toward him, Orkeen's reflexes set the shield before him. Inon hit it— and bounced back, screaming, his entire torso a mass of red where the shield had ripped the top few fingers of skin, muscle, and bone away, and sent them to the Overworld.
It was his own momentum that did it, Merryn knew. The sword called matter from there and manifested it here as force; the shield took force from here and manifested it there as matter. But if that force was attached to something solid, that substance went with it.
“Dead,” Krynneth breathed beside her. A sixth word.
“No, but he'll wish he was and probably soon will be. I—”
“Bastard!” Ivk screamed, as he likewise threw himself at Orkeen.
Orkeen turned toward him and brought the sword around. Lightning flashed again. Merryn saw Ivk's body as a blot of darkness against that light, and then he crumpled. But even as his body collapsed into the fire, Shaul finally made it to his feet. “Hey, 'Keen,” he called drunkenly. “Le' me try tha'.”
But Orkeen was mad by then—or frightened. It didn't matter. Faster than Merryn could see, he spun around again, and a third time lightning spoke. Shaul died where he stood.
“Ork …” Tahlone dared from where he was backing away. He was trying to sound reasonable, but Merryn had carried that sword when first it had been made and knew better than anyone how it liked to have its way.
“No!” Orkeen shouted. “Mine!”
The bolt that killed Tahlone rode the sweep of the sword down from the sky. But it killed him as effectively.
“I'm king!” Orkeen roared. “Now rise and acknowledge me.”
No one did, because everyone was dead.
He took a step forward and froze. Abruptly he dropped the sword, then the shield. Both hands reached for the helm and wrenched it off. It made a dull thump as it hit the sand. Not the pavement, a part of Merryn that never slept entirely was glad to note. The helm had suffered too much abuse already.
As for Orkeen—He was simply standing there, eyes glittering in the firelight, while the stench of scorched leather, burning fabric, and cooking meat filled the air. Something wet glistened between his eyes where the helm-gem had pricked him. To no avail or too late.
And then, he was moving again—slowly, oh so slowly, as though he had to consider each moment, or was prisoner of some vast unseen hand that propelled him along. One step, two steps, and Merryn saw his features more clearly as he approached the fire.
And most clearly of all right before he stepped into it.
For a moment she didn't believe what she was witnessing. A man—even a madman—would not do that. Instinct would prevent it.
If instinct lived.
In any case, it wouldn't live long, because the fire had ignited Orkeen's breeches, and a flame from them had found one baggy sleeve, which in turn set fire to his braid.
In an instant he was burning all over.
At some point pain—or something—regained sufficient control to tell him what was happening, and he began to scream, long and loud and
helplessly. But his body didn't move.
The good thing about screaming, Merryn thought dully, was that it let the fire into the lungs, and that hastened death.
What actually killed him, however, she never knew, because she was still throwing up her last meager meal when the screaming ended.
Only when she was on her feet again and fumbling for the water pitcher Ivk had left, so as to rinse out her mouth, did Krynneth block her hand. She looked at him blankly. He stared back, and added a seventh word to his vocabulary.
“Key.”
It took Merryn a moment to realize what he meant. And then fear filled her in truth. The only key to this place was somewhere on a dead man outside!
And the tack room—as she discovered over the next several hands—had been built very well indeed.
CHAPTER XXXIV:
DESPERATION
(NORTHWESTERN ERON: GEM-HOLD-WINTER—
HIGH SUMMER: DAY LXXIV—SHORTLY BEFORE SUNSET)
It made no sense. Then again, nothing Kylin had experienced since he'd hatched his ill-considered scheme to get himself captured made much sense.
And hadn't that turned into a fiasco? Instead of being left alone in the dungeons—from which Kylin had assumed he might possibly find some way into the ventilation system that had served him so admirably before—he had, after that first day, been installed in Zeff's quarters. In a windowless closet adjacent to them, more properly, from which he could hear not a word, but into which food appeared at intervals sufficient to keep him healthy, and from which he was fetched from time to time and asked to play.
Not that they didn't ply him with questions, but not one had been anything to which they didn't already have the answer, as far as he could tell. Besides which, he was proving to have a decent natural immunity to imphor, so that interrogation was progressing very slowly indeed.
Which was all well and good, except that he was no closer to rescuing Avall than he'd been when he'd arrived there with some notion of accessing his friend through the vent system and smuggling him out that way. He'd hoped they'd leave his hands unbound, counting on his blindness to preclude any major subterfuge. Which would have left him free to proceed as planned. Barring that, he was reasonably certain he'd have been able to pick any lock they'd put on him, using a pick he'd sewn into the hem of his sylk eye mask.