lastkingsamazon

by Chris Northern

  #

  I carried her through the crowds myself. I got as far as the gate before I had to pass her to Sapphire. I'd lost count of how long it had been since the abuse to my body had started. Too long to leave much strength in it. I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't carry her any longer. My arms were covered in blood and I let them drop to my sides, holding Sapphire's cold eyes with my own. He nodded gravely, accepting my burden.

  They followed my lead, away, out of the courtyard. I didn't care about what lay behind me any more. Lentro and the rest could do that work. Lentro knew that he served a lie, obeyed fool's orders because of a bauble. He would fight it now; and the rest would fight it. And if they won that fight then Kukran Epthel was finished. One of them would burn him better than Dubaku had. But win or lose they would have to do it without me. I was spent. And I didn't care any more.

  Outside the gate I looked around. There were people hurrying in every direction, most with an objective in mind but only a few in coordinated groups. It was chaos and I wanted none of it.

  I found Meran sitting up in a two-wheeled donkey cart amongst a small sea of wounded men tended by their women. His leg was splinted. He looked pale and drawn. A broken leg will do that to you. I was ruined, he had a broken leg, Sapphire had taken a wound in the arm and Jocasta might not live. Of the four of us only Dubaku was unharmed.

  I passed Meran with a nod, leaned into the cart and released the brake, then walked to the donkey and grabbing its halter, pulling steadily. It resisted me for a moment and then began to walk with us. I didn't know where we were going and said so.

  “Follow me,” Dubaku said.

  “Good enough,” I told him.

  It took an age to get where we were going.

  The warehouse was as Jocasta had described it, dusty and smelling of damp. Along the back wall there were three makeshift pallets. Spread unevenly about that corner were crates of all sizes.

  “She can't stay here,” I said almost as soon as we were through the door.

  “The wound is closed,” Dubaku told me. “She will take no infection.”

  I was too tired to argue and after a moment Sapphire laid her down on one of the pallets and covered her in blankets.

  Swaying on my feet, I watched. “They can find me, and I'm not convinced they will not try. And if they let those dogs loose...” I trailed off. I could hear them, barking wildly, pausing, barking again. Then, tired as I was, forced myself to say it. “I can't stay here. Give me a minute. I need to think.” I sat down on an empty crate, leaned back against the wall, and instantly fell asleep.

  #

  “What happened?” I asked Dubaku.

  He knew what I meant. “My bones are too old to jump out of windows. I met her on the way out, told her you were clear and free. It is all she cared about. We left. The fighting wasn't over but there was no enemy close to us. I didn't look back, which I regret. It was a man we knew, one of yours. Gatren, I believe he was called. He is dead now.”

  It was the longest speech I had heard him make.

  If Jocasta had not come in after us, would it have changed anything? I shied away from the thought. Deal with the facts, I admonished myself. The facts will tell you all you need to know, there is no sense making up fantasy options that did not happen and projecting them into futures that will not be.

  “What does t'k'la mean?” Ichalda was a name, but t'k'la was language.

  “It means please,” he said.

  I nodded. I'd guessed as much. If we met again, I wanted to learn more of his language. Maybe, if I lived, I would one day travel in the south. It might be useful. Always thinking; the thought was a rebuke. I should have thought better, acted more rationally. If I had followed the original battle plan, that of my own forming, none of this would have happened.

  Her face was pale. There had been a lot of blood. I couldn't guess if she would live. We didn't know. The spirit Ichalda had done what she could. The wound was closed, the bleeding stopped. Of the damage that had been done inside her, who knew? I could not stay and find out. I had to go, for two good reasons. First, because I needed a drink and second because I didn't trust that the Turned would do well, that they would not come after me, and then there were the dogs. I winced as I imagined them coming here, and what they would do to us. I could hear them, snuffling and growling.

  “I have to go.” I explained, I gave the second reason, not the first.

  Without saying a word, Sapphire got up and walked out of the lamplight.

  “I will stay with her,” Dubaku said.

  “And you,” I smiled as Meran struggled to sit up. “are not going anywhere until that heals.”

  He glared at his broken leg. “True. Where will you go? What do you plan?”

  “I won't do more here. What I can do is done. Kukran has enemies in his own camp now. We don't know if the townsmen are determined enough to finish the job but I doubt it. Did we hear celebrations going on into the night?” No one answered. It was dawn and quiet. Not a good sign. “So they were thrown back by what troops remained in the town and by Kukran and whatever forces remained close by him.” I was guessing, but I knew I was right. The rising had failed overall. There would be consequences. “We will see.”

  “Sapphire went out in the night,” Meran told me. “You're right. He told us there was still some sporadic fighting going on in the town. He said it was all but over, the enemy have control but far from complete control. Where will you go?” He asked again.

  “North.” I didn't want to leave her, but I couldn't risk bringing the enemy here. They could still find me by the stone in my forehead. And so could the dogs. I could hear them snarling and growling and snuffling. I would not bring them here, so I must go elsewhere. “Keep her safe. Do what you can.”

  Sapphire returned from the shadows, he had a large pack on his back and was buttoning up a long coat under which he wore chain mail, I saw it under the top buttons as he closed them. I had lost my good swords and my armor; I glanced at the ring on my finger, but I still had a ten carat stone worth a small fortune. That and a stolen sword were my only assets. He tossed me a cloak. “Cover the sword,” he said succinctly.

  “You should stay here,” I told him.

  “I have instructions.”

  I'd forgotten. I got to my feet, swaying slightly. “What are they?”

  “You need food,” Sapphire said, ignoring my question..

  And I needed a drink. “I have some money.”

  “Prices are high.”

  “Wars do that.”

  We headed for the door. Once there I glanced back at the small oasis of yellow light. I hoped Jocasta would live, that Dubaku would look after her. But there was nothing that I could do to protect her. I would only risk bringing death here if I stayed. The two of us could not realistically attack the enemy again. No ruse would be adequate to that impossible task. If, as I was certain was the case, the rising had been put down, we would find no allies here. Let it run its course; let Lentro speak with the others of the last king's amulet and raise their righteous indignation. They would destroy him; Larner could, Hettar could. Let them take responsibility for that task. I was done here. Time to go.

  The street outside was empty, the paves damp from what must have been a light rain. There was the wall of another warehouse opposite, blocking our view. To right and left the street was deserted. The town was quiet.

  I turned to my left and we walked, footsteps loud in the eerie silence of dawn. The smell of smoke hung in the air. At a crossroad I looked around. There was a fire burning brightly in the north. That was bad. I imagined the fire spreading out of control, sweeping through the town to where Jocasta lay unable to move. “That way,” I pointed to the fire. It was the way I wanted to go in any case. I had a duty to perform and it took me and the danger I represented away from her. I could only hope she would be safe. That our armies would come and liberate the town, that Dubaku would get her out of here. I did not linger on the thought that she might
die. If I had spent money on spells, if I had learned healing, if I had not been a drunk, if... there is no sadder or more bitter word in any language that I knew, that small word that expressed infinite volumes of regret for all of us.

  #

  The fire was quenched before we got to it and I felt a small amount of relief. One less threat to Jocasta's survival. I had been on the watch for something and it wasn't far. The inn sprawled on a crossroad, as big as a small villa. The door was shut and barred but I hammered on it relentlessly. I needed a drink. We could use horses. Down the street a door opened and was immediately closed when I glanced that way. I saw an old woman hurrying down the street fearfully, a bag in her hand. She opened the door to a small cottage and I saw the relief in her posture as she closed the door behind her. Home, she was thinking, safe. I imagined her sick feeling of relief and knew it was an illusion. No place was safe in a town in enemy hands. I hoped she would be left alone, her precious stock of food left for her use. I hammered on the door again.

  “Who is it?” The voice was full of false bravado, tainted by fear.

  “Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian, patron of the city.”

  The door opened and a short but broad man opened it, ushering us in. “Patron, what news do you have? What is happening?”

  I shook my head. “Get me a drink, we'll talk in a while.”

  He did as he was asked and I sucked it down. Damn, I had needed that. I felt less shaky, steadier, more in control. The taproom was dim and empty, though I could hear whispering and shuffling in the distance. His family hid while he hovered nervously, waiting to hear something he could tell them to reassure them.

  “Food,” Sapphire told him. “We will need horses, saddles and tack, supplies.”

  The short innkeeper nodded. “You have coin or scrip?” He wanted coin, hoped for scrip, would settle for our word no doubt.

  “Some,” I told him, and dumped my looted coin on the bar. “Bring whiskey, half a dozen bottles.”

  Sapphire was cold faced as he reached under his coat. “I have scrip. We will pay well in that and you can redeem it when this is over.”

  “When will it be over?” The man asked, lightly, trying not to let his bitterness show. “I have dray horses. You can have them. I could not deliver beer to those who cannot pay, even if the barbarians didn't steal it first.” He was of the same blood himself, but he spoke the language of the city well and counted himself one of us. We are the friends of traders everywhere and experience had taught him that was true. We protected traders and trade, kept peace in our territories so that traders could safely move their goods to far markets. He was a trader and our natural ally.

  I nodded, the dray horses would do. “No saddles, then?”

  “None that will fit. You'll have to ride bareback,” he made it sound unimportant, and he wasn't far wrong. I had done it in my youth and I could do it again. I had no doubt of Sapphire. I let the barkeep go and arrange things, walked around the bar and poured myself another brew. Idly kicking barrels as I walked the length of the bar. There were few and what remained were mostly empty. A bad time to be a brewer, I thought. “How much scrip do you have?”

  “Enough.”

  “In my Father's name?” It wasn't really a question.

  “Yes.”

  He did not elaborate and I left it. It didn't matter that I suspected he had enough to equip and maintain an army. There was no hope of doing that now, just the two of us in enemy territory.

  As I sipped my second beer I became a little less aware of the constant growling, whining and snuffling of the dogs. I was so used to the sounds that I barely noticed.

  #

  Sapphire had led the way to a small gate in the wall. There were two guards. We killed them fast. Sapphire took the keys and opened the gate. There were shouts from the wall above and running feet. A bell sounded but by then we were leading our horses through. Once outside we mounted and fled. A couple of crossbow bolts had followed. One had passed close by my head and went clean through the ear of my horse. I controlled its wild reaction and we rode on, galloping wildly down a track lined with trees, grape vines trampled in the fields to either side. We would be chased, but I didn't care. If they caught up to us they would die, bathed in hot oil, or by our blades. I was coldly angry and arrogant. We left the town behind us, and the war. It would progress as it progressed. Two men are not an army, but two men can sometimes do what an army cannot. I was determined to pull some gain for myself from this mess; seeing as I seemed incapable of commanding an army, unable to protect those I cared about, I would instead go and rescue someone I didn't care about, and the gods help anyone who tried to stop me.

  We took a track north and headed deeper into enemy territory. When the opportunity allowed I intended to turn somewhat west and close on the Eyrie, where Tahal Samant waited for the head of a king or some other ransom. Instead he was going to get me, a drunken patron, and Sapphire, my father's spy.

  #

  Heading north and west, sticking to the country tracks, we pushed hard that first day. When the big drays could run no more we walked them, frequently glancing back, aware that there might be pursuit. We saw none. I wanted news but those few people we did encounter either ran when they saw us or had none. There were no traders on the road. War kills trade, and barbarians who prey on traders kill or steal from them as well as discouraging others to move goods. When trade dries up economies falter, production slows and dies, communities rely on their own skills and make what they need. If the situation persists civilizations fall into barbarism, travel and trade cease, quality goods are no longer fabricated for want of a market for them. A generation later and old people talk about peace and prosperity while young people listen and don't believe them. Our enemy wanted to barbarize the world, to make everyone poor, we wanted to civilize it and make everyone rich. I knew where the right lay, knew what ought to be, but could not find a comprehensive justification for enforcing it; 'life is better for you our way' just was not enough of an argument. Not that I thought our system was perfect; we took and controlled only sporadically over the centuries, giving up lands we controlled when a patron let them go for whatever reason. Client kingdoms could be and had been left in a patron's will to a foreign power as return for some favor done. The client kingdom rarely did as well under that rule. Some won their freedom in war against a patron and he was not dynamic or strong enough to take it back without aid and no other patron desired to help. A century later it might be taken again, or not. The Prashuli, Orduli and Alendi had once been clients and now were not; when we crushed them and ruined the north they might be again, or they might be looted, depopulated and left to their own devises. Weakened, other tribes from the east and west would move into the vacant territory to use it for their own and enslave or displace the current populations. It would be better if we had a stronger system of development and control, but that would be in the hands of government and we did not much approve of government, recognizing it as a necessary evil but keeping it to a minimum. The assembly of patrons split the powers of state between themselves in several magistracies and changed magistrates every year to avoid power being consolidated by one or few men. The two consuls were only the two senior magistrates, and the senior consul usually prosecuted a war, either punitive or of conquest, in order to line his own pockets with loot. That money was spent in the city and filtered down, even moving back to whence it came over time and aiding the conquered people. The council raised taxes from the conquered state, built roads, founded institutions, enforced the peace, allowed trade, and so on. The people prospered under those conditions and life was almost certainly better under our rule. Life is better for the common man under the light touch of our rule, but was that justification enough for it? I shrugged the matter off and turned my mind to other thoughts as we rode on. Sapphire was not a talkative companion.

  The whining and growling of dogs echoed in my head, the sound vibrating through my skull from the stone set in my forehead. I wo
ndered if I would wear that stone for the rest of my life, allowing anyone who attuned a stone to it to find me no matter where I was. It occurred to me that if they were allies it would be no bad thing, but enemies could track me that way and so far only enemies had. I wondered what the Turned were doing; had Lentro spoken to the others? Had they heard him and were they now outraged and fighting the control that the last king's amulet had over them? Were they plotting and scheming to bring down the one who wore it? Had Kukran been burned to ash already or had whoever made the attempt failed? I put that thought aside as well. Whatever happened would happen and we would hear word of it in time.

  Fields of hops, barley and wheat thinned to smaller and smaller patches, the country becoming wilder. We passed meadows empty of livestock and villages empty of people, both man and animal either slaughtered or fled.

  In the first empty village we entered, Sapphire had reined in and slid easily off his horse, the wound in his arm not seeming to give him much trouble. I could not see it but guessed he had cleaned and bound it. No blood showed through to his coat, at least, and in any case it was his arm, not mine.

  “What?” I asked him.

  He pulled down the pack he had tied to his horse and began loosening the ties.

  “Time to change,” he said.

  I thought about it and nodded. “You speak Gerrian?”

  He nodded and began pulling clothes from the pack, the kind of rough spun cloth that they wear in the north, where they cannot afford to trade for our superior materials and colors. Yellows, blues, dark reds, wool and supple leather. I got down and we changed, picking clothes that fit where possible, making do where they did not. I took a slug of whiskey, put the bottle carefully away.

  “You don't look like one of us,” he said in the Alendi dialect.

  “My mother was a slave but my father was a warrior who stole her from the south.”