Dream

by RW Krpoun

  The Jinxman jerked his chin towards the frying pan. “Pike. We’re grilling some for tomorrow. When we’re done you’re welcome to the fire. There’ll be some pike left over, if you’re inclined.”

  Ulrich shrugged disinterestedly as his fellows took seats. “Girl!” he barked.

  The sixth member of the group turned out to be a young woman in a filthy dress that appeared to embroidered homespun who had been bent nearly double under an overloaded pack frame. She had been struggling out from under her burden when Ulrich spoke. Scrambling from beneath the pack she trotted to the mule and hastily unstrapped a bulging wineskin which she brought to the trapper at the double. The dirt and fear made her age problematic, but Shad guessed her to be around sixteen.

  Ulrich noted the Jinxman’s expression. “You got a problem, or you want a throw on her?”

  Shad heard Derek’s hissing growl and saw Fred shift his feet out of the corner of his eye. “Last guy I saw treat a woman that badly, I shot four of his camels and blew up his house.”

  “She’s bought and paid for, right and proper,” Ulrich bared his teeth in a vicious grin. “Cost me three week’s pelts. I don’t care what you think, and if you’re smart you’ll keep your opinion to yourself. I don’t care for bravos.”

  “You bought her?”

  “Her folks were hard put-my pelts gave ‘em a leg up, I expect.”

  “Speaking of pelts,” Derek observed. “You trap in winter for the richer coat. What are you doing moving fur in summer?”

  A trapper with a large nose which had been broken and poorly reset muttered something and the others snickered. The girl slipped out of the circle of light and went to unload the mule.

  “Winter cache,” Ulrich took a long pull at the skin and passed it to the next trapper. “We camp in the slopes of the Cloudtops, hunt aurochs in the warm months for meat and hides, and while the hides cure and the meat smokes we haul the winter furs to market, not that its any of your business.” He patted the axe at his hip. “We can keep what’s ours.”

  “So, back to this purchasing the girl,” Shad casually hitched his sword scabbard to lay more comfortably. “I haven’t seen a place where slavery is legal.”

  “Legal?” Ulrich laughed. Accepting the skin from a comrade he took a long pull. “There’s not much law around here. You sound like that ninny running the City-State.”

  “The Ultimate Master,” Shad nodded. “I take it he had an opinion on the subject.”

  “Don’t matter what he thought-he don’t lay claim this far out.”

  “He doesn’t claim anything anymore-he’s dead,” the Jinxman said thoughtfully. “So a few furs buys a girl for life?’

  “Buys her for as long as we need her.”

  The mule brayed sadly as the girl managed to get the pack saddle off. “Keep that beast quiet or I’ll take a stick to both of you,” Ulrich snarled over his shoulder.

  Shad scratched his jaw, elbowing his shield against his leg and glancing at his comrades. Sam was wide-eyed and shaking, Derek resembled a reactor whose core was about to go Chernobyl, and Fred looked sleepy, which was never a good sign.

  The Jinxman leaned over to turn the slabs of fish sizzling in the frying pan. “Well, we’ll buy the girl off you. What do you say to ten Marks?”

  Broken Nose laughed and Ulrich gave another of his mad grins, his walrus mustache wet with wine. “You can rent her, but other than that, piss off.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Shad nodded, and a split-second later a silver-blue bolt of energy slammed into Broken-Nose’s chest.

  Shad thrust his left arm into his shield’s strap as he plucked a throwing knife from its sheath and threw it at Ulrich, barking the command word as the steel left his hand. The knife ripped into Ulrich’s thigh as the big man hurled himself to his feet, drawing his axe and a long-bladed skinning knife. Next to the cursing Broken-nose a trapper fell off the log with a slender bolt standing out from the base of his neck as Fred leapt bellowing to his feet.

  Ulrich led with his axe; Shad caught it on his shield and parried the skinning knife with a side-sweep of his sword, then tried for the trapper’s face. The big man hadn’t been expected the use of the point and ducked awkwardly, losing part of his left ear.

  Out of the corner of his eye Shad saw Broken-nose’s head bouncing across the ground and Jeff closing, Blackwand in hand, from behind the trappers, but his main attention was focused on Ulrich; keeping his shield squarely between them he stayed with the point, using the sword’s longer reach to his best advantage. Ulrich was bigger and stronger but he was accustomed to working in close with the edge, and he couldn’t get past or through the Talon’s shield. Most of the wounds he was receiving were just shallow punctures, but he was losing blood and more importantly he was getting frustrated and angry.

  “Quit dancing and fight, you motherless bastard,” the trapper snarled.

  Shad grinned. “Come at me, bro.” To his left Fred was roared as he hacked a trapper limb from limb, Derek covering the raging barbarian’s back. Jeff was keeping two trappers busy, fighting defensively.

  The trapper led with a mighty swing but the Jinxman angled his shield and deflected it to the side, throwing the big man off-balance as Shad stepped forward in a thrust that slid the point of his sword up under the sternum and through Ulrich’s heart.

  Stepping away from the expiring trapper Shad saw Fred noisily dismembering the last trapper who was no longer anything close to being alive. Jeff was to one side, liberally splattered with blood, wiping off Blackwand with a fistful of grass. Derek, sword and buckler in hand, was checking the downed trappers for signs of life, and Sam was clutching his sword-rapier and looking paler than a ghost.

  “You going to faint or barf?” Shad inquired.

  “Ahh..ahhh..ahh,” the Bard stammered.

  “Good, glad to hear it.” The Jinxman eased Sam’s sword down so the point rested on the ground and went to find some grass to clean his blade.

  “Well, that was a massacre,” Derek observed with some satisfaction as the Jinxman returned. “But we didn’t get any blood on the fish.”

  “I knew you were going to start the dance,” Shad worked his shoulder. “That bastard hit like a sledgehammer. Anyone hurt? OK, Derek, turn out their pockets. Jeff stand watch, Fred and I will send the bodies downstream. Sam, check the girl. Sam…Sam!”

  “Yeah?” the young man looked up with a start.

  “Talk to the girl,” Shad repeated. “The fight is over.”

  “Never really started,” Derek snickered.

  “You get mean when you’re between goats, you know that?” Jeff grinned. The Shadowmancer flipped him off in reply.

  “They’re dead,” Sam said slowly.

  “Yeah, that’s how it works sometimes. They should have taken the ten Marks,” Shad shrugged.

  “We don’t have ten Marks,” Derek advised as he knelt by Ulrich’s body.

  “Well, they were just screwed, then,” the Jinxman spread his hands indifferently. “I don’t care for that sort of thing.”

  “What sort of thing?” Sam threw his arms out is agitation. “Did you even ask the girl what she thought? No, you just killed them.”

  “Feces occurs, Sam. We saw this sort of thing in Iraq, old bastards with child brides they bought, all sorts of sick stuff.”

  “Its their culture.”

  “Yeah, well, it sucks to be them.” At Fred’s nod Shad picked up Ulrich’s feet as the big barbarian lifted the corpse’s shoulders. “Crap: my boots were nearly dry.”

  “Derek…” Sam turned to the Shadowmancer, who was tossing and kicking weapons into a pile. “Why?”

  “Its wrong,” the lean Radio Shack assistant manager explained. “Its slavery. Its sexual assault and probably physical abuse. Look, we’re just trying to get home, but we can’t let stuff like this pass.” He slapped the Bard on the shoulder. “Talk to the girl, and let the rest go. We’re that sort of guys, is all.”

  “What sort of guys?�
��

  “Heroes. Or assholes-it all depends on where you’re standing when the blood starts flowing. But mostly just guys who get the job done.”

  “Man, that turned out to be more work than it was worth,” Shad grumbled as he and Fred slogged back to where Derek was moving their gear. “It would have helped if you could kill them in one piece.”

  Fred shrugged disinterestedly.

  Derek had lit a candle in a lantern and was moving their gear to clean grass well away from the scene of the fight. “Got the last of the fish cooking,’ he advised cheerfully. “At least the last of what we’re taking.”

  “You adjust upwards for the extra body?” Shad asked as he sat down to take off his wet boots.

  “Yeah.”

  Jeff came in as the Jinxman was struggling to get his wet boots on over dry socks. “Nobody else in the area.”

  “Good. I put your bolt on your pack.”

  “Thanks.” Jeff examined the quarrel and returned it to his belt case. “That was quick and brutal.”

  “Yeah, like Derek with a goat.”

  “Screw you guys,” the Shadowmancer announced to the group at large as he brought the last of the gear to the new camp site.

  “You have any problems with it?” Shad asked Jeff.

  “Nah. We’ve done worse for less. Like that time you blew up that guy’s house.”

  “And shot his camels,” Derek reminded them. “Before we rolled into Iraq I thought the whole camel thing was just a cliché.”

  “He deserved it. If the freakin’ platoon commander hadn’t been so close I would have lit the SoB up instead of just inflicting property damage,” the Jinxman shook his head disgustedly. “Freakin’ child molester.”

  “Its part of their culture,” Derek laughed.

  “Screw them, their culture, and everything else about that place. If the brass didn’t want Iraq torn up they should have sent in the Peace Corps.”

  “Her name is Margit,” Sam said nervously. Margit did not look up but kept eating fish in quick, tidy bites. “She’s fourteen.”

  Shad wriggled his feet in his stiffening boots. “Does she have…Margit, do you have anywhere to go? Family, friends?” A solemn shake of her head was all the answer he got. “Well, great. Another mess Derek got us into.”

  “Yeah, Derek,” Jeff pointed accusingly at the Shadowmancer who rolled his eyes.

  “Ok, you’ll come with us until something else can be sorted out. Derek, what did they have?”

  “Nothing special. About eight Marks between them. The furs are pretty nice, but we can’t afford the weight.”

  “We can cache them in case we come back this way.”

  “We have to come back this way to meet the Assembly,” Sam pointed out.

  “That assumes we survive Death Valley.” Shad rolled to his feet and tapped Margit’s wrist, muttering a word before tossing a charm into her lap. “Keep this on you: it will keep bugs off. Sam, sort out some clean clothes for her-she’s gonna need a bath before bedtime.”

  “Those are all she has.”

  “What about the trappers’ gear-they have anything clean? She doesn’t need to be stylish anytime soon.”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Great. Set her up, make sure she has a bedroll and something to keep off the rain, and then dump the rest of their gear in the river.” The Jinxman thought. “Hang on to any extra rain cloaks or ponchos-that powder has to stay dry. Derek, give her four Marks, and she can have half of what we get for the furs. At least half-depending on what we need for the next job. How’s the mule?”

  “Not great-a bad saddle sore from carrying too much weight, underweight from working too hard, been beat on pretty good, and its left front hoof is injured-it’ll take a while for that to heal.”

  “Well, there’s lots of grass and water here-we’ll cut it loose.”

  “NO!” Margit gasped, tears brimming in her eyes.

  The Talons stared at the filthy girl. “All right,” Shad said slowly. “We’ll take it along.”

  “If you used a charm on the saddle sore we could take the pack saddle along,” Derek suggested.

  “Its lame.”

  “The saddle won’t bother it, and the hoof will heal. It can carry twice what Ula can- in an emergency it can still carry a partial load, bad hoof or not.”

  “Those charms are for saving lives-I won’t have time to restock much,” Shad scowled.

  “One more or less won’t make any difference, but if we need to medevac somebody the mule would literally be a lifesaver.”

  “Good point.”

  Sam helped Derek carry the trappers’ belongings to the riverbank and throw them in. “You really don’t care about killing them?” he asked cautiously.

  The Shadowmancer shrugged. “Look, the thing I’ve learned is that you can’t dwell on stuff. You’ve seen Margit: she doesn’t deserve to be stuck with those jerks, and there wasn’t any way to get her loose without violence.”

  “Shad seems to like it, the killing. So do the others.”

  “Shad sees the world in black and white, and he’s kind of OCD about fixing peoples’ problems. Plus he really has a phobia about being seen as being nice-I think he is afraid it makes him look weak. And he’s an asshole, too. Fred is stubborn-once he sets his mind you aren’t going to budge him, he just bulls through no matter what. If Fred decides someone needs to die, he’ll kill them. Jeff is more sensitive, but he trusts Fred’s judgment-they’re like brothers. And Fred follows Shad. So there it goes.”

  “But they waited for you to start it.”

  Derek sighed. “Look, I’m the smallest guy in the group, the smartest guy in a group of smart guys. Social stuff isn’t all that easy for me-see, Shad doesn’t care at all about what almost anyone thinks about him, the other two lean on each other, so I end up being the goat of the group. That’s one of my roles. When I joined the Guard I wasn’t much out of high school and I didn’t know squat. They made me part of the group and taught me a lot, got me squared away. Now, in many ways I’m the unit conscience, which is my other role. Shad doesn’t trust his own temper, Fred is so stubborn you can’t use him as a litmus test for anything, and Jeff is too laid back. So its on me.”

  “Shad was pushing the trappers towards a fight.”

  “I’m not sure how much of what Shad does is out of morality and how much of it is because he is a violent personality, but however much he was pushing, he waited for me to move.”

  “And you did. Why?”

  “Because I wasn’t going to walk away from Margit and leave her in that situation.”

  “But…”

  “Look,” the Shadowmancer held up a hand. “Just let it go. They’re dead, you didn’t kill any, so you’re OK. Don’t let it wear on you. C’mon, lets get back to camp and get some sleep.”

  The mule’s name was Durbin, and it was quickly apparent that Margit was very attached to the beast. Durbin was tall and solidly made, although thin and tired-looking. “Nothing some time and easy living won’t cure,” Jeff pronounced after Shad used a charm to heal the mule’s saddle sore and stick-welts.

  “You’re in charge of him,” Shad warned Margit, now clean and swimming in clothing that had belonged to the smallest trapper. It turned out to be an unnecessary warning as the big mule followed the girl like a pet, and the pack saddle loaded with nothing more than the sack containing the girl’s meager worldly goods didn’t seem to have enough weight to warrant Durbin’s notice.

  They cached the furs and set off heading south, the quality of the road declining markedly as the day wore on. They called cadence, bellowed marching songs, and forced Sam to sing the Firefly theme and The Hero of Canton repeatedly, just to pass the time.

  “Man, this is some boring way to travel,” Jeff shook his head as he pulled off his boots to powder his feet with talc while Margit warmed slabs of seared pike over an economic fire she had built unasked. South of the river the road followed the easiest path across a broad plains dotted
with clumps of gnarled trees. Wild cattle and the occasional herd of goats kept safely distant from the road were the only signs of life.

  “We’re just over a day’s march from a major city and there’s almost no signs of Human habitation,” Shad observed, working on a charm. “What a piss-ant setup.”

  “There’s a bad stretch of forest between here and there,” Sam pointed out. “And the food that supports the city is produced to the north and west.”

  “Which still makes no sense. The Ultimate Master had seven years, and for generations the local bozos had all the time in the world. They could have leap-frogged stockades down the road, clearing ground as they went. In a few years they would have had the road under lock and key, another decade and the forest would be woodlots and farm land. A ruler could start with the City-State, his son would be a King, and his grandson an Emperor.”

  “They don’t look that world that way,” the Bard shrugged.

  “Why? With the medical treatment via enchantment, the population ought to be putting pressure on them to expand.”

  “Expand, yeah, but not like you think. Firstly outside the major places like the Fist and the City-State the medical resources drop much lower, and the non-Humans keep a steady rate of attrition going, and vice versa. The culture here is different. You don’t see that because all you deal with are taverns, alchemists, bravos, whores, that sort of transient population. Those people have no roots. There’s an entire society you’ve yet to encounter.”

  “Its their culture,” Jeff laughed.

  “Screw their culture,” the Jinxman pulled a knot tight and clipped the thread. “It’s a piss-poor way to run a country.”

  “Let it go,” Derek slapped the Bard on the shoulder. “We spent an entire tour hearing about how the Iraqis were living wrong.”

  “They were and still are. Those that are still alive, anyway.”

  “I have to agree with Shad,” Jeff laced up his left boot. “Death Valley is not much more than a hundred miles from a major city. A valley full of treasure within easy walking distance and it sits there for centuries.”