The Empire Stone

by Chris Bunch

“This opal passed through a long line of bandit chieftains before I acquired it, none prospering once they’d killed to obtain it.”

  He picked up the pin, considered it. “This … no. This one stays, not just because it’s the pride of my collection, in legend if not appearance. I’m hardly superstitious, but there’s something … strange about it, although nothing’s happened to me.”

  “May I examine it?” Peirol asked.

  Aulard hesitated, passed it across. The stone was unlike any other Peirol had seen. It might have begun as a raw brown diamond of forty or more varjas. Rather than being conventionally cut, its facets had been made in the shape of a wolf’s head, baying. The pin was mounted directly to the stone, with no silver or gold setting. Peirol glassed it against a light, thought it dull, reflecting little fire, then brief flashes came, went.

  “There’s been magic laid on this stone.”

  “Magic and more,” Aulard said. “I don’t know what sort of stone it is. It’s not a diamond, but far softer. Also, you’ll note the brown carries throughout, unlike most of the fancy browns I own, with no pale shades; and the brown coalesces to black where the wolf’s eyes would be.”

  “Interesting,” Peirol admitted. “Quite valuable to the right buyer — almost certainly a man. Why, other than because it’s a remarkable work, don’t you want to sell it?”

  “As I said, I’m not superstitious,” the superstitious Aulard said. “This stone purportedly gives the sorcerer who owns it, who knows the proper spells, the ability to call changelings to him, make them do his bidding without their savaging him. The man I … acquired the stone from wasn’t magical, and knew none of those incantations, so I’ve been reluctant to wear it for long.”

  Peirol wondered what Aulard would do if he told him he’d been called a changeling himself as a child, and could sometimes call real wolves to him, as he had in the ruins of Thyone against Koosh Begee and his thugs.

  “Again, this is cursed with bad luck, a truth, not a legend. Reason enough not to wear it, and keep it here in this vault with spells set around it. Here it can’t wreak any harm. I keep it because … because of its very uniqueness.

  “None of my wives like it, save Zaimis, and I think she said that just to be perverse.”

  “There is no problem,” Peirol said, handing the pin back. “We have a sufficiency with what you’ve selected to make you far wealthier than you are now. Keep that in its vault until you find a rich magician.”

  Aulard smiled tightly. “All appears to be going very well. I’m pleased. Because of this, I’ll add a bonus. If you do as you claim, I promise I’ll give Zaimis one of my better stones — a real stone, not crystal. But I would suggest you not tell her that. Women confuse easily.”

  • • •

  A day later, after a proper feast, where Aulard got very drunk and amorous, carrying off two of his wives at the end, Zaimis being one, Peirol and Honoro were ready. Aulard showed no damage from the night before, and was most jovial. His retainers were assembled, and Aulard stood on the courtyard steps. He bade Peirol good speed and trading, and a swift return, “for fear of misunderstandings.”

  He laughed hard, looking pointedly at Zaimis, who looked a little piqued. But she laughed heartily, and Peirol could not imagine she’d been told of her role as a hostage. He’d had no chance to speak to her alone, unable to find out what she’d wanted for a “plan.”

  Aulard took Honoro aside and whispered to him, looking frequently at Peirol. Then he said, loudly, “And you’re the best I have,” clapped him on the back, and the two mounted. Each had his horse, plus a packhorse with supplies.

  Peirol had Aulard’s jewels in a pack under his tunic. He’d found a mail shirt that fit him exactly, which Aulard gifted him with. His own gems were, as usual, in the pouch tied behind his knee. Peirol bowed to Aulard’s wives, thought he saw Zaimis wink, then made obeisance to Aulard. He and Honoro stepped up into their saddles and rode down to the highway.

  Peirol’s plan had worked perfectly. His cant had made Aulard give him enough wealth to carry him to Restormel comfortably, trading here and there. He wasn’t happy with the idea of Zaimis being a sort of hostage, but assumed, if he did as he’d told Aulard, made a sufficient profit and sent it back with Honoro, that she’d be in no danger and might just be treated a little more specially.

  • • •

  Peirol had consulted a map of Aulard’s; he decided the first city he’d trade in was Isfahan, at least two weeks’ ride south, almost at the head of the Manoleon Peninsula.

  Two days beyond Aulard’s castle, the countryside grew richer. Peasants in their fields no longer fled at the sight of armed horsemen, and they even passed unarmed riders. There were more villages, some with inns, although both Honoro and Peirol were very cautious before allowing themselves the luxury of a real bed out of the weather.

  Five days from Aulard’s castle, Honoro said something odd, in a very quiet voice, as much to himself as Peirol: “Vows are vows, and promises are promises, but good steel is the only thing worth trusting.”

  Peirol asked what he meant, but the scarred rogue just shook his head.

  That night they camped not far off the road in a ramshackle, abandoned byre. Honoro’s bow had brought down a large bird, and Peirol gutted it, stuffed it with rice, seasoned it with herbs plucked along the road, and spitted it for roasting over the low fire. Honoro took a flask of wine from his packhorse, filled leather jacks. They sat, stretching occasionally after the ride of the day, in fairly companionable silence.

  Honoro said suddenly, “What’re you going to do with your share of the gelt?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your half of what we get from selling that shithead’s jewels,” Honoro said carefully, as if talking to a slow-witted child.

  Peirol’s heart turned, and he looked to where his sword belt lay, across the fire, on his bedroll. Too far, too far.

  “I still don’t understand,” Peirol said. “We ride back — or possibly you ride back alone — with sixty-five percent of whatever we manage to make.”

  Honoro gaped in disbelief, then started laughing. “Damned funny,” he said. “Very damned funny. You’re the wanderer, the misshapen one, the one no one in his right mind would believe for an instant, the one who, if he has any sense, would sell Aulard’s gems and ride on, laughing at the fool he’d rooked. I’m the faithful retainer, the one who was saved from the gallows by Aulard, who swore a death-oath he’d serve honestly as long as he lived, a rogue, but one who never betrayed his bargain, waiting until he had the right chance. Opposites rule, don’t they?”

  “The reason I am going to behave as I am,” Peirol said, “is, Lord Aulard told me Lady Zaimis would die a terrible death if I didn’t come back.”

  “Is Zaimis your sister? Was she once your leman?”

  “No to both,” Peirol admitted.

  “Then what of her? She’s naught but a foolish slut who thought she was making a good marriage when her father betrothed her to Aulard. I know she feels promises were broken, but what of that? Since when does any man tell the truth to a woman when all he wants is what’s between her legs? Why are you such a gentleman? Or fool?”

  “I don’t know,” Peirol said. “Maybe I’ve seen enough bodies, and don’t want to be responsible for any more.”

  “Then kill yourself right now,” Honoro said. “For what is life but the strong taking from the weak? Man is kept alive by bestial acts, you know.”

  “No,” Peirol said. “I don’t know.”

  “Very well,” Honoro sighed. “I guess there’s no point in reasoning with you, since what I propose should be obvious. We’ll continue on, and when our business is finished, we’ll split the gold, and you may do what you will with your share. Remember, I would kill you here, except I’ll need your knowledge to get a goodly price.”

  Honoro drained his jack. “No,” he said. “I am thinking again. Assuming you’re a man of your word, what I’ve said must now have made you
my enemy. The reason I’ve lived as long as I have in hard conditions is I’ve either fled my enemies when they were too strong for me, or …”

  A long dagger glittered in Honoro’s grip. “I am sorry, dwarf,” he said, getting up. Peirol was on his feet as well. “Don’t try to fight,” Honoro said. “That way, I can give you the easiest death, and you’ll not suffer — ”

  Honoro stumbled, made a strange noise. His hand opened, and the dagger clattered down to the stones. He opened his mouth, and a trickle of blood ran out. Peirol saw the flash of metal in the center of Honoro’s chest, then it was hidden by gore.

  Peirol realized the flash was an arrowhead’s point. Honoro made a bleating sound, spun half around, and crashed into the middle of the fire, very dead.

  13

  OF REVENGE AND CREATURES OF SMOKE

  Zaimis came out of the darkness, holding a small target bow in one hand. She wore breeches, riding boots, and a hooded jacket, all in brown leather. “Did I … is he …”

  “Dead, indeed, my lady,” Peirol said as an unpleasant smell came. He realized the late Honoro had begun to roast. He dragged the body out of the fire, accidentally turned it over, and saw the charring face. Zaimis made a sound and was shudderingly sick.

  Peirol dragged the body into the bushes, rescued the fowl, then went to the now-sobbing Zaimis, reached up, and put his arm around her. She put her head on his shoulder, cried harder.

  “You saved my life,” Peirol said soothingly. “Please don’t cry anymore.”

  Slowly the sobs lessened, and she lifted her face. “I never killed anyone before … even if that bastard was willing to let me be tortured to death.”

  “Killing people’s not a good habit to form,” Peirol agreed. “Here. Let me get a cloth and some water and wash your face. Have some wine. Sit down, and tell me how you escaped.”

  Zaimis snuffled, nodded obediently. Even with her face scrubbed bare and red eyes, Peirol still thought her one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She drank about half of the jack of wine, and Peirol upended the flask into her cup, got another from Honoro’s bags.

  “Now I understand what kind of plan you wanted from me,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to find one.”

  Zaimis shook her head. “That’s of no matter. My father always told me a good plan is something that you come up with on the instant, and that’s what I made.” Peirol couldn’t begrudge her the slight emphasis on I. “Aulard was very boisterous after you two left, talking about the lands he’d buy, the neighbors he’d drive into destitution. He ordered a special meal.” Zaimis shuddered. “I may never be able to look beef in the eye again. I swear that’s all the man eats. At any rate, we dined. I had my idea then, and put a small powder into his brandy.”

  “What sort of powder?”

  “My nurse was a bit of a witch,” Zaimis said. “She collected herbs — some for good, some for evil — and taught me how to recognize, dry, and use them. The one I gave Aulard was meant to loosen his bowels. I think I gave him too much, because I was wakened by moans and groans coming down the hall from his bedroom. With the others, I ran to see what I could do, and he was sitting on a chamberpot, saying his guts were falling out his bum, and what did he do to deserve such a sickness, he would never eat that much again, and then more groans. I swear, if men ever suffered the way women do, every month …

  “Anyway, no one paid me any mind, so I took his key chain from where it hung. Then I dressed in my riding outfit and went below stairs. The household was up and in alarms, sure their lord was dying, and the cooks were making various concoctions to cure him. I could have told them the herb would run its course in a day, and he’d be fine, only a bit weak. But I said nothing, went to his vault, and took what I needed.

  “I relocked the vault and dropped the keys on the floor so he’d think he’d but misplaced them and not check his vault for a time. Then I took a pack from the armory room, stuffed it with provisions from the larder, went to the stables, and saddled my horse.

  “The gods were with me, for the gates were open, and some of the guards had gone to the closest village to bring back their witch. I rode hard and didn’t pause all that night, or the next day except to water and rest my horse and buy grain where I could. I asked travelers, village guards, if they’d seen a small man with a single guard, and some of them had noticed your passage.

  “Today I found I was very close, since I was going as fast as I could without foundering my horse. I saw you just at dusk on the road ahead, held back until I saw you make camp, then crept close with this little bow. When I was a maiden, I used to shoot at wooden birds with my sisters, and was very good.

  “I thought maybe I could disarm Honoro, or possibly creep in after he slept, waken you, and we could flee together. Instead — ”

  She started leaking tears again, and once more Peirol comforted her, telling her over and over she’d done no wrong and he was proud of her.

  Zaimis drank more wine, hiccuped. “You’re right, Peirol. Now we must flee together.”

  Peirol remembered Aulard’s words about pursuing anyone who shamed him. He brought Zaimis’s horse into the cowshed and unsaddled, fed, and watered the animal. As he did, a shuddersome thought came.

  “Uh, Zaimis? You said something about taking what you needed? What was that, precisely?”

  “Something to ensure I wouldn’t be a beggar or whore,” Zaimis said. “Something for myself — and for you, I hope.” She took a small pack from her saddle, opened it, and a double handful of gems threw firelight at Peirol.

  “I was on to the bastard’s tricks,” she said, “and knew all those drawers on the right held glass beads, and the real gems were on the left. I’d also asked him to show me his most precious, and noted their location. I took a double handful for you,” she said. “And also this.”

  She turned over the lapel of her jacket, and Peirol saw again the wolf’s-head gem. “This was always my favorite, and Aulard owed me at least this for taking the best two years of my life, giving me nothing in return.”

  “You realize he’ll come after us.”

  “Of course,” Zaimis said. “But I’m with you now, and I know anyone as clever as you are will keep me safe.” Peirol tried to keep from moaning.

  • • •

  He woke Zaimis before dawn. They’d been curled together, in his blanket roll. Zaimis had a bit too much wine, then, to Peirol’s surprise, announced hunger. He’d managed to gnaw a leg of the fowl and the woman had gone through the rest of the bird as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. They’d gone to bed, fully clothed, in the event they had to wake and travel fast. She’d giggled, said something about love, then gone instantly to sleep. Peirol had worried about Aulard’s pursuit, then realized it was inevitable. Finally he slept as well.

  They washed, ate bread Peirol had bought before in a village, and rode off with a change of mount apiece. Honoro’s horse had been skittish, so they turned it loose in a field. As for his body, they had neither time nor inclination for burial ceremonies.

  “Where are we going?” Zaimis asked.

  “We’re going to Isfahan, which is a big city about five days away, I’d guess, if we push hard,” Peirol told her. “We’ll be able to sell the gems, decide what to do next.”

  “Is it big enough for us to hide from Aulard?”

  “I don’t know,” Peirol said. “But with what you” — he almost said stole — “took from Aulard, I’d be more inclined to lean on richness than anonymity.”

  “I knew I was right, putting my life in your hands,” she said.

  Peirol, about to say something gracious, looked back across the long valley they’d crossed. Far distant, near their camp of the night before, he saw dust. Riders, coming fast. Zaimis paled.

  “Maybe it’s just some merchants hurrying to market,” Peirol said. “But let’s move on.” He thought of disguises, of stopping in a village to buy new garb. But that would ensure remembrance, and besides, there was nothing he could
do about his appearance. If he’d been a midget, he could disguise himself as a boy, the male traveler’s son. But not as he was.

  “What are we going to do?” Zaimis said. “Are there public guards in this land? An army?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t say that either watchkeepers or soldiers would likely bring them a quicker doom. He didn’t know what rights women had in this land, but doubted if one was husband-looting. With Honoro dead, Aulard would claim both were thieves. The best to be hoped for was an end as two dangling corpses from trees beside the road. The worst … Peirol remembered the bears, and Aulard’s threat that Zaimis would welcome death at their hands. Before that happened — before that, he had a dagger and, hopefully, the strength to use it on them both.

  They were riding into hills, and it was hot, dusty. He thought he saw a building topping a distant hill, and hoped it might be a castle where they could find or bribe shelter. An hour’s further travel, and he could see it was indeed a castle.

  They rounded a bend and saw what looked like a festival. In open fields, some strange plant twined up around thin rope. Men and women were walking among the plants on stilts. They wore brightly colored clothes, and children ran amid them with baskets.

  Puzzled, Peirol pulled into a field, and a jovial woman stalked over. “Good morrow, friends,” she said. “It’s good luck for travelers to join us, and we have more than enough bread, cheese, beer.”

  “Thanks,” Zaimis and Peirol chimed, then Zaimis added, “But we’re traveling hard, and must put miles on.”

  “That’s a pity, for the harvest goes well.”

  “What are you harvesting?” Peirol asked.

  “Hops, to season the finest beers, which our district produces,” the woman replied.

  “Thank you for educating me,” Peirol said. “One further thing. That castle over there? Could you tell me anything of its lord?”

  “He was an evil man,” the woman said emphatically. “From an evil breed. And the gods, or perhaps his demons, struck at him and destroyed his castle on a night of no storms and a clear sky.”