by Robert Beers
The old Wizard remained stock still with his staff extended off to his side. Above him the vortex roiled and grew. Static discharges from the lightning tore into the ground around him, ripping up gouts of sod. Felsten was very glad he obeyed the Wizard's command to stay well back.
Just as it seemed the storm of Milward's shaping would envelop or destroy the entire courtyard, the old Wizard rose into the air and vanished into the vortex. There was a slight pause and then the spinning clouds followed him leaving behind nothing but the clean smell of a storm after it has passed through.
Felsten walked tentatively out to where Milward had stood and peered around the area. Small scorch marks showed where the discharges had struck. Other than that nothing had changed.
He looked back at the cook and the Librarian, his mouth worked for a moment and then the word came out, “Crikey.”
Chapter Ten
“There,” Alford stepped back and reviewed the results of his last daub of color with satisfaction. He looked upon a watercolor painting of a single large Koi viewed from above swimming in a crystal clear pool. Uneven areas of black and orange lay against its glistening white scales giving the fish the appearance of being painted itself.
The artwork, done on a background of stretched white silk, was to be partnered with two others done earlier..
Alford put down his paintbrush and sighed.
“A masterful piece of work, Your Majesty.”
Alford turned at the sound of the voice, “General, what is the nature of the emergency?”
“Emergency?” General Jarl-Tysyn stared at his Emperor.
Alford refused to blink, “You heard me, emergency. There has to be something dire going on or you wouldn't be here, so, what is it?”
The General stumbled around and several phrases dropped upon the floor unsaid, he then ground out, “There is no emergency, Your Majesty. I merely wished to inform you of our army's state of readiness for the coming war.”
“Oh yes, the war,” Alford's mood of playfulness vanished like the morning mist. He walked over to a small round table set with a tea service and flanked by two rattan chairs.
“Have a seat General,” He pulled out one of the chairs and sat, reaching for the teapot.
Jarl-Tysyn remained standing, “Your Majesty, I..."’
“I said, SIT!”
Alford's uncharacteristic bellow shocked the General into action. He sat but somehow managed to give the impression of still being at attention while doing so.
“You are perturbed, Majesty,” Jarl-Tysyn's voice was as stiff as his spine.
The Emperor of the Southern lands put down the teapot and rubbed his eyes with one hand, “I apologize for my outburst General. Living here,” He indicated the palace with a sweep of his hand, “It is too easy to forget sometimes that I've sent a million men off to die. That's not a fact I enjoy living with. How do you do it?”
“Your niece's memory Your Majesty, that and the justice that needs to be brought against her killer,” Jarl-Tysyn spoke using only his lower lip.
Alford twitched his mouth in a quick grimace, “I realize my duty, General. The knowledge does not ameliorate my feeling for those that I send to their deaths.. I want this war over as quickly as possible and with as little loss of life as possible.”
The General moved as if to stand, “In that case Your Majesty I will send word to have the armies return at once.”
“What, why?” Alford looked across the table at his General, unsure he had heard right, “Are you serious? What about justice for my niece? What about Hypatia?”
“All valid reasons for war, Your Majesty,” Jarl-Tysyn nodded his head, “But you can't fight a war if you don't want to kill anyone doing it.”
Alford opened his mouth. Then closed it and then opened it again, “I didn't say that!”
“You did by implication, Sire. I cannot send your armies into battle and expect them to succeed at anything except dying if I send them out with their hands tied.”
“Who said anything about tying their hands?” Alford raised his voice.
“You did when you added the skrudding conditions under which they would fight!” The General raised his right along.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” He added at a more moderate volume.
“Can't we at least give it a try?” Alford asked plaintively.
Jarl-Tysyn reflected to himself on how their roles in this little play had suddenly reversed, “Your Majesty,” He began, “you are my Emperor and my Liege Lord, but sometimes you frustrate the skrudding crap right out of me.”
“How nice to be surrounded by honest men,” Alford remarked quietly.
“The fact that you haven't ordered my head removed is one reason why you are, Your Majesty. We feel we can be honest around you. Your father was such a man,” The General said, relaxing slightly.
The Emperor looked across the table at Jarl-Tysyn once more and then reached for the teapot. He poured a cup for himself and one for the General, “Very well, General, have some tea and tell me what you think should be done.”
Jarl-Tysyn accepted the offered cup and eased back into his chair, “The last of the armies, by now, are settled into the Cloudhook base,” He mused. “The first thing we should do is begin cutting Grisham off from any support that may be headed their way from the Trading States. That was the earlier plan and it's still a sound one. This will give us two decided advantages, one; in spite of the rumored size of Grisham's stores they're not bottomless. With no replacements coming in it will be interesting to see how long they can hold out.”
“What's the second advantage?” Alford sipped his tea.
“Any supplies destined for Grisham will come into our hands. Oh don't look at me that way, they'd be spoils of war, not stolen. Your Majesty you have to get it into your head that war is just not a civilized business nor is it a game.”
“I know, I know,” Alford slapped his cup down onto the table, some of the tea spilled. “I've agreed to give you a free hand General. It doesn't mean I have to like it, does it?”
Jarl-Tysyn grimaced around his glower, “No Your Majesty, no it doesn't mean you have to like it. What I'd like to know is, do you agree with our plans and our timetable?”
“I've already said you have a free hand General. I suggest you take that as a statement of agreement. I'm not going to give you anything more.” The Emperor picked up his cup, “You may go Jarl-Tysyn, I'm feeling a little fatigued just now.”
“Yes Your Majesty.”
The General left the Emperor's presence, his back as straight as an engineer's level.
Alford sat stock still for a moment and then sipped from his cup. He stared off into nothingness and then sipped again, “Damn, damn, damn, damn.”
* * * *
Captain Bilardi took Adam by the elbow and led him up the steps into the Pub's doorway, “You'll like this place. Good food, good ale and goodlooking maids to wait on you.”
“Seems kind of far to walk just for a tankard of ale and a few sausages,” Adam remarked as Bilardi closed the door behind them.
“Ah, but wait until you taste those sausages and ale,” the Captain replied, “Besides, just look at the place.”
Adam did so. At first glance the Pub appeared to be much like the others he'd seen since he and his sister began their journey. The center of the room was dominated by a u-shaped dark wooden bar over which hung a large number of tankards and glasses. Behind the bar the gaffer pulled on one of the several handles that dispensed the nut-brown liquid. To the left and the right of the bar booths lined the walls. Many of them filled with patrons noisily going about their enjoyment of the day's end.
Without conscious effort to, Adam's Wizard sense cast about the Pub checking the room behind the one his eyes saw. What came back to him was a sense of wholesomeness mixed with a few tinges of rot. These appeared to his sense as a sickly green halo but these centered more on some of the customers than on the gaffer or his staff. There was something
else as well, something familiar. He couldn't put a finger on it so he tried pushing the sense but without success. For the first time since their argument, he wished Milward were around to help. The old Wizard would know how to work that type of shaping.
Shrugging inwardly he followed the Captain around to a booth, eager to see if the fare matched his magik's estimation.
“Ho! Innkeeper!” Bilardi called out as he and Adam settled into a booth close by the door that led to the kitchen, “Send us two flagons of your finest and a maid to take our order.”
The Gaffer nodded and set to pulling his frothy brown nectar into two tall tankards. “Lindi, get yerself back ta the kitchens an’ have the new one see to these genl'men's pleasure.”
The girl broke off her giggling with an attentive drinker and headed toward the back.
“Relax Adam, enjoy yourself. You're as stiff as Corporal McKenit on parade,” The Captain said as he settled back against the polished wood of the booth.
Adam started out of his reverie. As his Wizard's sense faded one last revelation tickled the back of his mind, Bilardi was actually trying to be friendly. A couple of weeks ago he wouldn't have been surprised to find just the opposite. He shook his head. “Sorry, my mind was wandering, to nowhere in particular if you want to know. I'm actually looking forward to that ale.”
“Thirsty day, eh?” Bilardi favored him with a lopsided grin.
“You might say that, Thaylli and I watched the conscripts being brought in. Most of them didn't look capable of swinging a spade much less a sword. The Colonel's wife distracted her with a necklace while the Colonel and I talked, pretty dismal stuff to be frank.” Adam turned at a flash of color in the corner of his eye, “Here's the ale.”
The Gaffer set two foaming tankards onto the table, “The new girl'll be out to take yer pleasure m'lords, enjoy me ale while ya wait.”
Bilardi had half of his down his throat before Adam could take his first taste.
Adam paused before drinking, “And I thought I was the thirsty ... Thaylli! What in the pit are you doing here?”
“Umm, my name's not Thaylli,” The Captain murmured. He turned his head in the direction of Adam's stare, “Oh, I see.”
“Thaylli, where..? Ow!” Adam forgot where he was and stood up too quickly in the booth, cracking his head on one of the low beams.
“Adam, your head!” Thaylli leaned forward to help him.
Bilardi whistled, prompting Adam to push her back upright. “Thaylli, where's the rest of your top?”
“It's all there from what I can see,” Bilardi said appreciatively.
Thaylli blushed furiously and tried to cover herself with her hands. The pub's working costume revealed a shocking amount of bosom, though the skirt's hem brushed the floor.
“Captain,” Adam hissed with turning his head.
“Sorry,” Bilardi went back to paying attention to his ale.
“What are you doing here?” Adam looked down into Thaylli's eyes.
Tears welled up and she started to sob, “I ... I just wanted to help us by b ... bringing in some money. I thought if I got a job...”
“Ere now, you botherin’ me new girl?” The Gaffer stepped out from behind the bar with a truncheon in his hand.
Thaylli turned quickly and held up a hand. “No, Gaffer, It's ok, he's my ... consort. He's an officer in the City Guard. He didn't know I was working here.”
The Gaffer didn't look convinced, “I don't know ... din't look like that to me.”
“The girl's telling the truth Gaffer,” Bilardi broke in with a lazy tone, “He's with her and she with him and I'm fresh out of your excellent ale. What are you going to do about it?”
The Gaffer blinked, “Whut? Oh, sorry Cap'n, it were an honest mistake. Gotta take care ‘o me girls, ya knows.” He hurried back behind the bar to pull another pint for the Captain.
Thaylli wiped her eyes, “I thought you'd be pleased for me. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Well you surprised me all right,” Adam said softly, “Why are you wearing this?” He indicated Thaylli's blouse as his tone sharpened.
“The Gaffer, he said the custom tips more if they've something to see. He was right,” She reached into a pocket sewn into her skirt and pulled out three silver coins, one large and two of standard size, “see?”
“And all you had to do was serve them drinks?” Adam stared at the coins, not quite believing what he was seeing.
“That and some pub food, mostly sausage and fried potatoes,” Thaylli tittered. “They're not allowed to do more than look, you've seen the Gaffer's truncheon.”
“But ... the way you have to dress.”
“Oh bloody hell, Adam. Let the girl do her job and bring us our sausages. So what if the men here see half of her bloody tits. It's not like they're going to get any of it,” Bilardi finished his statement with a belch.
Adam and Thaylli stood there mutely long enough that the Captain lost his patience and stepped out of the booth, “All right, I want every man in this place to hear me!”
“Captain,” Adam looked around half expecting a fight to begin.
Bilardi wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, “I know what I'm doing, Lieutenant. Now you just stand there and look as dangerous as you can. Play with the hilt of that sword of yours, there's a lad.
“You see this man?” He pointed at Adam with the hand not holding the tankard, “I want you all to take a good long look at him. There's not a one of you who'd stand a frog's chance in a whirlwind against him with a sword. He handled six all by himself not too long ago and they knew what they were doing.”
A murmur ran through the pub. Adam heard the words six and Bardoc mentioned more than once.
The Captain signaled for silence as well as another refill.
I'm going to have to carry him back to the barracks, Adam thought.
“Now take a good long look at the beauty standing next to him,” Several whistles and cries of appreciation along with a number of less gentlemanly offers followed Bilardi's command.
He waved the crowd to silence again, “I'm glad you did that,” He allowed them a chuckle, “because this little lady is that man's woman,” He pointed at Adam who glowered and toyed with the hilt of his sword.
The collective gasp told Adam he needn't worry about Thaylli's honor.
“There now,” Bilardi sat back down, “That should keep their eyes in their sockets and their hands off your lady.”
Thaylli flashed a brief smile at the Captain, “Thank you.”
Captain Bilardi nodded once as an acknowledgement, “Merely doing what any gentleman would in similar circumstances milady. Think nothing of it, but,” He looked up at her with feigned distress, “Could you please bring us some of your employer's excellent sausages?”
She looked at Bilardi and then at Adam, “You mean it, I can keep my job? Honestly?”
They both nodded.
Adam and then the Captain each received a quick hug about the neck before the girl rushed back into the kitchens.
Adam picked up his tankard and sampled a good portion of the ale. It was excellent, comparable in fact to that of Granny Bullton's.
“You're going to be reaping the rewards for this night's work me boy,” Bilardi raised his tankard in a toast, “Don't plan on getting much sleep.”
* * * *
“Well, not a man,” Haberstroh nodded in satisfaction as she pulled the last scrap of ruined black silk from McCabe's body, “You've one part of you at least that's manly.”
“What do you want of me?” For the first time that he could recall, McCabe felt the fear of uncertainty. He didn't like it at all.
The ancient Witch sat back on her heels and chewed her lip. She regarded her captive silently for several long minutes.
McCabe couldn't stand the waiting. He had to know what the hag was going to do with him one way or the other, “What do you want of me, please, I have to know.”
She continued to regard him without speaki
ng. Finally at the point where McCabe was nearly frantic with anxiety she spoke, “You're different, Not-a-Man, well, except for that,” She pointed, “Men took my husband. I kill them for that, but not many come through Haberstroh's swamp. No, not nearly enough, my mate, not nearly enough. You will be my tool, Not-a-Man you and your friends. You will be my tool to kill all of them. All of them means all, Not-a-Man, kill all of them down to the last babe in arms. You agree to this and I'll give you back your friends. You decide Not-a-Man but don't take long. Old Haberstroh has her patience, oh yes she does my mate, but it's not a forever thing, no, not a forever thing.”
She left McCabe and hobbled over to her hut. He heard the door close. McCabe already knew what his answer would be. The question on his part was moot, but would Haberstroh keep her word?
He lay there, quite nude, for the rest of the day and throughout the night. Mosquitoes bit his exposed flesh savagely and he squirmed against the ropes as the bites itched and burned.
The Witch poked her head out of the hut's door as the eastern sky began to lighten. She sniffed the air, first to the north and then to the south. Seemingly satisfied at what her nose told her she stumped out of the hut over to where McCabe lay. “Well?” she asked, “have you decided, Not-a-Man, will you be my ... mixage?” She cackled at the last as if she had just told a clever joke.
McCabe turned his head to look at the Witch, “You give me back my friends and I'll kill as many men as you want.”
She leaned forward and grinned at him, spittle ran down her chin, “I want them all, Not-a-Man. I want them all. You lie there, I'll give you back your friends.” She straightened with an audible crackling of joints and disappeared back inside her hut.
When she reappeared she was carrying a small cup from which a wisp of foul-smelling steam emerged. She brought it over to McCabe and held it under his nose. The stench made him gag and he coughed trying to hold down his bile.
She pushed the rim of the cup against his mouth, “Drink it, Not-a-Man, drink all of it and you'll have your friends back with you. Haberstroh keeps her word she does, doesn't she my mate. Oh yes she does.”