Exile's Return

by Raymond E. Feist

  Kaspar had the thing's sword slung over his shoulder in a makeshift back-scabbard he had fashioned from a pair of belts taken off from the dead soldiers. It had taken an entire day to dig a shallow grave and cover the twenty-one men. Kaspar felt a pang of regret when he threw earth over Lieutenant Shegana. He had shown promise; he was the kind of lad Kaspar would have welcomed in his own army.

  Kaspar looked skyward and called a halt. 'I think if we're going to return for more supplies, we'd better start looking for a place to camp.'

  Flynn nodded and said, 'It looks flat up ahead.'

  They climbed for another few minutes and found a small plateau. They were still close to the timberline, so Kaspar said, 'I'll gather wood for a fire and stay with this thing. You two should head back to the last camp and stay the night. In the morning, gather up as much as you can carry and come back.'

  'This will make for slow going,' said Flynn.

  Kaspar looked at the mountains rearing above them. 'Who knows how long it's going to take to find these Keepers? We may be up there for days. And if it gets as cold as it looks, we'll need food to keep our strength up.'

  Kenner looked nervous, his eyes wide. 'What if . . . whatever is making us do this thinks that Flynn and I are running away?'

  Kaspar grew impatient. 'If you want to stay the night alone with this thing, I'll go with Flynn.'

  Kenner shook his head. 'No, I'll go.'

  Flynn said, 'Well, the sooner begun, the sooner finished. Let's go—'

  Kaspar walked a short way with them and then turned off into the woods and started gathering firewood. Kaspar found enough deadfall that he didn't need to cut anything. He gath­ered enough wood for two nights and then sat down. Exposed, the alien armor looked even more baleful in the fading light.

  When the fire was going, Kaspar took out his rations and ate. He drank from a waterskin, then opened up his bedroll. The goose down-filled roll would be welcome. It was going to be a cold night.

  He kept the fire bright against any predators hunting and turned in, crawling into the bedroll. As he drifted off to sleep, Kaspar heard a wolf's howl in the distance. He opened his eyes and glanced around. It was close.

  He lay still for a few minutes, listening for an answering howl. Kaspar had no knowledge of the wolves in these mountains. In the mountains of Olasko, there were three breeds of wolf as well as wild dogs. The lowland wolves were dog-sized and hunted in packs, and were the bane of farmers when winter thinned the herds of deer, antelope and elk. Wolves would eat anything, even mice, and if game grew scarce, they'd raid farms for chickens, ducks, geese, farm dogs, barn cats or anything else they could take. It was rumored that they'd even hunt humans if starving, though as long as he had been Duke, Kaspar had never heard a report of such.

  The dire-wolves of the highlands tended to run in smaller packs, and were noticeably larger of head and shorter of leg, and they avoided humans when possible. They were only slightly bigger than their lowland cousins.

  The swamp-wolves of the southeastern marshlands of Olasko were simply lowland wolves that had taken to living in the wetlands—the only difference Kaspar could see was that they had a darker coat which camouflaged them with the darker foliage.

  The howl was not answered, and Kaspar drifted off to sleep.

  Sometime during the night, another howl woke Kaspar, and he came alert with his hand on his sword's hilt. He listened but no sound except the wind in the trees below could be heard. He glanced over at the armor, a mute figure lying on the other side of the dying fire. After a long moment of studying the flicking light that reflected off the thing's surface, he put down his sword and returned to sleep.

  It was midday when Kenner and Flynn hove into view, carrying large backpacks loaded with supplies. They sat down heavily and Flynn asked, 'No troubles?'

  'There was a wolf somewhere close by, but nothing more.'

  'Wolf?' asked Kenner. 'Alone?'

  'Apparently,' said Kaspar as he threw more wood into the fire. 'Let's see what you've got.' He inspected the stores. 'If I calcu­late this right, here's what I think we should do. Tomorrow morning, you two take the supplies . . .' Kaspar laid out a plan whereby they could move along the trail for a few days, leapfrog­ging one another until they had used up enough supplies to be able to carry the remainder. They rested that afternoon after ensuring they had enough firewood. Kaspar wasn't too worried about the wolf, but he knew that bears could be brazen when they smelled food, and this time of the year—late summer—they were beginning their mating rut; the males would be aggressive and the sows would be hungry, looking to store fat for the coming winter's hibernation.

  As night approached Kaspar said, 'We should probably stand watch. Just in case something smells our food and sneaks up on us.' After his own encounter with a gray-muzzled bear, from which he emerged with his life only because Talwin Hawkins had known how to slay it, he thought it best to forgo mentioning any specifics.

  Kaspar elected to take the middle watch, letting Kenner and Flynn have unbroken sleep; they would be the ones hiking the next day and Kaspar would have ample time to rest. He spent the time on guard reflecting more upon his own life.

  Black memories flooded in as he considered the arrival of Leso Varen. The magician had appeared one day in open court, a supplicant seeking a place to rest for a while, a purveyor of harmless magic. But he had swiftly become a fixture in Kaspar's household, and at some point Kaspar's view of things had changed.

  Had Kaspar's ambitions come first, or the magician's honeyed words? Kaspar realized he had done things that now repelled him, and that the longer he was removed from those events, the more abhorrent they became. He remembered his last day at the citadel in Opardum. He had been convinced that he would be executed once taken prisoner, so he had been determined to fight to the death. He had had no idea of who was behind this onslaught from Kesh and Roldem until Talwin Hawkins had broken into the last room Kaspar and those loyal to him defended; and then it had all made evil sense.

  That Quentin Havrevulen was with him was ironic to the point of black comedy. When Talwin revealed himself to be the last of the Orosini, Kaspar at least understood his motives, and he almost applauded his guile. Talwin had been so well disguised as a squire of the Kingdom that he had fooled even Leso Varen's magic. The defeat had been swift and overwhelming.

  But what had taken Kaspar most by surprise was the final disposition of his life—being banished to dwell upon his misdeeds. And he cursed Hawkins for it, because it was having precisely the effect intended. For the first time in his life, Kaspar was experiencing remorse.

  Kaspar wondered how many women like Jojanna and boys like Jorgen had died. Before he had been banished to this land, he had seen them not as people, but as obstacles in his plan of conquest. His dreams of grandeur, to sit the throne of Roldem—not the most powerful nation in the world, but the most influ­ential, cultured, and civilized—all that was vanity. Murderous vanity which gained him nothing. For what would come next? Conquering the world? Somehow contriving to bring Kesh and the Kingdom to heel? Turning the Eastern Kingdoms into more provinces? Sailing across the sea to bring order to this chaotic land? And then what? The fabled continent to the north—whose name he couldn't even recall? Invade the Tsurani homeworld? How much was enough?

  And when all was done, what would he have to show for it? He was a solitary man, with only one person in the world—his sister—for whom he felt a shred of love, and there was no one with whom to share the dream.

  Kaspar sat down and regarded his two sleeping companions. Flynn had a wife. Kenner a girl he hoped waited for him, but both had dreams that could be realized, not impossible fantasies of power and control. Control was an illusion, his father had told him. Now he began to understand. He envied these two men, men who were hardly friends, but at least men whom he trusted. There was nothing of ambition or avarice left to either of them. They were simply men struggling to free themselves of a curse and get back to a normal life.

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nbsp; Kaspar wondered what normal life would be for him once he was free of this geas. Could he ever be satisfied with finding a woman, settling down and fathering children? He had never really wanted to have children, though his time with Jorgen gave him a sense of what it would be like to have a son. Children had always been the eventual product of a state marriage, tiny guarantees of good behavior on the part of neighboring states. The idea of loving one's children had always seemed quaint, at best.

  He woke Kenner, who nodded and changed places with him without speaking, so as not to disturb Flynn. Kaspar wrapped himself up in his bedroll and lay quietly, waiting for sleep to come.

  But sleep did not come easily, for inside he felt a dull, swelling ache, a pain that was unfamiliar to him, and made him wonder if he was getting ill.

  After a time he realized what this alien feeling must be, and when he did he wanted to weep, but he didn't know how.

  The wolf came an hour before dawn. Kaspar sensed something a moment before Kenner screamed. Kaspar and Flynn were both up with their weapons drawn just in time to see the wolf rip out Kenner's throat.

  'Grab a firebrand!' shouted Kaspar.

  The biggest wolf Kaspar had ever seen was a dire-wolf he had hunted in the mountains of Olasko. It had easily been six feet from nose to tail and weighed in at over one hundred pounds. This animal was close to half as big again. The beast was seven or eight feet long, weighing as much as a man: Kenner never stood a chance once the animal leapt. Kaspar gripped his sword and wished for a spear. He did not want this monster getting in close, yet the sword was only effective as a thrusting weapon. It would have to be a near-perfect thrust to kill it.

  The wolf let go of Kenner's limp body and growled a warning. Flynn had pulled a brand from the fire and held it in his left hand, while waving a sword with his right. 'What do we do?' he asked Kaspar.

  'We don't let it go. It's a man-eater, and it's smart enough to scout out the camp one night, and come back the next. We have to kill it, or injure it so that it'll crawl off somewhere to die.' He glanced around. 'Circle to your right, keep the torch in front of you. If he charges, thrust the flames in his face and try hard to cut him as he goes by. Otherwise, drive him around the fire to me.'

  To Kaspar's surprise, Flynn showed unusual resolve, for the beast would make even the most experienced hunter hesitate. The creature lowered his head in what Kaspar recognized as a crouch before a spring.

  'Get ready! He's likely to leap!'

  Flynn took the initiative, and with a short hop thrust the torch at the creature, causing it to shy away. With a torch in his muzzle, and a campfire to his right, the wolf jumped away to the rear and left, landing almost sideways.

  If only I had a spear! Kaspar thought, cursing silently. He hurried around the fire and the creature turned. Seeing no flaming brand, the wolf was emboldened: he leapt at Kaspar without a warning crouch.

  Years of experience saved Kaspar's life, for he recognized the single explosive leap as soon as it began. Rather than moving to his right, away from the beast as would be instinctive, Kasper spun to his left in a reverse pivot, swinging his sword parallel with the ground.

  As he hoped, the blade took the creature across the chest, and as the shock ran up Kaspar's arms, the wolf let out a wailing yelp. Kaspar continued his turn, and came around, in case the wolf spun and attacked again.

  Instead, he saw the creature thrashing on the ground, trying to get up on a severed right foreleg. In pain and confusion, the animal snapped at its own wounded leg, causing itself further pain. Kaspar had cut off the creature's leg above the carpus.

  Flynn came over as the wolf righted himself on three legs.

  'Wait!' said Kaspar. 'It'll bleed out. If you get too close it can still tear your throat out.'

  The animal tried to advance, and fell muzzle-first to the ground. It howled, scrambled up again and tried to turn, again falling. 'Bring the torch,' said Kaspar.

  'Why?'

  'Because we need to make sure it dies.'

  They followed the wolf as it tried to make its way down the hillside and into the trees, but after fifty yards it fell over and lay there, panting. The two men approached close enough to observe it in the torchlight, yet far enough away to remain safe.

  At last the animal's eyes rolled up in its head and Kaspar took one quick step forward and drove the point of his sword into the beast's throat. It jerked once, then lay still.

  When it was over, Flynn said, 'I've never heard of one that big.'

  'Neither have I,' said Kaspar. 'This breed doesn't exist in Olasko, or anywhere else that I've heard about.'

  'What do we do now?' asked Flynn.

  Kaspar put a hand on Flynn's shoulder. 'We leave the wolf here for the scavengers. Then we bury Kenner.'

  The two men turned and silently returned to camp.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Pillars Of Heaven

  Kaspar grunted with the effort.

  He and Flynn had rigged up the armor so they could carry it hammock-like in a sling, with Kaspar at the head and Flynn at the feet. They had each loaded up a backpack, and now they struggled to negotiate the narrow gorge.

  Rock faces rose up on either side of them. The sense of menace was palpable. It was as if the uninvited might be crushed between two giant stone palms at any time. Even in the bright morning sun it was gloomy inside the ravine, with only a strip of blue sky showing high above them.

  'How are you holding up back there?' Kaspar asked. He was worried about Flynn. With Kenner's death, it seemed that whatever reserve of strength Flynn had was gone. He seemed to be a man resigned to inevitable death. Kaspar had seen that expression on the faces of prisoners led away to his dungeons, men who were to be tortured or killed for one reason of state or another.

  'I'm all right,' said Flynn, his voice lacking conviction.

  'I think I see something ahead.'

  'What?'

  'The ravine is ending,' said Kaspar. As they rounded a curve in the rocks, he could see that the terrain ahead opening up. They left the gap and entered a large plateau, with a path leading straight across it. 'Let's rest.'

  Flynn didn't argue, and they put the armor down. Each man then unshouldered his pack and put it on the ground.

  Kaspar said, 'Do you see any shapes against the rocks over there?'

  Flynn squinted against the brightness. It was one of those summer days when the sky was high, the air almost alive with the heat. The light was glaring after the hours they had spent in the ravine. 'I think so.'

  They rested for a few minutes, then took up their packs again, and hoisted the armor. As they walked across the plateau, the odd shapes resolved themselves. Against the mountains, a small city had been fashioned, and the plateau gave way to a plaza.

  Some buildings were cut into the rock, while others were free-standing in the plaza. Their shapes were mind-numbing, with lines and curves that confounded the eye and nagged at the senses. Hexagons, pyramids, a pentagon, a rhomboid; great obelisks jutting straight up between the buildings. These were also oddly fashioned, with a curved face, then a flat one, or a defiant-looking three-sided tower next to a spiral. 'Let's put the armor down,' said Kaspar.

  They lowered the armor and again took off their packs, and Kaspar walked to one of the obelisks. 'It's covered in runes,' he observed.

  'Can you read them?' asked Flynn.

  'No, and I doubt any living man can,' answered Kaspar.

  Flynn looked around, 'This must be the City of the Dead Gods, then?'

  'Must be.' Kaspar looked around and inscribed an arc with his hand. 'Look at the design. No human mind could imagine this.'

  Flynn looked around. 'Who do you think built it?'

  Kaspar shrugged. 'The gods, perhaps. Those still living.' He stared about. 'Do you see anything other than tombs?'

  Flynn slowly turned a complete circle. 'They all look like tombs to me.'

  Kaspar walked over to one and saw a word inscribed above the door.

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bsp; 'Can you read that?' asked Flynn. 'It's like nothing I've seen before.'

  'I've seen it before, but I can't read it.' Kaspar had seen runes like these on parchments in Leso Varen's study. 'It's some sort of magical writing.'

  'Where do we go now?' Flynn asked.

  'The Father Elect said only that the Keepers abide in a bastion above the Necropolis but below the Pavilion of the Gods. We must find a way up, I suppose.'

  They moved deeper into the City of the Dead Gods.

  The plaza ended in a massive façade carved into the face of the mountains. Four words were carved on it. 'What is this place?' asked Flynn.

  'The gods know, but I don't,' said Kaspar. 'The entrance looks like it goes straight back into the mountain.'

  Flynn looked around. 'Kaspar, do you see any way up?'

  'No. And I don't remember any trail splitting off, or heading upward.'

  'Kaspar, I'm tired.'

  'Let's rest.' Kaspar set down his end of the armor and Flynn did likewise.

  'No, I don't mean that kind of tired.' Flynn looked pale, his features drawn. 'I mean . . . I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this.'

  'We'll do it for as long as it takes,' Kaspar said. 'We have no choice.'

  'There's always a choice,' said Flynn. 'I can just wait to die.'

  Kaspar had seen that look before. It wasn't the same resig­nation he had seen after Kenner's death, the look he had seen in the faces of prisoners doomed to die. This was the look of a hunted animal when it had stopped struggling and lay back with a glazed expression, waiting for death to take it.

  Kaspar took a step forward and with as much strength as he could muster slapped Flynn across the face. The smaller man reeled, then fell back, landing on his backside.