by Dave Duncan
"Try that."
Dosh put his weight on it and nothing nasty happened. “That's fine now,” he said calmly. “Thank you.” He must have banged his head harder than he realized, for obviously this could not be happening. On the other hand, there was not a closed mouth in the audience.
D'ward rose and regarded the onlookers as a proud housewife might inspect cockroaches in her larder. He was taller than almost all of them, which helped. “I am the Liberator. I had business with Visek. Is that any concern of yours? It is prophesied that I shall bring death to Death. And it is written, ‘Hurt and sickness, yea death itself, shall he take from us. Oh rejoice!’”
The high priest's knees began to buckle, but a younger, larger man beside him caught him by the elbow and held him upright. “The Liberator preaches foulest heresy against the Holy Gods!"
D'ward's eyes spat contempt at him. “How often have you heard the Liberator preach?"
"I would not let his lies foul my ears!"
"Then let his deeds open your eyes! ‘Rejoice!’ the prophecy says. You have just seen a wonder. What does it take to save you from your ignorance and error? I tell you to rejoice!"
The man looked at Dosh's nose, down at his ankle. Then he sank to his knees. The high priest followed more circumspectly, and all the rest also. Bronze helmets and white turbans dipped to the floor. Oh, that was much better!
"Rejoice!” D'ward snapped. “Rejoice until the sun rises to warm your cold and unbelieving hearts.” He nudged Dosh and strode away.
Amazingly, no one tried to stop them. Soldiers and clergy cowered on their faces and the most notorious heretic in the Vales walked away unchallenged, his companion at his side. As they trotted out between the pillars and down the steps, he remarked casually, “You know, that was a lot closer than it looked."
But the priests were not the only ones troubled by ignorance and error. Dosh's eyes also had just been opened. “I have been a fool!” he wailed. “Lord, forgive—"
"Never mind that now! Can you run? Because I haven't got anything left! We'll have to manage on honest sweat and muscle. Can you run?"
"Yes, master."
"Good man. Then let's get out of here before they change their minds."
They ran. The way back was a thousand times longer than the way there had been. Trumb dipped to the west and duly eclipsed, becoming a black moon against a glory of stars, and only the cold blue glow of Ysh lit the road. Dosh should have worried about reapers then, but he was beyond such trivia. As the eclipse ended, clouds moved in; rain began to fall, slowing the pace even more.
He was tortured by both remorse and fury at his own blindness. He had known D'ward for years and identified him as the Liberator earlier than anyone else. He had seen him perform miracles before—they had all been unobtrusive, deniable miracles, but they should have been enough. Lack of morals never bothered him, but he hated to think of himself as lacking brains. In the last half fortnight he had heard D'ward preach about a dozen times, and yet he had let the words roll off his mind like water off a candle. Now he tried to recall all those words, to understand just how much he had missed.
What was D'ward, then? Was he a man sent by the gods, or was he a god himself? Surely only a god could have healed that ankle? Yet D'ward denied the gods. There was only one god, he said, a god Undivided, indivisible. The puzzle was too great to solve on a cold, wet night, jogging along in the mud. Fatigue blurred his mind until he could not think, could only slog along, following the pale glimmer of D'ward's back in the darkness.
The first time they stopped at a stream to drink, even before he had washed off the dried blood, he tried to ask for guidance and forgiveness.
"Don't worry about all that now,” D'ward said. “There is time yet to straighten it all out. How are your bruises?"
As the hours passed, Dosh began to stumble more and more often. D'ward would hear his steps falter and come back and help him up, plastered with mud, and get him moving again. And then even D'ward seemed to run out of strength—although his strength was much more strength of will than of body, for he too was reeling on his feet. And the rain was becoming a downpour.
They took shelter under a bridge at a place where the road ran straight, a low causeway crossing marsh and lakes. At intervals it rose on timber bridges to let the wandering streams drain through, but at this time of year the water was low, exposing sand. The two of them crawled underneath and stretched out between the weed-furred piles with groans of contentment. Rain drummed on the planks only inches above them, but they were out of it.
Almost out of it—Dosh eased away from a dribble.
"Sleep awhile,” D'ward mumbled.
"One fortnight or two?"
"Just one. When Prat'han wakes up and finds I'm not there, he's going to murder me."
After a bemused moment, Dosh worked out why that sounded funny, and surprised himself with a chuckle.
"Mm?” D'ward said. “Oh, well, when I get back he will. He'll have to manage somehow, won't he? Trouble is, we have a long trek to do today."
"Skip it,” Dosh murmured. The Liberator had told Visek that he went from node to node. He wondered what a node was. “Rest today, go tomorrow."
D'ward began muttering about winter being due and the problem of finding enough food if the Free stayed in one place, but his voice came from a long way away....
"Watch it!” A warning hand caught Dosh's head just before he jerked it up and cracked it against a beam.
He blinked in alarm, wondering where he was, why he was so confoundedly cold, wet, and sore, and who the bastard was who was sprinkling water on him. Then he heard the noise, and registered the vibration in the timbers above him that was shaking off the moisture. Green moonlight shone on the stream beyond the bridge, so they had not slept very long. An hour, perhaps, not as much as two. The rain had stopped.
"What...?"
"Soldiers!"
Many hooves tramping across the bridge.
Dosh heaved himself up on an elbow to peer over his companion and study the shadows on the water. He saw shapes of lancers on moas, heading west. He looked at D'ward, two eyes shining in the darkness, and asked, “They're after us?"
"Not us two, I think. The Free. We'll have to wait until they're gone, and then go back and try to cut around the lakes."
"No!” Dosh said. “Once they're off the bridge, they'll speed up again. We'll never get there before them, no matter what way we go."
D'ward groaned. “Suppose you're right."
The rear guard passed and the noise faded into the distance.
Why go on? If the Niolian cavalry was moving against the Free, then the Liberator would return to find his followers massacred, arrested, or scattered. But of course D'ward would go back. There would be no talking him into deserting. And if he were there, then he might work another miracle, even without the help of Irepit. He was the Liberator.
Dosh thought back to his servitude with Tarion, the Nagian cavalryleader. “It may be possible. They'll bivouac before dawn to rest their mounts. We may get in front of them then."
It sounded impossible. It was impossible, for two exhausted men on battered, bleeding feet. But they did it.
As dawn was painting rosy tints on Niolwall ahead of them, they trotted past a field where moas were grazing on stubble and men huddled around campfires. Those proud lancers showed no interest in two peasants going by on foot and did not challenge. As soon as they were out of sight, D'ward quickened the pace. Somehow Dosh kept up with him on his shorter legs.
The campsite of the Free was much less organized and covered a far greater area. The pilgrims were awake, most grouped along the riverbank, washing, rolling up bedding if they had any, singing hymns, or eating whatever scraps they had saved from the evening meal. Few of them noticed the two bedraggled, mud-splattered young men walking along the road, and probably none recognized their leader without his priestly gown.
On the other side of the trail, on the boulder-strewn slope with th
e Liberator's tent near the pulpit rock, the Warband with shields and spears was moving over the ground like foraging ants, as if searching for bodies. Prat'han was the first to recognize the newcomers. The big man shouted and came leaping down the hill to greet them, looking ready to weep with relief—and also about ready to run his spear through Dosh for having abducted the Liberator. The rest of the warriors came running in to cluster around. Dosh flopped down on the grass.
D'ward remained standing, drooping with fatigue. “Water, please, food if there is any. I've got to clean up and dress. Pass the word that I will not preach this morning and get them moving. We're going to have trouble."
Teeth shone. “We can sharpen our spears now?” Gopaenum demanded.
"Yes. Yes, you can sharpen your spears. And I fear you may blunt them, too, before the day is out. A troop of lancers'll be here very shortly.” D'ward rubbed his eyes wearily. “We mustn't lie around here like fish on a slab. Get everyone moving.” He pointed.
The trail ahead crossed the river at a ford and then wound off through a watery morass of lake and sedge.
"Can't ride moas through that!” Part'han said, sounding disappointed.
"Can't follow us more than two or maybe three abreast, either!” crowed little Tielan Trader, who had more brains than was thought seemly back in Nagvale. “You want us to hold the bastards off, Liberator? Hold the road?"
"No. I'd rather we got ahead of the crowd. Or as much of it as we can.” D'ward limped off toward the tent. Prat'han snapped orders and then followed him.
Suddenly alone, Dosh lay back on the grass. In the last horrible hour he had been unable to think at all. He had almost forgotten the lancers. Now he had arrived, the Liberator had arrived, and the Niolian cavalry would doubtless arrive very soon.
He ought to go back down to the river and clean up, but he did not think he could move another step. He could just curl up where he was and hope the lancers did not notice him or care about one heretic—or would at least not wake him before they skewered him. A loud jingling ... He forced his eyelids open. Prat'han Potter was squatting beside him like a small mountain, shaking the money bag and grinning like a rock eater.
"Don't you want this back?"
Dosh's mouth felt full of sand. “Not especially. You hang on to it. I'm in no fit state to guard it."
The big man chuckled and produced a hunk of bread as big as two fists. “How about this then?"
Instantly Dosh was aware of a monstrous hunger raging inside him. He heaved himself up on an elbow. “Now that does look interesting!"
"Cheese? Pickles? Smoked fish?"
Afraid he might drown in his own saliva, Dosh sat up. “Brother Prat'han, you have just earned a place among the stars of heaven.” He bit greedily. “I mean, you will be united forever with the True God,” he corrected.
His companion grinned approvingly at this declaration of Liberator creed.
Already D'ward was striding down the hill to the river, conspicuous in his hooded gray robe, surrounded by the War-band. Perhaps a hundred of the Free had already crossed the ford and were moving off along the road into the marshes. All the rest would follow the Liberator and the lancers would come and that plan seemed totally wrong. Dosh thumped his sleepy brain; he had just worked out the answer when Prat'han put the question, frowning.
"What happens when the troopers get here?"
What he meant was, “D'ward doesn't usually hide behind his friends."
"They'll use a lot of military jargon,” Dosh said, munching. “Technical terms for feces and impregnation and unnatural sex that god-fearing people like you don't know. They won't fancy charging two or three abreast along miles of track with swamp on both sides and lots of cover for archers or spearsmen, not to mention a thousand pilgrims getting in the way. If they do try it, the pilgrims can jump into the water and escape."
Prat'han grinned, a mouthful of ivory. “So they'll have to go the long way round and catch us at the other end? Wherever that is?"
"Probably.” Dosh groaned and began to rise.
Prat'han offered a hand and hauled him upright. He handed over his spear. “Take this. Your feet look like raw meat. We get down to the river, I'll clean them up for you. Wrap them, too."
Dosh mumbled thanks, eating with one hand and leaning on the spear with the other. He hobbled down the slope, feeling every muscle, every joint. And a long way to go today, D'ward had said.
"Food? Can you organize the food? Someone'll have to get out ahead and buy—How much money is there?” Shamedly, he said, “I'm all in, brother! I need help.” He mustn't let D'ward down, but asking for help was not something he was good at.
"Course. Soon's I've seen to those feet."
Giving thanks wasn't something Dosh was good at, either. He tried.
As they neared the trail, “While we're at the river, Brother Prat'han, would you do me that water thing you do with converts?” He received a thump on the back hard enough to knock his knees together.
The big man laughed delightedly. “I think D'ward would like to baptize you into the Church himself, Dosh."
"He won't mind, and I'd sort of like it from you, I think."
"I'd be honored to! Can—can you tell me even a little?"
Little what? Then Dosh saw the torture of curiosity in the Nagian's dark eyes. Oh, that!
"We went to Niol, to the temple. He announced who he was, but they didn't even try to arrest him. They didn't dare! Wonderful things...” Where could he even start? “I saw Visek! Not a god, just two old mummies. Oh, Prat'han, he's right! Everything he says is true! I was so wrong and all of you weren't. You believed and I didn't. I do now. I've been a fool, a terrible fool!"
The potter laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “I asked D'ward about that a couple of days ago. He said bigger brains need more evidence and I ought to mind my own business."
"Bigger fools need more evidence, you mean."
"True. But that's not what D'ward said."
They looked at each other and grinned. And then they laughed.
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28
Julian and Ursula had arrived in Nosokvale the previous evening, only to learn that the Liberator had already passed through. They had followed his trail over Thadrilpass, and now they were descending into Niolvale.
An hour or so ago, Julian had been greatly impressed by his first glimpse of it. For one thing, it was much larger than any Nextdoorian basin he had seen so far, its encircling walls dwindling away to vanish over a flat horizon. For another, it was superbly fertile. The bare, dry foothills of Niolslope plunged abruptly into a flatland symphony of green and silver. To the north many little white villages shone like pearls in the morning sun, and from higher up he had seen a city that T'lin said was Niol itself. Southward lay lakes, swamps, and rivers, with only scattered islands cultivated.
Now he was less concerned with geography than demographics. Just how many people were in that crowd down there? It wasn't a full battalion, he decided—closer to three companies, say seven or eight hundred. The vanguard was almost out of sight already, advancing into the marshlands along a narrow, winding track.
Dragons disliked traveling in close order, so conversation was rarely possible except at halts. While still a thousand feet or so above the road, T'lin Dragontrader shouted, “Zappan!” Starlight stopped obediently. The other dragons closed in around him, puffing and belching, peering at one another and their riders with their intelligent, jewel-bright eyes.
"Dragons do not like water,” T'lin said, scratching at his coppery beard and scowling.
Why should that be a problem? “I don't suppose there's any doubt that's Tyika Kisster's band, is there?"
"No, Saint Kaptaan. I have never seen a gathering like it before. It must be."
"But larger than it was in Joalvale?"
"Oh, many times, Holiness."
"Where are they going?” Ursula sounded grim and looked grimmer.
"The Thadrilpass road divi
des here, Holiness. That way leads to Niol. I think the other must go to Shuujooby. That would be the shortest road to Lospass and Jurgvale.... I am not sure. I have been to Shuujooby, but not by this way. Dragons do not like water."
"Probably stiff with mosquitoes,” Julian suggested cheerfully. He did not see why Ursula should be in such a sour mood all of a sudden. She had been enthusiastically playful in the tent before they emerged for breakfast, which might be one reason he was feeling so jovial himself. Was she piqued that Edward had collected so many followers so quickly? That seemed rather petty of her. Bloody good show and more power to him!
"Exeter will be out in front,” she said crossly.
"Can't imagine a prophet not leading the chosen people in person, certainly not Edward. Let's amble on down and find out."
T'lin rolled his eyes, clawed at his beard with both hands, and growled, “Dragons do not like water!"
Oh. Now Julian had caught up with the parade. “You mean we should have arrived a little earlier and cut him off?"
Ursula shot him an exasperated look. “A brilliant observation.” She turned to survey the ridges of Niolslope behind them and then addressed T'lin again. “What is there at that Shuujooby place?"
"Just a village, Holiness.” T'lin thought for a moment. “There is a ruined temple, half buried in sand."
Ursula nodded to herself. Julian could guess that she was thinking node! If Exeter was gathering mana and followers by preaching, then he would certainly do so on nodes whenever possible.
"But we can cut back through the hills and get in front of him?"
"Certainly, Holiness."
It was a reasonable suggestion, for dragons were the ultimate in cross-country transportation and the barren hills ideal terrain for them, but Julian was damned tired of sitting on a Brobdingnagian lizard all day, strapped in place like luggage with nothing to do except shout the occasional “Zaib!” or “Varch!” or “View halloo!” “Let's send T'lin and the mounts around that way. I wouldn't mind a chance to ride shanks’ pony for a change."
"Walk?” She snorted. “In the middle of that rabble? You'll get your wallet lifted and fleas in return."