The Lion Returns f-3

by John Dalmas

Macurdy deliberately misunderstood. "Not too much," he said. "Sure you had five guys jump me and beat me up. But that was a long time ago, and I evened the score the next day."

  The old sergeant's mouth twisted, then he knocked back half his tumbler of whiskey. "You ruined my life," he said. "That damn Esoksson kicked me out of the Heroes, and I had less than a year to serve. One more year and I'd have had a big farm, livestock, and slaves to do most of the work."

  "Huh? How did I make that happen? A slave like I was?"

  "You took that dog-humping spear maiden with you, and that weasel Jeremid. Then people started saying it was my fault-that I'd 'abused my authority'-and Esoksson kicked me out."

  Macurdy had started to react to the slanders against Melody and Jeremid, then let them pass. Zassfel took a smaller swallow and continued. "Then, after you got famous, and everyone was kissing your ass, they started throwing shit at me. 'Zassfel's a stupid horse turd,' they said. I had to start reminding them how I made platoon sergeant. Beat the shit out of three or four," he added with satisfaction. "After that they didn't say it where I could hear them."

  "Ah," said Macurdy, nodding sympathetically. "Life can be like that."

  Zassfel's scowl returned. "What ever happened to you, that you can say that? Everything fell in your lap."

  "Not really. My first wife got stolen by the Sisters and ended up married to an ylf. And Melody drowned; broke through the ice." He didn't mention Mary and the baby. "And after I went back to Farside, there was a big war there. I got scars you wouldn't believe. Damn near bled to death." He laughed. "Not to mention your guys beating the shit out of me, just down the street from here. Didn't have a tooth left, except for my grinders."

  Zassfel peered carefully at Macurdy's grin, then finished his whiskey. "I heard about you growing them all back. You're not even human. Part ylf on one side, part Sister on the other." Macurdy didn't trouble to correct him, but let him talk on. "Ylf, Sister, it's all the same thing, though. When I knew you before, we looked about the same age." He gestured. "Now look at me."

  Macurdy signaled the barkeeper, then looked Zassfel up and down. "You don't look so bad, for someone that lives hard. I'll bet there's not many guys pick fights with you. What do you do these days?"

  "Damn right they don't. One thing I've kept is my strength. I got a wagon and team. I haul stuff. Whatever anyone wants hauled, I load and haul it. And I'm not doing bad. I even got me a slave, a pretty good screw. She's home with the kids."

  ***

  The two men stayed in the tavern till late, mostly trading off buying. Macurdy used the spell he'd concocted, based on one of Arbel's, to metabolize the alcohol as fast as he absorbed it. A spell he'd used in the army during World War II, to let him drink with his buddies without getting drunk.

  Zassfel asked to see Macurdy's scars from the war on Farside, and Macurdy dropped his pants to show him. That got the attention of the tavern's patrons, who gathered around to see. The truth would have been incomprehensible to them, so Macurdy answered creatively. "You've got to watch out for those war dogs," he explained, and patted his scarred buttocks, torn by mortar shell fragments on Sicily. "You get busy with people in front of you, they'll hit you from behind."

  It was the long surgical scars on his right leg that impressed the audience most, though. "Bhroig's balls, Macurdy!" Zassfel said. "I never seen scars like those before! What happened?"

  Again Macurdy answered creatively. "I got knocked out of my saddle, and trampled by horses. A Farside shaman cut my leg open and put the bones together again."

  Zassfel nodded thoughtfully, his eyes on Macurdy's groin. "And that's a real club you've got there. The party girls would have loved it." He paused, thinking, his lips pursed. "But you got the best of it. You got the spear maiden."

  ***

  Zassfel had a large capacity for booze, but after a time he fell down on his way to the latrine out back. Macurdy helped him up, and Zassfel relieved his bladder in the weeds. He wasn't the first. It smelled of urine and vomit there.

  "I'm drunk," he slurred. "Don' usually get this bad. Gotta get up early. Big job t'do, take all day." He laughed. "One thing 'bout me, never hung over." He patted his thick belly. "There's muscle behin' this. Drink all night, an' outwork anyone the nex' day."

  Steadying himself, he thrust out a hand. "Shake, ol' buddy," he said. "Le's see how strong you are."

  They gripped, Macurdy careful not to squeeze too hard. "That's a hell of a grip you've got, Zassfel," he said. "There's damn few I can't grip down."

  Zassfel smirked. "Damn right. Same here." He paused, peering at Macurdy. "You know what?" he said.

  "No. What?"

  "You're all right, Macurdy. Damn if you aren't! I didn' give you credit before. 'Member that jaguar we treed…?"

  After another drink, they left the tavern together, Zassfel weaving along, singing bawdy songs off-key. It wasn't far to his house. When they got there, his wife had put the kids to bed. She'd been pretty once, Macurdy realized, probably one of the party girls brought to the House of Heroes on Six-Day evenings. She'd gotten somewhat hefty over the years, but bore no overt signs of abuse.

  "Macurdy," Zassfel said, "this is Kleffi. She's a good woman and a good hump. You wanna try her, iss okay." He paused. "Or not. Thass okay too. I 'member how you never humped the party girls."

  "You're right," Macurdy said, "I never did. That's an old custom among some people. They just hump their wives."

  Zassfel nodded sagely. "Differn' people got differn' ways. Thass a fack." He paused. "You sure you don' wanna hump her?"

  Macurdy nodded soberly. "I know she's good. I can tell those things. But for me, it wouldn't be all right to."

  Zassfel peered at him, simultaneously earnest and vague, then reached for Macurdy's hand. This time it didn't turn into a gripdown. Instead the ex-sergeant stood silent, Macurdy's big paw grasped in his own. "You're all right, Macurdy," he repeated after a long moment, the words quiet. "You're all right… You're all right…" He paused, then gave the hand a weak squeeze, a slight shake, as if the evening had suddenly caught up with him. "You're all right," he said.

  Then he let go. Macurdy clapped the Ozman's big shoulder and left.

  ***

  He returned to the tavern for Piglet, then hired a bed in an inn. Afterward he took Piglet to a livery stable across the street, let him drink all he wanted, and saw that he had hay and oats. He brushed and rubbed him down himself. Then, in his room, he wove an insect repellent field about himself, and went to bed.

  He did not sleep at once. Instead he reviewed his evening with Zassfel. And realized how good he felt about it. It had been healing for both of them, and it seemed to Macurdy that it marked a turning point in his life.

  12 Vulkan

  The next morning, Macurdy paid a courtesy call on the Chief of the Oz, and managed to be on his way again before midday. He wouldn't worry about Vulkan finding him. He'd found him before, without even knowing who, exactly, he was looking for. Presumably he'd find him again, if he was still interested. Meanwhile, Macurdy would cross the Great Muddy, ride southeast to the Green River Valley, and thence to the royal palace at Teklapori. Except for Arbel-and Varia, he hoped, and maybe Omara-his best human friends in Yuulith were in Tekalos. Pavo Wollerda was king there, or had been when Macurdy had left, and Jeremid had a farm in the Kullvordi Hills.

  The route was familiar, and lovely in advanced spring. On the third day he rode a ferry raft across the Great Muddy into the kingdom of Miskmehr, rich in forested hills and valley farms, though not in money. The Miskmehri had provided two cohorts of tough, self-reliant infantry to fight the ylver in Quaie's War. Earlier, during Quaie's Incursion, only an unprotected border had separated them from the savage fate of Kormehr, and the memory had still been fresh.

  Meanwhile, the weather had changed from showery to bright, cool at night, warm by day. Drawing on the Web of the World for nighttime warmth, Macurdy found it simpler and more pleasant to sleep beneath the forest canopy or
open sky, than in an inn or some farmer's barn. Metabolic energy in general he could draw from the Web, thus even eating was less urgent than it would otherwise have been. Though his stomach complained when he didn't. For vitamins, minerals, proteins, he stopped at farms along the way, buying cheese, scrawny chickens, overwintered vegetables and wizened apples. And ate the mild forest leeks abundant in that season, until the smell of him could have repelled barn flies at twenty feet.

  In time, the winding dirt road he'd been riding reached the wider, straighter dirt road known as the Valley Highway. At the junction, the brush-tangled forest blowdown where he'd earned the friendship of the dwarves, and the enmity of Slaney's brigands, was thick young forest now, fifty feet tall.

  It was there he was halted by a voice he knew well, deep and resonating within his skull. ‹Aha! Macurdy! I knew I'd meet you soon.›

  It was thought, not words that reached him. About forty yards ahead, a great boar trotted from the forest. In size, it suggested an Angus bull, though the large head and tusks, the high shoulders, the deep narrow body that tapered toward the hindquarters, all were strictly wild hog. Piglet began to prance skittishly, and Macurdy reined him in, while patting the arching neck. "Whoa, boy, easy now, easy…" Then a wordless calm washed over them both, intended for Piglet, who quickly settled down.

  "Vulkan!" Macurdy called, "I figured you'd find me! When did you know I was back?"

  The boar trotted casually toward them, stopping half a dozen yards away when Piglet shifted restlessly again. There was black muck on the tusked snout, as if it had been rooting up skunk cabbages. And suddenly Macurdy was unsure whom he faced, for this creature had red eyes.

  Then the boar answered. ‹I sensed a month ago that you were back. I was visiting the Scrub Coast, the ocean coast, reminding them of our existence. It is one of my duties. In this world, it is intended that humankind know a…› He paused, his mind tinged with amusement. ‹… know a larger reality than on Farside. And of course, I must maintain my myth; that is another duty.

  ‹And on my way back to meet you, I stopped to visit the King in Silver Mountain.›

  "The dwarf king? They let you inside the mountain? I thought everyone was scared of you."

  ‹The dwarves do not fear us. A great boar befriended them in an earlier age. In the time of the high trolls, an experiment gone awry. You are not the only outsider they call dwarf friend.›

  "When I knew you before, your eyes were black. Now…"

  ‹Now they are red. They make me more impressive, which makes you more impressive.›

  "Me?"

  ‹You.›

  Macurdy contemplated that a moment, then set it aside. "How are we going to travel together, with me riding Piglet?"

  ‹He will be all right now. Though you may want to leave him at Teklapori.›

  "Teklapori? How did you know I was going there?"

  ‹Where else? When we leave there for the north-assuming you choose to-I can carry you. It will be a bigger public sensation if you ride on me.›

  Macurdy laughed. "You got that right." He paused. "North together?"

  ‹If you so choose.›

  "Why do you want to create a public sensation?"

  ‹A maximum of fame-suitable fame-will be useful to your task.›

  "My task." Macurdy frowned. "What task?"

  ‹I do not know yet. But it will be important. Critical. You are already a legend in Yuulith; you've been heard of even on the Scrub Coast. But to many it is a legend of the past. We must renew and enhance it.›

  Vulkan's comments had introverted Macurdy. Now he shrugged them off. He'd think about them when he knew more, he told himself.

  So I've been heard of even on the Scrub Coast. Huh! And I never heard of the Scrub Coast till just now.

  ***

  Unlike the winding dirt roads through Miskmehr, the Valley Highway was much used; they met merchants several times a day, typically traveling in small parties, with pack animals. And farmers traveling to some village or market town several times an hour. Seen from a little distance, Macurdy was readily recognizable as a man on horseback. The creature trotting alongside could be a mule, or from closer up, a lean beef, polled and slab-sided. By the time they were close enough to identify it, they were too near to escape, should it be necessary. And after all, it was trotting alongside a man on horseback.

  Thus as fearsome and alarming as Vulkan looked, and as his myth described him, almost none of the travelers they met actually fled. They did, however, get well off the road to let him pass. The degree of control exercised by the giant boar's human companion seemed uncertain, and the large curved tusks looked more fearsome than any sword. While the small, indomitable red eyes, fixed coldly on the passersby, showed neither loving kindness nor docility.

  Judging by the auras, the shock was greater for the traveler than for his horse or mule, if he had one. Probably, Macurdy thought, their animals didn't associate the smell of swine with danger. And despite Vulkan's size and fearsome appearance, his broadcast calm overrode their alarm.

  Humans, on the other hand, had powerful imaginations. And folk tales-a whole gruesome mythology about the great boars. Nor did they fail to be awed by a man who kept company with such a monster.

  There were villages along the road, and these were another matter. There, more often than not, people didn't see the great boar till he was close. Then doors were slammed and barred. Women shrieked, men cried out in alarm, children scurried howling out of sight. While dogs, seemingly less subject than horses to Vulkan's calming flow, scuttled off with their tails between their legs. As if they too had imaginations.

  ***

  Neither Vulkan nor Macurdy qualified as chatty, but for the first few days they talked quite a lot. Macurdy related much of his recent seventeen years' experience on Farside, both civilian and military. Vulkan described Yuulith's geography, people and customs, particularly of regions unfamiliar to Macurdy.

  One morning at a distance, Macurdy saw the inn at the crossroad near Gormin Town. He knew both inn and town; it was there he'd begun to seriously broaden his reputation, so many years past.

  "You must be overdue for some actual food," he said to Vulkan. Even more than himself, the great boar had been relying on the Web of the World.

  ‹Mmm, yes. Those cattail patches we've stopped at have been useful, but I could benefit from variety. And protein. Some animal source would be particularly appropriate.›

  "Tell you what," Macurdy said, "suppose we stop at the inn. I'll eat there, and afterward they'll tell everyone traveling through about us, travelers on the north-south road as well as the east-west. After that we'll ride into Gormin Town," he gestured toward a palisaded town-its population several thousand-a half mile south of the crossroad. "There's a butchers there, where I got offal for Blue Wing my first time through here. I suppose you eat offal?"

  ‹Offal will be quite satisfactory, yes. I can, of course, take some farmer's calf or pig, but offal will do nicely.›

  As Piglet carried Macurdy into the inn yard, the stableboy hurried out to meet them. At sight of Vulkan, he disappeared back into the stable. Macurdy trotted Piglet over to it, and dismounting, led him inside. "Stableboy!" he bellowed.

  "Yessir?" came a voice from the hayloft.

  "Feed and water my horse. At once! Then groom him."

  A tousled head appeared, of a youth in his early teens. "Your-horse, sir?"

  "What else? Come now! Get about it!"

  "Sir, I'm afraid, sir. Of-that other."

  "He won't hurt you. I've told him not to. I'm Macurdy, back from Farside, and he's my traveling companion. His name is Vulkan."

  The lad stood now, staring down. "Would you, sir… General? Marshal Macurdy? Would… would you ask him to stay outside, sir? I'm afraid he might forget what you told him."

  Macurdy grinned disarmingly. "As good as done. Now come down and mind your duties."

  The youth eased worriedly down the ladder and took Piglet's reins. Then M
acurdy left, walking to the inn with Vulkan beside him. They entered the taproom as nearly together as the doorway allowed, Macurdy stepping in first, Vulkan a step behind. There was a scream from a serving girl, a clatter of mugs from a dropped tray, shouts of male alarm, the crash of benches falling over. Men scrambled to get more tables between them and the newcomers.

  "Helloo!" Macurdy called. "Who will feed a hungry man?"

  A florid beefy face peered from the kitchen door. "Get him to hell out of here!" it shouted, more angry than fearful.

  Grinning, Macurdy turned. "Vulkan," he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, "wait outside for me."

  As if obeying, Vulkan turned and went outside, the only sound his hooves on the puncheon floor. But the move had nothing of submissiveness about it. Red eyes fierce, the great tusked face had scanned the room as he'd crossed to the door.

  The innkeeper eased in from the kitchen. "Mister," he said, "that was a dumb-ass thing to do, bringing that beast in here."

  Macurdy raised his eyebrows. This innkeeper was no ordinary man. "He's not a beast," Macurdy said, "he's a wizard. A giant boar and a wizard. And curious. He'd never been in a taproom before."

  The innkeeper frowned. "How did you get him?"

  "Get him? I didn't get him. We met in the woods once, in Oz. There I was, and there he was. Next thing we knew, we were friends. That was seventeen years ago, just before I went back to Farside. Then I came back to Yuulith again, and riding southeast out of Miskmehr, there he was, Vulkan himself, waiting by the road. Now we're traveling together."

  "Vulkan? Is that his name?"

  "Yep."

  "How do you know?"

  "He told me."

  "He talks?"

  "Not with his mouth. With his mind. He talks directly into my head. I could be deaf as a stone, it wouldn't make any difference. I'd hear him."

  For a moment the innkeeper stood silently, digesting what he'd heard. "You've been to Farside and back," he said. "Then you must be Macurdy, right?"