The Lion Returns f-3

by John Dalmas

  But he'd not put his attention on the long-departed Macurdy, and hadn't been aware of his return.

  The Lion, said Old One, had been reported traveling on a great boar, headed west through Visdrossa. "If you would," Old One said, "I hope you will find him and stay with him. Communicate to him and for him, be his mind-ears and far-tongue. He may be at Ferny Cove by the time you can catch him. If any of our people see him, they'll tell him you're looking for him."

  ***

  Blue Wing agreed, but he didn't set out at once. He had a nest, so to speak. Not the pile of sticks in which he'd help raise a brood. That had long since been claimed and enlarged by a pair of young eagles. What he now thought of as home was a small ledge, little more than a niche beneath an overhang on Silver Mountain itself, a niche large enough to perch on comfortably. His people sometimes cached things they thought pretty, or interesting, or that had a personal meaning. And in that nest, covered with sand and pebbles, he'd hidden something he realized now he wanted Macurdy to have.

  He flew there at once. And in the morning, after breakfasting on the remains of a cougar kill (its owner was sleeping off his own breakfast), Blue Wing got his polished blue stone. Then he flew with it to the entrance of the king's palace, where he laid it down and asked to speak with Finn Greatsword.

  The guards had been instructed to inform the king if Old One came around, but this wasn't Old One. "What's yer business?" asked the senior guard.

  "I am carrying out an errand for your king, and I need his assistance."

  They let him in then, and with the stone in his beak, the bird rode on the arm of a page to the royal apartment. There he laid the stone on the table in front of His Majesty. "I am Blue Wing," he said, "Macurdy's companion when he was in Yuulith previously. Old One wants me to go to him, to be his mind-ears and far-tongue. And I want to take this stone to him, but I need something in which to carry it. It's awkward and burdensome to carry in my beak; it slows me. And there's always the danger of dropping and losing it."

  The king stared at the polished blue gem.

  "My people," Blue Wing went on, "have little of what yours call 'talent.' But when I saw this, I felt sure it was enchanted."

  He cocked his head, his obsidian eyes on the dwarf. "I took it from a tallfolk skeleton on the Scrub Coast beach, a skeleton so long, I suspect now it was one of the invaders'."

  Cautiously the king picked it up, and examined it by lamplight. "Yer right," he said, "it is enchanted. It's far the most powerful stone I've ever touched or seen. And it never formed in the earth, I'll tell ye that. Like the best swords, it was created by wizardry, with a spell added at every step." He looked up at Blue Wing. "Not protection spells, or curses. Something… neutral. But very powerful." He put it down again. "Myself, I wouldn't keep it around, rare though it is. The Lion, though-he's said to have killed Lord Quaie in a contest of magicks. And to have killed a troll this very Six-Month by calling down lightning from the sky. So you may be right. It may be something he can use."

  Turning, he called toward the door, and a servant came in. "Send Glinnuth to me. Have her bring sewing things, and some light, tough cloth. Spider silk would be right. I need a sack made, big enough for this." He gestured at the stone. "With a drawstring," he added.

  The dwarf lad scurried off. "This could," the king said, "prove good or ill. We'll let the Lion decide for himself. To me he seems a lot more lucky than unlucky."

  The comment did not reassure Blue Wing. Among his people it was a truism that those whose luck ran heavily to the good would pay for it eventually.

  ***

  In the Rude Lands, Macurdy had been eating routinely at inns along the highway, often going unrecognized. For when he wished, he used his concealment spell lightly, leaving him visible, but easy to overlook. Meanwhile Vulkan waited or foraged invisibly outside. This allowed Macurdy to listen, instead of answering questions. Reports of the invaders had penetrated the Rude Lands, news worrisome but sparse. And in the River Kingdoms, like the Rude Lands in general, farming and herding remained the heart and backbone of their economy.

  So while the war was often talked about, the main topic of conversation was the peculiar weather. Ten-Month had arrived, and in most years, in northern Kormehr, the first freeze was still a few weeks in the future. But this year there'd been frost almost every night since before the equinox, with some hard freezes. Even the gaffers couldn't remember such a year.

  Nonetheless, tapping the Web of the World for warmth, Macurdy and Vulkan often slept out on clear nights, in a haystack, or beneath some hedge-apple row beside the road. They traveled till it was getting dark, or sometimes after, and let dawnlight waken them. Macurdy would eat breakfast at the first inn they came to-sometimes deep into morning-and a second meal toward evening, or later.

  Reason told him it would be colder, probably quite a bit colder, in the empires than in the River Kingdoms. The voitar would need to secure provisions for winter, and shelter for their army. When the ylver moved out of an area, did they burn the villages as he'd instructed them? Herd the livestock with them? Take all the food they could carry, then burn the granaries and haysheds? It could make the difference between winning and losing.

  Could the voitar draw on the Web of the World? It seemed to him such powerful sorcerers would have learned to do that, yet in their homeland they'd bundled up warmly when they went out on winter days. At least Rillissa and her father had, and their retainers. That could, of course, be a matter of form. Regardless, their human soldiers would need shelter and heat. So if the retreating ylver burned their towns, villages and farms, the invaders would have to halt their campaign soon enough to build shelters: squad huts with fireplaces, if it got as cold as seemed likely this year.

  He was depending on it, to give him time. To give the Rude Lands time. At best they'd have none too much. He'd thought seriously of buying a good horse. But Vulkan needed less care, and if he couldn't cover distance like a horse, he could nonetheless trot almost endlessly.

  On the previous evening, they'd seen a sign that said FERNY COVE 18. An hour later they'd bedded down by a haystack near the road. When the sun came up, Macurdy rose, stretched, scratched, relieved himself, then gave Vulkan a good scratch around the base of the ears. Some cattle stood off a bit, watching warily.

  ‹Macurdy,› Vulkan said, ‹carryingyou around would almost be worth it for the grooming and ear scratching.›

  "With the rivers getting so cold, maybe I should buy you a warm bath from time to time. If the innkeepers will allow it."

  ‹Hmm. There is a saying on Farside: 'When pigs fly…'›

  "How did you know that?"

  ‹Most of my human incarnations were on Farside. Including one in rural England, centuries ago, where the expression was current in the Middle English vernacular. And the memories, of course, are accessible to me. As I have told you, I am a bodhisattva.›

  Macurdy remembered the conversation when Vulkan had explained the term. Bodhisattva still didn't seem very real. As Vulkan had described it, being a bodhisattva meant he'd completed the "necessary lessons" as an incarnate human being, gotten all his karma cleaned up, and no longer had to be reborn. But he'd volunteered to come back anyway, to deal with something in Yuulith. Something they were both committed to.

  "Well-does that mean I'm a bodhisattva too?" Macurdy had asked. "I don't remember any earlier lives."

  ‹If you were,› Vulkan had answered, ‹you wouldn't need to ask. What you seem very definitely to be is the major action factor, and a bodhisattva is not eligible for that role.›

  Macurdy had felt relieved at that. He thought of himself as a human being, albeit with a strong ylvin strain through his Sisterhood ancestry. Since then he'd learned a lot, done a lot, and obviously had a lot more to do. If he lived.

  They started down the highway, Macurdy trotting to "warm up his system." That particular stretch of road had an open field on both sides, and the early sun made them easy to see from above. Certainly by great r
avens, carrion birds with little sense of smell, who need to spot dead animals, usually small, and often more or less concealed by vegetation.

  "Macurdy!"

  The call was faint-from some two hundred yards behind them, and as far above. A great raven's throaty "Grrrok!" can be heard much farther, but speech with beak and tongue is less loud. Macurdy stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded. He knew that voice; knew who it had to be. Turning, he shaded his eyes with a hand.

  "Macurdy!" the voice repeated.

  "Blue Wing!"

  Watching the great black bird swoop down, Macurdy felt almost like a boy again. He put his arm out, and Blue Wing landed on it. Large though he appeared, so much of the great raven was feathers and slender hollow bones that he weighed barely seven pounds.

  "It's good to see you again, my friend," the bird said. "You look unchanged." He turned his gaze to Vulkan. "You said he would probably come back. But when I heard nothing more of him over the years…" He shrugged his feathered shoulders.

  ‹I see you carry sorcery on your shank,› Vulkan remarked.

  "Indeed. It is something I brought for Macurdy. A gift. I also bring other things, services." He turned to the human. "Offered at the suggestion of Finn Greatsword, and approved by my people."

  They proceeded down the road, Macurdy riding now, Blue Wing perched in front of him on Vulkan's massive neck. The bird began by describing Finn Greatswords request. "Then," he said, "before I left, my people held a conclave in the hive mind. And agreed almost unanimously that we may serve as communicators-your mind-ears and far-tongues." He paused. "It is, of course, out of character for us, but we know what the invaders are like. It's recorded. Not the capture of the ylvin cities. None of us observed their fall; we rarely visit them. But one of my people witnessed atrocities committed on farmfolk, and another the torture and butchery of a band of refugees that was overtaken. A dwarvish trade mission witnessed the savaging of Colroi. The deeds were carried out largely by humans, but their commanders were the aliens."

  "The Voitusotar," Macurdy said. "That's what they call themselves."

  "We are aware of that," Blue Wing said, "as the dwarves are. It was a dead voitu who unwittingly provided the gift I've brought. The gift whose ensorcelment friend Vulkan noted despite the bag." He touched the object tied to his leg. "I'll be glad to be free of it. It's a nuisance to carry." His bright black eyes fixed Macurdy's."If you would remove it…"

  Carefully Macurdy cut the knot, removed the bag and took out the stone. "My gawd," he breathed, "its beautiful."

  Vulkan didn't even try to look back. He'd seen what was most important about it when it was still in the bag on Blue Wing's leg. ‹Beautiful?› he said. ‹What else do you see about it?›

  Macurdy blinked. Looking again, he saw what he'd somehow missed at first glance. "Huh! It's got an aura!"

  ‹I'm not sure the term aura applies in this case. It does, however, have a complex energy field. I suspect a different spell was laid on it at every stage of its creation.›

  Blue Wing blinked. "Remarkable! That's what Finn Greatsword said when he saw it. Also that it wasn't a protective spell, or a curse. Neutral, he called it, and very powerful. He also said he wouldn't want to have it around."

  Macurdy frowned. "Is it all right for me to carry then?"

  It was Vulkan who answered. ‹I doubt it will harm you. In fact, I suspect when you have carried it awhile, it will-become quiescent, 'get used to you,' let us say. More quickly, I believe, if you carry it in your shirt pocket, near the heart chakra.›

  "Maybe you should carry it," Macurdy suggested.

  ‹In a manner of speaking, I am.›

  "I mean…" Macurdy paused. What do I mean? he wondered. "What good will it do us?"

  ‹I do not know. But I suspect it will prove useful. Importantly so. Certainly it did not arrive in your care by sheer chance. If one of us detects anything amiss with it, anything threatening, that will be the time to consider-consider disposing of it.›

  As if by agreement, they dropped the subject. Macurdy asked Blue Wing how he'd gotten the stone. Blue Wing then described the events at Copper River, as told by Finn Greatsword on the one hand, and on the other, recorded in the hive mind of the great ravens. It relieved Macurdy to hear it; it made the voitik threat seem less severe. And when Blue Wing had finished telling it, Macurdy said as much.

  ‹Less severe perhaps,› said Vulkan, ‹but still extremely dangerous.›

  ***

  Macurdy spent three days at Ferny Cove. Along with the Ozmen, the Kormehri had been his most effective troops in the Quaie War, and they'd been more numerous. They'd be good again, he had no doubt.

  The first day he spent with King Arliss, describing what he knew of the Voitusotar, and of the war so far. On the other two days, and evenings, he spent most of the time in a hall with Arliss, his ranking officers, and Arliss's entire elite guard company. There they discussed the principles of guerrilla raids, even imagining possible circumstances, and what might be appropriate in them.

  From time to time, Macurdy took questions from the ranks. He warned them not to take their imaginary scripts as more than mental exercises-against scripting an action in advance, when one didn't know the actual on-site circumstances. Let alone the choices and events that might occur within them. "Stay light on your feet," he said. "Ready to adjust, and take advantage of opportunities that come up. And always keep the goals in mind: to disrupt their supplies, kill their men and horses, and wreck their morale."

  Vulkan and Blue Wing sat in on those sessions, which made an impression on both the troops and the officers. The troops and officers in turn impressed the three visitors.

  Macurdy told them about the monsters and the panic waves. He also told them he doubted they'd have to face any. If they did, he said, they could break off contact, ride for the woods and reassemble.

  They were not afraid, only grim. It seemed to him their fearlessness grew mainly from a sense of tribal superiority.

  If voitik sorcery was sufficiently adaptive to use against raiders, it seemed to him that fearlessness would not survive. And that breaking contact, and riding for the woods, would fail as a tactic. He worried that the monsters would prove intelligent. Clearly they knew enough to flail their chain whips. Felstroin had said they hadn't begun to flail till they reached the docks. Then they'd seemed to strike at targets.

  Macurdy didn't voice those thoughts though. It would attach too much of their attention, to no good purpose.

  Nor did he mention the ravens as Yuulith's version of radio communication between forces. He hadn't had time to give it much thought. He did, however, set Arliss up for it. He told him to be ready in case another great raven came to see him. "He may stay with you for a while," Macurdy added. "We can consult with each other through them."

  Arliss whistled silently, as if seeing the potential.

  ***

  When his officers and men had gone to their quarters for the night, the king left the building with his guests. "There's more to the three of you traveling together than meets the eye," he said thoughtfully.

  It was Vulkan who replied. ‹The three of us constitute a team. Each has powers the others do not, or has certain powers more strongly. The combination makes us far more able than any of us could be singly. But the Lion is the center, the keystone. The decisions must be his.›

  Then Macurdy walked Vulkan and Blue Wing to the stable. Blue Wing flew to the top of a large spreading white oak for the night. Macurdy groomed Vulkan for a quarter of an hour, drawing an occasional aaah of pleasure.

  "About me as the keystone," Macurdy said. "Each of us is the keystone. We're like a three-legged stool: no leg more important than the others."

  ‹A flawed analogy,› Vulkan replied. ‹Your task would be much more difficult without us, and the odds of success much poorer. But still you would have a chance. A small chance. And you are the only one who would. As I said previously, my role cannot be as warrior. Nor can Blue Wing's. Only you c
an destroy the enemy's heart and brain. Which I believe is what it will take.

  ‹But do not be overawed by the size and difficulty of the task. Remember Schloss Tannenberg and the Bavarian Gate. You carried that off. It is reasonable to hope you might carry this one off as well.›

  Reasonable to hope. Might. Not all that reassuring, Macurdy told himself, but maybe it'll keep my feet on the ground and my head out of my butt.

  Vulkan knew Macurdy's thoughts, but kept his own private. Indeed, my friend. By your own telling, you are given to episodes of total disheartenment. Perhaps a little inoculation in advance, along with the medicine of honest praise, will strengthen you against them.

  30 Sisters! Guardsmen! Tigers!

  "My name's Macurdy. I've come to see Sergeant Koslovi Rillor." Macurdy handed the young red-haired woman the letter from Queen Raev of Miskmehr, another Sister. "But the ambassadress," he added, "needs to see this first."

  This Sister really was young; he could tell by her aura. She glanced at the letter, sealed with wax and marked with the queen's signet. Then she looked again at Macurdy, got to her feet, gracefully of course, and disappeared into a hallway.

  Macurdy looked the room over. By Rude Lands standards its furnishings were rich but not extravagant. Anything more would have been undiplomatic in Miskmehr, which was picturesque but poor. Even the building was small for an embassy, as was its staff-four Sisters and a single squad of Guardsmen. With no more foreign trade and connections than Miskmehr had, even that was only marginally economical. Or so the queen had said. A small Outland crafthouse was the largest export manufactory in the kingdom, weaving handsome carpets from Miskmehri wool. The Cloister planned to build another crafthouse there the next year, to make stoves. Reportedly, the royal residence and the embassy had the only stoves in the kingdom. Everything else had fireplaces. And the Great Muddy was only a dozen miles west down the Maple River, a highway for export.