by Dave Duncan
Time to go. Below him the piranha, above him maybe human killers. But maybe Addis, whom he had sworn to protect. He scooped half the coins from his pouch and pressed them into Ryon’s callused hand.
“Wait for me, please. But if I fall in the water, go back to Ivo and tell a swordsman what happened. He will see you are rewarded, understand?”
Vixini doubted that the fisherman did understand, but it was time for him to go ashore. The embankment was no more than three times his height, but he would have to move a long way to his left to reach the top. His feet rested on rough masonry and his nose was against sand, the former natural river bank, plus much rotted timber that must be the remains of a previous facing. Some of this muck had fallen out, piling up on the remains of the wall to make the footing treacherous; whenever he tried to clear a foothold, naturally more sand came down. Much of the time he had nothing to hold on to. Furthermore, the embankment above him had been leveled with gravel, broken bricks, fragments of tile, and miscellaneous rubbish to make a road, and this now formed the top layer of the cliff. Even a small landslide might drop a rock on his head or sweep his feet out from under him.
He had to take the “steps” sideways, and some of them were more than knee high. The gap in the wall had roughly a W shape, and in the middle he actually had to go back down four or five feet, which was even harder. He went very slowly, dismissing urges to hurry and get it over with, sternly not thinking about falling on rubble and piranha. As he neared the top, his footing became increasingly difficult, for he had larger stuff than sand to clear away, and every pebble seemed to sound like a tattoo of drums as it fell to the River below.
At long last he was able to raise his eyes above the level of the street. The first thing they registered was a ladder lying not two feet in front of him. Of course his sword hilt was slightly higher than his head, so the sorcerer standing to his left had known exactly where he was about to appear, although he might have been following Vixini’s progress all the way up. He held a thunder weapon with both hands.
“Prepare to meet your Goddess, swordsman,” he said. “Remember to tell Her how sorry you are that you chose such a stupid craft and pray Her to send you back as a sorcerer next time.”
Despite a mouth suddenly almost too dry for speech, Vixini said, “You overlook one thing, sorcerer.” His right hand plucked a half brick out of the rubble beside him.
“What’s that, swordsman?”
Vixini could not miss at that range. He hurled the missile and grabbed wildly for the ladder as the thunder roared. The shot must have missed because he was still alive, and the ladder was just weighty enough to steady him so he didn’t overbalance. Then he had both hands on the ladder, left foot on the next step. A heave and his right knee was on the roadway, then he was all up. He leaped to his feet and rushed the sorcerer, who had taken the rock full in the face and dropped his thunder weapon. He was not even upright before Vixini’s sword slammed into the side of his neck. He went down in a fountain of blood, not yet dead but as good as. His eyes showed white and his mouth bubbled blood, black in the ring light.
Roaches never came singly; there would be more of them. They could hardly have slept through that thunder. Vixini jumped the ladder and sprinted for the buildings on the far side of road, having to leap over three mangled corpses to get there. He ran into an alley and paused to look back and take stock. Sure enough, in a minute he saw two robed men come running from a doorway just a hundred feet or so from him, and then a third followed. All three rushed over to their dying sentry, which was not the smartest move under the circumstances. If the unknown intruders were armed with weapons like theirs, they would be committing suicide.
Unfortunately Vixini had only his trusty sword, now too bloody to replace in its scabbard. The alley ran north and south, so it was well lit by the Dream God and Vixini was too visible. He hurried through to the back of the buildings, hearing horses even before he reached the corner.
There were four horses in a paddock back there, milling around because the gunshot had upset them. Four saddles hung on the rail, so it was a reasonable, but dangerous, guess that he had only three opponents left to deal with. Odds of three to one were still not good when their weapons were deadlier than his. He ran along to the paddock. If he could jump on a horse, even riding bareback, he could be out of town and out of range of the sorcerers’ thunder weapons before they thought to come and safeguard their mounts from exactly that. What stopped him from trying was a boot, lying in the light of the Dream God, just beyond the shadow of the building behind him. In a moment he saw its partner, in the darkness nearby. He knew those boots.
The only reason to remove a man’s boots and throw them away in a horse paddock was that you wanted to tie his feet securely to the stirrups. That was both bad news and very good news. Bad, because Addis was a prisoner and likely being maltreated, but good because he was still alive and well enough that his captors expected him to try to escape.
As a child, Vixini had learned that he must never lose his temper because he could hurt people too easily. He had almost taken out a friend’s eye once, and he had promised Mom and Dad that he would never get angry again. He almost never had.
But this was different. Addis kidnapped was bad enough, but the wholesale slaughtering of a town was atrocity, not even war. The killers must die for this. No mercy, no scruples!
A faint glow of candlelight showed in a doorway two buildings along from him, almost certainly the building the sorcerers had come from, because all other doorways were dark. He stepped back into one of the shadowed alcoves just in time. A robed shape emerged from the same alley he had come through and came to the paddock, making soothing noise. One of the horses had already injured itself and was frozen to the spot, unable to move. The sorcerer hurried along the fence, heading closer to that one, and died without knowing there was anyone behind him. This was not the sort of fight where honor counted.
The three mobile horses reacted with more shrill neighs of fright and a thunderous canter around the paddock.
Vixini grabbed the ankles of the man he had just killed and dragged the body into the dark doorway, out of sight. A quick rummage through his gown located the bulk of the thunder weapon, and once he had that in hand, the odds felt a little better. All he had to do now was wait.
Time stopped.
Then: “Adept? You there?”
Nobody answered.
“I don’t like this,” said another voice. “They must’ve got the adept.”
“I think there’s only one of them.”
“Fine. Let’s just go back to bed then. You may not mind waking up dead, but I do.”
“There’s no point us staying here. Just two of us can’t fire the cannon. Let’s mount up and go back to camp and report the barbarians took Soo.”
The reply was mumbled. There was a brief argument. Then, “All right. You saddle up, I’ll keep watch.”
One man strode to the paddock, gown swirling, and climbed in through the rails. The other man stayed where he was, clutching his thunder weapon in both hands, and trying to look in all directions at once. He should have moved out into the lighted paddock, not stayed in the shadows—Dad always said that sorcerers were hopeless fighters.
Minutes dragged by. The man trying to corner the spooked horses had very little success. Once he was bowled over in the filth and scrambled up, cursing, to try again. The one on guard let himself be distracted by the tussle. That was his last mistake.
Vixini left his sword in the body so he had both hands free to hold the thunder weapon as he moved out into the light. The man trying to bridle a horse yelped in terror when he realized that the silhouette he saw against the Dream God was a kilted swordsman where there should be a robed sorcerer.
“Put your hands up! Straight up in the air. Good. Now come here.”
When the man reached the rails, Vixini saw that he was younger than he had sounded, although his dark robe indicated third rank. He was also shivering with
terror, as well he might, except that there was a difference between three armed enemies and a solitary prisoner with his hands up. Vixini didn’t think he could kill this one. He also needed some information.
“You going to cooperate?” he demanded.
“Yes, s-s-swordsman. If you will be merciful.”
“You weren’t very merciful to the people of Soo.”
“That wasn’t us! That was swordsmen that killed everyone.”
“Never! Swordsmen don’t commit massacres.”
“They did this one. Reeve Pollex was here himself. Even the children, he told them.”
Vixini felt sick. “How many swordsmen?”
“Hundreds.”
It was utterly certainly then that Pollex had them sworn by the blood oath, or his orders would have provoked mutiny and challenge. So it was to be a bloody clash of tryst versus counter-tryst. But even so, swordsmen killing children?
“How do you know this if there were no sorcerers present?”
“I didn’t say that, swordsman. There were a dozen of us here, but we didn’t kill anyone.”
Vixini thought for a moment. “If Reeve Pollex commanded the swordsmen, who was in charge of the sorcerers?”
“Grand Wizard Krandrak.”
Aha! “And I suppose he gave Pollex his orders?”
The sorcerer agreed reluctantly. “Yes, swordsman.”
“My apprentice was kidnapped. He was brought here.”
“I know nothing about him. I mean, there was a prisoner. I didn’t get a clear look at him. They took him on to Plo, at least that’s where they said they were taking him.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Around sunset.”
“How far is it to Plo?”
“Day and a half on a horse, then a few hours on a boat.” The sorcerer’s teeth had stopped chattering. He might start getting dangerous again soon.
“You and I will be riding that way together. Turn around.” Even an untrustworthy guide would be better than none. The Tryst would here in hours, even if just a reconnaissance party, and to leave this snake with all his evil weapons waiting in ambush was unthinkable.
Vixini made the sorcerer turn around, so his back was to the gun, and then made him strip, which disarmed him. Vixini retrieved his sword and marched his prisoner along to the roaches’ nest, where the candles burned.
The building was large, a former warehouse with only its walls remaining. Ashes and other debris had been pushed aside, leaving a big open space, now furnished with what must be the last tables, chairs, and rugs in Soo. Scattered bedding confirmed that this was where the sorcerers had been sleeping, and there had been three asleep, one on watch. A table by the door he had just entered held eight plump canteens and four leather bags. Supposing the bags held rations, why so much water? There must be water in the hills for the livestock.
He would take the sorcerer along as guide. He was no hurry to leave, because the horses had to calm down first.
And there was much to see. The debris heap divided the living quarters from a smaller cleared space at the other end, and that one held a huge brass cannon, gleaming in the light of the Dream God. It pointed at one of the empty window openings and the River beyond. He had never seen a giant thunder weapon, but he’d heard often how Dad and Mom and the others had gone to Sen when the sorcerers ruled it, and how the sorcerers had tried to sink Dad’s boat with such monsters. It was a shiny bronze tube as long as a man was tall, resting on a sort of massive cradle. Beside it on the ground were half a dozen balls as big as a child’s head, and a heap of leather packets about the same size.
“So! You were planning to sink a few ships, were you?” Vixini went closer to look at the horrible thing. “How do you—”
Right behind him a piece of charred wood cracked underfoot. He spun around in time to deflect the knife thrusting at his kidneys. He kicked the sorcerer’s feet out from under him, went down on top of him, and pinned the knife wrist to the floor with his left hand. His right arm was streaming blood, but when that hand closed around the man’s throat, there was nothing wrong with its grip. He squeezed, hard and long.
“Snake! Rat!” he said, callously watching the man’s eyes and tongue bulge out. “You picked the wrong boy to play those games with.”
Chapter 4
On clear nights horses would travel by the Dream God’s strange, flat light, but they hated it because it did not show up the footing properly. Regrettably, the trail out of Soo was smooth and straight, so Capn’s men were able to keep up a fast pace, which was torture for their unwilling passenger. Every hoof beat seemed to crack his spine like a whip and bounce his aching head. Addis had no idea where he was being taken or how long it would take. He was too proud to ask and much too weak, he was sure, to live through it.
How long they went on without taking a break he never knew. He could not even recall later whether he’d still been upright in the saddle when they stopped. He might have collapsed and scared them into thinking he was dying—not that Capn would care about killing a swordsman, but he would want to deliver a live victim to the bloodthirsty king.
So Addis drank greedily and then lay down and stopped thinking for a while. The sun was not yet up when he was shaken awake and told to get on his horse. This time he wasn’t tied—but he hadn’t given his parole. Not that he had any real hope of escaping, being one half-dead prisoner guarded by ten swordsmen, even trash like this lot. Dad wouldn’t tolerate one of them in the Tryst. Of course Addis wasn’t exactly a model swordsman himself at the moment.
Stirrups really needed boots, but he’d run barefoot all his life until about half a year ago, so he still had leather soles of his own. Having his hands free was a big help, and even his horse was happier having a rider who made sense.
The first rays of dawn shone pink and then gold on a line of icy peaks far to the south. Without a doubt that must be RegiKra, the sorcerers’ lair.
The sun climbed higher and grew relentlessly hotter. The heat and glare were brutal, with not a single patch of shade anywhere. They ate their rations and emptied their canteens. They passed at least two water holes without stopping. By then both men and mounts were exhausted, all except Capn, who seemed to be made of steel.
He had his reasons, however much the horses complained. He knew where he was heading, and reached it when the sun was halfway up the sky. Once it had been a lonely ranch station or mining camp, located where a steep-sided natural pit held a small, greenish pond, which now contained two bloated mule corpses. The buildings had been recently burned, but might have already been ruined when that happened. One small shed had been left standing, although not quite upright. It might be inhabited by snakes and scorpions, but all that mattered was that it would provide shade. Addis staggered in on his own feet. He was asleep before he hit the floor.
The sun was not very high before Vixini realized why those canteens had been left where they would not be overlooked during a hurried departure. The Mule Hills weren’t much more than a gently rolling plain, but there were no signs of people anywhere, and no shade.
Knowing what a cruel load he was for a horse, he had brought a spare; putting the lamed pair back in Soo out of their misery had bothered him more than killing the sorcerers. Although the long gash in his right forearm wasn’t deep, it had bled a river, and it kept throbbing. Bandaging it with one hand and some teeth had taken forever, and even then it had still bled for quite a while, although he thought it had stopped now. Blood had soaked both the bandage and his kilt, and some had even run into his boot. Still, bleeding might have been a good thing, if there had been poison on the blade. Damnable sneak sorcerer!
He wondered about Ryad and Ryon. He had looked for them, but they had gone, having most likely fled as soon as the first sorcerer fired his pistol. He hoped the Goddess would reward them for the help they had given him.
The trail was fairly obvious, marked by the passage of many horses not very long ago. He hoped that he might see some houses
when he got farther away from Soo. He might even see some wild herds galloping. He liked watching good horses running. Their motion itself was beauty, like good swordsmen fencing.
He drained his first canteen and threw it away. Only later did he realize how foolish that would seem if he did find a place where he might have refilled it.
“It looks like a trap,” Lord Yoningu said, lowering his telescope.
Triumph was hove to just off Soo, gently rocking in the current. Three other ships were coming into view behind her and another three were due before evening. The Tryst was a day late in arriving, having lingered at Ivo to load up lumber, tools, and every decent dinghy it could buy.
“You mean the ladder?” Wallie asked. “That’s a welcome mat.”
“Suspicious!”
“It’s so suspicious that I wonder if it may be even be genuine. But I’ll grant you that sorcerers do like ambushes and booby traps. Maybe the killers have gone and there are survivors?” But if sorcerers were in possession of the ruins, a landing party would be sitting ducks.
Behind him on the poop deck stood half a dozen middle ranks. The main deck was packed with Thirds, all staring at the remains of Soo and muttering angrily.
“Standing here scratching our armpits won’t solve anything,” Yoningu said. “Let’s lower a boat, send in scouts. I’ll lead.”
“My privilege.”
“With respect, no it isn’t, my liege. Lord Nnanji may have died weeks ago. If you get holes shot through you, the whole Tryst will fall apart.”
Yoningu was right, of course. However much Wallie felt he ought to be first man up that so-suspicious ladder, it would be a stupid decision. “Then not you, either. We’ll pick a good Fourth to captain the boat and specify a junior to go up the ladder first, some kid who deserves promotion and never quite makes it. We’ll promote him later under sutra 1139, ‘for courage in the face of the enemy.’”