The Sword Of Bayne Omnibus

by Ty Johnston

  Bayne stopped just before crossing in front of the two and stared at them, from one to the other and then back again.

  It was obvious they had been in conversation but had stopped talking upon the intrusion of this stranger.

  “I am looking for a man,” Bayne said.

  The one on the left snickered. “Wouldn’t have taken you for that sort.”

  The one on the right scowled at his companion.

  For sake of learning information, Bayne ignored the tactless mirth and the grimace. “He would have ridden past in the last day. Black robes. Black hair.”

  “I believe he had a streak of white through his hair,” said the one on the right.

  Bayne nodded. “Aye.”

  “Haven’t seen him.” The man to the left said.

  The other fellow glared at the one opposite him.

  Bayne focused his attention on the richly-garbed fellow and pointed down the road. “Did he continue to follow the road?”

  “He did,” the man said, nodding.

  The other fellow, the one in the shabby clothing, laughed again, harder than before. Now it was Bayne’s turn to glare at him.

  “Don’t mind him,” the richly-dressed man said. “He’s not right in the head. And he’s lazy.”

  The other stopped laughing. “I am not lazy!”

  “Then why is your master doing all the work!” The wealthy one pointed past the other seated figure to the field beyond.

  Bayne’s eyes followed the pointing finger. For the first time he noticed a man some distance away in the field. This fellow was pushing a wood and iron plow being pulled by a mule. From the looks of things, the working man was not having an easy time with his labors. The ground being plowed was dry and hard and full of rocks.

  “I hurt my back last week,” the shabby, seated fellow said as way of explanation. “My master is a good master, not like some I know.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Your master is an idiot!”

  Bayne glanced at the two. then shrugged. Whatever business was going on between these men was none of his concern. He marched past them and continued along the road.

  “Wait!” It was the rich man.

  Bayne turned and looked back.

  “You must have walked a long way,” the man said, standing on his stick legs. “Allow me to offer you the hospitality of my fair home. Surely you are in need of food and rest.”

  The man now pointed at the other field, the one that had been behind him when sitting. Bayne looked in that direction. The house there stood unchanged, but now there was a fourth man, this one scything the grain with an iron-headed tool. He too appeared hard at labor, his arms constantly working back and forth. His clothing was more like that of the poorer man seated by the road.

  “Never mind him,” the rich man said, waving a hand at the new worker. “That’s just my servant.”

  Bayne turned as if to leave once more. “I thank you for your hospitality, but I must be on my way.”

  “I know where the man in black is going!” the rich man shouted.

  Bayne paused again and looked back. The rich man appeared almost frantic, as if weighty concerns were upon him.

  By comparison, the shabby fellow was grinning. He leaned back further on his bench and retrieved a clay flask from a pocket. He popped out the cork and began to drink heavily. All the while, that grin kept growing wider and wider.

  Bayne walked back to the two, halting mere yards from them. He stared at the one dressed as a worker. “What is going on here?”

  “I told you, he’s not right in the head,” the other man said.

  “Hush!” Bayne glared at the rich one, then turned back to the poorer one. “What is happening here?”

  The drinker lowered his flask and popped the cork back in. “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you’re smiling like an idiot,” Bayne said.

  “See, I told you,” the rich one said.

  Bayne glared at him. The fellow shut up.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the poorer of the two said, bouncing his flask in a hand. “I’m just sitting here minding my own business with my little bottle.”

  “The two of you are up to no good,” Bayne said. He shifted to stare at the wealthy fellow again. “I suppose you were offered a bag of gold.”

  “Me?” The rich one took a step back, placing a hand across his heart as if taking an oath. “I have no idea of what you are speaking.”

  Bayne’s eyes narrowed. A fist tightened at his side. “I believe you do.”

  “If you don’t believe me, ask my servant there.” The wealthy-garbed man pointed toward the worker in the field behind him.

  “Ha!” The poorer fellow slapped at his knee. “That’s a good one. As if your slave wouldn’t lie for you.”

  “He’s not a slave!”

  “Might as well be!”

  The two men glared at one another, their chest’s heaving and their teeth grinding.

  “This is nonsense.” Bayne turned away once more.

  “Wait!” It was the rich man again. He hobbled around to one side of Bayne. “Alright! Alright! The fellow in black offered gold for your capture. I admit it.”

  Bayne halted and stared at the man. “But not for my death?”

  A sheepish look spread across the rich man’s face.

  “Of course for your death,” said the poorer man. “He offered a bag of gold to anyone who would slay you. Said he’d take your head as proof.”

  “Why tell me now?” Bayne glanced from one fellow to the other.

  The rich man smiled. “You are a stout fellow, strong and hardy. I could use someone like you.”

  “I’m not interested.” Bayne took a step away.

  “I’d pay handsomely!”

  Bayne paused and stared. “I have no need of your gold.”

  “There must be something you want,” the rich man said. “I could use you in my fields. Why, a big, strong man like you could do the work of ten in a day’s time. In a week you’d make me more than that pittance offered by the man you are following. Name your price.”

  Bayne sneered. “All I want is to catch my prey.”

  “What about a horse?” the other fellow said from his bench. “You’re on foot. Maybe a good horse would help.”

  Bayne didn’t bother looking at him. “I have no need of a horse.”

  The rich man slapped Bayne on his solid, chain-clad chest. “Of course not, a big, strong ox such as you.” He glared at the seated fellow, then back to Bayne with a grin on his lips. “But something else perhaps? Women? Clothing? A new sword?”

  “You have nothing to offer that I would want,” Bayne said. Then he turned and walked away.

  “There has to be something!” the rich man shouted behind the departing warrior. “Everyone has a price.”

  The poor man only laughed and sucked at his flask before emptying it and tossing it onto the bench next to himself.

  Bayne walked on.

  The rich man once more ambled after Bayne. “But you --”

  “Cease!” Bayne spun to face the man and reached up to half-draw his sword from its sheath. “Another word and I’ll lop off your head.”

  The rich man visibly gulped.

  The poor man slapped his knee again and chortled.

  “I’ll lop off both your heads,” Bayne said. “I should anyway. It would leave the world with a less annoying pair. One of you working your servant nearly to death --”

  The poor man nodded here.

  “-- and the other so lazy his master has to do his job for him!”

  The rich man nodded here.

  “Enough!” Bayne shouted. “Not everything is about gold!” He slammed his sword back home and turned and walked away.

  The two men were quiet and did not try to follow this time, though they did give one another knowing glances and shrugs.

  Ahead of Bayne, the road rose in a slight hill, the mountain proper rising far off to the right. The fence
s remained on the left and right of the road, as did the fields beyond, but soon the antics of the two men could no longer be heard nor seen behind Bayne. Not that he was bothering to look or listen.

  Presently another figure appeared alongside the road, a man standing in the distance next to a small, turned over field. As Bayne neared him, he could make out the fellow was dressed in simple, homespun clothing, a tunic, drawstring pants and battered boots. He gripped a long spade and leaned against the handle, the iron of the tool resting in the dirt beside the road. Sweat was running down his face, though he did not appear overly tired. If anything, he seemed somewhat fresh and pleasant. He smiled as Bayne drew near.

  “Hello there!” this new man shouted.

  Bayne said nothing as he approached. Two idiots seemed enough for one day.

  The stranger chuckled when Bayne came up to him, but the laughter seemed not pointed toward the big man with the sword.

  “I see you met those two down the road,” the fellow said.

  Bayne stopped and nodded.

  “My apologies,” the man said. “They have a tendency to view the world from quite narrow positions.”

  Bayne nodded again.

  “I would not have stopped you,” the man went on, “but just this morning I came upon a fellow who required of me to give you a message.”

  Bayne raised an eyebrow.

  “He said he would meet you at the top of the mountain,” the man said, “and he said he would not be alone.”

  “Anything else?” Bayne asked.

  “No, I don’t believe so,” the man said with a smile. “He said a big, well-muscled chap such as yourself would be along. He said you’d carry a sword and had no hair atop your head.”

  “My thanks,” Bayne said, then he moved past and continued on his way.

  After a few steps, Bayne stopped and glanced back. “One question.”

  The stranger had turned to watch Bayne. “Yes?”

  “Before I reached those other two,” Bayne said, “I came across a sign.”

  “Stagnation.”

  “Yes. What does it mean?”

  “It’s the name of the farm,” the man said, “the farm split by two fields and two ways of thought. Unfortunately, those who domesticate the farm have limited themselves to only two ways of thinking based upon material goods.”

  Bayne nodded. “Again, my thanks.”

  Then the big man walked on, showing little concern for the philosophies and economics of these farmers, his sword rattling above his shoulder.

  Part VI: Mages Three

  The day grew late and the sun began to sink beneath the clouds that made up Bayne’s horizon. Long shadows stretched across the mountain and the road, hiding the warrior in gloom and chill.

  As always, Bayne walked on.

  He walked through the night, never stopping to rest or even to catch his breath for a moment. Sometime in the darkness, he could feel the bricks beneath his booted feet becoming more and more rare. Eventually he was striding on cold rocks and flat stone and sometimes dirt and sand.

  It was in the morning, as the sun showed itself once more, Bayne could make out that the road he had been walking had narrowed to little more than a mountain path. The broad expanses of the fields were now replaced by what appeared to be little more than a trail possibly used by the rare mountain creature, perhaps goats or lions. Bayne had spotted no such beasts, but the trail itself proved that someone or something had at some time made their way over the very ground.

  The path here also turned steep, forcing the big man to lean so far forward he was practically climbing more than walking in many places. At times his chest was mere inches from the ground and he was forced to use his hands to steady himself or to pull forward.

  Whereas the day before the mountain’s top had been distant and hidden beneath a haze, now the mountain was right on top of Bayne. He was up against it, nearly part of it, step by step and inch by inch. The pinnacle was now above him, and though still he could not make it out due to the heights and the nearness of the mountain’s wall upon him, Bayne could sense the summit as if it were a living, breathing thing soaring above on the ether.

  His travels were nearing an end, and the unstoppable warrior discerned such.

  As if to show his perceptions were not mislaid, the mountain trail eventually flattened out again and ran straight away from the ledge and between high snow-draped outcroppings like giant rocky fingers clawing at the sky. Here walls of solid stone grew out of the mists on either side of him.

  But the pathway ahead was straight and true.

  Then it became a climb again, nearly as steep as before, but only a short distance before the stony walls were passed and Bayne found himself on flat ground once more.

  The clouds and mists evaporated before his eyes and ahead was the apex, the highest heights of the mountain. It was a flat stretch little more than the size of a village, with splashes of snow here and there. A single tree, young and only tall enough to provide weak shade beneath the day’s sun, was rooted off to one side.

  Three figures were seated on ancient, wide, flat stones in the center of the grounds. The three were men, all.

  The first to draw Bayne’s attention was the tallest of the three, directly facing him. A black cloak wrapped this man’s shoulders and his long, murky hair was marked by a stripe of white.

  Verkanus. The mage. The Pursian Emperor. His steed was nowhere to be found.

  The wizard king seemed to pay Bayne no mind. He sat and stared, unblinking, as did the other two men. They formed a triangle, their faces to one another, each just within arms’ reach of the other. They were so still Bayne would have believed they were statues carved from the very mountain if not for the slight rising and falling of their chests.

  Of the other two men, both were familiar.

  The nearest to Bayne sat at an angle so the warrior saw more of his back than his front, but Bayne would never forget the plain, unassuming face of the Ashalic priest Pedrague, a man already considered a saint by many and at one time almost a friend to Bayne. He wore a simple brown robe of rough wool, the hood hanging back behind a head covered with little more than a round patch of auburn hair.

  The third man sat with his side facing Bayne. This one was the least familiar, though he had been seen the most recent. He was the old man at the village that was not quite a village at the foot of the mountain. He was the stranger who had greeted Bayne upon leaving Stagnation. He was Algr. He was Masterson. He was even Valdra. Pieces of all these had come together to form the features of this man in a mixture not altogether unappealing despite its unusual conglomeration. He was dressed in a plain tunic, plain breeches and sandals. A cloak of a heavy homespun material was suspended from his neck and dangled down his back.

  He was the first to move, the first to look at Bayne. He smiled.

  Bayne blinked. It was difficult to stare at this man. His features were known, but they seemed to change even as Bayne stared at him. One moment the proud, aged features of the mercenary Masterson were staring out from beneath this man’s grayed head, the next moment the quizzical look was present of the man from the village that was not quite a village. As soon as Bayne’s eyes would focus on the fellow’s features, they would shift and evaporate as mist then form together once more with a different visage; it was a constant change, not giving the eye a moment to concentrate on one appearance.

  Bayne blinked and shook his head.

  “Welcome, Bayne kul Kanon,” the man said.

  At these words, the other two appeared to come to life. Both looked to Bayne as if they had just risen from a deep sleep and only now were taking notice of the huge figure of the warrior.

  Bayne nodded to the speaker but remained silent. He had found his prey, but the others were unexpected, as was the situation. Better not to speak until he knew more.

  “I see you finally caught up to me,” Verkanus spat.

  Pedrague chuckled. “Did you have any doubts?”

&nbs
p; The king turned his dark gaze upon the priest. “He should not have come. He is not welcome here.”

  “Of course he is welcome,” Pedrague said.

  “All are welcome,” said the man with the shifting face.

  Bayne shrugged. “Welcome or not, here I stand.”

  The face-changer asked, “To what purpose?”

  The warrior pointed a finger at Verkanus. “I am here for that one. He has much to answer.”

  Pedrague grinned and eased back on his stony seat as if to get a better look at Bayne. “Yes, he does, indeed. Which is one of the reasons we three have gathered here today, and are thankful you have arrived to join our group.”

  “He is not welcome,” repeated the king.

  “I care not for the reason you three have met,” Bayne said. “I came here only for Verkanus.”

  “You seek answers,” pointed out the one with the varying features.

  Bayne nodded.

  Verkanus spat to one side. “Then ask your questions, fool. I have business with these two, and wish to conclude it today.”

  The other two men sat quietly.

  Bayne was surprised. Could it be this simple? Ask his questions and receive the answers? This seemed not likely after the extent to which the emperor had gone to prevent his being followed by the warrior.

  Verkanus stood. “Ask your questions or leave. My time here is limited.”

  “Why have you been offering gold for my death?” Bayne asked.

  Verkanus chuckled, his white, perfect teeth showing between twin, pale lips. “Because I owe you nothing. And it is my way to put aside that which I find annoying. You come to me seeking answers to questions. I do not have your answers.”