The Reaver Road

by Dave Duncan

  "Exactly. And the citizens spitefully dropped rocks upon him, wrecking serious hurt upon his workers and damage to their morale. And thus was he foiled."

  "Your conclusion lacks a certain artistic finality. Did the mighty Susian merely march off in a huff, then?"

  Thorian pushed back his bush of hair with fingers like the handles of trowels. "Far from it. He contrived a ram of enormous length, purposing to bring the whole might of his army against those very gates you observe. And such was the multitude of his legions that he filled the entire ramp with armored men, from the fevered paddies of the plain even to where we stand below the towers."

  "Ah! The image bears intimations of impending disaster.''

  "Verily. Before the gates could be forced, they were flung open, and the army of Zanadon swept out with Immortal Balor himself at their head."

  "Great was the slaughter?"

  "Great was the slaughter."

  "They ran like vermin?"

  "Not so. Susian himself was smitten by Balor in person, of course."

  "Of course. But some must have escaped. The ramp is narrow when we consider the magnitude of the forces involved."

  "They all perished! The van was struck down by Balor and his cohorts in conventional fashion, I admit, but so great was the torrent of blood that flowed down the ramp that the rearguard drowned in it and was swept away into the Jolipi! Not a man survived to bear the story home to Thereby."

  "It has scope," I admitted. "It conjures an epic vision. I am grateful to you for this, Thorian."

  "You are most welcome. But now I observe that we are free of the attentions of our guards, and I feel ready to hazard the strength of my arm against these insolent bonds. There is a link here that seems inferior to its fellows."

  "Let your manifest virility be curbed by patience," I said. "There is no sanctuary there." I gestured to the ramp, running down forever, straight and steep, crowded with refugees and camels and mule trains. "Two fugitives may evade pursuit in this tumult, I grant you, but we need refuge. The Vorkans are coming, and we must enter the city."

  "We shall have no better opportunity," the big man said, scowling suspiciously at me.

  "Yes we shall!" I insisted. "Did I not assure you that they would bring us to the gate, and not to some distant quarry? Trust me. More important—trust the gods! Tonight we shall sleep in freedom within Unvanquished Zanadon, I promise."

  Thorian stared hard at me and then shrugged his great shoulders. "You have much faith in the power of prayer!"

  "I never pray," I snapped. "It is the worst of errors. Now hush, for I think our captors return."

  I had no reason to say so; I wished only to contemplate my surroundings, for this was an experience worth savoring. One leaf of the gates stood closed, and the remainder of the passage was packed with a screaming, struggling multitude:

  Soldiers in bronze armor, shining bloodred in the sunset, raised empty hands to show they came as suppliants, clamoring of their prowess and the battles they had fought …

  Bulky merchants in their many-colored swaths, howling that their permits were still valid and fumbling for bribes as they were evicted from the city …

  Smug, black-bearded citizens showing their passes calmly and being bowed in through the throng …

  Pack beasts, and wagons, and slaves bearing carrying chairs …

  An ambassador and his entourage in cloth of gold, spluttering purple outrage at the indignity being heaped upon his monarch—and being turned away regardless …

  Noble ladies in silks and gems, seeking to sell their bodies on any terms to anyone who could win them residency …

  Rich men sobbing as they offered their all …

  The Vorkans were coming.

  I sighed, hungry for all the tales I saw there and would never hear, and for the irony, also. Because, when the evening chaos was settled, then fourteen near-naked men would be admitted before the gate was closed—admitted merely for a spell, of course, until they completed their labor or it killed them. That was the intent. I have a weakness for irony.

  Far below the plain was shadowed now, and the lights of fires showed a litter of campsites as far as the eye could see. There were the richer refugees, leaders with many followers—petty kings who had abandoned their cities, defeated generals with the remains of their armies, displaced tribes of the uplands, all come to offer allegiance to Unvanquished Zanadon and pay the price of entry with the blood and muscle of their young men. Eventually the young men would choose to enter as slaves—for a spell—and the leaders would starve outside. The Vorkans would loot their bones. Or the Zanadonians might. It would depend on timing, I decided.

  Oh, the tales to be gathered on that plain! The threads of ten thousand lives … love and death, rape and sacrifice, hate and friendship. Could I but stretch one evening to a mortal life span, I could not gather all those stories, and I must shun them all, for the sake of what awaited me within the walls of Zanadon the Never Vanquished.

  As the sun dipped into the plain, a whip cracked, and we were driven forward through the gates, into the city.

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  4: Escape

  The vista disclosed to the traveler as he first enters ancient Zanadon has been praised since the dawn of tourism and lauded by poets unnumbered. I was thus unfortunate in that I could see nothing except Thorian's wide back.

  I do not complain, though, because I regard complaint as a paramount sin. I was steadfastly disregarding my weariness and the weakness of hunger, and doing my best to ignore my burden of chain. In truth, I was very glad to escape from the minatory scrutiny of the sentinel gods, whose obvious suspicion was worrisome.

  But I did want to see the view.

  Progress was slow and frequently blocked altogether. At those times I could stand on tiptoe and peer over the big man's shoulder at the fabled splendor of the jeweled city. I saw it through a forest of pot-shaped hats, but I saw it.

  "It is impressive," he muttered. "I deplore untoward ostentation as a rule, but there is a point at which sheer excess can raise vulgarity itself to the stature of an art."

  "They say no true count of the shining towers has ever been made, and the domes are without number," I countered.

  "But they have only one temple. I call that paltry."

  "Narrow-minded, perhaps."

  "I am at a loss for further comparisons."

  I informed him that the poet Fimloo had praised the king of Urgalon's new palace by deeming it "Fit to be a slum in Zanadon," and the king had rewarded his flattery with gold.

  Thorian twisted his head around in his metal collar and regarded me skeptically out of the corner of his eye. "Monarchs rarely appreciate such subtlety of metaphor!"

  "Melted gold," I admitted. "He washed out Fimloo's mouth with it. But all witnesses agree that this street is without peer."

  The Great Way, to which I referred, is paved in whitest marble and wide enough to march an army fifty men abreast. It is flanked by mansions and palaces, ornamented with statues and fountains, and shaded by enough great trees to furnish a small jungle. Seen from the perspective of the gate, it narrows like an arrowhead, whose point rests at the entry pillars of the temple on the highest point of the mount, far away and high above.

  The ziggurat itself is no mean edifice, and it is capped by the House of the Goddess, although all that could be detected of it at that distance was the gleam of its golden dome. Yet the pyramid is quite overshadowed by the two statues that flank it, Maiana and Balor. In design they match the figures guarding the portal, but are free-standing and greater in size. Eagles fly around their heads like gnats, and they overlook everything.

  Thus I found myself again under the foreboding gaze of the twin deities. They could obviously see me peering at them over Thorian's shoulder, and I found their frowns worrisome.

  "Truly," I murmured, "no city is better guarded by its gods than Zanadon the Unvanquished."

  "That sounds like a prayer," said Thorian.
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  "It was intended as a statement of principle."

  Conversation was interrupted when our bridles yanked us forward again. The area of the Great Way just inside the gate was crammed to bursting with citizens and soldiers. Slaves brandished flaming torches before their masters. Odors of people and livestock and evening meals warred in the air. Wagons of provisions rolling in jostled empty wagons hurrying out, ponies and mules and camels pushed through the tumult, and everyone seemed to be cracking whips and shouting oaths and orders all at once. The weeping rich who had bought their way in were being methodically stripped to the garb of paupers, so they could be evicted the following dawn, as the law required. The fair women were being led off to whatever vile servitude they had accepted.

  The coffle halted again. Again I rose on tiptoe to admire the view. Maiana and Balor still stood at the top of their city, shining red in the sunset as if enraged by this unseemly pandemonium. They were still staring right at me.

  For some time Captain Fotius and his men struggled to clear a way through the crowds. They were tired and eager to complete their task and return to their homes. They bullied and shoved and shouted themselves hoarse in the din, but so great was the press that they made little progress, while the sky overhead darkened to slate and the smoky torches flamed ever brighter.

  Had I not been watching for the opportunity I expected, it would have killed me. A binding failed on a wagon, and great barrels of wine went rumbling off. The horses of the following wagon shied and reared.

  "Now!" I yelled, and threw myself against Thorian's back, grabbing with both hands for the chain between us. Thorian seized his own tether with intent to snap it, but he had no chance then. The runaway team plowed through the crowd and into the chain gang.

  The other twelve slaves died instantly, of broken necks. Many of the guards and bystanders were less fortunate. I was yanked forward inside my load of chains and then whipped bodily into a party of jugglers and acrobats being deported as undesirables. I thought my bronze wrappings had crushed me, but they granted me some protection as I was dragged through the carnage.

  When I came to a stop, I was under the wagon, with my nose touching one of the rear wheels, so close had it come to rolling over my head. I surmised from the incredible amount of noise I could hear that I was still alive, and I forced my fists to relax their death grip on the tether. By twisting my head, I could see Thorian's familiar back, although at an unusual angle. It rippled, strained, and then said, "Ha!"

  Having thus freed himself from the corpse ahead of him, Thorian rolled over. His hair and beard were spattered with blood. "You are profligate with your powers, Sorcerer!" he said angrily.

  I made incoherent noises through a bruised larynx and a broken neck.

  "Can your magic sever this tether?" Thorian demanded.

  I shook my head. I licked my lips and tasted blood, although probably not my own.

  Thorian wrapped the chain around his fists. The muscles of his arms bulged like melons, and veins swelled in his forehead. I joined in, and we heaved together. The chain stretched but did not come apart. We relaxed with simultaneous gasps.

  "Pity," the big man said. "As I postulated, there was a defective link in the other. Nevertheless, I am minded now to view the sights of the city, including all points of historic and artistic interest, and I propose to drag you along in the hope of furthering your education."

  I made no demur.

  We wriggled out from under the wagon and then struggled to our feet. Onlookers were attempting to aid the wounded, while shouting descriptions of their own narrow escapes over the screams. Flaming torches waved in the gloom. Amid the confusion, we two slaves were barely noticed.

  "Heavy!" I croaked, indicating the chain still looped about my neck. Despite Thorian's wounded leg, he could probably manage the additional burden better than I.

  "Permit me this indignity," the giant said, and scooped me up bodily. "Look damaged, if you can."

  "That I can manage," I groaned.

  Shouting for a medic, Thorian bulled through the crowd, using me as a battering ram. As we reached the outskirts, however, we came face to face with the towering mass of Corporal Gramian Fotius.

  Clearly, although the names might escape him, the faces were familiar. He said, "Hey!" and then, "Huh?" and went down before Thorian's charge in a crash of metal. Thorian stepped on his face and kept on running. Shouts went up behind us. Pedestrians stepped hurriedly out of the way, and we disappeared into the darkness of an alley.

  Limping harder as he tried to make speed, Thorian rounded a corner, into an even narrower alley, flanked by high walls and roofed by the last glow of twilight. It was familiar. I said, "Stop here!"

  Thorian stopped and set me down, panting loudly. "More magic now?"

  "No magic." I hauled off my burden of chain. "There are spikes atop this gate."

  "A regrettable display of inhospitability," the giant said, accepting the chain. He arranged the loops as best he could in the dark, swung them to and fro a few times, and then hurled. The snake seemed to hiss as it unwound upward, and so great was the violence of the throw that my collar almost yanked my head off. Then the string crumpled and fell back to earth, rumbling against the far side of the gate.

  "Awrk!" I said, having to rise on my toes to breathe.

  Thorian tugged on the dangling end. "It would appear to have caught on one of the spikes," he said resignedly. "No magic?"

  "You should have retained some slack," I gasped.

  "I shall keep that procedure in mind for next time." The big man cupped his hands for my foot and hoisted me as high as he could—which was not very high, because our necks could not be located much more than a cubit apart. I leaned a knee on his shoulder until I managed to locate one of the metal collars. I put a foot in that for support.

  Thorian spurned such aids. Using the chain as a rope, he went up it hand over hand, bracing his feet against the planks. I preferred to utilize the empty collars as ladder rungs. The procedure was awkward and noisy, for the tether joining us restricted our freedom. The chain rattled on the gate, the gate clamored against its hinges, I was repeatedly banged against it, and Thorian swore a string of resonant oaths. Soon half the city must come running to investigate. I tried very hard not to think what would happen to my neck if I fell, especially if the big man came down on top of me.

  We were both half choked when we came level with the top and peered over. The space below was obviously a kitchen yard for some great mansion, enclosed by storage sheds and the side of the house itself. An alarming amount of light was streaming from the windows, but as yet no one had come to investigate the racket.

  My companion had noted the silence. "No dogs, even?"

  "Mayhap we have stumbled upon a holy hospice for the chronically deaf," I suggested.

  Thorian began hauling himself up to a precarious perch between the closely spaced spikes. Had he slipped and toppled over, of course, I should have been shredded on the spikes as he dragged me after him. I tried not to think about that, either.

  When he was safely over, hanging on to the top, I followed, and I also succeeded in passing the spikes without impaling myself. Anyone coming along the alley was going to have a clear view of these two foolhardy burglars performing acrobatics, backlit by the bright windows of the mansion. The occupants should be able to hear us, or see us, just by glancing out a window.

  The only really surprising thing is the expected.

  Side by side, we clung on the far side, while Thorian struggled to free the chain, for the lucky link had been well jammed onto its anchoring spike. Just as I concluded that my arms must come loose first—and Thorian was hanging on with one hand only—he solved the problem by ripping the spike from the wood. "On three," he said. "One. Two. Three."

  With two thuds and a jangle, we were down. For a moment we just sat there, sweating and panting, side by side.

  Angry shouts and a patter of sandals went past in the alley.

  "You
r mastery of timing is the mark of a true professional," Thorian said. "You must have done this hundreds of times."

  "The true artist never repeats himself," I replied modestly. "The followers of the Ineffable Hasmarn eschew the eating of fowl. Have you religious objections to consuming the flesh of birds?"

  "Your interest in my beliefs has been provoked by that large goose cooling on the windowsill?"

  I said I believed he could reach it.

  "I am sure you are mistaken, but let us investigate."

  We rose to our feet simultaneously. I gathered up the excess chain. Like Siamese twins, we walked together across the yard. Thorian could not reach the goose, but I cupped hands for him to step on—to show that I was capable of the feat, even if only briefly. With that advantage, he grabbed the prize. He jumped down.

  "Ouch! This brute is hot!"

  "I detest people who complain all the time. Let us see what these elegant amphorae contain."

  The gate we had come over was large enough to admit wagons, and a platform alongside the house was obviously intended for unloading them. Several large clay ewers were standing on it. I sniffed at the seals.

  "Not olive oil, to be sure."

  "That is encouraging."

  "Wine, I think. Have you any religious obj—"

  "None whatsoever. Now produce a safe place to drink it, Sorcerer."

  I glanced around. There would be somewhere safe to hide, of course. The white-painted storage sheds were generously barred and padlocked. They probably contained not only household supplies but the stock in trade of a family business. The doors had obviously been designed not only to resist burglars, but also to reveal any attempt at tampering.

  Another door led into the house itself, and the windows were attainable, if my friend could remove the gratings. Even as I considered the prospect, I heard laughing voices within. People were coming. I knew there would be somewhere … I took a harder look at the loading dock.

  "Consider these steps," I said. "They are well made, you agree? Good fieldstone, smoothly finished but unmortared. If you were to leave off your disgusting gnawing for a moment, I believe you could lift one edge of this topmost tread?"