The Reaver Road

by Dave Duncan

  Thorian dropped the bird and gripped the slab. Again his muscles bulged, and the great stone slowly tilted upward. I slipped the wine jug into the gap as a prop. I dropped the loose chain inside and clambered in feet first. The space was not high enough to stand erect and was restricted to the area of the steps—it did not extend under the dock itself. No matter that it seemed to be paved with broken glass, nothing had bitten me or stung me. Thorian followed with the goose, then braced his shoulders against the lid so I could remove the amphora.

  With a gentle grating noise the slab settled back into position, and we sat down together in the dark.

  For some time thereafter, the only sounds were those of chewing and swallowing.

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  5: The Tale of Omar

  "I do not believe there is anything left on this carcass," I remarked. "Do you wish to try another gnaw?"

  "Certainly! I do not give up so easily. More wine?"

  "I think not. It is a worthy vintage, but I might become drowsy."

  There was a sound of bones crunching. "You promised me," Thorian said with his mouth full, "that we should sleep as free men in Zanadon. At the risk of seeming ungrateful, I concede that I had hoped for more expansive quarters."

  "These are temporary. I chose them on the grounds of privacy and quiet. The ventilation is barely acceptable, I agree."

  "And my left knee is in my right ear. Furthermore, the long-dead artisans who constructed this place—may Morphith cherish their souls—seem to have used it to dump all the leftover fragments of masonry. They are excessively sharp on the soles of the feet and other surfaces."

  "This is an advantage. Having sated my hunger, I now propose to saw through our tether with one of these shards."

  Thorian grunted approvingly. "Weaken a link and I can do the rest. The collars are too thick, though."

  "I fear so." Having located a suitable fragment, I set to work filing the tether under my chin.

  The bolt hole was certainly unpleasantly stuffy. It stank of wine and goose and the blood that had soaked us. It would have been cramped for two even had the second occupant been of more standard size than Thorian.

  "If you detect my hands upon your person, friend Omar, I hope you will not think badly of me. I purport to locate your other chain, so I may assist you."

  "Your kindness is beyond belief," I said quickly, "but I think one at a time will be adequate. After all, we have hours to kill yet before the city quietens down, and my neck can take only so much scraping and bruising."

  "Of course. Forgive my stupidity."

  For a while he crunched bone as loudly as I rasped on metal. Then he continued in the same diffident tone. "Your resources impress me, Trader of Tales. Will you permit a personal question?"

  "Ask and I will answer."

  "Then outline for me the limits of your magic. Why should so puissant a sorcerer choose to bloody his fingers rasping at a chain with a fragment of flint like a savage from the Huli Desert? Why did you suffer the humiliation and discomfort of the slave train? I am perplexed by this inconsistency."

  "By my oath and honor, this is truth, friend Thorian: I am no sorcerer! I have no powers such as you postulate."

  "Oh? You have demonstrated an ability to foretell the future, and you created demonic havoc upon many denizens of this great city. You contrived to skewer a tiny loop of chain upon a spike—and not just any spike. Most of them were rotted and corroded. A few had been replaced, and it was upon one of those that you secured our escape. Food and drink and a place of concealment were waiting for us, and our entry escaped notice both within and without the wall."

  "Pure luck."

  Thorian growled low, a sound such as might indicate frustration in a very large predator. It then occurred to me that my companion was a proven carnivore of remarkable size, and certainly capable of violence. To provoke him might be unwise under any circumstances, and all the more so when sharing very intimate confinement with him.

  "I am neither seer nor mage," I insisted. "I have faith in the gods, is all."

  "Yet you spurn to pray, you said."

  "Pray? Prayer is whining or complaint or boasting. I do not bore the gods by telling them what they already know, nor do I presume to advise them. I accept whatever they care to send, pain or pleasure."

  I continued scraping uninterrupted for a while, occasionally striking sparks like shooting stars in the darkness. Evidently the big man was considering my words carefully. I could guess at the skeptical expression on his rough-hewn face.

  "You do not give thanks for their blessings?"

  "If I am to thank the gods when my life is sweet, then to be consistent I should curse them when I am sick or hungry or injured or hankering for a woman. Or mourning a lost friend," I added, thinking of dark-eyed Illina mostly.

  "You never seek their aid in distress? I fear they may test your resolve some day."

  "They have done so, a time or two," I said. "I endure without reproach. They know they made me mortal, and breakable. One day they will kill me. No man can refuse death. I accept life, also, as it comes."

  "Then you ignore the gods and deem them irrelevant?"

  "Far from it! I seek always to amuse them." I chuckled. "Friend Thorian—and I am proud to address you so—you gifted me with the tale of Susian of Thereby, and I am richer for it. If you wish, I shall repay my debt with a tale of my own, the tale of my origins."

  "I promise not to go away."

  "Good." For a moment I gathered my thoughts. I had told stories in the dark before—for I have done almost everything before, at one time or another—but it is always a strange experience. The same story is never spoken twice the same. A tale must be molded to its listeners as a glove is cut to a hand, and in the dark I have no way to judge the reactions of my audience.

  Moreover, I had not yet appraised this cryptic giant. In appearance he was brutish, although that was partly due to his unkempt condition and a natural reaction to the surroundings in which I had found him. He could be gentle in his movements, and subtle of speech. He had claimed to have battled with the Vorkans, and few survived to make that boast. The wound that disfigured his torso had come within a finger's width of gutting him. He was an interesting specimen.

  "I was born," I began, "some forty years ago, in the great maritime city of Quairth, on the Peacock Coast of Leilan. It lies far to the east, across the racing seas, but you may have heard tell of its exquisite porcelain finger bowls, or even of the Quairth Grater, an amusing local device for the execution of criminals. My parents were keepers of a wayside hostelry, the Gilded Lily, not far from the docks. They were hardworking folk, and honest."

  "Honest?"

  "Relatively speaking. Of course they might extend to a solitary traveler of obvious means certain unadvertised services, but they were careful not to overindulge, and they always saw to it that the remains were buried with reverence. A too-strict following of the letter of the law would make it impossible for a working man to pay his taxes—so my father always said, and with good reason. Apart from that, they found a reputation for civility and fair value to be the surest stimulus to trade.

  "As I mentioned, their establishment was located near the harbor, and much patronized by mariners and dealers in exotic merchandise. My earliest memories are of crawling around under the tables, searching for lost coins and licking up the beer spills."

  "It must have been a happy time for you."

  "Indeed it was. But I look back with even greater joy to my later childhood, when I would spend long hours spellbound by the tales the sailors told, of far lands and fabled cities. It was then, of course, harkening to their stories of peoples and gods unknown in Leilan, that I acquired my lifelong interest in anecdote as an art form."

  "You epitomize that artistry, if I may say so."

  "You are too kind. In time, also, I began to build a repertoire of such sailor yarns, and took to retelling them, entertaining the clientele and polishing my delivery.
I confess that in my childish innocence, I fell at times into the folly of embellishing my material, but I am happy to relate that I outgrew that foible and learned never to stray from the stringent truth.

  "I omitted to mention that I was an only son. My parents were blessed also with three comely daughters, older than I, and at busy times I would keep the customers amused while they waited for my sisters. It was good for business, and the family encouraged my efforts."

  "They must have been very proud of you," Thorian said. "Is that chain weak enough yet for me to heave on it a little?"

  "If you can do so without dashing my brains out in this confined space, then I should be happy to profit yet again from your enviable brawn."

  Thorian grasped the collar in one giant hand and snapped the chain with a sharp yank of the other.

  "I am obliged to you," I said hoarsely, rubbing my throat.

  "My pleasure. Now let me relieve you of the other end, while you continue your epic tale." He fumbled for a sharp rock and began sawing at another link.

  "There is little more to tell. Business had been poor and taxes were due—possibly my mother had been a trifle careless. One unusually well-dressed guest was traced by his heirs as far as the Gilded Lily and no farther. These ill-motivated persons began spreading rumors and eventually incited a riot. That night—actually it was closer to morning—I returned from visiting a friend to discover the hostel in flames and my dear parents dangling side by side from the sign bracket above the door.

  "It was a shock, of course, to a tender lad of fifteen, and a lamentable end to a fine family business. I never discovered how my sisters fared, but I was told they had escaped, and am confident that they were all possessed of a fortitude and resilience that would have enabled them to prosper. Their skills were widely praised among the maritime community, although of course I never experienced them at firsthand.

  "So there I was, orphaned and penniless, having no trade and no talent except a certain glibness of tongue. Forgive me if that remark sounds boastful, but I am looking back at my early life from a great distance of years and seeking to be impartial."

  "I am sure your judgment of your own youthful potential is justified by the fruits evidenced in your manhood," Thorian said politely.

  I thanked him sincerely. "Of course my woolly head was packed tight with dreams of romance and heroism, wonders and epic valor. There was nothing I could do to secure my parents' welfare, nor my sisters', either. I therefore slipped away and enlisted on a merchantman, the Perfumed Violet , trading to the Cinnabar Islands."

  I felt around in the dark to locate the wine jug. I washed the dryness from my mouth and then continued.

  "All of us, I suppose, sooner or later lose our youthful illusions and learn to face the hard realities of adult life. In my case, I discovered that a sailor's existence lacked the romance and adventure I had been led to anticipate. I found instead only monotony and hardship and heartbreaking toil. Towered cities were almost as rare as firmbreasted maidens breathing words of desire while they shed silks and showered jewels. Bad food and sour water were my daily lot.

  "Oh, I admit that there was the odd sea monster and a few skirmishes with pirates where I acquitted myself reasonably well, I think. And the ravishing maidens were not entirely absent. But to dwell on those exceptional events would give you an entirely false impression of the few brief weeks I spent on shipboard.

  "When the Perfumed Violet was wrecked on the Dauntless Rocks during a typhoon—with great loss of life, I am afraid, although I contrived to rescue several of my mates—I seized the opportunity to take up another profession, and eventually settled upon that of professional storyteller."

  "A very sound decision," Thorian said.

  "One thing I had learned, though. All those sailor stories I heard in my childhood had been entertaining enough, and no one can doubt that the events they relate actually happened, but I now saw that the stories were repeated over and over, while the events themselves had only happened once. A man might have a hundred tales to tell, but ninety-nine of them would be hearsay and only one of them sifted from his own experience. This was a shattering revelation to me!

  "Stories, in short, were faint shadows of reality. Having seen that, I reached my paramount conclusion, a principle which has ever after been the guiding star of my existence.''

  "I believe the chain is about ready to snap," Thorian said. "Well, perhaps just a little more."

  "Whenever you are ready. My belief, my article of faith if you will, is this: The stories are entertainment for mortals, but the events themselves are entertainment for gods."

  "Expressed like that, the truth is self-evident, but I cannot recall ever hearing it stated."

  "Nor I. But I saw then that the true vocation of a trader of tales must be to witness epic events at firsthand, so that his narratives may be buttressed by the finality of truth. I decided that I would go wherever the gods sent me and see whatever the gods allowed me to see. They know me for a reliable witness. I do not pester them with pleas or imprecations or arguments. I accept hardship and luxury with equal serenity of mind, allowing neither to sway me from my duty.

  "And thus," I concluded, "the gods often allow me to be present on important occasions. I observe and record. They make my presence possible, sometimes, by arranging minor incidents to advantage—as you saw happen this evening. After all, what seemed to you to be wonders were all in themselves mere trifles, of no significance. The chain you threw so expertly had to come down somewhere, so why not on a spike?"

  "In total, though, such trifles add up."

  "The whole world is made of grains of sand. Who but the gods can count them or decree their motion? It cost them very little to arrange my presence here."

  "Just to observe?"

  "And later, I hope, to recount. Oh, once in a while they trust me to participate in great events in a small way, because they know I will cooperate without demur. How is that link?"

  "Finished," Thorian said, and he snapped the chain without adding a bruise to my neck. "Your narrative has moved me deeply."

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  6: The Tale of Thorian

  "I am honored by your praise," I said, reaching for the wine bottle again.

  "A couple of points obtrude, though. You will not mind if I query?"

  "Not at all. Ask for any clarification you desire."

  "At the beginning you stated your age as near to forty. When I observed you this evening, I assessed you at little more than half that."

  "You flatter me," I said cautiously. "Or I may have overestimated the ravages of recent hardship on my countenance."

  "More likely. And the second thing that troubles me is that this fascinating narrative does not agree at all with what you told Corporal Fotius on the ramp."

  "I had not realized you heard. Besides, to honor a thug like that with anything approaching authentic truth would seriously conflict with my professional sensibilities."

  "I agree with you there," Thorian said, and there was a sound of wine being gulped. "Ah! Good stuff, er, noble vintage, I mean. Yea, I have suffered great insolence from that Corporal Fotius these past three days. Despite this wound on my belly, which still troubles me, I should dearly love to meet with him again, on even terms, man to man."

  "The contest would be an interesting one!" I said, contemplating the artistic possibilities. "Action, drama, balance … valor rewarded or ultimate pathos? It would have to be to the death, of course."

  "If the match is even close to fair I will accept the stakes gladly."

  "Then be of good cheer. That is exactly the sort of encounter the gods would find entertaining. While I do not presume to advise them on such matters, I judge it conceivable that they will arrange it."

  "Your words hearten me greatly! I shall spend some thought in planning how best I may reduce the scurvy lout to a small heap of canapés." The big man chuckled ominously.

  "And now," he added, "are we ready to essay our d
eparture from these fortuitous but cramped surroundings?"

  "Not yet, I fear. We need the streets deserted if we are to parade around in bronze collars. After midnight."

  He groaned faintly and rearranged his great limbs in the tiny space. "Have we far to go?"

  I admitted that I had no idea.

  After a significant silence, he said, "When we first spoke, you told me of a safe refuge awaiting you within the city. I am already more grateful to you than words can express, Trader of Tales, and if your friends here will aid me also, then I—"

  "I have no friends here," I said. "Not yet. I did not say I knew of a safe refuge. I said I could lead us to one. I already have—here. I should have been more humble, of course, and specified that it was the gods who would lead me and that you could follow, but I wished to discourage lengthy debate under the circumstances. Forgive me this trifling misunderstanding."

  Thorian grunted. It was the sort of grunt that might drift over the plain at twilight to stampede the shy gazelle into sharp-clawed ambush, and it made my scalp prickle. "And where do you go from here?"

  I explained patiently that I would go wherever the gods led me, that they had wanted me in Zanadon and would not suffer me to be thrown out until I had recorded whatever it was that was about to happen. I even mentioned my suspicions that Krazath himself was involved.

  Thorian drew breath. "Sztatch? Balor?"

  "Or Phail. He is known by all those names."

  "Have you ever considered the possibility that you may be a ward of Foofang, Trader?"

  "Are not the mazed held blessed of all the gods?" I asked patiently. I have debated this matter many times, and it never leads to profitable resolution. "If my wits are scrambled at the moment it is because of the air in here. Would you care to lift that lid just a fraction so that I may slip a pebble under the edge?"

  "Excellent thinking," he agreed, and so it was done. A welcome draft of cool fresh air caressed our fevered skins. Faint light along the slit showed that lamps still burned in the windows beyond.