The Reaver Road

by Dave Duncan

  Several men tried to speak at once, but Jaxian silenced them with a glance. He seemed amused at my insolence. "Give me one clue that you have something of value to say."

  It was fair enough. A man of any real gumption would have told the overseer to start in on my hide, just to see what would happen.

  "Postulant Sanjala," I said.

  He recoiled. He paled above his beard. "P-p-postu … ?" He chewed his mustache and then switched to fingernails. Now I recognized the Jaxian I had seen before. Everyone else watched him in puzzled silence.

  "Very well, Omar," he said at last. "I'll see you g-g-get a square meal and a night's sleep in comfort, whatever you have to say. If it's worth more than that, then I shall p-p-pay well. Even your freedom, maybe." A weak smile flickered under his facial shrubbery. "Isn't that a fair offer?"

  "Not bad. But my friend is here, also. Include him."

  Soldiers growled. The overseer rolled his eyes; his knuckles were white on the butt of his whip.

  Jaxian sniggered. "I think I'll hire him as a t-t-trader!" He smiled expectantly at his companions. They just looked bewildered. "Well, you see I've never been haggled so well by someone with so little to haggle with," he explained lamely.

  "Milord!" said the overseer. "There's no need to waste food on this scum. I can make him talk for you! I can make him do anything you want."

  "Well … er … Um? No, I just gave my word. P-p-p-point out your friend, Omar."

  I pointed out Thorian. Two soldiers marched over and unharnessed him. He was more mobile than I was and looked infinitely more dangerous. They escorted him back with drawn swords.

  I had not realized how bad a mess he was in. His entire face was purple and bulbous like an eggplant, his hair and beard were matted with gore, and he had lost a couple of teeth. He managed to grin bloodily at me when he arrived, but the move must have hurt.

  Jaxian looked so alarmed by this monstrosity looming over us that I could feel my deliverance fading away.

  "Milord," I said, "may I have the inestimable honor of presenting His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Thorian, heir presumptive to the throne of Polrain, Grand Duke of the Thistrain Valley, Vizier of the Order of the Bronze Glove, Lord of the Eastern Marches, et cetera?"

  "Really?" said Jaxian.

  "Absolutely," said I, and probably none of us knew how close I might be to the truth. I could not be far off, for my large friend was certainly a member of the warrior caste and certainly from Polrain. There had been so few survivors, especially among the military families, that he could probably claim half the titles in the kingdom. It was no time to quibble about details, anyway.

  What Thorian thought of his promotion was not readily apparent on his mangled features. He did not argue. He bowed. "I am honored to meet so outstanding a civic leader as Jaxian Tharpit. I congratulate you on your magnificent city of Zanadon."

  The overseer had started to weep with frustration.

  "Er, quite," Jaxian said. He and Thorian had both straightened up, eye to eye. Jaxian had a slight edge in height, probably only because he was wearing sandals. "I have some warrior friends who would like to meet you, er, your …" He could not bring himself to address a slave as royalty.

  Perhaps he had also realized that his soldier companions were all scowling murderously. Whereas any merchant will always assume that any other is a liar and a cheat—justifiably—the warriors of one city regard their equivalents from neighbor cities as spies and dangerous enemies—also justifiably. I had probably marked Thorian to die as soon as Jaxian removed his protection. But that was a problem for another time.

  He turned around and ordered us taken to his carriage. In a few minutes he appeared there also and climbed in beside us. Off we went. Thorian bled on the cushions.

  The carriage was a sort of boat on wheels with a canopy. Four white ponies pulled it, and mounted guards rode ahead. It would have held four normal-size people comfortably, but I was crushed in a corner by Thorian's bulk and Jaxian took up the opposing seats easily. The well between was crowded with oversize legs and feet.

  The roads of Zanadon are paved with granite cobbles; the carriage had no springs. In my already sensitive condition, I found the jostling painful, but at least it kept me awake.

  Had I been in better shape, I should certainly have enjoyed that ride. The streets we followed were not the Great Way, but they were fine avenues, and wide by the standards of walled cities. Ornamented facades of high buildings flowed by on either hand. The crowds were colorful and pleasing to the eye. After weeks of footslogging among the ragged refugees, I could have appreciated the prosperity and the cheerful faces—had I been able to keep my eyes in focus and my mind alert. This was the Zanadon of my dreams.

  Wheeled traffic and swarming pedestrians slowed our progress, but the racket of the wheels made conversation difficult. Jaxian needed reassurance, though. He was looking more worried than ever, probably afraid that he had let me make a fool of him. I could just imagine him trying to explain to his fearsome daddy how the family landau had become so bloodstained. I suppose he was imagining the same scene, and with more vivid detail.

  "Start talking!" he shouted. "I don't have time for the whole story now, b-b-because I have to attend a very important ceremony. I may be late already. My d-driver will take you to a hostelry to eat, and I'll come there as soon as I can. You have my word—all you can eat and a comfortable night's sleep. Now talk!"

  Thorian kicked my ankle.

  Muddled though I was, I did not need his warning. Jaxian Tharpit was a feeble ally. If I blurted out what we had discovered about his father's sacrilegious activities, he would fly into a panic. He might throw us out of the city or he might send us back to the slave gangs, and then the overseers would flog us to death out of spite. The gods themselves would not lay bets on what Jaxian Tharpit might do.

  A digression was called for.

  "We did meet in Urgalon," I said. "Do you recall?"

  He shook his head, looking worried again. "I know I have seen you somewhere … more recently, I should have said."

  "No matter. It was briefly, and some time ago. My name is Omar. You will have heard of my family, the Angilths."

  "What sept?" he demanded suspiciously. I felt Thorian twitch. The Angilths own some of the most productive pits in the notorious devil mines of Arkraz; the clan is rich and widespread. There would be an Angilth representative in Urgalon, and perhaps even in Zanadon itself. Jaxian must know some of them.

  "Jailpor," I said confidently. "My grandfather is the Jailpor of Thraiman. Pray do not judge me by my looks, milord. My father always refers to me as the brown sheep of the family. He accuses my mother of having been overly friendly with the local miller."

  "That is a terrible accusation!" Jaxian shouted. "Scandalous! Has she no b-b-brothers to defend her honor?" He seemed genuinely outraged.

  "I speak in jest, milord! I imply only that my brown hair and gray eyes are a cause of ribaldry within the family, which is known for the darkness of its pigmentation."

  Jaxian was reassured. Thorian relaxed. To raise suspicion and then allay it is a very useful technique, and one advantage of my trade is that I have been to so many places and heard so much.

  In any case, I think I was married to an Angilth girl once, briefly.

  "The family was naturally very concerned to hear about the war in the Spice Lands. The elders are especially worried by the possibility of danger to Zanadon, of course."

  He frowned. "How so?"

  A sudden burst of speed began bouncing us brutally, raising the clatter to an ear-splitting roar. I waited until we slowed down again. Then I forced myself out of my stupor again.

  "Because of the possibility that the Vorkans might sack the city. Even if they did no more than loot the holy figures on the outer walls, they could strip several cartloads of rubies from Maiana. The price would fall disastrously."

  He nodded again, impressed by such mercantile sentiment.

  "So I was dispatched t
o investigate. Indeed, I was sent on a mission of mercy, although of course it has its commercial aspects."

  "Of course," he shouted agreeably.

  "I assembled a small flotilla, and loaded it with weapons and armor. We sailed up the Jolipi, and my ships wait even now at Pulst. I came on ahead to make arrangements, but had the misfortune to be waylaid by one of the ragged gangs of cutthroats now preying upon the refugees. They attacked our camp during darkness. I managed to escape, fleeing naked into the night with nothing but my moneybags, only to be cornered in a caraway plantation. My companions, I believe, were all slaughtered. I should have shared their fate, had not Prince Thorian arrived upon the scene …"

  I had a very stirring rescue coming up next, but I saw that my audience was losing interest. Talk love to a woman, war to a warrior, and money to a merchant—I learned that strategy ages ago. With priests, stick to the weather. I steered the conversation back to the flotilla. Two dhows, three coastal barks, and a couple of luggers, I explained. All of them would be able to navigate the shallow summer waters except possibly the dhows.

  Jaxian demanded details of the cargo. He had totally forgotten about his sister.

  "I do not recall the final detail on the bills," I explained. My throat was sore from shouting. "Four thousand swords, at least. Nearer five. All good Againroian workmanship. Shields and spurs and corselets. A full cargo of horse tackle. Had I not lost my records when the brigands attacked, I could be more specific."

  He nodded understandingly, and tried to yell something over the roar of the cheering, but I could not hear. The carriage bounced to a shuddering halt. Thorian and I stared, Jaxian turned around to look.

  Nowhere have I ever seen briefer twilights than in the Spice Lands—the sun moves faster than a pickpocket's pinkie. Dusk had fallen. Directly ahead of us was the Great Way, but our progress was blocked by an unbroken carpet of people. A glittering procession was proceeding up the hill to the temple: priests and priestesses, soldiers, dignitaries, torchbearers, musicians. Whatever those cornets and dulcimers were playing was completely lost in the din. The entire population of the city lined the way, overflowing into side streets, and thousands of throats clamored in unison: "Maiana! Maiana! Maiana!"

  Even as we watched, the culmination of the parade went by the end of the street where we sat. A litter borne by sixteen priests supported the diminutive figure of High Priestess Squicalm in divine panoply on a silver throne. She was clearly visible over the sea of heads and hats. A hundred torches flamed around her, while the onlookers roared in hysterical jubilation.

  The old crone was either asleep or unconscious, but that did not matter to the citizens. She would be transported in solemn triumph to the House of the Goddess. Tonight Balor would come to his beloved.

  Jaxian squealed in alarm. "I'm late! I must g-get to the t-t-temple!"

  His guards had already perceived the problem. One of the soldiers forced his steed through the crowd until it was alongside the carriage. Then he dismounted, and Jaxian scrambled across into the saddle without as much as a glance back at Thorian and me. Another mounted soldier forced a path for him, and our host disappeared into the mob.

  "Beautifully done, Omar," Thorian yawned.

  "You are too kind," I said graciously, and went to sleep.

  | Go to Table of Contents |

  19: One Down

  However ineffectual Jaxian might seem in person, he wielded the wealth of his family, and his word was good. He had left instructions with the coachman. When Thorian shook me awake, we had arrived at the promised hostelry.

  The Bronze Beaker was not prepossessing on the outside. The stable yard was cramped and smelly, enclosed like a chimney by high buildings. The entrance steps were old and sagging. Inside, though, we were greeted with lights and tantalizing aromas of food and wine. Laughter and music drifted out from behind a rough plank door as the populace celebrated the imminent coming of Balor.

  In front of that door stood the innkeeper—a short, broad man, scowling threateningly at us with his arms folded. We were a filthy, bloody, near-naked pair of indigents, and his dislike was understandable. But the coachman spoke the magic words, and thereafter our host could not do too much for us. Probably the Tharpits owned the place.

  Following Thorian's welted back, I staggered up a narrow, creaking flight of stairs and into a stuffy bedroom. It contained two wide, soft-looking beds, and I started to yawn at the sight of them. The innkeeper was apologizing …

  "It will suffice," Thorian said generously.

  "The city is so crowded, you understand, milords? To allot you separate rooms, I shall have to evict—"

  "This will do admirably," Thorian assured him.

  Sleep!

  But before I could fall from the vertical—the almost vertical, I mean—I discovered we had company. Jaxian had specified complete service, and complete service was what we received. If our host went beyond his instructions, then I make no complaint. I decided that my nap in the carriage had revived me.

  They told us their names, but I was so sleepy I forgot them right away. It did not matter. They were both very lovely. Thorian's was tall and buxom. Mine was slim and slight. She bathed me in a copper tub and tended my wounds. She massaged me with scented unguents. And then, because the room was cramped, my handmaid spread my meal out on my bed. I lay on one side of it and she lay on the other, and she fed me like a child, popping little morsels of roast duck in my mouth and letting me lick her fingers. Also melon and sweet berries and delicious pastries. I did the same for her, and we pulled faces and sniggered a lot. We drank from the same cup. Finally she cleared away the dishes and kept me awake a little while longer so that I might sleep more soundly later. That was the excuse she gave, anyhow. She was lithe in my arms. She was totally delicious.

  I am not a praying man, as you know, but sometimes I stretch a point and mutter a word of thanks. That is mere politeness.

  Splatters of blood glistened brightly red on the laurel bushes. Wind sighed.

  I stood on a battlefield below a darkening sky, while the first stars opened their eyes in horror. Bodies lay all around me, men and horses. The slaughter had not long ceased, for the cries of the wounded told me Morphith was still at his gathering. I heard wailings far away as women advanced onto the field, searching out their dead. I could see blood drying on the torn turf and could smell the bitter smoke of the first pyres.

  Death and desolation …

  Strangely, in the way of dreams, I could not identify the style of the fallen or the emblems on their tumbled banners. So I could not tell who had fought, let alone who had won and who had lost.

  And as I stood amid the carnage, weeping for the folly of it, I heard cheering approaching. A man on a black horse was riding toward me—a big man, in silver armor, bearing a sword. After him came his warriors, the victors who had held the field. Many were limping, many bandaged, but all were acclaiming the leader who had brought them victory. As he passed them, the wounded struggled to rise and follow, if they could, or to wave if they could not, and they also joined in the shouting.

  In the way of dreams, he came to me. He reined his horse and looked down at me from his great height, and his multitude of followers fell silent, all staring at me reproachfully.

  I saluted the leader. He sheathed his sword. His beard was matted with sweat and gray with dust.

  "It was prophesied!" he told me angrily.

  "It was prophesied," I agreed. "You did as required, and the gods applaud."

  He nodded, as if relieved. Then he removed his helmet to show his face. He was Thorian, of course, and he wore the golden diadem of kingship.

  The day was bright when I awoke. Little light managed to reach our window, but it sufficed to tell me that dawn had long passed. I lay with my eyes closed, trying to remember where I was and why I felt as if I had been beaten all over with rods. I smelled old wine and candles and soap. Dreams …

  "Omar!" said a deep voice again.

  I ope
ned my eyelids, and even they seemed to ache.

  Thorian was standing over me. "The door is barred!"

  "Doesn't … argh … surprise me," I said around a yawn. The gifts had gone. They would have had other clients waiting, of course.

  "We must leave!"

  I moved one toe, and it ached. That left a few thousand other joints and muscles to try. "Why? I'm rather happy here."

  He uttered his lion grunt, and I found it an oddly comforting sound. "Because Jaxian Tharpit will be coming to hear the message you are supposed to have for him. He will turn us over to the slavers again."

  I thought about that. I thought about the message. Sleep receded swiftly. I bent a protesting arm and scratched. "It's morning!" I said—not too intelligently, I admit.

  "Yes it is."

  I scratched more of me. "Then his sister is now Maiana and Gramian Fotius is … Urckl preserve us!"

  "Who?"

  "Never mind. I don't suppose there was anything we could have done anyway."

  Thorian sighed and sat down on the edge of my bed. It creaked and canted. He seemed to be as stiff as I was, and his back was a tartan of purple and red stripes where he had been flogged. His face looked better than it had the night before, but he was still the obvious loser of a major battle.

  "I don't suppose there was," he said sadly. "And I can't believe that the Holy Gramian Fotius is in any danger from me now."

  "Well, you never can tell. We don't have any clothes, do we?"

  "No."

  "And we can't climb out that window. What's wrong?"

  "Listen!" Thorian said.

  I listened. "I can't hear anything."

  "Neither can I."

  Morning in a crowded inn, in a busy city—a city with cobbled streets and many soldiers? Not a sound. Nothing.

  There is an old legend about a traveler who arrives by night in a strange city to find a carnival in progress. He joins in the dancing and merrymaking, and wakens in the morning to … but I expect you know the tale.