The Reaver Road

by Dave Duncan

  Shalial knelt and wiped his face. "Lord?" she whispered in fear. "What do you need?"

  "Wine," he mumbled. "And food. I haven't eaten all day. And a wash wouldn't hurt, either."

  We brought all those things, for we had them waiting. He quaffed wine and looked a little better. Shalial washed him as I pushed food in his mouth—enormous quantities of food. He ate like a starving horse. He even ate lying on his stomach while she wiped his back and massaged him.

  Then he waved away the rest of the food, and Shalial had finished. He still sat on the floor, a huge man worn out by a mighty battle. His eyelids drooped.

  He glanced at me with puzzlement for a moment, as if bothered by something. Then he remembered. "He lives. He did very well. He made a good start."

  "I thank you," I said. "A start on what?"

  Jaxian shook his head wearily. "I have no idea. Who are we talking about? That's all I know."

  "Can you walk to the bed, Lord?" Shalial inquired anxiously, kneeling beside him. I wondered if she and I could lift him, and decided it was just barely possible but I would rather not try.

  "I suppose I could," he muttered. He laid a hand on floor to push and then sagged again.

  She glanced at me, bit her lip, and then asked, "The god has gone?"

  "His work is done, love."

  She nodded. He puckered his lips invitingly. She knelt and gave him a chaste kiss.

  Jaxian shook his head sadly. "No, that was too sisterly."

  She tried again.

  "Aha!" he cried, and scrambled to his feet, hauling her up after him. He enveloped her in his great arms, and they kissed with passion.

  I headed for the door. As I went by them, I slapped his shoulder. "Anything else you need?" I asked. "Some tamarisk, maybe?"

  "Out!" roared Balor's terrible voice.

  I leaped like a rabbit. As I closed the door behind me, I heard laughter, and the bed creak.

  On my way out through the tiring room, I paused to wrap a towel around myself. I felt much better for it. Indeed I sensed a rush of reality as if I were awakening for the first time in two days, or sobering. The world came into sharper focus. I saw the ancient temple stones in the walls and the dancing flames on the candles. I smelled old soap, and old soup, and leather, and the faintest hint of tamarisk. I heard distant chanting, as the temple routine continued in the ways it had for thousands of years, ever since there had been only a grove of trees upon a hill. I could imagine that grove as clearly as if I had seen it myself.

  When I emerged into the waiting room beyond, I came face to face with the odious high priest. He looked stressed, and weary, and his bulging crimson robe was blotched with sweat. He sank down to his knees, but that was probably just in case anyone else blundered into the room. He was eyeing me in a way a true worshippee would find disrespectful.

  He might yet fear Balor, but my smile could never be enigmatic enough to deceive Nagiak. He knew me for a mortal imposter, and he would not tolerate me long.

  "Have you troubles, Holy Father?" I inquired cheerfully.

  He pursed his fat lips thoughtfully and then decided to continue the deception for at least a few more minutes. "None, Lord. Has Immortal Balor need of us? Is there anything he requires?" The man was bursting with unasked questions and dangerous resentment. And perhaps a little fear—but not much.

  "We think he would prefer to remain undisturbed tonight. We ourselves have a couple of small wants, though."

  His flabby face puckered in suspicion, candlelight gleaming on his shaven scalp. "Anything your Godhead desires is our foremost ambition," he squeaked, with a touching absence of sincerity.

  "The city gates are closed?"

  Ah! He beamed in sly satisfaction. "I expect so, Lord."

  "But you have a good coil of rope and some reliable young fellow to haul it up again afterward? Perhaps a suitable swath and a pair of sandals? A handful of small change and a bag of food would be a kindness for services rendered. We are mindful to see more of the effects of the battle, you understand, so that we may record them for history."

  "I think that much could be arranged." Smiling odiously, he scrambled to his feet. "You are leaving us?"

  "I am. I'll even make a deal with you."

  Priests take to deals as merchants take to gold or warriors to blood. He rubbed his hands. "Lord?"

  "You come with me yourself and give me your solemn oath that you won't cut the rope when I'm halfway down the wall—and I'll tell you exactly how we did it."

  Nagiak blinked and then began to laugh shrilly.

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  30: The Reaver Road

  I arrived at the wide glare of a river and a ford, and they seemed familiar to me. The water was low, with many shoals of golden sand shining in the noon sun. A few dark specks here and there were probably stranded bodies, but the water was silver again, not red, if it ever had been truly red. I saw fishing boats in the far distance downstream, many-colored triangles of sail, blurred by the shimmer of heat.

  Charred ruins showed where a ferryman's house had stood, but weeds sprouted within the blackened timbers, and there could have been no ferry there for many years. A legacy of a garden remained in the form of six green willows and a tulip tree flaming scarlet. I especially recognized the tulip tree.

  Sprawled on the black carpets of shadow in the grove, a score or so of young men were taking rest, munching, swatting at the inevitable flies, and also keeping watch on two chomping, shaggy Vorkan ponies chomping the dry summer grass.

  They were a variegated band, but most wore tattered leather breeches of Polrainian type. Some were barefoot, some wore boots. They all had their shields and swords at their sides, but whatever other armor they owned must be in the ponies' packs. Either they had very little equipment, or they had very little food. They were almost all quite young. Some were bandaged, some still had the drawn look of men suffering from wounds or the fever that follows wounds. Despite their youth and lack of polish, they were a hardened bunch, and they did not know what blinking was.

  As I approached, the nearer men prepared to rise, and I waited for a challenge.

  "Let him come," a familiar voice barked.

  I strode through the group to the man I wanted, who was sitting by himself, his back against the tulip tree. He was a little older than most of the others. There was still a bandage around his head, and he had been adding to his collection of scars. He was a very large, hairy man, and he was scowling at me like Queen Goople's demon.

  I sat down and took a long swig from his water bottle. When I finished, he was still glaring, idly scratching his unusually short beard.

  "What do you want?"

  "Just a chance to talk with an old friend."

  "Talk, of course. What else?" He grunted like a hunting lion. "But it takes more than one to make a friendship." He glanced around to see if any of his followers were listening.

  "I have a message for you. Two messages, actually."

  "Then pass them and depart."

  "The first one is from Sztatch. He said you made a good start."

  A dark flush of fury rose in his cheeks. He did not comment, but I had heard of his exploits and I knew that they merited far higher praise than that. The presence of so many eager followers bespoke the reputation that Nameless Thorian had built in that single day of blood.

  "And the second message?"

  "That one is longer. We can converse while we walk."

  He growled menacingly. "So you can drive me out of my mind with your ceaseless chatter and telling of tales? Dream what you like, Omar, but not that."

  "Then I won't give you the message." I beamed winningly.

  "You are not a god anymore?"

  "Gods forbid! No, I do not enjoy being a god."

  He quirked his bushy eyebrows thoughtfully. "That explains a lot, I think. Tell me true, if you wish to be my friend—where and when were you born?"

  "I don't remember. I was very young at the time."


  Jet eyes glinted menacingly. "If you are mortal, I can kill you. Indeed, now that I think about it, I see that I must kill you, because you witnessed my shame, and I will not have you tattling it to all the world."

  "I hope you know me better than that," I said, not hiding my hurt. "I do not treat my friends so. I shall never tell of it until after, when it is part of the glory."

  "After what? What glory?"

  "That is the second message."

  He studied me suspiciously. "Who sends this second message?"

  "The gods, of course."

  "Sztatch preserve me." He sprang to his feet and stamped out of the shade, into the heat and the light. The others looked up in surprise, but in seconds they had thrust their unfinished food in their pouches, grabbed up their weapons, and were on their feet, ready to move. Two men held the ponies' bridles.

  I rose and wandered out to stand by Thorian, blinking at the glare, swatting at flies.

  "What news of Balor?" I asked.

  "He stayed one day after you left, mostly adjudicating disputes over plunder. Then he, too, returned Beyond the Rainbow."

  "And Shalial? Sanjala, I mean?"

  Thorian scowled. "She vanished. It is assumed that the god took her with him."

  I sighed happily. The citizens would grieve the loss of their lovely high priestess, but they would never dream of trying to find her. Urgalon is a pleasant city. Shalial Tharpit would not be known there as Jaxian's sister, and their likeness was not so marked that a stranger would suspect something so unthinkable. I sensed happily-ever-aftering! Maiana pays her debts, even if Krazath does not.

  Thorian was gritting his teeth and staring down at me warily. "And you? Where do you journey, Omar?"

  "I go to Polrain. I have never been there—at least I do not remember ever being there. Perhaps I went once, a very long time ago."

  "Why Polrain?" he snarled.

  "Because the kingdom has collapsed. Because a new king must arise and build a new kingdom. It is a job for a hero, but heroes are hard to find. I foresee a long and bloody struggle, with many great deeds to witness."

  He groaned. "I knew the road would be hard, but I did not expect this hard." It was surrender.

  "I was sent a dream on our first night at the Bronze Beaker. At the time I misunderstood it. It will interest you!"

  "Was it a long dream?"

  "No. Very short."

  But the prophecy would be a long time being fulfilled—his beard had been gray.

  He laughed unwillingly. "We also journey to Polrain."

  "What a fortunate coincidence!"

  "Not directly, though. We are minded to try a little looting, here and there."

  "Excellent exercise!" I murmured happily.

  "How did you find me?"

  "I also was sent a message." A tulip tree.

  "If you don't dog my heels too persistently, I suppose I can tolerate you around for a day or two."

  "Agreed, then! And while we walk, Friend Thorian, and after I have told you what I saw prophesied, will you tell me something in return?"

  His face became threatening again. "What?"

  "I am most anxious to know the exploits of Valorous Thrumin and Telobl Summinam and Rosebud Shandile."

  For a moment I thought he would strike me dead with his fist. Gradually the thick arm relaxed. "You really mean that, don't you?"

  "Very much!" I glanced around the band of young warriors watching us. "I had never heard of that custom before. And all your companions must have exemplars of their own?"

  Thorian sighed deeply and then chuckled. "They have indeed, and every one of them will be overjoyed to recite his exemplars' deeds for you, and brag of how he has already surpassed them. And some of them actually have! Let us talk on the way, then. We have a long road ahead of us."

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