by Troy Denning
By the time the slave freed himself, dusk had Men completely, leaving the boat illuminated only by the light of the full moon. The man approached Atreus warily and carefully laid the hammer and chisel at his feet, then grabbed the second set of oars and began to row.
Too exhausted to puzzle over the peculiar behavior, Atreus gave the tools to the nearest slave and instructed him to free everyone. This occasioned a great deal of confused murmuring, but eventually Atreus managed to communicate what he wanted and went aft to join Seema and Rishi. He pulled a spare blanket over his shoulders and sank down on the deck beside them.
“What’s wrong with them?” he asked. “They don’t seem very eager to escape.”
“They are afraid,” said Seema. She was working by the light of a small oil lamp, poking and prodding at the lance in Rishi’s leg. “They think you will kill them if they try.”
“Me?” Atreus exclaimed. “We’re all in this together!”
Seema looked up. “What do you mean, together?”
“They do not understand you, Atreus,” Rishi laughed. “They think you are one thieving devil stealing from another.”
Atreus sighed and looked at Seema. “Is that what you think?”
“I think being a thief is only a small wickedness,” Seema said, avoiding Atreus’s gaze as she continued to examine Rishi’s leg. “There are greater evils in this world.”
“I am no thief,” Atreus declared, “and I am no devil. When we reach the head of the river, they are free to return to their homes. Tell them.”
Seema looked up. “Truly?”
It was Rishi who answered, “Oh yes, truly. The good sir is a silly fool who cares nothing for wealth.” The Mar cast a wistful glance downriver, toward Atreus’s sunken gold. “He will throw it away on the merest pretext”
“Human beings are not wealth,” Atreus said. He nodded to Seema. “Tell them. They will row faster knowing they are free men.”
“Oh, I see.” Seema’s eyes grew sad, but she rose and spoke rapidly in Maran.
The slaves began to murmur even louder and cast wary glances at the aft deck. Atreus huddled in his blanket and tried not to look quite so much like a blood-smeared devil.
“Rishi, how do I say she is telling the truth?”
“Ekc’kta reeto.”
Atreus repeated the phrase, though he did not come even close to imitating the Mar’s strange throat click.
The slaves gasped and looked confused, until someone began jabbering in Maran. The others began to laugh, and suddenly the boat broke into a swirl of frenzied activity, with men rushing forward to serve as pilots while others jumped up to help at the oars.
“What did I say?” Atreus asked.
“That yaks are very honest,” said Rishi, “but I think they understand what you meant”
“It would have been simpler to say it in Realmspeak,” Seema added. “Mountain Mar are not ignorant savages, you know.”
“No, you are not savages at all,” said Rishi, pointedly leaving out the word “ignorant”
Seema scowled, then knelt down and placed her knees on Rishi’s leg to either side of the broken lance.
“Will you remove the shaft?” she asked, looking to Atreus. “Pull it straight out, the quicker the better.”
Rishi twisted around, his eyes wide with fear. “Quicker? Wait one—”
Atreus grabbed the shaft and pulled, removing it in one smooth motion. Rishi howled in pain, and dark blood began to bubble from the wound. Seema stuffed a rolled bandage into the hole, causing the Mar so much pain that he pounded the deck and twisted around to glare at her.
“You are a depraved mountain witch!” he screamed, “to inflict such pain and enjoy it!”
“The lance had to come out” Seema sprinkled white dust on the hole, drawing another sharp hiss from Rishi. “This will prevent the wound from festering.”
“Succubus!”
Recalling the numbing powder Seema had used on his wound, Atreus said to Rishi, “Perhaps it would hurt less if you showed more gratitude.”
The Mar whirled toward Atreus. “You dare speak to me of gratitude? You, whose promise is not worth a yak?”
“I won’t argue this again,” said Atreus. “Gold means nothing to a drowned man.”
“You are a liar and thief. Had you wanted to keep your word, you could have waited to escape until after Tarch pulled the gold up tomorrow.”
Atreus shook his head. “I would have been in shackles by tomorrow, and you would have been killed the instant Tarch had the gold. I did what was best for all of us. Now, I am done discussing this.”
“And I am done with you. I have seen the way you repay those who serve you!” Rishi would not hold still for Seema to bandage his leg as he continued to rant, “You would rather let Yago lose himself in the swamp than spend a single night in shackles!”
“Watch your tongue,” Atreus warned. “If Yago is alive, he’ll find us. If he isn’t … I want to hear nothing about it from you.”
“Oh, you cannot hide behind the memory of Yago,” Rishi sneered. “It is no secret to me what happens when a pretty slave girl smiles at someone like you.”
Atreus raised his brow. “Someone like me?” he asked, insulted. Atreus was trembling with anger, perhaps because there was more than a little truth in Rishi’s venom. “What, exactly, do you think someone like me feels when a beautiful woman smiles at him?”
Without awaiting a reply, Atreus rose and started forward.
“Do not come tomorrow and beg me to be your guide,” Rishi called after him. “I do not take fools on fable-chases for free, you know!”
Atreus bit back a furious reply, slipped past the rowers who were working two men to an oar and propelling the barge along at a surprisingly brisk pace and went up to the bow. The Mar lookouts greeted him with nervous smiles and gave him a wide berth, which was just as well in his current mood. He laid down on the edge of the deck and cupped the dark river water in his hands and began to wash the blood from his devil’s face.
When he finished, he found Seema waiting with her lamp and tray of potions. “We were not finished,” she said. “I must tend your wounds, or you will be in no condition to flee Tarch tomorrow.”
Atreus laid down on his side. “I’m sorry for the things Rishi said,” he told her. “I can see for myself that your people are not ignorant”
“They are only words,” Seema replied, then knelt beside him and pulled aside his cloak. The needle and thread she had been using earlier still dangled from his wound. “Was he telling the truth? Am I the reason you killed the slavers?”
Atreus looked away, but said, “Part of the reason. I couldn’t bear to think what Tarch had in store for you.”
“I see.”
Seema shoved the needle through a flap of skin, drawing a sharp hiss of pain from Atreus.
“I, uh, can feel that,” he said. “I think the numbing powder has worn off.”
“I know,” Seema said, pulling the thread through. Atreus’s side felt like it was burning. “I give you strength and tend your wounds, and you repay me with killing?”
She shoved the needle in again, and this time Atreus managed not to hiss.
9
Atreus woke to the murmur of voices and to the roar of a nearby waterfall. When he opened his eyes he found himself lying on the bow deck, buried beneath an avalanche of yak-hair blankets, staring at a stony mountainside looming up behind the barge’s stern cabin. The slope was grassy, steep, and strewn with massive crags of folded rock. Over the largest of these outcroppings hung the terminus of a glacier, a dirty curtain of ice with a silver ribbon of melt-water arcing out from beneath it. Above the glacier, a low pall of snow clouds cloaked the mountain heights in a veil of gray vapor.
The voices continued to murmur, rippling out of the willow swamp alongside the barge. Atreus stayed beneath his blankets, thinking it wiser not to draw attention to himself until he gathered his groggy wits. He did not recall falling asleep, only wrapping
himself in a blanket and sitting down to sip another of Seema’s potions. If the concoction had knocked him out, it had also rejuvenated him. He felt strong and rested, with no sign of fever. His wounds itched more than they ached, and when he ran his fingers over the lance puncture in his breast he was surprised to find it already closed. Seema’s healing magic was more powerful than he had thought.
As Atreus’s head cleared, he saw that he had been abandoned. Save for vacant slave chains snaking across the decks and two sets of oars still resting in their locks, the barge was empty, beached stern-first so everyone could sneak ashore without disturbing him on the bow. A familiar cold hollowness arose inside Atreus. This was hardly the first time someone had taken pains to avoid him, but it was certainly the most callous. Having saved the Mar from a life of bondage he had thought they might return his kindness by helping him find his way to Langdarma, but he should have known better than to think any act of kindness would blind people to his humped back and disfigured face.
The willows beside the barge shook briefly, and the nose of a dugout emerged to gently bump the hull. A pair of slavers jumped aboard and rushed aft, not bothering to glance forward or even to tie their boat to an eye hook. Atreus frowned, but made no move to attack. The two men carried swords instead of whips and padded clubs, and he heard more voices murmuring out in the swamp. Fighting seemed less wise than simply trying to slip away once the slavers entered the barge’s ramshackle cabin.
But the pair did not go to the cabin. Instead, they divided and circled around it from both sides.
“Tarch!” yelled one. “Over here!”
“We’ve got her!”
A slender figure emerged from behind the cabin and began to flee up the mountainside, her black braids and dark tabard leaving no doubt that it was Seema. Atreus threw off his blankets and pulled on his frozen boots, then grabbed Sune’s map from his belongings and ran aft. As the slavers disappeared around behind the cabin, Rishi emerged from the front door, blurry-eyed and wrapped in blankets.
“What is all this noise?” Rishi asked. “What has become of everyone?”
“They left us,” Atreus told him as he crossed the rear deck in two strides and pushed his way into the cabin. “Are there any weapons in here?”
The interior was murky and rank, with no bed except a pallet of filthy straw. A cask of foul-smelling grog sat in one corner, and a tangled mound of shackles and chains lay heaped against the back wall. There were no true weapons in sight, but several sets of smithy’s tools sat by the door.
“The barge is ours?” Rishi gasped, still trying to comprehend what Atreus had told him. “Then we can recover the gold!”
“I’m afraid not” Atreus went to the back wall and rummaged through the chain heap. “Tarch is after Seema. There are a pair of slavers chasing her now.”
“All the better. While they are pursuing her, we can slip away.”
Atreus whirled on the Mar, pulling a six-foot length of chain from the heap. “How can you say such a thing? She saved our lives.”
Rishi eyed the chain nervously, backing toward the door. “I am only thinking of the good sir,” he lied.
“I thought you were done with me,” Atreus replied. He stepped over to the pile of smithy tools. “I recall something about what happens when a pretty slave girl smiles at me.”
Rishi’s face darkened. “Many harsh words are spoken when people are tired and cold, but there is no reason for us to be angry with each other. After we recover the gold, everything will be as before. We can resume our journey and find Langdarma, certainly in a very short time.”
“Certainly?” Atreus scoffed. He picked up a heavy forge hammer and stepped toward the door. “You know where to find the gold if you want it I’m going after Seema.”
Outside, the swamp was filled with calling voices, but the two slavers were not answering. The pair needed all their breath to keep pace with Seema. She was racing up the mountainside toward the waterfall beneath the glacier, holding her long skirt with both hands, bounding from rocks to grass tufts as lightly as a gazelle.
Atreus leaped off the barge and rushed across a grassy flat to the base of the mountain. After so much time in the swamp, the ground felt solid and good beneath his feet, but he found himself gasping for breath as soon as he started to climb. His legs grew weighty and slow, and they burned with fatigue. The chain and hammer became as heavy as boulders, and his wounds began to throb miserably. No matter how quickly he pumped his knees, he fell farther behind, and it took an effort of will to launch himself from each grass tuft up to the next one.
Seema continued to dance effortlessly up the slope, the two slavers clambering at her heels. Excited cries began to rise from below, and Atreus knew she had climbed high enough to be seen from the swamp. Tarch and his men would be swarming toward the barge now, but Atreus did not look back to see them. With his lungs burning and a ferocious headache pounding at his temples, it was all he could do to keep running. Seema did not stray from her course until the mist of the waterfall began to spray her, and even then she turned only toward a drier section of cliff.
As shallow as the angle was, the two slavers made good use of it, closing to within half a dozen steps of her. Atreus’s knees began to tremble with exhaustion, and his aching chest filled with phlegm, but he forced himself to go on. What was a monster good for, if not to save beautiful damsels cornered by bestial slavers?
But Seema had other ideas. She hit the cliff at a run, leaping up to thrust her hands into a crevice so narrow it seemed a mere line. Pulling herself up with her arms, she swung her feet onto a pair of nubby toeholds and began to clamber up the rocks like a spider.
So astonished was Atreus that he almost stopped running, but the slavers were not surprised at all. Reaching the cliff only a few seconds behind Seema, they dropped their swords and began to jump, grabbing for her feet. When this did not work, the heavier one cupped his hands and boosted the lighter one up. The man caught Seema by the ankle and began to tug.
“Come along … girl,” he puffed. “Don’t bruise yourself. You don’t want to do that, or Tarch’ll start getting ideas about … keeping you.”
Seema began to kick, trying to free her ankle.
“Just pull her down!” urged the bottom man.
“N-no!” Atreus gasped, now only five paces below.
Both slavers glanced down and their eyes grew wide. Leaving his partner to hang from Seema’s ankle, the bottom man snatched his sword and stepped down to attack. With the blow arcing down from above, Atreus had no choice but to twist out of the way and fling his chain up in a wild, backhand block. The steel links struck with a metallic clatter and wrapped themselves around the blade. Atreus jerked the sword from his attacker’s grasp.
In the next instant, a booted heel crashed into Atreus’s jaw. He saw stars, then his knees went limp, and he found himself rolling down the mountainside with no memory of having fallen. He rotated onto his back, swinging his feet around to kick his heels into a tuft of soft grass. He lurched to a stop and heard his foe clattering down the slope above. Atreus rolled over to find the slaver almost upon him, now holding the smithy’s hammer he did not remember dropping.
Atreus staggered to his feet, head spinning and spent muscles trembling. Somewhere along the way the sword came untangled from the chain and scattered itself down the slope in three broken pieces. Atreus whirled the chain above his head. The slaver slowed, circling around to approach from the side.
Head still spinning, Atreus lurched across the hill. The astonished slaver stumbled back, eyes darting toward the chain still whistling above his foe’s head. Finally, he seemed to collect himself and stopped. He cocked his arm and planted his forward foot, then hurled the heavy hammer.
There was no time to duck or dodge. Atreus sprang into a charge, snapping his arm up to protect his head. The hammer glanced off his wrist and tumbled away. Then Atreus was on the slaver, swinging the heavy chain into the man’s head.
The f
ellow’s eyes went dull and gray, but somehow he kept his feet and came up with a belt dagger. He attacked low, shooting the knife in toward Atreus’s groin.
Atreus skipped backward and slapped the weapon down, bringing his blocking hand up in a vicious back-fisted strike. The slaver’s jaw clacked shut. He spit out the tip of his tongue and stumbled back, blind with pain and slashing his dagger about madly. Atreus whirled the chain down across his attacker’s wrist, entangling the fellow’s arm and knocking his knife loose. The slaver howled and tried to jerk free but succeeded only in drawing Atreus closer.
Atreus grabbed him behind the neck and pulled, at the same time slamming a knee to his foe’s chest. There were two muffled cracks, and the man groaned and dropped to the ground, wheezing and clutching at his side.
Atreus kicked the slaver down the slope and saw Rishi scrambling up the mountainside, moving quickly despite his limp and the large bundle slung over his shoulder. Farther below, Tarch and a dozen men were just starting across the narrow flat that separated the mountains from the swamp. Staggering along in front of them, covering six feet a step despite a numb-footed limp, was Yago.
The ogre’s face and cloak were caked with ice and mud, and a veritable copse of broken willow stalks jutted up from inside his belt and collar. He looked as if he had passed the night wallowing in the swamp, but Atreus knew better. Yago understood the value of concealment as well as any good hunter, and his camouflage suggested he had spent the night trailing Tarch and his slavers. They had probably not even realized he was there until he broke from the willows and started across the flat.
Too breathless to call out to his friend, Atreus merely waved, then scrambled up the mountainside, his lungs burning so badly he feared he had bruised them tumbling down the hill. On the cliff above, the slaver finally released Seema’s ankle and dropped to the ground. She started to climb higher, looked down at Atreus, and stopped where she was.