Althalus laughed and joined the group of men at the table. They bantered back and forth over breakfast, and after they’d eaten, the young Chief Albron offered Althalus a tankard of something he called ale.
Never mind, Emmy’s voice murmured.
It wouldn’t be polite to refuse, Em, he sent back his silent reply. Then he lifted the tankard and drank.
It took all of the self-control he could bring to bear to keep from spitting the awful stuff onto the floor. Good, rich mead was one thing, but Albron’s ale was so bitter that Althalus almost choked on it.
Told you. Emmy’s voice sounded smug.
Althalus carefully set the tankard down. “This has all been very entertaining, Chief Albron,” he said, “but there’s a question I need to ask you.”
“The best escape route to take after you’ve robbed me?”
Althalus laughed. “No, my Lord. If I really were that other Althalus, I’d have planned my escape before I even came down here. As you’ve probably noticed from my clothes, I’m not an Arum.”
“That had sort of crossed my mind, Master Althalus.”
“Actually I come from over to the east in Ansu, and I’ve been trying to track something down for several years now.”
“Something valuable?”
“Well, not to anybody else, probably, but it’s something I need to have to lay claim to an inheritance. My father’s older brother is the Arkhein of our region.”
“Arkhein?”
“It’s a title of nobility, my Lord—sort of an equivalent to your own title. Anyway, my uncle’s only son—my cousin—had an argument with a bear a few years back, and not many men win those kinds of arguments, since the bears of Ansu are very big and very bad tempered. Anyway, my cousin lost the argument, and since his father, my uncle, only had the one son, his title’s going to be vacant after he dies.”
“And you’ll succeed him? Congratulations, Master Althalus,” Albron said.
“It’s not quite that cut and dried, my Lord,” Althalus said, making a sour face. “I’ve got another cousin, the son of my father’s younger brother, and he and I were both born in the same summer. We Ansus don’t have a very precise calendar, so nobody can really be sure which one of us is the eldest.”
“Wars tend to break out over things like that.”
“My uncle, the Arkhein, realized that too, my Lord. That’s when he called my cousin and me to his castle and told us very firmly to stop recruiting armies and forming alliances. Then he told us a story. It seems that many years ago one of our ancestors had owned a very pretty dagger. There’d been one of those little wars that break out in Ansu from time to time, and our ancestor had gotten himself killed. Then, after the sun had gone down, the scoundrels who lurk around the edges of every battlefield like vultures came out to rob the dead.”
“Oh, yes,” Albron said, nodding grimly.
“You’ve seen the same sort of thing yourself, I gather. Anyway, one of those scoundrels picked up our ancestor’s dagger. It didn’t have any jewels in the hilt or anything, but it was ornamental enough that the rascal thought he could probably sell it for enough to make it worth his while. Our uncle told my cousin and me that he was proposing a sort of contest. Whichever one of us could track down that dagger and bring it back to him would be the one who’d get his title.” Althalus sighed dramatically. “I’ve been running hard ever since that day. You would not believe how interesting life can be when you’re looking for an antique with one eye and watching for assassins with the other.”
“Assassins?”
“My cousin’s a bit lazy, my Lord, so the idea of wandering around the world looking for an ancient knife doesn’t light any warm fires in his heart. He seems to feel that it’d be much easier to have me murdered than it’d be to try to win a race with me. Anyway, to get to the point here, I happened across a fellow who told me that he’d been in your arms room once, and he said that he was almost certain that he’d seen a knife there that fit the description of the one I’d just told him about.” Althalus cast a covert look at Chief Albron. The story he’d just conjured up out of whole cloth seemed to have fired the Clan Chief’s imagination. Althalus was quite pleased to discover that he hadn’t lost his touch.
Chief Albron rose to his feet. “Why don’t we go have a look, Arkhein Althalus,” he suggested.
“I’m not the Arkhein yet, my Lord,” Althalus amended.
“You will be if that dagger’s in my armory. You’re a well-spoken man with a civilized sense of humor, Althalus. Those are noble qualities, and your cousin’s an absolute knave. I’ll do everything in my power to see to it that you inherit your uncle’s title.”
Althalus bowed. “You honor me, my Lord,” he said.
Wasn’t that all just a little thick? Emmy’s voice suggested.
I know these Arums, Em, so I know exactly what kind of story to tell them. Actually, that was a very good one. It had a threat of civil war, a hero, a villain, and a quest fraught with danger. What more does a good story need?
A little bit of truth might have added something.
I don’t like to contaminate a good story with truth, Em. That’d be a violation of my artistic integrity, wouldn’t it?
Oh, dear. She sighed.
Trust me, little kitten. That knife’s as good as in my hands already, and I won’t even have to buy it. Albron’s going to give it to me outright, along with his blessing.
Albron’s armory was a stone-walled chamber at the back of his castle, and it was littered with all kinds of swords, axes, pikes, helmets, daggers, and shirts made of chain.
Albron introduced Althalus to a blocky, kilted fellow with a bristling red beard. “This is my armorer, Reudh. Describe this dagger you’re looking for to him.”
“It’s about a foot and a half long, Master Armorer,” Althalus told the red-bearded man, “and it’s got an odd-shaped blade—sort of like a laurel leaf. There’s a design etched into the blade. From what I understand, the design’s actually writing in some ancient language that nobody understands anymore.”
Reudh scratched his head. “Oh,” he said then. “It’s that one. It’s very pretty, but it’s a little ornate for my taste. I prefer more businesslike weapons.”
“It’s here, then?”
“Well, it was. Young Eliar came here to arm himself before he went off to that war down in Treborea. He took a fancy to that knife, so I let him take it.”
Althalus gave Chief Albron a puzzled look. “Have you got a quarrel of some kind with somebody in Treborea, my Lord?”
“No, it’s a business arrangement. In the old days the lowlanders were always trying to persuade the Clan Chiefs of Arum to agree to alliances with them—alliances where we’d do the bleeding and they’d get the profit. There was a conclave of all the Clan Chiefs of Arum about fifty years ago, and the Chiefs all agreed that there weren’t going to be any more of those alliances with the lowlanders. The way things are now, if the lowlanders need soldiers, they have to rent them.”
“Rent?”
“It works out very well for us, Master Althalus. We don’t ally ourselves with anybody during those wars, so we don’t get swindled out of our share when the war’s over. It’s all strictly business now. If they want soldiers, they pay for them—in advance—and we won’t accept promissory notes or paper money. They pay in gold, and they pay before any of our men start marching.”
“How did the lowlanders take that?”
“From what I’ve heard, their screams of outrage were echoing off the moon. The Clan Chiefs of Arum have held firm, though, so now the lowlanders either pay, or they fight their own wars.” Albron scratched his chin reflectively. “We’re a warlike people here in Arum, and there was a time when almost anything could set off a clan war. It’s not that way here anymore. There hasn’t been a clan war in Arum for forty years.”
Althalus grinned at him. “Why burn down your neighbors for fun when you can set fire to Perquaine and Treborea for profit?” he said. “W
hich Treborean city bought the services of this young Eliar?”
“Kanthon, wasn’t it, Reudh?” Albron asked. “Sometimes I lose track. I’ve got men involved in a half dozen little wars down there right now.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Reudh replied. “This was Eliar’s first war, so you sent him off to one of the quiet ones so he could get his feet wet in shallow water his first time out. That war between Kanthon and Osthos has been simmering for the last ten centuries, and nobody’s taking it very seriously.”
“Well,” Althalus said, “I guess I get to go to Kanthon then. There’s something to be said for that, I suppose.”
“Oh?” Albron asked.
“It’s open country down there in Treborea. I don’t want to offend you, my Lord, but there are too many trees here in Arum for my taste.”
“Don’t you like trees?”
“Not when one of my cousin’s assassins might be hiding behind any one of them. Flat, open country’s sort of boring, but some boredom might give my nerves a bit of a rest. Here lately they’ve been stretched as tight as a bowstring. What does Eliar look like?”
“He’s sort of gangly,” the red-bearded armorer said. “He’s only about fifteen years old, so he’s still growing. If he lives, he’ll probably turn into a fairly respectable warrior. He isn’t any too bright, but he might outgrow that. He’s got a lot of enthusiasm, and he’s convinced that he’s the greatest warrior alive.”
“I’d better hurry, then,” Althalus said. “Young Eliar sounds like a fellow who’s just brimful of incipient mortality.”
“Nicely put, Master Althalus,” Albron said admiringly. “That description fits just about every adolescent male in the whole of Arum.”
“They’re good for business, though, aren’t they, Chief Albron?”
“Oh, yes.” Albron smirked. “I can usually get double price for the young ones.”
Althalus and Emerald left Albron’s castle the next morning and traveled south. Do you know the way to Kanthon? Emmy asked as they rode on down the canyon.
“Of course, Em. I know several ways to just about every city in the world.”
And several other ways to get out of them?
“Naturally. Getting out of town in a hurry is sometimes very necessary for people in my profession.”
I wonder why?
“Be nice, Emmy. Where do we go after we get the Knife away from Eliar?”
I haven’t the faintest idea.
“What?”
Don’t worry, Althalus. The writing on the Knife will tell us where to go.
“I thought the words on the blade were there to identify the people we’re going to need.”
That’s part of what they say, but only part of it. The writing on the blade is much more complex than that, pet, and its meaning changes with the circumstances. It tells us where to go, who we need to find, and what we’re supposed to do next.
“It sounds to me as if it’s almost like the Book.”
Sort of, yes. The Knife changes in subtle ways, though, and the Book doesn’t. Let’s move along, Althalus. We have a long way to go.
They rode down onto the plains of Perquaine, and after about a week they reached the city of Maghu. There had been many changes in Maghu since Althalus had last been there, but the ancient temple was still the most prominent building in town. As they rode past it, Althalus was a bit startled by Emmy’s reaction. She was riding, as always, in the hood of his cloak, and she laid back her ears and hissed at the temple. “What was that all about?” he asked her.
I hate that place! she replied vehemently.
“What’s wrong with it?”
It’s grotesque!
“It’s a little fancy, but not much more than other temples I’ve seen.”
I’m not talking about the temple, Althalus. I’m talking about the statue inside.
“You mean the one with all those extra bosoms? It’s just the local Goddess, Em. You don’t have to take it so personally.”
It is personal, Althalus!
He could feel her fuming outrage, and he looked sharply back over his shoulder at her. A sudden notion struck him, and he sent a probing thought into that part of her mind she’d always insisted was personal and private. He was stunned by what he found. “Is that who you really are?” He gasped.
I’ve told you to stay out of there!
“You’re Dweia, aren’t you?”
Amazing. You even pronounced it right. Her tone was snippy. She was definitely not in a good humor.
Althalus was awed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
It wasn’t any of your business who I am.
“Do you really look anything like that statue?”
Like a brood sow, you mean? Like a whole herd of brood sows?
“I was talking about the face, not all those extra . . .” He groped for an inoffensive word.
The face isn’t accurate either.
“A fertility Goddess? What’s fertility got to do with anything?” he asked.
Would you like to rephrase that question, while you still have your health?
“Maybe I should just drop it.”
Wise decision.
They rode out of Maghu, and Althalus struggled with what he’d just discovered. In a peculiar sort of way, it began to make sense. “No biting,” he said to Emmy. “Just tell me if I’ve got this straight. Deiwos makes things, right?”
So?
“After he’s made them, though, he goes on to make other things, and he turns the things he’s already made over to you. You’re the one who keeps them alive by making sure that they all have offspring—or whatever.” Then another thought came to him. “That’s why you hate Daeva so much, isn’t it, Em? He wants to destroy everything Deiwos made, but you want to preserve it—to keep it alive. Is there a reason why your names all begin with the same sound? Deiwos, Dweia, and Daeva? Might that mean you’re Daeva’s sister as well as the sister of Deiwos?”
It’s a little more complex than that, Althalus, but you’re nibbling around the edges of it. There are some men coming up the road toward us.
Althalus looked on ahead. “Maybe you’d better pull your head in until I find out who they are.”
As the men came closer, Althalus saw that they were wearing kilts. Most of them were also wearing bloody bandages, and several were hobbling along with the aid of wooden staffs. “Arums,” he muttered to Emmy. “The markings on their kilts suggest that they’re members of Albron’s clan.”
What are they doing here in Perquaine?
“I don’t know, Em. I’ll ask them.” Althalus reined in his horse and waited as the wounded men hobbled closer.
The man at the front of the column was tall, lean, and dark haired. He had a bloody bandage wrapped about his head and a sour look on his face.
“You gentlemen are a long way from home,” Althalus said by way of greeting.
“We’re trying to do something about that right now,” the sour-faced man said.
“You’re of Albron’s clan, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“The markings on your kilts, neighbor.”
“You don’t look like an Arum to me.”
“I’m not, but I’m acquainted with your customs. It looks as if you’ve run into some trouble.”
“That sort of covers it, yes. Chief Albron hired us out to work in a war over in Treborea. It was supposed to be a quiet little war, but it got out of hand.”
“It wasn’t by any chance that little squabble between Kanthon and Osthos, was it?” A cold lump began to settle somewhere in the vicinity of Althalus’ stomach.
“You’ve heard about that one?”
“We’ve just come from Chief Albron’s hall.”
“We?”
“My cat and me,” Althalus explained.
“A cat’s an odd traveling companion for a grown man,” the lean man observed. He glanced back at his battered troops. “Rest a bit.” He barked out the command. Then
he sank down onto the grass at the side of the road. “If you’ve got a little time, I’d sort of like to know what’s up ahead of us,” he said to Althalus.
“Of course.” Althalus swung down from his saddle. “My name’s Althalus, by the way.”
The wounded warrior gave him a startled look.
“It’s just a coincidence,” Althalus explained. “I’m not really that Althalus.”
“I didn’t really think so. I’m called Khalor, and I’m the Ancient of what’s left of this group of Albron’s clansmen.”
“You don’t look all that ancient to me.”
“It’s a Treborean title, friend Althalus. We’re supposed to try to fit in when we come down into the low countries to fight their wars for them. Back at home they call me Sergeant. Did you happen across any groups of armed men on your way out of the mountains?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, Sergeant Khalor—a few hunters is about all. I think you’ll be able to get home without any trouble. From what your Chief told me, the clans of southern Arum are more or less at peace with each other. What happened to you and your men?”
“Albron hired us out to the Kanthons about six months or so ago. Like I told you before, it was supposed to be a quiet little war. About all we were supposed to do was march around in places where the Osthos could see us—the usual sorts of things, you understand—flex our muscles, wave our swords and axes, shout war cries, and all the other foolishness that impresses the lowlanders. Then the feeble-minded fool that sits on the throne of Kanthon got carried away and ordered us to invade the territory of the Aryo of Osthos.” The Sergeant shook his head in disgust.
“You couldn’t talk him out of it?”
“I tried, Althalus. God knows I tried. I told him that I didn’t have enough men for that and that he’d have to hire ten times as many as he already had before I could mount an invasion, but the silly ass wouldn’t listen. Don’t ever try to explain military reality to a lowlander.”
“You got yourself trounced, I take it?”
“Trounced only begins to cover it. I got a mud puddle stomped into my backside, if you want to know the truth. Unfortunately, we took the Osthos by surprise when we marched across their frontier.”
The Redemption of Althalus Page 13