"Half a keg of Skull-Splitter Premium. Well…" Graym sighed loudly, then smiled. "Not a bad place to camp."
They waited until nightfall to light the fire, so no one would see the smoke. They hung a shield of blankets around the fire to hide the light. Both were Darll's idea. Graym saw no need for such precautions, but was willing to humor him.
The sunset was blood red, like every one had been since the Cataclysm.
Graym sipped at the bowl of Skull-Splitter and said, to no one in particular, "Life is attitude — good or bad." He waved an arm at the desolate landscape. "What do you see?"
Darll grunted. "What else? Disaster. Broken trees, clogged streams, fallen buildings, and a godsforsaken broken road rougher than a troll's — "
"That's your problem, sir." Graym thumped Darll's back. "You see disaster. I see opportunity. Look here." He traced a map in the dirt. "See this road?"
He looked up and realized that Darll — ale rolling in his mouth, eyes shut to savor the flavor — wasn't seeing anything. "Excuse me, sir, but do you see the road?"
"The road from Goodlund to Krinneor," Jarek breathed reverently.
"Right. And do you know what's ahead?"
Darll opened his eyes. "Nothing. The end of the world."
Graym downed an entire bowl of Skull-Splitter, wiped his lips on his sleeve, and smiled genially. "Maybe it is, sir, but I say" — he waved the empty dipper for emphasis — "if I'm going to see the end of the world, I should see it with a positive attitude." He gazed up at the sky. "I mean, look at the world now. No gods, no heroes." He sighed loudly and happily. "It makes a man feel fresh."
"We were heroes this afternoon," Jarek objected, "me and Darll. We whipped those bastards."
"Now, now," Graym said admonishingly. "You hardly knew them, Jarek. Don't speak ill of people just because they tried to kill you."
Darll agreed. "Other than being the usual low, sorry sort of lowlifes you find in these parts, they weren't bad at all. They were bounty hunters." He eyed Graym suspiciously.
"Seems an unfriendly way to make a living," Graym said. He scratched his head, belched, and settled back. "Inventory," he announced.
The others suddenly looked nervous. "Will we have to sign for things?" Jarek asked. "I hate that."
Graym shook his head. "Nah, nah. This is just counting, and remembering" — he took another sip of ale — "and history. We started with nine barrels. Remember the loading? We pushed them on from all sides, and they shifted when we started rolling."
Fenris nudged his brother. "And one rolled away and smashed on Dog Street."
Fanris kicked him. "I couldn't hold it. It was hard to see, it being dark and all."
Darll's eyes opened. "You loaded in the dark? For the love of Paladine, why?"
Jarek said reasonably, "We didn't want to be seen."
Darll laughed, a short bark. "No wonder the horses ran off. They didn't even know you, did they? You stole them! AND the cart, I'll wager."
"Jem and Renny, poor flighty nags. They never liked us," Graym said sadly. "Well, that's one barrel. Eight left."
"There was the barrel on the bridge," Jarek offered, "out side of town."
"We'd picked up Darll, and he was putting up a fight — "
"That's right, blame me." Darll glared at them all. "I only wanted to leap off at the bridge."
"And hit us," Fenris said.
"And kill us," Fanris added, hurt.
"And hit and kill you," Darll agreed. "I did fairly well, for being hung over."
"You might have drowned, sir," Graym said. "That wouldn't do when you're in our charge, would it?"
"He hit me," Jarek said, rubbing his head.
"And me," Fen said.
"And me," Fan added.
Darll settled back. "Stop whining. I didn't kill you." His scowl, fierce under his salt-and-pepper beard, seemed to add an unspoken "yet."
After a short silence, Graym continued. "One of the barrels dropped into Mirk River, leaving seven. After that, we didn't lose a one — not in the Black Rain, not in the Dry Lands, not in the swamps. We can be proud of that."
Jarek squared his shoulders. The Wolf brothers grinned, exposing teeth best left hidden.
Graym went on. "And today we beat back a bettertrained force — "
"Any force would be better trained," Darll muttered.
"That's harsh, sir. We won through strategy — "
"Luck."
"Or luck, but not," Graym said sadly, "without casualties. We smashed two barrels, a major loss." He stared, brooding, into the fire.
Jarek counted on his fingers twice, then said proudly. "I know! I know! That leaves six barrels — "
"Yes. Five full barrels," Graym said. He walked unsteadily to the wagon. "And one other" He thumped it three times, pausing to let it echo. "One… empty… barrel."
The others ducked their heads, avoided his eyes. "It leaked," Darll said, shrugging.
Graym rocked the barrel back and forth and ran his hands around it. "Bone dry. No water marks, no foam flecks."
"Ghosts." Jarek looked solemn.
Graym snorted. "Ever seen a drunk ghost?"
Since none of them had seen a ghost of any sort, drunk or sober, they all shook their heads reluctantly.
"Might have been magic," Fenris said.
"True enough," Fanris said quickly.
Graym wiped the mud off the barrel end to expose a second, cleverly hidden bunghole. He felt in the comer of the wagon and pulled out a second tap. "And which one of you," he said firmly, "was the mage?"
He folded his arms. "Now, I know it's been a long, hard, dusty trip. A man gets thirsty. And you've all known me as long as you've worn dry pants. I'm not a hard man."
"You're a soft man," Darll said, but wouldn't look him in the eye.
"I'm a forgiving man."
"Hah! If you were, you'd let me go, but no — "
"It's a matter of principle, sir," Graym said firmly.
"And the money," Jarek reminded him.
"And the money, of course."
"Tenpiece," Darll said bitterly. "Took me straight from the Bailey of Sarem with a promise and a bag of tenpiece."
"Plus twenty when we get to Krinneor," Fen said.
"When we hand you up," Fan said.
"Thirtypiece." Darll shook his head. "The best fighter in Goodlund, second or third best in Istar, carted off to prison for thirtypiece."
"But enough prologuizing." Graym was swaying on his feet. "I can't stand a fella who prologuizes all the time. Let's say I'm forgiving and let it go at that. And, now, I'm going to ask who's been sneaking ale while I wasn't looking. I expect an honest answer. Who was it?"
Jarek raised one hand.
The Wolf brothers each raised a hand.
Graym looked at them in silence.
Darll raised a hand, his chains pulling the other after it.
After a long pause, Graym sighed. "Good to have it out in the open at last. Better to be honest with each other, I say."
" 'True thieves best rob false owners,' " Darll muttered.
"I've always thought that a fine saying, sir," Graym said. "Witty, yet simple. But I don't see it applying here."
Darll shook his head.
"Still and all," Graym continued, "we've done well. Three months on the road, and we've four barrels left." He shook a finger at the others. "No sneaking drinks from here. We'll need it all at the end of the road in Krinneor."
Jarek said eagerly, "Tell us about Krinneor, Graym."
"What? Again?"
"Please!"
Jarek wasn't alone. Fen and Fan begged to hear the story, and even Darll settled, resignedly, to listen.
Graym picked up a bowl and took a deep swig of SkullSplitter. "I've told you this night after night, day after day — in the Black Rains, when the dust clouds came through, and in the afterquakes, and when we'd spent a long day dragging this wagon over flood-boils, potholes, and heaved-up rock on the road. And now you say you're not tired of it." He looked
at them fondly. "I'm not either.
"Back in Sarem, I was nobody. Every town needs a cooper, but they don't care about him. They buy his barrels and leave. And I'd watch them, and I'd know they were off — to fill the barrels, travel up roads, and sell their stock."
Jarek leaned forward. "The city, tell us about the city!"
"I'm coming to that." Graym loved this part. "Every time a stranger came down the road, I'd ask him where he'd been. And he'd talk about Tarsis by the sea, or the temples of Xak Tsaroth, and one even showed me a machine from Mount Nevermind, where the gnomes live. The machine didn't work, of course, but it was a lovely little thing, all gears and sprockets and wires.
"But one and all, dusty from the road and tired from travel, told me about Krinneor, and the more I heard, the more I wanted to see it." Graym's eyes shone. "Golden towers! Marble doors! And excellent drains." He looked at them all earnestly. "I hear that's very important for a city."
They nodded. Graym went on. "After the Claychasm — "
"Cataclysm," Darll snapped.
"Cataclysm, thank you, sir. I keep forgetting. After that night, when the ground shook and the western sky was all fire, people were frightened. They quit buying barrels, saying that trade was too risky. That's when I realized that no one was coming down the road from Krinneor, and no one was going there."
He tapped the bowl of Skull-Splitter, which he had emptied again. "And that's when I realized there was no more good Sarem ale going from Sarem to Krinneor. The poor beggars there would be as dry as a sand pit in no time.
"So I made these." He thumped the broken barrel, refilled the bowl from it. "Extra thick staves, doublecaulked, double-banded. Bungs four fingers deep. Heads of the last vallenwoods in stock this far west. Harder than any man has seen. I spent everything I had making them, then borrowed from you all to finish them. And when the bailey heard we were going, he asked me to take you, sir, to the Bailey of Krinneor for safekeeping." He nodded respectfully to Darll.
"For prison, you fat fool," Darll said. "I can't believe I let a man like that capture me, especially after I beat the town soldiery. A scrawny, bald-headed, weak-armed man with no more strength in him than in a dead dwarf's left — "
"You wouldn't have if you hadn't been drunk," Jarek pointed out. He looked at Darll admiringly. "Single-handed, and you beat them all. If you hadn't been drunk — "
Graym interrupted. "And I hope it serves to remind you, sir, that ale is not only a blessing, but can also be a curse, and not to be taken lightly." He downed the bowl of SkullSplitter. "Back to my story. I took you, sir, and the tenpiece from the bailey — "
"Then we got the ale," Jarek said. "And the horses," Fen and Fan said together. "Without paying for them," Darll finished. "And I gathered victuals and water and spare clothes and knapsacks, and off we set" — Graym pointed to the east — "down the long, dangerous road! Facing hardship! Facing hunger and thirst…" He broke off. "Not as much thirst as I thought, apparently, but some thirst. Facing the unknown! Facing a ruined world! And for what?" He looked around at the watching faces. "I ask you, for what?"
Jarek blinked. "For Krinneor."
"True enough. For the golden spires, the marble towers, the excellent drains, and the fortunes that made them. Think of it!" Graym waved an arm unsteadily. "A city with all the gold you can dream of, and nothing to drink. And us with a cart full." He glanced to one side. "A cart HALF full of the best ale left in the world!"
"Our fortunes are made. We can ask what we want for it, and they'll pay twice what we ask. One barrel of Sarem ale will be worth the world to them, and five barrels leaves us one apiece."
Darll looked up, startled. "You're counting me?"
"You did your share on the road, sir," Graym said. "Each of us gets profits from one barrel of ale. And, if we're all clever — " he looked at Jarek and amended hastily, " — or at least if we stick together, we get exclusive Sarem trade rights to Krinneor. We'll have all the food we want, and houses."
"And a sword?" Jarek asked eagerly. "I've always wanted a sword. My mother wouldn't let me have anything sharp."
Graym smiled at him. "And a sword. And maybe a quick parole for friend Darll, and a tavern for me to run — "
"And a woman for me," Fenris said firmly.
"And me," Fanris echoed.
Graym scratched his head, looked dubious.
"Right," Darll said. "I'm sure that somewhere in Krinneor there's a pair of dirty, nearsighted women with no self-respect left."
The Wolf brothers brightened considerably.
By late night, the blanket screens were down and they'd piled wood on to make a man-high flame. The Wolf brothers were singing a duet about a bald woman who'd broken the heart of a barber, and Darll was weeping.
"You 'member," he said, his arm around Graym, "'member when the bounty hunters attacked, and I saved us?"
"You did well, sir," said Graym.
Darll snuffled. "I was going to run off, but then I remembered you had the keys to the manacles."
Graym patted his pocket. "Still do, sir."
Darll, tears running down both cheeks, wiped his nose. "You know that when you free me, I'm going to kill you."
Graym patted Darll's shoulder. "Anybody would, sir"
Darll nodded, wept, belched, tried to say something more, and fell asleep sitting up.
Graym lay down, rolled over on his back, and stared at the stars. They were faint in the dusty air, but to Graym they shone a little clearer every night. "I used to be afraid of them," he said comfortably to himself. "They used to be gods. Now they're just stars."
When the sun came up the next morning, it rose with what Graym heard as an ear-splitting crack.
He opened one eye as little as possible, then struggled to his feet. "Isn't life an amazing thing?" he said shakily to himself. "If you'd told me yesterday that every hair on my head could hurt, I wouldn't have believed you."
Fenris stared out at the dusty field nearby and quavered, "What's that terrible noise?"
Graym looked where Fenris was pointing and found the source. "Butterflies."
Fenris nodded — a mistake. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over with a thud. Fanris, beside him, whimpered at the sound of the impact.
Graym, moving as silently as possible, crept over to Darll, shook him by the shoulder. Darll's manacles rattled.
Darll flinched and opened two remarkably red eyes. "If I live," he murmured fuzzily, "I'm going to kill you."
Graym sighed and rubbed his own head. "I thought you already had, sir."
By midmorning, they were back on the road and near the first rank of western hills. Graym, pulling the cart along with Darll, was almost glad they had lost so many barrels. The wagon lurched to a stop at every rock in the road… and there were many rocks.
The Cataclysm Page 12