The Cataclysm

by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman

  At least the companions were feeling better. SkullSplitter's effect, though true to its name, wore off quickly. Jarek was humming to himself, trying to remember the Wolf brothers' song of the night before. Darll, after swearing at him in strained tones for some time, was now correcting him on the melody and humming along.

  Fenris, perched on the cart, yelled, "Trouble ahead!"

  Fanris gazed, quivered. "Are they dangerous?"

  Darll grated his teeth. "Kender! I hate the nasty little things. Kill 'em all. Keep 'em away. They'll rob you blind and giggle the whole time."

  Graym looked up from watching the rutted road. Before he knew what was happening, he was surrounded by kender: eager, energetic, and pawing through their belongings. The kender had a sizable bundle of their own, pulled on a travois, but the bundle changed shape ominously.

  "Ho! Ha!" Darll swung two-handed at them, trying to make good on his threat to kill them all. They skipped and ducked, ignoring the length of chain that whistled murderously over their heads.

  "Here now, little fellers," Graym said, holding his pack above his head. "Stay down! Good morning!" He smiled at them and skipped back and forth to keep his pack out of reach, and he seemed like a giant kender himself.

  One of the kender, taller than the others and dressed in a brown robe with the hood clipped off, smiled back. "Good morning. Where are we?"

  "You're in Goodlund, halfway to Sarem if you started from just west of Kendermore." Graym snatched a forked stick from the hands of the tall kender — who didn't seem to mind — and hung his pack from it, lifted it over his head.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Oh, around." The tall kender took a forked stick from one of the others, who didn't seem to mind either. "East, mostly." He spun the stick, making a loud whistle. "Do you know, the gods told me that the world's greatest disaster would happen in a land to the west? Only it didn't."

  "What are you talking about?" Graym looked openly astonished. 'The Catcollision?"

  "Cataclysm!" Darll snarled.

  "Cataclysm, thank you, sir. I keep forgetting." Graym turned back to the kender. "All that happened in the east, you know."

  "I know," the kender said, and sighed. "The gods lied to me. They did it to save our lives — we were going west to see the run — but still, a lie's a lie." He fingered the torn collar of his cleric's robe. "So we don't believe in the gods anymore."

  "Good enough," Graym said, brightening. "Smashed the world, didn't they? We're well rid of that lot."

  "But they did save our lives," Fenris pointed out.

  "From horrible deaths," Fanris added, "like being smashed."

  "Or squished, Fan."

  The tall kender shrugged. "You miss a lot, worrying about things like that. Say, what's that smell?" His nose wrinkled.

  "Dirt, mostly," Jarek said.

  The Wolf brothers scowled. "It's a perfectly natural smell," Graym said. "Strong, but natural." He smiled down at the kender. "My name's Graym."

  The kender smiled back. "Tarli Half-kender. Half man, half kender."

  Graym looked startled, then shrugged. "Well, I'm liberal-minded."

  He offered his hand, taking care to keep his pack and pockets out of reach. But at a shout from Jarek, Graym whipped his head around.

  "Here now! Off the cart. Mind the barrels." His knapsack fell from the stick.

  Tarli caught the pack nimbly, flipped it over once in his deft fingers, and passed it to Graym, who was surprised that a kender would return anything. "Thank you," he said to Tarli, but his mind was on the kender falling and climbing all over the cart. The barrels, three times their size, wobbled dangerously. "Don't they know they could be killed?"

  Tarli looked puzzled. "I don't think it would make much difference. Like I said, you can't worry about things like that, like Skorm Bonelover, coming from the east."

  "Who?" The name sounded vaguely familiar to Graym's still-fuddled mind.

  "Skorm," Tarli said helpfully, "the Fearmaker, the Crusher of Joy."

  "Oh, THAT Skorm. You know him, do you?"

  "Only by reputation. Everyone's talking about him." Tarli looked to the east. "Well, we'd better keep going if we want to meet up with him." He put two fingers into his mouth and whistled.

  The crowd of kender scrambled off the cart and scampered down the road again, pulling the travois behind them. To Graym's watchful eyes, their pockets seemed fuller, and their bundle of supplies seemed larger, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  "Cunning little things." Graym watched the kender running happily away. "Good attitudes, the lot of them. You can't keep them down."

  "I'll try," Darll grated, "if you'll let me go." He held out his manacled hands.

  "Ah!" Graym reached into his pack. "Can't do that, sir, but I could give your arms a rest while we're dragging the cart. You promise not to run off, sir?

  He vaguely remembered Darll's saying something last night that should make Graym nervous, but dragging the cart was hard work, and Darll deserved a reward.

  Darll looked sly. "Word of honor." He braced his feet for a quick start and smiled at Graym.

  The Wolf brothers ducked under the cart. Even Jarek looked suspicious.

  "Right, then." Graym fumbled in the pack, then reached into his left pocket…

  Then checked his right breeches pocket, his hood, and his jacket…

  Then stared at the departing kender. He looked back at Darll's impatient face. "Life," he said thoughtfully, "can be funny, sir…"

  When Darll understood, he shook both fists at the kender and swore until he was panting like a runner.

  Darll and Graym started off again. They grabbed the crosspiece of the wagon tongue, braced their feet in the dirt, and pulled. The wagon rolled forward quickly. Graym dropped the crosspiece.

  "That was too easy. Jarek?"

  Jarek hopped into the cart and counted loudly. "One, two, three, four — "

  After a pause, Graym said, "And?"

  "That's all," Jarek said.

  Graym stared, disbelieving, at the distant dust cloud of the departing kender. "They walked off with a BARREL?"

  "Cunning little things," Fenris said.

  "Industrious, too," Fanris said.

  Jarek finished the inventory. Finally he hopped down and announced, "They got the barrel of Throat's Ease lager, our spare clothes — "

  Graym laughed. "Picture one of those little fellows trying to wear my canvas breeches 1"

  "And most of the food."

  Graym fell silent.

  "So we make it to Krinneor in one night or go hungry," Darll said.

  "We can do it," Graym said confidently. Landmarks weren't hard to read, but he had often discussed the road — wistfully — with merchants buying barrels and casks. "There's this hill, and one little town, and a valley, then, and a downhill run from there to Krinneor."

  "And prison for me. and a forced march to get there," Darll said gruffly. "I'd be running away free, and you'd be — " He looked at Graym sharply. "I'd be gone if it weren't for those nasty, little, pointy-eared thieves."

  Graym said gruffly, "You ought not to criticize others, sir. Not to drag up the past, but you've done worse."

  Darll glared at him. "That wasn't a fair trial. The bailey wanted blood, and he got it."

  "Of course, he wanted blood. You hurt his dignity. You had only a sword, and you half-killed ten soldiers armed with spears, maces, and swords."

  Darll objected. "When I half-kill ten men, I leave only five left alive. I beat them badly, but that wasn't the charge against me, anyway, unless you count resisting arrest."

  "True enough, sir," Graym said agreeably. "You scarpered the town treasury and then nicked a hay wagon."

  "Nice way to put it. A real sophisticate, you are."

  "Assault, theft, intoxication, breaking and entering, reckless endangerment, incitement to stampede, vandalism, arson." He paused. "That's the lot, isn't it, sir?"

  "Still and all," Darll said stubbornl
y, "it WAS a first offense."

  "First offense?" Graym gaped. "From you, sir?"

  "Well, for this sort of crime."

  Graym shook his head. "You tell your side of it well, sir, but I have a contract."

  "It's the money, then."

  "No, sir." Graym shook his head violently. "I gave a promise. Even if I persuaded the others to agree to forfeit the twentypiece we have coming, I'd still be unable — outstanding warrant and all — to go back to Sarem and return the ten — " He felt in his pocket…

  He sighed, didn't bother feeling in his other pockets.

  Darll, watching his face, smiled. "Cunning little things."

  "Thrifty, too," Graym muttered.

  By midday, they had reached the top of the first large hill — low and rocky, with a fault crack running across it. Jarek, scouting ahead for the easiest route for the cart on the broken road, returned, announcing, "People coming." Fen said fearfully, "What if they're robbers?" Fan added, "Or maybe they're the bounty hunters." The Wolf brothers edged toward the back of the cart. Graym grabbed their shirts, pulled them back. He then wiped his hands on his own shirt. "Wait till we've seen them, at least."

  He edged to the top of the hill and peered over the top. A group of humans was walking toward them — townsfolk, seemingly, coming from the small knot of cottages standing on the road.

  Graym retreated below the crest of the hill, reported what he'd seen. "We can't run, and there's no place to hide. Best we go forward and be friendly. Folks like that."

  Jarek looked dubious. "They might rob us."

  "Not of much."

  "Or we might rob them. Are they rich?"

  "I didn't grow up with 'em," Graym retorted. "How should I know?"

  Jarek dug in the dirt with his boot. "Well, if they are, and we robbed them, then we'd be better off, right?"

  Graym considered. "Now that's an idea. We rob from the rich. And then…"

  "And then what?" Jarek asked.

  "Can't rob from the poor," Fenris said.

  "No future in it," Fanris agreed.

  Jarek objected, "There's more poor people than rich people. Easier to find."

  "Ah, but they don't have as much, do they?"

  "Now that's telling him what, Fen."

  "Thank you, Fan."

  Darll said firmly, "You're not robbing these people."

  Graym wasn't too keen on robbing, but he thought Darll was being a bit bossy, for a prisoner, even if he was a mercenary. "And why not, sir?"

  Darll shook his head wearily. "Because they have us surrounded."

  While they had been talking, the townspeople had encircled the hill and closed ranks. They approached silently. There were thirty or forty of them, dressed in ragged, ill-fitting clothes. Several wore robes.

  Graym looked around at the circle of men and women. "Good to sec so many of you here to greet us." He waved an arm. "I'd offer a drink, but we're running short."

  A robed and hooded figure came forward. The robe was too long, clearly borrowed, and had been dyed a neutral color. "I am Rhael," said the person. "I am the elder."

  The voice was strong and dear, strangely high. Graym said dubiously, "Are you sure? You sound kinda young for an elder."

  "Quite sure." The woman pulled back her hood and shook her hair free of it.

  Darll snorted. "Who are you all?"

  "I am Rhael. These are my people. We come from the village of Graveside."

  Darll asked, "A law-abiding village?"

  She nodded.

  "Good." He raised his manacled hands. "Arrest these fools and free me."

  "Arrest them? Why?"

  "Because they're crooks."

  "What have they done?"

  "What haven't they? Theft, resisting arrest, drunk and disorderly plenty of times, drunk but not disorderly at least once, sober and disorderly a few times — "

  Rhael seemed impressed. "What are they like as fighters?"

  Terrible," Darll said truthfully. "Awful to watch. You can't imagine."

  "Brutal?"

  "That man — " Darll pointed to Graym — "drove off a band of bounty hunters, with only me in chains to help him."

  "That one…" He pointed to Jarek. "He nearly killed a man with one blow." More or less true, counting a thrown rock as a blow.

  "And those two…?"

  Darll glanced at the Wolf brothers, who waited eagerly to hear what he could say about them.

  "Well, just look at them," Darll said.

  The folk of Graveside looked them up and down. The Wolf brothers did look dangerous, both as criminals and as a health risk.

  Darll held out his arms, waiting for his release.

  Rhael walked straight up to Graym. "Would you be willing to lead an army?"

  Darll choked. Graym's mouth sagged open.

  "We need brave men like you," Rhael said. "We're facing a scourge."

  One of the elders quavered, "A terrible scourge!"

  "I didn't think it would be a nice scourge," Darll muttered.

  "His name," Rhael lowered her voice, "is Skorm Bonelover."

  "Not his given name, I take it, Miss?" Graym said.

  "He is also called the Sorrow of Huma, the Dark Lady's Liege Man, the Teeth of Death, the Grave of Hope — "

  "I've always wanted a nickname," Fen said wistfully.

  "We've had some," Fan reminded him.

  "Not ones we've always wanted, Fan."

  "True enough, Fen." He sighed.

  Darll said, suddenly interested, "Don't you people have any fighters, or a bailey or something?"

  They all looked sorrowful. "Gone, gone," one said.

  "Killed?" Graym said sympathetically.

  Rhael shook her head. "The Protector came to me one morning and warned me about the coming of Skorm. A stranger had come in the night and told him, said that he had already fled before Skorm's army. The Protector said the only sensible thing to do was flee, leaving all our things behind, so that Skorm would stay and plunder instead of pursuing us."

  Graym frowned. "This Protector wasn't much of an optimist."

  "He was terrified," Rhael said. "He said that Skorm would drink the blood of one victim, only to spit it in the face of another. He said Skorm once bit through the arm of a warrior and stood chewing on it in front of him. He said — "

  "Never mind," Graym said hastily. His stomach had been wobbly all day. "Where is this scourge?" He looked around fearfully. "Not with you, I take it."