“I thought I recognized you, old man!” Bailis interjected. “Thought you were dead, though.”
“Everyone says that,” D’Kem smiled, grimly. “Sir.”
If Long had gained any status or respect for having been recognized by the major, he had to allow the same for D’Kem. So, the old Burner had served. And Bailis didn’t seem unhappy to see him. Maybe this would actually work. Bailis addressed Long, “What are you thinking, then?”
“Well, sir, I thought we’d make the bones of a decent squad. Add three or four more and we’re ready to take it to ‘em.”
Bailis’ eyes took on a faraway look for a few moments and then he snapped back to the present. “Yes. I’ve got a couple of good bowmen for you. Twins, actually. I don’t bother with their names, ‘cause I can’t tell ‘em apart. And there’s a real mean bastard, just loves to scrap. Finally, I’ve got a kid does some healing. Not much, but better than nothing, I’m sure.”
Long wasn’t wild about the idea of a real mean bastard, but he wasn’t about to second-guess his new superior. “Thank you, sir.”
Bailis surprised him by taking him into a bear hug and thumping him powerfully on the back. “Looking forward to this fracas, I can tell you. Should be fun. Historic, even.”
Well, some of his crew had been itching for glory. If the major’s rumors were true, they were about to get buried in it.
~ FOUR ~
Aoife, On the Road
In general, the A’Shea could walk unmolested along any road in civilized regions, such were their reputations. Hunters’ paths through forests, smugglers trails, goat tracks and other, less-travelled byways were infinitely more dangerous. The world seemed increasingly out of balance of late, however, and people and creatures alike behaved in unpredictable, irrational ways. Thus, as Aoife walked East Hitchens Road one afternoon, she was beset by highwaymen. There were five of them, and they came at her dead-on, as if seeking her help. When they got near, though, they began to encircle her.
How to describe these ruffians? They didn’t much differ from the universal image of their kind: worn-down, ill-equipped, with unkempt hair, ragged beards, countless missing teeth, scars – the whole Traveler’s Kit, as the saying went. One of them stepped right up into Aoife’s face and leered.
“And how may I help you gentlemen?” Aoife asked, nervously.
The bold one turned to his fellows and sniggered. “Ya can start by doffing them robes, missy,” he drawled.
Men! Aoife thought. How come she’d never heard of a female rapist? She feigned difficulty with the clasp on her cloak, and as the presumed leader stepped forward to speed her efforts, Aoife laid hands on his face. At first, the man grinned, as if he thought Aoife welcomed his advances. Then he began screaming, as his eyeballs dried up in their sockets and twin wisps of steam floated out of his face.
“I’m blind! I’m blind! The bitch fuckin’ blinded me!” he screamed in panic. These were not your top-drawer highwaymen, but neither were they imbeciles. Seeing their leader’s plight, they turned and ran for the trees. The blind man drew his rusty sword and took a series of gigantic swipes through the air, in vain attempt to catch Aoife with one. The A’Shea were primarily disciples of mercy, however, and Aoife stepped in to touch the man again. This time, he keeled over in sleep. When he wakened, he would still be blind – Aoife lacked the power to reverse that – but he would be more at peace with his new state. In fact –
Aoife felt a sudden, severe pain in her right buttock. She twisted to look and saw she’d been hit by an arrow. She’d been a fool to assume she’d scared the rest of the band off. She –
Passed out from the pain.
*****
When she awoke, it was night. She was lying, tied up, at the base of a tree, while four figures sat around a small fire nearby.
“It’s a crime in the Four Kingdoms to assault an A’Shea,” she breathed.
One of the figures mumbled something to the man on his right, got up and walked over to Aoife. “Shut up, bitch!” he yelled, and kicked her in the stomach. Aoife could barely breathe through the pain.
“Gag her, Lempz, before she does any more casting,” one of the others said.
Lempz kneeled down and, despite Aoife’s attempts to prevent him, succeeded in binding her mouth with a soiled kerchief. This gag was like to make her gag, she thought bitterly.
Lempz giggled stupidly and said, “We hear there’s an underground slave trade in Tarith-Tae. You’ll make some fat lord very happy, we think.” With that, the man got up and sauntered back to the fire. Aoife heard him say something unintelligible to his mates and the whole group burst into laughter. After a while, she grew bored of listening to them and her focus turned inward, so she could examine her condition more carefully. The arrow had not been poisoned, but it had been filthy, which could lead to disease in a normal victim. Aoife, however, was schooled in dealing with such things and felt she could heal herself over a few days without much effort. As long as they didn’t abuse her further, and, if they truly intended to try to sell her into slavery, that didn’t seem likely.
In her mind, Aoife recited a prayer and put herself into a deep, refreshing sleep. This battle was far from over.
*****
The End, On the March
General Shere looked down at the infant in his arms. He had briefly considered bringing a different child, a substitute, but of course the End-of-All-Things would have known. Still, he could hardly bear to contemplate what he suspected was to come.
As he entered his master’s tent, Anders stood fully erect, facing the entrance, as if he’d been expecting Shere’s arrival at any moment. This prescience of his was one of the many things that kept Shere awake at night.
“And here he is at last,” Anders said, warmly. “Your son.”
Shere balked, inwardly. “Yes, my lord.”
Anders held out his arms, waiting to receive the child. It was the single-most agonizing moment of Shere’s life. Yet, somehow he managed to hand the child over. Tenderly, almost lovingly, Anders embraced the child so that his head rested on Anders’ shoulder.
Anders smiled darkly. “Oh, yes. I’m fully capable of doing everything you’ve feared and more. Far more. But it amuses me to keep the child. Train him, perhaps, in my arts, but also to hold him against any thoughts you might have of treachery or flight.”
“I…I would never, my lord.”
“So you say. So you all say. But I mean to destroy the world. Will you be content to help me, or even to stand by and watch?”
Shere said nothing.
“We shall see.” Anders concluded, then turned his attentions to the babe. “Shall we not, little one? Shall we not?”
Shere realized without having to be told that he’d been dismissed.
The next man through the tent’s entrance was General Deda. Wims was a little taken aback to find Anders holding a baby, but did his best not to seem surprised. “You wanted to see me, Lord?”
Anders looked over at him, his weird, pale eyes revealing nothing. “Come closer,” he said, and “here,” as he put the child into Deda’s arms. “You do not fear me,” Anders said. It was a statement, not a question.
“I do, my Lord.”
“No, not as the others do. I would know why.”
“Life is pain, Lord; pain is life. I expect to die in pain someday. What have I to fear, knowing that?” Wims answered, as honestly as he could.
“You would not rule at my side in what’s to come?” Anders asked, perplexed.
“Your pardon, Lord. As I understand, what’s to come is annihilation, oblivion. Would I help you rule over nothing?”
Anders’ eyes glittered in the light of a nearby brazier. “You are a dangerous man, General. I think, despite that, I will allow you to continue to live and serve me. You will keep me from becoming…over-confident, complacent.”
Wims searched his master. “As you will, Lord,” he responded.
“Indeed,” the End-of-All-Things said. �
��And how long until we’ve finished the razing of this forest?”
“It has been an interesting challenge, but all signs point to a successful finish by the end of the week.”
“That is far longer than I had hoped.”
“We are being thorough, my Lord, very, very thorough.”
Anders reached out and reclaimed the infant. “Very well,” he said. “The end of the week, but no more. Make sure that is widely understood.”
“Yes, Lord.” Wims bowed from the waist, briefly presenting the top of his head to the End-of-All-Things and then turned and left the tent. Wims observed that he ought to have felt uneasy; instead, he was merely baffled. Anders could see through him – or so it seemed – why had he left him alive, yet again?
*****
Vykers, In Lunessfor
Vykers was sitting on a bench in one of the estate’s many kitchens, his feet up on a nearby table, a large flagon of ale in his hands. “Let me go over this again,” he told Kendell, who sat across from him, drinking from a flagon of his own. “And you tell me where I’m wrong. The old hag – I’m sorry, Her Majesty – is afraid this sorcerer-warrior with a magic sword is coming to destroy her kingdom. So she had me captured, maimed and dropped smack in the middle of her newly acquired territories. After letting me cool off a bit, she sends the Earl of East Bumblefuck to come get me and bring me back to her court. How am I doing, so far?”
Kendell put down his flagon and began to clean his nails with one of his ubiquitous daggers. “Sounds about right.”
“I meet the wretched crone – I’m sorry, Her Majesty – and she tells me she wants me to meet this boogeyman in battle. But since I don’t have a magic sword of my own, she passes me off to you, with instructions to get me up to the infamous City Outside Prophecy, where someone is supposed to reveal the location of another sword. Your solution is to equip me with a freak-show of an escort.”
“Right.”
“Have you all been eatin’ wild mushrooms? And what’s the point in all the tip-toeing around? Why not just raise the largest army ever assembled and go crush this bastard?”
“Has it occurred to you that Her Majesty might be concerned this End-of-All-Things is actually that? That it takes a legend – or a fiend – to defeat one? A better question is, do you think you can beat him?”
“How do you know I wouldn’t join with him?”
Kendell chuckled. “Her Majesty guessed you might say something along those lines, so part of your journey up north will include a little side trip to witness this monster at work. Maybe once you’ve seen what he’s capable of, you won’t be so cavalier.”
Vykers put his flagon down and, out of nowhere, a servant girl came and refilled it. Vykers eyed her.
Careful, Arune warned.
Mind your own business, Vykers thought back at her. “Okay. I can’t think of anything better at the moment. Now, tell me a bit more about this Ahklat.”
“What do you know right now?”
“Uh…the city’s supposed to be cursed. The people are cannibals or some damned thing. I was never really interested in the place before.”
Kendell resheathed his dagger, took a massive swig of ale, swallowed and began, “Long ago, the city of Ahklat was a thriving metropolis that rivaled Lunessfor in size and influence. One summer evening seven hundred years past, however, the people of Ahklat were stricken with a strange madness that caused them to hunt and consume all of the city’s children. When the madness disappeared as quickly as it came, the people of Ahklat were so filled with revulsion, guilt and rage that untold numbers killed themselves, while others sought vengeance through killing any and everyone else they came across. In the end, nigh onto two hundred and sixty thousand lives were lost during the slaughter. The survivors – less than thirty thousand – were cursed by more than the memory of their misdeeds, for they soon discovered they no longer aged or suffered illness of any kind. Indeed, it seemed they’d been granted immortality, so they might live with their shame for all eternity. Of course, once it was discovered what had taken place in Ahklat, many argued the King should take his army north and eradicate the city and its citizens. The King, however, feared that his army might contract whatever illness it was that had befallen the people of Ahklat and therefore simply ordered a quarantine, which stood, incredibly, for more than two hundred years, until it was broken by a rich merchant who cared more for money than his own health. When nothing untoward befell that merchant, others followed, until Ahklat eventually rejoined the realm. Still, the city remains a cursed and haunted place, nothing like the majestic center of industry and commerce it once was. No children play in the streets, no music or laughter is ever heard.”
Vykers stared at the other man, slack jawed.
Kendell shrugged. “The Queen told me you’d ask, so I memorized that out of Phinestre’s Chronicles.”
“And how much o’ that is bullshit?” Vykers asked.
“None. Phinestre’s is the authority on the subject. Plus, I’ve been there a time or two.”
He’s right about Phinestre’s Chronicles, anyway, Arune offered.
Huh. “So, it’s a city full of immortal former cannibals?”
“Yes,” Kendell answered. “But it’s the immortal part we’re interested in.”
“Because…?”
“Because they’ve had a long time – hundreds of years – to try and divert themselves from thinking of their deeds. And in looking for diversion, they became some the world’s greatest scholars, historians, artists. In fact, there’s a weaver in Ahklat who spent two hundred years on one tapestry. It’s impossibly long and uses every color known to man. They say it depicts human history from the time of the Awakening.”
“And somewhere in this city is someone who knows where I can find a sword…”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?” Vykers said.
“Yes, don’t eat outside the merchants’ quarter, or you’ll be sorry. The local cuisine is notoriously bad.”
*****
The next morning, while it was still dark, Vykers and his escort left the estate through what was essentially a secret passage. They emerged in the backroom of a tobacco shop.
“Oh, I’ve missed that smell!” Vykers said.
“We do not have time to waste, begging your pardon,” one of his companions said.
“Did you forget who you’re talking to, ugly?” Vykers retorted.
“I am called Number Three.”
“You look more like Number Two, to me,” Vykers replied.
That is so juvenile! Arune intruded.
Why are you always busting my balls? Leave me in peace or I’ll piss you right outta my body. “You lead the way, I give the orders. Understand?”
The beast looked at him, utterly mortified. “Yes, yes, you are right. I am deeply, deeply sorry.”
“If we don’t have time for some smoke, we really don’t have time for your apologies. Let’s just get moving.”
They hustled through the front room, out the front door and onto the street, where they found a large wagon full of barrels waiting for them, as planned.
“If you boys weren’t so ugly, we could be riding in style,” Vykers noted.
“As you say,” Number Three said.
Quietly, the five chimera climbed into the wagon and then into their separate barrels. Vykers put lids on each, and then climbed onto the bench beside the driver, to whom he only nodded. Wordlessly, the driver snapped the reins and his two draft horses began pulling the wagon down the street.
Vykers thought about the sword at his hip, as he watched the city roll by. It was beyond comforting to be wearing a sword again. It was almost sexually pleasing. He put his hand on the sword’s hilt and imagined how easy it would be to kill his companions and the driver, whatever their abilities.
Arune intruded, again. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s disturbing.
To you, perhaps.
I would just ask that you don’t do anything rash. Things
are going well right now.
Oh? Vykers was intrigued. How so?
You jest, I assume? If you make the Queen happy, you’ll have conquered half the continent.
And what’s that to you? What’s a Burner want with half the continent?
You may amass the money and influence needed to get me my own body, to separate us once and for all.
Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1) Page 11