The Lion Returns

by John Dalmas

  On the other hand, Jeremid told himself, what harm might those three do? Odds are, Sarkia sent them to talk Varia into coming south with Macurdy. And if Sarkia's being straight about this... Hard to tell about her.

  And if she's not being straight, Macurdy and Vulkan can handle it. Be a shame, though, if anything happened to those twins. Break Macurdy's heart again.

  17 On the Road to Duinarog

  Macurdy and Vulkan crossed the border north into Visdrossa, turned east into Indrossa, then north again toward Inderstown and the Big River. The region was more prosperous than Macurdy remembered, and the roads and inns were better, especially as they neared the Big River. There were more travelers, and wagon traffic.

  They traveled long days, now much of the time under Vulkan's invisibility spell, to avoid slows and complications. Vulkan drew most of his energy from the Web of the World—that was routine for him—pausing now and then to feed on roots and tubers along the road. Every three or four nights he'd nab a lamb or calf, or young pig.

  Macurdy was surprised that Vulkan ate pig. «Numer-ous human tribes eat monkeys,» Vulkan replied mildly, «and humans are ensouled apes.» Leaving Macurdy to speculate on how he'd learned about monkeys, let alone the tribes that ate them. Vulkan had identified himself as a bodhisattva, but Macurdy had little idea of what a bodhisattva was, and less about the knowledge that might be part of it.

  Macurdy too drew on the Web of the World, supplementing it daily with food purchased at some village, or a meal at an inn. His stomach complained when he went too long between meals, but it was adjusting. From time to time he got off and walked a mile or two to rest Vulkan—speed-marched, striding rapidly and trotting by spells to avoid slowing them excessively. Several times Vulkan stopped to swim briefly in a stream, Macurdy joining him, and when they stopped to sleep, Macurdy groomed him, to prevent saddle sores.

  When Vulkan did drop his invisibility cloak, the result was much as it had been on their ride through Tekalos. But they outpaced reports of their moving north, and Vulkan avoided showing himself in villages and towns. When Macurdy needed to buy food, he'd slide from Vulkan's back as they approached a village or farm, and walk the last stretch.

  Macurdy could afford inns, but he felt a certain urgency, and preferred to ride late. Only once did they encounter an inn when he was ready to stop. Usually they rode till after dark, and the days were long in that season. To Macurdy, Vulkan's endurance seemed magical. Often Macurdy bedded down in a barn or hay shed, for farms were numerous in the northern Rude Lands. Once, when soaked by rain, they'd traveled all night, letting the sun dry them in the morning.

  Despite Vulkan's short legs and heavy burden, they made excellent progress.

  * * *

  Rillor and the twins pushed their horses hard. They did not, however, cover the miles they might have. Rillor's weaknesses included impatience and a love of comfort—not always compatible—and here there was no one to discipline him. The night after leaving Jeremid's, they hadn't yet cleared the forested Kullvordi Hills, so they slept in the woods. And as they'd ridden late, he decided not to trouble with setting up and breaking down camp. Instead they slept exposed beneath the trees.

  Not long after midnight, a squall line passed through, and soaked them. Cold, bedraggled, disgusted, they rode the rest of the night. And to warm themselves from the Web of the World was beyond their training, and quite possibly their talents.

  Camping had other drawbacks than weather. They'd have to hobble their horses instead of picketing them, so they could forage for food. And while foraging, even hobbled horses will scatter and be hard to find and catch. Also there was the matter of taking the tent down, folding it, and repacking the packsaddles.

  Guardsmen drilled such things repeatedly in training, but still they took time.

  So mostly they stopped at inns overnight, or occasionally a farm, sometimes well before dark. Then they rose at dawn and ate a quick breakfast. They'd be in trouble if they wore their horses out, Rillor said, and he was right, but on the road he pushed them hard.

  They made excellent time, by normal standards, but they could have done better.

  * * *

  Macurdy and Vulkan crossed the Big River to Parnston, in the Outer Marches. Macurdy rode a ferry, while Vulkan swam, his body unseeable but his wake quite visible. If one looked. It was the odd sort of sight people tend to suppress, denying their senses.

  Vulkan "talked" less than he had early on, but still from time to time he spoke at some length, usually in response to a comment or question by his rider. On the first morning north of Parnston, Macurdy was worrying about the powers they were up against in the Voitusotar.[1] "The voitar I've known were all a lot more talented than me," he said.

  «What of Corporal Trosza, of whom you told me?»

  Macurdy frowned. "Trosza wasn't typical."

  «In what respects was he not typical?»

  Macurdy regarded the question for a moment. "Actually he probably was fairly typical. What I should have said was, my voitik instructors at Schloss Tannenberg and Voitazosz were a lot more talented than me. But people like them—masters and adepts—are what I'm worried about the most."

  «Concern is appropriate, for they are indeed formidable. But in some respects less than you imagine.»

  Macurdy didn't reply. He sensed there was more to come.

  «Their psychic powers are narrow. As straightforward magicians, they are not exceptional. I doubt very much that any approach Sarkia in breadth and flexibility of magical response to situations. I speak, of course, of Sarkia as she was before her decline. And probably none of them approach you in psychic perception. Their great superiority is in major sorceries, sorceries requiring time and favorable circumstances to engineer, so to speak.» He paused. «I do not refer to arrangements or alliances with demons or the devil. Neither of which exist in the occult sense, though some voitar—and some humans and ylver—can behave quite satanically. What voitik adepts, and particularly masters have is an ability to manipulate astral matter, and susceptible forces of nature known as elementals. A talent largely absent among human beings and ylver.»

  "Wait a minute!" Macurdy said. "How do you know all that?"

  «I have access to areas of general knowledge, with regard to sentient beings in this particular pair of universes. It is attributable in part to my status as a bodhisattva, and to those areas of knowledge I was given access to in preparation for my task. Knowledge now clarifying for me as my task clarifies.

  «Beyond that it derives from my own observations of humans and ylver.» He turned his head, regarding Macurdy with one red eye. «But what I know of the Voitusotar is partly from one of my own land. He has paid no attention to them for some time now, and they were never his focus. But at one time he made a minor study of them. Through proxies. Your own observations fit his knowledge nicely.»

  "You mean there are giant boars across the Ocean Sea?"

  «Two of them. One in the west—west central, actually—and one in the east. We communicate from time to time, as the notion takes us.»

  It was Macurdy's turn to be silent. He had things to ponder, and he wasn't much for pondering.

  * * *

  Several days later, at a village three miles south of Ternass, they encountered a half-starved child, seated on a bench outside a tavern. One leg was crudely splinted, and a crude crutch leaned beside him. He was, Macurdy thought, about ten years old. The boy's aura told him what the problem was—a crush fracture of the lower leg, both tibia and fibula. The pictures embedded in the aura showed Macurdy more than enough, and the event that broke the leg was not the worst.

  Clearly the leg would mend crooked and short; the boy would be seriously crippled. Macurdy went over and squatted in front of him. "What happened?" he asked softly.

  "I got run over by my dad's cart," the boy answered. His voice was a soft monotone.

  "It must be a heavy cart."

  The boy pointed at it, a dozen yards away. It held a dozen large
burlap sacks of coal. A tall jaded mule stood harnessed to it, hitched to a rail.

  "It was piled high with wheat sacks that day," the boy said.

  "How did he happen to run over you?"

  The answer was little more than whispered. "It was an accident."

  "How come you're here, instead of at home?"

  The boy said nothing.

  "Is it all right if I heal it? I'm a healer."

  The boy looked at him, but did not meet his eyes. "You better ask my dad."

  "In there?" Macurdy gestured at the tavern.

  The boy nodded.

  "How will I know him?"

  "He's big, and his clothes has got coal dust on them."

  "Thank you," Macurdy said, "I'll ask him," and went inside.

  The Marches were prosperous enough that glass was commonplace, and the tavern was decently lit, through windows less dirty than they might have been. There were only four customers at that hour. Macurdy spotted the carter and walked over to him. "What are you drinking?" he asked cordially.

  Whatever it was, the man had had a few already. He scowled at Macurdy, who as usual had left his sword on a saddle ring. "I never seen you before," the carter said. "You got no business with me."

  "I used to be well known around here, when you were young. Really well known at Ternass. You just don't recognize me."

  "When I was young, you weren't hardly born."

  "I'm a lot older than I look. My name's Macurdy."

  The man glowered. The barkeeper and the other patrons had been more or less aware of the conversation; now the name Macurdy locked their attention. One of them in particular stared. His stubbly beard was gray, his hair getting that way. "God love me, it is him!" he murmured. "Or his double!"

  Macurdy ignored them. "I saw your boy on the bench out front," he said to the carter. "He's going to be a cripple. Unless I heal him."

  "He's none of your business, and neither am I."

  Macurdy reached into his belt pouch and took out several silver teklota. "I thought I'd take him to Ternass with me, heal him, and leave him at the fort."

  The man's voice raised. "Trying to buy him, are you! Healing's no part of what you got in mind! Get out of here before I call the constable!"

  Macurdy grabbed the man's heavy wool shirt front and jerked him close. "Call the constable," he hissed, "and I'll tell him what you accused me of. In front of witnesses."

  The carter's defiance took a shriller sound. "They heard nothing! They're friends of mine!"

  He looked around. No one said a word. They weren't his friends; they knew him too well. Macurdy let the man go and turned to the tavernkeeper. "Drinks for everyone; whatever they're drinking." He gestured at the carter. "Him too. I'll have ale."

  The middle-aged tavernkeeper had never set eyes on the Lion of Farside before, but it seemed to him this was the man. He began to draw drinks.

  The carter had turned away from Macurdy, to sip from the mug he already had. Macurdy rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I'm a wizard, you know. I can look at the boy and see what's happened to him. All of it."

  The man didn't speak, didn't look at him, only took another swallow of ale. His aura had darkened as if with smoke from the coal in his cart.

  "You got a wife?"

  The head shook no.

  "Died, did she?"

  The head nodded, the aura darkening further. Macurdy wondered what she'd died of. "Ah," he said. "It's got to be hard, bringing up a boy without a woman in the house. Working all day to buy food. Hardly anything left for a drink after a hard day of loading, unloading, carrying... I bet you had it tough when you were a boy, too, eh?"

  A remarkable tear swelled and overflowed, running down a grimy cheek to lose itself in stubble. Lightly, Macurdy clapped the man's shoulder. "Tell you what," he said. "I'll give you this gold imperial to close the deal. In front of these witnesses. I'll take him off your hands—" he paused "—and off your conscience. I'll take him to the fort, to their infirmary, heal him body and soul, and leave him with the commandant. They'll see he's taken care of, and you'll never see him again." Again he paused. "Never trouble him again."

  Once more the man faced him, somehow deflated now, defeated. He put out a hand for the coin.

  "You've got to say it out loud," Macurdy told him, "so we can all hear it. Say 'The deal is closed. I'll never trouble him again.' "

  "The deal is closed." The man paused, then continued. "I'll never trouble him again." Said it just loudly enough to be heard by the patrons and tavernkeeper.

  Macurdy shook the hand, then put the gold coin in it. "Good. We've made a deal. Thank God for it. If you break it..."

  The man turned away. Macurdy saluted the others and left, his own ale untouched. He knew what the man would do with the imperial: stay drunk till he was broke. A gold imperial would buy gallons of cheap booze. Then, when he'd recovered, he might or might not go to Fort Ternass and look for the boy. But probably he wouldn't. That would take energy and initiative.

  Outside, Macurdy stepped in front of the boy and spoke to him again. "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Delvi."

  "Delvi, I talked to your dad. He's not your dad any longer, unless you want to come back to him. That's up to you. For now you're my boy. I'll take you to Fort Ternass and heal your leg. Then we'll see about a new home for you. One where they'll feed you better, and won't—do what that one did to you. All right?"

  "It's up to him," the boy murmured.

  "No, no it's not. Not any longer. He sold you to me for a gold imperial."

  Despite himself, that widened the child's eyes. "A gold imperial?!"

  Macurdy nodded solemnly. "You're worth a lot more than that, but he didn't know it. Someday you'll be a man of pride and reputation." He paused. "That's the truth. I wouldn't lie to you." And to Macurdy it felt like truth.

  A well-grown youth had been passing by, and had slowed, then stopped, to listen. Macurdy asked his help, and together they got Delvi onto Macurdy's back, arms around his neck. Then Macurdy hiked out of town with his rider, Vulkan invisible beside them. Delvi smelled bad, of old sweat, pain, and fear. His splints dug Macurdy's ribs, and Macurdy's shoulders got cramped from walking with his arms behind his back, supporting Delvi's small, awkward weight. But it was nothing compared to lugging a machine gun on his shoulder thirty miles through 'dobe clay mud in Algeria.

  * * *

  Ternass was a major town, claiming 4,800 people. Not having a defensive palisade, it was more spread out and cleaner than such towns in the Rude Lands.

  The kingdoms of the Marches had their own regular armies now, and the ylvin garrison had long since turned the fort over to two companies of home-grown cavalry. So Macurdy, unsure of his welcome there, hiked to the nearby commons school. Hermiss, Varia's onetime traveling companion, was now the school's administrator, and she recognized Macurdy at once. She'd married, her father had retired, and her husband had replaced him as headmaster.

  Privately, Macurdy described the situation to her. She didn't hesitate, but came around the desk. "I'll introduce you at the fort," she said, "and keep track of Delvi when you've left."

  * * *

  To his surprise, the commandant remembered him more for his humanity and generalship than as an invader. Partly because he'd killed Lord Quaie, and partly because, through the treaty he'd negotiated, the March kingdoms had become self-ruling, though owing nominal allegiance and token fees to the emperor.

  Macurdy was given a room in the officers' quarters, and stayed there for four days, treating the boy. The leg improved with astonishing speed. Over the years, Macurdy had learned a bit about healing the psyche too, mainly from Arbel. And had had success with it, notably with Mary, and Shorty Lyle. So he exercised that, as well. Meanwhile both the fort's commandant and its surgeon had become interested in the boy, and promised Macurdy the father would not get him back. Beyond that, the mess sergeant had taken an interest in Delvi, and his thin features were already showing some flesh.r />
  Hermiss visited daily—on the second and third days with her husband. It seemed to Macurdy the boy might get foster parents and foster siblings out of this as well.

  Meanwhile Vulkan had disappeared. After breakfast of the fourth day, however, he spoke to Macurdy's mind. He'd just arrived outside the fort's defensive wall. Macurdy had him let inside, then packed his saddlebags, saddled the boar, and climbed aboard. On their way to the highway, they passed the great burial mounds of the battlefield, brightly spangled with meadow flowers. Macurdy wondered what Sicily looked like now, where he and so many others had bled. And Belgium, and Bloody Hürtgen, where what was left of the 509th had received its final wounds. He'd been spared that. He wondered if he could confront another war.

  * * *