by Dave Duncan
Big, gangling Prat'han was squatting by one of the fires, roasting something on a stick. He yelled at the jokers to be quiet. Then he shone big teeth at her. “The battlemaster has gone scouting with the Thoid'lbians, lady. They wanted to see if they can climb that ruined tower. Should be back soon. Stay and keep us company, for we are all lonely for the sound of a woman's voice.” The audience shouted agreement.
Ysian was very conscious of so many men close around her, a very odd feeling, and not unpleasant. Their attention was flattering. But she had come to see if Prat'han would help her rescue Dosh, and now she realized she could not ask him in public like this. Relations between Nagians and Joalians were bad. She knew D'ward was worried; she must not do anything to make matters worse. Prat'han must know that too, so he might refuse to get involved. Or too many of the troop might get too much involved, and she would have started a riot. Bother!
"I really can't stay just now, Troopleader. I'd like to. Maybe later."
Prat'han said that was a pity. The men needed the company of beautiful women to keep their morale up. Then he held out his stick to her. Sonalby, he explained, had met with good fortune that afternoon—a marshy pond, full of fat lizards. The tails were a great delicacy, and she must eat this one while it was hot. He smiled proudly.
She took the stick and tried not to look at the smoking lump on the end of it. She would not eat lizard if she were dying of starvation, but it might be just the excuse she needed to intrude on the terrible things she had seen happening.
"This is very kind of you,” she said. “It smells delicious! You won't mind if I take it with me, will you?"
"Alas! We are heartbroken. Where must you rush off to so urgently?"
"Oh...” Ysian was already edging away over the tangle of legs. “A friend needs me. Something I must do before D'ward gets back."
Of course they chose to misinterpret her words, but nothing she could have said would have been proof against their coarse humor. With the raucous suggestions scorching her ears, she hurried off into the shadows. Her father had never talked like that. D'ward never talked like that. D'ward was different. She rather wished he were not quite so different. She thought he would approve of what she was doing now, because she knew he disliked deliberate cruelty as much as she did. She was so mad she did not care overmuch whether he would approve or not.
She detoured around the charred and stinking remains of a stable to avoid a camp of Joalians. She reached the shed she wanted. The door was ajar, casting a thin wedge of lamplight over the cobbled yard outside. The horrible noises had stopped. Ignoring sudden quiverings in her insides, she kicked the door open and marched right in. The hut was larger than she had realized, bare except for a workbench along one wall; from the smell, it was probably where wool was baled at shearing time.
Two of the Joalians were sitting on the bench, feet dangling. Two more were leaning against their shadows on the wall. Dosh lay curled up in the middle of the floor, his arms bound behind him and more rope around his ankles. The old scars on his face were hidden by blood and fresh welts, his legs were bruised and scratched. Rips in his shirt showed more bruises on his ribs, repulsively bright on his fair skin.
"Well!” One of the Joalians on the bench paused in licking his knuckles. “Brought us some supper, did you?"
"Not for you!” Ysian did not look at him. She knelt down beside Dosh and pulled out her knife. D'ward had given it to her when they left Lemod, telling her to keep it handy always.
"Hey!” the Joalian shouted. “What do you think you're doing?"
"He can't eat with his hands tied, Troopleader.” She sawed at the rope around the prisoner's wrists. It had bitten into the flesh, and his hands were hideously red.
He peered at her out of the corner of his eye, looking very astonished. He gasped as the rope parted.
The Joalian leader pushed himself off the bench, his boots thudding on the flagstones. He was big and swarthy and hook nosed. His shadow leaped up behind him, huge and menacing. “Who said you could do that? And why should a traitor eat before honest men?"
However disgusting the grisly lump on the stick seemed to her, all four guards were eying it hungrily.
"He's not a traitor until the battlemaster says so! Here!” She thrust her revolting offering at Dosh, who was struggling to sit up.
"Need a minute,” he muttered, chaffing his hands.
"You give that to me!” The Joalian bent to grab it from her.
Ysian whipped it around behind her back. “Go and get your own food! This is for Dosh Envoy.” She tried to glare up at him, but kneeling was not a good position for glaring.
"Dosh Traitor you mean! Just because you're the battlemaster's harlot doesn't give you the right to order me around, missy!” He tried again to take the stick from her. “You don't have his authority to do that!"
"Yes, she does,” D'ward said, marching in. Golbfish Hordeleader's cumbersome bulk filled the doorway behind him.
Ysian relaxed with a rush of relief. She had been starting to think that things might shortly begin to get somewhat out of hand. Dosh grinned at her, showing blood on his teeth. She handed him the stick. He took it in his swollen fingers but did not try to eat.
The Joalians had come to attention. Tall and fearsomely blue-eyed, D'ward glanced them over, then spared a longer, harder look for Dosh. He was making no effort to hide his anger, and it filled the shed like a winter frost. He spoke first to Ysian.
"What are you doing here, Viks'n?"
"I brought Dosh Envoy some supper."
"Why?"
"I thought they might stop torturing him if I was here."
D'ward sighed and gave her his exasperated look, which always annoyed her tremendously. “Well, cut his feet loose too. Now, Dibber Troopleader, I want an explanation. Report!"
"Sir! Saw this man consorting with the enemy, sir!” The Joalian waited, as if nothing more need be said. When nothing more was said, he spoke again, but with much less confidence. “This afternoon you passed the word for him, sir. He wasn't found, sir, was he? About sunset, sir, we saw him in the distance with a band of Thargians. We watched him try to sneak into camp unobserved ... arrested him ... sir...."
D'ward's eyes shone like blue steel. “You did not report to Kolgan Coadjutant or Golbfish Hordeleader?"
"Er ... waiting for you, sir..."
"So you questioned him yourself?"
"Er, yes, sir.” The troopleader's face glistened wetly under the lantern—he was scared and serve him right!
"Did he tell you anything?"
"Some lies about acting on your orders, sir."
"And you know he wasn't, do you?"
An insect thudded into the lamp and bounced off. In the awful silence, it sounded like a drumbeat. When D'ward spoke, his voice was even softer but full of menace.
"Dosh Envoy, did any of them try to stop what was happening?"
"Not that I heard.” Amazingly, Dosh was now nibbling at the lizard tail. He seemed remarkably cheerful, considering the beating he had suffered.
D'ward pronounced judgment. “Dibber, you exceeded your authority. Go back to your troop. Inform them that you have been demoted and they are to elect a successor. He is to report to Golbfish Hordeleader immediately with recommendations for your further punishment. That means all of you. Go!"
The prince moved his mass aside, and the four men stampeded out into the darkness. Golbfish pulled the door closed, with himself on the inside of it. He was smiling, yet somehow he did not look pleased. Ysian stood up, planning to leave the three men to their deliberations. She had done what she came for. She thought she deserved a little more appreciation for it, too.
"You'd better stay, Viks'n.” D'ward heaved himself up on the bench, feet dangling. He stared down at Dosh with disgust. “Oh, you! What sort of mess are you in this time?"
"Got a message for you,” Dosh said, still chewing. Apparently he was actually enjoying the revolting meal. He could not have been eating well lately.
Puzzled that she was wanted, but quite pleased, Ysian moved back against the wall. She caught the prince's eye. He nodded and smiled at her, and she did not understand that, either. She liked the big hordeleader. He always spoke to her as if she were a lady.
"From?” D'ward said.
Dosh glanced warily at Ysian and Golbfish. “A friend of a friend. A servant of a former master of mine. The one you guessed."
"Aha! You can talk about him now?"
Dosh nodded. “The servant removed the master's ... directive.” He choked. “That bastard! That mudpig! He stole three years of my life!"
He tried to rise. Golbfish went to help him, and he staggered to his feet. “This aspect's all right—I think. He wants to meet you."
D'ward raised his eyebrows.
Golbfish made a rumbling sound. “Now wait a minute! Let's hear where you went—and how you came back. And what about the Thargians?"
Dosh leaned both arms on the bench. He must be in a lot of pain, though he was trying not to show it. “Liberator—"
"Don't call me that! You'd better speak openly. I trust these two, and they deserve to know what secret they're keeping. Out with it!"
"Sure?” Dosh said impudently. He was never as respectful to the Liberator as everyone else was. “Well, I went to a temple, to report to Tion. I met his avatar Prylis—god of learning. I gave him my report, but ... Well, he isn't Tion!"
"Of course he isn't. None of them are. What else?"
"He wants you to go to him. Very important, he said. Some Thargians had followed me. Prylis bound them to my service. They have to obey me!” Dosh tried to laugh, winced, and rubbed his ribs regretfully.
Ysian caught Golbfish's eye again. He was frowning, but he did not look as surprised as she would have expected. Perhaps D'ward had told him some of the strange things he had told her—things that would have shocked her parents to the core, things she would have believed to be dreadful heresies had she heard them from anyone but D'ward.
"I saw that temple,” Golbfish said. “If you went there, then how did you catch up with us?"
Dosh twisted his bruised lips into a parody of a smile. “I rode a moa."
"That's impossible!"
"That's what I thought, but it isn't. Not if you ride double. The brute didn't like it, but it brought me."
After a moment, D'ward said, “I'll have to trust you. What does this Prylis person want with me?"
"Dunno. Don't question gods."
"Maybe you should.” D'ward stared down at his knees for a while, swinging his feet. “How far away is this temple?"
Dosh shrugged, wiping his mouth. “Ten miles, maybe. My lancers will take us. You can be back before morning."
"Battlemaster!” Golbfish exclaimed. “You cannot seriously..."
But obviously D'ward was planning to go. How could he trust his life to Dosh Envoy? Ysian did not like Dosh. D'ward had told her why the other men disliked him, but that should not matter to her. There was just something wrong about him—not wrong enough to justify what had been done to him tonight, though.
"I have to risk it, Highness,” D'ward said. “It could be very important. If I'm not back by dawn, lead the army into the pass—and keep going, understand! On no account wait for me or look for me!"
"Battlemaster—"
"Can't pass up a chance to have a god as an ally, can I? Consult Kolgan, but you make the decisions, apart from the orders I just gave you. I'll tell him.” He turned to Dosh, who was trying not to show his pleasure at the Liberator's faith in him. “You coming too? Can you make it in your condition?"
"I'm the toughest bastard in the whole army."
"I know you are. Very well, I'll make my rounds now, and you get yourself cleaned up. Nobody else must know I've gone, or half the Nagians will come after me, no matter what I say! As soon as—"
"Me too!” Ysian said. She was not going to be left behind like a child!
The three men all turned to stare at her; she racked her brains for some convincing reason why she should not be left behind like a child.
"Now, ma'am!” Golbfish said. “This is no expedition for a—"
"Me too! D'ward, you told me where the safest place was!"
The safest place was next to him, he had said, because the Filoby Testament predicted many things he would do before he died. Besides, even if the army escaped back to Nagvale and Joalvale, what would become of her, a Lemodian traitor? Even if she could ever return to Lemod, no decent man would marry her now. Next to D'ward was the only place she wanted to be, ever. She could never tell him that, but if he ever asked...
He was grinning. “Quite sure, Viks'n? It'll mean a couple of hard rides and no sleep all night."
"Quite sure!"
"Thargian patrols may catch us and kill us."
"You don't believe that or you wouldn't be going!"
He chuckled and gave her one of his rare, wonderful smiles that always lit up the world. “Come, then.” He gestured at Dosh. “Help this traveling disaster clean up, will you, Viks'n?” He jumped off the bench and disappeared out the door, leaving the two men staring after him in disbelief.
"What's this Viks'n he calls you?” Dosh demanded.
"Just a pet name."
Golbfish shrugged. “In classical Joalian, ‘viksen’ means ‘courage.’”
Dosh said, “Oh."
Ysian had not known that and felt pleased. D'ward had told her it was the name of a small animal with red hair, and her hair was not red. It was dark auburn.
[Back to Table of Contents]
39
AS THEY CREPT OUT OF THE CAMP, D'WARD TOOK YSIAN'S HAND. She thought progress! Then she decided he was just being protective again, babying her. The only time he had ever touched her was when they had been crossing Lemodwater, escaping from the city. His strength on that occasion had impressed her a lot, but she would not agree that he was necessarily more surefooted in darkness and rough terrain just because he was a man. Not without a demonstration, anyway.
And this could never be a truly romantic stroll, since Trumb had risen, three-quarters full above the branches. His eerie green light made people look like corpses, definitely not romantic. Eltiana's rosy glow was the moonlight for lovers. Besides, Dosh was there too, leading the way. He was moving like a corpse, or at least a half-dead person, and ought to be in bed. So not romantic. More like goose-pimply and exciting. Nevertheless, she let D'ward continue to hold her hand, squeezing his fingers discriminatingly from time to time.
They avoided the sentries’ notice—which annoyed D'ward a lot. Then Dosh said he had better go ahead in case of accidents, and in a minute she had D'ward to herself.
"Are you being romantic or just baby-sistering me again?"
He released her hand. “Sorry."
"Sorry for what? You really are the most maddening man!"
His eyes and teeth showed bright in the moonlight. “Now what have I done?"
"It's what you don't do that bothers me! It is very insulting for a woman to find herself ignored like this when she has made her inclinations perfectly clear!"
"With the knife, you mean? Oh, I certainly understood the message. I have never been so scared in my life!"
"That was before I got to know you. Why don't you even kiss me?"
He sighed. “I've told you, Ysian. I am promised to another. You're a sweet kid and—"
"I am not a kid!"
"And rarely sweet?"
"Exceedingly sweet. Try me."
"I ought to put you over my knee and spank you."
"Promise to take my pants off first?"
"Ysian! You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I am ashamed of myself. I've tried everything I know—” At that point she tripped and almost fell. D'ward did not even try to catch her.
It was humiliating.
After twenty minutes or so, they came to a bridge over a stream. A voice from the shadows up ahead demanded, “Password?"
"Flower of sham
e,” Dosh replied. “Captain Ksargirk?"
"Yes, sir."
"There are three of us. You take this man. And the, er, boy can go behind Tsuggig. I'll ride with Progyurg."
"His mount is only a five-year-old, sir. Better to—"
"That's an order!"
"Whatever you say, sir."
Ysian grinned to herself, wondering if D'ward noticed how much Dosh enjoyed flaunting his authority; the Thargian certainly had.
A chance to ride a moa had seemed like a big adventure. Moas were big—she had never realized just how big. More Thargians led the steeds in from the darkness. The long necks seemed to stretch halfway up to Trumb, and the saddles were higher than the men's heads, even D'ward's! How was she ever going to get up there? More important, when and how would she come down?
The lancers began hauling on reins, some of them lifting themselves right off the ground and hanging there. The moas snickered complaint, then one by one reluctantly folded their huge legs and sat.
"Ready, boy?” the Captain asked Ysian. “Hold on for your life, now!"
"Er, me? Ready for what?"
The nearest lancer vaulted into his saddle and at the same moment Ksargirk Captain and another man lifted Ysian bodily and more or less threw her at his back. She flung her arms around him and the moa went mad. It leaped straight up into the sky, while the other men cleared rapidly out of the way. It came down and went up again. It shrilled and brayed, kicked and cavorted. She clung grimly to the rider, her face pressed hard against his tunic. She clung so hard she wondered he could breathe, and yet she was bounced madly for what felt like several hours. Sometimes she came down on the moa's hairy rump, sometimes on the edge of the saddle, which hurt. Her legs flapped up and down like wings. Tsuggig cursed a stream of guttural Thargian that she could not understand and the moa ignored. She heard a few cries of pain from Dosh—he really ought not to be doing this in his condition! D'ward made no noise, but soon the whole night seemed to be full of bucking, rampaging moas. Oh, poor Dosh!