Liar's Blade

by Tim Pratt

  Or use him as a semi-human shield.

  "I feel that my journey toward my ultimate destiny includes this quest of yours," Cilian said solemnly. "I beg permission to lend my strength, weapons, and will to your cause."

  Obed didn't answer for a long moment. Then he said, "I have prayed about this, and asked for guidance from my god. I believe that your motives are ...pure."

  Rodrick tried not to wince as he turned the spit on the fire. Obed's god talked to him about the motives of his fellow travelers? That couldn't be good.

  The priest continued. "Traveling through this wilderness is taking longer than I had anticipated. If you can speed our passage, and hasten our arrival in Brevoy, I would welcome your assistance."

  Cilian smiled broadly. "You will not regret this. Once you are rested, we can begin—"

  "We can begin now," Obed said. "We slept half the night before we were interrupted by those hags. I will not waste daylight."

  Rodrick sighed. "The duck is barely warm—"

  "I'll eat it," Zaqen said. "I don't mind my meat rare. As I think you've noticed."

  "Why couldn't you have been a fire sword, Hrym?" Rodrick said. "Then at least you could cook my breakfast while we travel."

  "Why couldn't you have been a wealthy man with a treasure room full of gold?" the sword replied. "Then I could be resting in splendor instead of wandering in the wilderness and being dropped into rivers."

  "I like this sword," Cilian said. "This sword is a very funny sword!"

  "That's why we brought Hrym along," Zaqen said. "To keep us amused on our journey."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Cilian didn't travel with their group, but ranged ahead in the woods, scouting their path, appearing occasionally from any and all directions to give them suggestions about the best path. With Cilian's guidance, they suffered none of the setbacks that had plagued their first days in the Fells—when they didn't have to backtrack or skirt miles out of their way around a swampy bog, they made markedly better time.

  Rodrick let his horse drift back a bit from the others so he could talk with Hrym privately. "What do you think of this Cilian?"

  "I think we could easily bilk him out of all his worldly possessions, if he had any worldly possessions, which he doesn't. If he's as simple as he seems, I doubt he's capable of treachery."

  "Could be a con," Rodrick mused. "Playing the simpleton, pretending he doesn't care about money, so he can rob us."

  "What a clever long-term plan!" Hrym said. "To go live in the depths of Loric Fells for who knows how long, in hopes that a party of wealthy adventurers will wander by, so he can save their lives and worm his way into their confidence. Now, if it had been me, I would have just let the hags murder us and stolen our horses and loot, but I'm clearly not a master criminal like Cilian."

  "Fair points, and well made," Rodrick said. "So you think his presence doesn't hurt us?"

  "It could, if he tries to stop us from running off with the relic at the end of this endless journey. On the other hand, he might keep you alive, so on the whole, I welcome him to our party. If I were you, I wouldn't worry about the half-elf. I'd keep your eye on Obed instead."

  "Why's that? Specifically?"

  "When he saved me from the bottom of the river, he spoke to me. He pointed out, quite rightly, that you hadn't even been able to keep a grip on me in the midst of a trivial battle with a couple of wood witches—"

  "They were hags!" Rodrick said. "A whole coven. That's hardly trivial."

  "Obed asked if I might consider giving you up as a partner, and joining my fortunes to his instead. There were promises of glory, and more importantly, there were promises of gold."

  "Ah ha. Did you take him up on his offer?"

  "I told him I would consider it, of course," Hrym said. "We might be able to work out a swindle of some sort, after all, where I pretend to sell myself to him. But I got the definite impression that Obed could live without your presence on this quest—that he mostly wants me."

  "Everyone always overlooks my subtler charms in favor of your obvious ones. It's enough to hurt a man's feelings."

  "Oh, come," Hrym said. "It works to your advantage if people think you're just some idiot who happens to wield a magic sword. Obed seems to believe I just chose you as a partner because I need someone to carry me around, and you're as good as anyone. Obed looks at you and sees a handsome face and broad shoulders, and has no idea you've got a half-decent and unusually twisty mind lurking behind those cheekbones and apparently lovely eyes."

  "Stop, please, you'll dizzy me with flattery."

  "Enjoy it while it lasts, because—"

  "Shh," Rodrick said. "I'm putting that unusually twisty mind of mine to work."

  Chapter Twelve

  Trapped in the Stolen Lands

  The remainder of the journey through Loric Fells was almost pleasant. It was easier to enjoy the cold, clean air when you knew there was an archer lurking in the trees watching out for danger. Rodrick was delighted to have fresh, hot game for dinner instead of cold, undercooked fish, and with Cilian's expertise at gathering, there were even things other than meat at mealtimes: succulent roots, small red berries that were explosions of sweetness between the teeth, and salads of wild greens.

  The huntsman continued to spend most of his time scouting, returning only to offer directional guidance or to bed down during the small hours of the night. Hrym reported that Cilian spent his conscious time in the night staring into the flames as he tended the fire, carving tiny wooden figurines which he subsequently burned, or just gazing at the stars and, occasionally, chuckling, presumably when the messages he saw around him everywhere in the natural world were particularly humorous.

  After several days—they lost some time when Cilian had them travel out of their way to avoid encountering a troll den—they finally reached another branch of the many-tentacled Sellen River. There was no convenient bridge here, and Hrym created another bridge of ice, which Obed spurned, swimming across. Cilian repeated his water-walking trick, which left Zaqen and Rodrick to lead the mounts across.

  "When did I become a servant?" Rodrick grumbled, trying to lead three horses at once across a bridge of ice. Not the life of creature comforts he'd always aspired to, or even the life of adventure and derring-do he'd tolerated.

  "It's not so bad," Zaqen said. "All the table scraps you can eat!"

  "How did you end up in Obed's employ, anyway?"

  "You and I haven't gotten drunk enough together for me to tell you that story," Zaqen said. "Let's just say I owe him. He did me a good turn once. For his own reasons, of course, but in terms of utility, what does that matter? He made my life so vastly much better than it was that he can reasonably claim some service in return." She paused. "He also pays me exceptionally well. This is not the way we usually spend our time, you know. We're not always off on backcountry quests."

  "So, what? You live with him in a palace under the sea? A bed of kelp, bannisters of coral, mirrors of mother-of-pearl?"

  "I tend to serve as his agent on land," Zaqen said. Obed was waiting impatiently on the far shore, beckoning to them. "As he wishes me to do now." She hurried forward with her camel.

  "I can't decide whether I really like her or not," Hrym said. "She's friendly enough, but do you doubt for a moment that she would stab you in the neck if Obed mentioned he might enjoy the sight of blood spraying out of your throat?"

  "She does seem depressingly loyal," Rodrick said. "Oh well. If we convinced her to betray Obed, we'd just have to split the loot three ways anyway."

  Cilian smiled at them broadly when they reached the far shore and Hrym began to dissolve the bridge behind them. "This river forms the western boundary of Loric Fells, by most reckonings," the huntsman said. "Three or four days should see us to Pitax."

  "Where are we now?" Rodrick said.

  Cilian shrugged. "Not all of the River Kingdoms are so neatly divided. We are near the haunted ruins of Heibarr, which I would suggest we avoid. Outsea is
on the river, to the south. There is a great forest. Nothing you would call civilization."

  "So no hope of a wench and a mug of ale, then."

  "Not until Pitax," Cilian replied. "A greater city of rogues and cutthroats you'll never visit."

  "Then what are we waiting for?" Rodrick said. "Rogues and cutthroats know how to have a good time, at least."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  After the constant threat of Loric Fells, the routine of the following days was so stultifying Rodrick considered robbing the supply horse just to break up the boredom. They rose in the morning, traveled all day across marshy land—only pausing to rest the horses—and made camp wherever they happened to be standing when night fell. Obed took his baths, Zaqen drank her peculiar medicinal tea, and Cilian swooped in occasionally to tell them that the movement of clouds or the songs of birds or the ripples of water were full of favorable omens.

  The only thing that kept Rodrick going was the thought of Pitax, one of the more enticing cities of the River Kingdoms, from all he'd heard ...and so he nearly exploded when Obed said he had no intention of stopping at the city at all, but simply crossing the river some distance to the north and continuing on to Brevoy.

  "I am the leader of this expedition," Obed said flatly when Rodrick voiced his dissatisfaction. "And you are being paid well to follow me. We have wasted enough time already, and to visit that den of thieves, and see you lose a day to drink, is simply impossible."

  "If this artifact we're after is like most artifacts, it's been wherever it is for centuries," Rodrick said. "What does another day matter?"

  "There may be others looking for it," Zaqen said. "Time may well be—"

  "Silence." Obed scowled at Rodrick. "I do not need to justify myself to you, hireling. You are being given gold in exchange for your obedience—gold you have done precious little to earn so far, I might add."

  "And if I say I'm going to Pitax anyway?"

  "Then I will spit at your back as you go, and wish you rough waters in all your future voyages," Obed said. "And by ‘wish you,' I mean, ‘pray for'—and my prayers are generally answered. You made an agreement to follow me, and I do not take kindly to those who renege on their agreements. Neither I nor my god would be pleased with you, and there are consequences to our displeasure."

  Rodrick was sorely tempted to push back, to lose his temper and lay waste to the fish-man, but instead he smiled. "Ah, well, you can't blame a man for trying. All these days in the woods make me long for a hot fire and a cold tankard. But, of course, this is your quest. I am but your loyal retainer."

  Later, when they were trailing behind the others on horseback, Hrym said, "You didn't think that ‘loyal retainer' bit was going overboard?"

  "I think he'd be more suspicious if I hadn't been a bit sarcastic," Rodrick said. "The best Obed and I will ever be able to achieve is a sort of simmering hostility. As long as he thinks my avarice is stronger than my dislike for him, we're fine."

  "But your avarice is stronger than your dislike for him."

  "True. But he doesn't know what I'm actually avaricious about, which is to say, anything and everything of value. Still, his basic distrust of me could be problematic when it comes to stealing all his possessions. I was thinking, though, that you might play up to him a bit. Let him know you're tempted by his offer to be your new wielder, that I've been a disappointment to you, and so on. String him along. If he thinks he's driving a wedge between us, he won't expect us to work together to abscond with his artifact. You can turn on him at a crucial moment to let us make our escape."

  "There's that twisty little mind of yours at work again," Hrym said, with real admiration in his voice. The sword was self-evidently the more powerful half of the duo, but he tended toward the blunt and the straightforward in his approach to life and the acquisition of gold, and Rodrick's schemes had seen them showered in coins often enough that Hrym yielded to his judgment in treacherous matters. Hrym's idea of a plan was "freeze everyone in blocks of ice and take their horses," which worked well enough sometimes, but lacked a certain finesse.

  Rodrick sighed. "Though I should also probably prove my usefulness before you cozy up to the priest too much. Otherwise Obed might poison me while I sleep, content with the knowledge that he'd have you anyway."

  "You? Prove yourself useful? How do you propose to do that?"

  "With luck, someone will try to attack us," Rodrick said.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  After two more days, Rodrick was beginning to worry he'd need to seek out local bandits and insult their chieftain personally if he wanted to show off for Obed in a fight. They'd barely seen another living person in that time, which made a lot of sense—who would live in this endless marsh? Eventually they found a solid dirt track that seemed to lead more or less in the proper direction, and took advantage of the change in terrain to make up some of the time Obed was so sure they'd lost. The discovery of a road mollified the priest sufficiently that he even let them stop and sit down to eat.

  During their midday break for a meal, Zaqen pored over the maps while Obed squished around in a water-filled ditch. "I think we're in the Stolen Lands, now. Which means we're very nearly to Brevoy. That's when things become more complicated."

  "I would welcome some complications," Rodrick said. "A fighting man needs a certain amount of excitement if he wants to stay sharp."

  Just then Cilian appeared from the west, wearing a solemn expression. He beckoned to the priest, and Obed joined the others, dripping dirty water and already frowning.

  "There are armed men along the road," Cilian said. "A great number of them. I ranged some distance to the north and south, in hopes of finding a clear path around them, but they have scouts scattered through the trees, keeping watch over every scrap of cover. Perhaps if we swung far to the north—"

  "We do not have time for such detours," Obed said.

  "It's ...a lot of men," Cilian said. "Including a few archers. They would be difficult to overcome in battle."

  "Could you get past them unseen?" Rodrick said. "Not all of us, but just you?"

  Cilian frowned and said, "Of course I could," in tones that suggested Rodrick might as well have asked if sugar were sweet.

  "Then I have an idea," Rodrick replied.

  "It seems to me that your ideas—" Obed began, but Rodrick cut him off.

  "Respectfully, sir, you hired me to provide security for our group. I would say a group of armed bandits constitutes precisely the sort of threat you tasked me to guard against, wouldn't you?"

  Obed glared at him, but nodded.

  "Excellent," Rodrick said. "Zaqen, Hrym, Cilian, we all have our parts to play. The important thing to remember is that your average bandit chief is a megalomaniacal lunatic full of insane bravery, who dishes up brutality for breakfast. By contrast, the average rank-and-file bandit is a superstitious and unmotivated lot ..."

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Bait

  Rodrick rode in the lead, with Hrym iced to his back. The sword had offered to send up great clouds of steam as they rode, to make the approach more dramatic, but Rodrick preferred to save the sword until his presence would make the most impact—and anyway, such clouds would just make people wonder if Rodrick's horse's rear end had caught fire, and that was entirely the wrong impression to make.

  Zaqen followed Rodrick on her camel, and Obed, thoroughly robed, brought up the rear with their supply horse tethered to his mount. They'd both been told not to say anything, but to sit there looking grim and inscrutable and, if at all possible, hellishly dangerous.

  The bandits had to be given credit. They waited with a dangerous-looking casualness around the only wooden bridge for miles, spanning a river branch that was more of a swollen creek. There were men on foot leaning against the railings on the bridge, and a handful of others on horseback arrayed on either side of the road. Beyond the bridge, a stand of trees concealed any number of additional bandits, some of them doubtless up high in the branches and armed with bows.r />
  As Rodrick's party approached, one of the men urged his black warhorse forward a few steps. He wore motley armor—a gleaming silver breastplate with red enamel trim, a dull metal helm with a cruel spike on top that appeared to be crusted with blood, and mismatched gauntlets, one with studs on the knuckles, one without. He held an axe with a half-moon blade on one side of the head and a curving, hooked blade on the other. He was the very essence of a successful bandit chief.

  "That's some interesting armor," Rodrick said. "Did you stumble across a battlefield and have trouble settling on what to scavenge?"

  The bandit showed his teeth. "I took them off dead bodies, that much is true, though most of those bodies fell right here. I'm a man who believes in displaying my accomplishments. I can't say you're wearing much I'd care to add to my raiment, though, so it's best if we can settle things in a more friendly fashion."

  "I love making new friends," Rodrick said. "What would this friendship of ours entail? Whoring, drinking, dicing, or perhaps refined conversation about Chelish chamber music?"

  The uglies behind their chief chuckled among themselves.

  "Oh, we can't talk pleasure until we talk business first," the chief said. "I'm afraid that means it's time for you to pay the toll."

  "The toll," Rodrick repeated. "You're saying one must pay to cross this bridge?"

  "The man understands the concept of a toll!" The chief turned and grinned at his bandits, playing up to his men. "You have no idea how much tedious explanation you've just saved us. We're going to be friends after all. Now, we operate our bridge on a sliding scale, and don't worry, we don't want to take everything. We make it a policy to leave our clients the clothes on their backs—"

  "I have a minor objection," Rodrick said. "More a point of order, really. Doesn't charging a toll to cross this bridge violate one of the Six River Freedoms?"

  "Does it?" The man scratched an enormous pimple on his badly shaved chin. "'Walk any road, float any river,' is that the one you mean? Anyone can go anywhere they wish?"