The Woad to Wuin

by Peter David

  Taking two quick steps, I grabbed my sword by the hilt and yanked it out of the great oaf’s chest. It did not emerge without effort; the damned thing had really been wedged in there. The body jolted a little when I did it, and for a moment I thought he was coming back to life so that he could break me in half in a cursed fit of postmortem vengeance. But no, he just continued to lie there, an eventual feast for whatever scavengers and vermin might be crawling about the area.

  The smoke was drifting thicker and faster as I wiped the blood from my sword on his leggings. It was hard for me to tell from which direction the hoofbeats were coming as they echoed from all around. My mind was racing with desperation and confusion. Where was this place? How had I come to be there? Where had I gotten these clothes, and who was this beast that I had apparently slain? Where was Sharee? I had been dying in the midst of the Tragic Waste. Was all this some sort of demented dream, some final last-gasp hallucination before death? Or, despite all appearances to the contrary, was I indeed in the afterlife?

  I had always prided myself on knowing exactly where I was and what I was about. As I’ve noted earlier, it had been my mind (and, admittedly, a helping of occasional luck) that had enabled me to survive as long as I had. If I was in a state of mental disarray or confusion, then that greatly reduced the chances of my living out the day … presuming the day didn’t suddenly vanish behind another great shadow upon the sun.

  I thought perhaps that I was dreaming. That matters would escalate in insanity, and then I would awaken … although whether it would be back dying in the Tragic Waste or blissfully back on my cot in Bugger Hall, I couldn’t guess. Unfortunately I can tell you with a certainty—as I scribe these memoirs with my aged hand—that it was not a dream. A nightmare perhaps, in tone and spirit, but a fully waking one. My predicament was genuine, and all that occurred thereafter truly did transpire, for good or ill … mostly ill.

  I picked a direction at random, started to walk in it … and came up short. From out of the smoke came horsemen, riding three abreast, and the horses they were astride were huge, fearsome beasts. I had once had the acquaintance of a glorious bit of horseflesh known as Titan. These reminded me of him, only slightly larger. They were uniformly black, foam flecking their mouths, and their eyes were as intense and wild as those of their masters.

  The men were attired in clothing not dissimilar from mine own. The only difference was that they wore furs about them in ornamentation, with the animals’ heads still attached, staring out lifelessly and with expressions of perturbation at the world. Also they sported some sort of wild war paint upon their faces, in varying shades of blue. Some seemed smeared on in a random manner, while others were in intricate designs.

  Reasoning that they might well be friends of the fallen individual, it was probably in my best interests to try and be elsewhere, even though I doubted I could cover any serious distance before they were upon me. Suddenly, from overhead, there was a screech such as I had never heard.

  I looked up and there was a small creature that was quite singular in all my experience. Its facial features were birdlike, with a long beak and pale blue feathers adorning its head. But the rest of its body looked more akin to a dragon. The smooth skin was a paler blue than the crest of feathers. Its wingspread couldn’t have been more than a yard, tip to tip, and its tail was as long as its own body and snapped through the air as it descended toward me. The horsemen were approaching swiftly, but the creature was coming in even faster. I threw up my arms to defend myself, certain that the creature was going to clamp its beak around my throat and begin tearing itself a meal as quickly as it could.

  Instead, to my utter shock, the creature nestled on my upraised left forearm, its claws wrapping themselves delicately but firmly around my armband. The creature was behaving like a falcon or hunting hawk. Slowly I lowered my arm and stared in astonishment into the creature’s face. I even bobbed my arm up and down experimentally; the creature didn’t seem off put. Instead it was busy readjusting itself slightly on its perch, its eight taloned toes clinging securely, and I realized what the source of the odd nicks in the armband were. For additional security, it wrapped its tail around my wrist, and then turned and peered at me with its birdlike eyes. It appeared slightly confused, as if there was some brief question as to who I was. Obviously the creature wasn’t all that perturbed by it, though, for after a moment or two it lowered its head on its long neck, tucked its head under, and drew its wings around itself in the easily recognizable posture of sleeping.

  The horsemen were almost upon me. There was no escape. After having been positive that I was about to die in the middle of nowhere, instead I was about to die on the edge of a place that might have been somewhere, except I would never know where it was or how I got there. The foremost of the horsemen vaulted off his steed before the animal had even come to a halt. He was wearing a massive horned helmet which he removed as he strode forward, revealing a glistening bald pate. His face bore the same blue makeup which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be some sort of dark blue clay. It might have been my imagination, but it appeared as if the paint was decorated into the face of a human skull. That, as far as I was concerned, did not bode well. He stopped at the body of the fallen brute, staring at the gaping wound in the fellow’s chest, then looked to me with fierce, dark eyes.

  I drew myself up, cleared my throat, and said the first thing that came to my mind:

  “A black-skinned fellow did it.”

  The skull-faced man stared at me, then back at his fellows. For all I knew they didn’t even speak my language, but I persisted because I didn’t see any other way out. “He was … a very large black man,” I said. “And he had … several large black friends. They surrounded this man and assaulted him, and then took his valuables and ran away … because … because they were … black-skinned … and that’s what such people do …”

  The farthest back of the horsemen urged his steed forward several steps, and upon closer inspection, even though he had blue clay upon his face, I realized that his lips were thick, his nose wide, and his skin under the clay was dark as coal.

  ” … at least, so I’m told,” I finished weakly.

  Then the coal-black fellow’s mouth split in a wide, white-toothed grin that was a very stark contrast to the color of his skin, and let out a loud, bellowing laugh. The man with the skull face joined in an instant later, and then all three of them were hooting with raucous amusement. The creature on my arm cast an annoyed glance from under its wing and then with a slight huffing sound endeavored to return to its restful state.

  “Most amusing, Peacelord!” bellowed Skullface, and then to my astonishment he went to one knee, bowing his head. The other two men remained on their horses, but likewise bent their heads in deference to me. They remained that way, obviously waiting for me to give them leave to return to some other posture.

  “As you were,” I said hopefully.

  That must have been what they were waiting to hear, for Skullface stood then and approached me, stopping several feet short and thereby maintaining what I could only think was a respectful distance. “You startled us, Peacelord. We were not expecting you to emerge from your tent.”

  “You weren’t?” I asked, resisting the momentary impulse to look behind my shoulder to see just whom they might be addressing. The term “peacelord” was completely meaningless to me, but it obviously meant something to them. Even more obviously, I was the one who apparently bore the title, and if that was what was keeping me alive, then I was going to hold on to it with all the zeal I could muster.

  “Of course not,” said Skullface. “It would be foolish to risk our leader needlessly. But apparently the sneering challenges of this one,” and he shoved a toe disdainfully into the behemoth’s side, “were too much for the Peacelord to endure. Is that not right, Peacelord?”

  “So it would seem,” I said guardedly.

  The black-skinned man on horseback said, “With all respect, Peacelord … I beg of you,
do not allow the taunts of such a one to draw you into such situations. He is not worth it, even if he was the chieftain of the city.”

  “Imagine,” said the Skullfaced one, shaking his head in disbelief, “endeavoring to forestall a good, old-fashioned rout by challenging you to a one-on-one battle in order to settle it. What was there to settle? The city was ours. There was nothing to be gained. Nothing at all.”

  “Yes, well,” I said slowly, trying to choose each word as if it might be my last … since, for all I knew, it might be. “Some people … take foolish chances.”

  “Foolish in going up against you, Peacelord. Still … I wish that you had given us some warning,” he said. “You simply disappeared from your tent. With the combination of your vanishing and … that … that strange darkness,” and he shuddered as if speaking of something deplorable. “Well, Peacelord, the men were in a bit of a state. They could barely concentrate on the pillaging.”

  “Oh, well … that’s tragic. Can’t have that.” I was trying to maintain a casual air on the outside, but inside my mind was racing. There seemed to be only two possibilities. Either these bruisers had me confused with someone else … or else I had somehow become this … this person. This “Peacelord,” whatever that was. Perhaps … at the moment of death back in the Tragic Waste, my mind had somehow been transferred into the body of this person. But no, no that made no sense, for my staff and sword were right here beside me. I was definitely me. The question was, Who was I?

  “Fortunately, Mordant was able to lead us right to you. Such a clever beast,” said the black man. Realizing that he was referring to the creature on my arm, I just nodded. “How did you arrange to meet the chieftain here, Peacelord?” he continued.

  I didn’t have the faintest idea. But before I could say anything, I heard an agonized female shriek. For a heartbeat I thought it was Sharee, and then I saw a woman approaching out of the smoke. She was not a young woman, but still a handsome one. Her blond hair was streaked with soot from the burning city, as was her face, except tears were cutting through the ash upon her cheeks. I had no idea how she got as close as she did before being detected. Perhaps she had been in hiding nearby, waiting for the outcome of the battle. Considering that she was clearly distraught over the nonliving status of the man upon the ground, I decided that my surmise was accurate.

  But Skullface clearly hadn’t made that intuitive leap. Angrily he called out, “Where did she come from?” Instantly the black man and the third fellow were in front of the woman, their swords drawn. I could scarce believe the size and obvious weight of the blades. It was like they were wielding two teenagers. Still on horseback, they stepped into her path, crisscrossing the blades in front of her so that she could approach no further.

  “Bastards!” she howled. “It takes two of you, with swords that could cleave a horse in twain, to halt the progress of one woman?!”

  That was the moment that I decided to start pressing my new role, even though I didn’t particularly understand it. “Let her pass!” I called in as arrogant a tone as I could muster (which, truthfully, wasn’t all that hard). The swordsmen cast a glance at me as if to ascertain whether I was sure of what I was doing, and then they obediently urged their horses to step aside. They dismounted as the woman slowly approached the unmoving body, her hands fluttering to her lips, a desire to scream and sob clearly at war with a compulsion to hold herself together as much as possible in our presence. As a result her chin was trembling, but no sound emerged.

  “Your lord husband, I take it,” I inquired. She did not respond immediately, instead simply coming to a halt a couple feet away from him, as if afraid that death was a contagion and would leap from his corpse to her, annihilating her as well. “He believed the city was a loss and brought you here with him, not wanting to leave you to the mercy of “—I glanced at the men—“pillagers. So he hid you nearby, told you he’d be back for you once he had killed me …” It was all guesswork, but it seemed reasonable.

  She looked upon me as if only just then realizing that I was standing there. Her face twisted into a rictus of hatred then, and she shrieked, “Vladamore was a hundred times the leader, the warrior, the man that you’ll ever be!”

  I felt as if I was living out some demented dream. The only thing I could think to do was keep going along with it, hoping that either I would wake up soon, or else that somewhere along the way the entire business would start to make some sort of sense. All I knew at the moment was there was no need to upset the woman even more than she already was. Her city was sacked and her husband dead. I didn’t see much point in thumbing my nose at her just to further annoy her. “I know that is how you will remember him, madam,” I said quite formally.

  “And what of me?” she demanded. “How shall I be remembered? As simply another one of your victims, you monstrous bastard?”

  “Hold your tongue, woman,” shot back Skullface, “lest I remove your tongue and hand it to you so that you can hold it literally.” She silenced herself, but she was still smoldering as Skullface turned to me and inquired solicitously, “And what is to be done with this woman, Peacelord?”

  “Yes, Peacelord,” said the black. “Do you wish her killed? Do you wish to ravage her yourself, and then kill her? It is entirely your decision, Peacelord. We will carry out your desires.”

  Her face turned even more ashen than the ash that was already upon it, and for the second time that day, I felt a wave of nausea coming up from within. I managed to suppress it once more as my mind raced furiously. Whoever I was … was that what I was? A rapist and casual murderer? Is that what I had become? But how was it possible?

  Before I could determine the answers to any of those questions, however, I needed to deal with the situation at hand. And certainly just standing by and letting the woman be killed was no way to deal with it. With my voice as firm and steady as I could make it, I said, “Let her go.”

  The men looked at me with the same amount of incredulity that I was probably feeling about the entire affair. “Let her go, Peacelord?” asked the black.

  “Yes.”

  They exchanged glances, and as if in unspoken agreement, it was Skullface who voiced the query that all of them had. “We will of course obey you with our dying breaths, Peacelord. But I believe we have some … curiosity … as to why you would simply release the woman?”

  “Because …” And I smiled as slyly as I could. “It is not what anyone expects.”

  Blank looks.

  “Did you expect it?” I asked.

  There was a collective shaking of heads to that, and I paced a bit as would a teacher lecturing students. “That, gentlemen, is precisely the point,” I said. “One must always keep one’s enemy off balance. The last thing that anyone would expect of your Peacelord is mercy. And so mercy is what I shall now extend. Let her go, I say,” and I ratcheted up the firmness in my voice. Clearly still not understanding, but nevertheless acting out of obedience, the black and the other stepped aside, releasing their hold upon her.

  I walked toward her slowly, my hands at either side so I did not appear in the least bit a threat. “Go,” I said to her. “Go … and tell others of my merciful ways.”

  Her mouth moved at first with no sound emerging. Then, with a voice soaked in disbelief and contempt, she said, “Merciful? You? Last night my daughters were taken, my beautiful daughters … and your lieutenants raped and killed them while you stood there and laughed! Merciful! You bastard! I’ll die before I accept your mercy!”

  And before my shocked mind could fully process what she had just said, she spat at me. The glob sailed across the air and smacked me full on the face, the wet spittle running down my cheek, and ‘ere I could make any sort of reaction, she came at me with her fingers curled like claws.

  Skullface turned to intercept her before she’d gotten two paces. His sword was already a blur even as I cried out, “No! She’s harmless!” and the sword sliced clean through her. I had never seen anything like it. From one side of
her waist to the other, just right through, slowing down only marginally as it cut through sinew, bone, and muscle, and emerging on the other side. She didn’t realize what had occurred at first, and then her legs buckled at the knees and she twisted toward the corpse of her husband. The motion caused her torso to topple clean off, and it thudded to the ground a short distance from the outstretched hand of her spouse. The full horror of what had happened to her had apparently not yet filtered through to her brain, and she flopped about horribly, single-mindedly trying to reach him, unaware that she was bereft of legs or even hips. Her fingers barely brushed the fingertips of her dead husband as blood and guts spilled out from both halves of her upon the ash-stained ground, and then there was an awful rattle from her throat, and she was gone.

  “The nerve of the ungrateful bitch,” growled Skullface as he wiped clean his broadsword on a cloth and then sheathed it. He looked to me, and my teeth and lips were clamped as tightly closed as I could make them. A grin split his face then, made all the more horrible by the blue death’s-head mask painted upon his face. “I understand now, Peacelord. You intended for her to make others believe you were capable of mercy … so that, when they face us, they will quickly surrender in anticipation of their lives being spared. When actually—”

  “When actually,” took up the black, apparently ‘comprehending’ as well, “we will annihilate them once they have given up! Was that the plan, Peacelord?”

  I managed a nod.

  Immediately there was raucous laughter as they now “knew” what I had been plotting. “My deepest apologies, Peacelord, for cutting the woman down and aborting the plan,” said Skullface when they had recovered. “But I am sworn to protect you from both physical harm and, even more, shows of disrespect. After what she did, she could not be permitted to live. You do agree, do you not, Peacelord?”