The Woad to Wuin

by Peter David

  My men pounded through the largest city, actively enjoying all the activities normally engaged in by successful invading armies. I had sent Boar Tooth, Slake, and That Guy off to enjoy themselves, feeling utterly confident in my imperviousness that I didn’t need them near me to protect my safety. Nor did they hesitate to take me up on my offer, since they had seen all too well that I was quite capable of taking care of myself.

  It was a well-built city, with gleaming towers providing sharp contrast to small houses built low to the ground. I realized that most of the towers were places of worship. Obviously the Thirty-Niners were a deeply devout people who had provided minimal comforts for themselves in favor of focusing their energies on temples and shrines to their gods. Well, a fat lot of good it had done them.

  Nearby I heard shrieking, and screaming, and people crying out in supplication, begging either their assailants to leave them be, or their gods to deliver them from harm. I could tell that both sets of prayers were being met with disdain.

  I looked at the fires which were billowing forth from the towers, smoke blackening the air, and listened to the juxtaposition of screams against raucous laughter, and I thought, This is not war. War is a barbaric undertaking, the slaughter of innocent creatures. No, this … this is a work of art. We are not simple invaders. We are … artists.

  My pulse was pounding in my head, urging me forward. My skin itched; I could barely stand still. I wanted to join in the revelry. More than that, I wanted to make my own artistic statement. But I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do first. It wasn’t out of a sense of conscience; such things had been long lost to me. I just didn’t know which way to turn or in what indulgence I should engage.

  “You keep away from here!”

  My head whipped around and I saw, standing in the doorway of one small domicile, an angry young boy waving a small knife. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old, but this day he had no doubt witnessed enough death and slaughter to last him the rest of his life. He also had only one arm, his right; I could see the stub of his left waving around under his tunic. A bizarre birth defect, no doubt. Not that I cared.

  No, what I cared about was the toothsome wench who appeared at the door next to him in great alarm. “Get in here!” she fairly snarled at the boy, and then she looked up and saw that I was staring at her. Oh, yes, quite a dainty morsel she was. No doubt she was the boy’s older sister, and what a difference ten years or so made. Lissome and slender, but with exceptionally rounded hips and a face that was not classic beauty, but certainly attractive enough from what I could see of it, considering her black hair was falling in her face. She yanked the boy into the house and slammed the door.

  The Lady Kate was miles away, and I was feeling peckish for a little treat.

  In the cold light of years later, it seems incomprehensible. I should have identified with the young boy, thinking of my own infirmity, thinking of how fiercely at that age I would have offered hopeless defense against barbaric intruders who might have intended to do harm to a beloved female family member such as my mother. There is no way that thoughts such as How dare he or Who does he think he is or I’ll show the little pissant or She’s certainly attractive enough for an entertaining diversion should have gone through my mind, except in the darkest and most loathsome recesses which would normally have never seen the light of day.

  However, as I think should be clear by this point, there was nothing normal about my time as Peacelord of Wuin.

  With several quick steps I was to the door, and I kicked it furiously. The door shook but held, and I heard an alarmed screech from inside and a cry of “Why did you attract his notice?!” and then a second kick and a third, and the door flew open with the cracking of the makeshift lock.

  The room I entered was a simple one, with a few sticks of furniture and a fire burning in the hearth. The young woman shrieked and shrank back to the farthest corner of the room, as if she might elude my notice.

  The boy, however, did not shrink, or even hesitate. He ran to the hearth and grabbed a burning tinder from it, gripping it firmly by one end that by chance had not caught fire yet. But the end he was now waving toward me was burning right enough. He interposed himself between me and the girl, his face set in defiance, and wielding his makeshift torch he yelled, “You keep away from my sister!”

  “You drew me here, boy, with your foolish bravado. So you’ve none to blame but yourself. Now run, boy,” I said harshly. “Run … lest I tie you to a chair and make you watch.” The girl was whimpering, paralyzed with fear, offering no help whatsoever.

  He said nothing, merely set himself and waited, whipping the torch back and forth to create what he no doubt thought was an impervious fire wall that would force me back. Obviously, however, he had no idea with whom he was dealing or what my capabilities were.

  I strode forward, uncaring of whatever threat he might attempt against me, and with a shout of “I warned you!” the brave-but-foolish lad lunged at me with the flaming limb. I made no effort whatsoever to get out of its way, looking forward to the expression on the boy’s face when he saw the futility of his actions.

  The torch slammed just under my rib cage, and the moment it came in contact with my skin, I let out a shriek. I fell back, howling, and there was the nauseating stench of burning meat which I immediately realized was me.

  I tripped over a chair and went down, clutching at my agonized side, and the boy leaped upon me, trying to shove the torch into my face. It was the merest luck that a desperate sweep of my arm knocked the burning limb aside, for my mind was overwhelmed with the pain radiating from where he’d damned near incinerated me.

  It’s gone! It’s gone! The power is gone! shrieked my terrified mind, and then both of the boy’s knees were upon my chest while my previously smug and confident demeanor lay in tatters at this horrific discovery. Before I realized what was happening, the boy had yanked his knife from his belt and he plunged it into my chest. It was not a dead center thrust, but was still accurate enough and deep enough to puncture a lung.

  I felt nothing. No pain, nor even discomfort. Pulling my scattered wits together, I slammed the base of my hand up and caught the boy squarely in the forehead, knocking him off me. Staggering to my feet, I looked down at the knife which was still sticking out of me. I yanked it out, turned it over and over. No blood. I felt where it had gone into me, and the wound had already healed. I was still invincible …

  … except that there was agony emanating from where the torch had been shoved against me. And now the boy had scrambled back to standing, and he had picked up the limb from where it had fallen and was waving it about once again. His sister had not moved from the spot.

  If I had simply waited there, time would have been on my side. For his was not a proper torch, and in another minute or two the flame would have consumed the entirety of the limb and he would no longer be able to hold it. They would both be helpless before me then.

  But my taste for the opportunity had faded. I was totally befuddled by what had just happened, could not begin to comprehend it, and had no desire to stand around until I did manage to sort it out. With a grim snarl of “To hell with both of you!” I backed out of there, leaving them to whatever fate was in store for them.

  I staggered a short distance away and then rolled up my tunic to examine the damage. There, right where he had jammed the torch, the skin was blackened and blistered. I had been severely burned, and just the sight of it was nearly enough to make me faint. The pain was already so intense that I could barely move my entire torso. Gingerly I dropped the tunic back down to cover it, and then started to make my way back to our base camp.

  I passed many of my soldiers going about their business, and each of them greeted me and bowed to me and hailed my name and my greatness. To each one I smiled and waved, and tried not to let the agony I was feeling detract from the festive mood. Under no circumstance could I let anyone know what had happened to me. They had gained so much confidence from the notio
n that I was impervious to all harm that to let them know otherwise might have dealt a lethal blow to their conviction that we were, as a group, invincible.

  By the time I reached my base camp, however, I was feeling better. Re-examining the wound, I discovered it was already healing. And by the morning, I found not even the slightest hint of any damage having been done to my body.

  But still, the experience had been somewhat daunting for me, and left me wondering if there was anything else to which I was vulnerable. At the very least, it served as a warning that I’d best steer clear of any assault which involved flaming arrows.

  A small one-armed boy had issued a daunting rebuke to the indestructible Peacelord. Then again, even the greatest of artists, I reasoned, had to deal with critics.

  Chapter 2

  The Ice Man Cometh Again

  And so we continued our assault across the Thirty-Nine Steppes.

  The degree of resistance we encountered varied depending upon where we went. Some of the tribes were made of sterner stuff than others. Some of the tribes joined forces in their endeavor to stop us. They tried to overwhelm us. They tried to ambush us. They tried to outthink us, to outmaneuver us. They tried catapults, they tried lances, they tried poisons. In short, they tried everything they could conceive of in order to try and slow us down.

  And they did manage that much. They slowed us down.

  But they did not stop us.

  Our march across the Thirty-Nine Steppes continued, Steppe by Steppe, inch by inch. The tribes even endeavored to hire freelance swords to go up against us, but more often than not the freelancers wound up joining our side.

  What we further discovered as we advanced were the cracks in the unity of the Thirty-Nine Steppes. Ancient hostilities and long-forgotten enmities between tribes started to surface as different tribes began to blame one another for the misfortunes that had befallen them. My favorites were those who accused others of acting in an impious manner that had brought the wrath of the gods down upon them, as personified by my troops and I. Honestly, if all the remaining tribes had banded together against the common enemy … well, I do not know if they could have stopped us, but it would have made our task all the harder. But they were so busy arguing with one another over whose fault it was or what to do, that they made themselves that much more vulnerable.

  The bizarre incident with the flames hurting me faded into distant memory as my imperviousness to harm continued unabated … although, as noted earlier, I opted to steer clear of not only flaming arrows, but boiling oil, having no idea just how much imperviousness I held to anything having to do with extremes of heat.

  And whatever interests I might have had in ravishing helpless females quickly faded when, one day, the entourage of the Lady Kate showed up at one of our base camps. The Lady came to me in my tent, her face wild with excitement, telling me that she was no longer able to simply sit still at Dreadnaught stronghold and hear intermittent reports of my triumphs. She wanted to be there to witness them with her own eyes.

  I had to admit, she was a stunning sight to behold. She looked even younger and more vibrant than when I’d departed, and tales of my exploits made her so sexually charged that she could barely sit still as she listened to them. Thereafter I divided my time between carnage and slaughter, and entertaining the increasingly enthusiastic and, frankly, insatiable Lady Kate. Feared in battle, adored in bed, life simply did not get better than that.

  And yet … it was about to …

  I had been lazing about in my tent the evening that we had conquered the Twentieth Steppe, the Lady Kate snuggled at my side. Mordant was seated on his perch nearby, his wings drawn about him, sleeping. Boar Tooth had sought audience with me, and Kate urged me to refuse him entry, for she had other ideas about how to spend the evening than in, as she termed them, “Yet another dreary strategy meeting.” When I tried to emphasize to her the necessity of such things, she would say dismissively, “You need no strategy. You are the Peacelord. You are the greatest warrior in all the history of Wuin. None can stand against you.”

  “All true, my love, all true,” I had assured her. “But just because I make these things appear effortless does not mean they come without effort. If my lieutenants feel the need to talk with me, I must attend to those concerns.”

  And so it was that Boar Tooth came before me and imparted news that placed an entirely new slant upon our campaign.

  At first I laughed scoffingly when Boar Tooth told me that several of the remaining tribes had banded together under the single leadership of an outsider. “They actually agreed upon a leader?” I asked. “That fractious bunch? I find that rather hard to believe.”

  “Well … apparently, he’s a king of some renown.”

  “A king?” It was the Lady Kate who laughed mockingly. “A king who comes wandering into the middle of a war? Ridiculous. Kings tend to their own kingdoms unless directly threatened, and they certainly don’t take up with—”

  “Quiet!” The order had burst from me with such vehemence that Kate was shocked into silence. Indeed, the sharpness of the tone I had taken with my lady love surprised everyone in the room. Even Mordant was startled from his slumber and looked at me quizzically. But I could not have cared less at that moment, for pieces of suspicion were starting to click together in my mind. On my feet I slowly approached Boar Tooth and said, hardly daring to hope, “This so-called king … would his name be … Meander?”

  Boar Tooth blinked in surprise. “Why … yes! Yes, Peacelord, it is! How did you know?”

  “Apropos the Peacelord knows all!” Kate proclaimed. “Beloved by the gods, he is—”

  “Will you for the gods’sake shut up, woman!” I snapped in exasperation.

  Kate was taken aback, but meekly she said, “Yes, my love.”

  My mind was racing. I could scarcely believe my good fortune. Boar Tooth looked at me uncomprehendingly and said, “This man is known to you, Peacelord?”

  “Ohhhh, he is most very well known to me,” I said intently. “He is known to me as the murderer of my mother.”

  Kate gasped upon hearing that, and Boar Tooth’s face darkened. “Then he is a dead man.”

  “Yes. Very much so,” I replied. “But he’s my dead man.”

  Had King Meander actually been the one who killed my mother? I didn’t know for sure. If I was looking for a confession, then I was never going to get it because Meander himself didn’t know.

  But I was in a state of mind where there was no room for “maybe” or shades of right and wrong. The business with Meander the Keepless King was a dangling thread in my life, and I now intended to tie that thread off for good.

  It did not take long to amass the troops and prepare them for the assault on Steppe Nineteen. Word had spread throughout the camp that there would likely be greater opposition awaiting us there than at any of the previous Steppes, but that was of no consequence to the men at all. For they were convinced that the gods were on our side, as made clear by their having favored me with the gift of invincibility. I had once been told that wars are won in the mind before they are won in the battlefield, and if that was the case, then all that was going to be required from this point on was mopping up. The men would loudly sing my praises until all hours of the night, sharpening their weapons, girding themselves for battle. As for me, I cheerfully serviced the Lady Kate in my tent. While she moved under me, purring and scratching at me in her enthusiasm, my mind was already vaulting ahead to the confrontation with Meander and the settling of some very old scores.

  Was he responsible for my mother’s death? At that point, the truth of it no longer mattered to me. Or at least, it mattered less than the notion that I wanted someone to pay.

  I learned that Meander and his Journeymen had supposedly assembled in the capital city of Steppe Nineteen. It was a city with a variety of names, but many referred to simply as the Golden City, supposedly a favorite of the gods. That was perfectly fine to me. Let Meander and the residents of Steppe Nineteen
make their stand there, convinced that they would be protected because of the “sacredness” of the city. I would be more than happy to disabuse them of any notions that their faith afforded them safekeeping in any way.

  My men had been part of the campaign for close to six months. There had been some discussion of returning to Dreadnaught for a time, to rest and recuperate. We had sacked so many cities, acquired so much in the way of loot and slaves that it seemed we had crossed over the border from raiders to dabblers in wretched excess. I might indeed have attended to their concerns, but hearing of Meander’s presence fired me onward. Assembling my troops, I informed them that the Golden City would be our last stop for a while. Our supply lines were admittedly stretched a bit thin, and the troops were looking somewhat haggard … if for no other reason than that they had been constantly pillaging, plundering, and debauching nonstop for half a year. That would take a toll on just about anyone.

  So with the promise that this would conclude the first stage of the initiative, we set out for the Golden City. We were nearly a thousand strong, and utterly confident in our ability to overwhelm whatever enemy might face us. I had suggested to the Lady Kate that it might be advisable that she return to Dreadnaught, but she would not hear of it. She wanted to see the sacking of the Golden City with her own eyes, and so was carried along on a litter hauled by four slaves. Her entire manner was one of barely controlled excitement, and her constant queries of “Are we there yet?” seriously began to get on my nerves by the third day of travel.

  We anticipated resistance. That was why we sent out advance scouts as we wended our way toward Steppe Nineteen. On the sixth day of travel I called a halt as I saw our scouts returning, but the report they presented to me and my lieutenants was nothing short of befuddling.

  “No troops? Are you sure?” I asked skeptically. Boar Tooth and Slake likewise looked extremely doubtful of what our scouts were telling us. That Guy just sharpened his sword, as he usually did.