by Peter David
And a black cloud of madness descended upon me, filling me within and without. It was like nothing I could ever recall experiencing … like nothing that anyone had ever witnessed, including me, for I saw none of it. My mind simply went away, darkness fell upon me as the heat radiating from my chest consumed me, and the world spiraled away.
Chapter 3
Hallow Pursuits
RETREAT! RETREAT!”
You would have thought that it was my voice crying out that ignoble order, but it was not. No, it was a voice that I had not heard for some time, but recognized all too quickly. And it was a voice that, because of its sheer volume, was enough to jolt me from the walking coma that had fallen upon me.
My awareness of my surroundings returned to me by degrees.
First and foremost was the burning in my chest. It had begun to subside from the depths of intensity to which it had plunged me earlier. Then I thought that I was blind, only to realize that there was a sort of black haze and fog upon me that was generated, not by lack of light (although the cloudiness overhead blocked all but the most determined of the sun’s rays) but by something from within my mind. A “brain fog,” as it were. But the haze was starting to lift, and then not far from me, I saw an arm on the ground.
There was a head beside it, and then another arm … but as near as I could tell, from a different person. And then more body parts, strewn all about. Not just a few … dozens. No, more than that … as my eyes adjusted, as the fog upon me cleared, I saw dozens upon dozens, hundreds even. The ground was as thick with blood and gore as it was with mud, and I looked upon my sword and saw that there was barely an inch of clean steel upon it. It was covered up to the hilt in blood as well, so wet that it was still dripping from the blade. I was experiencing the sort of slow return from “blackout” that I had known back in Jaifa, except this time I remembered everything that had led up to the experience, and knew precisely who and where I was after it. Which meant, obviously, that I had not “vanished” into myself for anywhere near as long as before, or as deeply.
But the body count was nevertheless significantly higher … had I been able to even begin to determine where the bodies started.
Then sound returned to me, and I heard the clanging of swords and the victorious howls of my men. I knew it was my men because they were shouting out my name. It was not in panic or fear or anger, however, but instead in triumph.
Although there was fighting going on all around me, none was near me. As I surveyed the area, I realized that even if they wanted to get near me physically, they would have had serious difficulty doing so. The damage around me was far greater than my initial impression had led me to believe. Taking a very quick, and very literal, head count, the remains of three score and more soldiers were strewn around me in a vast circle. Looking down, I saw that my own clothing was tattered, cut to ribbons by swords and spears that had obviously pierced my body, but had done me no damage. There was blood on me, I realized, a lot of it … but it was all spatters from the men, or their remains, around me.
I saw soldiers being cut down, soldiers on the run, and for the most part it was the enemy. Beyond my immediate sphere, the field was littered with bodies, and again the vast majority of it were the men who had been waiting in hiding to ambush us.
“RETREAT!” I heard yet again, that familiar voice recapturing my attention. I looked in the direction whence it had come, and then I saw him, surrounded by four of his men, all on horseback. It was the great Lord Beliquose, he who had laid waste to my inn and, in conjunction with Sharee, had wound up sending me into this insane land of blood, mud, and death. He was dressed much as I remembered him from all those months ago, but he was wearing a cape of black and silver that indicated alliance with Meander and his men. The troops who were within range of Beliquose’s voice—which really meant just about everyone in the vicinity—endeavored to distance themselves from the field of battle.
“Beliquose!” I howled in fury. “I’m not done with you!” I pointed my sword at him, continuing to shout challenges and imprecations. I had no idea whether he heard me or not. He was riding too fast.
I wanted to pursue him immediately, but it was impossible. I had no horse. The poor creature named Entipy was a ruined carcass, and I could only stare down at her with a tremendous feeling of loss and anger. Meander would pay, and Beliquose would pay. They would all pay. There was no reason at this point to let a single individual who had ever done me harm or disservice remain unaccounted for. I would take every last one of them down, displaying as much pity and remorse in the process as any of them had ever shown me. Beliquose wanted the gem? I would show it to him, then … show it bound to me, giving me power undreamt of by any mortal man, right before I shoved my sword into him and gutted him.
Boar Tooth came running up to me, his mouth a lopsided grin, the woad on his face smeared with sweat and blood, his hair in wild disarray. I had never seen a man look more alive than I had Boar Tooth. His breathing was ragged, and he was clearly exhausted, but also alight with the sort of passion that only massive bloodletting can bring … especially when the blood being spilt is one’s opponents. “Glory, Peacelord! Glory to us all!” he cried out, waving his sword high in the air. And then, with more reverence than I would have thought it possible to display, he said, “You … are a god among men.”
It took me a minute or so of judicious questioning to determine what precisely had happened, but it really wasn’t all that difficult. Boar Tooth was one of those people who tended to recite triumphs at length, even if they were only moments old, because he loved to dwell on gory accomplishments.
You must understand that there are far more things involved in the winning of battles beyond force of arms. First is planning. In this instance, there was no denying that Meander had outthought and outmaneuvered me. Had that been the deciding factor in the battle, our cause would have been hopeless, for we had been caught completely flatfooted. As a result, the implicit confidence and esteem which my troops held for me was sorely threatened with dissolution.
But that confidence, that belief that one will emerge triumphant, is another one of the primary forces necessary in winning a battle. No army which believes that it will lose can possibly win. Triumph never emerges as a pleasant surprise or accidental byproduct. One wins because one cannot envision losing; it is simply not an option.
Caught in the carefully crafted trap of my opponents, surrounded and outflanked, I had lain into my attackers with a single-handed effort that was not only unlike any they had ever seen, but had no peer in all of known modern warfare. Supposedly the far Northern people have warriors on whom berserker rages have been known to fall. Such, apparently, had been the case with me. I had torn into any and all who approached me with unmatched, even unbelievable, ferocity. They were already calling me “Apropos the Vicious,” “Apropos the Unmatched.” Fueled by my righteous wrath, I had been an unstoppable juggernaut. Again and again my enemies had scored direct hits upon me, and they had not slowed me in the least. There had been tales of my invincibility, yes, but the great joy of such tales is that any rational and reasonable individual concludes that they are merely fables and wartime exaggerations. As a result, I have an endless advantage of surprise, for none can fully prepare themselves to face an opponent who cannot be stopped.
I had heard tell, although I had never seen one such, of weather creations called wind spinners which would descend from nowhere, with no warning, and lay waste to anything in their path. Such a creature was I in the face of any who opposed me. Like a butcher faced with a herd of cattle, I carved through them, body parts flying everywhere, blood fountaining like a geyser. One would almost feel some morsels of pity for the pathetic creatures who tried to stand in my way.
It had been the obvious intention of our opponents to bear me to the ground, cut me down, utterly defeat me within seconds in the full view of my men. That would have been a most disheartening set of circumstances, to put it mildly. Instead the plan backfired
completely. For what my men saw instead was a single-handed display of imperishability. No matter how many descended upon me, it was not near enough; there were, in fact, not enough in the world to bring me down. My sword had been a blur of metal, unstoppable, hacking right and left with abandon and none to oppose me. At one point I grabbed the sword out of the severed limb of one of my victims and started swinging both blades. There were screams and shouts and lamentations galore, and cries of “He is but one man!” It made no difference. It was more as if I were a thousand men in the body of one.
I only wished I’d been there to see it.
Boar Tooth bowed to me, and I clapped him on the shoulder and said tightly, “Take the city. But remember: Meander is mine. And find Beliquose … the one with the grand voice that will shatter your eardrums. He, too, is mine.” Once more he bowed, and then shouted orders to reorganize the troops for the final assault.
Our opponents were in disarray, on the run. Their strategy having fallen apart, they belatedly endeavored to close the great gate against us. It was too late. A squad of my men got in just as the gate slammed shut. But they were invigorated by the heat of battle, and it was only the work of moments for them to cut through the guardsmen at the gate and reopen the portal. My army flooded inside. A handful of reserve troops stood in their way, but not for long.
And I stayed behind. As my men rushed past me, many of them stopped and bowed, or made odd gestures which I quickly realized were signs of respect in their varied religions. Hands to heart and then palm up, or crossed in front of the face, or both hands open and down … a seeming endless variety, depending upon which entity of the sky they worshipped.
I bobbed my head in acknowledgment of them all, but I was barely paying them any mind. Instead I found that I was just staring … staring … at the carnage that I had left in my wake. One would have thought that my musings would have been upon the capture of Meander, or of Beliquose, or perhaps even entertaining the notion of heading into the city and engaging in some mayhem. But no. No, I just stood there and stared at the corpses.
All dead. At my hand. All dead.
And I found myself wondering what it had been like for them.
Were they scared?
Did they plead and beg?
Did they meet their deaths bravely? Did they even know they were going to meet their deaths? At what point in the battle did they realize that they didn’t have a chance against me? Did they realize it and then try to run, but I came after them? Or did they battle on obliviously, thinking that there would be some last minute miracle that would enable them to triumph against that which seemed, on the face of it, unstoppable? And if they did think they could defeat me … how did they propose to do so? They must have seen sword after sword plunge into me without slowing me. Did they think that theirs would be the one to finish the job? Or perhaps … perhaps they called upon their god to provide them with strength or purity of spirit or the heart and luck of a hero to accomplish the deed when others had fallen.
I picked up a head at random … but then I recognized it instantly. Meander had had a second-in-command named Grimmoir. A decent enough fellow, so I recalled. Well, now he was dead, at my hand. My blade had sliced through his neck cleanly, so at least I had dealt him a quick death. Unless … the head was the last thing that I had cleaved from his body. I couldn’t be sure; there were so many bodies it was impossible to distinguish who belonged to what.
His eyes were open. There was no life in them, of course, but I tried to figure whether there had been fear in them at the last. No … no, they just looked a bit puzzled. Yes, I wasn’t imagining it. His eyes, his entire final expression, was one of puzzlement. Had he been looking into the next life and been surprised at what he had seen? Or was it something more earthbound, such as surprise that I had survived the attack or bewilderment as to why a perfectly executed plan had failed to garner its intended result.
“Peacelord …”
There was a soft voice from behind me, and I turned to see one of my soldiers. I didn’t even know his name. He was an innocuous-looking fellow, and he was clutching a sword urgently with both hands. The sword was clean and unbloodied. He had no beard to speak of. A beardless boy with a sword untouched by mayhem.
“Yes,” I said tonelessly.
“The Lady Kate wishes to hear from your own lips the events of this day. She is most anxious to see you.” He couldn’t help but grin, and even colored slightly. “She … asked me to emphasize the ‘most anxious’ part.”
“Thank you.” I stared at him a moment, my head cocked. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen summers, Peacelord.”
“Thirteen summers. Hunh. New recruit?” His head bobbed up and down in response. “Had a chance for any fighting yet?” This time he shook his head as vehemently as he had nodded it before. “What’s your name?”
“Gavin, Peacelord.”
“Gavin. Hunh.” I paused. “Fighting is a dangerous game, Gavin. You’re a bit young for this business, aren’t you?”
“When my time comes, I will fight with the strength of a hundred, Peacelord, for I will emulate you!” he said with a fervency that chilled me. “I would have fought in this battle … had there been anything left for me. I was toward the back.”
“I see. And … what will you do now, that you’ve delivered your message.”
“Well …” He smiled shyly and pointed at the city. “I was hoping to … well, I’ve never ravished and pillaged before, Peacelord. It sounds ever so exciting.”
“It can be. Well,” I said brusquely, “go to. Go to.”
“Yes, Peacelord. Peacelord,” he said as I started to leave. I turned and waited expectantly. And he said, with that same shyness, “Can I … worship you? They said you are a god on earth.”
“Do as you will,” I said, suddenly feeling quite tired. “Oh … and Gavin …”
“Yes, Peacelord?” he said eagerly, clearly waiting to hang on my every word.
“I will not tell you what to do. I will simply say that it’s been my experience that no good ever comes from inflicting cruelty upon women.”
He stared at me blankly. “Ravishing is cruelty?” he said, dumbfounded. Clearly the notion had never occurred to him. “But … it is a right of conquest. How can it also be a cruelty?”
“I just … think it is. There are some, I admit, who would disagree with me. But …” I shrugged. “There’s my opinion, for what it’s worth.”
He stood there for a moment, looking as if he didn’t know what to do, and then he quickly bowed. “Thank you, Peacelord,” he said, and then scampered off toward the city.
As for me, I took one last, sad look at the fallen Entipy, and then turned away and started back along the main highway. Along the way I passed others heading for the city to indulge in the same excesses as young Gavin intended to pursue. The bowing and scraping and religious gestures continued without letup. I was beginning to find it quite tiresome.
I found the Lady Kate a half mile down the road. A makeshift tent had been pitched, and she dragged me in there and began to do the sorts of things that normally would have enflamed my senses. But to her surprise, and to some degree mine as well, I pushed her away from me. She flopped down onto some pillows, her dress already in disarray, falling down at the shoulders, her hair wildly askew, and she looked up at me with confusion in her eyes. “Have I … displeased you, my love?”
“Look at me!” I said, my arms outstretched. “My clothes are in tatters! I’m covered with the blood of my victims—!”
I stopped, and realized that I had never said that word aloud before in regards to my activities. Victims. I had always known that those who suffered at my hands were my victims, but still … saying it out loud … it disconcerted me for a moment, and I had no real clue as to why. It was as if, having undergone the release of such unadulterated black fury in slaughtering so many men, it had drained me slightly of my resolve, and it was going to take me some time to get back that ferocity
that had served me so well.
But that was all right. I had time. I had plenty of time, all the time in the world … did I not?
Instantly contrite over having caused my foul mood, the Lady Kate fetched basins and towels with which to clean me of the grit and grime of war. She did not make any further attempts that evening—for evening it had become—of a sexual nature, but instead simply tended to me. Mordant, upon his perch, watched the proceedings with what appeared to be very little interest.
Some hours later Slake came to fetch me. I had been resting, but sat up with my cloak draped around my bare shoulders. The Lady Kate, naked beneath the blanket upon the makeshift bed, looked so alluring that it was a physical effort for Slake to look elsewhere rather than directly at her, lest he be accused of harboring inappropriate thoughts. He was covered with sweat and dried blood, and various valuable-looking trinkets now adorned the front of his armor. He had been busy. “Peacelord,” he said formally, “I am told by reliable sources that we have captured the Keepless King.”
I instantly shook off any last remains of fatigue. “Are you sure? Are you quite certain that it is he?”
“Yes, absolutely, Peacelord,” Slake said firmly. “He attempted a last stand outside some sort of elaborate temple. Perhaps he thought the gods would be his last-minute savior.” He laughed disdainfully at the notion. “He did not realize that the gods walk upon this very world and battle on behalf of our army.”
“I’m not a god, Slake,” I said, suddenly feeling tired once more.
“But … Peacelord …” He appeared most befuddled by my protesting any claim to divinity. “Your fighting prowess …”
“A gift, Slake. Nothing more. If the Lady Kate presents you with a vase as a gift, that does not make you the Lady Kate.”