by Peter David
It came flooding back to me. I had grown tired and made a crude camp for the night. I had relaxed on the side of the road, gone to sleep, leaving Mordant to watch out for me. But the drabit had not been able to protect me from the wandering thoughts and rogue dreams that wandered within my own troubled brain.
But … why troubled? I had everything.
Everything … except peace of mind.
“That will change,” I said harshly to Mordant, who stared at me uncomprehending. “I’ll return to the Golden City, dispose of Meander, and then … and then …”
I had no idea.
It seemed … that there was more. Much more. But it was as if a great wall had been erected before me, blocking my view of what was to come. More conquests, I supposed, more pillaging and plundering in my name, but something more … something more …
And then it faded, like a shadow as the first rays of daylight fall upon it, and was gone.
Chapter 7
Fools and Kings
The sun had risen only a few hours before as I approached the main gate and saw the first—or perhaps it was the last—of the stragglers. Three, then five, then a dozen, and then more after that. They had haunted expressions, and when they saw me they cowered in fear. Old men and women, a couple of children hiding behind the legs of the adults.
I gazed down at them from my horse. For no reason other than that it seemed the thing to say, I inquired, “Quo vadis?”
They stared at me blankly.
“Where are you going?” I sighed.
“Oh,” one of the old men said softly, and then he said, “Away. There is nothing left for us. The warriors of the Peacelord have had their way with the city. So we are leaving. Perhaps … we will return someday. I do not know. That is only known to …” And he shrugged and pointed heavenward.
An old woman, whom I took to be his mate, wrapped her arms around his and said nervously, “Are you … one of the Peacelord’s men?”
“No,” I said in all honesty.
“Then …” She looked to her mate, who shrugged, and then back to me. “Then … quo vadis?”
I considered her question, and gave the second honest answer in a row.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” I said.
The city was eerily quiet. I could even hear the steady clopping of the horses’ hooves as we moved through it.
The air was still thick with the smell of burning—burning flesh, burning objects. But the laughter had faded, as had the screams. I saw none of the residents around, not even people stealing glances out through doorways. And I realized that the people I’d seen departing the city might well be the last of the city’s residents.
That had never happened before.
Oh, we had gone through city after city leaving chaos in our wake. But our stay had never been extended. We had come through like a great sandstorm of violence, sweeping over all in our path, taking what we wished and who we wished, torching indiscriminately for no reason other than the pure joy of destruction, and then continuing on our way. We had taken prisoners, made them into slaves, yes, but we had also left plenty of residents behind. Why not? What interest were they to us?
In this instance, however, we had effectively set up base in the Golden City. It was not as if we were intending to govern it, though. I realized that my people must have continued their rampaging ways in my absence, for day upon day, to the point where the surviving populace had fled.
The result was a city which had been thriving and populous not all that long ago was now barren. A place where ghosts walked the streets in comfort because they did not need to concern themselves about running into the living.
I made my way through the lower city, seeing one burned-out shell of a building after another. I couldn’t help but think that the entire thing seemed a massive waste somehow. I had no idea how much time and effort had gone into building up the Golden City into something great and impressive, but it certainly hadn’t taken us much time to reduce it to a hollow, bare semblance of its former self.
Well … they probably deserved it, because they were weak. They depended upon others to fight their battles for them, and the others failed, and now they deserve whatever they get.
It was a remarkably pathetic rationalization, and yet for me it was enough, and I took comfort in it and sat up a bit straighter upon my horse. Mordant vaulted off my arm band and angled away across the city’s skies, no doubt doing some scavenging to see what delights and treats he might be able to scrounge for himself.
There were sentries on the jagged wall that served to separate the upper city from the lower, and at first they readied weapons to hurl at me. But they allowed me to draw close enough—whether to identify me or simply make a better target of me, I could not be sure—and when they realized who I was, a joyous cry went up. It was comforting to know that I’d been missed.
Within minutes I heard the clattering of hooves upon the road, and here came riding up Boar Tooth and Slake. Their happiness to see me was evident, but instantly they realized That Guy was not with me. It was obvious to them that something tragic must have occurred, and there on the streets outside the jagged wall I told them of the strange final fate that had befallen their comrade in arms.
“He felt … affection for that creature? And it for him?” asked Slake when I finished. He clearly was having trouble grasping such an absurd notion.
But Boar Tooth was simply nodding. “No, I can well believe it. That Guy had a knack for the ladies and also a way with animals. A creature who combines both attributes, well … I cannot say I’m surprised that there would be some degree of attraction between them. I am saddened, however, that it led to his demise. He must truly have been distracted by her, else I have no doubt that he would have been able to evade the arrow that Beliquose’s minion fired at him.”
I wasn’t altogether certain that was true, but it might have been. And if it gave comfort to his friends to believe it, who was I to gainsay them? “You are very likely correct,” I said judiciously. “He died bravely; that is the important thing. The gods and goddesses welcome him into their bosom.”
“If you say they do, Peacelord, then I am comforted since I assume you know whereof you speak,” Slake said suavely and bowed his head. Boar Tooth followed suit.
“And speaking of goddesses,” I continued with a smile and a bit of a leer, “does my own personal goddess fare well?”
“If you mean the Lady Kate—which ideally you do, lest most unfortunate circumstances befall you,” Boar Tooth jested with me, “yes, she fares quite well. Indeed, she is the center of attention at this little home-away-from-stronghold that we have acquired. Every day she engages us in entertaining and witty banter; every evening she leads us in joyous songs and chants over the many victories that have brought us to this pass.”
“All of which focus on you, Peacelord,” said Slake quickly, with a glance at Boar Tooth.
Boar Tooth nodded very quickly and very unconvincingly. “Yes, Peacelord, all upon you.”
It did not matter to me. Perhaps it should have, but it didn’t. I was confident, secure enough in my greatness that I believed I need not concern myself about how much prominence my name held in ballads and songs. “She enjoys herself then, the Lady Kate?”
“I have never seen her more radiant,” said Boar Tooth, and Slake’s head bobbed in agreement.
“Well then,” I said jovially, “I must go to her to see just how much she radiates. Oh … and gentlemen. How fares King Meander?”
The answer to that question seemed to bring the most pleasure to my lieutenants. They exchanged looks as if to silently decide who would be the one to tell me, and interestingly, without a word being stated, Boar Tooth was elected. He turned to me and announced, “He has emerged from his coma, Peacelord.”
“And his faculties—?”
“As sharp as ever they were.”
“Excellent!” I said. “I wish to have time to avail myself of the amenities offered by this glorious city. So
we shall arrange for the disposition of the Keepless King to be held this very evening. The sun will set for a final time upon … upon …”
The sun setting.
My voice trailed off as I envisioned the sun … the sun, covered by shadow, being consumed …
“Peacelord?”
I shook it off and focused back on my men. “Apologies, gentlemen. I was … lost in thought.”
Boar Tooth bowed slightly and said, “A god on earth need never apologize to mere mortals.”
“Yes, that’s true,” I said serenely, and we rode off toward the mansion that was my temporary headquarters.
Somehow they must have managed to send word on ahead, or perhaps other sentinels saw me coming, for it was a true hero’s welcome when I returned to the mansion. It was smaller scale, but reminded me of when I’d first arrived at Dreadnaught. I wondered how things were transpiring there, and was looking forward to being quit of this place as soon as possible.
I briefly toyed with the idea of hauling Meander with me back to Dreadnaught and having him executed there. It would get us out of the Golden City faster, and enable all the residents therein to share in the entertainment. I decided against it, though. I had no desire to take any risks with our prisoner. Who knew what sort of mishaps could occur between us and Dreadnaught? Unexpected natural disasters, attacking armies. Anything could happen, and if one such incident allowed Meander to escape in the confusion, I would never forgive myself.
Once I’d arrived, word quickly spread about the loss of That Guy. The general school of thought was that it was unfortunate, but he had died the way he would have preferred to die, namely in battle. And when I described the disposition of those who had stood against us—how I had cloven the skull of That Guy’s killer, and then hurled Beliquose into a bottomless pit (which, let us be honest, sounds far more impressive than admitting that he tripped upon my staff while I was running from him)—there were many huzzahs and cries of appreciation from my men, and that made it almost worthwhile.
Mordant did not wander far from my side. He seemed a bit more clingy than he had been before, and he appeared to be regarding the men around us with a certain degree of suspicion. I did not, however, let it perturb me. I had other things to worry about.
“The Lady Kate is most anxious to see you,” Boar Tooth informed me with a broad grin. And I was more than anxious to see her.
But then I saw, through a door and out in the main courtyard, a Crow’s Cage suspended from an arch. A man was imprisoned in it, and I could see even from where I was that he was covered with the remains of overripe fruit and vegetables. People had been pelting him rather unmercifully, and I could only assume that the reason they weren’t doing so at that point was because they’d run out of missiles.
I recognized him from behind. I was tempted to simply leave him there, for I had more delightful and delectable matters to attend to. But I couldn’t pass this up.
The cage was narrow, as such things usually are, about five feet high which already required that he be, at the very least, bent over. In this instance, there were small holes at the bottom of the cage which were just large enough for him to slide this legs through so that he could sit. That’s what he had chosen to do now. The cage was rocking back and forth softly with a faint creaking noise, and he was actually humming an aimless little tune. He paid me no mind as I approached him, and I gestured for my retainers to stay back so I could have some privacy with the bastard.
“Well well,” I said as I approached him, walking around him and looking him up and down. He had not been given new clothes, and his warriors garb had been somewhat torn in the series of battles that had eventually brought him low. Visible through the rents in the fabric were assorted cuts, some of which I could tell hadn’t healed properly, and had even become infected. My guess is that we were doing him a favor, since it was more than likely that—unless medical aids were able to work a miracle—he wasn’t going to survive all that long. “King Meander, the Keepless King. Your Majesty,” and I bowed mockingly low to him. “Not quite looking so majestic now, are we.”
His hair was matted and unwashed, and his eyes seemed sunk deep into his head as he raised his head to look at me.
I was wrong. He still looked majestic. Wretched as he was in his fallen state, helpless within the Crow’s Cage where he was deprived of food and water and would eventually become crow’s food if left there … he still had a regal, even imperial look to him. It burned from within him in a glow that was no less intense than what I had seen ignited within the gem upon Beliquose’s chest … or, for that matter, upon my own.
He did not glower at me, did not look in the least bit angry. He seemed utterly neutral, not at all perturbed by my presence. It was as if my being there didn’t matter to him in the slightest … which, of course, was not how I wanted it to be at all.
I drew myself up, rallying my spirit as I said, sounding as regal as I could, “Where are your boasts now, highness?”
He actually seemed to give the question a good deal of thought. “Did I ever boast?” he asked quietly. That was not unusual. He said everything quietly. When King Meander spoke, one could almost hear the winds of the frozen north whirling about him, carrying away his words and leaving only the faintest whispers behind.
It was my turn to consider, and I realized that in point of fact, he never had. Meander might have been many things, but excessively prideful was not an attribute. I was hardly about to admit that, though. So instead I forced a smile and said, “You must have thought yourself fairly clever, did you not? Perched atop the wall, trying to lure me in.”
“It worked,” he said mildly.
“Aha!” I felt a moment of triumph and pointed at him. “So you remember it, then! You once told me you tended not to remember events from one day to the next! That you leave each one behind you so as not to burden yourself! Yet you remember your base trickery!”
“Well, yes.” He pointed at bruises that lined his bare legs. “The men come along each day and beat me, and while they do so, they give a litany of my ‘offenses.’ That, apparently, was one of them.” He smiled thinly. “Rather clever of me. I’m impressed I came up with it.”
“You didn’t,” I said sourly. “I did. You got the idea from me.”
“Did I? Hmmf. I thought it seemed vaguely familiar. That will happen to me sometimes. Ghosts of moments past come back to haunt me, and ridicule me with their familiarity.” He glanced around his surroundings. “Considering how it’s all turned out for me, it must not have been one of your better strategies.”
“It worked when I did it,” I told him … which wasn’t exactly true. The truth was that Meander had seen through the bluff, but had instead elected—thanks to one of his legendarily capricious whims—to do nothing about it. But if you can’t exaggerate your successes to someone who has no recollection of them, to whom can you exaggerate them?
It seemed that a wave of … of something passed over his face, and then he fixed a gaze upon me that seemed to bore through my head. “Is this,” he said quietly, “how you treat a king?”
And I suddenly thought, My gods, I have a king locked up in a Crow’s Cage like a common thief. What in the hell have I done? I felt an immediate impulse to go to the cage, break the door open, free him, and grovel at his feet begging forgiveness.
Fortunately for all concerned, I overcame that instantly. I forced myself to remember that, no, he was just a man. “You may call yourself what you wish,” I said to him, drawing myself up and squaring my shoulders. “But the truth is that you gave up your claim to being a king long ago, when you walked away from your kingdom. You cannot simply and arbitrarily declare, as you have, the entirety of the world to be your kingdom.”
“I never have,” he replied evenly. “I have merely said that my kingdom is wherever I am. You do not understand, Apropos. Kingship does not come from out there. It comes,” and he tapped his chest, “from in here.”
“You know my name!” I said
triumphantly. “You remember that, then!”
“Your men have repeatedly mentioned the name of the lord of this place. I simply surmised it was you.” Grim amusement played upon his lips. “No one else has bothered to converse with me. They simply beat me … on your behalf … while shouting at me. Or are you intending to join in those festivities? That staff you’re carrying seems more than up to the job.” He paused and, when I made no move, said mildly, “Well?”
“I should,” I said, my body trembling with barely suppressed rage. “I should. And do you know why I should?”
“No, but I suspect you will tell me.”
I took a step toward him, my hands tightening on my walking staff, and at that moment it indeed was all I could do not to thrash him with it. “You once had scars on your cheek. They’ve faded almost to invisibility now, but they’re still there. And they were placed there by my mother, when you brutalized her … and killed her.”
His face darkened. “I did that? You saw?”
“No. But you bore her mark upon you, and when I asked you how you came by them, you said you did not recall.”
“And that was proof?”
“Her assailant … her murderer … was identified as bearing the Journeyman colors … worn by your men, and, more significantly, by you yourself. Do you deny you assaulted her?”
“No,” he said.
And then he hung there. The cage had stopped swinging. Like a child, he moved his legs slightly and got it rocking again.
“That’s it? That’s all? ‘No’? I speak to you of a crime and you do not deny it?”
“What would be the point?” he shrugged. “I do not recall doing such a thing. It does not sound like something I would do … but, then again, people are …” He stopped, and then his gaze seemed to go inward, and very far away, and there was pain and mourning and the coldness of the icy realm he’d left behind, all visible in those steely and tragic eyes. “People are capable,” he said softly, “of doing … very unexpected things. Things they never would have thought possible. So I do not rule out anything. Besides … if I denied it … what use would it be to you?”