The Cursed

by Dave Duncan

  Expecting what, exactly?

  Holding hard to his cynicism, Bulion walked forward. When he came within normal speaking distance, he stopped and bowed to the glittering ruler. He was an aging peasant in a smock and breeches, showing hairy arms and shins.

  Imquin extended a limp hand, palm down. Rings sparkled on his fingers. Was he expecting to get it kissed?

  Bulion advanced two more steps, took the hand firmly and shook it.

  "I am honored to meet your Excellency. A fine morning."

  The governor's dark eyes gleamed inscrutably. "We welcome you, Bulion Saj. We have heard much about you. Come, let us be comfortable." He dismissed the guard with a gesture and led his guest over to a group of low divans flanking a gilt and crystal table.

  "Be seated, Saj. Your visit to our fair city has proved eventful, we hear." His bland smile belied the threat in his words.

  Bulion sat. The divan was softer than last night's featherbed, which he had not been granted much time to enjoy. If this interview went on very long, he might fall asleep—and wake up in a dungeon. He crossed his ankles and tried to appear at ease. "Moderately exciting, Excellency."

  Imquin raised frosty eyebrows and stroked his aquiline aristocratic nose with a long finger. "You were fortunate not to suffer casualties."

  "The fates were kind."

  "Especially kind to a man who arrived in a litter."

  More threat—but Gwin was the one who had sheltered the Cursed, not Bulion. Why threaten him and not her? Granted that a casual friendship had unexpectedly blossomed into something much greater, the transformation had happened only a few hours ago. Bulion hardly comprehended it himself yet. The governor's spies were extremely efficient but he could not possibly know of that startling development.

  "I was fatigued by the journey."

  "Mm?" Imquin smiled politely, and disbelievingly. Two footmen approached to place crystal goblets before the two men, then withdraw without having made a sound.

  The governor raised his drink in a toast. "May the fates smile on you and yours."

  "And on you also, Excellency." The wine was sickly sweet, yet had an unidentifiable bite to it. If it was some precious vintage, then it was wasted on a beer-swilling farmer. The entire procedure was wasted on the farmer. Bulion could imagine no reason at all why the autocrat should have summoned him to this audience.

  The governor asked politely about the prospects for the harvest. He inquired whether the Tharns had been troubled by vagrant bands of refugees from Tolamin, or the Cursed driven out from Daling itself. He confirmed his understanding that there had been no outbreaks of the star sickness in the countryside and without changing his tone added, "I hear that you are building a fortress in your valley."

  Ah! The quarry had broken cover. Bulion should have foreseen that.

  "Hardly a fortress, Excellency. We are strengthening our defenses."

  "Why?" The dark eyes were intent.

  Bulion shrugged. "We are Zarda. My father settled the valley and almost the first thing he did was build a stockade. Call it a warrior's instinct."

  "You are no barbarian tribesman, Bulion Saj."

  "But I have womenfolk and children to think of. Livestock, crops. It never hurts to be prepared. Times are unsettled, as you realize." He was talking too much. The penetrating stare was unsettling him. He had no need to explain himself to this man... except sixteen or seventeen hostages. If Imquin Strevith took a whim to throw them all in the dungeons and feed them alive to rats, no one would lift a finger. Did the governor view the Tharn fort as a threat?

  "Do you know just how unsettled? The Karpana have crossed the Nildu."

  "That is a long way off, surely."

  "But we are vulnerable now!"

  "My geography is hazy, Excellency."

  "Then permit me to show you." Imquin rose with commendable ease. Bulion struggled up out of the molasses grip of the divan and followed his host as the tall, angular man strode across the hall.

  He stopped abruptly and tapped an elegant shoe on the floor. "We are here."

  Obviously. But he meant that the mosaic had been laid out in the shape of a map. Bulion needed a moment to orient himself.

  "This is very old, of course," the governor said. "It doesn't extend as far as the Nildu, naturally. It covers only the old imperial province of Da Lam. Here is Daling. The Flugoss River, and Tolamin." He took a couple of steps. "This was Excham, a thriving city when this map was made. There is nothing there now. Some fishing villages have grown up along the coast, I believe."

  "Fascinating, Excellency! It makes me feel like the sun."

  Imquin smiled without showing his teeth. "Gazing down from heaven and manipulating the destinies of mankind? This map does not affect me that way, but there is another over there, a detailed plan of the city itself, and I feel exactly like Poul when I study that one. Your valley would be about here, I think." He bent over and peered. "The old name was Byzmhoth."

  Left to himself, Bulion would have taken a long time to discover that. The towns confused him, because there were no such towns any more. He had never realized how many there had been in the old days. The rivers were the same, but the moors seemed narrower than he would have expected. He could judge distance only by the time needed to cover it.

  Imquin positioned himself on Daling and folded his arms. "Do you think strategically, Bulion Saj? Is that why you build a castle?"

  The threat was becoming more obvious. The fort Bulion had thought of as protection was already placing him in grave danger.

  "Not a castle, Excellency, I assure you. A stockade. A fortress needs men to defend it, or it becomes a potential prize instead of a deterrent."

  "So you do think strategically! We all live in a stockade, Bulion. That is what I wished to show you. See how the fates fortified our little corner of Kuolia, this triangle that was once Da Lam. The sea, here. The Carmine Ranges to the east. The Flugoss River. It cannot be forded downstream from Tolamin, you know, so it has deflected a hundred armies in its time. Do you understand why Daling, alone among a thousand cities, survived the fall of the empire?"

  "Frankly, Excellency, I have never given it a thought."

  "Then do so now! See, there are only two ways in. One over here, the coast road, around the end of the Carmines. That is a treacherous way, rich in ambush potential, steeped in blood. That was where the Emperor Zargpe destroyed the Illifini in 918. But ambushes require armies, and we have no army, so that door stands open. The other way in is Tolamin."

  "Was Tolamin?"

  Imquin smiled in grim agreement. "Was Tolamin. Tolamin held the narrows between the mountains and the river. This is why Daling and Tolamin have always been allies. We were their seaport, they were our door to the empire. The river trade bound us. Whenever Tolamin was threatened, Daling sent men to help. Tolamin always prevailed, so Daling was never threatened."

  "Until last year, when Wesnar—"

  "King Hexzion is a fool!" the governor barked. A faint flush of anger showed on his milky cheeks. "His trivial prize cost him dearly. He will live to regret the strong young men he threw away on a spiteful whim. But what is done is done. Tolamin no longer holds the gate. The Karpana rampage into Kuolia. With all due respect to your Zarda ancestors, Bulion Saj, the Karpana are like to prove every bit as bloodthirsty."

  The Zarda blood ran thin now, chilled by the clammy embrace of civilization. "You expect them to come south?"

  "I expect them to be everywhere! It does not matter whether they come south or not. They will drive whole populations before them. Wesnar may come. Someone will come!"

  Another age of turmoil was dawning. They were both old men, the governor and he. They would not live to see Kuolia at peace again—if Kuolia could ever be truly at peace. "This is my grandsons' war!"

  "And their sons' also. Fortunately, I have no children except my city. Come." Imquin turned and strode back to the divans. "We can no longer rely on Tolamin to defend us. Now do you see why your castle interes
ts me, Bulion Saj?"

  Bulion sank back and crossed his bare shins. "Frankly... no, Excellency. I am only a simple farmer."

  A spasm of annoyance creased the aristocratic brow. "I do not believe for one moment that you are the rustic dolt you try to portray, Bulion Saj. And I am not merely relying on what a couple of the Shoolscaths... What do your neighbors think of your plans?"

  Why mention Shoolscaths? They always went mad, did they not? Imquin Strevith was not the sort of man to let slip words he did not want to let slip. He had hinted about the Ivielscath earlier. He was probing for something, but Bulion could not guess what it might be. Why should a crude stone fort two days' ride away concern the governor? What else could lurk under the surface of his questions? Bulion wondered if two minds could be separated by some misunderstanding so huge and fundamental that neither could even identify it.

  "I get along well with my neighbors, by and large. They are not enthusiastic about my proposed fort, but I believe I will be able to enlist their support. Your news about the Karpana may help there. I have tried to explain that I am planning a common stronghold for the whole countryside, not just for the Tharns."

  The governor gazed skeptically at him over the rim of his goblet. "But with a castle, you will dominate them. Your descendants may aspire to be counts or dukes."

  Of course. "Then good luck to them!" Bulion took a hearty swallow of wine. It was an error, catching in his throat and making him cough.

  "What assistance can Daling offer to speed your work on this castle?" the governor inquired.

  Bulion blinked his tears away. Still coughing, he spluttered, "Assistance, Excellency?"

  "Am I too subtle for you? Don't you see? I am trying to organize a defensive perimeter, an outer line of defense for the city. Without Tolamin, we cannot hope to hold the whole of Da Lam, or what used to be Da Lam. The empire couldn't and the population then was ten times what it is now. Your fort and half a dozen others, located at the main population centers... especially yours, for it will hold the key to the coast road. If I assign a military advisor to assist with the design, will you heed what he tells you? If I send you two hundred masons, can you use them? Feed them, and for how long? Three hundred? Will gold help? And if so how much—"

  "To be followed by a garrison, of course?"

  The governor showed his teeth for the first time. They were yellow and scanty. After a moment he said, "I suppose we should ask you to tolerate a token force. The taxpayers of Daling can hardly be expected to contribute to the cost of building a castle and then have no say at all in the use to which it will be put."

  Old Gamion Tharn had liked to quote a Zarda proverb: Free worms have hooks in them.

  "Excellency, you vastly overrate my influence if you think I could ever talk my neighbors into that. I would unite them, but I would unite them against me, and against you. It would not work!" Bulion raised his glass. "To freedom!" He swallowed the last mouthful. The governor's chilling glare made him imagine he could hear the creak of the dungeon door already.

  "You spurn my offer of friendship?"

  "Your Excellency, I am not Lord of the Eastern Marches! I am a farmer. Awail and Poul have blessed me with many children and them with many. We are the largest family in the district, but that is all we are. You propose marriage between a mouse and an ox. And even if I were Duke of This and That, the price would be too high."

  "Daling's enmity may cost you more."

  "I wish Daling no ill, and could inflict none if I did."

  Daling, on the other hand, could destroy Bulion and sixteen members of his family with a word of command. The governor stared hard at him for a long, uncomfortable minute before he raised his own glass. "To freedom, then." He drank without taking his eyes off his visitor.

  "I hope I have not given offence, Excellency?"

  "I have lived too long to bear grudges, Bulion Tharn." The old man seemed baffled by something. "Will you at least do me this favor? Our military intelligence is sadly thin. We need to know much more about the present situation in the countryside. I could send a patrol out to your area to gather information, but that might be interpreted as a hostile move. The last thing I want to do is antagonize the peasantry. Pardon me, the inhabitants. If I detail one man to accompany you, will you grant him hospitality? Will you introduce him to your neighbors and allow him to gather information?"

  It was not a welcome proposal, but to antagonize the governor further would certainly be unwise. "With pleasure."

  Imquin smiled coldly. "Now tell me about Labranza Lamith."

  "Who?"

  "Oh, come! I am not a fool. A man from Raragash was present at the hostel before you arrived. The guards' report on the attack last night listed the name of Labranza Lamith among the guests. What is her interest in you, Bulion Saj?"

  "Excellency, I have no idea what you are talking about! Yes, there is a woman of that name staying there. She turned up after the attack, but who she is or where she came from or why... I honestly have no idea! I have not exchanged one word with the lady, I swear it. Should I have heard of Labranza Lamith?"

  The governor frowned as if Bulion's astonishment almost but not quite convinced him. "Perhaps not, if you are no more than what you say you are. She is something of a legend. As you will... Beware of her. When do you plan to return home?"

  These sudden swerves in topic were disconcerting. "I understand that at the moment we are under house arrest."

  "You are free to go."

  "Then we shall go. Today."

  "Very wise, if I may say so. You have made a certain powerful citizen seem like a fool, an incompetent defeated by a bunch of rustics. You are not and he is not, but appearances matter greatly to such men. I wish you safe journey."

  "A warning, Excellency?"

  The old man shrugged. The darkness of his eyes was in strange contrast to his pallid complexion and white raiment. "I don't think it is necessary, as long as you do not tarry here too long. My emissary will be ready to accompany you."

  Bulion nodded his agreement, wondering now if there was some trap there that he had overlooked, or if the presence of the mysterious emissary was intended to deter malefactors from attacking him. The governor's mind was as devious as a bag of snakes. City aristocrat and rustic peasant... perhaps the two of them could never understand each other. The only clear conclusion was that Imquin had grossly misjudged Bulion's influence in his district. The proposed emissary—spy—should clarify the situation when he made his report.

  "I shall be greatly in your debt," Imquin said. "Is there anything I can do for you in return? Feel free to ask—I have enjoyed our little chat."

  This interview felt much like swimming in the Tharn Valley mill pond, at the end with the nasty undertow. But there could be no harm in asking.

  "You are gracious, Excellency. Gwin Solith is an old friend, and recently was tragically bereaved. I understand that she is being pestered by would-be husbands, seeking to gain title to her property. Is there any way you can use your influence to discourage this harassment?"

  The governor seemed surprised by the choice of topic, perhaps even disappointed. What else had he expected? "You ask merely out of friendship?"

  "Entirely. I knew her husband well. We always stayed at his hostel when we came to Daling. She believes that the outrageous attack on her last night was provoked by efforts to seize her property, that rival factions—"

  The governor raised a narrow, blue-veined hand. He settled back contendedly. "As it happens, I intend to take action this afternoon that will certainly put a stop to those efforts, once and for all."

  "That is good news," Bulion said cautiously. He wasn't entirely sure that it was, though. He distrusted the foxy expression in the old man's dark eyes.

  "The situation is quite simple. Indeed it is much simpler than certain people imagine. I have enjoyed watching the intrigue, but last night it went too far. Liam Gurshith dearly covets that building on Phoenix Street, so Vinal Esoterith is utterly determi
ned he shall not have it. A few others frolic around the edges, seeking advantage. We have a council meeting scheduled for noon, at which I plan to resolve the matter."

  "Then Gwin Saj will be confirmed in safe enjoyment of her property?"

  "Alas, no. It does not belong to her and never did."

  Bulion spasmed with shock. "What! I do not understand!"

  The governor smiled his tight-lipped smile. "If it makes her feel any better, Liam Gurshith is not going to get it. It belongs to me."

  "You!?... Excellency?"

  "To the city. A woman cannot own land in Daling. That is an old law, but still valid."

  Fates! Did Gwin know of that law? She must. She was too intelligent not to have learned about it. She had not revealed the gravity of her situation to Bulion—and why should she?

  "You see," Imquin continued, "if she cannot own land, then her husband's bequest was invalid. She cannot pass on the title by marriage, because she never owned it. Her suitors are either unaware of that point or believe they can bully their way around the technicalities. In law, her infant son inherited, but he died of the star sickness a few months later. As the babe left no male heir, the property reverted by law to the emperor. In Daling the governor is still the emperor's representative. You know and I know that there has been no legitimate emperor for a hundred years, but the law does not recognize that fact. So the land on which the building stands belongs to the city—me."

  Bulion was too disgusted at the old man's odious smugness to say a word.

  "It will be an interesting session." Imquin was gloating. "In the old days, governors were appointed by the emperor. Most governors pretended to rule with the guidance of a council, but councils were only circuses of tame civic leaders who acted as the people's ears to hear the imperial orders. When the empire fell, Daling rolled on as before. The governor of the day was a young man, and a strong one, and he continued to rule until he died. He had groomed his son as his deputy, and the son slipped into the post unopposed upon his father's death. The office, in effect, became hereditary. As I have no children, it dies with me." He sighed, and added softly, "I did have hopes of my nephew, but the fates seem to have decided otherwise."