Death's Paladin

by Christopher Donahue

  Karro entered the room, which no longer held wine. He realized that he only carried a belt knife, but the three wretched men were no threat to him. Two lay unconscious and all three had been blinded from boiling lye poured over their faces.

  “Who’s there?” the standing man demanded in Shushkachevan, in a lisping, royal clan accent. He groaned with pain.

  “I am Karro, a Knight in Auros’s service. You’ve attacked my kin and killed many people here.” He felt his composure slipping. “You’ve killed women and children. You’ve used foul weapons. Now, who are you and what are you doing with Hykori necromancers?”

  Karro had no qualms at giving these men the fate demanded by Tuskaran law: Those using poisoned weapons were placed in iron boxes and slowly roasted.

  “Make sense Tuskar. Voskov might keep his Hykori half-breed slaves with him, but neither of them have the brains to be bakers, let alone necromancers. Now, I want water. I want you to use your powers and bring back my sight.” The prisoner’s blistered skin had cracked in several spots while he spoke.

  Karro barely heard the man’s demands. “Voskov? What is he doing out here?” He looked over at the seneschal as if the young Tuskaran would have any idea. The seneschal’s mouth hung open.

  “Of course, Voskov.” The burned man shook his head. “After what you cost him, where else do you think he’d go? He has nothing to live for and no place to hide.” The Shushkachevan prisoner clenched his fists and faced toward Karro. “The rest of us had no chance with anyone but that damned sorcerer.” He reached out until his hands caught Karro’s loose shirt sleeve and pulled close. “You have more power than Voskov. I saw you dispel that demon. You can heal my eyes.”

  “No, I can’t do magic like that. And if I had the power, I certainly wouldn’t use it for you” Karro loosened the man’s grip. “If you answer honestly, I’ll give you an easy death.”

  “No! You have to heal me. You have the power and you’ll use it or I’ll tell you nothing about how many men Voskov commands. I know what he plans to do next.” The Shushkachevan pressed his fists to his forehead, a common plains gesture of determination and then jerked them away from his lye-burns with a cry.

  “You’ll tell me everything you know. By Tuskaran law, you face the oven for using poisoned weapons. Or I could give you to your emperor and his impaling stake. I offer you an easier way to redeem yourself with the truth.” Karro hated bargaining with a murderous plainsman, but the information could save more Kulkas vassals. Also, he had little stomach for torturing hopelessly injured men.

  The Shushkachevan threatened and pleaded, but in the end, he told all he knew of Voskov. None of it involved meetings with Hykori sorcerers or any taint of necromancy. The man didn’t doubt Voskov’s willingness to use such practices. He had simply seen no evidence of Voskov having those abilities.

  Two days after the attacks, survivors from the manor and most of the outlying villages assembled for a mass funeral. The priest chose a place along a broad stony terrace low on the hill of Kulkas Manor. The bodies had been cleaned and rubbed with perfumed oils. All were wrapped in thin cloth and placed on a low wooden pyre. Lokhaz, as lord of the manor, sat directly north of the pyre; he wore a priest’s mantle and carried the star symbol of the True God. Twenty paces to Lokhaz’s right, Karro stood to represent Auros for the rite. An equal distance to Lokhaz’s left, the painfully thin priest stood to perform Carranos’ role as keeper of wisdom. Facing Karro beyond the pyre, the manor’s solid smith stood for Braxos the Craftsman and a sheaf-bearing village elder stood at the fourth corner for Sullos the Harvester.

  At full noon, Karro began the ceremony. He raised a bronze bell and struck it with the flat of his sword. “May the True God take these believers into his service. The warriors fell in defense of their homes and people. This is the best passing for a warrior and is the call that the True God demands of those who serve through Auros. Through Auros also comes the demand of justice for the innocents lost to violence.”

  The priest spoke with a deep and strong voice. “Here lie a scribe and an herbalist. Each pursued her craft with the patience and precision Carranos teaches as the proper way to honor the True God. Each used the knowledge passed down through Carranos to aid her fellows as the True God requires of all who receive that gift.”

  Karro nodded to the smith.

  In a voice surprisingly high for such a large man, the smith said, “These mason and carpenters did honest work. Their hands and hearts will be missed.”

  Beyond the pyre, the village headman’s speech flowed with the accent of the upper hills, a mixture of Tuskaran and Macmar tones. “These serving folk and farmers were good men and women. They will serve you above as they did here, but they deserve justice for their cruel deaths.”

  Karro, as Auros’s representative, led the next portion of the funeral. “Among the fallen warriors is Elnar, son of Tuldak. He served the Kulkas family for thirty-one years, fighting bravely many times. He took his death blow rescuing his lord from a hellspawn creature outside of Southdell.” Karro had learned the names and histories of the fallen warriors from their comrades. He spoke of their pasts and courage in battle. The other representatives gave the tales of their fallen in turn. When all the dead had been named and praised, last gifts or debts were placed around the bodies. Then the priest helped Lokhaz carry a torch to the pyre and ignite it.

  With the pyre fully ablaze, the rite was complete. Karro carried the bronze bell back toward the priest’s gear.

  Before he reached the piled paraphernalia, a rough man in stained hunting leathers beckoned to him. “Lord Knight, I found something you need to see. I went tracking them damned Shusk bastards and found most of them.”

  The man removed his close-fitting Macmar cap to reveal rusty-brown hair. “I swear there’s not many things I didn’t want done to them, but someone had worse planned. In all the mess, I can’t even tell how many were massacred―seven or eight. They’re down at the oak copse near the old copper seam.”

  Karro tossed the bell onto the priest’s pile and took the tracker’s arm. “Was there a trail leading away? Were there any survivors we can follow? Did you find a large, old book in the spoils?” Karro’s pulse race. Before he was touched by Auros, the chase had been one of his passions. Now he felt the compulsion of justice too.

  “No book, Lord Knight. But there’s a jumbled trail away. I only came here to pass the word and get my horse. I mean to track down every one of them Shusk murderers.” The tracker clenched his jaw and gripped the hilt of his heavy gutting knife.

  “Very well, man. What is your name since we’ll be traveling together?” Karro slipped into an easy trot up the hill.

  The tracker fell into the same gait smoothly. “I’m Talodan. Betra’s my mother and Girmar’s her man.”

  The names were typically Macmar, but Talodan had dark Tuskaran eyes and slightly finer features than the Macmar norm. He bound his coarse hair in a single braid in the Macmar fashion, which matched the simple cut of his clothes.

  “‘Lord Knight’ is too formal for our work. My name is Karro. Is your horse sturdy enough for a long hunt?” Vision would carry Karro and his provisions, but if the tracker’s beast foundered, a double burden would slow the journey.

  “My wife’s horse carried her all through these hills. She won’t need the beast anymore.” The tracker glanced back at the blazing pyre and his eyes tightened. “If the animal fails, I travel light. I’ll have blood if I have to crawl the whole way.”

  The seneschal handed Karro his traveling gear. The Knight stowed it behind Vision’s saddle and continued with his instructions for the man. “You should take in the rest of the Temple retirees. Another dozen will be coming through as their wounds heal. They were sturdy enough in battle and you need men to make up your losses here. You’ve proven your own worth as seneschal, remain confident.”

  He squeezed the seneschal’s shoulder. “Now, I must go. Tell my cousin that I’m proud of him and hope he and Undkara keep K
ulkas Hold safe.”

  Karro climbed into Vision’s high-cantled saddle. He had supplies for two weeks as well as his armor in satchels behind the saddle. Talodan sat astride a mustard-colored, solid-looking horse. The tracker did travel lightly.

  Talodan pressed his heels into his horse’s flanks and led the way out of the manor’s courtyard. The copse lay less than an hour’s ride from the manor. Circling buzzards and the stench in the afternoon breeze announced the contents of the copse before the pair arrived.

  Pieces of more than five men lay scattered around the trees and scraps of clothes in bright Shushkachevan colors. Karro found a torso with the head and one arm attached. He didn’t recognize the man, but the swarthy face, thick black hair and a dense beard marked him as one of a hundred thousand Shusks.

  “Karro. The trail heads off through here.”

  A few hoof marks were scattered among ten or more shuffling footprints. The tracker moved out quickly.

  Even though most of their quarry were on foot, the pair of hunters never seemed to get closer than a day behind the party. They passed out of Tuskaran lands and through a region that some of the weaker Macmar tribes had been pushed into. The hills along the northwestern-running path became more rugged. They saw few people, none alive.

  After four days on the hunt, a driving rain wiped out all traces of the prey’s trail.

  Chapter Four

  A woman’s shriek woke Voskov from an uneasy sleep. He swept bleary eyes around the damp rock and sod peasant hut. The sound came from outside the filthy room. He ran a hand through his hair while swinging his feet off the grass pallet in the sleeping niche.

  The scream rang out again, then abruptly cut off. If the Hykori ghouls are having breakfast, I’d better get started on my own or it’s a hungry morning for me.

  The dark room stank, of course. Macmar peasant farms always did. Peat-moss fire, fatty candles and onion porridge all fought against the smell of unwashed bodies.

  Voskov shuffled over and propped opened the only door, careful not to look out to the farmyard. A breath of fresh air and the morning sun were enough to work by. He stoked embers in the fireplace, then rummaged through the larder box. By concentrating on his search for morningroot tea, he worked to ignore the wet, tearing sounds coming through the doorway.

  He prepared tea and sliced smoked sausages onto a clay platter. Then he started some unleavened hearth bread for later. More often than not, the necromancer’s party chose wild places to camp. Voskov planned to make the most of this poor farm’s supplies.

  He finished patting a fifth, smaller loaf into place when a shadow dimmed the hut’s interior. Bringer bent to clear the low doorway and entered the hut. Without a word, the gaunt creature seated himself at the rough table. Voskov slid over an upturned bucket to use as a seat and pulled the sausages to him.

  The Hykori necromancer’s face and robe were wet, but clean. Bringer was always fastidious after eating.

  Voskov tried not to stare. The well-fed necromancer’s face was now merely that of a thin, ancient man rather than a slightly fleshed skeleton. His features were those of a thin-nosed Hykori although his coloring was pallid rather than pale.

  Voskov sipped his tea, waiting for his ally to speak.

  “We will arrive tomorrow.” Bringer reached into a deep fold in his robe and drew out Voskov’s tome of magic. Anger swelled in Voskov. He clenched his fist but held his tongue. The face in the tooled leather cover was distorted in rage and something else. Distaste?

  Bringer pushed the book across the table, his sad gaze never left it. “We wanted you because you have demonstrated power enough to shake your barbarian kingdom. Show me what you can do for us.”

  As Voskov pulled the Book onto his lap, the face relaxed.

  “I have nothing to offer as sacrifice. There’s no point in my opening the Book now. If you had asked before your minions started their morning meal, things might have been different. Perhaps not. Peasant blood buys as little in my work as a sorcerer as it did when I was simply a nobleman.”

  More flesh on Bringer’s face gave him a wider range of expression. The narrowed eyes and slight twist of his upper lip were not friendly, but the creature leaned forward as if to share a secret.

  “It is just as well we feasted. The wench was with child and that particular meat gives me new vitality. Devouring the fallen will keep my kind”―he paused for a bitter chuckle―“alive, but the flesh of the infant or the unborn renews us.”

  I don’t want to know this. Voskov kept the thought to himself. He set the Book back onto the table. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve killed every hermit and slaughtered anyone we’ve found at these isolated farms. My work takes time and a place where I’m undisturbed. That doesn’t seem to be your plan.”

  Bringer raised a thin, black eyebrow. “Would you have us wait for you to create some magic? My fellows are no match for a Paladin of Auros. Perhaps you feel more his equal.”

  A cold knot formed in Voskov’s bowels. Pride stiffened his back and kept him from speaking for a heartbeat. He could not face a Paladin either. Certainly not that one.

  Temple folk said Karro the Avenger had spent one hundred and fifty years hunting down and slaughtering every last one of the Masters, the race who had once held the Tuskarans as slaves.

  “You say we’re near our destination,” Voskov said finally. “I see no need to wait here.”

  The dark gray shape of his scout flew in through the doorway. It was a bit bigger than a large crow but moved with much greater agility. It spun in a tight circle, causing Voskov and Bringer to duck. It dropped onto Voskov’s shoulder, knocking him into the rickety table.

  Sharp talons dug into his shoulder. For its size, the scout had very little weight. Leathery wings folded onto the creature’s back and one tiny hand grabbed Voskov’s ragged beard. Before he could complain, the creature put its uncomfortably human-looking face to Voskov’s ear. “Duke Voskov, the one you fear has lost your trail. Your talisman worked. He and his hunting dog broke camp at dawn and went on a trail south.”

  The scouting creature hopped off his shoulder and helped itself to the last of the sausage.

  The fear Bringer conjured in Voskov slowly unknotted. It had cost one of his few remaining talismans, the False Prey, but a Paladin was no ordinary hunter.

  “Well? Voskov, what does your imp report?” Bringer’s face remained as dead as always, but his voice held impatience.

  Voskov took a sip of tea. “That damned Paladin and his tracker-slave have turned back. I don’t imagine he’s very happy. Auros chooses only the most bull-headed men. Finding a Tuskaran more obsessive than his fellows must’ve been a real task.”

  A burning smell broke through the stink of the hut. “Damn it!" Voskov hopped over to the fire and pulled the hearth cakes away. They would taste burnt, but overcooked had become his eating preference of late. He saw far too much food taken raw by Bringer and his creatures. He wrapped the cakes along with some last bits of cheese and put them in his saddle bags.

  After Voskov tended and saddled his horse, Bringer made his silent call. Dead Hykori drifted in from the crude outbuildings and nearby pines. From behind a knot of six undead came a slight Macmar or mixed-blood woman. Although she was very alive, the ghouls made no move to harm her.

  She strode past Voskov, to Bringer and spoke rapidly in the Hykori-Macmar hybrid tongue used throughout the wilder parts of the highlands. Voskov understood court Hykori, the language of sorcery, and enough Macmar to give orders to the hundreds of serfs he had owned.

  “She’ll not wait past the new moon. We’re to be there with whatever you fetch up or you’re cast aside. She’ll not skulk any longer, for well or ill.” The woman turned to study Voskov as if considering a horse for sale.

  At first, Voskov felt affronted. Macmar serf-girls had rightly feared him on his estates. Even Shushkachevan noblewomen glanced down when he looked at them. He had long since tired of women who feared or sought to use him. Yet this one
dared weigh him on his own worth rather than his authority.

  He inspected her in return. Her dark blonde hair had more than a little red in it. Her lithe figure looked strong. Her movements were graceful in a deadly way. She wore well-made leather armor and hunting boots. The woman had plain features except her eyes, deep amber and shimmering with vitality. Taken as a whole, the woman radiated more life than the average human. The difference became more marked as she stood surrounded by ghouls.

  Bringer broke the mutual inspection. “Duke Voskov, this is Chenna. She will see that you remain healthy for us.” The Hykori necromancer put a pale, thin hand on Chenna’s shoulder. “Chenna, Duke Voskov used sorcery and mundane power to lead a nearly-successful rebellion on the lost plains. He is a Shushkachevan noble who is not afraid to use a sword. See that he doesn’t get into something he can’t handle.”

  Chenna took Voskov’s right hand and turned it palm-up. “Good, honest calluses. And strong hands. Fingers callused too. Are you good with the bow?”

  He pulled his hand away and mounted his horse. “My father would’ve had me flogged if I couldn’t sit a horse or feather a mark better than my men.” He leaned down in the saddle to look closely into her eyes. “Why are you with something like Bringer?”

  Chenna stepped back a pace. “Bringer? Oh, him. Sense in that name. These accept me for my strength and when I’m weak, they keep me safe. Your need too, is it not?”

  Bringer spoke again. “Chenna, Voskov here needs special protection. He has a Paladin of Auros with a personal debt to settle. Any of Auros’s followers would try to kill us on sight, but Voskov has one looking for him specifically.”

  “What! Taking in one with a Paladin on his trail? How’re we in need of that grief?” Chenna’s appearance seemed less distinct, as if her facial features were changing as Voskov stared in fascination. He was the source of Chenna’s distress. A cold sense of worry washed over him.

  Bringer gripped Chenna’s shoulders. “Think clearly. When we reach Mallaloriva, the days of hiding will end. All of the new gods will throw their children against us. Voskov brings nothing down on us that we wouldn’t already face. If we are to fight in the light, we will need every weapon we can get, including this Shushkachevan. Your charge is to keep him alive to work those sorceries we cannot. You obey the queen by doing this.” He whispered something more.