Death's Paladin

by Christopher Donahue

  “What of the others, Knight of Auros? Don’t you remember any who were simply good people? Don’t they matter in your world? Do you have to be a bloody-handed slayer to be worthy of a Knight’s thoughts?” A pair of pale, long-healed scratches stood out on the tracker’s flushed face. Talodan’s horse broke into a nervous trot.

  Karro made no effort to close the gap. Talodan leaned forward in his saddle and covered his face with his hands. Eventually his horse slowed to a walk and Vision came up even with the gelding. Jaw clenched, Talodan stared at a point somewhere ahead.

  “Let me tell you about someone who died in one of your battles.” The tracker spoke more to himself than to Karro. “Borla was the oldest of four children and had to learn herbs because her mother was sickly. From the time Borla could tell an angelroot from a radish, she cared for hurt folk.”

  As the two men rode, Karro prompted Talodan with questions, guiding him toward happier memories.

  Dawn’s mists burned away early. The autumn sun made the colors of turning leaves along the road ripple like fire. Even the morning air seemed crisper than it had in the wild hills of the previous days’ journey. Gaps in the trees opened on precisely laid out Tuskaran farms or occasional peasant villages. “A good setting to hear about the life of a worthy woman. You’ve lost a lot,” Karro said softly.

  Something about the sturdy farmstead they were passing tickled Karro’s memory. The way the two-story stone house jutted from the broad barn foundation attached to its eastern side seemed odd. The building style was unusual, but the farmer’s efforts at charring and digging at a group of stumps seemed as common as the man’s homespun clothes.

  A shift in the breeze carried the smell of wood smoke, triggering a memory for Karro.

  A log rampart had stood above the stone foundation now making up the base and walls of the barn. Tuskaran men under flaring iron helmets struck downward with spears and axes at the wild men rushing up scaling ladders. Farther down the wall, a pair of auburn-haired Tuskaran women struggled to push a platter of white-hot sand onto the shrieking group of attackers.

  Karro’s pulse had raced as he spurred his mount—a horse as awkward as Talodan’s horse—into a charge. He and the Tuskaran yeomen at his back smashed into the attackers like a stone falling from a clear sky. Macmar men, turned into feral beasts by their shaman’s wicked potions, grabbed at him or swung tree-branch clubs, trying to knock him from his horse. Their raw animal skins did nothing to slow his blessed sword.

  Since the Macmar had chosen this debasement for themselves, Karro slew them without regret. Their deaths were a side effect as he hunted for the man who commanded them. Then he spotted the alchemist, a group of the strongest and least bestial men forming a knot around him.

  “Damn it, Karro. You’re doing it again.” Talodan’s voice cut through Karro’s thoughts the way his charge had shattered the animal-men attacking the Tuskaran outpost.

  Karro focused his attention on Talodan. The tracker’s glare as he chewed on the tips of his sandy mustache was familiar, but the habit of a man who had died a century ago.

  “My mind wanders, Talodan. Have you never looked at a tree and seen a girl from your past leaning against it and smiling just for you? Do you look at a pond and remember a friend who drowned in it?”

  Talodan continued to chew on his long mustache. It made him look like Vendel when the long-dead man calculated his odds at a game of chance.

  “Aye, Karro. I’ll grant you my mind turns more to those kinds of thoughts since I’ve earned some silver in my hair. Still, when you look through me to older times, it’s as if I’m the ghost. And I have a debt to settle before I’m another one of your memories.” A hunter’s intentness crept into Talodan’s eyes. “What do you see when you look at that place?”

  Karro glanced back at the farmstead. “When our people were bringing the True Faith to the Macmar lands, evil men used corrupted Hykori magic to turn their own people into weapons. My duty was to root them out and kill every man who used sorcery. I slew one of the worst in that field below the barn.”

  Talodan looked at the field where the farmer struggled with a stump. “You must have done well. Only the faithful seem to be about nowadays.” He shrugged and flicked the reins.

  Beyond the barn rose a low hill. Tenacious ground vines covered most of it, but a deep gouge in its side revealed where the stone for the farmhouse had been pulled. The hill had been a barrow Karro and Balanar had raised to honor those slain in the hunt for the alchemist.

  The gutted and forgotten shrine made him wonder whether any would remember those who paid the new price to stop Voskov.

  Talodan’s raised eyebrow and partial smile annoyed Karro. Does he think my old pains are less than his fresh one? “You’ve seen one of my problems, tracker. All who died to stop that ancient alchemist are forgotten now. We did the hard work laid out before us, many faithful paying with their lives, and now no one else remembers.”

  Talodan’s voice dripped with bitterness. “You remember them well enough. Who remembers Borla but me?” He kicked his horse to a trot. “I’ll make sure Voskov lives long enough to hear he dies for Borla as I cut his heart the from his chest.”

  Vision quickly overtook Talodan’s horse. “We serve the cause of the True God in our hunt. We will find and kill the sorcerer as we would any dangerous beast. Don’t let what you feel now turn you into a creature as dark as Voskov.”

  Talodan scowled.

  Karro pointed to the crest of the hill. “Tavma’s Cross is just ahead. We’ll go to the Temple armory and library there.”

  When they reached the crest, the town spread out below. Though not as grand as the huge cities of the Plains or as grimly forbidding as Macmar fortress-towns, Karro felt at home. The Temple of the True God, with its elegant spires and silver-domed hall, dominated the northern part of town. The rest of the town served pack trains passing through the intersection of three trade roads.

  Talodan looked down at possibly the largest population center the man had ever seen. After a few moments, he looked questioningly at Karro and made to move.

  Karro held up a hand. “You can’t take this hate into the Temple. Tell me about Borla’s death.”

  The tracker stiffened. “I’ll spin you that tale when I’m holding Voskov’s heart.”

  “No, you’ll end it here. You’ll acknowledge that she’s gone to face the True God to account for her own life. Anything you do or fail to do now won’t change that. If you carry out this task in hate and in her name, you’ll insult her memory and foul the Temple.”

  Talodan turned away and Karro urged Vision forward to block the road to Tavma’s Cross. “Talodan, this hunt is the right thing to do, but if you don’t take control of your hate and grieve for your loss, you’ll destroy yourself. Believe me when I say I understand your pain. You’ve seen enough injuries to know the healing process; don’t let Borla’s death fester inside. That would hurt Borla worse than anything Voskov did to her.”

  Talodan booted his mount to force past Vision. The heavier warhorse rocked slightly under Karro and the road remained blocked.

  “Make way for me, Karro. Coming here is your idea and I mean to get some advantage against those killers. Your word was that the Temple could give us weapons. Do you go back on your word now, Knight of Auros?” Talodan’s face flushed as rage choked him.

  Karro sat in silence as reason slowly returned to the tracker. Once the man’s breathing slowed, Karro heeled Vision’s flank and the stallion backed a short distance.

  “My word is good. I’ll share any useful information I learn in the Temple. I won’t stop you from going on as you are, but I owe it to Borla and to you to clear your head before you face those things, with or without me.”

  Talodan’s shoulders curled forward and his head dropped to his chest.

  Karro half-heard Talodan’s apologize to his dead wife for losing her killers and for a series of petty fights and slights. Karro urged Vision on and to give the man some pr
ivacy.

  Sometime later, the tracker trotted his mule-faced horse past Karro and down toward the town. Karro closed the distance and said nothing as they joined the late-morning farm traffic to the southwestern gate.

  While they waited behind a hay cart, Talodan asked, “Is there someone I can see about my bow? I’d hate to have it crack.”

  “There should be a Craftsman of Braxos at the Temple.”

  “Aye, it’d be bad to miss a shot at Voskov.” Talodan shifted in his saddle. “I need to get through this fever to do what’s needed. I’d not send out a hunting dog that wasn’t right in its head. I’m glad that you’d do no less for me.” He coughed again and kicked his mustard-colored mount forward before Karro could answer.

  The gate guards, a pair of mail-armored Tuskarans with broad-bladed and wickedly sharp axes, passed Karro with hands raised in salute for a Knight of Auros.

  Karro kept Vision to a slow walk, allowing Talodan to gawk without getting lost. Tavma’s Cross was not a large town, but it was more diverse than most Tuskaran towns. Scores of mule and packhorse trains camped in rented enclosures or their own trading companies’ compounds. Caravans of camels and shaggy oxen from the northern wastes passed by tan-scaled draft-lizards from the westernmost Plains. The varieties of merchants and guards drew Karro’s attention while the beasts and wares drew comments from Talodan. Karro answered Talodan’s questions when he could and said the tracker could come back later if he wanted to learn more.

  After the trading compounds, they wound through the crafts quarter―streets of smiths, leather workers and armorers. Most services and goods here were oriented toward the caravans. Each craftsman had a counter facing the street with the workshops visible beyond. Tuskaran craftsmen were proud of their work and welcomed customers to watch them at their tasks. The Tuskaran traditions held way, even though many craftsmen had blond or red hair from a partial Macmar heritage.

  Most craft folk and merchants wore tunics or capes declaring the colors of their trades. Smiths wore black, weavers green and leather workers brown. Specialists often wore clothes with wide stripes in contrasting colors to declare skills in armor making―black and brown―or other combinations of skills. Lesser skills or trades requiring discretion were often offered through narrower bands.

  Scattered among the customers and vendors were several women with yellow stripes sewn along the hems of their skirts. They stroked the arms of merchants or caravan guards while laughing at anything the men said. In each case, the yellow stripes were less than a finger joint wide. Macmar and even most Tuskarans, chose not to see advertising colors if the stripes were less than a full finger length wide.

  As they came up on a row of shops offering spices and dried foods Talodan said, “We should pick up some supplies here. A pinch of fireroot and a few strips of peppered goat would make our usual rabbit stew tastier. When we get into the upper hills, a phial of brewer’s yeast is worth more than a handful of copper.”

  They dismounted and Talodan examined some spices and made his opening offer. The old vendor’s face flushed and said the offer insulted him and all his ancestors. It remained a comfortable dance.

  Talodan’s smile might be hard to spot, but it broke through for an instant. The spark in his eyes as he began serious haggling satisfied Karro. Even if the tracker didn’t get the very best bargain, it was a healthy sign that he took pleasure in such a common activity.

  Karro distracted Talodan long enough to give him a handful of coins to buy food for another ten days.

  While Talodan engaged in commercial battle, Karro tied off their horses. Most people in Tavma’s Cross were a mix of Tuskarans and Macmar. A fair number had pale blue or dark brown skin or even warm amber eyes, traces of exotic bloodlines, something caravanners left behind with their trade goods and coin.

  Although a major training Temple occupied the northern part of town, few shops and homes displayed religious symbols―and those were faded. Most prosperous shops had reed-and-feather fetishes tied to the corners of their front awnings―charms for luck or fortune made by priests of the old religion. Seeing his people turning back to the superstitions forced upon them when they were a slave race sickened Karro.

  Few residents or transients gave Karro a second glance. With his shield covered and on Vision’s side, only Karro’s cloak pin to the symbol of Auros marked him as a Knight. He had not passed through town in so long, he did not expect to recognize anyone outside the Temple.

  A scorn-filled voice cut through the sounds of haggling. “By the clear-seeing eye of Auros, this outrage merits the fullest punishment allowed by law.”

  Karro searched around to find out who called upon Auros. A gathering knot of people blocked the entrance to the side street from where the voice had come.

  He had little trouble pushing through the crowd to the source of the commotion. A young Macmar tough in a leather tunic and pants held a woman by the wrist. The mixed-blood woman tugged against him, her green- and yellow-striped skirt flaring around dirty legs. The tough raised her wrist until she stood on the tips of her toes.

  A Tuskaran wearing a long red tunic with the Eye of Auros stitched on the chest in gold thread said in a booming voice, “It is not enough that you gather your coins in shame. You seek to hoard this tainted money by denying honest debts.”

  At the orator’s side, a Tuskaran in fine linen clothes colored by expensive crimson and orange dyes whispered. Both men affected the Shushkachevan style of oiled and curled beards. The whispering man softly tapped fist to palm and then jerked his head and shoulder. The orator nodded and continued in the same reviling tone, “Not only should the debt be recovered, punishment must follow. A period of unpaid service is only right.”

  The woman twisted her arm and broke the tough’s grasp. She hopped away from him, putting her back to the stone wall of a tenement. “He lies!” she shouted over the murmur of the crowd and the growl from the tough. “I paid back Orvo the Twitch, his money and his fee, but he wanted more than coins. He wants me to work for him at the Bed of Flowers.”

  The orator pointed to the tough. “Take this woman away.” Turning to the crowd he said, “She will pay her debts as the injured party demands.” He turned again, addressing Karro’s part of the crowd. “It is only just for her to pay back more than her debt to serve as a warning.”

  Behind the orator, the richly dressed man’s face twisted in a haughty sneer. His head jerked toward his left shoulder, forcing him to tug his tunic across his large belly.

  As the tough dragged the woman toward the main street, Karro stepped into their path. The young man growled and dropped a hand to the dagger sheathed at his waist. The richly dressed man twitched and then turned the orator to face Karro.

  These are the kinds of men destroying my work. Thousands of injustices like this would make people hate the Temple when it was used as an excuse for theft.

  Drawing himself to a height nearing Karro’s shoulder, the orator bellowed, “Who dares interfere with the cause of Justice?”

  Karro shrugged. “I’ve seen no justice. That man accused this woman of not paying a debt. She says she paid him. I’ve heard no proof to either story and no real judgement has been made.”

  The tough released the woman’s wrist and turned to face Karro squarely. Despite the man’s most intimidating glare, Karro’s amusement show.

  The tough took a more assessing look at Karro and paled. Behind him, the orator and his client argued.

  Clearing his throat, the orator waved to quiet the interested crowd. “This is too minor a matter to waste the time of the king’s magistrate. That is why Orvo, son of Yosk, engaged my services to investigate the claims and ensure all is done as the magistrate would wish.”

  Karro stroked his jaw. “So, the magistrate appointed you to investigate these claims?”

  The orator brushed the front of his tunic, straightening the Eye of Auros stitched into it. The action revealed a stone and feather charm of the old religion around his neck. “N
o. But I take cases beneath the magistrate’s notice. It is a way for simple people to receive justice.”

  For a Tuskaran to wear a symbol of the old slave religion and proclaim the guidance of Auros on his chest angered Karro.

  He growled. “What justice is there when the investigator is a paid servant of one side?”

  Red-faced, the orator said, “It’s justice enough for the word of an upstanding citizen to override that of a yellow-skirted whore. It’s more than enough for some thug of a caravan guard to mind his own business before he has trouble of his own.”

  Most of the crowd watched with avid intensity. This was entertainment for most of them. A few rough characters drifted toward Orvo. The richly dressed Tuskaran held up three fingers, glanced at Karro and held up a fourth. He patted the stuffed coin-pouch on his belt.

  Karro rolled his shoulders to shift his sword to a more comfortable drawing position. As soon as he had spoken up, the crowd had cleared space around him. “You take money from a usurer and pimp, but your word is worth more than that of a prostitute?”

  Two men from the crowd drifted near the tough. Each hefted a club in the threatening, but not obvious, way of a robber.

  Karro raised his voice for the first time. “I see a need for justice here. I am Karro, Knight of Auros, and if necessary, I will call on Auros for the ability to tell truth from lies. All here will be judged.”

  The tough and the robbers paused. Then the robbers broke and ran, knocking Orvo to the ground. The tough pulled his employer to his feet while the orator stood open-mouthed but silent.

  Orvo pushed the tough away. Suspicion radiated from the man as he approached Karro. “I don’t know if you are truly Karro the Avenger, but I don’t want the Eye of Auros upon me. I may have forgotten the whore’s payment, an honest enough mistake. I release her, in any case.” He turned to the crowd and proclaimed, “I release Esvana the yellow-skirt from all debt rather than risk disturbing the sleep of Auros the Judge. Who among us, no matter how honest, would stand before the Eye of Auros?” He spun to fix Karro with a glare, but quickly retreated. The tough stayed at his boss’s back.