Death's Paladin
Page 14
Having Redbeard hold the Book open, Voskov drew his dagger and cut a pattern across the subject’s chest precisely matching the sketch in the Book. He dropped the silver necklace over the subject’s head, centering the irregularly shaped, clear bead on the victim’s chest. That done, Voskov drew the blade across the man’s throat.
Blood ran in waves down the victim’s chest. Each time blood touched the necklace, the bead absorbed it and subtly changed shape. When no more blood flowed, Voskov removed the necklace. In place of the clear bead was a detailed red glass figurine of a man lying on his side in sleep.
He dropped the necklace into the pouch at his hip. Still holding the body upright, his assistants looked at him with expectation. None looked afraid or disgusted. Ice’s eyes were full of excitement.
“I’m done with this. Its tattoos disturb the undead. Remove its head and neck and drag the rest to Bringer’s camp.” A suppressed sob came from the corner. “Redbeard, I have no time for these others. The lad’s tattoos are like the first’s. Same orders as with this one.” He pointed to the corpse that Bone and Ice were dragging to a low, gore-covered bench. “The girls’ bodies can go whole.” Redbeard bowed as a serf accepting an assignment.
Voskov grabbed the man’s shoulders. “No more of that. You aren’t a slave.”
Redbeard jerked his head up.
“All of you serve me, but not as slaves. Now, you have my instructions. There is no hurry, just deliver the bodies by morning.” The assistants grinned broadly. Loyalty and reward were inseparable.
The first raid went well. Voskov’s party took the Macmar milling tower totally by surprise. Highland grains from the early autumn harvest, most of it already ground, packed the storehouse. Months of sweeping the hills would have yielded less food. They even took a dozen wagons to haul the loot to the queen’s camp.
With the first heavy snows coming, giving out food would convince the living Hykori to go where the queen ordered and make their return if called in the spring more likely.
Better yet, Visht had refused to accompany the raiding party. Chenna reported that Morishtevar behaved well. The lesser Demon Lord handled the undead competently enough. Voskov was glad to know he didn’t have to rely solely on Bringer or Vishtanatar for this task.
Training more necromancers to handle the growing numbers of undead would be important. A few of the Hykori straggling into camp claimed arcane powers. Bringer’s current project was to eliminate the empty boasters and develop those with true power.
The target for the next raid was an old manor house reconfigured to serve as an inn. Smoked meat, gold and spirits from this raid would make the trip south more comfortable. Chenna brought Voskov his leather cape against the cold. She seemed at ease in her armor and a fur cap. The cold made him consider summoning her back to his bed. Terrified prisoners had grown wearisome and his experience with Chenna had been … unique.
The sharp wind blew a damp smell up from the woods. Flurries of snow were thickening even as the sun dropped below the mountains. He had a good view of the target in its wide clearing in the forest. His raiders were confident, at least the score of living ones were. Morale wasn’t a problem for the undead.
Soon it would be full dark and time to move.
A familiar dot grew in the sky before him. He stood to give the scout a good perch and braced for its landing. A last reconnaissance as a precaution. A useless pattern “warded” the solid-looking, fortified manor.
The scout landed hard. “Duke Voskov, the hunters are inside.”
Karro.
Voskov tensed inside. His once-shattered thigh gave a twinge and his temper flared. Anger overcame the momentary flash of panic.
“Very well.” He motioned for Morishtevar to join him and reached into his trinket pouch. He withdrew his latest work, holding the beaded chain up to the dying light.
The Demon Lord joined him.
“My lord,” Voskov said, “the scout has told me of an unexpected bonus. One of Auros’ slaves is inside the inn.”
The souldrinker drew back slightly and dropped his hand to the throwing axe tucked in his belt.
“We must be prepared for some losses but removing a Paladin will greatly aid the queen.” Bowing toward the souldrinker, Voskov said, “I give you that honor.”
He held up the necklace. “This toy should give us an additional advantage. For this attack, the death of that Paladin must be your absolute priority.”
The dark shape nodded as the first lights flickered in the manor house below.
Chapter Nine
“Talodan. I’m glad to see you up today.” A load of split wood held to his chest, Karro kicked the inn’s door shut behind him. A constant blaze and teas from Lady Kestran’s herbs had kept the guests and staff alive through the worst of the strange fever.
The tracker, the first to fall to the strange illness, remained pale and clutched the stair railing. After eight days of fever, interrupted by periods of chills and hunger, he looked wasted away.
By the morning after their arrival, only Balanar and Karro were hale. The two Knights cared for the guests and staff of the converted manor house while the sickness ran its course.
Talodan gave a weak smile. “Self-preservation, now the fever’s broken.” He pointed in the direction of the kitchen and made a face. “I can’t face another meal at Balanar’s hands.”
Karro nodded in agreement. He helped the tracker into the kitchen and placed dried fruit and cheese before him. A quick glance through the window confirmed Balanar at work in the stable. He had the knack of handling the quarrelsome ponies favored for pulling Macmar war-carts.
Karro laid a large fire in the common room fireplace before heading upstairs to check on the other patients. The fire and the bright daylight filtering through the common room’s large window went far to offset the cold settling in. It would help those recovering to sit in a cheerful room. He tossed knots of fragrant grasses on the fire and went upstairs to check on the others.
The Macmar inn staff were in one large room, the mercenaries and nobles shared a second and a smaller room held Lady Kestran and her servants. Several of the staff and mercenaries were as active as Talodan. The others seemed to be recovering at a slower pace.
Karro pushed the service cart down the short hallway to his final stop. Taking a deep breath, he knocked before entering Lady Kestran’s room. The room’s large bed held Kestran and her maid. Her lastman and horse groom had cushions on the floor. Karro put dirty dishes, cups and the chamber pot on the cart.
The lady sat up and brushed silver-shot auburn hair from her face. Her gray eyes looked into his with a wisdom born from experience lightened by forgiveness. Her soft skin and sharp wit appealed to both his heart and mind. While not a typical beauty, Lady Kestran’s vitality woke something within Karro, something he thought long-dead.
Several days of illness had not worn her down. She was still the essence of a Tuskaran lady. Although roughened by the sickness, her voice sounded sweet to his ears. “Thank you for your concern and care, Karro of Kulkas.”
His throat tightened. She accepted his help graciously, as one noble for another. She didn’t fear him or think of him as Karro the Avenger.
You’re two hundred and sixty years past this mooning around.
“Um, I’m happy to help where I can.”
Her smile quickened his pulse. The maid poked at the horse groom, the youngsters enjoying his discomfort.
Karro stood straight. “Lady Kestran, tonight is the remembrance of the Manifestation.” The servants’ faces lost their silly expressions at the mention of that solemn occasion. “As the oldest in service, Balanar will recite the role of the True God and I will speak for Auros. We would like you to speak for Carranos tonight. If you feel well enough, that is.”
Lady Kestran thought for a moment. “I would be proud to. But most of the warriors and the staff here are Macmar. Few non-Tuskarans will accept a female aspect for the Great Servants of the True God.”
Kestran smiled, then glanced down shyly. Blood rushed into Karro’s face. Needing to do something, he looked around the small room. In the corner lay the lady’s travel bags. He spotted a simple wooden case with brass fittings. No lady would travel without her books. He brought the case to her bed, stopping before touching the covers, then handed the case to the maid. The pretty blonde’s face twitched as she bit her lip. She’s going to start laughing the second I leave, he thought miserably.
“Ah, Lady Kestran if you don’t, um, have the full text of the ceremony with you, I could…”
Don’t stammer like some apprentice.
“Yes, my lady,” the maid interrupted, “he could come up and coach you this afternoon. We’re well enough to leave you in peace. For your coaching.” She looked at him with almost convincing innocence.
For an instant Karro was speechless. The lady and the servants all had smiles, but the excitement was tiring them.
“Enough Tana,” Kestran said. “It isn’t proper to tease a Knight of Auros. I assure you, Karro, I have the proper texts here and I will be happy to serve in the ceremony with you.” She glanced pointedly at Tana. “I will worship with all of you this evening.” Kestran sank back into the pillows.
Karro backed out of the room, but still heard Tana say, “Oh, Lady Kestran you’ve been two years mourning your lord husband. A Knight from a good family would be so much better than…”
He pushed the laden cart along the hallway. Rattling dishes and pots drowned out the rest.
At the end of the hall, he tied the cart to the rope and pulley. After sharp pull, the cart swung out over the railing. He lowered it to the main floor. While doing the now-familiar tasks involved in caring for the sick, his mind wandered along forgotten paths.
He remembered a summer hundreds of years ago, riding across the Plains with Ystret, the vibrant young woman who agreed to bear his children. The Masters were broken and broad Macmar kingdoms collapsed under the hooves of Tuskaran lancers and measured volleys of massed fire-tubes.
Ystret and Karro were happy and the future promised only more pleasures. By the next summer, Ystret was long dead and Karro training to take the Rites of Deepest Devotion to Auros.
The men he had killed in the centuries since his Devotion, if piled together, would bury this inn. He didn’t doubt the rightness of his work, but the killing hadn’t erased the ache he felt for Ystret. Sometimes it seemed as if that void was the only part of his soul not calloused by death.
Now Lady Kestran hovered not far from his thoughts. She was so unlike the lithe girl who shared his battles against the Masters in his youth.
But much about Kestran was like what Ystret might have become had she lived. Kestran’s air of conviction resonated within him, but hers seemed tempered by compassion. Karro was in awe of a faithful worshiper who didn’t instill fear in the weaker folk around her. Civilization seemed to weaken the faith in the hard, dedicated people the Tuskarans had been.
Karro completed the chores inside and met Balanar in the courtyard by late morning for a grueling weapons practice. No opponent but another Knight could withstand the full fury of Karro’s attack. Testing himself against an equal felt good. As Karro worked mail over well-earned bruises, he grunted with a mixture of pain and pleasure.
After the Knights completed their routine, the innkeeper and two of the staff joined Talodan in the kitchen and slowly prepared a hot noontime meal. The wonderful scent filled the room.
Karro sat in the common room inspecting his armor for damage. Moments later, Balanar backed out of the kitchen, the innkeeper pursuing him. The wan innkeeper bowed and patted Balanar’s chest while keeping him in motion. “No, no my lord Knight. You’ve done entirely too much work in my poor kitchen for me to let you do more such drudgery. My pride forbids an honored guest to dirty himself while I have the strength to do my own work. Thank you a thousand and one times for your, your, uh enthusiastic efforts in keeping us fed. It is only right for me to serve you now. Please.”
By the time the innkeeper finished, Balanar’s legs were pressed against the bench where Karro sat. The Macmar Knight plopped down and a shaky servant appeared carrying a bronze tankard in both hands. Balanar’s eyes lit up and he grabbed the vessel. “Aye, this is better. Only if you’re fit, mind you.” He upended the tankard and swung his feet under the table.
The innkeeper spun on his heel and rushed to the kitchen.
Karro set his hauberk on the table and stretched his legs. “I must admit, Balanar, you chose an unusual way to get sick men back on their feet.”
The Macmar Knight looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“I mean those meals.” Karro said, “Your stews and platters weren’t going to kill anyone; but the taste.” He made a face like the one Talodan had used that morning.
Balanar leaned forward. “Make yourself clear, Karro.”
“You didn’t mean to start every stew with a block of lard and a fist of dill, did you?” With a slight shudder, Karro thought back on several of the bizarre dishes that the Macmar Knight had perpetrated. Only Balanar’s steadfast insistence kept Karro from rescuing the kitchen after the first meal.
Balanar’s ruddy complexion went redder, starting at the man’s neck and rising to his forehead. “If ye so hated all of…”
Karro stood, raising his hands in placation. “I was only teasing. Sit back down and I’ll get us both some more of that excellent mead.”
Balanar breathed through his clenched teeth and nodded.
“You liked the cask with the bat burned onto it, right?” Karro took Balanar’s tankard and grabbed one for himself from the shelf ringing the common room.
The Macmar’s faced blanked briefly, the color rapidly returning to normal. “Nay, not the bat. Where are your wits, lad? Go to the beech casks with the owl painted on the side. That or one of the ones with the wolf’s head stamp if something sweeter is needed.”
That’s better. Karro headed for the cellar door. Behind him, Balanar called out the merits of other casks and barrels waiting below.
When Karro returned, the common room had nearly filled with people, most with blankets around their shoulders. The commotion with Balanar had brought out those feeling well enough to move.
This sickness seemed to fall away as rapidly as it came on, once the fever broke. Karro returned a few friendly waves. Balanar made all feel at ease, where most of the Macmar still saw him as “Karro the Avenger” even after he carried away their slop buckets. It frustrated him, but adopting Balanar’s ways would only make Karro seem foolish. I serve the True God. It should be enough.
Talodan came from the kitchen with a pot of savory meat-filled stew. Tana followed with a tray of mugs and a water pitcher.
For the first time in days, promising odors flowed from the kitchen. Karro’s stomach growled. A cough sounded from the stairway behind him. He tore his thoughts from food and turned to see who joined them.
Lady Kestran stood at the bottom of the stairs, her blue woolen riding cape pulled tightly closed. Bright red boots poked out below the cape. She gave Karro a slight smile.
Zamkrik, her battered lastman, pushed to his feet and bowed. The Macmar mercenaries followed suit. Balanar turned around to see what caused their actions and bowed too. After seeing Balanar’s response, the Macmar nobles nodded politely enough.
Karro crossed the room and offered Kestran his arm. She leaned on him as he led her to a place by the fire. A floral scent clung to her brushed hair. He fought the urge to sweep her up.
She opened her cape to the heat, revealing a fine velvet dress of modest cut complimenting her nicely rounded figure. It was the same light gray as her eyes.
Her nearness warmed Karro. Noti
cing the silence in the room, he realized that he and the lady were the center of attention.
He caught Balanar’s eye. “The ceremony?”
Balanar shook his head, a broad grin splitting his coppery beard. He stood and called, “Faithful folk, your attention. Tonight is the celebration of the Manifestation of the True God to his Greater Servants. I’m certain that Seranovan and Wildemac will honor us as the warring kings who see the Manifestation.”
The two Macmar nobles puffed up.
“Our good innkeep will recite for Sullos the Laborer, Seranovan’s farrier will speak for Braxos the Craftsman.” Balanar looked around. “Lady Kestran, granddaughter of the famous Student Ilbeck, will speak for Carranos the Scholar.” He directed the last at the two Macmar nobles. Neither said a word. “I will speak the role of the True God. Karro”―Balanar winced―“with the strength of Auros’s own conviction behind his blows, will speak for Auros.”
When Balanar sat down, Talodan pulled Karro’ aside and whispered urgently, “Another day off the trail? Voskov gets farther from us each day. This fever must have been his work. We can’t stay here forever and he won’t come to us.”
Karro patted Talodan’s arm. “The innkeeper says the northern trail leads up to the town of Raven’s Crag and then into badlands and scattered Hykori clans. Senlac the Scholar is likely up there searching out Hykori sorcery. Voskov is up there. He must have his base among the Hykori. Tomorrow, we’ll ride to Raven’s Crag and get more news. They must have seen some of his activities. Since the threat to them is so direct, we should be able to recruit warriors who know the land to aid us.”
Talodan wiped sweat from his forehead. “I hate that my weakness has kept us from the hunt. I’m stronger today. If we leave now, could we reach that town before nightfall?”
Karro frowned. “Not from what the innkeeper said. There were snow flurries this morning and I’d hate to have us forced to camp in the cold.” Talodan winced.