Death's Paladin

by Christopher Donahue

  “I’m sure Lord Karro knows the extent of my rightful inheritance better than anyone else in this room, chamberlain. You may leave us for a moment. Bring Ulneriev’s vassal next.”

  Chuvrek leaned back in the throne, bringing his tucked leg up and lacing his thick fingers around his knee.

  “You are correct, dread king,” Karro said. “I was there with your great grandfather as our people toppled each Macmar king who sent aid to the Masters. Your ancestor was respected by most and chosen as the arbiter for us all.” Little of the first Chuvrek’s humor or goodwill showed in the face or bearing of the boy on the throne.

  Rudely, Chuvrek snapped his fingers. “That’s right. My family led the way and made our people great. Where were you and your Temples when the godless Shusks took away so much of what should be mine?” Before Karro could answer, Chuvrek rolled on. “You were nowhere to be found. All of the Knights were off ‘doing the work of Auros’ while royal armies were narrowly defeated. Temple troops would not budge from the comfortable barracks to become involved in ‘political squabbles.’ Now the largest Temples are in Shusk lands and squealing like pigs when the Shusks disarm them or order the garrisons to disband.” Chuvrek’s words poured out so quickly, they blurred together. He’s thought this one through word by word many times. Let him get it all out. He may listen after.

  Past the throne, the priest of Sivek and the Eschana exchanged a look of triumph. No doubt they had been working on the young king for years, poisoning him against the Temples of the True God.

  Now perched on the edge of his throne, Chuvrek pointed at Karro and snapped his fingers again. “You come here to beg my help for your Temples? I have no use for religious problems in lands held by the Shusks.” With a tight-lipped look of satisfaction, Chuvrek leaned back in his throne. He rolled his right hand toward Karro, granting leave to speak.

  “You are again correct, dread king. Affairs between the Temples in Shushkachevan lands and the new overlords are not your concern. All will proceed as the True God wills it. Human change has always been part of his unimaginably broad plan.”

  Chuvrek tilted his head as if unsure of his hearing.

  “Dread king, I am here to warn you of a threat to your realm, as well as the highland Macmar states and even the Shushkachevan invaders. I see your servants did not pass on my message.”

  The chamberlain, Count Myuriev in tow, received a withering look from the young king. There is one corrupt toad who may find himself made a lastman by nightfall. The thought cheered Karro.

  “What threat do you see beyond the weekly raids from Count Myuriev’s people?” Chuvrek asked.

  Myuriev interrupted, “What you see as raids, my people swear are border nobles chasing Tuskaran raiders back to their lairs. All have sworn by the East Wind that they only answer your own attacks. Prisoners tell us you sanction the attacks yourself.”

  “And why should I not direct my people to retake what is mine? No Shusk belongs anywhere west of the Broken Mountains. Ever since my birth, the border was the Dvirna River. How can any action my servants make west of the Dvirna be anything but the ejection of squatters?”

  The Shushkachevan count ran long fingers through his curled and oiled beard while casting a quick glance toward Karro and a slower one over Kestran. “Dread King, you and I might spend another day arguing over border differences. But we may better spend this time hearing what your Paladin has to say about a threat to all of our lands.”

  Sighing, Chuvrek turned back to Karro.

  He’d rather argue an old score than hear about a new problem. Not for the first time, Karro was glad he had supported the first Chuvrek as arbiter rather than accept the task himself.

  “Perhaps the ambassador is right,” Chuvrek said. “What threat is gathering to drain my treasury further?”

  Karro pushed concerns about the Old Gods’ trappings, the presence of the priest of Sivek and political problems aside. “Ancient Hykori sorcery is in action. The Undying Queen, or some sorceress using the title, has raised an army in the highlands. Thousands of wild Hykori as well as mixed-blood slaves from Macmar petty kingdoms and even Tuskaran estates have flocked to her. The Shushkachevan rebel and sorcerer, Voskov has joined her as well as at least one of the old Demon Lords of legend.”

  Karro had their attention. “This army has stormed at least one Macmar fortified town. They slaughtered every man, woman and child and perpetrated the most foul rites there. A force of that strength won’t settle for causing mayhem in the high wastes.”

  “I’ve seen dead men fighting for them,” Kestran added, “the nightmen of Macmar legends. I’ve seen beastmen obeying the commands of these sorcerers. Worst of all is what these sorcerers have led their followers to make of themselves; they are worse than animals.”

  Myuriev shrugged. “It sounds as though you hill-folk have a problem. Perhaps you should have wiped out all of the Hykori rather than poking and prodding at my emperor’s patience.” He gestured toward Karro. “Aren’t things like these nightmen the reason you tolerate your Paladins?”

  Chuvrek’s eyes narrowed to slits. “The Shusk has a point. Why would Auros allow something as vile as the old Demon Lords or nightmen to survive? Isn’t that the kind of thing you should have been hunting down, if you weren’t going to stand by my father and grandfather when they fought the Shusks?”

  Karro sighed. “I go as Auros directs me. If the Hykori went to their Demon Lords and their Undying Queen willingly, then there was no injustice to draw the attention of Auros. The task of Auros and those in his service is not to destroy all evil or slay every man who does wrong. There would be no free will left to mankind, assuming anyone alive remained to exercise it.”

  With his lips turned in distaste, Chuvrek waved to Karro to continue. The Eschana stepped up to the throne and whispered to Chuvrek.

  Karro waited until the priestess returned to her place before speaking. “I am confident Voskov has a major voice in the strategy for the Undying Queen’s army. They plan to resurrect the Hykori Empire and this means they must overthrow Ulneriev as well as the Tuskaran kingdom.”

  Chuvrek sat straighter. He looked more like a king ready to tackle a challenge than like a spoiled boy needing an object lesson. “So you think you know their strategy. Where will they strike next? Will they pick off more Macmar towns or strike at the Tuskaran heartland on the way to the Plains?”

  “Dread king, they have gone to the high valley along the Demon’s Teeth mountains. They strike for the Delta.”

  The count spat. “Dread king, this makes no sense. The Delta was not part of the old empire. Why go into that mire, fight snakes and disease as well as the plantation armies and Riverines, only to hold a land which cannot feed itself?”

  He raised his eyebrows in question, but Chuvrek said nothing.

  “I believe this is Voskov’s doing.” Karro had broken many men in the past to get the truth. He didn’t regret the means he used to verify this information. “The Delta is a much richer and more developed place than when our people started to work there.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard the place is rich, but wild and too independent. They do not recognize my authority.”

  Unsure how to proceed, Karro said, “The region is rich in potential. The medicines, dyes and rare goods could make the ruler powerful. Certainly not something Voskov should gain.”

  Kestran spoke up. “Yes, dread king. There are plantations or villages along every major tributary and most minor ones. The Riverines have established a powerful colony, taking over Blue Harbor and forcing many of the earlier plantation holders out. We’ve sent petitions to your court, as well as to Ulneriev, for help and received visits from none but your tax collectors.”

  With a dismissing wave, Chuvrek said, “Everyone is my loyal subject when they want my help. None are interested in paying their taxes or offering service when there is no danger.”

  “Ulneriev will take this position too,” Karro said. “I doubt the king of the Riverines across t
he great sea will be any more motivated to stand up for his subjects. This gives Voskov an opportunity to establish himself in a potentially rich land while all his neighbors wait for someone else to deal with him. From there, he will be able to strike up the Dvirna into either Tuskaran or Shushkachevan lands.”

  Again, Chuvrek stroked his beard. “I don’t see Voskov as an agent of Ulneriev. Still, if I bear the risk of fighting Voskov and his Hykori followers to protect my land and those stolen by the Shusks, I will end up giving what I now hold over to Ulneriev.”

  All eyes turned toward the ambassador.

  “I cannot speak for my sovereign in this. I am convinced the Paladin believes what he is saying. The lady was most persuasive. I will take these words to my master.” Myuriev tilted his head in a gesture inviting other opinions for people not present.

  “Very well,” Chuvrek said. “You will return to your master and tell him of this common threat. I will commission a force to go into the Delta and either hunt down Voskov and his imposter queen or bolster the plantation owners. If Ulneriev wants to stand back, he will take the risk my servants will have to be selective about which plantations are protected and who will occupy any property recovered from these Hykori.”

  Chuvrek waved the priest of Sivek forward. “Raise a company of infantry and one of cavalry to take part in this action.” The priest’s rough face became even less pleasant as he glared at Karro. “Since Karro will start with eight hundred silver pieces, so shall you. I expect Karro will raise troops from the Temple garrisons Ulneriev disbanded, so you should want the Old Gods represented in the army too.”

  Sliding from the throne, Chuvrek seemed very satisfied with himself. “Yes, you and Karro will show the people of the Delta how much their Tuskaran brothers care for them. The royal army will watch the borders and Ulneriev may or may not try to save his people.”

  ~~~~~

  Kestran was proud of herself for holding in the laughter until she and Karro neared the gate. As they neared the guard house, giggling burst out. The end of their audience tickled her. “You should have seen your face when the king ordered the priest of Sivek to march with you.”

  Karro’s first response to any comment seemed to be a frown. After holding to his nature, Karro’s features cracked a bit. In a low voice, he said, “That Mist priest changed a few shades when his pet king told him he would be spending this summer wading through the swamps. Not the kind of errand his kind would care to suffer.”

  This sent her into another round of giggles. “Oh, his face was nothing compared to yours, Karro.” She savored his stunned look. It said so much about the boy he must have been. “Chuvrek couldn’t have shocked you more if he ordered you out to find him a male prostitute.”

  Karro’s dropped jaw snapped up.

  Kestran took a deep breath, feeling better than she had since she left the Delta. She was pleased to face the Darkness with Karro, but sharing life with him was also good.

  Karro muttered something guttural, not Tuskaran but no other language she knew.

  “I realized another way he is saving his treasure for his own projects.” Karro’s statement didn’t sound quite as disgusted as the foreign curse. “Our dread king means to make the eight hundred silver pieces he funds the expedition with to be the same eight hundred he owes me for the prisoners we delivered to his mines. That Mist priest doesn’t have to pay for his own expedition.”

  After a brief prayer, Karro’s shoulders lost some of the tension. “It is as Auros wills.”

  That vile chamberlain cost her dearly, but Kestran still had seven emeralds as well as twelve gold and over two hundred silver pieces, all that remained of her dowry and money she had earned with personal investments during her years in the Delta. Her late husband’s family would have let her take what she needed from the House accounts, but she knew how closely the plantation ran from year to year.

  As Karro sought to retrieve his weapon at the gatehouse, Kestran waved the guard captain over. “Be sure the chamberlain gives you fair shares for our audience today. He told me he handled all of the ‘necessary’ payments and that you guards would get the biggest slice of his”―she doubled the sum―“fifty silver piece fee.”

  The captain’s soft face bore old scars. The one running from his temple to his jaw stayed white while the rest of his face reddened. His good eye shot toward the entry into the palace. “Aye, thank you Lady Kestran. I’ll be sure he doesn’t forget me.”

  The captain turned to shout at the two young guards still holding Karro’s sword. “His holding fee is being held by the chamberlain.” The captain nodded toward Karro, while speaking to the guards as if they were toddlers. “Give the Knight his sword before he has to kill you and thus become armed and deadly.”

  Karro snatched the sheathed weapon, his face impassive, but he gripped the leather sheath, his knuckles white. He turned on his heel. Kestran grabbed his arm to keep him from stomping off and leaving her.

  “You should be pleased,” she said as they passed through the gate.

  Karro’s step faltered briefly, but he said nothing.

  “Yes, pleased. The king believes you. He sent you into the lost lands to recruit Temple troops—surely Myuriev will report this to Ulneriev. Chuvrek is even sending Mist troops to help in the fight. It is clear to all that this is your command.”

  Karro still seemed angry. Telling a man that he is in charge usually makes him happy. There must be something else wrong, but Kestran had time to find out and make it better.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Voskov rolled over and groaned. Sweat-soaked sheets clung to him as he sat up. He had the beginnings of a hangover even though his head was still fuzzy with last night’s wine and powerful distilled Riverine liqueurs.

  The night’s final damp breezes blew through the window and chilled him. The wet heat hurt his sleep, but the dreams denied him any rest. Don’t think about them!

  Each night brought new dreams. The most recent ones had less of the usual dead faces and fingers pointing in accusation. In an unpleasant new twist, when he struck the faces, they shattered like pottery masks to reveal laughing demons. Only idiots let dreams control their lives, but Voskov couldn’t ignore what his own mind told him so relentlessly. His head hurt.

  The silver lamp in the corner lit a room more opulent than he would have imagined a year ago. The sheets grabbing at his back and arms were richly dyed silk. His building headache came from drink the emperor would save for special festivals. Voskov pounded the feather mattress in frustration.

  The action brought a cry of fear from the foot of the bed.

  “What does my lord desire?” Denevia asked with a trembling voice.

  She was the daughter of Tarotev, the emperor’s appointed governor for the Delta. The meaningless office hadn’t saved her father’s life. Tarotev’s post simply delivered Denevia into Voskov’s possession when the man’s fortified plantation fell.

  Of Voskov’s new toys, Denevia had become his most prized. Her soft skin blended the shade of rich Kantrovian tea with a touch of cream. Her disheveled hair rose in a lustrous blue-black cloud. Her highborn manner had broken in ways so pleasing Voskov cast off his other living spoils.

  He had grown bored of feral swamp women. Even the exotic Riverine captives’ decadent enthusiasm and seemingly limitless capacity for sensual perversions lost his interest. Smooth Shushkachevan tones were what he wanted to hear in the morning. With loot from unimagined cities available to him, he wanted something familiar.

  He enjoyed the sight of Denevia in silence. His clumsy efforts to lose himself in her last night left a bruise on her cheek. As the moments drew on, Denevia’s dark brown eyes began to tear. She lowered herself, touching her cheek to the mattress as if to hide from him. When he smiled, she let a small yelp escape.

  Many Shushkachevan plantation holders had come to beg Voskov’s protection and offer their services in his campaign. He took hostages like Denevia. He doubted the hostages would keep his people
loyal, but they were a lever of sorts. When the time came to attack Blue Harbor, these “allies” would give him some trained cavalry.

  Near the height of his revolt against Ulneriev, Voskov had studied the makeup of the Delta. His spies reported tremendous wealth and a totally unstable semblance of government in the festering swamp. Voskov planned to make the Delta a higher priority than the squalid, prickly Tuskaran kingdom or the Macmar and Hykori highland realms. The Delta could even be a springboard to the distant homeland of the Riverines, the Unogovpi, themselves.

  Voskov tossed aside a golden goblet carrying the dregs of a fine vintage. The reality of the Delta seemed as treacherous as the hidden mud pools waiting to drag mount and rider into a wet death.

  He rolled his head to loosen the kinks in his neck. “Bring me honeyed tea and some willow bark paste.”

  Denevia rushed from the room. Through the open door, he saw dawn lighting up the low-hanging clouds through an arch in the gallery hall outside his room.

  Chenna strode in through the open door. She looked well-rested, but cast a dark frown after Denevia. Chenna headed for the room’s only couch and then veered away. She leaned against a cool marble column instead.

  Madman was wrapped in a rug behind the couch, but she couldn’t possibly see it there.

  Chenna had changed from leathers to silks of a similar, martial cut that suited her. “Greetings, my duke. I have another woman of the spirit.” Shapeshifter. “This one has been inside Blue Harbor and knows parts of it well.” Chenna’s recruiting efforts had rebuilt her pack to seven. The Delta harbored every kind of outcast and shapeshifters were not the strangest.

  Anxious to forget his dreams, Voskov asked, “Has your woman of spirit been on the main islands? I have plenty of information on the bogs and flats, but damned few of the swampies ever made it onto solid ground.”

  “Oh, that she has, my duke. I found her in a pen in one of those pier shacks. When her master threw parties, he would drug her and take her to Chutaroo, the main Riverine island. It seems the richest Riverine boys have dangerous tastes.” Chenna’s eyes took on a hard flint.