He dressed and went outside. His manservant waited for him, ready to present clothing for Kehfrey. Marun examined the items he’d brought. The upper clothing was of Stohar cut, but of good quality linen, the shirt of natural hue, the vest dyed a deep brown. The trousers were of leather, again of Stohar cut. Criss-crossed stitching lined the seams. Marun accepted them.
“The weapons?”
“New straps have been commissioned,” Domel murmured subserviently. “Not even the witches could get the stench out. The hilts are still serviceable. He’s missing one throwing knife, and the katana and its harness are gone. I’ve made enquiries about replacing them.”
Marun nodded satisfaction. He re-entered the pavilion with the clothing.
Kehfrey snatched the articles out of his hands the moment he appeared. “Boots?” he demanded.
The manservant appeared at the entrance. “If you would permit me, Master Kehfrey; I have to check your size.”
“Do I know you?” Kehfrey asked, eyeing him narrowly.
“You did once. It was a very long time ago.”
“Domel!” Kehfrey blurted. “Your name is Domel!” He smiled in delight. “Do you still dance in only your tunic when you’re drunk?”
Domel flushed. The aging servant glanced toward his master.
Marun lifted an interested brow. “You dance, Domel? I had no idea.”
“No, Master! I was but drunk!” Domel whispered in fright. To this, Kehfrey laughed. He whirled about and began a song about lost love and many women to heal the wound. Domel reddened further.
“Kehfrey!” Marun snapped.
Kehfrey stopped singing. With a grin, he grabbed Domel and gave him a hug. “You always were too grave, Domel. Marun scares you too much.” He released the shaken man.
“I’m not you, Master Kehfrey,” Domel said. There were tears in his eyes. He hadn’t expected the boy to remember him. He caught a glower from the sorcerer. “The shoe size?” he reminded hastily.
Kehfrey obligingly put a foot forward. Domel bent to measure it and rushed out.
“If you hurt him for my friendliness, I’ll make you pay,” Kehfrey warned the Shadow Master.
Marun turned away quickly. He was jealous, madly jealous, even of Domel, and Kehfrey knew it. “Do you remember anything else?” he snarled, stomping back to the table. He lifted spell-casting paraphernalia and carried them to the trunk. He shoved them in angrily.
“No,” Kehfrey answered. “It just came to me, who he was. I don’t know why.”
“A name, a song and a dance!” Marun sneered, crossing to fetch more items. Suddenly he was whirling about in Kehfrey’s arms, and Kehfrey was singing the song again.
“Stop!” Marun protested. Kehfrey laughed and spun him off. Marun righted himself. Flustered, he pulled his tunic straight.
“You’re a curmudgeon!” Kehfrey insulted him. “A misery sponge! A wetted diaper! A toad bloated with shitted mud!”
“Shut up!”
“Come and make me!”
Marun hauled his trousers down and waved his penis suggestively.
Kehfrey laughed defeat. “Fine. I’ll shut up.”
Marun grinned and pulled his clothing to rights. He hadn’t forgotten that Kehfrey appreciated a well-placed insult, verbal or not.
Kehfrey dressed in his new clothes. He looked good in them. The short brown vest and white shirt beneath set off the narrowness of his hip. The leather leggings were almost indecently tight. The colour suited him better than black.
Domel returned with boots of a proper fit. Kehfrey set them on his feet, thanked the servant and exited the pavilion.
Marun rushed after him. “Wait!” he commanded.
Kehfrey didn’t. He stared at the soldiers and tents with immense interest. “Winfellan,” he muttered. He looked elsewhere. “Stohar.” He frowned.
Marun caught up with him. “Where are you going exactly?”
“I have no idea,” came the soft answer. “I don’t know where I am.” He looked at Marun, the hazel eyes piercingly bright. “Where am I?”
“Omera. Between Old River Village and Hell’s Bridge.”
“Hell’s Bridge? Odd name.”
“There’s a legend that a gate to a hell is on the span that crosses it.”
“And what started the legend?”
“I don’t know. It’s lost in history. No doubt something about the Elven God.”
“Oh,” Kehfrey murmured. “What about him?”
“It is said that he opened gates into different hells. Apparently he was quite insane.”
“Sounds that way, doesn’t it?”
They walked between the tents in silence for several minutes. Kehfrey observed everything hungrily. Marun knew he watched for clues to the mystery of his past and this frightened him.
“Where are the monks?” Kehfrey demanded suddenly.
“There are none,” Marun told him. He kept his voice very calm.
“I had a habit,” Kehfrey said with certainty. “I am a monk.” Marun remained silent. Kehfrey halted and looked at him. “Where’s my habit?”
“The harpies must have destroyed it. I saw nothing but black rags on you.”
“Harpies,” Kehfrey said. His expression turned bleak. “I pulled the sword first instead of a dagger. How could I have been so stupid? A dagger in an eye would have done as well. It would have done better.”
Marun stared at him, frozen. The potion of united emanations wasn’t working. Kehfrey would remember it all.
“What happened to them?” Kehfrey demanded. “Where are the harpies?”
“I killed them,” Marun said.
Kehfrey hesitated for a second. “Oh,” he said and turned away. After only a few steps, he paused once more “Did you send them to get me? To take me from this other lover?”
“Yes,” Marun admitted. He waited for the recriminations, the rejection, the explosion, but none arrived.
“They tried to use me,” he heard Kehfrey whisper instead. “They were foul. I wanted to retch. To die. Only I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. Only hear and smell and feel.” Kehfrey’s eyes filled with remembered horror and revulsion.
Guilt lashed the sorcerer. “I told them not to abuse you. I’m sorry.”
Kehfrey became suspicious again. “Why did I leave you? Why? Why did you need harpies to bring me back?”
There was no help for it but to give him the truth. “You objected to the holy war I planned. You wanted me to give it up, but I refused.” He stepped in closer and kissed him briefly. “Eight years, Kehfrey! I have waited almost eight years to win you back. You tortured me with your absence.”
“And yet here you are, in the middle of your army.”
“I can’t turn back now. I have to go on.” His expression pleaded, and he didn’t care that any saw him begging this man’s understanding. He would do whatever was necessary to win Kehfrey’s concession.
“I know,” Kehfrey answered. He looked at him sadly. “The power beneath our feet has her claim on you. She wants this war.”
Marun remained silent, deeply ashamed. He was a slave. Nothing but a slave. He could no longer deny it, not even to himself.
“You said never give her everything she wants,” Kehfrey said. “You said it earlier, when you refused to give me to her.”
“I know.”
“Well, she’s persistent, isn’t she? She’ll keep demanding.”
“I’ll never give in to that!” Marun swore fiercely.
Kehfrey pulled his head down. The kiss he accorded was gentle but brief. He released Marun and turned away. Soldiers, Stohar and Winfellan, watched them, silent, fearful, fascinated. They averted their faces quickly. Kehfrey stepped through their groups without hesitation, not a hint of shame or apprehension in his bearing.
Marun stared after him. Kehfrey was on the edge. The young man hovered between knowing and not. He resisted the magic that bound the echoed essence of his latest lover. How he did it, Marun didn’t know. It was as if he could no
t be contained, as if he refused to be blinded.
Apprehension formed a knot in Marun’s throat. If Kehfrey saw King Ugoth again, he might lose him a second time.
***
Kehfrey wandered the army for an hour, observing and scrutinizing everything. The soldiers stared at him, some openly, most of them surreptitious about it. This was the boy Marun had killed children over.
He was handsome. They could see that, but they couldn’t really comprehend the sorcerer’s obsession. As Kehfrey approached, the men of the invading army grew wary and hushed. They remained thus until the accompanying sorcerer had passed safely out of earshot, and then the surreptitious gossip began anew. Rumours had spread through the camp about the deaths of Stohar soldiers inside the pavilion. There was talk of strange, powerful lights. Most assumed a spell had been cast over the captive and that someone had stupidly interrupted it, but a less popular theory was touted as well.
In this, the boy who Marun loved, the boy who had escaped him and come back a man, was a creature of such peril and power that the Shadow Master had no sway over him. In fact, the Shadow Master had been seen to bend to his will.
As Kehfrey wandered by with the sorcerer following in his wake like a scolded dog, this rumour took on the edge of a sharp knife. It cut, drew hope and bled the hope away, for the captive showed no sign that he intended to dominate the Shadow Master further. He appeared content to merely let his formidable hound walk at his heel.
Kehfrey stepped past yet another tent. He’d wound a slow circle through the army, widening his spiral each revolution. He was near the edge of the camp now. Marun trailed him and watched. He’d said nothing to Kehfrey for a half hour, nor had Kehfrey demanded attention. He knew Kehfrey looked for clues, for hints. He knew he found reminders, but nothing he really wanted.
Aside from following patiently, Marun had also been working his will on the ghoul army that stood away from the living one. Kehfrey would see the amassed undead shortly. The event was inevitable, but Marun hid the most damning evidence. The small boys he’d murdered, whose souls he had gifted to his ancient mistress—these he willed away from the outer ranks. He was not prepared to let Kehfrey see how despicable he’d become, but deep inside he knew this was also inevitable.
Kehfrey intruded past the camp boundary and at last beheld the dead. He stared, his expression inscrutable. Marun halted and scanned the outer ranks. Relieved, because there was nothing to see but putrefying adults, he observed Kehfrey again. Kehfrey averted his face from the assembled corpses and walked back into the living army, making a straight line to the centre.
He passed a knot of chained war dogs, which set up a din barking at him. The kennel master shouted at them to leave off, but most ignored him. He set to with a stick. Yelps of pain mixed with the tumultuous barking. Kehfrey abruptly walked into the range of the excited mastiffs.
“Kehfrey!” Marun shouted.
Too late. The first mastiff leapt up. Two massive paws landed on Kehfrey’s shoulders. Marun’s heart felt like it would leap out of his chest, but the mastiff merely licked Kehfrey’s face. Shadows coiling at his feet, Marun halted in mid-step.
“Leave off those dogs!” Kehfrey snapped at the kennel master.
The soldier lowered his club. “You’ll be eaten!” he warned.
“I’ll be gobbed, you mean. Get off me, you great brute,” he said to the mastiff. He pushed at the wide black chest. The dog dropped and waggled at him energetically. Kehfrey wiped saliva off his face. “Disgusting fellow.”
He scratched the animal on the head in any case. It whimpered at him, almost as if it endeavoured to speak. The remaining dogs had left off barking. The ones in reach sniffed at his legs with the eagerness of pets whose master had arrived home.
“They cruddy stink,” Kehfrey remarked to the Stohar warrior.
“They’re dogs,” came the simple excuse.
“Yes,” Kehfrey said. He frowned faintly. “I remember being a dog. I was named … Lumpy.”
The Stohar soldier stared. His gaze darted to the Shadow Master, who stood just beyond the range of the pack.
“Kehfrey?” Marun called.
“Hmm?” he murmured.
“You can’t have been a dog.”
“I was a dog,” Kehfrey insisted. “At least to the kennel master.”
“How is that possible?”
Kehfrey’s head turned while he continued to pat the huge mastiff with a negligent motion of his hand. “I don’t remember,” he answered. “I was like I am now. I couldn’t remember much. The kennel master fed me scraps from his bowl. He called me Lumpy.”
As intriguing as that anecdote was, Marun wanted him out of there. “Kehfrey, come away from them.”
“Are you worried about me? You think they’ll hurt me?” His expression turned wild with mischief. “Come and get me!” he dared.
Marun scowled. The nearest dog growled a warning. Marun sent a small curl of shadow closer to its paws. The dog eyed the unnatural black, but then fixed on the sorcerer and growled all the harder. Three of its kennel mates planted paws in line with the pack leader and commenced to warn him off as well. Marun looked at Kehfrey, resentment and anger darkening his gaze. “Do you want them all dead?”
Kehfrey pressed through them. “No. Just wanted to see how much they’d put up with. Leave them alone. They’re only being what dogs should be.”
“And what is that?” Marun said as Kehfrey stopped before him.
“Loyal!” Kehfrey uttered. He marched away.
Marun stared after him, frowning. “Loyal,” he repeated. “You admire that, don’t you?” He stepped after him. “But you weren’t to me.”
Kehfrey whirled toward him. “I wasn’t loyal to your cause! I have a right to choose what I fight for!”
“I need you!” Marun hissed. “I need you for this! If you don’t fight, I will fail! I will be destroyed! Do you want that?”
Kehfrey stared at him unresponsively.
“Kehfrey! I need you! Help me! She isn’t going to give up this course. The Ancient Power will have her worship back.”
“With you as her high priest?” Kehfrey spat. “Sucking the lives out of sacrifices!” Marun stared down at him, frozen with trepidation. “Yes,” Kehfrey said. “I remember that. You drain victims for her. That army of undead? Were any of them sacrifices?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“You’re nothing but her butcher,” Kehfrey said. “She’s an evil bitch!” He wheeled about and stomped away.
Marun darted after him. “She wasn’t always like this!” he cried. He pulled Kehfrey around by the arm. “She was gentler once.”
“You call warfare gentle?”
“She didn’t start this war!” he shouted. “They did! The heavenly gods! They began it by warring on her priestesses. They instigated a rebellion amongst men. Their followers slaughtered the women in control of the temples and destroyed the great empire that these small kingdoms once were.” He shook Kehfrey angrily. “Warfare! Warfare was almost non-existent before monks and priests! You call her evil? A few sacrifices a year in exchange for good crops and fecundity? After the gods displaced her, ambitious men who wanted to be kings fought each other and butchered thousands! As they have done since!”
Kehfrey stared, white-faced with the stark, brutal truth. He knew Marun didn’t lie. The heavenly gods had fomented mayhem forcing worshippers to denounce the Ancient Power.
Marun continued the angry diatribe, pushing the point home with the cruelty of a serrated blade. “You! You, monk! You worship the evil! You worship the selfish! You worship what you don’t even comprehend! The faceless gods! You have no idea who answers your prayers or why!”
He thrust Kehfrey away. “Go back to your monastery, monk!” he said. “You great heathen liar! You stand in the way of the mother of all! You deny the worship due her! And you live on her skin, you fool!”
“I’m sorry!” Kehfrey cried.
Marun spurned his compunction. “Go!�
�� he spat. “Go! I free you! Let the enemy kill me off! I’m tired of it all in any case! I’ve spent almost eight years living without you! I would rather let it end than continue without you again!”
“No! You said you would never give up! You have to keep your promise! You have to be there! You have to be there when I—!”
Alarm washed Marun’s vitriol away. The glow had fired Kehfrey’s eyes, that ancient, powerful and strange light of presence. As Marun watched in silence, Kehfrey thudded to his knees. His hands reached up to clasp his head.
“I don’t want to be alone!” he whispered. “I—!” His eyes rolled up and he collapsed. Marun stared without moving.
The water witch appeared from the side of a tent and stepped up to him. “Your curse is still working, I see,” she commented dryly.
“What curse?” he asked.
“The one binding his deepest, blackest memories; the one you spelled over the soulstone.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Our mistress told me,” she answered flatly. “You should have kept the stone. You could have controlled him better with it in hand.”
“It was a danger to me!” he snarled and turned on her. “What else has she said to you? What did she say about him?”
“Ask her?” the witch retorted.
“I have!” he screamed. Furious, he reached for her. She capered back, laughed, threw a mist and escaped.
“Gods!” Marun hissed. “Gods! What is he?”
He pulled Kehfrey into his arms, stomped through the fading mist and bore him back to the pavilion, never realizing how close he’d come to the answer just by the very wording of his cry. But of course his mind was as numbed to the truth as the mortal incarnation of the deity he carried.
***
Kehfrey awakened hours later alone in the pavilion. He rose from the cot and stared at the confines in amazement. “I wasn’t dreaming,” he cried. He was here. He was with Tehlm Sevet, and somehow he knew there was still something very wrong with that. “But I love him,” he whispered. “I don’t understand any of this!”
Bound in Stone 3 Page 34
