The breeze held up long enough for the Baktar to ghost into port. Jeff became aware of their proximity to Khorgan by a string of loud orders and tramping on deck as sails were lowered, followed by a bump as she slipped into her spot at the pier. Jeff and Carl were transferred to a spacious room in the warehouse next morning. Shortly thereafter a physician visited them.
Unceremoniously rolling Jeff onto his right side, the physician muttered over the wounds. After a period of poking, prodding and sniffing, he redressed the wounds.
“You are most fortunate. The suturing leaves much to be desired, but there is no sign of green suppuration.” He turned to Carl.
Carl had been scrubbed clean on the Baktar, exposing every wound. Examining wide areas of crisscrossed whip marks and inflamed, oozing sores, the physician cursed the Arzaks in several languages. Each wound brought a new round of oaths until they grew stale, at which point he cleaned and bandaged in silence. Handing a list of instructions to Carl, the physician packed up and left.
Alone in their room, the two friends silently examined each other. Carl got out of bed and kneeled down to gather Jeff into his arms. His body started to shake, and he burst into great wracking sobs.
“I...oh, Jesus—thank you for finding me. God, I love you. I can’t...oh, shit…”
Jeff patted Carl’s back. “It’s done, buddy. We’re back together and you’re safe.”
Carl hung on for life and wept tears of agony. Jeff pulled Carl’s head onto his chest and held him. On and on, tears flowed in recollection of the horror and in relief at having been rescued. Jeff found his friend’s pain nearly unbearable and held Carl even tighter as if to physically squeeze love into him.
Some time later and exhausted by the reunion, Carl left to find something to drink. He returned with two cups of fruit juice and sat down on the foot of Jeff’s bed. Taking a grateful sip, Jeff solemnly looked at Carl.
“Feel up to telling me how those Arzak assholes got you?”
“Think I need to.”
As earlier speculated, Carl had been camped east of Hoodo Pass when the earthquake struck. His experience differed only in that he regained consciousness in the South March, Belstan’s area of origin. As Carl got into the story, words came in a torrent.
“Took awhile to figure out I was a long way from home, boyo. Nearly starved to death by the time I met up with a group of hunters who took me in. Don’t know who was more scared, me or them. Nice folks, though. Sort of worked my way into their tribe and helped out the medicine man—after he finally became convinced I wasn’t out to replace him, that is.
“We wandered south to do some trading with a village fifty miles or so north of Lugsburg, and were ambushed by slavers. Never had a chance. They killed everyone they didn’t want and chained up the rest of us. I can’t tell you what it was like, Jeff. I fought it for several months, but after awhile there wasn’t much left to fight with. I was about to give up when you found me. That was the hardest part to bear—giving up and hating myself for it.”
Jeff patted Carl’s shoulder. “It’s done now. Time to rebuild our lives. We’re with some pretty fine people by any planet’s standards. Here, use this.” Jeff handed his shirt to Carl
“That we are, bucko, that we are.” Carl dabbed at his eyes with the shirt. “Now—fill me in on what happened to you.”
“It’s a pretty strange story.” Jeff didn’t get far before Carl interrupted. “Tell me again how big you estimated that mountain to be. The one you saw to the southeast.”
“The only close approximation on Earth is Everest. Thing is, this one was sitting off by itself, not part of the mountain chain. It blew my mind.”
“You know we’re going to have to see if we can climb it,” Carl chortled, “or at least get as high as we can without oxygen. I’ve got to see that mountain!”
“You’re on. But wait until you hear what I ran into a week or so later.” Jeff paused for effect. “Finally managed to kill a deer and happened to look at its teeth. Meat-tearing incisors and great whopping canines.”
“Meat-eating deer? Nothing like that down south.” Carl grinned wickedly. “Be interesting to drop a bunch of them into the Cascades about deer hunting time. I think that would add a new dimension to the term, open season. It must have been something of surprise when you figured it out.”
“Yeah, I can tell you it really got my attention. Still thought I was on Earth at that point.”
“Until you saw the two moons, right?”
“You too? But what happened next makes the impact those two moons had pale to nothing.”
When Jeff finished relating his first wolf encounter, Carl’s expression reflected both disbelief and intense excitement.
“Don’t shit me, Jeffrey. Telepathy? The real thing?”
“The real thing, and that was just about my reaction when Balthazar hit me with it. That’s how I knew it was you under all that dirt and grime back in Tradertown. Nearly got through.”
Jeff related the rest of his story in a few paragraphs, then eyed Carl. “See any short, bandy-legged folks sort of like earth’s Mongols while you were in Lukash?”
Still caught up with the wolves, Carl nodded vaguely. “Sure. Saw a whole bunch of them. Now that I think about it they did resemble Mongolians, although I didn’t notice an epicanthic fold.”
They talked for a while longer, but both men were still far from recovered. Jeff was the first to go. He was awake at the start of a sentence and asleep when Carl finished it. Tucking Jeff under a blanket, Carl tottered off to bed.
It was a week before Jeff’ had recovered enough strength to attend a strategy conference. Belstan, Rogelf and Zimma were present as well as Ostfel, who was in charge of coordinating their agents. Carl had been included at Jeff’s request.
Zimma hurried to meet them when they entered the room. She kissed Jeff on the cheek, led him to the table and pulled out a chair.
“I’m not going to break, Zimma.”
“That remains to be seen.”
She pushed the chair forward and he plopped into it. Taking a seat next to Jeff, she matter-of-factly picked up his hand.
“We are now all assembled,” Belstan announced. “Let us begin. Jeffrey, what are your conclusions concerning Salchek intent?”
While bedridden Jeff had spent hours studying maps and fitting pieces of the Salchek puzzle together. After providing some background he got down to central issues.
“Saafir’s mention of Salcheks marching north and those identified by Carl leaves little doubt that an invasion is underway. Tradertown will soon be taken. It is likely to become the staging ground for at least one prong of an attack on Khorgan. I now believe slaves were being shipped into and not out of Tradertown to do the manual labor called for by Arzak and Salchek fortification plans.”
“The diagram you discovered in the sand strongly suggests this will take place.”
“Yes it does, Rogelf, but the Salchek will soon move north from Tradertown. Lake Ligura offers an elegant highway to Khorgan. Yet I believe invasion by way of Tradertown is only one portion of this city’s peril. Even as Belstan concluded, Lugsburg offers easy entry into Chaldesia. It is directly accessible by sea and only several weeks’ march from Khorgan’s gates.”
Rogelf reported that tribute continued to flow south, with no evidence that city councilors were attempting to organize a defense.
“Our esteemed leaders have become so corrupted by greed that they now conclude their chests of gold can buy or control anything. Stupid, stupid, stupid and this city will pay dearly for it.”
“Without doubt, but let us proceed to the heart of the matter,” Belstan said. “Invasion comes. How soon? Only the Salchek are certain, yet from what has been said I believe they will be at Khorgan’s gates and piers before fall. We must plan for our survival in what is to come.”
“And I suspect our time to do so has been foreshortened,” Jeff interjected. “What occurred at Tradertown is by now well known to the Salcheks. I
could not avoid using my pistol, and reports of its effects have no doubt been greatly exaggerated in the telling. These reports may serve to speed the Salchek toward Khorgan. I suspect they will be here in no more than five weeks.”
“Or less. Perhaps in three weeks.” Belstan stood up and leaned his hands on the table. “There is no dealing with the councilors. I believe it will not be long ere they target us for revenge in an attempt to appease the Salchek. I am well known to them and my association with Rogelf has existed for years.” With a sigh of regret, he put into words what everyone was thinking. “We must leave, and soon. If word of our Tradertown escapade should arrive before we accomplish this, all is lost.”
A general discussion ensued covering every possible alternative, but it was clear from the start that their options boiled down to two: leave or die. In the end Rogelf and Belstan decided the entire trading operation would be moved north to Astholf. Rogelf had a trading station there that would have to serve.
At that point Jeff backed out of the conversation. Moving a large trading operation by ship was far outside his experience, and other thoughts clamored for attention. Fall was not far off, he had completed his mission, and it was time to leave for Rugen and Valholm. To leave for home. Oblivious to the spirited debate going on around him, Jeff turned the word around in his mind. Home. Where is my home?
When the meeting broke up he walked to quarters on Carl’s arm in a state of exhaustion. Before falling asleep, Jeff murmured, “No, the North is my home. At least that much is clear.”
“This will never do.” Belstan and Carl were strolling the length of Rogelf’s pier.
“They’re working hard,” Carl observed. “I don’t see how they can go any faster.”
“They cannot, but we are nearly out of time.” Belstan hurried off.
Lines of stevedores streamed back and forth along the pier. They had been working from first light to well after dark for several days. Trade goods on hand were being transferred to the Baktar, but the pace was too slow if they wanted to get out of town alive.
Shortly, a number of heavy wagons were also rumbling from warehouse to ship. When the Baktar was loaded, overloaded as far as the captain was concerned, it was sent to Astholf with Ostfel on board to make necessary arrangements.
Rogelf chartered two additional ships, and these were soon tied up at the pier being loaded. A fourth ship, one of Rogelf’s that had just come in, was reserved for personnel, furniture and livestock. There was no disguising the frenetic level of activity mandated by the evacuation schedule. By the third day of loading, Rogelf and Belstan’s trade acquaintances were calling at regular intervals.
Some of those who stopped by were friends of long standing and were briefed after being sworn to secrecy. Rogelf and Belstan were fully aware how short a time such oaths would hold, serving to increase the urgency they all felt. The rest of those that called were dished up bland fare that had no bearing on reality but might serve for a period. In spite of the interruptions, either Belstan or Rogelf were always on the pier to make sure the pace never slackened. Although the job of moving seemed to have no end, the cavernous warehouse slowly emptied.
Anticipating surveillance, Rogelf detailed a number of his men to intercept as many council agents as possible. As a result, toward the end of the loading cycle a number of bodies began to wash up along the waterfront. Rogelf was an old hand and knew his men could not possibly eliminate every agent. Other staff members were given the task of spreading contradictory rumors to foster confusion. Of primary importance, a steady flow of bribes insured current information from council chambers.
When he received reports that the councilors were planning to move against him, Rogelf put the evacuation into overdrive and posted observers on all major streets giving access to the waterfront. Despite Rogelf’s concern about his strength, Jeff would not be denied and set out on foot to patrol his station.
He had not left the pier while recuperating and was immediately struck by the number of heavily loaded wagons lumbering north and south on Marine Way. The waterfront was often crowded with traffic, but not shortly after dawn. He resumed walking when he realized what was going on.
“Like rats leaving a sinking ship.” Jeff imagined what the waterfront would look like by the end of the day. “This is spreading like wildfire,” he glumly muttered. “By now the entire city must be infected. Shit, the place is going to come unglued!” He considered turning back but discarded the idea. Belstan and Rogelf were savvy and extremely well informed.
His patrol area was deep within the city. Jeff selected a café with outside tables near a major intersection. A breakfast crowd jammed the Palace, and the gossip mill was in full cry. Although people seemed uptight, Jeff heard nothing that alarmed him. The street was busier than usual for the hour, and many of the wagons were heavily loaded.
A troop of dragoons went by at a fast trot, and he stood up to see better. They were heading into the city not toward the waterfront, and Jeff sat back down. Just as quickly, he stood back up and followed their backs. They’re armed with bows, he worriedly thought. Never seen that before. Time to move on.
He strolled deeper into the city but observed nothing of consequence. Jeff stopped to eat at a busy pushcart when his stomach told him it was time. Some of the rumors floating about were impressive. They ran the gamut from marauding gangs to a terrible disease that was racing through the city. Jeff smiled. Rogelf’s strategy was paying off and about to hit the explosive stage. He stayed close to the cart while eating, and figured he had hit pay dirt when two young officers of the guard stopped for a quick bite.
They were trying to keep their voices down but seemed agitated and spoke louder than intended. Jeff eased closer. His attention was riveted on the officers and he failed to note the two men and a woman who moved in concert with him.
“What in Ruzog’s name is afflicting our superiors?” mumbled officer number one. “And should I know more? I was on leave!” snarled number two. “Two days off and I was called back to duty!”
While it was piecemeal information, Jeff was left with the sense that a special formation had been called for the first hour after noon. He gulped down the last of his food.
“Time to beat feet. It’s going down.”
Jeff wove through the crowd around the cart. Time was short and he had to hurry. He was out of the press when a man wearing a cynical smile blocked his way.
“Did you have an interesting lunch, citizen Friedrick?”
Jeff whirled around. Three of them!
Elbow slam to the throat, duck, spin and up again with rigid fingers into the solar plexus. Two agents were on the ground, but the third gracefully thrust at his stomach with a dagger. Jeff sidestepped, caught her arm and spun around. She shrieked with pain as long bones snapped and her shoulder dislocated. He kicked her in the head as she fell and took off at a run. Jeff was down to a walk and breathing hard when he made it to the warehouse. He slammed into the back office and cornered Belstan.
“We must leave now!”
“But goods remain to be loaded!”
“Fuck that!”
Rogelf heard the commotion and ran into the office. “What has happened?”
Jeff related what he had heard and his encounter with the agents. Rogelf seemed immobilized by indecision.
“Jeef, we just cannot. We must have three more hours.”
“If we do not depart at once,” Jeff said as calmly as possible, “the opportunity to leave will never come. The waterfront is coming apart, panic will soon take the city, and the guard will be here within the hour. Load the horses and save what is already onboard ship.”
The traders had heard similar reports, ignored them, and were inclined to do the same with Jeff’s. He was about to go ballistic when common sense finally overcame cupidity. Rogelf spun around and ran out of the office to start the process of loading the horses. Belstan was only a step behind.
“Where’s Zimma? Has she returned?”
B
elstan slid to a halt. “She is working on the ship.” Jeff ran out of the warehouse.
The waterfront was in a state of gridlocked bedlam. Overloaded wagons crept along at a snail’s pace when they moved at all. Heavily loaded packhorses staggered by led by people, often entire families, who were themselves packing whatever could be carried. Pushcarts, hand wagons, even dogs, had been pressed into service. What had started out earlier in the day as hectic activity had become a full-scale evacuation.
Cynic was agitated by the groundswell of fear present along the waterfront and capered nervously when Jeff led him to the ship. However, he wanted out of the city as badly as anyone and nearly ran up the gangplank. Tossing his personal gear down the main hatch, Jeff hustled to join the men guarding the pier head. Jeff stumbled to a halt holding his injured side and bent over to get his breath. Carl flashed an excited grin over his shoulder.
“Ain’t we got fun?”
“Some fun, bucko. What a day!”
Emerging from the warehouse with his arms full of furniture, Rogelf bellowed, “The warehouse is empty.”
The guard force backed toward the ship a step at a time. Frightened people pleaded and tried to bribe their way onto the ship. A band of wharf rats armed with clubs attacked the north end of the line but took to their heels when confronted with swords. The situation verged on a riot and was deteriorating fast when a young couple confronted Carl and Jeff. The man was bent under a huge load and sweating profusely. His wife was pregnant and leading a sobbing child.
“Oh please, sir. Please.”
“We got the room, Jeff?” Carl shouted, thrusting back a richly dressed merchant waving a sheaf of bills.
“Maybe for fifteen or twenty. The ship is already crowded. Families with kids?”
“Got to do what we can.”
Carl got a foot behind the merchant and tripped him backwards while simultaneously pulling the woman and child through the line of guards, closely followed by her husband. Pressed harder every minute, the guard contingent retreated. Every so often the line opened and another family raced for the ship.
Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) Page 25
