He heard Black shout an oath, from somewhere off to his right, and another man screamed. Even if he slew the shaman, Dilvish wondered, how long would the two of them last against the men remaining on the field and the men still on their way from the burning town?
But then—and Dilvish could not be certain that it might not be an effect of the blazing blade upon his watering eyes—the entire prospect before him seemed to ripple and waver for a moment. Everything appeared frozen in that instant—his own parry, the grimace on the shaman's sweat-stained face… In that splinter of timelessness, he saw his opportunity.
He threw a head cut.
The other parried, and the flaming arc of the riposte came flashing toward his chest.
He moved back, whipping his blade clockwise and around and up. The point of the flaming blade tore through the sleeve of his jacket above his right biceps as it passed.
Twisting, he caught hold of his burnt right wrist with his left hand, blade straight ahead and pointing at the other's breast. Already off-balance from the movement, he threw himself forward and saw his weapon pierce the shaman as they both fell, feeling for a moment the other's hot blade upon his right thigh.
Then again the wavering, the timeless pulse, prolonged…
He pulled himself back, withdrawing his blade. Colors—flame, brown, green, bright red—began to smear about him. The burning blade flickered, dimmed, went out, where it lay upon the ground. Then it, too, was but a dark smudge upon a changing canvas. The sounds of conflict grew still in Black's quarter.
Dilvish got to his feet, his blade at guard, his arm tensed to swing it. But nothing more approached.
From the end of the field, in the direction of the altar where the dead priestess lay, a voice seemed to be speaking—feminine, and a trifle strident. Dilvish looked in that direction and immediately averted his still-watering eyes, for there was only light, brightening from heartbeat to heartbeat.
"I heard my hymn, Deliverer" came the words, "and when I looked, I saw that within you which I might trust. An old wrong cannot be undone, but long have I awaited this cleansing, of those who follow the sun!"
About him, as through a frosted glass, Dilvish saw the standing forms of many of the men who had come to attack them. They wavered and their outlines blurred even as he looked. Yet one of them seemed to have come up, soundlessly, upon his left…
The voice softened:
"… And to you, who cared for this place—if but for a brief while—my blessing!"
The man seemed so near now, blade upraised, swaying from side to side in slow motion. The other men had all become smears of color in a brightening light—and this one, too, seemed to be changing even as Dilvish swung his blade—
The flower fell.
Dilvish put forth his hand for something to lean upon, found nothing, used his blade as a cane.
He heard a single stamping sound, then silence. About him, the place was filled with the sunlight of an afternoon. Amid the long grasses there were cut and trampled flowers, near and far. Those that yet stood still faced the sun, swaying.
"Black?"
"Yes?"
Dilvish turned his head. Black was shaking his.
"Strange visions…" he began.
"But no dream," Black finished, and Dilvish knew by the throbbing of his reddened hand and the blood that still came from numerous cuts that this was true.
"Manata," he said, "I will finish the work, for that which you have shown me."
As they mounted into the foothills, Black remarked, "It was good to fight beside you that way. I wonder whether I might learn that spell."
"It was good to have you there," Dilvish replied, as they headed into their lengthening shadows. "Very good."
"Now you can tell the caravan chiefs that their way is clear."
"Yes. Did you hear it, too?"
Black was silent for a time. Then: "Flowers do not scream," he said.
Below and behind them, the smoke still rose and drifted across the shortening day.
DILVISH, THE DAMNED
Dilvish was three days out of Golgrinn, where he had worked for two weeks on a crew repairing the city's walls, which had been damaged during an unsuccessful siege by an outlaw band. It had been hard, dusty labor, but the workers had been fed well, and he had earned enough coin to fill his purse after nearly doubling the amount of his wages by gaming in the tavern. Now, supplies in his bags, he was headed south on a sunny, late afternoon, moving through hilly, forested country toward the Kannai range. Always toward the Kannais now. He had set his course in that direction over a month before, when the blind poet and seer, Olgric, had told him that he would find there the thing that he sought. At an old castle that some called Timeless…
Riding, thinking of this thing, he rounded a bend to see his way barred by a man with a drawn blade.
"Traveler, draw rein!" the man shouted. "I'll have your purse!"
Dilvish glanced quickly to both sides of the trail. The man appeared to be without companions.
"Up yours!" he said then, and he drew his own weapon.
His great dark mount did not slow his pace but bore directly toward the man. When the stranger's gaze fell upon Black's burnished hide, he leaped out of the way, swinging a cut at Dilvish as he passed.
Dilvish parried the stroke but did not return it.
"An amateur. Keep going," he said to Black. "Let him spend his blood on another."
Behind him, the man hurled his weapon to the ground.
"Shit!" he cried. "Why didn't you strike?"
"Hold on, Black," Dilvish said.
Black halted, and Dilvish turned and looked back.
"I beg your pardon. But you've aroused my curiosity," he said. "You wanted me to take a swing at you?"
"Any decent traveler would have cut me down!"
Dilvish shook his head.
"I believe you require additional instruction in the principles of armed robbery," he said. "The idea is to enrich yourself at the other's expense without suffering personal injury. If injury is to be incurred, it should be to the other party."
"Up yours," the man said, a crafty gleam coming into his eye. He stooped quickly then and snatched up his blade. He rushed toward Dilvish, waving it on high.
Not yet having sheathed his own weapon, Dilvish merely waited. When the other swung, he beat the blade heavily aside. It flew from the man's hand, landing several paces back along the trail.
Dilvish dismounted quickly and strode to the rear. He set his foot upon the weapon before the other could reach it.
"You did it again! Damn! You did it again!" The man's eyes had grown moist. "Why didn't you hit back?"
Suddenly he rushed forward and tried to impale himself upon Dilvish's blade.
Dilvish moved the point aside and caught hold of the stranger by the shoulder. He held a small man with a dark fringe-beard and dark eyes, a silver ring in his left ear. At closer range he appeared older than he had at first, with a fine meshwork of wrinkles about his eyes.
"If you need a few coins or some bread," Dilvish stated, "I'll give them to you. I don't like to see such desperation—stupid desperation, at that."
"I'm not interested!" the other cried.
Dilvish tightened his grip as the man began to struggle.
"Well, what the hell are you after, then?"
"I wanted you to kill me!"
Dilvish sighed.
"Sorry, but I won't oblige. I'm particular about the people I kill. I don't like to have these things forced upon me."
"Let me go then!"
"I'm not going to keep playing this game. If you're so anxious to die, why don't you do it yourself?"
"I'm a coward when it comes to that. I got ready to several times, but my nerve always failed."
"I've a feeling I should have kept riding," Dilvish said.
Black, who had drawn nearer and was studying the man intently, nodded.
"Yes," he hissed. "Render him unconscious and let us be on our way. T
here is something strange here. A sense I'd forgotten I have is beginning to operate."
"It talks…" the man said softly.
Dilvish raised his fist, then paused.
"It can't hurt to hear his story," he said.
"It was curiosity made you halt," Black told him. "Triumph over it this time. Hit him and leave him to whatever fate he has earned."
But Dilvish hesitated before the morass of moral victory. He shook his head.
"I want to know," he stated.
"Damned primate curiosity," Black said. "What good could the knowledge possibly do you?"
"For that matter, what harm could it do?"
"I could speculate for hours, but I won't."
"It talks," the man repeated.
"Why don't you do the same?" Dilvish said. "Tell me why you are so anxious to die."
"I'm in such bad trouble that it's the only way out."
"I've a feeling it's a long story, too," Black stated.
"Moderately so," the man said.
"In that case, it's dinnertime," Dilvish said, reaching for a saddlebag. He relaxed his grip on the man's shoulder. "Join me?" he asked him.
"I'm not hungry."
"It's better to die on a full stomach, I'd say."
"Perhaps you're right. Call me Fly," he said.
"Odd name."
"I scale walls." He massaged his shoulder. "I get into the damnedest places."
Dilvish sheathed his blade, removed some meat and bread and a wine flask from the bag. Black moved to stand above Fly's fallen weapon.
"Dilvish," Black began, "there is something not right about this place."
Dilvish moved toward a small clearing beside the trail, bearing the food. He glanced at Fly.
"Can you enlighten us on that subject?" he asked.
Fly nodded.
"It's right," he said. "They've drawn back. They're puzzled by you and that—" He gestured toward Black. "But I can't avoid them forever."
"What are they?"
Fly shook his head and seated himself on the ground.
"It will make more sense if you let me tell it the way that it happened."
Dilvish cut the food with his dagger, dividing it. He opened the wine.
"Go ahead."
"I steal things," Fly began. "Oh, not like I tried with you. Never at sword's point. I go to a place and find out where valuable things are kept. I figure how to get to them. I leave fast afterward and dispose of the items at a good distance from the places I acquired them. Sometimes I'm commissioned to obtain a particular thing. On other occasions I'm strictly on my own."
"A risky sort of life," Black commented, moving nearer. "I'm surprised it's lasted as long as it has."
Fly shrugged.
"It's a living," he said.
There came a rustling noise in the woods, as of a large body passing through the undergrowth. Fly leaped to his feet and faced in that direction. He stood staring for some time, but the sound was not repeated. He moved off several paces then, reached into a hollow at the end of a fallen tree and withdrew a small brown backpack. "Still here," he said as he pulled it forth. "How I wish it weren't."
He regarded the forest once again, then moved back toward Dilvish and Black, carrying the pack.
"You stole something, and this time they're on your trail," Dilvish suggested.
Fly took a long swallow of the wine.
"That's a part of it," he said.
"And we may be in danger as we sit here," Dilvish said.
"Possibly. But not in any fashion you're likely to guess."
"Come on, Dilvish," Black said. "Let's not be foolish about this. He's not talking about human beings. Are you, Fly?"
Fly took a moment to answer, having stuffed his mouth with meat and bread.
"Well, yes and no," he finally said.
A cloud diminished the sunlight and a wave of chill air passed through the glade.
"They're drawing nearer again," Fly said, "gathering their strength. But I don't think they'll hurt you. It's me that they're after. It's only the others that might give you trouble."
"We have to hear it now," Dilvish said. "What the hell did you steal?"
Fly unfastened his bag and reached into it. Something flashed within his grasp, and then he withdrew and unrolled a long, wide strip of soft brown leather studded with a dazzling array of gemstones. He moved forward, holding it stretched between both hands, displaying it.
"The shadow belt of Cabolus," he said.
Dilvish reached forward and took up one end of it. The glade continued to darken and the stones seemed even brighter by contrast.
"Quite a collection," he said, rubbing the leather between thumb and forefinger and touching the thongs at the ends. There was no buckle. "An old piece. Who is Cabolus and why do you call it a shadow belt?"
"Cabolus is one of those minor gods with a small following which had once been larger," Fly replied. "The center of the faith is a town called Kallusan, to the west of here."
"I've seen it on the map, maybe half a day away."
"More or less. He's sort of an errand boy and intermediary for other gods. Makes sure of good harvests for his worshippers, gives them a hand in battle. That sort of thing. Has a brother he doesn't get along with —Salbacus, who is worshipped in Sulvar, a day's ride to the northeast. Salbacus is a god of the forge. The Sulvarans are miners and metalworkers. They are both descended—"
"I admire your research. But how much of this is necessary?"
"Excuse me. I got carried away. I had to learn of such matters in order to become a convert."
"To Cabolus's way?"
"Yes. It was the easiest way to learn the layout of the main temple in Kallusan."
"And the belt… ?"
"On the god's statue in the temple, tied about the waist."
"When did you take it?"
"Yesterday."
"What happened then?"
"Nothing at first. I got out of town fast. You never know with these obscure gods whether it's all a fake to keep the priests in business, or whether there's something to it."
"I take it there's something to this one?"
Fly nodded and took another drink. Dilvish ate another piece of meat. The glade seemed several degrees cooler. Branches rattled as a wind rose.
Then: "Nothing happened for the first few hours," Fly continued. "Possibly the theft wasn't even noticed at first. Or perhaps it was thought some old priest was cleaning the thing. Anyway, I had a bit of a headstart. But it was finally noticed and one of the sleepers came looking and found me—"
"Sleepers?"
"Yes. One of the priests is always in a trance, keeping an eye on the shadow land. They take turns. They do it with drugs at first, but after a time they're supposed to get so that they can enter the place without them. Originally I thought it was just a way of passing their time more pleasantly. But now I know there's more to it than that."
"The shadow land?" Dilvish asked, as a strange depression occurred in the ground across the glade, triangular, with small holes forward along the base. "What do you mean by the shadow land?"
Fly ate faster, chewing and swallowing, stuffing himself.
"Another plane of existence," he managed to say around a mouthful of bread, "adjacent to this, they say. Interpenetrates ours in places. Moves around a bit. It's Cabolus's realm, in a way. Travels through it when he's running errands for the others. Full of nasty presences, though they leave his priests alone—take orders from them even, with some persuasion, they say. The sleepers travel about in it and learn a lot of things; and they can look back on our world from there. Must have found me that way…"
Dilvish watched another print form, in advance of the first one.
"Can things from that plane manifest on this one?" he asked.
Fly nodded.
"The old priest Imrigen did it himself. Appeared to me on the trail and told me to bring the belt back."
"And… ?"
"I knew they'd kil
l me if I did, and he said they'd send the shadow beasts after me if I didn't. Either way I'd lose."
"So you decided you'd rather go quickly?"
"Not at first. I thought I might still be able to escape. You see, it was the priests of Salbacus who hired me to get the belt, to give his brother ascendancy. If I could have reached them with it they would have been able to protect me. Once they had it, they would go to war with Kallusan. They have parties headed this way to meet me and then to continue to Kallusan once Salbacus wears the belt. But they're not here yet and the beasts have caught up with me. I know I can't make it now, and they will slay me in some horrible fashion."
"How'd you know they'd found you if they're immaterial things?"
"The possessor of the belt can see onto that plane."
"Then I would suggest you look over there," Dilvish said, pointing to where two more of the peculiar markings had just appeared on the ground, "and tell me whether you see anything special."
Fly spun about. Almost immediately he raised the belt as if it were a shield.
"Back!" he cried. "In the name of Cabolus! I command you!"
Another track formed, approaching.
"What if you just abandoned the belt?" Dilvish asked, taking his blade into his hand. "Threw it away?"
"No good," Fly answered. "It is the possessor of the belt that they've been ordered after as well."
Another track appeared, nearer.
Fly turned back suddenly and stared at Dilvish. He licked his lips, glanced once more in the direction of the tracks.
Suddenly he cried out, "Look! I give the belt to this man! I surrender it to him! It's his now!"
He threw the belt at Dilvish and it fell across his shoulder. Immediately it seemed as if he were regarding the world through a twilight haze. And then, in the middle of the glade—
With a clatter, Black's form was interposed between Dilvish and the vision. He heard Fly scream horribly, amid a grinding, crunching noise and the sounds of movement.
Rising, he cast the belt to the ground and peered over Black's shoulder. The man Fly lay upon the ground, his left arm missing. Even as Dilvish watched, the right arm, shoulder, and a portion of the upper chest vanished with another crunching sound; blood darkened the ground to the accompaniment of chewing noises.
The Complete Dilvish, The Damned Page 19
