The Return of Kavin

by David Mason

  ELEVEN

  “Tinker folk, we are,” the black-haired woman was saying. She brought a piled platter of food and set it cautiously before Fraak, who sat curled within his tail, looking regal. The child patted Fraak, as the dragonet uttered his odd purring note of pleasure; the woman watched, her eyes wide.

  “He will not hurt my child?” she asked, anxiously.

  But Fraak had selected a bit of meat from the plate, and was eating it, with dignity, as the child crowed at him. Hugon grinned from where he sat.

  “He’s harmless, except when he feels the call of battle,” Hugon said. “Gods, I never knew you had such a fierce way about you, friend Fraak.”

  “How is that you know our language, master?” the woman said to Thuramon. She still seemed in great awe of him.

  “I have met other tinkers, from time to time,” he told her. To the others, he said, “These are skillful smiths, in iron or brass especially. Tazala,” he addressed the woman, “what were these men doing?”

  “They are soldiers of the Emperor,” Tazala said. “They thought we had silver hidden.” She laughed scornfully. “We! We are fleeing north now, out of this mad realm, and as for silver…” She dug into a pocket and produced some dull-looking coins, holding them out. “These are coins of the Empire, their new coins. We would use such metal to mend a pot, perhaps.”

  The tinkers had been bringing food to Zamor, who sat on the man he had knocked down last, grinning happily as he ate. The tinkers edged close to him, and some touched him curiously.

  “Are you of the folk that live in the north?” one of them asked, and Zamor nodded.

  “I am,” he said, and as he spoke the man he sat on uttered a groan; he glanced down, with an annoyed look, and clouted the fellow once more into silence.

  “We’re afraid of the north,” Tazala said. “They say that there are folk who eat men there. But we dare not stay here; the signs of evil grow stronger every day.” She made a queer gesture with a finger.

  “You needn’t fear the north,” Zamor said. “We are a kindly and peaceful people…” The man he was using as a seat tried to return to consciousness once more, and Zamor grunted, “By your leave, I seem to have skimped my work here.” He rose, and took the fellow’s legs, swung him into the air, and hurled him into the bushes. He squatted again on the ground. “These tales about we of the Numori country are all Mazainian fables. You are smiths? We’d never hurt any who can do such work.” He grinned at the tinkers. “Why, you’d be rewarded well up there, I give you my word.”

  “He speaks truth,” Thuramon said. “You need not be afraid.”

  “When you reach the highlands,” Zamor added, “Say to my brother Zarram, of the Amanur Numori, that I sent you. If he asks for a sign, tell him that he lacks half an ear, which he does, and that I bit it off when we played, as children. He will remember that.” And Zamor laughed.

  Tazala stared at him, with a strange look. Then she made a gesture, like a curtsy, with her hands held outward.

  “I believe you, noble sir,” she said. She made the same gesture toward Kavin. “You are both kings, is that not true?”

  “Not I, as far as I know,” Zamor said. Kavin shook his head.

  “Nor I,” he told her. But she smiled, unbelievingly.

  “It’s not possible to lie to a seeing-woman of the Tinkers,” she said. “But if you wish, noble sir, we will say you are not a king.”

  “You come from Mazain,” Thuramon said. “How do things stand there?”

  “Not from the city, sir,” she said. “We dared not go there, not for many months. But it is said that the Emperor is mad, and that other lords come soon, to besiege. All the signs are very evil, for that city.” She looked at him. “Surely you do not go that way?”

  “We have business there,” Thuramon said.

  “Noble sir, do not go,” she said, earnestly. “Listen, you know our tongue. Perhaps you know of the Book, too…” She dug into a pocket and showed him a packet of greasy cards, tied with a cord.

  “The Book of Truths,” Thuramon said. “Yes, I know it.”

  “Casting for the city, I found the Demon, who led the Lost Man by the hand,” Tazala said. “And at last, the Tower lay under the Single and the Three… of Swords. Can you read that?”

  Thuramon nodded. “The Book is probably right,” he told her. “But we must go there. We shall leave again, before the time of the Tower.”

  She nodded, but still looked worried.

  “We are poor folk,” she said, “but you have saved us from death… and my son. Whatever we have is yours…”

  Kavin, putting down his plate, chuckled. “Your food’s repaid me well enough, lady.”

  “And me,” Zamor said, and belched. “Hugon, get the secret from the lady as to how this dish is made, will you?” He grinned at Tazala. “We’re a most remarkable company, good lady. Two kings, a warlock, and a man of all talents—master cook, luteplayer, and swordsman among other things—my brother Hugon there.”

  “Your brother?” a tinker asked, incredulously, and Zamor’s laugh boomed out.

  “Our mother kept him wrapped, out of the sun, till he was fully grown,” Zamor explained, gravely. “Thus the odd pallor of his countenance.”

  But Thuramon wore a thoughtful look.

  “I know you are poor folk,” he said, “so I’ll pay you for what I wish to have, in good gold…”

  “No!” Tazala said, firmly.

  “Yes,” Thuramon said, and stared at her. “Take out the Book of Truths, and ask if you should do as I say.”

  She dropped her eyes, and touched the pack of cards in her pocket; after a moment, she brought them out and slid them in her hand, shuffling. She drew a card and looked at it; muttered, and put it back.

  “I shall pay you, then,” Thuramon said. “Gold, we have enough; and we’ll need little of it for our work.” He stood up. “There… a cart, and two of our horses may draw it. And possibly a few other small things, such as you can spare… a garment or two, suitably colorful, befitting our new professions.” He grinned at the others. “A troupe of mountebanks. Myself, as juggler and teller of fortunes… there’s not too much difference there.” He looked at Zamor. “And you, of course, wrestler and strong man. Ballad singer, teller of tales… our good Hugon, there. And finally, Kavin…” He paused, and pulled his beard. “What skill shall we assign you, Kavin? I find it a puzzle, I fear…”

  Kavin chuckled.

  “The Dragons’ gift was luck,” he said. “I remember a game or two, played in the market places in my youth… good lady, have you three cups, wine-cups, say?” Tazala brought three small clay cups, and Kavin set them upside down on the earth. “Under one, I place a coin, thus…” he said. “And now, around and around, and once more around… now, you watched carefully, did you not?”

  “It’s under that one,” Zamor said, pointing.

  “It is not,” Kavin said, upending the cup. “Shall we try it again?”

  They tried it several times. Thuramon watched, and nodded.

  “Yes,” he said, at last. “Yes. A most unprincely occupation, but it seems certain that the luck is there, Kavin. Since you had never an opportunity to gain skill at a certain means by which the outcome can be made certain…” He chuckled. “No, luck it is, surely. And it must apply to all games, then.”

  “Good,” Kavin said. “I’ll be your gamester, then. And as for unprincely… that’s a prince’s work, to play the swindler, often enough.” He laughed, a little bitterly.

  “Good, then,” Thuramon said. “Tazala, take this.” He counted out gold pieces. “And those six fine horses there… I think you can use those, as well.”

  “Why, damn it, I’d hoped to take one of those myself,” Hugon said. “My mount’s a bone-rack. And these poor dogs don’t need their horses now.” He glanced at the dead men.

  “Yes, these, now,” Thuramon said, glancing at them. “It would be wise if your people gave those men decent burial, Tazala. If any comrades of t
heirs should chance to find them, unpleasant questions might arise. As to the matter of the horses, Hugon, you, as our elected thief-in-charge, should know a prime law of thievery… not to wear a stolen cloak in the marketplace. Those horses are cavalry mounts, and might be known in the city.”

  Hugon led two horses to one of the carts, and Tazala aided him, hitching them to the shaft. She showed him the cart’s interior, fitted with bunks and closets, into which he peered with interest.

  “A fine way to live,” he said, a little enviously. “Had I not given my word, I’d be off with your folk to the north, I would.”

  “Come, when you’re done with whatever it is you must do,” she said. “You will always be welcome among the tinkers. And your great black friend… whom I do not believe is truly your brother, is he?”

  “Of course he is.” Hugon said, gravely.

  “He I would like to see again, especially.” Tazala said, and her black eyes turned toward the place where Zamor stood, with an expression that Hugon knew well. He chuckled.

  “I think he’s a much wedded man already,” he said. Tazala laughed.

  “I did not speak of weddings,” she said, pointedly. Her tongue touched her red lips, briefly. “We have a saying… some horses can be ridden but once, but the ride is equal to owning a hundred lesser horses.”

  Zamor came toward the wagon, bearing a sack, and flung it into the back.

  “Apples,” he said, and laughed. “I’ll never get my fill of ‘em, I think. Are we ready to ride, then?”

  The cart rumbled through the pasture below the orchard, and down onto the highroad: Thuramon had established himself within, and Zamor with him, while Kavin and Hugon rode in the box. The other horses were led behind.

  “A good meal, as is usual before going to the scaffold,” Hugon grunted; Fraak sat above, on the cart top, looking like a carved decoration. Kavin glanced at Hugon.

  “We’ll succeed, I think,” he said. “We must.”

  “We’ve little time, I suspect,” Hugon said. “Look, more of those carts. Ah, those red cloaks have a familiar look.”

  Behind the carts that rumbled past, riders in steel and red cloaks came, slowing as they came abreast of the painted cart. They stared, curiously, and one turned to ride beside.

  “You’re heading cityward, are you?” he said.

  “Yes, noble sir,” Hugon answered, pulling his forelock with a fawning grin. “We’ve heard there may be need of entertaining folk, like us, to lighten the burdens of the war and all, you know. We’re poor traveling folk, and we haven’t got ought but what you see, my noble sir…”

  The rider guffawed. “You might not have that, either, when Rarashaz, on the gates, gets through with you. He’s picking them clean these days, going in and going out.” He turned and clattered away.

  Ahead, the road curved toward a high wall, that stretched away in either direction into the distance. At regular intervals, square towers rose along the wall, and below a deep ditch ran. The road ran down, into a huge gate, topped with loopholed towers, and flanked by gigantic black statues.

  “The outer walls,” Hugon said, looking ahead. “And beyond, the second wall. Strong, those old walls; strong enough to hold any enemy off… as they’ve done a dozen times.”

  “No wall is any use without men behind it,” Kavin said. “I have a feeling this one is weaker than it looks. But about this matter of the gate watch…” He leaned back and spoke into the cart. “You heard that rider, Thuramon. Best hide what gold we can.”

  Thuramon, invisible, chuckled. “I have a better way. Let gold be found… enough, just enough.”

  There were guardsmen lounging at the gate; they looked glumly at the cart, and one man climbed inside to look about. He poked into various corners, in a lackadaisical way; it was obvious that he had little hope of gaining much. Meanwhile, the gate officer walked around the caravan, studying it thoughtfully.

  “You’ll not have twelve besans apiece, entry fee, I suppose,” he grunted at Hugon.

  “My lord, we are poor folk, as you see…” Hugon began. The officer shrugged.

  “Well, then, if you’d enter, we’ll have to have something,” he said. “You’ve horses, now… two on the cart, four behind… let’s see, now. Four of you makes… uh, fifty. And there’s the cart fee, of course, so that’s another ten, and we’ll allow you six apiece on the beasts. Though they look as if they’re no use even for meat…”

  “But your honor, we’ll have need of the beasts,” Hugon began.

  “Well, you’re in trouble, me boy,” the officer said, with an unpleasant grin.

  “Perhaps we’d best turn back,” Thuramon said, looking out of the cart.

  “If you do, you walk,” the officer said. “The fees are due now. Whether you turn around or not.”

  “I’ve found nothing in the cart,” the other man said, climbing down. “Not a bit of coin.”

  “You say we cannot enter without payment, sir?” Thuramon asked, looking most pitiful. The gate guard nodded. “And if we have no coin, we lose even these few poor things we have? Have you no mercy on us, noble sir?” He was whining now.

  “The law’s the law, old croaker,” the man said roughly. “It says plainly what the fees are. Now, then…”

  Thuramon came down and hobbled close to him. “Why, then we must pay, must we not?” he said. He held up a leather sack, and peered into it, with a nearsighted gaze. “Ahhh,” he said, and pulled out a coin, then another. He laid each coin in the man’s palm, with great reluctance, one by one, till there were enough.

  The officer, obviously the renowned Rarashaz, watched Thuramon’s performance with increasing puzzlement, and greed began to show on his features. As Thuramon brought out the last coin, he reached out and took the leather sack, with a grin.

  “Here now, it feels as if there’re a few more in there,” he said, squeezing it. “Probably just barely enough to pay your city tax.” He dropped the sack into his belt pouch. “On your way, then, the lot of you.” He stood, chuckling, and watched the cart go through the gates.

  Hugon drove through a twisting tunnel-like archway, and out into a broad square; ahead, the gates of what was certainly a drover’s inn, from the smell, opened on the square. He turned the cart that way, and heard Thuramon chuckle behind him.

  “Much we’ve got to laugh about, wizard,” Hugon said. “That lizard fingered guard took all we had, did he not?”

  “Of course not,” Thuramon said. “Even such gold as he thought he received was no more than an illusion, as he’ll find when he seeks it in his pouch.” Thuramon chuckled again, balefully. “But he went farther and took the leather sack, thinking there was more within. There is, but not gold. No, not gold.”

  Hugon steered the cart into the innyard and drew rein. He looked back, puzzled.

  “I don’t understand the mazes you like so well, Thuramon,” he said. “If you’ve power to fool the man’s eye, why not give him as much as he wished, and have done?”

  “It was necessary that he follow the path of his greed,” Thuramon said. “And in the matter of the sack… I work under a Law, master Hugon. It is a Law of Balances… and it forbids me to act as I sometimes desire. That man deserved what he has received, but he had first to seize his doom with his own hand, of his own will.”

  “Balances?” Hugon shrugged. “I can’t say I understand… and what doom, except for a notable shortage in his pocket?”

  “I told you,” Thuramon said, with that unpleasant chuckle. “He will put his fingers into that sack, in search of gold. And he will find a small, very angry, scorpion.”

  Hugon shuddered. “I see,” he said.

  “This inn looks as though it might welcome customers,” Kavin said, swinging down off the cart. “Thuramon, I would prefer that you paid the innkeeper in true coin, if you will.”

  “I always pay in true coin,” Thuramon said. “The scorpion was as true as any other coin, for value received.”

  The palace of the late lord
Barazan, now the property of his beautiful widow, was a great white pile of towers and domes behind a wall that encircled the whole noble quarter. There was a marble stairway that ran down into the lake from the palace, and in the lake beyond, the King’s House rose hugely on its island.

  The message was delivered to the lady Gwynna, as she sat in her bath, a great shell of bronze in which water steamed. She had lolled in the hot water, sleepily; she had not found her bed till dawn, because the Emperor had caused a great celebration of nothing in particular, a feast that had gone on and on. She suspected that he had some twisted reason for the almost constant feasting that was going on, but she could not guess what.

  The maid had gone in search of fresh towels while Gwynna lay luxuriating. She had few servants left; they were vanishing all over the city, it seemed, from every house.

  Fraak sailed in, through the high window, and circled, to come to a landing on the bronze end of the tub; he stared down at her with his big yellow eyes, and uttered an appreciative cry.

  “You!” Gwynna said. Fraak chortled.

  “You are pretty!” he said, and blew a smoke ring.

  Gwynna already knew that. Fraak’s golden-eyed stare made her a trifle nervous, though; it was necessary to remind herself that he was a dragonet, not a man.

  “Where’s Hugon?” she asked. “Is he here in the city? The others, too?”

  “He’s here,” Fraak sang. “He told me to say so, he did. I think you’re almost as pretty as the other lady.”

  “What other lady?” Gwynna snapped. “Oh, never mind. And must you eye me so, you lecherous lizard?”

  “I am NOT a lizard,” Fraak told her, sounding hurt. “Hugon and the others wait, at the great inn by the North Gate. They say that you may come after sunset.”

  “Tell them I’ll be there,” Gwynna said. “Now go, quickly, or my maid will come back and think you’re some giant insect, perhaps.” She waved him off. “Go, shoo!”

  The innyard was fairly crowded, as were the market squares beyond. But not as crowded as it had been in the time before the city lay under the lengthening shadows of siege. Still, a few farmers came with their produce, a few bold traders still brought goods; but only a handful, compared to the swarms that once came to the Imperial City. There were too many soldiers in the crowds, and not nearly enough folk with fat purses; and such coin as circulated was the dull metal of the new kind.