The Return of Kavin

by David Mason

  Torches flared, lighting various booths and flickering over the faces of people who came and went about the huge innyard, and in the market square outside it. In one place, a pair of acrobats skipped and tumbled on a rope; in another, a tent was up, and a fattish dancer revolved in front of it, while the proprietor spoke loudly of the unspeakable delights within. Other booths sold various and curious goods; everything from the brown and gummy candy that caused a delightful unconsciousness, called hashazz, to the weird erotic toys that seemed to please the yokels so much.

  But there seemed to be little of any real value for sale, Hugon noticed. No cloth, and not much food; only one baker’s booth was open, and that held little of any value. Even the girls who plied their trade about the square, he noticed, were hardly as appetizing as he would have expected, in the great city. And there seemed to be an air of gloom, unexplained, because no one seemed to know much of how the wars went. There were a dozen tales, all different; the rebels had surrendered en masse, they had all taken ship for the west, or they had all been slain by a mighty attack of the Imperial forces. These tales were dispensed by many, usually persons with excellent and apparent reason for their inventions.

  Some of the other tales seemed more likely, to Hugon. The rebel forces held a number of points south of the city, that was certain; and now, likely enough, large bodies of the rebels would be moving around, in a wide circle, to ultimately cut all the ways out. Now that there was no Imperial fleet, even the sea would be closed. The thought did not please Hugon greatly.

  In the cart, the four had consulted together earlier, just as the night’s torches began to be lighted.

  “I went to the shop in the street of weavers,” Hugon said, scowling, as he fiddled with a lute string. “The woman, Elanak… she was not there. Nor the boy, either.” He controlled his voice with difficulty. “That foul lump of toad’s excrement, the Emperor. He makes war on women and children, it seems, as a regular preference.”

  “Where are they?” Kavin asked.

  “In a prison, toward the sea wall,” Hugon said. “If they live. That harbor fortress is said to be a hellish place, where none live long; and daily, a few are brought forth for execution, as a few more are added.” He looked up, with a black glitter in his eye. “Old men, women, and babies, most of them; any who may be denounced, for any reason.”

  There was a grim silence in the darkened cart.

  “Well,” Thuramon said, at last, “Fazakk’s woman is dead, or as good as dead, then. I wish we could have done his will in this, but we’ve other work that must be done swiftly…”

  “No,” Hugon said, and Thuramon glanced at him, surprised.

  “Our word was to help the woman flee the city, you’ll recall,” Hugon said, in a low, hard voice. “I do not know that she is dead, or the child either. Fazakk did his part of a bargain; I will do mine.”

  “Listen, Hugon,” Thuramon began, “we must hasten, I tell you. Unless we lay hands upon the Egg of Fire within a few more days, the Gate will be complete, and Ess will be free to come forth.” In the shadows, Thuramon’s eyes glowed. “Then… such black evils as you cannot imagine will come with him. He has many servants, in many worlds, fools like this Emperor… but not all of them human fools. First, the Gate will vomit out those legions of his, and they will spread across this world, to make it theirs… and his. Then worse will come, till no man lives in the world any longer… and he will go through that Gate to yet other worlds.”

  “I gave my word…” Hugon said, stubbornly. He shrugged. “Look you; I’ve heard other things about this city today. I think those gates may close at any moment. Rebel horsemen have been seen on the road north of the wall. Then we will be penned here, like rabbits in a hutch, plucked forth for dinner when the rebels choose. They may break in swiftly, at that, and all our problems solved at once.” He grinned in the shadows. “Suppose they do… why, their first troopers will push toward that imperial Treasure at once, as any man of sense would do. Break in, and see that jewel, too large for any one man. A blow or two with an axe edge, and it’s fair divided, and no more use at all to anyone.” Hugon chuckled. “Well, then, you’d be locked forevermore within this world, as you told us, Thuramon. Is it so bad a world as that, that you cannot make the best of it? And we have great need of wise men here, too.”

  Hugan looked at Thuramon, who shook his head gloomily, and then at Kavin.

  “But to destroy the Egg… whether we or another do so…” Hugon said, again, “Would that not accomplish all our ends, except yours, Thuramon… and absolve you of promises to Gwynna, as well?”

  “To destroy that Egg?” Thuramon shook his head again. “No. Fool, that crystal contains a power locked within it that would burn the whole world to a smoking cinder, release it thus. Nor would this world’s doom affect Ess; he has other ways, in time, to gain his freedom. Unless I lock him in forever…”

  “So, I am wrong once more,” Hugon said with a shrug. “But I have my given word to think of. And this tool-sack, Dragon gift. Am I not thief-in-charge, official opener of locks, and the rest? And prisons have locks, I imagine.”

  “That one has guards as well,” Zamor granted. “But I am with my brother Hugon, here. We were given passage by Fazakk’s wish. We said we would free his woman.”

  “I must say so, too,” Kavin said. “We must find a way to do both tasks, then.”

  Thuramon grunted sourly. “I am burdened by such henchmen as I wouldn’t wish upon an enemy,” he said. “Very well, then. But we must first speak with that lady, Gwynna, if she comes tonight; she will be our key to the King’s house.” He looked at Zamor. “Now, keep in mind, large one… that belt is as dangerous to you as it is to others. Use it sparingly, if at all.”

  “Great Snake, I know that,” Zamor said. “On the one time I did use it, I was weary as a sick cat for hours afterward.” He stood up, his head bent under the low roof, and stretched. “I think I can do without its use, after seeing these weaklings hereabouts. At least, most of the time.”

  One by one, they climbed out, and began their preparations, under Thuramon’s direction. He had mapped each step with care, and nothing was left unconsidered; first, it would be necessary to become known, so that the Emperor’s spies would have a proper explanation of all they saw and heard. Gwynna would bring a new and entertaining group of mountebanks to show on the steps of the palace on the lake… or better still, in the King’s house itself. But they must be real, a troupe that had been seen and known already.

  Gwynna came alone, wearing a hooded cloak, through the narrow alleys and streets of the dark city. She came into the square and moved quietly along the stalls, watching to find the four she sought. Then, at a distance, she saw them.

  Zamor was standing, high on a platform, above the crowd’s heads; he lounged against a post, grinning with magnificent insolence at the upturned faces. He wore only a loincloth, and his shining black body was painted with strange stripes and slashes of color; in his hair, he wore a gaudy knot of feathers.

  Hugon, in front of the platform, was bawling energetically over the shouts of other showmen and peddlers, as he walked to and fro.

  “Look ye, look ye,” he was roaring. “The Mighty Mangier, Man of Iron, who has defeated every champion in nine kingdoms, offers to meet any brave lad who fancies his brawn, and give odds of ten to one, ten besans to your one, that you’ll not stay on your feet for the fall of the sandglass, here!”

  Gwynna, in the shadows, watched as Zamor took a muscular farm lad in hand. She suspected that he could have snapped the man’s spine in the first moment of their encounter, but he prolonged the bout with a showman’s instinct, to the last grain of sand in the glass. Then he pinned the lad down, with a triumphant shout.

  Gwynna came closer, next to Hugon, as he continued to shout his challenge; she turned, enough to let him catch a glimpse of her face, hidden under the hood. He did not pause in his roaring for longer than it might have taken him to draw a deep breath; but in that space,
he whispered, “The cart. Go there.”

  She saw the painted wagon he had indicated, and went in that direction. As she came to it, a young pair emerged, a man and a girl with dazed, happy expressions, who passed her hand in hand.

  Gwynna pushed aside the curtain and saw Thuramon, cowled, sitting over a low table, his hands folded. He looked up and smiled, with a curiously bitter look.

  “I have been telling fortunes,” he said, and sighed. “Lies, of course. Those two have little joy before them… but I lied, so they are happy, for a little time.” He indicated a stool. “Sit, lady, and let’s lay plans.”

  “You took long enough to come,” she said, staring at him. “I wonder if you know how black the future looks at this moment for all of us, soothsayer.”

  “I know,” Thuramon said. “But there are things I do not know yet. Listen. We must gain access to the King’s house, in any way we can, and soon, very soon.”

  “That might be possible,” she said, putting her chin on her knuckles, and staring down in deep thought. After a while, she nodded. “Yes, it may be… but you wish to steal the Egg of Fire, as you told me, in Koremon. I must tell you… that may not be possible.”

  “Possible or not,” Thuramon told her, “it is necessary.”

  She looked troubled. “I have seen it,” she said. “It is large… no man could take it out. But there’s another point… the jewel lies visible, where the Emperor himself comes, almost daily, to gloat over it. He would go mad… madder than he now is… if it vanished.”

  “Leave that all to me,” Thuramon told her. “For the rest, this is what I wish you to do. You have seen certain amusing things here… or you will, if you wander about. A wrestler of enormous strength, a fortune teller and maker of illusions… myself. And our servants, a skillful pair of rogues, as you will also see. Now, the Emperor has been most lavish, lately in his entertainments… and you are of his court, anxious to please him further…”

  “I see,” Gwynna said.

  The torches guttered out, one by one, and the last booths closed. Here and there a drunken citizen snored in a gutter, or rambled homeward; and a patrol of City Guardsmen clanked by.

  Zamor, who had had the hardest work, lay snoring in a bunk in the cart, while the others made ready to follow his example. Hugon, yawning hugely, gave Fraak a tasty bit from his plate.

  Then, in the distance, there was a deep rumble, and Hugon stared out the tiny window, puzzled.

  “Thunder?” he said. “But it’s clear…”

  Another boom rolled, echoing in the night. Kavin sat up.

  “A cannon,” he said.

  Somewhere, not too far away, there was a tremendous crash, and a sound of shouting. Torches flickered in the night, and Hugon went to the cart door.

  “I’ll take my oath that was a catapult,” he said, staring into the dark. “Aha, and there go the guardsmen to the gates. Thuramon, I think we’ve less time than before. The city has been besieged, at last.”

  Out there in the darkness, another stone fell with a crash, and somewhere southward a cannon thundered once more.

  TWELVE

  By dawn, the siege was well under way. It was plainly not a simple siege, an affair of waiting, but an assault, continuous and bitter.

  For three hundred years the City had never once been taken by any army. Century after century the walls had been strengthened, built again and again. Within those walls were sources of water, and warehouses of food; unless assault succeeded, an army could lie before Mazain for another century and never enter.

  But this time the sea was closed. Those few ships that had limped back from the battle were in the harbor now; and in the Narrow Sea, without, the rebel galleons lay, their guns run out. On the southern plain, the rebel armies lay encamped in a broad circle that ran clear around to that highroad to the north.

  Stone throwers stood, dangerously close to the walls, before each gate and near every major tower; their arms swung up, and huge stones sailed over, to crash into the roofs and streets. The cannon, too, were laid level with each gate, and their iron missiles clanged again and again against the stonework. Twice, balls slammed into the gates themselves, and splinters flew, though the bronze-shod doors remained in place.

  As the sun rose higher, the first major rebel assault of the day began, with the advance of siege towers and rams against the southwest walls, near the sea. Here, a slight rise overlooked a gate called the Gate of The Dolphins. Where a portion of wall and a tower had been battered nearly to rubble by stones, there were fewer defenders. The siege towers rolled down toward the wall, rumbling monsters covered with wet skins; ahead, men hurled bundles of faggots into the ditch, as they rode swiftly by under a spatter of arrows. In two places the ditch was almost filled, now; and here the siege towers rolled closer to the wall. Meanwhile, a ram came slowly toward the half-shattered gate, inching its way.

  There was a desperate engagement atop the wall, and in and out of the swaying towers. At that moment, the gate creaked open, and steel-clad lancers thundered out, rank after rank of men; and behind them, mailed pike-men, who swarmed against the towers’ bases with torches. The ram stopped and flamed, as the lancers swept by and over it, and now the lances went toward the hill.

  Then, over the hill’s rim, other lances glittered, and bright pennons flapped in the sun; the armored riders came down, and met the city’s defenders in a crashing line of death.

  Some of the lancers managed to turn and ride back through the gates, but not many. The towers burned sullenly, and the dead lay still, in rows where they had fallen. And around the city, the cannon thundered again, and the stone-throwers’ arms rose and fell.

  In the late afternoon, in the white palace beside the lake, the sound was distant, but steady. There was also the sound of harpists and flute players, who floated in a barge that was rowing by the marble steps; and the sound of light laughter among the trees. Half a dozen elegantly carved boats lay at the steps of Gwynna’s palace, and she walked, with others of the noble class, near them.

  Orashaz, dressed with even more extravagance than usual, hovered at Gwynna’s elbow. Once or twice a louder boom would cause him to jerk slightly and lose the thread of his conversation for a moment; however, for the most part he was managing rather well, Gwynna thought. “Indeed, my lady, I am sure that your plan will please his Glorious Majesty greatly,” Orashaz was saying. “I myself had found several unusual dancers…” He simpered, and rolled his eyes. “A group of extraordinarily flexible creatures, though a little shocking… ulp.” Three heavy detonations had gone off in the north. “However,” Orashaz went on, “they seem to have disappeared, with the usual cowardice of such creatures.” He sighed. “Poor fools, they would have received a sizable reward if they had pleased our glorious monarch.”

  “There seems to be a frightful amount of disloyalty about,” another lady observed. “My maids came back from market today with the most dreadful stories. It would seem that there was some silly irregularity… apparently the food warehouses were not filled, by some clerk’s error, and there’s a stupid panic going about.”

  “I can’t see any cause for alarm,” Orashaz observed. “My own storehouses, in the palace, are quite filled. It seems very unlikely that those rebel swine will make their way past the walls, but even so, we have the inner wall around the noble quarter.” He tittered. “It might be just as well if the city’s common herd were to feel the rebel whip on their backs, for a while; they’d soon know how much better off they are now.”

  Another noble joined in. “Have you not heard the latest? The real reason our Sovereign has commanded tonight’s feasting?”

  Gwynna turned to listen. The noble smiled, and lowered his voice.

  “He plans to loose utter destruction against the rebels, this very night!” the man said. “He has been merciful, till now, hoping they would see their error, but now!” The man shuddered, elegantly.

  “Destruction?” Gwynna asked, arching an eyebrow in bored interest. “O
f what sort, tell me?”

  “Sorcery!” the noble said. “Mighty sorcery, known only to our Emperor, given him by the Dark Lord himself. But there’s more!” He leaned forward, and his voice went lower. “At dawn, he will call forth the god, as he’s promised for so long! All of us will see, with our own eyes, as we knew we would! The Dark Lord will come, and sweep away all opposition, before the Emperor!”

  “Then the altar is finished?” Gwynna asked, trying to keep her voice devoid of interest.

  “The last work is done, needs only to be fitted into place,” the man told her.

  I wonder where those fools have gone, she thought, with a rush of terror rising within her. They’ve been caught, flung into prison, or hacked to death. Or a stone’s crushed them all. They should have come an hour ago or more

  I’ll die here, in this foul magnificence, she thought bitterly. That madman will loose his demon, perhaps… or the rebels will break in, as they must sooner or later. And there will be a few men of Meryon among them, I don’t doubt at all, she thought. It may be that a man of lost Armadoc will find me… at least that will be a clean death. And a just one, for what I’ve been and done.

  She bit her lip and gained control again, with an effort; a voice was coming through, Orashaz’s.

  “… most interesting, to see those sacrifices which will be performed tonight…”

  The Harbor Fortress was a squat mass of stone, windowless, stained with age and dirt; its walls were washed by the stagnant waters of a broad canal on two sides, and there was a narrow, filthy alley along a third side. On the fourth, a gateway of iron faced the streets, well guarded.