The Return of Kavin

by David Mason

  “That’s very good, Fraak,” Hugon said. “You’re a clever dragon.” He glanced back into the cart. “Now, let’s hurry on to that village, eh?” He whistled at the horses, and slapped the reins against their backs.

  The cart rattled into the innyard, and drew up. There was no sound from the inn, and the village itself seemed empty, as though everyone had fled, though there was no sign of fighting. Hugon climbed down from the box, and began to unhitch the horses; beside him, Kavin was unsaddling his own horse, while Zamor came up and dismounted.

  “There seems to be no one here,” Kavin said, glancing at the shuttered windows of the inn; he threw the saddle into the cart, and began to rub down the old horse with a rag.

  Then a door opened, and the gaunt innkeeper appeared; he looked as gloomy as he had before, no more and no less. He bore a cocked crossbow in his hand, but he lowered it when he saw Hugon and Kavin.

  “There are a good many masterless soldiers about,” the innkeeper grunted, as he put the crossbow carefully against a wall. “Man’s got to be careful.”

  “No apologies needed,” Hugon said. “We’re leaving you a gift, my smiling friend. Not merely these magnificent steeds you sold us, but a cart as well, a carriage fit for nobility.” He glanced toward the narrow street. “Do you expect our friend Yorgan and his ship, soon?”

  The innkeeper stared glumly at the horses and the cart.

  “There’s no money about,” he grunted. “Can’t buy ‘em.”

  “Now, did I mention selling them?” Hugon asked, with a hurt expression. “Do you take me for a horsedealer? I, sir? I, a poet, hero, and housebreaker of note? I don’t lower myself to common trade, I assure you. No, these things are a gift, because I like your cheerful smiling face, sir innkeeper. You remind me of a vulture’s breakfast I saw on the road yonder.”

  The innkeeper’s eyes were wary; he evidently thought Hugon was a trifle mad. Hugon thought so, himself.

  “A gift, eh?” the innkeeper said.

  “Exactly,” Hugon told him. “Now, if you felt moved to fetch a pitcher of that… ah, I suppose you’d call it wine, I’d be most pleased with you, my man.” Hugon shivered, feeling the damp beginning to soak through. “Perhaps you should make that two pitchers, considering everything,” he added. “And if you warmed them well at the fire first, I would not mind at all.”

  The innkeeper made a curious noise which was possibly a sound of assent, or it may have been only wind in his gut; however, he went slowly back inside, taking the crossbow with him. A couple of minutes passed; then he returned, with pitchers of hot wine, which he handed into the cart solemnly.

  “Ugh,” Hugon said, swallowing a mouthful. He handed the pitcher to Gwynna. “Give our wizard a little. Kill or cure, perhaps. It may be wolf urine, or it may be wine… my tongue seems to have lost all skill at telling which. But it’s hot.” He glanced out. “Ha, Zamor comes, with none other than Yorgan at his heels. I think we may be away and out of this earthly paradise ere long.”

  “I grow more and more tired of the sea,” Hugon said, watching the foremast sway slowly. Gwynna, who sat on a coil of rope, sewing busily, looked up at him and laughed.

  “I could sing that song for you, Hugon,” she said, plucking a thread between her white teeth. “I’ve heard it so often of late. Let me see. Could you but place an oar on your shoulder, and walk inland, then some day you would come to a fair city; there, the folk would regard your oar with wonder, and ask ‘What’s that strange tool you carry, and what’s its function?’” She laughed.

  “Exactly, sweet lady,” Hugon said. “Just as I would tell it, and shall again, till I make a ballad of it.”

  He regarded her, carefully. It wouldn’t do at all, he thought, to make his growing thoughts too clear to this wench. She had no wealth now, nor any high place, no more than he… still, such a match would be unwise, Hugon thought. And he had lately acquired a profound desire to find less turmoil in his life. Gwynna, now… where she was, there would be turmoil, without a doubt. She had grown browner, and of a warmly healthy color, these long days at sea; and her eyes had lost a certain wild and bitter look, too. She seemed no longer a great lady, accustomed to servants and unable to aid herself in small matters; instead, she had quickly begun to serve herself in all things. She had brought away only the clothes in which she stood; and now, from odds and ends, she was swiftly making a new wardrobe. But more than that, she had done all such work as was needed, without complaint, swiftly and well; and she had nursed Thuramon, day after day, with skill.

  “Has he spoken this morning?” Hugon asked. Gwynna nodded.

  “But only a word or two,” she said. “Yet, he seems so much better, in body at least.”

  Kavin emerged from the tiny cabin and stretched himself, staring southeast; he glanced at Gwynna and Hugon, hearing them.

  “He’s not young,” Kavin said. “But I think he’ll be himself again. I hope soon… we may see the shore tonight.”

  “Prince…” Hugon said, slowly. “You seem to know what ails our warlock, but you’ve kept your counsel about it.”

  “I do,” Kavin said. “I am also a little learned in the Art, and I have been Initiated, as you know. I don’t know if you would wish to know certain things, or how much I may lawfully speak of.” He bit his lip, staring at Hugon, and then at Gwynna.

  “Very well,” Kavin said. “Listen. There are many who have some small skills in the Great Art—from those who cast spells to dry up a cow or bring a wench to bed, to those who have learned all. All the secrets… of which the greatest is this.” He stopped, considering Hugon for a moment, with an ironic smile. “That it is best not to work magic at all; but only to know. To know, without using the thing known…”

  “Man, that’s witlessness!” Hugon said, indignantly. “To wear a sword, and never draw it? To own a fine horse, and never saddle it? What’s this?”

  “I suspected that you would not understand me,” Kavin said. “Well then… Thuramon has grown wiser, year after year, and yet never filled with wisdom, seeking more. And at last, he learned that he had come to a place in his wisdom where he must… stop, in a certain sense. He has a certain desire… a desire that each of us four has, in one or another way. He wishes to return to the place from which he once came.”

  “That ought to have been more than easy, for a wizard,” Hugon said.

  “No,” Kavin told him. “That place is farther than you can dream of, farther than any land on earth… on this earth. It is a stranger journey than any you will ever take, Hugon. And now… Thuramon has barred his way home, to himself.”

  “Barred? How?”

  “Certain great acts of high magic…” Kavin said, slowly. “… these are forbidden to him, because of his… Law. His compact with other forces, if you will. He has earnestly restrained himself from all such acts… yet, at that last moment in Mazain, it was necessary. That monstrous thing that walked there would have laid half the world waste… and Thuramon went out of his body, into a new state of being, to slay it.”

  Hugon shook his head, puzzled. “So, you say his… his gods, perhaps, or the Goddess herself, will now punish him for this?” Hugon asked. “Is this the Law you’d have me believe, that a noble and brave action can lead only to what Thuramon must bear?”

  Kavin nodded. “Sometimes… that is the Law. Quite often.”

  Hugon shook his head. “No, I will not believe that. No! If I thought thus… why, there’d be no use in poem-making, nor in love, nor in honor at all.”

  Kavin looked at him with a curious expression. “You’re a man of greater luck than mine, though I was the one the dragons gave luck. You’ll never rule men, or need to.” Hugon laughed. “Or want to. But Thuramon…”

  “I am myself again,” came Thuramon’s voice from the hatchway. He came, slowly, onto the deck; his face was very pale, and his eyes deeper set than before, but he seemed to be completely rational, at last.

  He held to a taut line for support, but stood; Gwynna rose
and went to his side, with a concerned look.

  “Thank you, lady,” Thuramon said, “but I need no more nursing.” His eyes rested on her, for a moment. “You did well and I thank you.” And now, he looked toward Kavin and laughed, in a curious way. “Your lady was also of much help to me, Prince. Especially while I spent a certain time wandering, half in this world and half in another, these last days.” He came forward and leaned on a rail, stroking his beard.

  “She was there, then,” Kavin said. “You saw her, as… as she was, when she was with me in the light of day?”

  “She was there,” Thuramon told him.

  “Hold,” Hugon cried out, and came to his feet, staring around. “I begin to feel most uneasy, friend wizard. That lady, now… if she is Kavin’s mistress that was, or a ghost that follows him now, or the Goddess herself…” He stopped, and grew a little paler. “I remember a voice that spoke to me in Koremon,” he said. “I thought it was the Goddess… not an invisible nymph.” He walked, uneasily, across the deck, his hands searching. “Which is she, then?”

  “You’ll not catch her that easily,” Kavin said, and laughed. “I could not. Yes, she’s the same. I have known her long… and yet not at all.” He spread his hands apologetically, and grinned at Hugon. “She may be the Goddess, for all I know. But each day I seem to learn something new about her, this matter of her passage into that place where Thuramon’s mind wandered last… that’s new, to me.”

  “I think you’re too inquisitive, sometimes, Hugon,” Gwynna said. “Even an invisible woman must be spied upon by you.” She giggled. “Could you but see yourself, feeling your way there, like a blind lecher…”

  Hugon turned, and glared at her.

  But before he could speak, Kavin cried out, loudly, “There!”

  Ahead and to port, a mountainous cape was rising, and farther, a line of breakers showed like a white glimmer on the horizon.

  “We’ll come ashore there, where there was a town… once.”

  Kavin’s voice was so strange that Hugon thought, for a moment, that he was about to choke on something; it was as though the words were forced past some obstruction.

  “It is Dorada,” Kavin said, and turned away, to stare up at the masthead.

  “Dorada?” Gwynna asked, looking after him.

  “Once, the people who are now the people of Koremon lived there,” Hugon told her. “A land called Dorada… Kavin’s birthplace. In the end, they all fled, Kavin leading them, and left Dorada empty, a desert. It’s all there in old songs… how the land was destroyed by war and plague.” He glanced aft, toward Kavin’s silent figure. “It will be strange for him, to see it again. Empty, for so long… though I have heard that men have returned there, in recent years. A few farmers and fishermen, it may be.”

  “But to go there, to such a place!” Gwynna’s eyes were wide. “To see one’s ancient home… like that! I couldn’t bear to see Armadoc so… why must we go by this route? Are there no other ways to that valley Thuramon seeks?”

  Hugon shrugged. “None shorter. Thuramon’s maps show a path, beyond Dorada and up into the mountains. The first time that journey was made, it took a long time; they went from Koremon inland.”

  “Poor Kavin,” Gwynna said.

  The breakers opened, and smooth water lay ahead now, a wide bay that ran inland, narrowing as it went. Low mountains ranged on either side, green with pines.

  Kavin had gone to stand beside Yorgan, at the steering staff; and Thuramon remained amidships with Hugon and Gwynna. Zamor came on deck, and saw the nearing land. He called out, toward the upper air, “Fraak, you scaly clown, return!”

  Fraak sailed down, and landed on the deck. Zamor regarded him with a grin.

  “Can you see the land, ahead there?” Zamor asked.

  Fraak rattled his wings, and settled himself. “I have been there, today!” he said. “There’s a man on the shore!”

  “I’d hope there’d be a number of them,” Zamor said. “We’ll need horses, and food. Hugon, is that place as empty as I’d heard it was, then?”

  “I don’t know,” Hugon said. He extended an arm, and Fraak leaped into his favorite position. Hugon grimaced. “Gods, the fish diet you’ve been on has given you both weight and…” He sniffed at Fraak’s triangular, fanged mouth. “Phew, a certain air as well.”

  “I like fish,” Fraak said.

  “There’s no doubt of that,” Hugon said. “But you’ll have to try another diet for a while; we’re faring inland.” He glanced shoreward thoughtfully. “You saw men on the shore, there? Fishermen, perhaps?”

  “One man, big, wearing scales like mine,” Fraak said. “He was Kavin.”

  Hugon’s head snapped round, and he regarded the dragonet with a puzzled look.

  “Kavin?”

  “He’s standing on the shore,” Fraak said, confidently.

  “No, he isn’t,” Hugon told him. “Look, there he is, on the deck above us.”

  Fraak allowed a thin eddy of smoke to curl from his nostrils, and opened his yellow eyes wide. Then he said, “He’s there, too.”

  “Wait, now,” Hugon said, and considered the matter. “You saw a man who looks just like the Prince, and he is standing on that shore beyond us?”

  “Just like,” Fraak said. “He wears scales, like me. But he’s very bad, the one there.”

  “Oh, he’s bad? Why? Did he shoot at you?”

  “No!” Fraak said. “He only stands, waiting, and looking out to sea. But he has no…” Fraak stopped, searching for the word. Then he emitted a rippling series of notes, in the dragon tongue. “He has none,” Fraak added. “I never saw a man who had none before. Except dead men.”

  “Thuramon?” Hugon called to the wizard, who turned toward him. “Listen to this. Fraak, what is that, the word you used? The thing you noticed about the man on shore?”

  Fraak uttered the notes again. “He had none,” Fraak repeated. “But he looks like Kavin, except that his hair is dark.”

  Thuramon bent a dark gaze on the little dragon, and his fingers touched his beard, pulling thoughtfully.

  “This man… who looks like Kavin,” Thuramon said. “He is alone?”

  “No, there are more like him, but little men, hairy,” Fraak said. “As many as…” He held up a clawed foot, and counted. “That many,” he said, extending all five claws. “They haven’t got any…” the musical phrase again”… either.”

  Thuramon glanced at Hugon and Gwynna. “He means a certain quality, an… object, which those men don’t possess,” the warlock said, in a tense voice. “Do you know what that is? No? I can’t find a word that describes it, except… a soul.” His eyes held Hugon’s. “That would be the common word, but it is inaccurate. A true self, the eternal and permanent reality of a man. And these men, who wait for us… yes, I think it is for us they wait. They have no souls. They are, in one sense dead. But they can move. And slay, I think.”

  The Virgin’s sail slatted as she came about. The bay had narrowed; a broad river entered, and the shore was green with trees and grass. Among the greenery, old walls stood, broken by time and nearly covered; and up river, there were roofs, a village of some sort.

  But there, on the bank, figures stood, still as statues. The foremost figure was a man, in a garment that seemed to shine with a coppery glow in the sunlight; it was too distant to see his face as yet. But he stood, with an inhuman stillness, waiting, as the ship drew nearer.

  FOURTEEN

  Gann waited, and watched the small vessel as it tacked toward the rivermouth. Wind driven, he thought. Nowhere in this world was there any power other than man’s muscle, the strength of beasts, and the force of wind and water. Weakness. That would change. Man was meant to bend the forces of nature to his will. The phrase echoed in Gann’s strange dead mind, a record of words heard long ago in another world.

  He felt the presence of the other, close now… so close that it was as if life flowed into him, out of that one, warming him, easing the pain that still burne
d in his flesh. He had known that the other would come here, and had traveled far, to this place, far and fast.

  There were only a few charges in the weapon, Gann thought. It was most necessary that the body of the Other not be damaged in any way; of course, the people with him were of no account in the matter. But at this range, accuracy might be difficult.

  And yet… the wind-driven ship was moving outward, toward the other shore, and up into the river. It was possible that the primitives aboard it feared strangers, and were fleeing him, Gann considered. He estimated the growing distance. The vessel must be brought closer.

  He lifted his arms and called, loudly, in the language he had learned from his human machines.

  “Ship!”

  Distantly, heads were visible at the rail. One of those was the Other, Gann knew, and the hunger welled within him. He cried out again.

  “It’s the Other,” Kavin said, in a low voice. “He that I saw lying in a tomb of ice, dead… my other self. Thuramon, it’s he!”

  “It is he,” Thuramon said, coldly. “Now I know what new tool Ess has sent against us.”

  “He is myself,” Kavin said, his eyes on the shore. “Myself!”

  “Yes,” Thuramon said. “In a certain sense. You owned that body once, and you left it; that which is truly yourself fled out of that flesh, and sought rebirth. But in that world, that body was not allowed to die completely. Against the Law of Life and Death, it was kept, half-living, as you saw it once before.”

  The ship was close to the high banks of the far shore, and Yorgan called out, to one of the other men, to keep watch as they moved. On the other bank, Gann walked with steady strides, keeping pace, while five shambling figures followed him.

  “He has acquired those poor creatures, too,” Thuramon said, almost to himself. “Made them…”

  “He is myself!” Kavin said, in a voice filled with agony. And suddenly, he clutched the bulwark, and lifted his body, half over the top rail; he twisted, swinging a leg over, ready to plunge into the river and swim to that bank.