Death's Collector

by Bill McCurry

  I felt Ralt slap my leg. “I’m up!”

  “Good! Time to leave!” I reached my left hand down, and he swung himself up behind me. His hand and sleeve were wet. I kicked my horse, and we left the giant Denzman behind. Another man was turning his horse to follow me but hadn’t quite made it around when I reached him. I cut him deep at the base of the skull. Then I was free.

  Some colossal thing slammed into me from the left, and I went down in a jumble of screaming men, shrieking horses, and rolling boulders. Oh, and lots of pain. I may have been screaming louder than anybody.

  I started to sit up, but my left arm, shoulder, and side weren’t ready for that maneuver. I suffered a quick sensation of my entire left side being a big pouch of broken glass. I tried to scream some more. That was a mistake. When I woke up again, not much time had passed, maybe a few seconds. Ralt was kneeling over me, and the left side of his face looked like it had been hit with an anvil. I felt shocked that he was upright, or even alive.

  “We got to hide,” he slurred. “Crawl at least, or them bastards will kill you.”

  I rolled onto my right side, trying not to shout, pass out, or die. On the way, I saw what had smashed us. A portion of rocky hillside had rolled down onto the trail and right into us. It wouldn’t have been too hard for a sorcerer to make that happen—just disintegrate a bit of the hill under it. Vintan was saving his power like a good, economical sorcerer. He hadn’t aimed his strike too carefully, though. I wasn’t dead yet, and the giant Denzman behind me was smashed under stones, along with his horse. I could see two more soldiers writhing on the ground like me, although I hoped they were hurt worse.

  My legs didn’t seem to be damaged, and Ralt helped me stand. I cried like an infant, but only once did I wake up with him holding me upright. We stumbled as fast as we could off the trail, and we might have outrun a toad, if it had been sick for several weeks. My perch was the best hiding spot around, so we went back up the slope at something between a stagger and a waddle. At the top, I reclined on my right arm and right buttock, and I thought of nothing but breathing and pain for a while.

  After a time, I looked out over the recent battlefield. The entire surviving Denzman force had crossed the river. Vintan was accompanied by fewer than two dozen soldiers and the prince.

  “It didn’t work,” I whispered. “What happened?”

  “Maybe everybody got smashed by rocks. That worked right good on us.” Ralt was still slurring his words, and his jaw must have been broken, maybe in more than one place.

  “There aren’t any rocks over where Desh was.”

  “Maybe he got smothered by dirt, or choked to death by vines. Or a pit of lava swallowed him up.”

  “Creative.” I stopped a scream by banging my right fist on the stone and crying a few tears. “You should have been a sorcerer.”

  “Hell no. I wouldn’t live your life for all the whores in the Empire.”

  I blinked away tears and looked harder at the spot where Desh had been stationed. I hadn’t remembered that gap in the trees. “I don’t know whether Desh survived—”

  An enormous rumbling and crashing of rocks interrupted me. It sounded like a far more colossal event than the one that had done me in. I couldn’t see the Denzmen anymore, nor could I see what was happening with the rocks, but soon veils of dust rose from some place on the trail south of us, the direction Vintan had been going. The chalky scent of pulverized rock drifted around us.

  “It’s so unfair,” Limnad said as she appeared from over the rocks. “He’s killed you, and there’s nothing left for me to torture.”

  “If you’re that sad about it, you could heal me”—I drew a shallow breath—“and kill me later when I’m in good shape.”

  “It’s not that unfair. You could use your last command and tell me to help you.”

  I gave her a rough grin with the good half of my face. “To have you save my life so you can kill me? Sounds a poor bargain.”

  “Very well. I’ll just sit here.” Limnad sat and leaned over to stare at me, her nose just a few inches from my cheek. “Try to scream some more—it’s terribly entertaining.”

  “What happened?” I wheezed three times and caught my breath. “Did you get the boy to Desh?”

  She looked at me like I was a boy eating his own snot. “Of course I did! I brought him to the appointed place and laid him gently, like a quail’s egg, at Desh’s feet. Then I retired, having completed my task.”

  “And?”

  Limnad whispered into my ear, “Do you command me to tell you?”

  “No.” I shook my head a fraction and winced.

  “I’ll tell you anyway, since it will cause you distress.” The spirit rushed around the clearing, acting out her story. “Desh led the boy away from the river to your horses, where they mounted and began riding away. Suddenly, the boy’s saddle fell right off his horse, and he was thrown.”

  I closed my eyes. “It just fell off?”

  “It just fell off. It fell off after a nice sorcerer, who never has enslaved me, disintegrated the cinch. Did you know that you’re facing a Breaker? You would never have defeated a sorcerer who can simply make things not exist. Just command me to kill you now. If you command it, I may kill you without much pain.”

  “Not much pain?”

  “Very well, not as much pain. The second most painful way I can imagine in which to kill you.”

  “Some time I’d like to hear about”—I drew in a tiny, tiny breath—“the most painful way. But not now.”

  “The prince’s horse ran on, and before Desh could return, the sorcerer created a pit under the prince, as deep as two men are tall, and he fell in. Then this very fine and moral sorcerer disintegrated Desh’s clothes and dropped seven trees on him.”

  “Seven? Is he dead?”

  “They might not all have fallen directly onto him. They did block his way back to the pit. I last saw his torn and naked self hurrying away as if pursued by… well, by a sorcerer who can disintegrate things.”

  “Do you know what happened to Ella? And Stan?”

  “No, my command had nothing to do with them. Why would I think of them at all unless I had to? That’s an odd notion.”

  I lay my head against the rock and ignored everything except trying to breathe as little as possible. After doing that for a while, maybe minutes or even an hour, Ralt said, “There they are.”

  Across the river, Ella and Stan were riding at a walk down the trail toward us. Desh sat behind Ella, his arms wrapped around her waist and his head flopped to the side. Stan was leaning forward over his horse’s neck. I watched until they entered the river, said to hell with them, and lay my head back down.

  I may no longer possess a young man’s hearing, but I heard Ella just fine from the trail below us. “This is truly the summit of preposterous conduct! Is it not enough that we are defeated, that we have lost the prince, and that sorcery has brought down a barricade to forestall us?”

  Ralt had walked down the slope to meet her. “We hid up here, miss. Like a brace of half-chewed rabbits.”

  “Ralt, what happened to your face?”

  “Some sorcerer hit me in the face with a mountain. Or a hill. Same thing when you’re hit in the face with it.”

  “Sorcerer! We had a sorcerer, but it made little difference. He was apparently occupied with tossing his sword onto the ground and wandering away.” She marched into view carrying my stupid god-named sword, stopped, and stared at me. She had a deep gash still trickling on the side of her face, and maybe other wounds under all the blood. “Is he alive?”

  “I’m alive,” I said. “Don’t ask me to dance tonight, though.”

  She knelt next to me and reached out to touch my crushed arm.

  “Stop!” I said that with a little too much force, causing me to once again bang my fist against my friend, the stone. I made myself breathe just enough to stay alive. “You can touch me if you’d like to see me cry and pass out. If that doesn’t interest you, hands t
o yourself.”

  She reached out with one hand, not much faster than a weed grows, and pressed it to the right side of my face.

  I asked her, “How badly are you hurt?”

  “Bah. I’ve been more grievously wounded by five-year-olds.”

  “Everybody else?”

  “Stan was wounded in the shoulder, and it’s still seeping blood.” She glanced back at Stan lying flat on the ground and Ralt kneeling beside him. “I cannot believe Ralt still lives. It wouldn’t surprise me if he expires any minute. And Desh… Desh ran unclothed through thorny tree branches to escape and is covered in dozens of scratches, some quite deep. His intimate areas have been not only scratched but also torn, and he is suffering cruelly.” She used her sleeve to pat some of the sweat off my face. The gesture might have been more benevolent if her sleeve hadn’t been sticky with drying blood. “Bib, you’re dying.”

  I winked. “Limnad is planning the party. You should attend. Ought to be a jubilee.”

  Ella sat back and sighed. “Stop joking.”

  “You wouldn’t recognize me if I stopped.”

  She nodded at my good hand. “Can you save everyone, as you did with Desh’s leg?”

  “In theory… maybe.” This conversation was getting more serious than the actual dying part.

  “Desh told me about your open-ended debt.”

  “That little pissant… if I could stand up, I’d go over there… and tear the rest of his dick off… He had no right to tell you that.”

  “He did, however. To save us, you would have to pay something worse than your current debt, which is frightful. Is that correct? But tell me honestly, would a new debt be worse than death, and the deaths of your companions?”

  Sorcerers despise being questioned about their debts. By questioning me, Ella would normally be strolling between a cliff’s edge and a wall of fire. However, right then, I couldn’t credibly threaten a fly with one wing, so she wasn’t risking anything. “What could be worse? Ella, in the past few days… I’ve planned to kill you… to make a deal with the gods. Twice.”

  Ella sat back on her heels. “Why aren’t I dead?”

  “I didn’t end up making those deals.”

  She grasped my non-destroyed hand. “Then it doesn’t matter.”

  That was the stupidest statement I’d heard in days. “But I planned to kill you.”

  “But you didn’t kill me. If you had truly been willing to kill me, you would have struck one of those bargains and I would be dead. Bib, you rarely do anything you do not wish to do.”

  I thought about that ridiculous bullshit for a few moments. “Damn it. If I could breathe deeper, I’d call you names… so horrible you’d still be crying about it on your deathbed… Hand me that sword.”

  I faded up into nothingness, wondering whether I could think of something clever to say to Harik. Or maybe I should have just evenly divided up all the good things in my life and told him to pick the pile he wanted.

  Fifteen

  My friends used to tell me how lucky I was to be a sorcerer. They weren’t sorcerers themselves, but they imagined how much fun it must be to do whatever I please. They wanted to know all about how I conjured up as much gold as I fancied and charmed any woman I wanted to bed. I was a fortunate man, because I could do any outrageous or perilous thing I wished, and if something went wrong, I could just call on a god to fix it.

  This went on for a while, and then I decided to have a lot fewer friends. No, I didn’t kill them. They annoyed me, but they weren’t entirely wrong, which annoyed me even more.

  I would have died quite a few times had I not been a sorcerer. I have employed magic to escape otherwise inescapable death, and to pull my smashed-up body back together when, in any sane world, I would have bled to death.

  On the other hand, if I hadn’t been born a sorcerer, I wouldn’t be out here in the armpit of the world. I’d be home in Ir, fishing every day and arguing with my neighbors every night. The worst thing I’d need to escape from would be a pissed-off bartender who wanted his money.

  But life happened the way it happened, and I have taken advantage of every reward and liberty that sorcery had to offer. I’ve paid what the gods haggled out of me, and if I regretted the price, then that’s too bad. Nobody ever made me do magic. I decided to all on my own.

  So, as I rose up from my wrecked body, I reminded myself that I was the author of whatever happened next. If the end had finally come, then at least I’d have one more chance to call Harik a mincing, flap-tongued ass.

  The first thing I noticed upon being fully enveloped in nothingness was that all pain had vanished. I had expected that. Wounds and diseases had never made this journey with me. I then noticed that the whole lot of nothingness persisted even though I’d been holding the sword before I came here.

  “Mighty Harik, whose terrifying chin causes orphans to weep, I come to trade.” It was foolish, but I couldn’t resist goading him about his chin. What kind of sorcerer would I be if I let imminent death make me timid? I imagined drawing my sword from its scabbard, and a moment later the sunshine, the trees, the bright pavilion, and the gods appeared around me.

  “Harik is not here.”

  “Krak,” I whispered. The word was an oath, an observation, and a form of address all in one. The Father of the Gods glowered down at me, dominating the entire pavilion even though he wasn’t much taller than the others. Gorlana sat at his feet. So did Harik, who was sitting right there no matter what Krak said, and who looked like a child whose favorite toy had been confiscated.

  Krak’s head was large and majestic, presumably to hold all that omniscience, and his hands were massively sinewed, the better to exercise omnipotence. He appeared mature in his perfect white robe, and he wore a noble, aggressive beard. He looked like someone’s eldest uncle who happened to exude the vigor of twenty men.

  “What the hell kind of sorcerer are you? You may address me as Father Krak. And be damned sure I hear a capital F when you say Father.”

  Not many sorcerers cared to deal with Krak. This awful beginning was typical of why they didn’t. I tried to put that behind me and focus. “Yes, Father Krak.”

  “That’s a pathetic effort, but I’ll accept it for now. What do you want? And be quick about it. I’m renovating.”

  “I need to heal some people on the other side, so…”

  “Really?” Krak leaned forward. “That’s a distressing situation, I’m led to understand. I can see why you need help. I understand your problem, but I asked what you want. I did not ask about your problem, nor do I give two shits and a bucket of doorknobs about your problem! Tell me what you want or stop wasting my time! I’m the Father of the Gods, you insignificant grease spot!” Krak’s voice assaulted me with the power of a hurricane.

  “I want four squares of power.”

  “All right. What will you pay for them?”

  I stuck to my rule about never making the first offer. “With respect, I ask you to please make the first offer.”

  Krak said nothing.

  “Father, he is willful and disrespectful.” Harik showed no sign that he knew I was listening. “However, he may have some good trades left in him.”

  “Shut up!” Krak said.

  I said, “Father Krak? Are you there?”

  After some more silence, Krak said, “Do I understand correctly that you came here not knowing what you will pay? Do you even know what you want to do with this power?”

  “I do know.” Maybe a little flattery would help. “Of course, I can’t know a sliver of what you could teach the wisest—”

  “Quiet,” Krak whispered.

  “Father, let me talk to him,” Harik said.

  Krak relaxed his fist and a speck of the impossibly searing light of the sun escaped. My eyes experienced a stabbing pain all the way to the back of my skull. Harik went pale. Krak closed his fist and said, “I am not in the business of teaching. I do not provide advice or plans or consultation. I do not render opinions for
mortals, nor do I review their pathetic ideas. I do not tell the future, comment on the past, or give directions to the tavern. I deal in power, and only in power! Do you understand me?”

  By now, Krak was thundering again.

  “Yes…”

  “Now.” Krak sounded reasonable and even businesslike. “Since you have asked me to make an offer, I will offer an observation. Please note that this is neither instruction nor advice.”

  “Yes, Father Krak?” This was about the most horribly screwed-up deal I’d ever seen, but maybe I could salvage something.

  “Although you will certainly find it difficult, you should attempt to understand that the gods do not exist to pluck ignorant mortals out of the quagmires of peril into which they deposit themselves through their willful, foolish behavior. You did it to yourself. Get out of it yourself. It is not my problem. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father Krak.”

  “Good! And be sure to tell all your friends.”

  I slammed back into my body, then jerked by reflex, tried to scream, clamped down on the scream, and started coughing. When I woke up, Ella was wiping blood off my mouth.

  “And that’s why nobody wants to deal with Krak,” I whispered.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said.

  “Not important.”

  “Are you leaving to secure power now?” She smiled. “To pick blackberries?”

  “Already been there. The bushes are bare.”

  “Is there nothing to be done then?”

  I caught myself before I shook my head. “No. If the gods’ world was a tavern… I’d be facedown in the muddy ditch out front.”

  “I shall wait with you.” She took the sword from me and paused. “This sword has a god name. Can it bestow power on you? Can it heal?”

  I had wondered about that a couple of days earlier and explored the idea. “Not unless I can use it to thrash Harik until he cries and gives me power… it’s just a piece of steel.”