But the barbarian was furious, having fumed for weeks at the jeers Delmar pitched his way. It was inevitable that tempers would explode into flame.
Dark Delmar stamped his heavy boots down near Sunbright’s toes to distract him, or else cripple him given the chance. The barbarian danced nimbly backward, but Delmar added a savage right hook at Sunbright’s ribs. Sunbright was rocked half off his feet by the tremendous blow.
Merchants, bodyguards, cooks, and others—including Knucklebones—circled to watch and cheer and slap down bets. The caravan came to an abrupt halt on the woodland road, a good fight livening up an overcast summer afternoon. The only one not thrilled was Knucklebones, who held one hand over her mouth and tried not to scream. At Sunbright.
Crooked to one side by aching ribs, Sunbright guarded his left and whirled to present his right. He learned fast, and as Delmar repeated his trick of stamping before punching, Sunbright beat him to it. A fast right smashed into Delmar’s brow and glanced off, dinging a swatch off the barbarian’s knuckle.
Delmar had flipped his head aside, missing most of the blow, but his bruised eyebrow and eyelid began to swell immediately, cutting off vision in that eye. “Lucky!” he sneered, and made to stamp again.
He changed tactics, so his offhand strove for his foe’s brisket. The wooden fist slammed into Sunbright’s belly, but that was hard as iron plate itself and did little damage. Rather, the barbarian hammered both fists onto Delmar’s neck and knocked the man into the dust.
Delmar crashed, but he didn’t stay down, vulnerable to kicks, for long. Flailing his hands blindly, he caught one of Sunbright’s moosehide boots, hooked his fingers into the iron rings, and yanked.
Upset, the warrior crashed on his rump. His long red shirttail flew up, entangling his fists. Humping on his belly, Delmar tried to punch Sunbright between the legs. The barbarian barely flicked his knee sideways, kicked and flopped like a fish ashore, and rolled over his shoulder backward to get away. By the time he was upright and shaking dust from his face, Delmar had risen and charged.
The wrangler’s shoulder slammed Sunbright across the hips, cannoning him backward. Hoisted in the air, Sunbright rammed a horse’s ribs with his spine. The frightened beast whinnied and hopped, almost stamped Sunbright’s toes with iron-shod hooves. Delmar dug his toes in the road to slam his shoulder tighter into Sunbright’s breastbone, crowding and mashing his foe while he pounded hammy fists into the shaman’s guts again and again. Sunbright could barely keep his feet as the horse danced sideways, unpropping him. If he fell, Delmar would land on top and pound his face to jelly.
Tightening his gut, Sunbright felt berserker rage flooding his mind, and, for once, let it come. He was glad to be clobbering someone after weeks of ragging and teasing from Delmar and his friends, was thrilled to get in some abuse of his own. Aiming with savage glee, he bashed Delmar’s ears, jaw, and temples, almost popping his own knuckles on both hands.
Then someone grabbed the horse’s reins and tugged the beast to safety. Sunbright reeled backward with Delmar still punishing his breadbasket. Both men tripped and tumbled. Sunbright managed to shove Delmar to one side while he fell to the other. He landed hard on one cheek, rattling his teeth and jolting his spine, but curled and spun and whirled to face his attacker immediately.
Just in time. Sunbright almost snapped his own neck ducking his head, and felt a thunderous fist scrape his cheek. Since Delmar was leaning right, Sunbright threw out his right arm to bowl the man further. Yet Delmar hooked his hand around Sunbright’s neck, latched onto his long horsetail, and yanked viciously. Neck creaking, Sunbright’s nose was mashed against Delmar’s hairy forearm. Not wasting the chance, Sunbright bit on ropy muscle with keen, white teeth.
Delmar howled, tried to yank the horsetail again, but had to let go for pain. Losing his temper further, the wrangler drove the heel of his free hand at Sunbright’s face to break his nose.
But the barbarian ducked, relying on nimbleness to save himself against the heavier man. Lashing out with both hands pointed, he struck Delmar’s throat with fingertips like blunt spears. The big man’s howl was cut off as he gagged. Yet he resisted doubling over into more blows; instead he snapped his head back. That suited Sunbright, who rammed the heel of his own hand upward from near the ground. Catching Delmar’s chin, he banged the man’s mouth shut with a frightful clack of bruised teeth. Stunned, the wrangler took three awkward steps backward, and crashed on his back.
Still raging, Sunbright hopped after him, and landed with both moosehide-booted feet on Delmar’s belly. Shouting a war whoop, he jumped viciously on his fallen foe’s belly, and nearly ruptured the wrangler’s guts. Despite being stunned, Delmar folded in half around Sunbright’s big foot, but the barbarian kicked free, hopped back, and aimed to kick the man’s head off. Dimly he heard his lover cry, “Sunbright, no!”, but he never paused.
Nor did he complete the kick. A noose sailed from overhead, dropped around his shoulders, snuggled around his elbows, and snapped tight. Someone strong tugged hard, and he crashed on his rump for the third time, and found it sore. He was dragged backward as if hitched to a horse, then someone grabbed his horsetail and slammed his head to the ground. A painful jolt shot through his skull as gravel bit his scalp.
Struggling to get loose, Sunbright found a large boot pinning his chest. Aselli, caravan mistress, was silhouetted against the gray sky. In her hand bobbed an axe handle, inches from Sunbright’s forehead.
“Lie still and settle down, northman,” Aselli growled, “or I’ll crease your skull, and leave you for the wolves.”
Helpless, Sunbright laid still. Knucklebones crouched beside his head, searched for permanent damage, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye for shame.
Actually, now that battle-rage had left him, he was ashamed of himself. He shouldn’t have been prodded into a brawl. Fighting for pride was stupid, and for the moment, so was he.
Aselli stamped off, ordering Jun to plant his boot on Sunbright’s chest. A moment later, the caravan mistress returned, lugging Sunbright’s satchels, sword, and tackle. She dropped them in the dust, fished in a purse, counted out seven silver crowns, and sprinkled them over the pile. Her white-framed face was grim. “We’ll go on, but you lie quiet. If we see you follow, we’ll play at target practice. I’ve stomached your stiff-necked pride and bristly hide too long. We’re close enough to Quagmire that I don’t need a pigheaded bodyguard who picks fights.”
“It wasn’t I who sneered—”
“Save it! If I want an argument, I’ll visit my daughters-in-law. Give me back my rope, and don’t act cute, or I’ll coldcock you.”
Relieved of boot and rope, Sunbright remained lying in the road with elbows propped. He and Knucklebones watched the dazed Delmar muscled up and across a mule. Aselli called, “Get ’em goin’!”, and the caravan plodded down the road. No one looked back at the barbarian and thief.
When the wagons rounded a bend under green, leafy oak trees, Sunbright picked himself up, and dusted himself off. Limping from hammered and sprained muscles, he trudged to a roadside stream, washed his face and hands, and slaked his thirst. Then he strapped on his tackle.
“I hope you’re happy.” They were Knucklebones’s first words in a long while. “We don’t get pitched out of enough taverns and marketplaces and towns, and now you’ve been chucked off a caravan. What’s your object? To aggravate every human being in the empire so you can become a hermit in some mountain cave?”
A slight exaggeration, but only just. Since leaving the Iron Mountains last winter, the pair had wandered north, and worked as needed. Sunbright had gathered game, split wood, hammered rock in a quarry. Nimble-fingered Knucklebones had gambled, assisted a jeweller, told fortunes with knucklebones at fairs, and cut purses from the belts of rich folk when Sunbright wasn’t looking. Gradually they’d drifted toward the Narrow Sea, barrier to the tundra, but often dallied rather than face the fact that they couldn’t find what they sought. And now they were bere
ft again, and alone.
“I didn’t start anything. Delmar and his cronies have been mocking my accent and clothes and weapons for weeks.”
“Stop it,” the thief snapped. “You whine like a child. If you were among your tribespeople, they’d probably cut out your tongue.”
“Well, we’re not amongst my people! And we never will be!” Sunbright roared back.
That was the problem, of course. In all their travels, asking everyone they met, they had found no sign of the Rengarth Barbarians. Cut off from his people and heritage, frustrated by not being able to return, though he risked death in doing so, Sunbright had grown increasingly irascible and taciturn. He would brood the day long, and never speak a word to Knucklebones.
And she? She trod alongside, steadfast and quiet, usually biting her tongue, but occasionally lashing out. Though she never said so, if anyone should feel cut off from their heritage, it was she, who wouldn’t even be born for over three hundred years yet, and had seen her beloved city crumble to dust, utterly and irretrievably lost in the dim future. Sunbright at least had a tribe, even if they were lost somewhere in the wide world. She had nothing, not a friend besides him, not a relative, not a home or hope of one. Sometimes, late at night, when the barbarian was asleep, she wept, not for lack of love, but for loneliness.
Sunbright tugged the last of his straps tight, and slung the blanket roll to his shoulder. “Never mind arguing. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Startled from her reverie, the phrase popped out. Unable to stop, Knucklebones lifted idle hands at the empty road and woods. “Where shall we go? Where in the whole world is a place for us?”
Sunbright stared around gloomily, then let his blanket roll fall to the dust. He had no answer.
* * * * *
Deep in a steaming swamp, where the slimy water ran so deep even the giant lizards couldn’t walk on the bottom, a hissing and boiling commenced.
Eels and bass stirred from the muck at the bottom, sensed the water heating unnaturally, and finned away. A heron flapping lazily overhead swooped to spear a perch, but found the thing dying, parboiled. The white bird sheared on thermals rising from the water. Other birds scattered from cypress and pine trees at the disturbance. A troop of dimetrodons sunning in shallow water plucked their feet from mud, lowered their rainbow sails, and swished out of the water, leaving wavy tail marks behind. Some creatures spiraled in, for where there was distress, careless animals were apt to become food. Ravens flapped in to watch, and smaller dinosaurs with foxy manners minced over ferns to wait, and pounce.
The water at the center of the bog swirled and churned, until a fountain of boiling water rose the height of a man. Ripples shook the water so hard that an errant bog hound, created long ago for some lost purpose, stirred in nearby reeds, tried to creep off from its secluded day bed, but stricken by sunlight, reverted to a lifeless pile of straw and mud that crumbled back to the earth.
Higher the boiling column rose, until it was three times the height of a man. Murky spray scattered rainbows. Birds lifted from trees and wheeled away. The dimetrodons turned droopy eyes upon the phenomenon, but made no other move except to twitch their tails from the hot water. Fish killed by heat floated to the surface, and flies swarmed onto them.
Then the water column abruptly collapsed. Murky water swirled in contradictory patterns, then settled. A streaming V marked the progress of something plodding through muck and weed, aiming for shore. The V narrowed gradually, and the creature’s head broke water.
A skull: dark as flint, no hair, no ears, no eyelids, no lips, no nose, a block of stone poorly hacked into the shape of a human head. A thin neck of stone glistened wetly, then a wide-shouldered frame that canted to one side as if made misshapen. Prominent ribs and a pinched waist, bony pelvis without genitals, matchstick legs. Arms were two different lengths, but both sported long, black claws harder than diamonds. Feet were splayed lumps.
The flint monster gained the shore, and sank ankle-deep in ooze from its great weight. Water dried in the hot sun, but its hide still glinted and sparkled from impacted minerals. Below staring blue eyes, the gash of a mouth, like a ragged cut in steel, opened to breathe. And chortle for the first time in ages.
“Free! Finally free!” A croak like a tortured hinge. “Free to gain revenge … to slay my enemies. To slay anyone who opposes me!”
Casting about, the monster pointed a long-fingered hand at the sleepy dimetrodons, who looked on unimpressed. There came a flash and a crackle, and an icicle flew from its fingertips to lodge in the ribs of the nearest dinosaur. The stung animal hopped, bellowed, and roared. It snapped its head around to bite at the offending missile, but the ice spear had already melted, leaving a wound that bled furiously. The stricken animal mewed.
“You like that?” cackled the flint monster. “Here’s more!”
Pointing mismatched hands, the fiend made icicles fly into the hapless dinosaurs, who hooted and mewled in pain and outrage. Icy lances thudded into ribs, flanks, and necks. Rainbow sails arching over gray-green backs were punctured in a dozen places so blood ran down their spines. One big bull that snapped at the attacker had an icicle fly down its throat, puncturing its lungs and heart. The monster kept conjuring icicles and sending them into the dinosaurs’ bodies until the animals were reduced to heaps of green scales, spattered with blood that drew flies.
Still, the horror hadn’t killed enough. Raising clawed hands, it sent a blast of darkbolt sizzling into the top of a red pine that exploded needles in all directions. A hawk circling nearby dropped as a gobbet of burned feathers. Insects, an old tortoise, primitive rose bushes, all were frozen or burned or blasted into scraps.
And above all the noise, screams, and crackling of flames scratched the creaky laugh of the monster. “Yes, death to all that oppose me! Death to all that live! But death to Sunbright and all the rest first!”
* * * * *
The end of summer found Sunbright and Knucklebones standing under a line of drowsy birch trees where the river known simply as the Watercourse had undercut the bank, so some trees hung precariously with their tops brushing the rippling water. The river spilled into the Narrow Sea a few leagues north, and that was the last barrier to the tundra. Yet Sunbright hadn’t the heart to go on, so they’d camped.
“But where next?” asked Knucklebones, though she knew the answer.
“Nowhere,” was the gloomy reply. “Or anywhere. Being free means you can go wherever you wish. Like a child’s kite rising on the wind. We wander just as aimlessly.”
“We need lodging for the winter.”
“Pick a direction.”
Knucklebones sighed. How much more lassitude and despair could she stomach? His heartsickness was contagious, and her days were gloomy. She loved him, would stay for good or ill, but lately her mind betrayed her own heart, whispered she’d be better off by herself. Somewhere else. Alone.
Sunbright looked out over the river, watched a kingfisher dive like a spear and spring back up. The struggling bird and flapping fish spiraled up over the forest. Idly, Sunbright tracked them.
“That’s a male kingfisher living in those elms. The sunfish school in the shallows, feeding on minnows come sporting from under the bank to seek sunlight, for blue flies hover over the water. The water’s half salt and half fresh, so the two cultures mingle here before us. Handy things for a shaman to know, no? Would I could tell my tribe.”
“It’s not good enough to talk to me?” Knucklebones was bored enough to pick a fight, and hurt that his idle thoughts excluded her.
Sunbright sat on the grassy bank with his back to a birch. “No,” he told her, “I enjoy talking to you, but you must be powerful sick of my useless chatter.”
That statement struck so close to the heart that Knucklebones blinked. To cover her confusion, she fussed with her brass knuckles, shining them with spit and her thumb. “No,” she said, “it’s just—Aren’t there other tribes of barbarians?”
“One. The Angardts dwell
on the plains below Redguard Lake, near the Far Horns Forest, but we split from them ages ago. They adopted magic, taboo to my people. The feud ran bloody and long, and finally they retreated south. Were I to approach, I’d be skinned alive. Funny, considering how I’ve learned to use magic.”
“I thought shamanism wasn’t magic, but—I don’t know—a gift from the gods?”
“From the Earthmother, and the land itself. A little magic is acceptable, such as healing and blessing weapons and homes and crops, but were I to conjure a storm, say, many would take it amiss. I could be stoned to death, or buried alive, or staked out and sacrificed. Still, my father could call the spirits of the dead, even elementals. My grandfather could shapeshift to mimic Brother Seal and Grandfather Walrus … but I ramble.”
“It’s interesting,” Knucklebones insisted. “It’s just—it’s been so long since you talked at all.”
Sunbright nodded absently, plucked grass and sucked the stem, and said, “You bring out the best in me, Knuckle’, though I’ve been poor company lately. It’s just that I need my people. Without them I can’t get on with my life. I’m as dead as an uprooted tree. Not much comfort for you.”
Knucklebones refrained from chiding, just tried to keep them talking. Yet she had no plans of her own, and his were frustrated, so there seemed little to discuss.
Then the man blasted the mood by adding, “Greenwillow was good for me too. She kept me levelheaded and busy, applying and testing myself.”
“I don’t want—” Knucklebones’s temper flared, but she bit her words back. She was tired of his singing the praises of a dead lover. Still, better he talked, and she suffered in silence. “Tell me about her.”
“Well … she was a lot like you.”
“What?” This was news. “How can she, a high-caste elven warrior from the forest be anything like me, an orphaned sewer rat with one eye?”
Mortal Consequences Page 5
