The creature in question emitted a resentful hoot.
Gyllana moved closer to the cage. "It seems harmless," she said.
"Remind me," the thief said, "to tell you about a fellow I knew whose last words were exactly those you just spoke. It is a tale rich in tragedy and irony." He strode toward the staircase, saying over his shoulder, "Much like my life."
Behind him, he heard the woman and the man cooperating to detach the cage from its hook, but heard no screams of agony or fright as he went down and out onto the main street. They joined him moments later, and set the cage on the ground. Raimeau found a stick and used it to work the catch, until the barred door fell open. The thing inside blinked its huge amber-colored eyes as if the light hurt them, but worked its way through the opening. It gave another hoot, this one sounding like a question, then unfurled a pair of complexly folded wings into a surprisingly wide span, launched itself into the air, and flew slowly up the street, gradually gaining height. At the end of the block, it wheeled to the right, caught a thermal, and rose into the upper air.
Krunzle had not bothered to watch it go, once he saw that it was not about to throw itself at him. He looked downslope, into the town—or what remained of it. Boss Ulm's saloon and bordello were now blazing, throwing up a thick column of dense smoke that flattened as it climbed into the still air. Sparks and flaming debris filtered down from the black mushroom, and smaller, secondary fires were kindling themselves on shingle roofs and in the curtains of open windows.
Krunzle thought the town could have been saved from a general conflagration if Boss Ulm had ever invested in a fire-wagon, and if anyone cared enough about Ulm's Delve to remain in the vicinity of a well-muscled young troll who was going from building to building, swinging his hammer at any architectural feature that caught his eye. It seemed to Krunzle that the troll was experimenting with different methods of using the tool. As the three outside the wizard's house watched, Skanderbrog swung the hammer to his left, then allowed its momentum to spin him around in a full circle, his feet leaving the ground, his arm straightening, so that the great iron head came swinging around with even more force. The effect of the maneuver was to snap with one blow a pair of heavy posts that supported the second-floor balcony of an establishment whose facade-wide frame advertised it as Madam Proserpe's Palace of Pleasure.
The balcony collapsed, taking most of the building's front with it. The troll moved on to the next structure which, fortunately for Krunzle and his companions, was downhill. He spied a water barrel and flung the chisel right through it, following up with a leap and a diagonal hammer strike that splintered the oak staves like kindling. Krunzle almost felt sympathy for Grunchum and Brugga, the trolls that had denied Skanderbrog a place to lay his head in what trolls considered comfort.
In the farther distance, where the edge of town met the stump field, the mud road was packed with former residents of Ulm's Delve. The more fortunate were fleeing on horseback or in wagons; a few pushed wheelbarrows or pulled carts piled with their possessions; some carried packs or shouldered duffel bags; many fled with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, though perhaps there was a poke of gold dust or a nugget secreted on their persons.
But one thing they all had in common: they were consigning Ulm's Delve to memory. And, between Skanderbrog's hammer and the fire, soon that would be all that remained of the gold camp. Krunzle watched the progress of the troll and the multitude for a moment, then turned and looked uphill. In that direction, the town's buildings petered out, as did the road. There was a trail that paralleled the gold stream along the gorge and into the canyon that the river had cut through the slope of boulders and smaller stones.
"That way," said the thief. He saw no other refugees going in the same direction. He sniffed the air and caught a familiar scent. "Horses. Let's find them."
Behind the buildings on the west side of the street they found a corral with a half-dozen horses in it, all of them wild-eyed from the smell of smoke—and probably, thought Krunzle, of excited troll. Their owners must have been downhill when Skanderbrog came up out of the gorge, and had not thought it worthwhile to risk passing the troll twice to collect their mounts and flee northward with the rest of the population. Another horse can be found anywhere, but once a person's head has become troll candy, no replacement is available.
They found tack and saddles in a storage shed and spent some time calming and readying the horses. Gyllana turned out to be an asset at this, far more so than Raimeau, whom she had to help. Krunzle used a familiar technique, rendering his mount more afraid of him at close range than of fire and troll at a distance. He climbed into the saddle, saw the woman already mounted and calming down the sorrel mare she had chosen. Raimeau was hopping one-legged in a circle, his black gelding going around in the same direction. At some point, the string of the isinglass that he had slung over his shoulder snapped, and the glass shattered as it struck the hard earth.
Krunzle felt a flash of irritation from the back corridors of his mind. No use trying to follow Berbackian? he thought.
It will just be more difficult, said the snake. Now let us move.
Gyllana nudged her horse over to Raimeau's skittish animal and blocked its motion long enough for the gray-haired man to step up and swing a long leg over. He looked down at the splinters of glass and said, "I'm sorry."
Krunzle had chosen a deep-chested roan. He kneed it toward the corral's gate, reached down and lifted up the loop of hide rope that fastened the opening to a post. He nudged his horse out, carrying his end of the gate a short distance, then dropped the rope as the three riderless animals pushed forward and forced the barrier wide open. They raced away toward the boulder-strewn slope south of town, and the three travelers let their mounts follow. In moments, they were clear of what had been Ulm's Delve and were climbing among the rocks, the stream tumbling down beside their right hands.
At a place where the streamside trail curved in a way that would cut off their view of the gold camp, Krunzle reined in and looked back. The wooden buildings, many of them smashed by Skanderbrog, were well alight, the flames leaping from roof to roof and from one debris pile to another. Smoke rose thick and high, and the sound of the conflagration had progressed from a crackle to a roar.
Raimeau pulled up behind Krunzle and craned his neck to look. He voiced a single syllable expressive of wonder tinged with dismay, then turned back to the thief. "I guess that's that," he said.
"A good guess," said Krunzle.
Gyllana was bringing up the rear. She did not bother to look back. "Berbackian," she said, "is not lollygagging and ogling the scenery. Let us get a move on."
"Let me make sure of the troll's route," said the thief. His gaze moved over the smoke-obscured landscape. After a while he saw Skanderbrog, chisel and hammer in hand, making his way through the stump field. The troll was heading east at a measured pace. "Good enough," said Krunzle. He dug his heels into the horse's ribs and took the curve in the southbound trail.
The canyon wound upward, following the course of the river, until it gradually widened and finally debouched upon a plateau. The three travelers paused to scan the ground ahead, but saw nothing to give immediate concern. The terrain here was flat grassland, dotted with pockets of scrub and gorse, with only a gentle upward slope trending toward another set of hills and then a range of mountains. Some of the peaks had a disturbingly conical shape to them.
"Volcanoes," Raimeau said, when Krunzle pointed this out. "There are several up this way."
"Are they active or dormant?" the thief asked. He peered and was glad to see no plumes of smoke or ash, but knew that an absence of either was no guarantee.
"It is best to assume they are all active," said the gray-haired man. "Volcanoes are remarkably heedless of the interests of passersby. When they go, they go without a by-your-leave."
Krunzle swore again. One of the peaks in the drawing Chirk had had him study was conical. To Raimeau he said, "Are you knowledgeable about such thin
gs?"
"I spent most of my life at sea," the other said, "much of it on a ship whose captain kept a library. He let me read widely."
Gyllana urged her mare forward. "We should get along. We can tell our life stories later, around the campfire."
"I'm sure yours is riveting," said Krunzle, but he went where she led, Raimeau again bringing up the rear.
They rode through the afternoon, following the beaten-earth trail across the grassland. In places, it would fork and then Chirk would urge Krunzle to left or right. By the time evening's shadows were stretching out, they came to a broad hollow with a wide, shallow lake covering its bottom, the edges lined with reeds. The trail skirted the shore on the water's east side and took them past several spots where travelers had camped and built fires. At one of these that offered a sheltering stand of trees, a ready-made fire-ring, and some lengths of logs arranged for sitting, Krunzle said, "This looks like a place to stop for the night."
Raimeau stepped down from his horse, produced a small folding knife, and explained its provenance: "Mordach's. I thought it would come in handy." He went among the trees and came back with a sapling, spent a couple of minutes working on it, then strode down to the reedy shallows carrying a rough-and-ready fishing spear. More in hope than expectation, Krunzle gathered dry wood for a cooking fire.
Gyllana led the horses to where the grass was thick and loosened their cinches. She was back in a moment, chose a log and seated herself to watch as the thief built a pyramid of twigs and branches then applied his fire-starter. When a cheerful blaze began to dispel the dusk, he took a seat opposite her and sat with his arms folded. It was the first chance he'd had to study the Kersite at his leisure.
The firelight was kind to her, softening the harshness of her ambient expression. Her eyes even shone a little, he thought, and though she was more than a touch plumper than the girls he usually favored, he would not have to violate his standards to—
"Not a chance," she said.
"I beg your pardon?"
The eyes were not shining now. They were as hard as river-polished rocks. "You may have spent much of your life until this moment among the near-sighted or the simply dim," she said, "leading you to believe that your face disguises your thoughts. Prepare to receive unwelcome news: you are as easily read as a schoolchild's primer."
"And you are baldly spoken." Krunzle looked away. Raimeau was stirring among the reeds.
"And here are fresh tidings," the woman continued. "I would no more couple with you than with Skanderbrog, although I am sure he would bring more style and imagination to the wooing."
"You do not like me," Krunzle said.
"I was scarcely aware of you," she said, "until a moment ago when I saw that you had the temerity to appraise me. I thought it best to acquaint you early with your chance of success, which is somewhat less than the likelihood that your companion will return from the lake bringing a frog who began life as a prince. Indeed, a frog, even one entirely unensorcelled, would have a better chance than you."
"You really do not like me," said Krunzle. When her only response was to look pointedly in another direction, he continued, "Well, I am none too fond of you. I have been sent to collect you against my will, and could I but release myself from the grip of this object about my neck I would show you just how deep my disesteem can run." As he spoke, his anger grew, and his sense of being unfairly put upon. He rose to his feet. "I have been half-drowned, set to fight bloodthirsty bandits, chivvied and run off my feet, enslaved and forced to back-breaking labor and the inveigling of a troll. And now I am further impelled upon a chase to bring back your errant lover, who seems to have dropped you at his earliest convenience—"
Now she was on her feet as well. "Why, you impertinent, grimy little—"
"There," said Raimeau, throwing down a brace of fish, each as long as his forearm. "That should feed us. Now what's all the fuss?"
The sight of the fine, fat fish focused Krunzle's attention on his stomach. His mouth watered, thickening his voice as he said, "How did you manage that?"
The lanky man shrugged. "You just have to give the fish what they want."
"And what do fish want?" Gyllana said.
Raimeau smiled. "Same as us: dinner. There are caterpillars feeding on the reeds. The fish come in and bump against their underwater stems, hoping to dislodge a fat one. I simply plucked a few worms, dropped them to float and wriggle on the surface, and speared the fish as they rose to the bait." He knelt down, unfolded his knife, and began to clean the first of the catch. Soon after, the two fish were spitted and mounted on twigs stuck in the rocks on either side of the fire.
"Smartly done," said Gyllana. "It's good to know there's someone here I can rely on. Besides myself," she added, reaching into a pocket of her long skirt and bringing out two loaves of bread, long and thin, but fresh. "Mordach won't miss these either."
Raimeau attended to the meal-making, apportioning the bread and fish equally. When they were seated around the fire in a rough triangle with himself between Krunzle and the Kersite woman, he said, "May I suggest that we all try to get along? This is not the most hospitable part of the country. There are more men than dwarves, and some of the runts resent their relative decline in status since the days of Tar Taargadth."
"You've had much to do with dwarves?" Gyllana said, wiping a scrap of golden flesh from the corner of her mouth.
"At one time, more than I cared to," said the gray-haired man, "but most of what I know of them comes from Captain Hdolf's copy of Uthorpe's History of the Five Kingdoms. I read it twice."
The woman looked over at Krunzle, who was making sure no morsel of the meal escaped his needs. "What of you, errand-runner? Do you know much of where we are heading? Or anything, for that matter?"
The thief returned her a level gaze. "I know who I am and what I can do," he said. "I find that usually suffices." He arranged a piece of fish on a crumb of bread and popped both into his mouth.
"I would be interested to hear your life story," Raimeau said. "I have been impressed by your accomplishments since we were thrown together in the barracks."
Krunzle smiled expansively. "Well," he said, "it all began in a palace in Taldor. I was—"
"Is this the one where the princess is enamored of the lieutenant of the guard, but her lordly father refuses the union?"
"I believe," said Krunzle, "that you are referring to your own situation."
"Indeed. Except that mine has elements of truth in it."
"And mine does not?" Krunzle said. "You say this before you have even heard it?"
"I do not need to hear a crow squawk to know it will not make music."
"Hmmph!" said the thief, and gave his attention back to the meal.
"What about you?" the woman said into the ensuing silence. She was looking at Raimeau.
"Me?" The man made a self-deprecating face and accompanied the expression with a lift and fall of his shoulders. "There's not much to tell."
"But at least it will likely be the truth," Gyllana said. "How did you come to fall into the clutches of Boss Ulm?"
Raimeau used his last chunk of bread to wipe the fish grease from his fingers, then swallowed the softened mass. "I suppose," he said, "it was because I always think things are going to work out for the best."
"And," said Krunzle, "do they?"
"No. But I often learn interesting lessons."
"Tell," said Gyllana.
Chapter Seven
The Regulate of Grimsburrow
Raimeau's family were ship's chandlers in Almas, providing provisions and necessities to the galleys, roundships, and caravels that carried cargo and passengers into and out of the port city. His father, a stern and unbending groat-squeezer, decreed that his son should succeed him in the business and instructed him in the elements of successful chandlering: haggling, ledger-keeping, inventory control, and the techniques of keeping rotten meat and weevil-rife hardtack from revealing its true condition until the ship it was sold to w
as far out at sea.
But the growing boy was ever drawn to the places where seamen gathered to tell their tales of golden cities and salubrious lands, there beyond the horizon. He longed to see swaying maidens on a white-sanded beach, smell spice trees on the offshore breeze, watch the sun sink like a golden coin into the wine-dark sea. His father made every effort to beat the dream from him, but it had sunk its hooks deep into his heart, from which they could not be wrenched free without breaking it. At the age of thirteen, he followed the captain of the tall ship Nereus up its gangway and pleaded to be taken on as a ship's flunky.
Captain Hdolf questioned him and soon realized that Raimeau's training as an apprentice chandler would make him more useful than the average young lubber fresh off the strand with a romantic's yen for the sea. He started him out as a purser's assistant and general dogsbody, and saw to it that the crew did not make him suffer most of the ill use that is the usual lot of boys who run away to sea. The captain soon saw promise in the youngster and took time to teach him navigation and ship handling, allowing him the run of his onboard library.
By the end of five years, the boy had become a competent master's mate and might have looked forward to commanding his own ship, had not the Nereus fallen afoul of Okeno slave-takers while becalmed south of the Isle of Kortos. The sea-reivers came out from behind a headland in two fast-moving galleys and boarded the motionless ship from both sides. At the sight of the yellow sails and the decks thick with armed men, the outnumbered sailors gave up in the hope of receiving mercy, but that was a commodity the slavers did not stock—especially when, as in the case of the Nereus, the cargo was only wheat, with marble carried as ballast, neither of them readily transferable to galleys that were already packed with men.
The passengers and any crewmen who looked as if they might have something worth taking were tortured until they yielded their goods. The sturdiest of the men were clapped into irons and marched down to the galleys' benches and chained to oars. The women aboard suffered the inevitable horrors until the pirates were sated, then they were taken on board one of the galleys, along with those men who were marketable; the vessel backed oars, turned, and sped off toward Absalom and its slave market.
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