The Eye of Charon

by Richard A. Knaak

  Karphur. Nermesa recognized the name from his father. Klandes, too, had occasional business in the border city. Karphur actually straddled both sides of the border, but was a peculiar neutral entity owing full allegiance neither to Corinthia nor Ophir. It was a crossroads of trade not only for the two but those south and north of the kingdoms.

  Nermesa briefly wondered if one of his own House’s wagon columns would be there but doubted he could be so fortunate.

  Once the servant brought the blanket, Romulo led Nermesa back into the main area of the encampment. The senior driver indicated the largest of the fires. “There’s room there. The men know to respect the privacy of those not part of the normal crew, so don’t take their silence for anything bad. They’ll help you if you need it, though.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The wagon to your right has a water barrel anyone can use. We rise before dawn. I’ll come and get you for food, unless Mikonius decides you should have some from him.”

  Nermesa nodded. He was about to settle down when he realized that Romulo had one more thing to say.

  “My brother was out in the Westermarck same time as you, Captain Nermesa. Stationed out of Scanaga, too. He was in that column you saved. He was one of those you saved.” And with that, the senior driver turned and left.

  Nermesa watched the man vanish into the dark. Despite Romulo’s matter-of-fact tone, the knight could sense the driver’s immense gratitude for the life of his brother.

  Feeling a little better about both his situation and himself, Nermesa lay down next to the fire. He had looked over the strength of the caravan and doubted that there would be any threat to it. The worst of their journey had already passed.

  He could only hope that the same was true for his.

  13

  KARPHUR WAS A place of mixed notions. From what Nermesa gleaned from Mikonius and Romulo, it considered itself an independent city-state, such as Tebes or Sarta. Yet, half of it existed over the official border between Ophir and Corinthia. There was a contingent of Ophirian soldiers stationed just west of Karphur and a similar group beyond the east wall organized by a band of city-states nearest to the trade center. Yet according to the caravan master, neither force had ever so much as entered Karphur’s gates even during the worst years of strife between the two lands. Karphur was just too valuable to both sides as it was.

  As for maintaining security in the city itself, that fell to the Karphur Guard, made up of men—and even women—born and raised there. Aware of the balance they maintained, the citizens of Karphur were zealous in their protection of their independence. It was a rare guard who took a bribe, especially since his own fellows were likely to string him up on their own.

  As they entered the city through the arched gateway, Nermesa, now riding with Romulo, studied the guards with some admiration. They wore their broad-rimmed, bronze helmets and matching breastplates with a pride that matched that of the Black Dragons. In addition to being clad in brown leather kilts with metal tips, they also had shin and lower-arm guards. Their sandals were bound all the way up the calf. Each figure watched the traffic moving in and out of Karphur with an earnestness that did them credit in the eyes of the Aquilonian.

  Being of mixed heritage, Karphur naturally had its share of Corinthian traits, such as its columns, but Ophir, too, had left its mark. Gold leaf decorated many public displays, and the tunics of several of the richer citizens bore this color in some arrangement. Nermesa recalled that the tyrant Amalrus had been said to have worn armor chased with gold . . . armor that had done him little good when Sir Prospero of Poitain had cut his shoulder bone in two with his massive sword, then left the traitorous monarch to be trampled by the hooves of the Poitainians’ huge warhorses.

  Ophirian influence was also evident in the more rounded entrances of many of the buildings, themselves also rounded at the roof. However, Romulo explained that these were of a far older style than found in most of Ophir, which he had visited over the course of working for House Sibelio.

  One curious group of people that Nermesa also spotted appeared to be miners. When he pointed them out to the senior driver, Romulo nodded. “Aye, one of the largest silver mines is located here . . . but on the Corinthian side. Of course, it’s too far out for any of the city-states to trouble with. The Karphurians keep the peace by mining it themselves, then turning over a share to both kingdoms, with the city keeping an equal part for itself.”

  “That sounds overly complicated.”

  His companion chuckled. “Karphur will do whatever it needs to in order to remind both sides why one of them doesn’t just take a chance and seize the city.”

  With Corinthian and Ophirian blood mixing freely, it was perhaps the look of the Karphurians that most intrigued the knight. He saw hints of the same lineage as Malkuri and, to a great extent, General Pallantides. The combination created an exotic look both dark and light at the same time. Even in Tarantia, many of the women and men would have been considered arresting.

  “My favorite stop,” Romulo remarked, winking at a smiling female. “No more beautiful women than those of Karphur. If I had a mind to get married, it’d be one like her.” With a grin, he added, “Of course, I’ve not yet a mind to be married . . . not while there’s still some fun to be had, eh?”

  Although Nermesa smiled and nodded, no thought of such entertainment occurred to him. He was too concerned with returning home.

  Their destination was near Karphur’s market. While the market itself was typical of those Nermesa had seen before, the mix of people and different items for sale briefly perked his interest. Here, there were merchants from Argos and Shem and, much to the Aquilonian’s distaste, Stygia. The last resembled Set-Anubis in color just enough to keep the captain wary.

  The caravan stopped at a large, rounded building apparently owned by House Sibelio. With Romulo leading, the wagons lined up to be unloaded.

  Mikonius met up with Nermesa and the senior driver just as they climbed down. The master beamed. “Aah, Karphur! Always among the most pleasant of stops—but you know that, don’t you, Romulo?”

  “Aye, Mikonius! I was trying to convince Captain Nermesa here to join me in hunting for some entertainment after we were through here, but he chose not to.”

  “Tut, tut! You should get some enjoyment out of this visit! You may never return to Karphur, my friend!”

  “Actually, I was hoping to see if my own House had any representation here, Master Flavius.”

  The stout man’s brow deepened. “Doubt it, doubt it, but you’re right to want to have a look! Pity there’s no envoy from Aquilonia here, or he might be able to help. My best suggestion would be to check around the market and perhaps the nearest inns. If you don’t find any information from either, then there’s no one. House Klandes would be near the market if they’re anywhere at all.”

  “And so you don’t get lost in the process,” added Romulo, “keep an eye on that one tower with the two points. Tallest building in the area. You mark that, you’ll always be able to find your way back to here.”

  Nermesa shook hands with each man. “Thank you. I’ll do as you both say.”

  But as he started away, Mikonius took him by the arm. “Wait a moment! Can’t have you running about without any money for food or drink!” The caravan master reached into the neck of his robe and tore free a small pouch dangling underneath the garment. As he planted it in the knight’s palm, it jingled. “Consider this payment for helping to guard the wagons these past few days—”

  From the weight, Nermesa suspected that it carried far more than that. “I can’t—”

  “I insist . . . and Romulo will tell you that I will not accept any argument in this particular matter, just as you did not when it came to sleeping by the fire.”

  “You’d best take it. You’ll certainly need it,” interjected the driver.

  With a grateful nod, Bolontes’ son finally gave in. He slipped the tiny bag within his tunic, then thanked both men again.

>   Despite still considering himself on his mission, Nermesa could not help but be a bit distracted by his surroundings. The area around the market was filled with attractions designed to entertain the merchants and their crews during their time off. There were street performers—serpent charmers from Stygia, undulating dancing girls from Zingara, and slim, seemingly boneless acrobats who might have come all the way from Khitai—and booths of all sorts offering foods from around the known world. Taverns abounded, and each seemed to have a scantily clad Karphurian woman beckoning from the entrance.

  As he walked, Nermesa kept an eye out for anyone clad in Aquilonian garb. Unfortunately, the few he noticed proved unhelpful when he asked them about House Klandes. It soon became apparent that his father did no business down here at present, clearly an oversight. Nermesa determined that he would mention Karphur if and when he saw the elder Klandes.

  While Karphur offered many types of exotic foods—some of which the Aquilonian swore still squirmed—Nermesa settled for some familiar—and safe—bread-and-meat combinations, along with an ale. The ale proved spicy, a not-altogether-distasteful surprise.

  But while his taste buds and stomach were soon satisfied, he was not. As the day faded and with it the hope of finding anyone tied to House Klandes by blood or business, Nermesa returned with some dejection to the caravan.

  Romulo, clearly just on his way out, frowned slightly at sight of him. “No luck, Nermesa?”

  “None.”

  The driver tried to turn him about. “You should come with me! Now’s the time when Karphur truly comes alive!”

  “Thank you, but I’d like nothing more than sleep right now.”

  “As you like. Perhaps tomorrow night . . .”

  That made Nermesa think of something else. “Has the other caravan arrived?”

  “Two days ago, actually. Good of you to remind me. I talked to the senior driver, and he told me that they’ll be ready to leave the day after tomorrow . . . so, that doesn’t leave you much time to change your mind about coming with me, Nermesa.”

  “Perhaps . . .” Bolontes’ son bid Romulo good night, then retired to the rooms where he had been told that the drivers—assuming that they were not intending other arrangements as his friend was—slept during their stay. As the entrance was marked, Nermesa had no difficulty finding the area and, once inside, even less finding an open cot.

  He thought that he would have trouble falling asleep, but that proved not the case. Barely had he settled down before he drifted off.

  His first dreams were quite innocuous and easily forget-table. As he sank deeper into slumber, Nermesa began to dream about home, about his family, his king, and Telaria. The words of her note floated through his head, easing the day’s tensions from his body. Her face smiled down on him, her auburn hair as vivid as fire in his dream.

  Her lips mouthed his name; her eyes glowed bright. Telaria’s hair grew redder yet, and finally became crimson and fiery.

  In his sleep, Nermesa frowned and tried to reach out to her. But Telaria’s face pulled back and as it did, it became less distinct. It and the hair melded into one burning flame, which then grew more narrow.

  Suddenly, the flame crystallized. It gleamed brightly, but in a manner that somehow unsettled the Aquilonian. He tried to turn from it, but the crystal refused to let his gaze leave it.

  And then it blinked, blinked like an eye.

  Ra shana du karos, ashtur Charon . . . came the whisper, then. Zeta catar Charon . . . Zeta catar Charon karos . . .

  Around the eye formed a specter made of cloth, a sinister phantom with claws for hands who reached out at Nermesa. As the helpless knight watched, those claws tore into his chest . . . and ripped from it his beating heart as he screamed—

  At which point Nermesa woke with a start.

  He lay on the cot, gasping for air, his heart racing faster than the swiftest charger. He peered around him, but saw that none of the others had been awakened by his actions. His cry in the dream had evidently not crossed into the waking world, for which he was grateful.

  Sweat covered Nermesa. He knew that he had only been dreaming, but the presence of Set-Anubis had seemed so real, so imminent. He had heard tales of wizards reaching out to their enemies in their sleep, but never had he heard of any such horror truly happening. Of course, who would know if it did?

  Finally, his pulse eased to normal. Nermesa inhaled, trying to turn his thoughts to better things. It could not have been Set-Anubis. The sorcerer was far away, somewhere near Sarta. There would be no reason why he would still be after Nermesa.

  No reason whatsoever . . .

  BUT SET-ANUBIS REMAINED on his mind even the next day, and Nermesa grew impatient to leave Karphur. Romulo, who did not come back until the morning, promised with a grin left over from his night’s affairs that all was set for the departure.

  “I still think some companionship would do you well,” the senior driver insisted. “I know a very sultry lass with an equally sultry cousin. You’ve seen the beauty of the Karphurian women? These two make most of them dull by comparison! It’s said that they’ve a little Stygian in them to add further to their mystery . . .”

  Having not told either Romulo or Mikonius of Set-Anubis, the knight could not explain that such a mix of blood would remind him too much of the sorcerer . . . exactly the opposite of what he desired. “Thank you, Romulo, but I’ll just go and walk around the market.”

  “Suit yourself, Captain . . . say, you know, those female acrobats from Khitan are said to entertain men on occasion ...”

  Nermesa departed before the driver could make any further suggestions. All he wanted was somewhere where he could watch the activity around him until it was time to go to sleep. Then, come the morning, he and the caravan would head back to Tarantia.

  Fortunately, there was always something happening in the market. Today it was not acrobats, but play actors performing tales for anyone willing to pay a coin. Nermesa joined the crowd, gave his money to the youth in charge of collecting, and watched as the actors went through one story after another. All were epic adventures shown on a decidedly unepic scale, but some of the players were fairly good even by the standards of home, and the fact that they used actual women to play women pleased him further. He had seen many plays where boys or even men had donned the feminine roles and found those wanting.

  When the actors finally bid their audience good-bye, he clapped along with the rest of the crowd, then went in search of a booth selling something safe to eat. As he tried to cross toward one, though, a number of soldiers of the Guard suddenly entered the market. Led by a cloaked officer, they marched through the throng unhindered, for everyone in their path immediately pulled back.

  Nermesa, who had heard enough of their reputation, did likewise. He waited patiently while the column of some twenty went by, admiring their precision and feeling some slight pity for whatever miscreant they hunted.

  The crowd immediately filled the gap once the armored figures had gone. Nermesa reached the booth and purchased his food, then went to find a place to eat it.

  As he was finishing, he noticed none other than Mikonius Flavius—flanked by two of his personal guard—moving with some agitation through the crowd. Although the caravan master looked as if he was on his way to some matter of importance, Nermesa dared to interrupt him.

  “Master Flavius!” the knight called, disposing of the remnants of his meal. “Master Flavius! A moment, please!”

  The heavy, balding man momentarily gaped at Nermesa as if Bolontes’ son was an assassin come to gut him. Then, blinking, he suddenly smiled. “Ah! ’Tis you, Nermesa! ’Tis you! Forgive me! My mind was on business for the baron! I can’t talk right now, but—ah, but—Master Polythemus would speak with you about your transport. Yes, that’s what it was. You can find him back at our facility. By the wagons, yes. You should go now.”

  “Thank you,” Nermesa began, Mikonius having answered in part the very question the captain had intended to ask.
Nermesa had wanted to assure himself again that all was in readiness for tomorrow.

  “Not at all, not at all!” called the caravan master, already hurrying off. “Go now, go now!”

  Nermesa did just that, his eagerness growing. He had not met Polythemus, but assumed that the other caravan master would be easy to identify.

  The crowd had thickened, slowing the Aquilonian more than he would have liked. People seemed to go out of their way to get into his. Nermesa sought to keep his impatience in check; after all, the wagons would not be leaving until the morrow.

  When he finally returned, the other caravan master was already impatiently waiting. Polythemus was a direct contrast to Mikonius; a dour, gaunt man of plain clothes and plainer speech. He gave Nermesa succinct instructions as to when the knight had to be ready and where his place in the caravan would be.

  “You’re not ready; you don’t go,” Polythemus said bluntly. “You’ll sleep among my drivers tonight. Antimedes will show you where.”

  Antimedes was Polythemus’ senior driver. A sandy-haired man about the knight’s age, he was broad of build, much like a wrestler. With a grunt and a nod, he led Nermesa to where the others working under Polythemus stayed.

  Once his situation was arranged, Nermesa went to locate Romulo. He found the senior driver busy checking the wagons out for any last-minute repairs.

  “Met Polythemus, have you?” asked Mikonius’ man. “Lively sort, isn’t he?”

  “Not at all like Mikonius, if you mean that.”

  Romulo laughed. “Not at all like him, definitely! Hard to believe those two are thick as thieves, but they are!”

  Bolontes’ son could not imagine the pair as good friends. He shook his head at the image, then said, “I wanted to thank you for your help.”

  “Least I can do. I owe you many times over for my brother.”

  “I only did what I had to.”

  Romulo shrugged. “That’s more than many would’ve done.” He stepped from the wagons. “Tonight, we share an ale! You can’t deny me that!”