by Dave Duncan
"That's the city?” Prat'han snorted. “That? Who owns the temple there?"
"There isn't one that I know of. Just a few shrines. There's a temple a few miles east of Rinoo, though, to Gunuu. He's god of courage, an avatar of the Youth."
"No gods!” Prat'han snapped menacingly. “Enchanters. Imposters, all of them!"
"If you say so."
"D'ward says so! That's good enough for me, and for you now."
One of Dosh's personal rules was not to argue with armed young men more than three feet tall, and Prat'han was twice that. “Sure. The main, er, enchanter's foundation in Rinoovale is the convent of Irepit."
Prat'han sneered. “And what does she claim to be?"
"Goddess of repentance. You've heard of the Daughters of Irepit?"
"No. And I do not wish to. The Liberator wants you."
Obviously Dosh had no choice. They began to walk back up the knoll.
"What's the matter with this land?” his companion demanded. “It looks like a well-used feedlot."
"It is overblessed with mineral wealth. Dig anywhere and you turn up nuggets of gold and other metals, even jewels."
"A waste of good grazing."
"Niolians don't think so. They strip it down to the water table, so nothing ever grows again. Why don't you ask D'ward these questions? He's been here more recently than I have."
The warrior glanced down at Dosh suspiciously. “How do you know?"
"Well, I assume he has."
Prat'han thought about that and frowned. “Don't assume about the Liberator.” End of conversation.
To anyone with less muscle and more brain than an ox, it was obvious that D'ward knew exactly where he was going, in precise detail. He chose the damnedest places to make camp, but he set off every morning straight to the next. Some days he would walk his ragged congregation to exhaustion and others he would hardly go any distance at all. If Dosh were a gambling man—and he must assume that now he wasn't, at least not at the moment—he would bet everything he owned—which was currently nothing, of course—that D'ward had walked out his entire route from Joalvale to Tharg in advance, using the Filoby Testament as a guidebook.
When Dosh had first met him, he had known almost none of the prophecies. He must know them all by now. He must know the one that said, In Nosokslope they shall come to D'ward in their hundreds, even the Betrayer. Dosh himself had joined the Free in Nosokslope.
He reached the outskirts of the crowd behind Prat'han and began to pick his way through. Whenever D'ward stopped moving, a halo of followers would gather on the grass around him, sitting patiently, their numbers steadily growing as the stragglers arrived and settled at the edges. The Warband stood guard in the center, clustered around D'ward, who was sitting on a rock, talking as always. His gray robe flapped and billowed in the wind, he had his cowl up, and yet he seemed oddly hunched, as if he felt the chill more than the men around him, who were all nearly naked.
Seeing Dosh slipping in between the shields, he jumped up with a smile. He grabbed Dosh's shoulder in a Nagian greeting.
"Welcome! How are you feeling?"
"Cold and hungry and poor."
D'ward grinned, as if truly pleased to see him. “But not hunted? You've been lying low! But we're not in Joaldom anymore. If you want to slide over the horizon, now's your chance."
Dosh glanced at the frowning faces of the Warband all around him. Even the smallest of them was at least a hand taller than he was. “With no clothes and no money? You think I'm crazy?"
"I think you're just fine. Tielan? Give him the bag."
As if he had been expecting the order, Tielan Trader stepped forward, pulling a strap over his head. He handed Dosh a leather satchel—small, well worn, and so unexpectedly heavy that Dosh almost dropped it. He looked up at the Liberator in bewilderment.
"From now on,” D'ward said, “you hold our purse."
"What do you mean? This is money?"
D'ward nodded, seeming amused. “That's the war chest of the Free. It's everything we've got. You can look after it for us."
"How do you know I won't vanish with it?"
"I don't, but I'm willing to gamble.” His blue eyes sparkled brighter than the sky. “Most of it was yours originally, you know. We pass the hat after the sermons, and just about every coin you gave away came back eventually."
Why did he have to say so? Oh, temptation!
"And what do I do with it?” The warrior animals were scowling at him because he was talking back to their precious Liberator.
D'ward shrugged. “Keep it safe."
"Set a thief to catch a thief?"
"Of course. Everyone has his own talents, Dosh. You can count, which some people can't. You still got those great legs you had once?"
Dosh had done no real running since those far-off days when he had been D'ward's messenger; his feet were soft and already blistered, but he wasn't going to say so in front of the louts. “Sure."
D'ward smiled as if he saw through that lie. “Then when we get down to Rinooflat, I want you to run on ahead to Rinoo. Tonight we'll camp at the burial ground at Thothby—"
"Burial ground? Why camp in a burial ground?"
The answer was a flicker of authority from those sky-blue eyes. Dosh's spine chilled all the way down. “Sorry,” he muttered.
"All right.” The Liberator scanned the vagabond army sitting patiently around the knoll. “How many are there now, do you suppose?"
"Five or six hundred. At least."
"Well, it's your job to feed them tonight. Buy livestock, buy grain, buy firewood—arrange for it all to be delivered to Thothby. There's no village left, but they'll know where it was. All right?"
Dosh nodded. He could run to Rinoo, certainly. Then perhaps just keep on running? He would decide when he got there. “You still have to get us down to Rinooflat safely."
"Ah!” D'ward said, and pushed back his cowl so he could scratch his head. “I was just explaining when you got here. There isn't going to be any trouble. I had a safe-conduct for Joalvale and Nosokvale. I've got another for Rinoovale. Once we get to Niolvale, things may get sticky.” He glanced around at the listening warriors. “That's when you sharpen your spears."
"'bout time!” said Gopaenum and the others laughed nervily. Did they know verse 663, the one about young men's bones?
"Safe-conduct from whom?” Dosh demanded.
D'ward hesitated and then replied to the group, not just to Dosh. “The authorities. Not all the enchanters are totally bad. Remember that always—nobody is totally bad! Nobody is totally good, either, of course. Some of the enchanters are on our side. A few of them are helping us.” He looked around the Warband to locate Prat'han, who was the senior, even if he would not admit it. “Remember, no bloodshed!” His eyes glinted mischievously. “But perhaps we can start to stir up a little trouble now."
Prat'han chuckled throatily. “What sort of trouble, Liberator?"
D'ward scratched his bushy black locks again. “Only the Thargians keep slaves, right? Do any of you know who those miners are down there?"
Silence. These Sonalby rustics knew of nothing outside Nagvale.
"Convicts,” Dosh said.
D'ward turned a sky-blue smile on him. “And what does it take to become a convict in Niolland?"
"Forgetting to bow when the queen's name is mentioned? Life sentence in the mines! Having a pretty wife that some official fancies? Ten years for that, I expect."
"Probably. With time off for good behavior on her part? Understand, lads? Rinooland is nothing but a Niolian penal colony. Now, if a multitude of pilgrims like this just happened to swarm right through one or two of those pits on their way by, then I don't think the jailers would be able to do very much about it, do you? And there might not be any miners left when we'd gone by, right?"
The oafs all guffawed and thumped their spears against their shields.
D'ward grinned at them. “But, please, no bloodshed! Stun them if you must. No more th
an that. Recruit them if you can. They'll be in deep trouble with their superiors after we've gone, so they may be open to reason.... I think we've had a long enough break. Let's move on. I'd better stay in front this time."
At that he strode forward and the Warband opened to let him through. The massed pilgrims began scrambling to their feet, some of them running forward to accost the Liberator and ask him questions. D'ward waved them away, the warriors blocked them, and soon most of them had been left behind. Very conscious of the weight of the money bag on his shoulder, Dosh found himself hurrying along at D'ward's side, while the armed band escorted them both. That might not be a good place to be when they reached the checkpoint at the bottom of the hill, but it would do for now.
He asked the question. “What do you really want of me?"
The Liberator looked down at him for a moment in silence, his stare strangely frightening.
"Bagman?” Dosh demanded. “Runner, like before? I'm not a kid any longer, D'ward."
"More than those, Dosh. I think you have a really important part to play in this.” Suddenly D'ward smiled, and it was as if the heavens had opened. “Just be a friend, if you want. You're under no compulsion to stay, but I do hope you will."
Dosh looked away to break the spell. Time had not blunted his feelings toward the Liberator. D'ward could still melt the flesh off his bones with that smile. Idiot! He didn't want you even before you started going bald.
"What happens when you get to Niolvale itself?” Dosh was surprised to realize how little he doubted that the Free would get to Niolvale, despite that army ahead blocking their path.
For a moment D'ward stalked on down the track, staring straight ahead and not replying. His bony features seemed oddly shadowed. He still had his cowl back, and the sun glinted on his black hair like starlight. “That's when we start playing the Great Game with real money."
"Verse six sixty-three says that in Niolvale the bones of young—"
"I know that, Dosh. I just hope it won't be too many young men. The trouble will start in Niolvale, though. There must be visitors on their way to see me by now. The kings and politicians are starting to take notice. More than all that, Niolland is Visek's turf. Visek can nip me in the bud if he wants."
Visek the Parent, Father and Mother of Gods, greatest in the Pentatheon, patron deity of Niolvale, god of destiny, god of prophecy ... The Liberator was not going to bring death to Death if Holy Visek did not want him to.
"So you'll go and pray to Visek?"
"I may go and have a chat with Visek. Not quite the same."
"But you do cooperate with the gods when you want to?"
"They're not gods, Dosh. Just enchanters, sorcerers, magicians."
"Tion? Or Prylis? He cured my scars!"
"That doesn't make him a god. He's at least a thousand years old, I agree, but he's human. They all are. They can die, as Zath will die when I kill him. They will all die one day. They were born of woman, every one of them—wet and bloody and screaming, just like us. One day they will die, whimpering and frightened, just like us."
"They are gods!"
D'ward shook his head sadly. “No, they're not. They want you to think they're gods, because that gives them power. When you believe they are gods, you expect them to judge you. Accept that they're mortals and you can judge them. Some things they say are true always. Some aren't true, ever. And some were true once and now aren't true anymore. Watch out for those. Those are the tricky ones."
It took Dosh some time to think through the words and discover that they didn't mean anything much. “Forget Visek. What about Elvanife?"
"Who? Oh, the queen?"
"Yes, the queen of Niolia! She's just a kid. Too young, and female."
D'ward shot a puzzled glance down at him. “Why does that matter, Dosh?” Sometimes he seemed incredibly naive.
"It matters because she's not safe on her throne! The nobles are conspiring against her. Haven't you heard? She's been throwing her weight around, showing how tough she is, stamping out dissent. You're going to present her with a peasant revolt! She'll have no choice but to jump on you."
D'ward shrugged. “She'll do what the priests tell her, I hope, and the priests will tell her what Visek tells them to tell her."
Maybe, but then Dosh realized that they were almost at the base of the hill and there was someone else stalking along on D'ward's other side. He hadn't seen where she had come from. She was tall, shrouded in a long blue nun's habit, her face concealed by a voluminous blue hat whose flaps tied under her chin. At her side dangled a long, shiny naked sword, so she must be a nun from the convent he had mentioned to Prat'han, one of the Daughters of Irepit. They had a very sinister reputation. D'ward must know she was there, yet he was ignoring her.
They had almost reached the roadblock. Dosh tried to ease back, only to discover there were spears and shields close behind him. He was trapped out in front, where he had vowed not to be at this point. The Warband was at his heels, but there were only twenty of them, whereas the force facing him was at least a hundred shiny bastards, all glittering with bronze, their shields blocking the way like a wall. Each man was set with one foot forward, javelin poised to throw. Their leader waited a couple of paces in front of them, sword drawn.
Niolia was not engaged in any war at the moment, so far as Dosh had heard, and only when engaged in active hostilities would a ruler muster the peasants. This must be a sizable portion of Elvanife's permanent army, the Royal Niolian Guard.
"Halt in the name of the queen!"
D'ward halted. Everyone halted. Dosh pressed his knees together to steady them and glanced around to plan his escape. There was no cover anywhere. Good legs or not, if he took off over that stony plain, he was going to have an ash shaft sticking out of his back in seconds. The pilgrims, he noted, were well behind the Warband now, waiting to see what would happen. If it came to bloodshed, they weren't going to throw any stones to help their precious prophet.
D'ward drew a deep breath and then out-bellowed the captain. “Stand aside! I am the Liberator."
"Turn around and liberate elsewhere! You and your followers are forbidden entry to Nioldom, on pain of death."
"It is prophesied that I shall go to Tharg and bring death to Death."
"Go another way, then. I shall count to three. One!"
In the terrible silence, Dosh could feel the sweat running down his ribs. D'ward seemed to have run out of bright ideas. The way the wind played with his curls was very appealing, but it wasn't going to be enough to get him past the Niolian military.
"Two!"
Dosh prepared to throw himself flat.
The nun laughed. “Well? Do you want my help after all?"
D'ward sighed. “Yes please, ma'am."
She took a step forward. She had her sword in her hand and she raised it, pointing it straight at the captain. Dosh didn't think he could have held such a weight steady, but the point was not wavering. In a voice as strong as the men's she cried, “Repent!"
It was if the soldier had not noticed her until then. He started violently and dropped his sword. It fell on the stones with a clang. His lips moved, but no sound emerged. Behind him, the bristling ranks of javelins wavered, their blades glittering like shards of ice in the sunlight.
"Repent!” she cried again. “You dare oppose the Liberator who is prophesied? Rather you should join his ranks and march in his service. Repent, I say! Throw down your arms or die on them. Stand aside!"
The captain spun around and screamed orders. The Royal Niolian Guard dissolved in panic. In seconds the road was clear, while on either hand men were tearing off their armor and hurling it down on the weapons that now littered the ground.
"Thank you, ma'am,” D'ward said quietly.
She glanced at him. Dosh had a brief view of a face both surprisingly youthful and yet ageless, beautiful but stern—sad, lovely, unforgettable. “I keep my word. Go with my blessing, Liberator."
He nodded, then raised his arms in
benediction, hiding the nun from Dosh's view. He called out to the soldiers over the clatter of metal and the moans of fear.
"Brothers! We are the Free, for we go to bring death to Death. Your repentance has been accepted; you are forgiven. Those who wish to join our pilgrimage are welcome. Leave your weapons, arise, and follow me."
He began to move and at once pebbles rattled under the Warband's horny feet behind him. Dosh was butted forward by a shield, so that he had no choice but to follow. Smiling, D'ward marched along the road, his arms outstretched to the Niolian military that knelt on both verges. A few were still armored, many had stripped almost naked, almost all of them were sobbing with terror, hands reaching out to the Liberator and beseeching his blessing. The blue nun was nowhere to be seen. A horde of excited pilgrims came yelling and jabbering along behind.
Thus did the Liberator enter into Rinoovale and Nioldom.
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22
Lospass, between Jurgvale and Niolvale, was neither very steep nor very high, one of the easiest passes in the Vales. Sloths, on the other hand, were well named. If they moved faster than mushrooms, it was not by much. Eleal Singer and Piol Poet had been on their journey for several days, and only now were they truly into Niolvale. The air was muggy, scented with a vegetable odor that seemed alien to her. In her childhood, the troupe had rarely visited Niolland. Most years they had returned home to Jurgvale from Jiolvale by way of Fionvale.
Piol had been clever to suggest the sloth and cart. As they rattled out through the city gate of Jurg, Eleal had seen a couple of the Cherry Blossom House bouncers inspecting passersby, but they had not looked twice at her or her malodorous conveyance. She was used to the stench of the sewerberries now, although they had nauseated her for the first couple of days. They certainly deterred everyone else. Other people went by the wagon like birds in flight, no brigand had accosted them to poke through their cargo in search of gold. Niolians used sewerberries to make the patina on their famous black bronzes, Piol said, and only Jurgvale could grow them. No matter. No matter, either, that the travelers were both so saturated with the foul stench that no inn would admit them. They had been blessed with fair weather; they had slept under the stars or under the cart, and they had eaten as well as could be expected when Eleal herself was doing the cooking.
