by John Dalmas
He sighed. "Melody, I'd like to. I really would. But I told you my marriage vows."
She frowned. "I never heard of anything so ridiculous. For a wife, yes, but for a husband?"
"For a husband it should be the same."
"Not for a husband who's a Hero."
"Maybe not, if he's an Ozman. But I'm not a Hero any longer anyway." He paused. "If I was married to you, would you like me to, uh, hump other women?"
That stopped her only for a moment. "I wouldn't care. It's expected. As long as I had you when I wanted you. But you wouldn't, because I'd give you all you could handle.
"Your vow's already broken," she went on. "Last night at my place. You remember; I know you do. You weren't unconscious; you couldn't have been. Even beat up like you were, you were pushing, helping out."
He almost said he couldn't help himself-that he'd been confused from his beating. Then asked himself, Who do you think you're kidding, Macurdy? You were confused when she put it in, but when you realized, you could have pushed her off. Instead he nodded. "I remember. I let it happen; it was too good to stop. But that was once. Doing it once doesn't make it all right a second time."
He thought she might get angry, but her mouth didn't tighten and her aura didn't darken. She lay thoughtful a minute. "What's she like, Macurdy? This wife of yours."
He didn't actually think about it, but answered on the premise that he needed confederates, and that she'd need to know sooner or later. "She's a member of the Sisterhood, Melody. She'd run away from them. Then, one day when I wasn't home, they came and stole her. Brought her back to Yuulith. But she had time to write me a note, and put it where I'd find it, so I followed her."
Melody's eyes reflected belief. And concern. "That's where we're going, isn't it," she said. "That's why we're going east instead of some other direction: to get her back."
He nodded.
"What's her name?"
"Varia."
"Varia." She tasted it. "Does she love you?"
"Yep."
"I've heard stories about the Sisters. If they stole her back, you know what kind of life she's leading now. In spite of any vows."
"I don't know."
"They put them with studs, like you do mares, but not just one stud. Different ones hump them till they're pregnant. And when they've weaned their kid, they send the studs around again. And the story is, they like it, like the slave girls do that get taken to the House of Heroes."
His face was swollen and discolored, but she could read the bleakness in it, even in the failing light. "Forget I said that, Macurdy," she murmured. "I was being an asshole, and I'm sorry. You've been a real Hero, not like some of those others. What I said is true, or at least it's what people believe, but-shit!"
She sighed gustily. "I ought to wish I wasn't in love with you, but I am." She raised herself on an elbow, and reaching, caressed his better cheek with her fingertips. "If you change your mind, I'm right here beside you. And I don't think your Varia would be mad at you for humping me."
She turned away, and Macurdy went to sleep thinking that maybe Varia wouldn't be angry, but a vow was a vow. He wondered if Melody would try anything after he went to sleep, and found himself half hoping she would.
He woke to Jeremid's hand tugging his foot-his turn on watch-and got up quietly, his stomach complaining with hunger. Outside the horses looked at him briefly, then returned to grazing. The cook fire was stone cold. Cautiously he touched the pot, then reached into the still-warm water, scooped out a piece of turkey cooked soft by long boiling, and chewed painfully as he walked to the nearest watch fire. They were burning strongly; Jeremid had re-fed them before coming in.
The thin moon had already set, but he guessed it was still somewhat short of midnight; three hours would be about right for his shift, he decided; maybe three and a little bit. Recalling something Mr. Anderson had taught them at school, he found the Big Dipper; it was supposed to circle the North Star once a day. So in three hours, the dipper should go a quarter-no, an eighth of the way around the North Star. Which meant that when the pointer stars got around to-about there-he'd go wake up Melody for her watch.
He stayed on his feet, walking the perimeter to stay awake. Paying only occasional attention to his surroundings-the horses would tell him if anything was prowling. Part of the time he occupied his mind with Varia and Melody. Jeremid was a good-looking young guy; maybe Melody would decide it was him she wanted. At least she might settle for him. Hell, he told himself, they could be humping in the hay right now, for all you know. They're Ozians, and she sounded horny enough.
A twinge of jealousy surprised and irritated him. Briefly he examined his feelings, and there was no doubt: Varia was his love. Melody was-nice and kind and tough. And crazy to have run off with him; reckless at least. In Oztown she'd been someone important and privileged, and she'd thrown it away, apparently because she wanted to be humped by him, even though he'd already turned her down. Or could she actually love me? He examined the possibility to no conclusion.
The watch wore on. Several times he added wood to the fires, twice went back to the cookpot, and occasionally checked the Dipper before deciding his three hours were up and returning to the shed. Crawling, he groped, finding a bare foot that could only be Melody's. It pulled away with a rustling of old hay.
"Macurdy?" she whispered.
"Yes."
She rustled around some more, finding her boots, then got up and went outside to put them on. He felt an urge to follow her, talk with her, learn more about this girl who said she loved him. But his mouth hurt, and besides, it felt dangerous. So instead he found his blanket and settled down, leaving his boots on as before, in case of emergency.
It was daylight and the sun about to rise when Jeremid woke him. "Macurdy," he said, "Melody and I talked last night."
The words brought a pang: They've decided to pair up, to leave me and go back. But that made no sense. They could hardly go back now. "She told me about your wife," Jeremid went on. "What does she look like?"
Macurdy frowned. An odd question to be asked on waking. "She's beautiful. Long red hair and green tilty eyes."
"And the people with her? Do you know?"
He's seen her! Macurdy's mind focused. "Another good-looking woman, and a man. The woman's name is Idri; her hair is auburn, and she's got tilty eyes too, only not as green."
"God! That was the name: Idri. The other was Varia. They came into Oztown about a year ago, with a bull of a guard. The chief loaned them an escort, and I was one of them. Your wife was a prisoner."
Macurdy's throat was dry now. "Right. I had to wait a month before the gate opened again and I could follow them."
Melody had come to the door, and stood looking in at them, listening.
"We took them east, across the Great Muddy," Jeremid said. "They got other escorts there, and we came back." He shook his head. "Your wife's the prettiest woman I ever saw. And dangerous! Her guard tried to rape her one night. I don't know what she did, but he screamed the worst scream I ever imagined. I ran over with a torch, and they were both there with their breeches off. Your wife looked at me and said never to try raping a Sister, or I'd end up like him. He was doubled over with his hands in his crotch, hardly able to whimper. Then the other Sister came with a saber and ran him through."
Melody spoke, her voice flat. "Sounds like she's worth saving, Macurdy. Congratulations." Then she turned and walked out of sight.
Jeremid's story shook Macurdy so, it took him several minutes to get up and come out of the shed. Varia had got through that experience seemingly unhurt, and Idri had killed the guy, but what a terrible damned thing to almost happen.
They ate more turkey, then left the rest for Blue Wing. Breaking camp amounted to little more than catching their hobbled horses and saddling them, taking the cookpot and ax they'd found there. The sun was still low when they rode away eastward, shielding their eyes from it with a hand. Here there was a clear trail to follow. After a bit, Blue Wing caught up with th
em. I suppose this is interesting to him, Macurdy thought. He can share it with the rest of his people.
Later that morning they hit a rutted cart road, and followed it south to the eastbound road. There they rode well strung out, as if they weren't together; there seemed less chance they'd be remembered or reported that way. Only occasionally did they meet other travelers-farmers and other locals going about their business.
In late afternoon they reached the Great Muddy River, running wide and smooth, but powerful. Both Melody and Jeremid had coins in their purses, and when the next ferry crossed, the three of them were on it.
20: Four Become Seven
" ^ "
During the first three days east of the Great Muddy, they traveled in a kingdom named Miskmehr, land hillier than they were used to, with farms in every significant bottomland. It was a lovely season, the forest canopy washed pale green with opening buds. At a village they bought a cheese and hardtack for basic rations. Their breaks they took in moist roadside woods, eating the wild leeks that grew there till they reeked of them. Macurdy was healing rapidly; his mouth was enough better, he ate what the others ate, though he soaked his hardtack first.
Their road trended more south than east now, and this troubled Macurdy, for his understanding was that the Silver Mountain was east from Oz. But Blue Wing explained that it angled south to strike the Valley Highway, the great road that paralleled the Green River. The highway would take them up the valley all the way to the Great Eastern Mountains, and the dwarvish kingdom named for one of them. No, he had no idea how many days ride they had ahead of them; humans traveled so slowly, he didn't see how they could stand it.
The valley and its margins were kingdoms instead of tribal territories, Blue Wing said, with far more people, towns and villages than the lands they'd seen so far. Its farms were famous for their fertility.
On the fourth day they rode out of the hills into the valley, to the Highway, which was better than any road Macurdy had seen in this world. But the land where the two roads met was nothing to brag about-brushy forest, with half its trees tipped over or broken off by some twister.
Blue Wing, who'd been foraging, was waiting there for them, perched in a swamp white-oak. "Macurdy," he called, then spread his broad wings and hopped off, gliding down to the roadside. "There are men and dwarves just ahead beside the road. They've been fighting each other; there are bodies. It may be dangerous for you there."
"How many men? And dwarves? Alive, that is."
"Numerous. We have trouble with numbers. More men than dwarves though. The dwarves are surrounded."
"How far from here? On which side of the road?"
"You know I don't know your distances!" Blue Wing said, then paused. "If they were shouting, you could probably hear them from here. They're on the south side of the road, but their horses are farther on, on the road itself, with a man guarding them. Another man watches the road in this direction."
"We can bypass them through the woods on the north," Jeremid said. "They'll never know."
Macurdy thought for a moment before answering. "Jeremid, you take the horses off the road and stay with them. Melody, your clothes are harder to notice in the woods. Sneak through the brush on the north side of the road until you see their horses, then stop and keep your eyes open. I'll ride down the road and find out what the situation is. It'd be useful to have dwarves as allies."
He thanked Blue Wing then, and started eastward down the rutted, hoof-packed highway, while Jeremid and Melody disappeared into the forest. He'd ridden perhaps a hundred and fifty yards when a man rose up from behind a fallen tree. His left hand held a bow, and his right a nocked arrow; at twenty yards he could hardly miss. "Stop right there," he called. More loudly than need be, Macurdy thought, unless he wanted his own people to hear him.
Macurdy reined in. "I've been sent to talk to your leader," he said, also loudly.
The man scowled uncertainly, peering at Macurdy's face, still purple and green with bruises. Then a voice called from the woods nearby. "Send him in. I'll listen to him."
Macurdy swung down from his horse, and after tying the reins to a clump of willow, walked into the woods, leaving his spear and bow, but keeping his sword at his waist. The blowdowns were old enough that decay had weakened the branches, allowing many of the trunks to settle to the ground or onto other fallen trees. The heavy opening of the forest roof had allowed the undergrowth to thicken, and saplings had sprung up twenty or more feet high.
A mess, Macurdy thought. At home these would have been cut up for logs and firewood, except for the elm. He picked his way around and over blowdowns in the direction the voice had called from, not trying to keep a low target. A man crouched behind a thick elm, bow ready, his gaze shifting from the woods in front of him to the approaching Macurdy, and back again.
"Are you the leader here?" Macurdy asked.
The man looked at him suspiciously. "I am."
"What have you got pinned down in there?" Macurdy called. Loudly enough, he thought, that the dwarves would hear too.
"What business is it of yours?"
"It's my master's business. I act on his orders. He's a magician, and he says it's dwarves you've trapped here."
The bandit ignored the question. "What the hell happened to your face?" he asked. "I never saw anyone beat up so bad."
Macurdy fingered the hard welt on his broken left cheekbone. "I displeased my master."
They were, he decided, being held off by dwarvish marksmanship. The bandits might have an advantage in numbers, but it seemed to him they had some disadvantages, for at least the leader's quiver looked light for a siege, and he carried a longbow. While according to the lore Macurdy had learned from Maikel and Blue Wing, the dwarves' long-range weapon was the crossbow, whose bolts, short and heavy, would be less deflected by undergrowth.
Meanwhile the bandit had turned to face Macurdy, his bowstring half drawn. At ten feet, Macurdy told himself, the arrow could pass through his breastbone and mostly out his back. He ignored it, lowering to a crouch himself, moving in closer with a hand cupped to his mouth, as if for private conversation. But his voice, when he spoke, was loud.
"Excuse me for shouting," he said, "but your men need to hear me, too. My master's not known for his patience, and your lives mean even less to him than mine. He does business with dwarves from time to time, and considers himself a dwarf friend. He orders you to make terms with them."
The man's eyes bulged in angry reaction, then abruptly Macurdy lunged, his left hand chopping sideways, deflecting the bow while his right drew his knife. He backed the bandit against the elm, the man staring not in anger now but fear, for the knife blade was at his belly.
"If you knew my master," Macurdy told him loudly, "you'd understand that I fear him much more than I fear you. Tell your men you're going to make terms. Tell them to be ready to leave when you've got an agreement with the dwarves."
He twitched lightly with the knife, slicing the man's homespun shirt, and the skin beneath it.
"You heard what he said!" the leader shouted.
"Lords of the Mountain!" Macurdy called. "Will you agree not to shoot at these people while they withdraw?"
The answering voice was a deep, accented bass. "Yewr mad if ye think ye can fool us so easily! Ye'd shoot us down in cold blood!"
"What's your name?" Macurdy asked the bandit quietly.
"Slaney."
"Slaney," Macurdy said loudly, "step out here!"
"What?! They'll shoot me!"
"Louder!"
"I said they'd shoot me!"
"I don't think so. But it's a chance you take, being a highwayman, and if you don't step out, I'll spill your guts on the ground right here. I'll count to three: one…"
Slaney stepped away from the elm, Macurdy with him, the heavy knife still at the bandit's belly. "We're not highwaymen," the bandit muttered. "But rebels have to eat, and with Gurtho on the throne…"
Macurdy's left hand reached, drew Slaney's k
nife from its sheath and tossed it away. "Hold your bow against the tree."
He did, and Macurdy cut the string. "How many men do you have here?"
"In the woods? Fourteen alive and fit. Three others are dead by those vermin, and two badly hurt."
"Plus two on the road," Macurdy prompted.
The man nodded. "Plus two on the road."
"Tell them to cut their bows with their swords, lay them on a tree and chop them. So I can hear it happen." With a flick of the knife blade, Macurdy made another slit in the man's shirt, another thin red line on his belly. "Tell them!"
Worms writhed in Slaney's face. "You heard what he said," he called. "Chop your bows in two."
Several seconds passed before Macurdy heard the first chop. A moment later he heard a second, then more, though how many had actually struck a bow… "Anyone who walks out of here with a whole bow will answer to my master!" he shouted. "With his life!" There were three more chops, then a fourth.
"Lords of the Mountain!" he called, "does that convince you they won't attack if you come out?"
"And what's to prevent yew from fillin' us with arrows?"
"Because we're dwarf friends." Macurdy raised his voice to full shout. "My lord! Send the great raven to vouch for us!"
Blue Wing, who'd been circling well above the trees, spiraled down to perch among the upper branches of one. "Lords of the Mountain," the bird called, "these are honorable men! Trust them!"
"Yew!" the dwarf called out, "the man who's taken it on himself to intercede here! What's yer name?"
"Macurdy."
"Macurdy, why don't ye just kill the boogers?"
"My master is a magician and warrior, not a butcher. And these men haven't harmed us."
"What will they pay for our dead and wounded? And our ponies, and the tallfolk groom they killed?"
"Nothing!" Slaney bellowed, then paled chalk-white as Macurdy's knife slit again, this time through skin and shallowly into the muscle beneath it. Blood oozed, flowing down his hairy belly.
"They'll pay the contents of their purses," Macurdy called back, "whatever that may be. And their horses, keeping enough to ride home on, doubling two on a horse."
