The Lion of Farside tlof-1

by John Dalmas

  Macurdy heard the brief bass rumble of dwarves conferring. Then their leader called again. "All right. Have them hold their purses above their heads. We're comin' out with bows at the ready. We'll not shoot if not threatened, but…"

  "Do you pledge that on the honor of your sons?"

  "On the honor of our sons through three generations!"

  Long generations, Macurdy thought. According to Maikel, dwarves lived longer than Sisters, though they aged more or less gradually, and seldom had children before age forty.

  "Careful now, Slaney," Macurdy called. "If even one of your men plays false, you all die. Yourself first." Then he shouted at full voice again. "My lord, send in someone to collect their purses for the Lords of the Mountain."

  Blue Wing flew off with the message, in case Jeremid hadn't heard. It took several minutes for the Ozman to get there. With saber in one hand he made the circle; the purses he stuffed in his shirt mostly felt empty, or near it, and not every man even admitted to one. Eight dwarves came out, two of them limping. They wore mail shirts that seemed too light to stop a sword blow, but by their shimmer, Macurdy suspected they were more than ordinary steel.

  The bandits, it turned out, had more dead than they'd realized. With a well-aimed arrow, Melody had killed the bandit who'd first challenged Macurdy, shot him when he'd started in from the road as if to intervene. Then she'd gone on to the horse guard and shot him too. Her marksmanship impressed Macurdy; both her arrows had pierced the victims' hearts. Her casual willingness to kill people also impressed him-shocked him a bit despite how warlike the Ozians were.

  It was dwarves with their crossbows who stood guard over the bandits and chose the horses with which they'd be paid-the ten best of nineteen. Two others had been wounded during the original skirmish, and run off. Meanwhile the dwarves searched the bandits for valuables they might have transferred from their purses, and found little. Another visited the dead bandits, collected their bows and swords, and chopped their spears in two.

  Slaney stepped over to Macurdy. "The truth between the two of us," he growled, in a tone not to be heard by his men. "There is no master, right? There's only the three of you."

  "Right and wrong," Macurdy lied. "There are seven of us, but I'm the leader and magician. The other four don't want their presence known in this country. Also I am dwarf friend, and couldn't let them die here."

  Slaney didn't know what to believe, and said nothing more; his aura was thick with hate. He and his men mounted-two to a horse except for himself-and without looking back, headed east down the highway.

  Dwarves do not ride full-sized horses; Macurdy had learned that from Maikel. Their legs are short, they require special saddles, and there's the problem of climbing on and off. They ride ponies specially bred-short of leg and very tame, with a quick-footed gait.

  This party had been traveling with two saddle ponies each, plus spares and pack ponies, and enough were left that each survivor had one to ride, with several left over. With tallfolk help, they loaded their goods on compensatory horses, on pack saddles lashed together from stout ash saplings. Their dead, including the tallfolk groom they'd hired, were also loaded across horses. Macurdy wondered aloud if it might not be better to build a pyre and burn them, this being the tallfolk custom in Yuulith. The elder dwarf answered that there'd be no decay, and he'd have strong coffins made at the nearest village where a proper cart could be bought.

  That said, he put his hand on each corpse, one after the other, concentrating and muttering, as if preserving them with a spell.

  The dwarves didn't look forward to tending a string of horses-they preferred not even to tend their ponies if they could hire some tallfolk to do it-but they seemed not to doubt that they could if they had to.

  Their biggest problem was that four of them, venturesome youths by dwarvish standards, wanted to join Macurdy, whom they believed would be doing more bold adventurous things-things they hoped to be part of. This, however, would leave their leader with a party of only four, of whom two had been wounded, though one but slightly. But those who wanted to leave claimed the right to do so. They hadn't been part of the original party; had attached themselves to it because they were also from the Diamond Flues.

  Old Kittul Kendersson Great Lode disagreed. He pointed out that as a member of the ruling council, he had the authority to take command in emergencies. On the other hand, young Tossi Pellersson Rich Lode, eldest of the four cousins, claimed the emergency was over. And a tallfolk could be hired at the next village to tend the animals.

  Old Kittul was apparently not a typical dwarf. He undertook a compromise, for he saw that the Pellerssons would leave despite him, which could give rise to ill feelings in both clans. And at any rate the younger dwarf's arguments had merit. While Tossi, though young, understood the politics of the Diamond Flues. The upshot was that one of the cousins would leave with Kittul. And Tossi, if he lived long enough, was to personally deliver, to the King In Silver Mountain, a report of the events here. He was also to send one in writing, for the king should be apprised that travel entailed risks in this region.

  Tossi's three cousins drew straws-Tossi, as senior, held aloof from the risk-the short straw to ride west with Kittul.

  When Kittul's party was in the saddle, he called Macurdy to him. "And yewr people," he said, "and yewrs, Tossi Pellersson." When they'd gathered, Kittul cleared his throat and began.

  "Macurdy," he said, "ye haven't told me where yer goin' nor why. But yewr a born commander, both in yer manner and yer thinkin', though ye don't flaunt it. And I have no doubt at all that whatever yer about, it's honorable.

  "As for yew, Tossi, I suspect yew and yer wild cousins will find adventures enough to last yer lifetime. Which I hope will be long enough to have children to tell them to."

  He looked into the crown of a roadside tree. "And yew, great bird," he called. "Knowledge of yer folk is part of our lore, though it's at second hand from the tomttu. We're too much inside the mountain to know ye first hand. But it's well known that yewr kind has a penchant for doin' that which, from time to time, influences events. Sometimes for good, sometimes not, but always honestly. Yer connection with this man is a favorable omen, and I wish ye well."

  He turned in his saddle. "Macurdy, hand me your blade."

  Macurdy did, and Kittul lay it across his lap (dwarves ride with their knees high), then sat with his eyes closed for a long minute, head back, beard jutting, his ruler's aura swelling upward like pale, purple-blue flame. Then he took Jeremid's saber, frowned a moment over it, and repeated the performance. And then Melody's. When he was done, he looked long at Macurdy before speaking. "It's a hazardous road you've chosen. That much I know, even if I don't know what it is. Much will happen that none of us can foresee. But what I've done with these will help." He gestured at Macurdy's sword. "There is more to refinin' weapons than just forgin'. And though it's not dwarf made, like theirs"-he gestured toward the cousins-"still it's better now than others made by tallfolk."

  With that he tossed his head in a dwarvish farewell, turned his pony, and trotted off westward at the head of his party.

  With Blue Wing scouting ahead, Macurdy, Jeremid, Melody, and the three young dwarves rode eastward in the direction of the Silver Mountain, the Sisterhood, and he supposed Varia. Before long they crossed a modest river, and shortly afterward, saw where hooves had left the highway on a narrow, well-worn trail that disappeared northward into the forest. It seemed safe to bet they'd never see Slaney and his crew again.

  21: The Inn

  " ^ "

  Within an hour of leaving the skirmish site, they rode out into cleared farmland, the most Macurdy had seen in this world, with woods only here and there. A couple of miles southward, a dark strip of forest stretched from east to west as far as he could see, with more farmland on the other side. The river woods, he supposed. Northward at the edge of seeing were high hills dark with forest.

  As they rode, he questioned the dwarves about the country they'd pas
s through. Tossi, being the eldest of the three, did most of the answering. This, he said, was the beginning of Tekalos, whose king was Gurtho. The oppressive ruler the bandit chief had mentioned, Macurdy realized.

  Occasionally they met traffic, most seeming local. There were numerous tiny hamlets-clusters of farmers' huts and out-buildings-and here and there villages. Near evening they saw a rather large village ahead.

  Tossi trotted his pony up beside Macurdy's. "Macurdy!" he said, "there's a decent inn ahead. I suggest we stop for supper, and spend the night."

  "Feel free, you and your cousins, Tossi Pellersson," Macurdy answered. "The three of us will eat here, but our money's too short to stay under a roof at night. We'll camp by the road east of town, and meet you in the morning."

  "Ye don't understand," Tossi said. "We folk who live in the mountain seldom travel without money. I'll pay for the rooms, and the meal too." Macurdy began to decline, but Tossi cut him short: "Think where I'd be tonight, if it wasn't for yew three. Dead in the woods, likely."

  "Say yes, Macurdy," Melody broke in. "They probably have a bath house, and ale."

  Macurdy agreed. And there was indeed a bath, but only for men. Melody said she'd share, but the innkeeper refused, looking worriedly at Macurdy's discolored face. He had a number of guests, he said, all of them male, and he feared if she bathed with them, there'd be fights, which could result in his being fined for encouraging disorder.

  "How does your wife bathe?" Melody asked.

  "In summer, in the walled courtyard behind our apartment, in a big tub. Otherwise in her own kitchen. If the lady would care to, you can use the tub in the garden."

  Tossi offered to hire their clothes laundered, along with the dwarves', but they had nothing to wear while their clothes were being washed. So before supper, they went to the shop of a clothier, who sewed clothing of several sizes on speculation. Cottons were cheap enough that Melody and Jeremid covered the cost for the three of them. Macurdy had also hoped to buy an old dog from someone, some blind and feeble hound for a copper, to take out of town and shoot for Blue Wing. But the great raven had left when they'd arrived at the inn, so he let it pass.

  Supper was better than he'd expected-a beef stew with assorted vegetables not cooked to pieces, and oatmeal mush with honey, cooked somewhat stiff, with bits of dried apples stirred in after cooking. By local standards, he supposed it was quite good. The pot room was well occupied, seemingly as much by locals as travelers, the ale as popular as the food. But their table, in an out-of-the-way corner, they had to themselves for a while, though it had seating for more. Macurdy wondered if his discolored face was the reason-that and his size and brawn. People might take him for a troublemaker. Or was it the dwarves they were leery of?

  Later, while they ate, a man came and sat across from Tossi, and when the potboy came over, ordered supper and ale. Macurdy paid little attention to him till the man spoke to Tossi. "Excuse me, sir dwarf lord," he said quietly. "Do you deal in weapons?"

  "Some in my clan do. What, specifically, are ye interested in?"

  "Swords."

  "Indeed? How many? When circumstances permit, I might speak to someone who could discuss the matter with ye while passin' through."

  "Ah. How many indeed. It would depend on the price; my friends and I have limited resources. Probably not many."

  Macurdy looked the man over. By Arbel's system of evaluating auras, this was a ruler of sorts, someone whom others tended to defer to. He wasn't sure how meaningful that was though; Arbel had said his was a "ruler's aura," yet he'd been a slave at the time. Just now, Macurdy decided, the stranger lacked money. He was more wishing than anything else. Although his aura reflected inner power.

  The conversation ended with Tossi giving him an estimate. "I can't speak with authority though," he finished, "not bein' in the trade myself." The man thanked him and turned to his supper, and the dwarves left, saying they seldom drank more than a single ale in public. And when Jeremid and Melody had finished a second tankard each, the three refugees from Oz went upstairs to bed.

  The dwarves shared one room and the tallfolk another, with a single large bed in each. Jeremid suggested they draw straws to see who slept in the middle, and Melody drew the short. After they'd lain down, she raised herself on one elbow and leaned over Macurdy. He could smell the ale on her breath. "Macurdy," she said, "your mouth looks well enough for kissing now," and lowering her face to his, kissed him sweetly, long and lovingly, while groping him. "Make love to me, Macurdy," she murmured.

  "Melody, I can't," he said, moving her hand away. "You know that. And anyway we're not alone."

  "Would you if Jeremid weren't here?"

  "God, Melody, I'd like to, but it wouldn't be right."

  She lay back down exasperated. "I've never in my life heard of anyone so damned difficult," she said.

  Jeremid spoke then. "Spear maiden, there's a Hero on the other side of you who'd happily hump you all night long."

  "You're not the Hero I want humping me."

  He laughed. "Then you're as damned difficult as he is."

  "Go to hell, Jeremid."

  He laughed again, and after a moment, she did too.

  Macurdy didn't. After a bit he went to sleep, but awoke some time later to quiet sounds. He was the only one in bed, and the sounds were of panting and moaning on the floor beside it. He lay without moving, feeling miserable. The sounds speeded and intensified without growing appreciably louder, peaked, then died. A minute later, Macurdy heard Jeremid's whisper: "How'd you like that, spear maiden?"

  "You're good, Hero," she whispered back, "you're very good."

  "It's here for you whenever you want it." Jeremid's chuckling was a series of soft aspirations. "I'm better than Macurdy'd be, I'll bet."

  "Hard to say. His horn is bigger though, that's for sure. He's a real horse."

  This time Jeremid didn't chuckle. "How do you know?"

  Melody told him of mounting Macurdy on the night he was beaten.

  "Then all that stuff about loyalty to his wife…"

  "He wasn't awake when I slid it in. And even then he didn't start pushing for a while."

  Neither spoke for a minute or so, till Jeremid said, "Why did you follow him? Just to get humped by him? I always thought that recklessness of yours would get you in trouble. And he's not even good-looking anymore, with his teeth all broken out."

  "I'm in love with him. That's not something you'd understand. Humping's as far as it goes with you."

  Jeremid didn't respond. Despite his own state of mind, Macurdy wondered what the Ozman was thinking.

  "Why did you follow him?" Melody asked.

  "Don't know. I guess-I admire him. He's got more guts than anyone I've ever seen. And he's honest. And smart, damned smart-except when it comes to you." Jeremid chuckled again. "Besides, where he is, interesting things are going to happen."

  Their conversation lapsed, and Macurdy wondered if they'd gone to sleep there on the floor. Then one of them began to breathe a little raggedly. "Damn you," Melody whispered, "I said only once."

  Again Jeremid chuckled. "Here we are naked, and who knows when we'll have this good a chance again."

  After a moment, Melody said, "Just a minute."

  Between half closed lids, Macurdy watched her go to her gear. In the dimness, the vague sight of her bare buttocks made the breath stick in his chest. Half a minute later she was back out of sight, on the floor with Jeremid. Before long he could hear them having sex again. His torment lasted considerably longer than the first time, and Melody was harder put to keep her climax quiet.

  This time when they'd finished, there was no conversation. They put their cottons back on and came carefully back to bed. It was quite a while before Macurdy slept again.

  22: Decorations on a Town Square

  " ^ "

  On the road next morning, Macurdy did not feel refreshed. His dreams had been restless and troubling, though he couldn't remember them. He had no trouble at all, tho
ugh, recalling what he'd heard when he'd wakened in the night. He supposed he should feel complimented by the things they'd said about him, while by the standards of Oz, or at least the House of Heroes, their couplings had been unobtrusive, even modest.

  These realizations didn't help. He felt-deprived and jealous. Feelings which he realized were totally unjustified. Jeremid wanted Melody as much as he did, and had as much right to. As for Melody and himself-clearly all he needed to do was say yes.

  And how had Varia spent last night? he wondered. Being bred by some stud? Enjoying it? She'd been more than enthusiastic when they'd been together. He imagined her groans, her cries almost yelped, her strong fingers digging his back. Whose back now?

  While he imagined, Melody trotted her horse up beside his. "Macurdy," she said, "we need to talk. Privately."

  He dug heels in his horse's ribs, and they pulled farther ahead of the others. "You woke up last night, didn't you?" she asked.

  He nodded without speaking.

  "When I got back in bed, your breathing didn't sound like you were sleeping. And this morning-it was pretty obvious."

  Yeah, he thought, I suppose it was.

  "What did you hear?" she asked.

  "All of it, I guess. The first time, and the second, and the talk in between."

  "Macurdy, I love you, you-jackass. And it's damned hard to be around you without having you."

  "It's the same with me."

  "I suppose it was bad for you, listening to us go at it."

  He grunted. "That's not your fault. Not your problem."

  "I know it's not. But I don't like having caused you pain. I'd rather cause you pleasure."

  "Suppose you get pregnant?"

  "I've got lamb bane in my gear."

  Lamb bane. Of course. He'd heard of it from Hauser, who collected it in season for Arbel. It didn't keep anyone from getting pregnant, but both sheep and women, if they ate it early enough, miscarried with no trouble. The two of them rode without speaking for several chains. "Look," she said finally. "I can't promise I won't hump with Jeremid again. But I do promise not to do it where you can hear us. Will that help?"