The Sword Of Bayne Omnibus

by Ty Johnston

  The grin slid from the warrior’s face as he sighed. To the smell of the bacon, then. Perhaps the witch could provide him with the location of the road. Or perhaps he could force the information from her, if need be. Mayhap he could even find out if Verkanus had passed this way, and how long ago, for Bayne had lost all track of time while within the mountain.

  He sauntered off in the direction from which came the aroma of the cooking meat, his boots leaving imprints in the grass as he crossed the green ledge. Rounding the bend in the mountain, the new site brought him up short.

  Before him sat a woman on a rock, her back to him. Her presence alone had not stopped the warrior in his tracks, for he had expected her there, but she was unlike her two sisters, unlike any woman with whom Bayne had been familiar.

  He could as yet perceive her features as her face was turned away, but she was tall and well muscled, appearing as strong as many a man. A shirt of bronzed scales layered her back and chest over a leather doublet that reached down her arms just past the elbows. Wrapping her wrists were leather bracers inlaid with wide strips of gray stone, while tanned leggings covered her legs, disappearing into deerskin moccasins. Most notable to Bayne, however, and causing his breath to catch, was a single braid of auburn suspended beneath a round, hammered helm and ending in drifts near the back of her waist. Beneath this golden-brown coil hung a curved sword, the hilt rising above the woman’s right shoulder.

  She was a warrior born. Her arms and legs, her armor, the sword, all were evidence of this. Bayne never had known such a female. He had witnessed women caught up in war, some who had picked up weapons to fight side-by-side with their men or to protect loved ones, but none had been a natural warrior nor a trained soldier.

  She rolled her head just enough so he could make out her profile. Strong nose. Carved but graceful chin. High cheek bones. A curl of russet draping down from beneath her helmet to fall between eyes the color of a dying storm.

  Her head veered further so she could see him.

  She stood and faced him. “I am Valdra.” Her voice was a knife grating through ice.

  “I am Bayne.”

  “I have expected you, Bayne,” she said. “My sisters informed me of your presence. You follow the mad king.”

  Bayne glanced about as if expecting the two sisters to appear, not noticing his own slight crouch at the potential danger.

  Valdra smiled. “We are alone, for now.”

  Bayne stood tall once more. “You are the first to give me your name.”

  “My sisters are secretive,” Valdra said with a shrug. “It can be expected of sorceresses.”

  “You are no witch, then?”

  Valdra continued to smile though her eyes narrowed. “Not in the same manner as they.”

  Bayne rolled his eyes. “As ever with women. Words that have no meaning.”

  Valdra chuckled. “And as ever with men. Not willing to seek a meaning.”

  Their eyes locked. There was no more laughter between them, but also no signs of hostility. The world around them grew silent. No birds clamored through the air. No insects sang beneath their feet. The only sound remaining was that of the shallow breaths from between their own lips.

  Valdra glanced away and the moment passed. She turned and waved a hand over a small fire that had been hidden by her body. “Would you partake?” The fire was ringed by stones the size of a fist. Hanging over the flames was a little pig skewered on a spit of iron.

  “I believe I will not,” Bayne said. “I do not trust eating the fare of witches.”

  Valdra grinned once more. “There have been too many fairy tales,” she said. “Witches must eat the same as any woman. Not every meal can be poisoned or laced with potions.”

  Bayne grunted. “No, not every meal, but perhaps that one.”

  Valdra laughed again, then slid a small dagger from beneath one of her wrist bracers. “Very well, Bayne kul Kanon. If you will not accept my hospitality, I hope you will not consider it rude if I should continue with my feast.”

  He nodded.

  Valdra returned to her seat of stone. She sliced a long, thin sliver of pig meat and speared it with her knife. She held the blade up and watched the steam linger above the cooling slice of pork. Then with a grin she stabbed the meat into her mouth and chewed.

  Bayne eased forward to one side of the woman, watching her.

  She cut another hunk of the meat. “Do you trust my meal now?”

  “Because it does you no harm does not mean my own safety is assured.”

  Valdra laughed again, her hardest, longest laugh yet. Her laughter was so boisterous, for a moment it appeared as if she would choke. Then she slapped a knee and stabbed the meat into her mouth once more, chewing and chewing and chewing before swallowing.

  The she stared up at Bayne with a smile all teeth. “More pig for me, then.”

  She went on eating, slicing and cutting and poking the pig meat into her maw.

  Bayne had never witnessed a woman with such an appetite. She was not piggish nor sloppy with her eating habits, but she did not dawdle nor poke about with her food. She ate with purpose and rigidity.

  It was almost comical to see.

  Finally, Bayne let loose with a chuckle of his own.

  Between bites, she glanced up at him. “You could at least have a seat,” she said.

  Bayne suddenly noticed a folding stool of wood and cloth next to him. He glared at it, then back to the woman.

  She pointed at the chair with her dagger.

  Bayne grimaced but sat. Why he sat, he was not sure. Valdra had so far been no help to him in his travels. However, he had to admit she seemed more open than her sisters. Perhaps once she was finished with her meal she would provide Bayne with knowledge, such as the way to the road. Perhaps she even knew the location of Verkanus himself.

  As if underscoring his potential faith in her, Valdra threw down her dagger, the point sticking into the ground between her feet.

  “You have questions?” she asked.

  A more direct approach. Bayne approved. “Yes.”

  “The road is back the way you came,” Valdra said, pointing in the direction. “Where you turned left from the cave, instead turn right. Follow the grassy ledge around the mountain to the other side. It is a good walk, but eventually the ledge dips down and you will find the road below. There will be a short drop, but I believe you can manage the climb.”

  “Very well.” Bayne stood. “My thanks.”

  “There is more,” the woman said. “This emperor you seek, he is near.”

  One of Bayne’s eyebrows rose in curiosity.

  “You lost more time than you believed at the village and the tavern,” Valdra went on, “but your trip through the mountain has shortened your course. You are but several hours behind Verkanus.”

  Bayne nodded. “The tunnel was a fortunate route instead of the annoyance it had seemed.”

  “It was.”

  “Very well,” Bayne repeated. “Again, my thanks.”

  He turned to leave.

  The dark-haired temptress from the cave entrance stood there, mere feet away, almost within sword-striking distance.

  Bayne sprang to one side, away from the beauty and her sister in armor. His sword slipped into his hands, gripped in front of him. “Treachery!”

  “Not from me.” Valdra retrieved her dagger and went back to slicing meat from the stuck pig.

  She of the black hair grinned.

  Bayne glanced from one woman to the other and back again. His leg muscles tensed, ready to spring to action.

  “Nor from me,” another voice sounded.

  Bayne spun.

  The other sister had appeared, the one with intentions of marriage and motherhood. She sat on her familiar cushioned chair opposite Valdra, across the dancing flames of the fire.

  Bayne took several hasty steps back so as to have all three in sight.

  The dark-haired beauty laughed and approached her sisters. An iron divan, bolstered
with padding, emerged from the nothingness of the air across the fire from Bayne. This last sister standing eased onto the couch, lounging back against its cushioning.

  “Care for a bite?” Valdra asked, extending an offering of meat from the tip of her knife.

  The temptress snarled.

  The motherly one blanched and sat back on her chair.

  Bayne stood his ground, sword extended.

  Valdra glanced to him. “You are jumpy for such a fine, strong fighter.”

  “I have learned to distrust magic and those who wield it,” Bayne said.

  Valdra popped the pig meat into her mouth, chewed and tossed her blade point-first into the ground once more. She swallowed, then, “My sisters can cause you no harm.”

  The temptress hissed.

  The other sister’s eyes went wide.

  “Why is that?” Bayne asked, curious.

  Valdra chuckled, stood and faced the big man. “Because you are immune to their charms. One wishes for a husband. The other wishes you in her bed. Neither is likely to happen.”

  “And what do you wish?”

  “I?” Valdra said. “I wish but for a good horse and strong steel.” She extended a hand to him. “Bayne kul Kanon, I will not cross blades with you, nor will I attempt to bewitch you. I have no such need or want. To ensnare one such as you would be a disservice not only to yourself, but to me and the rest of humankind. I would not see a tiger beaten and tamed, but running free.”

  Bayne was stunned by her bluntness, and the end of his sword swayed the slightest bit. But could he trust her? She had not been like her sisters; Valdra had shown no signs of attempting to enslave him. Or were her words merely a game in which she was trying to stay one step ahead of him?

  He thrust his sword into its sheath. He was Bayne kul Kanon. He would not learn fear today.

  He stepped forward and gripped her proffered hand. It was a strong grip, as strong as Bayne’s own. Again he was reminded of the strength the mothering sister had shown. Could these three women be a match for him? Had Bayne had a mistake in his trust?

  Valdra grinned, and all Bayne’s concerns were swept away. This was a woman with honor, one who would not use guile to attempt to confine him.

  She squeezed, then their hands parted.

  She took a step back, as did Bayne, the two watching one another.

  “I have told you the route to take,” Valdra said, nodding in the direction.

  “Aye,” Bayne said.

  Then he turned and walked away.

  “Coward!” screamed the temptress. “You are no man! But a man lover!”

  Bayne continued walking.

  “Please, won’t you save me?” pleaded the sister seeking a mate. “I can give you a good life, and a home and a family.”

  But Bayne did not turn back.

  He rounded the corner from which he had come, and the women’s voices were no more. Even the crackles of the cooking fire were lost to distance.

  Crossing the sward once more, passing the cave entrance without a glance, Bayne’s mind paused on Valdra. She had been a good woman, a strong woman. Perhaps once he was finished with Verkanus, once he had found out the secrets he had been promised, then he might return for her.

  For now, though, he still had a king to catch.

  Part V: The Fields

  The road was soon found as it had been described to Bayne. He came to the edge of the grass-covered ledge and below he spotted the road. It was bricked once more, and the bricks looked fresh as if lain sometime within the last several summers.

  The drop was the distance of three men’s height, but that was of no concern to Bayne. He dropped to his knees, clutched the lip of the rocky edge and slung his legs over the side. Hanging there, the distance to fall was narrowed.

  He let loose.

  And landed on his feet, on the road, none the worse for wear.

  He paused to make sure he had not jostled his sword free, then gazed from side to side. By Bayne’s calculations, the way to his left seemed to backtrack around the cave of the three sisters. That way was a dirt path. The road to his right was the bricked path, and it appeared to travel in a new direction, the direction Verkanus would have journeyed.

  Bayne grinned. He was nearer the emperor than he had been in weeks. The man in black was running out of time.

  Pausing no longer, as time was another enemy, Bayne set out once more, his heavy steps taking him along this new road.

  The way remained steady and widened along the side of the mountain as Bayne marched. In some places the road was ample enough a small army could have crossed, and Bayne began to wonder who had built such a road, especially this high where clouds were so near Bayne could almost reach up and touch them.

  For he had come high, he admitted. His days on the road and his climbing and his trip through the tunnels had brought him higher and higher. Now he could look over the ledge and see naught but gray clouds below. The trees were now invisible to him, and the only break along the horizon were other mountains, white-tipped in the distance. Too, the air had cooled, and here and there frozen ground could be spotted. Bayne bore no cold-weather garb, nor was he in need of such yet, but a night on the road would be a chilly one. Perhaps he would come across another tavern, or maybe another traveler who would share or sell a cloak or blanket.

  Or perhaps Bayne would obtain his goal before nightfall.

  Shaking his head, Bayne gave up on such thoughts. His goal was all he must focus upon. The cold would come, but that would not stop him. He would march forever to catch Verkanus if he must.

  Slowly the road began to rise once more in increments. The ascension was so gradual Bayne figured he must have walked nearly around the entire mountain before climbing a height equal to three-story tower. And the road was wider and wider, barely a road now but almost a field of bricks beneath his feet. Keeping to the center of the way, Bayne could barely throw a rock and have it plummet over the mountain edge.

  Still, the mountain itself rose eternal at the center of all, it’s upper heights even here remaining invisible within a roaming circle of gray mist.

  A sign appeared on the side of the road up near the mountain wall. It was a simple wooden sign made of a post as tall as a man and as thick as his wrist. From a distance, Bayne could make out carved words painted black on the wooden plank of the sign’s face.

  He made his way over to it.

  The sign read, “Stagnation.”

  Bayne’s face screwed up in bewilderment. Was Stagnation the name of a place? Or a thing? Did the sign have some hidden meaning? It seemed an odd name for a place, but not much more unusual than The Knotted Mesh.

  Realizing there would be no answers forthcoming by simply staring at a plaque of wood, he made his way past it and continued on.

  It seemed a mile or so he must have walked when the ground opened up even wider than before, though the road itself narrowed once more to only a wagon’s width. Surrounding the road were flat lands of golden grains swaying beneath the heat of the sun. In the distance, on either side of the road, were fences of rough wood fronting the road itself and leading off to Bayne’s left and right as if corrals.

  Here the cliff’s edge was far enough to Bayne’s left he could hardly recognize it as it mingled with the horizon. The mountain proper rose far to the right and continued to climb into the clouds. The surrounding land was large enough and flat enough it seemed Bayne was once more approaching the foot of the mountain. But that could not be. Bayne had already trod a long distance uphill and through caves to find his way here.

  The only conclusion was the mountain must be bigger than he had believed. The mountain now appeared to be large enough to sport its own flatlands, which lay before Bayne as proof. Did this mean the mountain was still truly a mountain, or was it something more? Or had magic been involved? Perhaps Verkanus had sprang a trap, somehow sending Bayne across the nether to another mountain on another continent, or perhaps even on another world.

  Bayne
glanced behind himself. The wide road there continued away into the distance.

  No, he was still on the original mountain, what he had come to think of as his mountain. Verkanus may be up to a trick, but Bayne was still confident he was on the mage’s path.

  He put his booted feet to motion once more.

  Soon he came to the corners of the fences on either side of the road. Ahead, past the corners, the two fences faced one another across the road itself. Away in the distance could be seen a tall, wooden house on the left in the center of the field there. A similar structure could be seen on the right in the center of the field there.

  A stone’s throw away from Bayne was a gate. Two gates, to be precise. One in the fencing on the left and one in the fencing on the right. Leading out from each gate to the road was a footway of pumpkin-colored bricks; on the other side of the gates the footways shot straight across the fields of grain and up to the houses.

  Out by the road, on either side of the road, next to where the road and the footways met, there was a bench. Two benches altogether, each facing the other and each made of sturdy oak and painted dark green. Next to each bench was a small table of whitewashed wicker. Atop each table was a metal cup sweating droplets like dew. On each metal cup was a sturdy hand, for each bench also held a man. Two men together, facing one another across the road.

  Curious, there was naught to do but continue forward, which is what Bayne did.

  As he neared, he could better make out the features and garb of the two fellows seated across from one another.

  The man sitting to Bayne’s left appeared to be about middle age with a grizzled chin and one eye larger than the other. His stomach was the size and shape of a small barrel, and could not be concealed beneath the tattered, baggy tunic covering his arms and chest. His legs were layered in grimy wrappings above leather sandals, from which protruded his rather large, round and stubby toes, most with long, dirty nails. He lounged back on his bench with his legs stretched before him into the road and one arm thrown over the back of his seat.

  The other man was a contrast in opposites. He was a little older than the other fellow, with a thin, white beard guarding his lower chin and wisps of white hair poking from beneath his scarlet, floppy hat made of a heavy material brocaded with images of flowers. He too was corpulent, though his stomach was not the size nor shape of his colleague’s, but rather that of a large pouch in the shape of a ball. Around this ball bulged a doublet without arms, the cloth heavy and the color that of the late-night sky. Beneath this doublet was a silky shirt of the palest yellow which flared out beneath the man’s thick latigo belt above white stockings that ran down his knobby, stick-thin legs into simple, soft walking shoes that matched the shade of his vest.