The Sword Of Bayne Omnibus

by Ty Johnston

  “He will recover,” Ashal said of Pedrague. “Give him a few minutes.”

  “After the battle with the Trodans,” Bayne said, “I would have believed him beyond such emotions.”

  The god smiled. “Some of us remain innocent all our lives.”

  A flare lit up the scene and all eyes focused upon the corpse of the king. The body was aflame, a lavender blaze eating away at the flesh and dark garb. Within seconds, the figure had become as black ash, then it broke and cracked into a million miniscule pieces and drifted away upon a light breeze.

  “He will … rebuild himself eventually,” Ashal said, standing. “Until then, the world is a safer place, a better place.”

  Bayne turned to the priest once more and saw the man continued to stand still with a glazed look upon his face. The warrior slapped his hands in front of Pedrague’s eyes, drawing a flinching head as response.

  Ashal stepped over to the cleric and placed a gentle hand upon a shoulder. “Go from here now, good Pedrague, and return to your temples. This gathering is finished. Record what you will.”

  “I believed …” the priest’s voice trailed away as he stared off once more.

  “You believed there would be a war between myself and my former father,” Ashal said. “That was never a possibility. I do not wage war. I have no need for it.”

  “Which I suppose is why my presence was necessary,” Bayne said.

  “To an extent,” Ashal said, “but the outcome was not entirely yours to decide. Verkanus could have acted upon his own, as could I. You were here not necessarily to make a decision yourself, but to provide an equilibrium. You acted. An outcome has been decided. The matter is finished.”

  “You implied he will return,” Bayne said. “How long?”

  Ashal shrugged. “Much will be up to him, and there’s the mental scarring your damage will have done upon him. It could be months or years, perhaps even several human lifetimes.”

  “I will be waiting,” Bayne said.

  “Good,” Ashal said. “Perhaps next time Verkanus will have a more difficult road to dominance.”

  “What of him?” The warrior jabbed a finger in the direction of the priest.

  Ashal squeezed Pedrague’s shoulder, then waved a hand before the cleric. “Be at ease.”

  The priest blinked. “I … I …”

  “Take care of yourself, Pedrague,” Ashal said.

  The priest, his face lively once more, turned to his god. “You are leaving?”

  “I am.”

  “You must come with me!” the priest nearly shouted. “We can bring you to the temple. Word will spread. You have returned.”

  Ashal’s smile was a sad one. “Not now, good man. The world must do without Verkanus and myself for some while.”

  “But why?” Pedrague asked. “Why not return? Bring your healing powers to the people, my lord, and all will follow. You can bring an end to the divisions among the believers. You can bring the Ashalites and the Ashalics together, ceasing the warring among the shrines.”

  “Then I would be little better than Verkanus himself,” Ashal said. “No. Men must learn to do for themselves and provide for themselves.”

  “Faith,” Bayne said.

  Ashal’s grin grew wider and less sad. “Indeed. And free will.”

  “Before you go, will you help where Verkanus would not?” Bayne asked. “Will you tell me who I am?”

  “With regrets the answer is no,” Ashal said. “In many ways you are still a blank slate, Bayne kul Kanon. You have much yet to learn, and my telling would hamper your progress. Your road is not yet finished, though perhaps your climb is. My apologies.”

  Bayne nodded. There was no more to say on the subject.

  “You are one of three immortals now, Bayne,” Ashal went on. “Remember that, and use what you learn wisely. Men will attempt to use you for their own ends, as they do with all they perceive as gods.”

  “I am prepared,” the warrior said.

  The god’s eyes glimmered. “I believe you are.”

  Then Ashal turned and walked several yard away. He turned back one last time, waved, and said, “Goodbye.”

  It was as if a mist of steam poured over the god, and then he was gone.

  Bayne blinked. Then he turned to Pedrague. “I propose we climb back down,” the warrior said.

  The priest shrugged, but disappointment was clear on his face. “I suppose.”

  Soon enough they were walking.

  As they rounded upon the path Bayne had followed to the top of the mountain, the big man gently slapped the priest on the shoulder and provided a grin of his own. “Do not worry about your god, preacher man. Remember to have faith.”

  Pedrague chuckled as they walked. “I will attempt to do my best. But you, Bayne? What will you do now? Where will you go?”

  “I go in search of the woman Valdra,” Bayne said, retrieving Masterson’s cigar from his belt and planting it in one corner of his mouth. “She seemed as she would make a good companion for one such as myself. If Verkanus spoke truly that she was an illusion, it will be to my loss. But I will search nonetheless.”

  “Faith,” Pedrague repeated.

  The priest snapped his fingers and a small flame danced in the middle of his hand. He held it up to set a burning glow to the end of his companion’s cigar.

  A Thousand Wounds

  Part II of The Sword of Bayne

  22 years After Ashal (A.A.)

  Part I: The Mountain

  The cave’s opening was like the maw of a dragon, wide and dark inside with jagged stones hanging from above as if giant teeth ready to bite down. Even outside the cave the grass was a wilted gray, lending to the notion of the fetid breath of a beast having blown forth.

  Bayne kul Kanon shifted the heavy sword on his chain-clad back. “It was not like this before.”

  The other figure on the wide lip of the mountain ledge moved around his larger companion to better see the mouth of the cave. The wind, cold this high among the mists of the clouds, played with the fellow’s plain brown robes, sending the edges of his garb dancing. He stood there next to his comrade, his shivering arms wrapped in front of himself.

  Bayne, more than a head taller than his companion, crossed his muscular arms in front of his broad chest and continued to stare at the cave. The day’s sun, though weakened through the gray clouds surrounding the mountain, still found a hole to punch through and glint off Bayne’s pale dome. “It was not like this before,” the big man repeated.

  The robed figure continued to quake. “What has changed?”

  Bayne noticed his companion’s condition. “Priest, you are freezing. Let us build a fire.”

  The robed man known as Pedrague nodded his approval and soon the two were at work putting together a small camp. There were plenty of dried branches along the mountainside trail, but the priest had to settle on a handful of old, oiled clothes taken from his shoulder bag for kindling. Bayne retrieved a piece of steel and a shard of flint from a small pocket within his belt, and within a few seconds had struck up a camp fire surrounded by round stones. Minutes later, after a helping of fallen, broken tree limbs, the blaze had grown sizable and brought warmth and a line of black smoke to the mountain’s ledge.

  Pedrague, leaning near the flames with his hands extended, was no longer shivering. A smile glazed his features.

  “You are well satisfied?” Bayne asked.

  “I am,” Pedrague said.

  “Good.” Bayne turned his back on his associate to study further the cave entrance, his heavy gaze intent upon staring into the darkness as if he expected someone to come forth.

  The priest stood straight but kept his hands extended. To the big man’s back he said, “You mentioned there had been changes.”

  Bayne nodded and pointed to the right and then the left. “The ledge had stretched around both sides of the mountain. To our right was where her camp had been, where I last saw her and her sisters. There was no path to this point, a
s there is now, and I had been forced to drop to the road below.”

  “You are sure this is the place?”

  “I am.”

  “And you still insist Valdra was not an illusion?”

  Bayne glanced over a shoulder at his friend, his gaze harsh.

  Pedrague looked away. “My apologies. I know she meant something to you.”

  The swordsman turned back to the cave once more and stared into that dark pit. In truth, he could not say what Valdra meant to him. They had but shared a handful of moments together. But in her Bayne had seen something, a spark of life, a willingness to struggle, that he found missing in other women, other mortals. After leaving her days earlier to continue his pursuit of a mad wizard, he had often thought of returning to find her. Images of Valdra had sprang forth strong in his mind, and once he had climbed to the top of the mountain and found the wizard and dealt with him, he had set a goal of returning to her in hopes of friendship and perhaps more.

  Bayne kul Kanon was a lonely man, if he even was a man. His not knowing his own mind, his own memories and origin, only added to his loneliness.

  Pedrague walked around behind his friend and planted a hand on the big man’s shoulder. “If she exists, we will find her. Now come, and warm yourself by the fire.”

  Bayne showed no sign of needing physical warmth, yet he came about and moved closer to the flames, squatting next to them and rummaging through a pack he had dropped there. Soon he pulled out two solid sticks of wood, the ends wrapped in more strips of the priest’s oil cloth.

  Pedrague had reclined on the grassy ground opposite the fire, staring across at the much bigger man. “You plan to enter the cave.” It was not a question.

  “Yes.”

  The priest looked up to a darkening sky. “It will be night soon. Do you not think we should wait until morning?”

  “No.”

  Bayne stood and struck one of the makeshift torches into the fire, the stick instantly catching blaze on its free end, the smoke oily and inky rising from it.

  He looked to his friend. “I would wish you to wait for me.”

  Pedrague climbed to his feet, surprise written in his features. “I’m not coming with you?”

  Bayne shook his head. “All of this is different than what was before. There is heavy magic involved. I want you out here where you can spell my way out if I should need you to.”

  The cleric grinned. There was little chance Bayne would run across something with which he could not cope physically. The man was as strong as ten men, and had slain thousands in battle in a single night. His bones were like iron, and his flesh healed from wounds faster than one could stitch them. Bayne had faced down gods, practically being one himself. There was little to be concerned about when it came to this man.

  “How should I know if you need me?” Pedrague asked.

  “You are the one with magic,” Bayne said with a grim smile. “You figure it out.”

  The grin fell from Pedrague’s face.

  “Wait no longer than three days,” Bayne went on. “If I have not returned by then, most likely I will not.”

  The big man turned to enter the cave.

  “Bayne!” the priest called out.

  The warrior looked back over a shoulder.

  The face of his friend was pensive, concerned. “You don’t know if she exists, let alone if she’s in there. It’s possible this isn’t even the right place.”

  “I know,” Bayne said, “but I must find out.”

  Then he walked forward with the lit torch extended, the other quickly stuffed into his belt as he disappeared into the gloom of the cave.

  With just a few steps, Bayne was almost in total darkness but for the glow of his flaming light. The outside world, just behind him, seemed to dim and fade. Looking back, he could still make out the grayness of the ledge and the clouds beyond, but the view was weak as if thick, dark glass were between him and the mountainside. Of Pedrague and the camp fire, there was no sign.

  “Very well,” he said to himself. Despite his companionship with the priest of Ashal, Bayne had spent most of his known existence alone and wandering. Today would be no different. He turned his back once more on the outside and plodded ahead into the depths.

  The way forward proved easy enough to traverse. His torch showed the way, and it was straight with a slight slope leading down. The natural roof above was mere inches above the big man’s head, but that did not bother him, especially as the walls gave plenty of room to maneuver or swing a sword if needs be. Every so often a stalactite would hang down, but these were thin things that did not bar his passage and merely had to be stepped around.

  The sounds were the only truly dreadful part. There were none, other than the plodding of Bayne’s booted feet and his own heavy breathing. Even his torch was silent with no cracklings of flame.

  Soon Bayne entered a steady rhythm, his steps paced almost in a pattern. It was dulling work walking and walking, and he should know having done enough of it, though most of that had been above ground. Still, the tomb like quiet was peaceful compared to the often bellicose trappings of the outer world. Here there was just Bayne and the tunnel within the mountain. There were no mortals foolish enough to try to kill him or use him or sell him something.

  As he continued forth, his thoughts turned to Valdra. When he had met her, he had been searching for his own past, chasing the mage-emperor Verkanus who had been present when Bayne had gained consciousness nearly a dozen years earlier in the middle of a battlefield.

  “Conquer for me,” the emperor had said, “and I will tell you who you are, from where you are.”

  Bayne had not been able to resist. He had no memory of his life before waking and finding Verkanus before him. Armed and armored, he had stepped onto the battlefield alone, by himself slaying thousands before the wizardly-priest Pedrague had stopped him and convinced him of the emperor’s treachery. Verkanus would not show Bayne his history as Verkanus knew nothing of it.

  Thus had begun Bayne’s long hunt for the fleeing mage-king, an emperor defeated and without his empire. Finally, the swordsman had followed his foe to the top of this very mountain. Pedrague had been present, as had a mysterious figure Pedrague had believed to be his very own god, the Almighty Ashal Who Had Walked Among Men.

  It seemed foolish now, Bayne realized. The mage known as Ashal had been but a man, and he had been executed by Verkanus two score years earlier. If Ashal had survived somehow, or even managed to return, it would have been through his powerful magics, not because he was a god.

  Or was he? Ashal had more than hinted that Bayne and Verkanus were themselves immortal, part of a triumvirate along with Ashal that decided to some extent the fate of mankind. Verkanus was a source of evil. Ashal that of good. Bayne was somehow a neutral element, a balancing element.

  In the end, Bayne had crushed Verkanus with his very hands. The emperor had seemed mortal enough then, but his body had soon disappeared once more. With Ashal unable or unwilling to provide the answers which Bayne sought, the big man had moved on with Pedrague, going in search of the woman with the two strange sisters he had met only recently along the mountainside road.

  Had any of it been real? Bayne did not know. There was magic involved here, heavy magic, and the emperor and Pedrague’s god had hinted that illusion might have been at work. Apparently, all for Bayne’s benefit, to help him grow and learn on his own without the assistance of gods themselves, even if Bayne was one of them in his own way.

  Light ahead.

  Bayne halted.

  He had been walking long, how long he did not know but perhaps hours, and had been caught in his own thoughts. The orange glow ahead had surprised him. Holding his torch to one side so as not to interfere with his vision, he stared ahead at the luminescence. Though the color of flame, oddly enough it did not flicker. If anything, it seemed to shift slowly like a fading moon. And it was low to the ground where a cooking fire or some such would be expected.

  His curi
osity peaked, Bayne moved forward with caution, his large sword finding its way to his free hand.

  As he neared the auburn glow, he slowed more and more. It was a curious light ahead, unlike anything with which Bayne was familiar.

  Eventually he was close enough to make out the incandescence came from a hole in the ground, the pit large enough that Bayne could have jumped within without touching its sides. Also, there was no easy way around. The hole reached from one side of the tunnel wall to the other.

  Bayne eased forward further, his gaze locked on that glowing cavity in the earth. Near the pit’s edge he slid one foot forward gradually to test the ground. It seemed sturdy enough, safe.

  He pressed forward and looked over the edge.

  The drop was quite far, but Bayne could just make out the roiling bottom. Down there was a golden liquid of some sort, shifting in heated colors from red to yellow and even white. A strong heat rose from the pit, reaching up and warming the flesh of the warrior’s arms.

  What is this? Bayne’s mind asked. Was this the blood of the mountain, the blood of the earth?

  The more he watched, the more dumbfounded he felt. The glowing liquid moved about of its own accord, bubbling and swirling. Every once in a while its edges would grow black as if cooling, but soon enough the bottom of the pit was lit once more when a burst of the lava would belch up from below.

  Bayne had never witnessed such a sight. He had no clue as to its cause or its reason for existence.

  At his feet, cracks appeared along the ground. The swordsman did not notice, his sights on the wonder below him.

  Then the ground itself crumbled.

  Bayne found himself wheeling on the edge of the hole, his arms thrust out, his torch falling from clumsy fingers, his sword saved only by instinct.

  Then the ground gave way altogether.

  He was falling.

  He shouted in astonishment as he plummeted, the heat rushing up faster and faster and hotter and hotter. He quickly felt the hairs on his arms singed away, and his boots and leggings were smoldering.

  This would be painful, Bayne knew. And if anything could slay his seemingly immortal body, it must be this, the hot blood of the mountain.