The Sword Of Bayne Omnibus

by Ty Johnston

  Taurut nodded to Bayne, nearly a short bow, to intimate he meant no disrespect.

  “What of this Lerebus character?” Altinus put to Bayne.

  “Your man answered most of my questions concerning Lerebus,” Bayne said. “I had wondered where he had fled. I suppose I can’t blame him for his actions. He knew I was to come here.”

  “Are you satisfied, then?” Altinus asked. “Are you prepared to leave?”

  “No,” Bayne said, his look harder than ever upon the priest. “I am curious as to another issue.”

  “Speak of it, then,” Altinus said.

  Bayne growled deep in his throat, a warning not to push him. “Upon nearing the door --”

  “The one you broke through,” Altinus interjected.

  “Yes,” Bayne said, growling once more. “I overheard what sounded like an argument between the two of you. I am naturally inquisitive into the matter.”

  “It was a private concern involving the church,” Altinus said. “It is no matter for the likes of you.”

  “Perhaps I am making it my concern,” Bayne said, his right hand easing toward the hilt of the sword above his shoulder.

  The bishop glared at the warrior but gave no answer.

  “By Ashal,” Taurut said with exasperation, “Altinus, it is no secret. Tell the man.”

  “I owe him nothing,” Altinus said without taking his eyes from Bayne.

  Taurut took a step closer to Bayne, drawing the warrior’s attention. The robed man’s hands were held out before himself in supplication.

  “I am one of three candidates for leadership of a new bishopric in Lycinia,” Taurut explained. “Bishop Altinus was questioning me in regards to that candidacy, and our discussion had become heated.”

  Bayne smirked. “What do religious men have to argue about? There is a god or gods or there is not. You believe or you do not.”

  Altinus scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air.

  “Our talk was concerning the potentiality of other worlds existing,” Taurut said.

  “There are no other worlds!” Altinus shouted at his compatriot. “There is this world and this world alone! If the Creator had built other worlds, or Ashal had been aware of them, then we would know of such!”

  Bayne chuckled. Of course there were other worlds. He had visited one. He was, in fact, the offspring of another world, one in which a mad god ruled.

  Altinus turned his spite upon the warrior who threatened his life with laughter. “You would dare mock the name of Ashal?”

  “No,” Bayne said. “I would mock a pitiful priest who has no regard of the world beyond his doorstep.”

  “What do you know?” the bishop said. “You are a killer! Nothing more!”

  Bayne chuckled once more. “I know more than you, priest. I have traveled beyond the pale reflections of this realm to a place of --”

  “Impossible!” Altinus shouted. “Delusion!”

  The laughter died. “Interrupt my words again and I will allow my steel to finish my speech,” Bayne said. The eyes within his slashed face were hooded, his gaze that of a hungry wolf.

  For the first time the bishop seemed to see into the depths of those eyes. His face went pale.

  Experiencing quiet from the unbelieving Altinus, Bayne went ahead speaking. “I thought all you priests wielded magic. Sorcery would reveal these other worlds to you.”

  Altinus stared back. He remained quiet, though now his features revealed growing trepidation instead of his earlier spite.

  “Speak!” Bayne shouted to the priest.

  Altinus jumped a little. His lips splurted, but eventually he got out rushed words. “Not all use the sorcerous arts.”

  Bayne laughed yet again, glancing to Taurut. “And you?”

  “I am a student of magic,” Taurut said. “Pedrague himself is my teacher.”

  The warrior’s eyes lowered and became still and glazed for long moments as he peered into his own past. His words were soft, barely above a whisper. “And a powerful teacher he must be.”

  Bayne’s head suddenly snapped up, glaring at Altinus. “You are more than a fool. You are an ignorant fool, one who decries the very reality placed before your eyes. Evidence at your fingertips, yet you deny, deny, deny. It is men such as you who ruin this world, who control and distort for your own twisted ends all because you are too fearful to face truth.”

  A well-muscled hand reached up and grasped a lengthy, leather-wrapped sword handle.

  “But … but … but ...” It seemed all the bishop could say, his words flapping, his eyes growing larger and larger at his own impending death.

  Taurut dared another step forward, placing himself between the side of the desk and Bayne, almost between the swordsman and the bishop. “He has no reason to believe!” the smaller man shouted to the warrior. “Will you slay him simply because he has not the tools to open his eyes?”

  The sword came out, whipping through the air, yet Bayne held death in check, gripping the weapon in two hands close in front of his chest, his steel eyes boring into those of the bishop. “If the wheel of a man's wagon should break, he goes to the wheelwright to have it studied and repaired. If one wishes to become educated in a matter, he studies under a teacher. What a man does not do, does not dare to do if he has any shred of decency, is to make decisions about a subject of which he does not know, especially if such decisions affect others.”

  “But today was a simple examination of my potential for being a leader in the church,” Taurut pleaded. “Other than myself, there is no one here who could possibly be bothered by the bishop’s beliefs.”

  Bayne gritted his teeth and glared at Taurut. “I am here. And I see in this bishop a man who rules over others, a man who arbitrates the lives of others. Yet he has not even enough sense to seek out those who can educate him about matters which he does not know.”

  The sword was raised.

  “But is this worth a man’s life!” Taurut shouted, throwing up his arms between the bishop and the warrior.

  Steel came down, hammered down, cracked down.

  And Taurut’s skull crushed inwards, spiraling the man down to the floor in a bloody heap.

  Altinus cried out.

  The sword came up again.

  “You slew him!” the bishop screamed.

  “He should have known better than to try and protect one as yourself.”

  A slice. A cut. A chop.

  A head rolled.

  Blood sprayed.

  Bayne stood drenched in ruddiness once more, the wet scarlet dripping from the end of his sword and standing out in splashes across his arms.

  Part V: The Scouring

  With nary a glance at the carnage he had dealt in the library, Bayne turned and made his way along the outer hallway. Each step boomed as if from thunder as he moved forward, which brought a grin to the big man's face as he expected the sound of each of his echoing footsteps jarred the nerves of those still foolish enough to be waiting outside.

  Just as he neared the exit, a sizable shadow barred the way.

  It was the officer, the one who had accosted Bayne at the picket line. The young man agitated with rage, his extended sword shaking in a hand, his shield hanging from his belt.

  Bayne halted.

  “You slew them!” the captain shouted. “Murderer!”

  His sword jabbed forward. Bayne knocked aside the blade with a free hand, then hammered forward the hilt of his own large weapon. The bronze pommel cracked through flesh and bone, shattering a hole the size of a large coin in the young man's skull.

  The captain dropped in a heap of clanging armor and weaponry.

  “Should've worn a helm,” Bayne said, then stepped over the dead man without further thought of him.

  The warrior found himself outside once more, a gentle rain now falling and washing away the crimson remains of his recent debacles. He paused outside the side door to the castle, his eyes staring about at the two score of silent, shocked individuals who surrounded
his placement.

  There were a couple of new wagons and beasts of burden, as well as a handful of newcomers from the town he had burned. But most of those with wide eyes locked onto Bayne were monks or priests or soldiers. None of them appeared man enough to come forward and confront him.

  “Bring me a horse,” Bayne ordered.

  No one moved.

  Bayne slung out his sword, one handed, sending the remaining blood on the weapon to scatter on the ground. “Bring me a horse!”

  Several young men in the crowd scampered away.

  Bayne's grin widened.

  Then he spotted the priestly Rothn cringing off to one side. Bayne turned his attention upon the man. “You were an idiot to believe I would not kill them.”

  “The bishop? And Taurut? They are dead?” Rothn asked, his face ashen.

  “Of course they are dead,” Bayne said.

  “But ... but why?”

  “Altinus and Taurut were fools, proving themselves unworthy.”

  “Unworthy of what?” Rothn asked.

  “Of existence,” said Bayne.

  With those words the three young men who had recently fled came forward, each leading a sizable horse already saddled and ready for riding. Bayne glanced over the beasts, then settled upon a dark mare.

  As the warrior approached, the horse stood still, it's large eyes blinking at him. The youth holding the reins, however, began to shake in his knees.

  Bayne chuckled and snagged the straps so fast the leather left a long cut in the boy's hands. The youth winced and spun away, fleeing into the crowd.

  Ignoring the pain he had caused, Bayne slipped his sword into its long sheath on his back and climbed atop his new steed. He sat high in the saddle, staring about across the heads of those gathered.

  “If any here is man enough to face me, let him do so now,” Bayne said. “Otherwise, out of my way.”

  The crowd parted for him in silence, opening a path that lead back to what remained of the picket line and the road back to the town.

  Bayne chuckled once more and kicked at the sides of his riding animal, sending the beast forward through the group of onlookers.

  As he passed by, Bayne glared at those lining his path. Many eyes were averted by his hard stare, but some few stared back with their own coldness. None, however, were bold enough to attempt to halt him or even to speak harsh words to him.

  Soon beyond the crowd, Bayne plied his way through the hole he had smashed into the makeshift barricade upon leaving the road earlier and entering the castle grounds. Past that, he was once more on the road leading into the mountains.

  He did not look back. Instead, he trotted forward, taking the gradual incline with ease atop his strong new steed.

  Soon enough the site of the castle and the gawkers was behind him, hidden by the rising spires of the rocky terrain. A half hour later he came to a higher elevation where the view opened up, and here Bayne paused his horse long enough to stare back upon the valley of the church. He could still make out the crowd, now nearly doubled in size, huddled about the side of the castle. It seemed there was much debate going on, but at this distance Bayne could not make out what was being said, nor could he tell much of what was happening. After a few minutes he noted several riders darting off in the opposite direction away from him, their steeds' legs working as fast as the riders could spur them.

  What were they up to down there? It mattered little. None there posed a threat to Bayne kul Kanon.

  He spun his horse around and rode away, heading back toward the vanquished town he had visited but a day earlier. The rain still came down but had weakened further until it was little more than a drizzle that grayed the sky and brought a low fog to hover above the ground. Bayne kicked at his steed's sides, driving the animal forward more swiftly; after all, the main reason he had wanted the beast was for speed.

  Bucking up and down in the saddle of thick leather, the warrior's thoughts began to ramble. He soon turned to wondering about Lerebus. Where had the yellow-haired fighter gone to? He had been one of the first to arrive at the castle from the town, and he had been the one to warn the priests of Bayne, the little good that it had done them. Where was Lerebus? Why had he not been among the soldiers at the castle? Perhaps the fellow was hiding somewhere, fearing Bayne would take out his rancor upon his former companion.

  Bayne chuckled at the thought. He did not blame Lerebus for warning the priests of Ashal. Under similar circumstances, he might have done the same thing, at least in a search for allies against a more powerful foe.

  No, Bayne had no hate for Lerebus. He supposed his display of destruction at the town had been enough to drive away the northerner, to lose a potential friend forever.

  No matter.

  As he continued along, the rain finally dissipated, leaving behind round drops of wet upon the scars that covered every inch of his bare arms. He glanced down upon his old wounds and cursed the day he had received them. At least it had been a day of lessons. Bayne had learned the truth of men, that all of them were vile and deserving of death.

  Thoughts of death brought his mind back to the priests at the castle. Knowing he was coming, why had they not fled? Other than the handful of soldiers at that first picket line, there had been no real opposition against Bayne. The bishop had even been going through a debate with a subordinate. Had Bayne's coming been of little concern to them? Or had they believed the soldiers would be able to take care of any threats? It was a point to which he feared he would never learn the answer, not that it was overly important.

  Pedrague had been one of them, a priest of Ashal, now an arch bishop, whatever that position entailed. Pedrague had also been a man of peace, though he had had the ability to protect himself and others. Was Bayne supposed to believe these other priests of Ashal were also men of peace? It seemed unlikely. Altinus had been an ass. Men of peace should not act as such. Maybe Altinus had not known better, or perhaps he had not had the same inclinations as Pedrague.

  Ashal himself had seemed a god of peace, Bayne remembered. He had once met the god, along with Pedrague and his enemy the wizard-king Verkanus, atop the very mountain that rose above the clouds ahead to Bayne's right. He could just spy the white tip of the crags reaching up as if grasping at the sky.

  Ashal. Yes, he had seemed one to seek peace, but also he had been one of mystery. Possibly it had even been Ashal who had conjured what Bayne now considered to have been imaginary images during his climb of the mountain. It had possibly been Ashal who had given him the vision of Valdra. He would never forgive the god for that image. The vision had been too brief, and later became too painful.

  Was there no peace for Bayne kul Kanon? He thought not. His only source of peace would be to separate himself from men, or to slay all men who came across his path so that he would no longer have to deal with them.

  Bayne grinned. He was a god of war. Thoughts of slaying pleased him.

  Perhaps once he had visited with Pedrague he would go deeper into the mountains and away from mankind. That had been the half-formed plan in his head. But he was beginning to cherish his own position as a god of battle. Could he not find glory in destroying men? And was it possible he could eventually destroy all men, thus bringing to himself the ultimate solitude he so craved?

  It would take years, centuries.

  But he was immortal. What was time to him?

  The grin broadened. Then grew thin and paled.

  Pedrague would have none of this. Once he had learned of Bayne's recent ways, and Bayne had sworn to himself he would not lie to his old companion, the arch bishop would stand opposed to Bayne. It would not be the first time.

  The thought of facing Pedrague did not bring fear to the warrior's chest, but it did cause him concern. Pedrague was a powerful mage, and he had shown the ability to at least temporarily bring Bayne to a halt. The swordsman had to wonder if he would be able to stand up against the priest's magic.

  He did not know. He had also been bested by magic in th
e other world, that of the mad god Marnok, his creator. So it seemed magic was his weakness. How could he overcome it?

  Or did he want to? Did Bayne truly wish to defeat Pedrague? To slay the man? Pedrague had been one of the few helpful mortals whom Bayne had known. There had been a level of respect, almost friendship, between the two. And the story of Pedrague returning to the cave in the side of the mountain meant something, though Bayne knew not what. Did Pedrague still believe Bayne would return? Through the cave? Or was the priest's annual visit something else altogether? Perhaps Pedrague went to the cave as a form of memorial or as a mark of honor meant for Bayne. Did Pedrague believe Bayne had died?

  Again, Bayne did not know.

  But what he did know was that he would have little joy in defeating Pedrague, for defeat him he would. Of that, he was sure. He was immortal. Very few things could destroy him, and Pedrague knew of none of them. Bayne himself could only speculate on a few threats that could potentially be lethal to him, lava and perhaps lightning being two of them. Other possible threats existed in Marnok's world, but Bayne was no longer in that place.

  Still, it would be a bad thing to have to kill Pedrague. He hoped it would not come to that.

  He rode on, slowing his beast as the climb became more steep.

  After some little while the gentle sway of horseback riding began to lull Bayne's senses. He welcome the laziness washing over him and allowed himself to doze in the saddle. Though he had far more reserves than mortal men, it still did him good to rest. He could not remember the last time he had slept, though it seemed to have been days or weeks ago, perhaps in the world of Marnok.

  Time seemed to pass slowly as the warrior's lids closed over his eyes and allowed him sleep. In a near trance, he never noticed the fog burning away beneath the day's sun and the eventual leveling out of the ground.

  It was only when his steed came to a stop that Bayne opened his eyes.

  Before him was one end of the town he had visited the day before. Here were several buildings still standing, most of them appearing to be houses. Silence on the wind told Bayne the structures were empty, the residents having fled after his slayings and burning. Beyond those few buildings were row upon row of giant blackened claws protruding in stillness from the earth; these were the remains of places he had destroyed with fire. Strings of smoke continued to rise up from the burnt shells as if spirits of the dead seeking a heavenly release. Here and there along the road into the town could be seen debris, items dropped in haste by those trying to run from their doom. A wagon with a broken wheel had been pushed to the side of the road, and several crates and small chests had been dumped near it. Here and there were soaked clothes drying on the ground. A child's toy, a wooden soldier, lay cracked not far from the hooves of Bayne's animal.