The cataclysm t2-2

by Margaret Weis

  "Still and all," Darll said stubbornly, "it WAS a first offense."

  "First offense?" Graym gaped. "From you, sir?"

  "Well, for this sort of crime."

  Graym shook his head. "You tell your side of it well, sir, but I have a contract."

  "It's the money, then."

  "No, sir." Graym shook his head violently. "I gave a promise. Even if I persuaded the others to agree to forfeit the twentypiece we have coming, I'd still be unable — outstanding warrant and all — to go back to Sarem and return the ten — " He felt in his pocket…

  He sighed, didn't bother feeling in his other pockets.

  Darll, watching his face, smiled. "Cunning little things."

  "Thrifty, too," Graym muttered.

  By midday, they had reached the top of the first large hill — low and rocky, with a fault crack running across it. Jarek, scouting ahead for the easiest route for the cart on the broken road, returned, announcing, "People coming." Fen said fearfully, "What if they're robbers?" Fan added, "Or maybe they're the bounty hunters." The Wolf brothers edged toward the back of the cart. Graym grabbed their shirts, pulled them back. He then wiped his hands on his own shirt. "Wait till we've seen them, at least."

  He edged to the top of the hill and peered over the top. A group of humans was walking toward them — townsfolk, seemingly, coming from the small knot of cottages standing on the road.

  Graym retreated below the crest of the hill, reported what he'd seen. "We can't run, and there's no place to hide. Best we go forward and be friendly. Folks like that."

  Jarek looked dubious. "They might rob us."

  "Not of much."

  "Or we might rob them. Are they rich?"

  "I didn't grow up with 'em," Graym retorted. "How should I know?"

  Jarek dug in the dirt with his boot. "Well, if they are, and we robbed them, then we'd be better off, right?"

  Graym considered. "Now that's an idea. We rob from the rich. And then…"

  "And then what?" Jarek asked.

  "Can't rob from the poor," Fenris said.

  "No future in it," Fanris agreed.

  Jarek objected, "There's more poor people than rich people. Easier to find."

  "Ah, but they don't have as much, do they?"

  "Now that's telling him what, Fen."

  "Thank you, Fan."

  Darll said firmly, "You're not robbing these people."

  Graym wasn't too keen on robbing, but he thought Darll was being a bit bossy, for a prisoner, even if he was a mercenary. "And why not, sir?"

  Darll shook his head wearily. "Because they have us surrounded."

  While they had been talking, the townspeople had encircled the hill and closed ranks. They approached silently. There were thirty or forty of them, dressed in ragged, ill-fitting clothes. Several wore robes.

  Graym looked around at the circle of men and women. "Good to sec so many of you here to greet us." He waved an arm. "I'd offer a drink, but we're running short."

  A robed and hooded figure came forward. The robe was too long, clearly borrowed, and had been dyed a neutral color. "I am Rhael," said the person. "I am the elder."

  The voice was strong and dear, strangely high. Graym said dubiously, "Are you sure? You sound kinda young for an elder."

  "Quite sure." The woman pulled back her hood and shook her hair free of it.

  Darll snorted. "Who are you all?"

  "I am Rhael. These are my people. We come from the village of Graveside."

  Darll asked, "A law-abiding village?"

  She nodded.

  "Good." He raised his manacled hands. "Arrest these fools and free me."

  "Arrest them? Why?"

  "Because they're crooks."

  "What have they done?"

  "What haven't they? Theft, resisting arrest, drunk and disorderly plenty of times, drunk but not disorderly at least once, sober and disorderly a few times — "

  Rhael seemed impressed. "What are they like as fighters?"

  Terrible," Darll said truthfully. "Awful to watch. You can't imagine."

  "Brutal?"

  "That man — " Darll pointed to Graym — "drove off a band of bounty hunters, with only me in chains to help him."

  "That one…" He pointed to Jarek. "He nearly killed a man with one blow." More or less true, counting a thrown rock as a blow.

  "And those two…?"

  Darll glanced at the Wolf brothers, who waited eagerly to hear what he could say about them.

  "Well, just look at them," Darll said.

  The folk of Graveside looked them up and down. The Wolf brothers did look dangerous, both as criminals and as a health risk.

  Darll held out his arms, waiting for his release.

  Rhael walked straight up to Graym. "Would you be willing to lead an army?"

  Darll choked. Graym's mouth sagged open.

  "We need brave men like you," Rhael said. "We're facing a scourge."

  One of the elders quavered, "A terrible scourge!"

  "I didn't think it would be a nice scourge," Darll muttered.

  "His name," Rhael lowered her voice, "is Skorm Bonelover."

  "Not his given name, I take it, Miss?" Graym said.

  "He is also called the Sorrow of Huma, the Dark Lady's Liege Man, the Teeth of Death, the Grave of Hope — "

  "I've always wanted a nickname," Fen said wistfully.

  "We've had some," Fan reminded him.

  "Not ones we've always wanted, Fan."

  "True enough, Fen." He sighed.

  Darll said, suddenly interested, "Don't you people have any fighters, or a bailey or something?"

  They all looked sorrowful. "Gone, gone," one said.

  "Killed?" Graym said sympathetically.

  Rhael shook her head. "The Protector came to me one morning and warned me about the coming of Skorm. A stranger had come in the night and told him, said that he had already fled before Skorm's army. The Protector said the only sensible thing to do was flee, leaving all our things behind, so that Skorm would stay and plunder instead of pursuing us."

  Graym frowned. "This Protector wasn't much of an optimist."

  "He was terrified," Rhael said. "He said that Skorm would drink the blood of one victim, only to spit it in the face of another. He said Skorm once bit through the arm of a warrior and stood chewing on it in front of him. He said — "

  "Never mind," Graym said hastily. His stomach had been wobbly all day. "Where is this scourge?" He looked around fearfully. "Not with you, I take it."

  "He and his troops are camped in the bone yard — "

  "Picturesque," Graym murmured, approving.

  "In the Valley of Death, beyond Graveside. There are more than a hundred of them now. Every dawn," Rhael said with a voice like death, "we see more warriors standing by Skorm's tents. Every day his troops increase."

  Graym turned to his companions. "And you all told me no one was hiring. It was nothing but a necessary market downturn, and you call it a Catechism."

  "Cataclysm," Darll hissed.

  "Right you are, sir." Graym turned to Rhael. "And, now, young elder… I can't get used to that, by the way. Why are you an elder, Miss?"

  "Elders aren't chosen because they are old," a man next to her, quite old himself, explained. "We are chosen because each of us represents one of the elder virtues."

  "And what," Graym asked, feeling his ears turning red, "is Miss Rhael's virtue?"

  "Elder Rhael embodies fearlessness."

  "No wonder she's so young," Darll said dryly. "Fearlessness never reaches old age. What about you?" He pointed with both chained hands at the elder who had spoken. "Who are you?"

  The old man stepped back from Darll. "I am Werlow," he said. "I embody caution."

  "Good for you," said Darll. "And what did you do about Skorm?"

  "I convinced the rest of the people to evacuate," Werlow said. "We elders have stayed, to pray for the coming of heroes."

  "We're here," Jarek said happily. "We're heroes,
aren't we?" He looked to Graym for support.

  Graym cleared his throat. "I don't like to boast. We're desperate men… and bold warriors, but we've left our robbing ways behind us. We have trade goods" — he didn't want to say 'ale,' though the barrels made it obvious — "that we're taking all the way to Krinneor, where our fortunes will be made and our lives will be good, in the richest city in the world." His voice went husky. "The golden towers, the marble doors, the excellent drains."

  The elders exchanged glances. They were silent.

  Finally Rhael said, "The road to Krinneor winds around the Valley of Tombs. There is no way there, except through Skorm's army."

  The Wolf brothers made most unwarlike whimpering sounds. Darll edged over and kicked them each, hard.

  Graym frowned. "Don't they ever move out of the cemetery, Miss? Parade, or bivouac, or do any of those nice martial things that make armies so popular with politicians?"

  Rhael shook her head. "They have no need to," she said sadly. "They just grow strong and plan to attack us."

  "How much, to fight them?" Darll asked suddenly.

  The elders looked at each other.

  "Nothing," a reed-slender old woman said. "We heard of your fight with the bounty hunters. That is why we sought you. If you refuse to fight, we'll inform every hunter we can find, and you'll be taken or killed."

  "That seems harsh, Ma'am," Graym said. "Fight or die? For nothing?"

  "And what elder virtue are you?" Darll asked.

  The old woman smiled thinly. Thrift."

  Graym made up his mind, turned, and addressed his companions. "These pick-me-up armies are all bluff. Farm boys and fishermen, not one real soldier in twenty."

  Jarek was counting on his fingers. "How many real soldiers does that make against each of us?"

  "One," Fenris said flatly.

  "Maybe even two," Farms added.

  Graym waved his hand. "What's that to us? Nothing at all. They're just trainees. We're road-tested. Months of hardship, baking sun, blinding rain — "

  "Great ale — " Jarek said, caught up in the enthusiasm.

  Graym interrupted hurriedly. "And there you are. We'll frighten off this lot in no time and be back on the road." He raised a fist and shouted, "To Krinneor!"

  "To Krinneor!" Jarek shouted. Darll said nothing. The Wolf brothers looked worried.

  The elders had tears in their eyes. Graym was pleased to think he had moved them. He held out his hands. "As long as we're fighting the good fight for you, so to speak, can you lend us your swords?"

  The elders stared at him.

  "We didn't bring any," he added.

  "It's not as if we needed them," Jarek said.

  The elders were suitably impressed.

  "The Protector fled with most of our good weapons. We still have a few." Rhael lifted a rag-wrapped bundle and gave it to Graym. "This is Galeanor, the Axe of the Just."

  "Just what?" Jarek asked.

  Graym took the axe, eyed it dubiously. "Just kidding."

  Darll muttered in his ear. "Perfect. The fat man fights and dies with the Axe of the Just Kidding."

  Rhael handed the others dented weapons, the few the Protector had left behind. Darll examined his sword with distaste. Jarek looked at his with delight. The Wolf brothers picked up two badly corroded maces, after touching them gingerly to be sure they weren't dangerous. They stood there, then, staring at one another.

  "Don't you think you'd better take up positions opposite the enemy?" Rhael suggested.

  "You're absolutely right, Miss," Graym said firmly. "Move out." With only a small twinge of guilt, he added, "And we'll take the cart with us — for supplies… and… strategy."

  They traipsed down the hill, walked through Graveside. It was, Graym noted, a pleasant enough place, not much bigger than Sarem. There were cart tracks in front of the homes and manure piles in the tilled fields. It obviously was a farm-to-market town for a larger city. "Krinneor isn't far now," Graym said to the others. "We're closer to the city itself. I know it. Now, if we can just shake this lot…"

  Graym glanced behind him. Werlow began organizing the elders for a safe retreat down the road. Rhael had gone into one of the cottages.

  Graym smiled; they continued on.

  At the crest of the hill, Darll raised his hand in silent warning. The others obediently stopped the cart.

  "Keep low!" he ordered. They dropped to the ground and peered into the valley below.

  Tombstones and open graves, white tents and a great many ropes stippled the valley and spread up the opposite hill. A hundred helmeted, armored warriors stood in line, ready for inspection. Graym looked shocked.

  "These scum robbed the graves," said Darll. "And they're wearing the corpses!"

  "Odd taste in armor, made out of bones. What for, d'you think, sir?" Graym asked.

  "Wolves love bones," Darll said bitterly. "Sheep shy away from them. No use in shying, though. The wolves always win." He smiled grimly. "I know. I'm a wolf."

  He pointed downhill cautiously. "The two in front with the swords are drillmasters, showing close-quarter thrusts. The ones checking the lines are lower-rank officers."

  A man dashed up to a soldier, who was twisting this way and that, cuffed him, and yelled in his face. The shouting carried all the way to the hilltop.

  "That," Darll said dryly, "would be the sergeant."

  "Which one is Skorm?" Graym whispered.

  "My guess would be the big guy, wearing the sawed-off skull."

  They watched as Skorm paced calmly and evenly, inspecting the troops. The warlord, stepping over a skeleton, kicked the skull. It shattered on a tombstone.

  Graym peered down at him. "Now there's a man who knows the value of appearances."

  "Don't you ever say anything bad about anybody?"

  Graym shrugged. "There's more than enough of that around, sir, if you want it."

  "What if we split them down the middle?" a voice said.

  They rolled and turned around, Graym snatching the axe from his belt. Rhael, a battered spear with a mended haft in her hands, was standing behind them. She was dressed in leather armor that probably had been trimmed from a butcher's apron.

  "I've always heard that was how to deal with a larger force," she said.

  "Young Elder Rhael," said Graym, "why don't you go back to town and keep bad folk from climbing the hill to surround us?"

  Rhael looked at Graym admiringly. "You have the mind of a warrior." She stood stiffly. "I won't let you down. I promise."

  They watched her run back over the hill crest. "I wish I could move like that," Graym said, envious.

  "Wouldn't look good on you," Darll muttered.

  Graym rubbed his rotund middle. "True enough, sir."

  "Now," Darll said, "what's your battle plan?"

  "Battle plan, sir?"

  "You left Rhael to guard our rear — and an ugly rear at that. What's your plan of attack?"

  Graym shuddered. "Attack? Don't even think it, sir. My plan is to run around Skorm and go on to Krinneor. Why do you think we brought the cart?"

  The Wolf brothers looked vastly relieved. Darll stared at him, then began to laugh. "I like your style, fat man."

  Graym hefted the axe. "Right. The chains, sir."

  Darll was suspicious. "You're setting me free?"

  "On good behavior." Graym glanced sideways down the hill at the soldiers. "I can't send you running past that lot in chains. They'd hear the rattle for sure."

  Darll dropped to one knee and laid the chain on a boulder, turning his head away and shutting his eyes tightly.

  Graym swung the broadaxe overhead, brought it down. Sparks shot in all directions. The Axe of the Just Kidding sliced through the chain and gouged the rock. Shards Hew, grazing Darll.

  He raised his right hand to wipe his cheek. His left hand automatically followed, a chain's length behind, then dropped. He looked with wonder at his hands, then looked longingly at the horizon ahead of them, beyond the army. "Rig
ht. Ready to run for it?"

  He pulled a thong from his pocket, wrapped it around the sleeve of his right arm. Then he bent, tightened his boots, and stood straight.

  Graym stared. With only a few tucks and touches, Darll had gone from prisoner to razor-sharp man of war. Graym stared down the hill, where an army was blocking their way. "Just think, sir," he said, "earlier today, the world was sweet, and I wanted it to last forever. Isn't life amazing?"

  "While you've got it," Darll said. He poked at Jarek, who was playing mumblety-peg with his sword. "Tighten everything, boy. You want free limbs. Loosen for marches, tighten for fights or retreats."

  Jarek tightened his belt hurriedly. Groaning with the effort, Graym bent and tucked his breeches down into his boot tops. He stood puffing and stared down the hill.

  Jarek said eagerly, "Are we going to fight now?"

  Graym shook his head. "That, my boy, would be the worst disaster since the Cattle-Kissing."

  "Cataclysm!" Darll said automatically. "I think we can run around the end of the valley there and be safely on our way to Krinneor before they know what happened."

  "We'll be the first traders through Skorm's blockade," said Graym suddenly. "They'll call us heroes and pay triple the value on every glass of ale."

  He raised the Axe of the Just Kidding. "To Krinneor!"

  Skormt turned around, looked in their general direction.

  The Wolf brothers shrieked and dived for the cart.

  "No!" Graym shouted.

  It was too late. In the struggle to fit underneath the cart, Fanris's foot dislodged the chuck block. The cart started rolling downhill.

  The ale!" Graym ran forward. Darll followed, swearing. Jarek whooped and charged alongside him. The Wolf brothers, terrified at being left alone, jumped up and ran after them.

  Cart and barrels hurtled down the hill, bouncing over rocks, heading straight for Skorm and his officers.

  The officers took one look and ran.

  Astonishingly, none of the rank-and-file warriors budged. "Training's training," Darll panted, "but that's not possible."

  The lead barrel, now thundering down faster than a man could run, bounced off a dirt pile and into the first row of warriors, who didn't even look up.

  The second barrel hit the second row. The third barrel tangled the ropes that had strung the soldiers together. The bodies fell apart.