"Gyren," Chak said. "Otherwise known as Gyren the Neutral. Trying to make Enkiar the trading center of the Middle Lands—he never gets involved in anything."
"Exactly. I don't think we have to worry about the locals being involved in some sort of guild plot, but we do have to face the possibility that the other end of this gunrunning operation is going to put us face to face with Ahrmin."
Karl rubbed a hand against his face. "Which is why I haven't shaved. He's seen Tennetty and Chak, although only for a few minutes and in the dark. He probably won't recognize them. I'm the problem. No matter what I do, if Ahrmin sees me, he's going to recognize me."
"So? What are you going to do? Sit this one out?"
"No, Walter. I want you to keep an eye on Beralyn."
"You're going to stay behind?"
"No, I'm going ahead. I'm going to be the bait. Well, half of the bait, anyway."
Chak smiled. "If I'm reading your mind correctly, I'm the other half."
"Any objections?"
"Well . . . I've always liked it when you get tricky." Chak eyed the edge of his eating knife. "I liked Fialt a lot, Karl. And Rahff." He nodded grimly. "And if you'll recall, I was the one who chiseled through Anna Major's chains."
"Well?"
"Promise to save a piece of him for me. If you can."
"If I can. I won't try too hard, though."
Chak laughed. "At least you're honest."
"Someone has to be." He turned to Walter. "We brought only half a dozen rifles and four pistols. I can't exactly hide the rifles under my cloak—so I'll take whatever pistols you have."
"Hey, you had me send all of our weapons back Home with Gwellin. Don't blame me if—"
Karl held out a hand. "I love you like a brother, Walter, but that doesn't mean I don't know you. You held out a few pistols and rifles as insurance, didn't you?"
"Well . . ." Slovotsky spread his hands. "Can't blame a guy for trying."
"Not this time, anyway."
Chapter Fourteen
Valeran
What we anticipate seldom occurs; what we least expected generally happens.
—Benjamin Disraeli
"I'm getting a bit irritated," Karl said, keeping his voice pitched low as they rode side by side down the street toward Enkiar's inn. "Nobody seems to have recognized me."
"What a pity!" Chak laughed. "So—Karl Cullinane is supposed to be the center of the world, eh? Have you been taking lessons from Walter Slovotsky on the sly? We don't have . . . teebee on This Side, remember?"
"Teevee."
"Eh?"
"Teevee, not teebee. Teebee is something else."
"In any case, we don't have it. As I was saying, your visage isn't all that well known. Which is just as well."
"Right." But if Ahrmin was still in the Enkiar area, he would certainly have somebody out watching, just on the off chance of spotting Karl Cullinane. The ill-feeling was mutual; Karl had killed Ahrmin's father, Ohlmin.
One of the few times I really enjoyed killing, he thought, remembering.
Whatever had happened to Ohlmin's head? They had left it behind in the wagon outside of Bremon, and the Gate Between Worlds; likely the skull was still there.
A sextet of foot soldiers approached them as they neared the inn.
"Greetings," their leader said. He was a tall and rangy man, perhaps in his mid-forties, though his hair and short beard were still coal-black. His stern blue eyes considered them carefully. "Your names and purpose in Enkiar?"
Chak spoke up first. "I am Ch'akresarkandyn ip Katharhdn—"
"I can see that you are a Katharhd, fellow." His pursed lips made it clear that seeing a Katharhd wasn't his idea of a great treat. "Your business?"
"I watch his back." Chak jerked a thumb toward Karl. "To see that it doesn't sprout knives."
"I see. And you are?"
"My name is Karl Cullinane." Karl smiled genially, raising his right hand, keeping his left hand near where the two pistols tucked into his belt were hidden by the folds of his cloak. "And I am just passing through. Have you any objection to that?"
"None. As long as you don't bring your . . . feud into Enkiar." The leader turned to the man next to him. "Though I don't believe that there are any Pandathaway guildsmen in Enkiar at the moment, are there?"
"No, Captain. There have not been for several tendays, at the least. Just the—"
"Good." He turned back to Karl. "Keep your war out of Enkiar, and you and your gold are welcome. Unless you intend to free our slaves?"
"Not today." Under special circumstances, Karl made exceptions, but a general policy of slicing up all slaveowners was a general policy of suicide. Give us a generation, and we'll change that.
The man next to him tugged at the captain's sleeve, then whispered in his ear for a moment.
Karl shook his head. "I wouldn't."
"You wouldn't what?"
"I wouldn't think too seriously about trying to collect the bounty that the Slavers' Guild has placed on my head, no matter what it's risen to. Not that you couldn't take me, but I do have friends; the final cost is likely to be far too high, all things considered. Best to check with your lord before taking the matter any further."
The captain smiled back at him, almost affectionately. "I will. Assuming that he doesn't want you poisoned, would you join me for dinner?"
"And if he does want me poisoned?"
"Would you join me for dinner anyway?" He smiled with patently genuine friendliness.
"My pleasure, Captain." Karl laughed. "My pleasure."
* * *
"Ta herat va ky 'the last run' ky, ka Haptoe Valeran," Karl said. It is called the last run, Captain Valeran. "The notion is that none of our lives are taken cheaply. Ever."
A servant brought another bottle of wine. Valeran pulled his sleeves back before uncorking it, then splashed some wine first in his own glass, then in Karl's, then in Chak's.
Valeran drank first. "Not bad. I think you'll like it. And as for this 'last run' of yours, I have heard about it. Reminds you of the old days, Halvin, eh?" He smiled at the silent soldier standing next to the door. "It tends to take all the fun out of treating you and your people as outlaws, I suspect." Valeran nodded sagely, then sighed. "Not my sort of life, not anymore, but an . . . interesting one, I take it."
Karl chuckled. "There's an old curse, back in my homeland: 'May you live in interesting times.' " Well, that wasn't much of a lie; from here, China was as close as America. Or as far. "Not something I'd suggest, given an alternate. And it looks like you have a good one, here. You're from Nyphien, originally?"
"All my men are; we were first blooded against the Katharhds, in the Mountain Wars." He considered Chak carefully. There was a trace of hostility in Valeran's voice, although the Mountain Wars between the Nyphs and the Katharhds had fizzled out more than fifteen years before. "I've always preferred being a barracks commander to being a field soldier, even being a field soldier against the Katharhds."
The little man shrugged. "My family was in the north during the Mountain Wars, Captain Valeran. My father died fighting against the Therranji and their dwarf hirelings. Bloody work, Captain Valeran, just as bloody as the Mountain Wars."
"Yes," Valeran conceded. "It was bloody. But . . . I must confess I miss it, from time to time. There was a certain something to it, no?"
Karl shook his head. "All things considered, I'd rather be in Phil—I'd rather be bored."
"Then I beg to suggest that you could find boring employment as a soldier anywhere in the Eren regions. Although . . . perhaps Lord Mehlên of Metreyll wouldn't be interested, or Lund of Lundeyll, come to think of it—and perhaps Enkiar's neutrality would make it difficult for my lord to employ you. But, if you'd like, I could broach the subject to Lord Gyren?"
"I'm not much for giving fealty."
Chak snickered. Karl silenced him with a glance, then turned back to Valeran. "Meaning no offense, in my native land your present function wouldn't be considere
d a soldierly one."
"No?" Valeran raised an eyebrow as he sipped his wine. "What would they call me, a doxy?"
Karl had found himself liking the guard captain. There was an undefinable something in the captain's manner that made Karl certain he was a man to whom honor wasn't just a word, but a valued possession.
"No, not at all," Karl said. "We would call you a 'policeman'— your primary task is to maintain internal order, not protect Enkiar from invading forces."
"True, true, but it must be a strange country you come from, Karl Cullinane, where such subtle distinctions are considered important."
Karl laughed. "We had many strange distinctions. There's the color of one's skin, for example. In my land, my friendship with Ch'akresarkandyn would be thought strange—"
"—as it is here; I've no fondness for Katharhds. Meaning no offense," he said, ducking his head momentarily in Chak's direction. "Are you certain you'd care for nothing?"
"I can't eat the local food," Chak said, glaring at Karl. Just once, his look said, could you be the one with the delicate digestion?
"You were telling me why those in your land would think your friendship strange, I believe?"
"Because of Chak's skin color. Or mine, for that matter. Depending on which point of view you took, he would be considered too dark, or I too light. It was our version of racial prejudice."
"Racial? But he's every bit as human as you and I. It's not as though he were a dwarf or an elf."
"In my world there are no elves or dwarves. We have to make do with . . . peripheral distinctions."
"Skin color. Skin color. Skin color." Valeran tried the words as though tasting them. "Skin color." He shook his head. "And were you and I friends, my own coloring would cause comment?" Valeran extended a deeply tanned arm.
"No, because it's acquired, not natural. You tan more thoroughly than I do, that's all. It wouldn't be a matter of import."
"And I suppose that, say, a Mel's eyefolds would be considered significant."
"Of course."
Valeran laughed. "A strange land, indeed. You were telling me in which direction it lies?"
"No, I wasn't. Although if you're interested, there is a way to get there, if you'd like to try it. You just have to tiptoe past the father of dragons, that's all."
"No, though I thank you for the kind suggestion."
They drank in silence for a few minutes.
"It must be interesting work, though," Karl said. "Few people meet many outlanders; you must encounter them all the time."
"True, true. And a strange lot many of them are." He snorted. "We have had a lot of Biemish and Holts coming through, of late—some deserters, more slaves. Vicious war—and over what?"
Valeran meant it as a rhetorical question, but Karl decided not to take it that way. "Depends on how you look at it. Last I heard, the war was started by some raiders coming down from Aershtyn into Holtun. The Holts decided that Bieme was responsible, and there you have it."
"War, and a dirty one. You can tell by the scavengers, coming through with chains of slaves. We had another one here, just a couple of tendays ago."
"Really? The guild operates regularly out of Enkiar?"
"Not a guild man, no—we haven't had one since Ahrmin was here."
Karl's wineglass snapped in his hands.
Valeran laughed again. "So. That is what this is all about. You have been prying for information on Ahrmin, eh?" He shook his head. "You won't find him here; he left . . . some time ago, to pick up another chain of slaves . . . somewhere or other. Nice fellow, actually, although it's pitiful the way he looks. Did you have something to do with that?"
"Why do you ask?"
"He was just as eager for news of you as you are for word of him."
"Understandable." Karl nodded. "I . . . burned him a little."
"I wouldn't have thought you so foolish. You should have killed him, or let him be."
Chak snorted. "He has a point there, Karl."
"I thought I had killed him; I'd intended to. He was bound for Bieme, you said?"
"I didn't say. And won't. He will be back here eventually, although you will be long gone by that time."
"I will?"
"I'm afraid I'd have to insist." Valeran looked him straight in the eye. "I'm really afraid I would."
At the door, a soldier thumped his hand against his breastplate. "Message, Captain," he said, entering the room at the captain's nod of permission and handing Valeran a scrap of paper.
Valeran read the message twice before cocking his head to one side and looking Karl over. "I am not one to believe in coincidences, Karl Cullinane. It seems that a group of guild slavers have just entered the town and taken rooms at the inn. I'm curious as to your intentions."
Karl sat back, pretending to consider the matter. "How many of them are there?"
"Thirty or so. And they are armed with guns, as you may have gathered. I wouldn't suggest that you attack them, not in Enkiar."
"I agree."
Valeran raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised. You agree not to attack them?"
"No, all I agreed was that you would suggest that I not attack them."
"Thirty to two?" Chak put in. "Long odds—"
"Then you will agree to leave them alone while in Enkiar?"
"—but I guess they'll just have to take their chances."
Karl raised a hand. "I'll give you my word, Captain. This group of slavers . . . as long as they do not attack either Chak or me, we will not attack them, for as long as they remain in Enkiar." He wrinkled his brow. "Or let us say for up to a tenday. I wouldn't want them to think that they can safely set up shop permanently here, or anywhere else."
"I have your word on this?"
"You do. I'll swear it on my sword, if you'd like." Slowly, Karl drew his saber and balanced it on the flat of his palms. "As I have agreed, so will I do." He polished the blade with a soft cloth before resheathing it.
"Very well. You won't object to my posting a guard outside of your rooms, will you?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Certainly. You may object, or you may not object." Valeran shrugged. "I'll post guards, either way."
* * *
The Enkiar inn was seven two-storied buildings of varying sizes, grouped around a common courtyard. Karl and Chak's suite was on the second floor of one of the smaller buildings. Its balcony and windows faced outward, away from the courtyard. The inn was at the edge of the town; beyond the road, a sea of wheat beckoned in the starlight.
Below, Karl could see three soldiers on watch, although there were others nearby; he knew of another three on guard outside the single entrance to the suite.
That could be trouble. Karl couldn't see a way out of the suite that wouldn't involve fighting past the guards. He drew the curtains.
"I can't think of anything useful to do," Chak said. "We're fairly neatly hemmed in for the night. Best to leave things to Slovotsky, eh? Come morning, he should have some idea of who's buying the guns and powder, and maybe what Ahrmin's connection is. We might as well get some sleep, eh?"
"Might as well."
* * *
Bare feet thudded quietly on the balcony outside. The curtains were momentarily whisked aside, and a dark shape moved into the darkness of the sleeping room. It stepped toward the nearest of the two beds and leaned over it.
Karl silently rose from the pile of blankets in the corner and tackled the intruder, grasping the other's right wrist and bringing the arm up behind the other's back, to the hammer-lock point.
"It's just me, dammit," Walter Slovotsky said. "Leggo."
Karl released him. "Sorry. Announce yourself next time, okay?"
"Definitely. I'd have done it this time except there's a guard patrolling below, and I was sure he'd hear." Slovotsky seated himself on the bed, rubbing his right shoulder. "Do me a favor and put that down, Chak." He gestured a greeting at the little man, who sat in his pile of blankets, a cocked pistol pointed at Walter's midsecti
on.
Chak uncocked the pistol and set it on the floor. "We weren't supposed to see you until tomorrow. And how did you get past the guards?"
"I came over the roof—that sort of thing's my specialty, remember?" He eyed the ripped hem of his pantaloons with distaste. "Got my pants caught between two shingles; had to rip them loose.
"We've got trouble. They made contact too quickly. The deal's been concluded."
"Dammit, why—"
"Because I didn't have any choice!" Slovotsky's whisper was harsh. "Because there wasn't any way to stall without making things look funny. The Holts have taken their powder and guns and left town, leaving me with the claim token to the slaves in the pens." He spread his hands. "Nothing I could do."
"Holts?"
Slovotsky nodded. "They're the buyers. Prince Uldren sent Baron Keranahan, his nephew. We got more than three hundred slaves, all Biemish. They're apparently most of what's left of barony Krathael; the fighting there has been bloody. I tried to stall, honest, telling him about the raid by you, but that only made him more eager to finish things up and get out of here. He's a lot more interested in getting the guns and powder to Holtun and passing along word of your location than he is in trying for the bounty himself."
"Did he say who he was going to pass word along to?"
"No, but I've got a good guess. Ahrmin. I don't know exactly what's going on, but that little bastard seems to be working hand in hand with Holtun—and with the Aershtyn raiders—"
"Shut up for a second." Karl waved Slovotsky to silence.
It was finally starting to make sense. Bieme and Holtun had been at peace for two generations, until the raiders from Aershtyn had reawakened old hostilities. It was possible, perhaps even likely, that the Aershtyn raiders who had triggered the war had been encouraged by the Slavers' Guild, if they were not actually part of the guild itself.
Cui bono? Who benefits? That was the question.
The answer was simple: The war left the guild and its allies easy pickings in its wake.
Karl nodded. Guild backing also explained why the Holts were able to keep the war going, despite the incompetent generalship of Prince Uldren: With the guild supplying Holtun with guns and powder, it was possible that the Holts could win, or that the war would go on forever.
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