by Dave Duncan
All around me men gabbled prayers, but I did not think the little gods would dare meddle here, not so close to Hool.
The fighters were almost back where they had started. Sinew and muscle could only hake such punishment for so long, and inevitably it was the older man who faltered. He misjudged, or else his arms just failed him. The point of Ven's sword glanced off the guard and dug into Vandok's fist. Steel clattered into the rubble of bones and the awful clanging died away in its own echoes.
Even the wind seemed to draw breath then. Clutching the bleeding remains of his hand, Vandok stared at his executioner. Ven's shoulders heaved with his efforts to breathe and he seemed to lack the strength or the will to deliver the final blow. Then he raised his blade.
Vandok spun around and plowed over the bones toward the cave, reeling, staggering, clattering. Ven just stood and watched. The tyrant vanished into the dark abode of his god.
The wind surged. One vast howl exploded out of the cavern and reverberated along the canyon. I think it was Vandok's death cry, magnified by the rocks, but perhaps it was all Hool.
Ven sank to his knees, partly in worship, partly in exhaustion. We onlookers bowed our heads. His opponent did not emerge, and nobody who had heard that dreadful shriek would ever have expected him to.
We stayed where we were, huddled low and shivering until Ven could struggle to his feet again and sheath his sword with shaking hands.
"Father Hool, we leave you in peace!" he cried. "No more will men desecrate your mountain with blood. But one day my son will come and hold you to your promise, and his son after him. My seed will reign over the two lands for all time."
Silence … The wind had shifted. And then one last, hollow moan: "SO—BEEE it!"
A roar of triumph rose from the army below and filled the valley, making the echoes ring, on and on. Those men had viewed the drama and heard the god concede. They had not heard Ven proclaim himself their king.
I turned to Juss and we fell into each other's arms. He was laughing and weeping at the same time. So was I. So were all the others.
I was thinking of White-thorn, who had sacrificed herself for this. After thirty years, she had her revenge.
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16: Interlude
That was how it should have been told. Instead, the notary quoted interminable legal texts, political commentaries, and religious tracts, with no eyewitness account at all. Any story is improved by the authority of personal testimony. Unethical tellers of tales sometimes stoop to attributing their narratives to fictional onlookers, just to gain that effect. Present company excluded, of course.
My reverie ended. I was back in the dim coolness of the inn, in the flickering firelight. The rafters upstairs clicked and creaked as they adjusted to the plummeting temperatures. And Tickenpepper had not done yet.
"Cold-vengeance united the Seven Cities and the steppes in the Kingdom of Verlia …"
How easy the little hack made that seem! It took a lifetime, and it was Juss who did it, not Ven. Juss was the politician of the family. His brother, after all, had promised to restore democracy to the Land Between the Seas and then contrived to have the god proclaim him king. Revolution simmered below the surface for a long time because of that. Juss devised a compromise whereby the monarch ruled with the guidance of elected representatives. The system was cumbersome, but not without merit. The people had someone to cheer in good times and someone else to throw out in bad.
I did not stay to see all that. I watched the king's wedding procession from a distance and heard news of Juss's engagement on the very day I sailed away. Many years later, in a far land, I learned from a chance remark in a spice bazaar that both marriages had been fruitful.
Still the notary droned. "Following the precedent thereby established by Cold-vengeance, his son Bright-dawn returned to the cave on his accession, and Hool confirmed him as true heir."
No mention of the rebuilding of the cities, the civilizing of the Horsefolk, the great capital that sprang up at Uthom in the Middle? A lot of that was done by later rulers, of course. It took more than a century.
"The death of True-honor without living issue established two other tenets."
I perked up half an ear.
"The rival claimants were prevailed upon to present themselves together before the god, and he made judgment between them, thus establishing both his willingness to decide such disputes among the direct descendants and the primacy of primogeniture. A further precedent was set at the accession of Fair-pearl, whom the god accepted as queen regnant—'to the surprise of many and the chagrin of her cousins,' as the learned Doctor Forstein put it."
I lost interest again. The fire was smoldering low, starting to smoke and stink up the room. The shutters rattled as if the storm had just been having a rest and was about to return. I considered strategy. Some person in this room knew something I very much wanted to know.
The merchant and his wife seemed extraordinarily smug. If Master Tickenpepper's tedious dissertation was so pleasing to them, his fees must be extremely reasonable.
On the other hand, the dowager's arid visage was all scowl surrounded by the folds of her hat. The maid sat in her usual inhuman rigidity—what was the matter with her? The old soldier wore an expression of dangerous inscrutability, leaning back in his chair with arms folded and his long legs stretched out before him.
The lines had been drawn, the teams were facing off. Only Gwill the minstrel was a bystander, and he had his chin down. His puffy eyelids drooped. Every now and again he made snuffling snoring noises.
"Burgomaster?" the dowager said sharply. "May I ask what your interest is in this?"
The merchant chuckled sepulchrally. "The religious customs of distant peoples have a certain intellectual appeal, my lady, do they not? At least they can inspire in us a sense of relief, that we are not expected to follow them. In this case—"
I coughed politely. Uniformly unfriendly eyes turned toward me.
"If my learned friend has completed his address—I mean story—then it must be my turn again, yes?"
"Fiddle!" the old harridan snapped. "The time for trivial diversion is past. This is serious business."
Fritz rubbed his hands together with a gruesome scraping noise. He rose to his feet, huge and ominous.
"Indeed, my lady?" the merchant inquired, lowering his busy brows. "And just what business is that?"
"I thought," I said hastily, "that since I had occasion to visit the fair land of Verlia a few years ago, I might be able to comment on recent conditions."
"Fiddle!" the dowager said again, ignoring me and glowering at her opponent across the fire.
"Omar and I are going out to the woodshed," Fritz remarked, reaching for my collar. "I shall be back shortly."
"Sweet-rose!" I shouted.
All the eyes came back to me again. Even Fritz registered the effect. He paused with his great paw poised over my neck.
It was the old soldier who spoke first.
"When exactly were you in Verlia, Trader of Tales?"
"The last time? Ye gods, Captain! It must be twenty years ago."
There is a certain way men look at you when they think you are lying. I had met it before, once or twice, and I saw it now in the warrior's narrowed eyes. I did not like the way his fingers drummed on the hilt of his sword, either.
"I was younger then, of course," I said. "Not older, as you suggested earlier. I do not show my years, perhaps. The benefits of virtue and clean living."
His lip curled. Nobody else except young Gwill looked any more convinced than he did. Fritz's thick fingers edged closer to my collar.
"I did meet Lord Ancient-merit of Bargar briefly. He had a slight cast in his left eye."
Captain Tiger's lip straightened again. "You could have seen a portrait," he muttered uncertainly. "What leg did he limp on?"
"Artists are usually more tactful. The noble lord had no limp when I saw him."
The soldier sighed. He turn
ed to the dowager. "Perhaps he is telling the truth this time, my lady. I did not mention that name earlier, did I?"
She was unimpressed. "Not that I recall. But we have some serious matters to discuss." She peered across at the minstrel. "Master Gwill?"
Gwill's head jerked up. He tried to cough and sneeze at the same time, and then spluttered, "My lady?"
"You really ought to be in bed with that cold. Landlord, give him a tankard of that mulled ale. Strong! And Mistress Frieda, I would like some more herb tea. Captain Tiger, don't you think we have tolerated the horse thief long enough? It may be time to let justice take its course."
The tension in the room rose alarmingly. At least, I thought it did. Fritz shot me a gleam of triumph as he went by with the copper jug. All eyes went to the soldier. He was the one with the sword.
He frowned uneasily. Men such as he have strange rules about killing. Steel is permissible, but freezing to death is not. On the other hand, he was beholden to the old crone somehow.
"Just what business do you have in mind, my lady?" Burgomaster Johein was enjoying the play. He had not noticed the worried look in his wife's eyes.
"The Sweet-rose affair, of course."
He leaned back in his chair and folded his plump hands on his corporation. "I cannot see how it concerns you, my lady, but I shall be interested to hear what you have to say."
She pursed her thin lips until they went white. "I cannot see how it concerns you! Just why did you retain Master Tickenpepper to review the laws of a faraway land like Verlia?"
Gwill blinked from one to the other, in complete bewilderment. Fritz and Frieda bustled around in the background. The captain was considering me and biting his lip. The lady's maid had her head down as always, gazing at her hands in her lap—how her neck stood it, I could not imagine. Master Tickenpepper was picking his nose.
I directed a meaningful stare at the actress. It was intended to warn her that I would not leave without a few final words on her behalf. The message seemed to be heard.
"Darling," she said reluctantly, "perhaps we should hear what Master Omar has to say before he is … I mean, why don't we hear what he knows about Sweet-rose?"
The merchant frowned. Possibly he felt the first twinges of suspicion then? Who can say?
"Begging your pardons," Gwill muttered, "but what is sweet rose?"
For a moment there was silence, as if no one wanted to be first to speak. I was about to, for silence always makes me uneasy, but the captain beat me to it.
"The land of Verlia is in a state of anarchy. Civil war may have broken out by now. The dynasty founded by Cold-vengeance two centuries ago came to an end last year with the death of Just-blade. He left no obvious heir."
The minstrel said, "Oh!" but his face retained its baffled expression.
"There have been claimants, of course," the merchant offered.
"Too many claimants!" the dowager snapped, returning the ball.
He let it go by.
Gwill's hand closed on the tankard Fritz held out to him, but he did not seem to see it. "I thought that the god Hool had decreed that Hannail's line would rule forever?"
"Exactly!" the soldier said. "And delegations went to the sacred cave to consult the god."
Again nobody wanted to reveal any more.
"I'll have some of that brew, also," the captain told Fritz. "Holy Hool was very uncooperative. He would not acknowledge any of the pretenders. When the third delegation arrived, though, he finally told them that they must find the child of Sweet-rose."
Gwill drank, keeping his eyes on Captain Tiger, waiting for more.
"King Just-blade," the notary said, "had a son, Prince Star-seeker. Twenty years ago, he eloped with a lady named Sweet-rose. Nothing has been heard of either of them since."
"The god specified their child," the dowager added, "so we know that Star-seeker himself must be dead. So is Sweet-rose."
"Ha!" The merchant sat up straight. "How do you know that, my lady?
"I know! Now tell me why you are troubling yourself with the matter?"
Fritz was hovering dangerously at my back. Frieda had brought the dowager's tea.
Silence. Place your bets, milords. On my left, Tickenpepper the Terrible, Burgomaster Johein in the elephant class, and his well-known wife. On my right, Captain Tiger of Bargar, a nameless servant serving no obvious purpose, and … a certain elderly lady. Nuts! Sweetmeats! Buy your souvenir doublets here …
"Perhaps I can cast some light on the matter," I remarked helpfully. "It is my turn to respond to our learned friend's interminable discourse."
"If you are quick." The soldier took a drink.
With an angry growl, Fritz made three long strides to the fireplace. He reached up to the high shelf of bric-a-brac on the chimney and took down a small hourglass. Inverting it, he set it on the hob and went back to his previous place on the bench.
"Fair is fair," I said, rising stiffly. I had walked far during the day and now had been sitting too long. I headed over to the hearth. "The wind blows, the night is not yet done. The matter I shall relate is extremely relevant to your problem. I shall be as terse as I know how, but you must allow me to do it justice."
I laid the hourglass on its side and strolled back again, my heart soaring in triumph. I wasn't going to mention that yet, though.
"I trust that this time I shall not be interrupted! The tale I would tell you is called Virtue Rewarded."
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17: Omar's Response to the Notary's Tale
The trade winds brought me from the Misty Isles to Verlia. I disembarked at Myto, a city I had never visited before. Within hours, it had won my heart—a bustling little port of white walls and red-tile roofs. Its crowds were busy and yet good-humored. Men went unarmed, women did not hide their beauty behind veils. The children laughed and even the beggars smiled. It had music and flowers and excellent wine.
I soon found lodging at a dockside tavern and proceeded to earn my board with my tongue, as is my wont. I was minded to spend some time in this restored, prosperous land of Verlia. I would visit all of its seven cities, I decided, and as many of its hamlets as my feet would lead me to.
War and oppression were ancient history. The monarchy was popular, the land at peace. Men and women of obvious Horsefolk extraction walked the streets unheeded, clad in motley like everyone else.
While I rejoiced to see the people flourishing, I felt a tinge of regret that the glory and heroism of the Winter War had been so soon forgot. On my second day in Myto I found a statue of Ven in an overgrown corner of a shady plaza, half buried in ivy. It could never have been a good likeness anyway, and I told the pigeons to continue what they were doing to it.
The next morning, I had a visitor. The tavern was almost empty at that time of day. I sat alone, munching my way through a late breakfast of biscuits, cheese, and ripe figs, listening in part to the busy clamor of the docks outside—gulls and pulleys, men shouting, horse tackle jingling. Mainly, though, my thoughts were on some inconsequential yarns I had heard the previous evening. Then two thick and hairy arms laid themselves on the boards in front of me. Their owner sat down opposite.
"You are Homer, the trader of tales?" He had a deep, censorious voice. It implied that if I were not who he said I was, then the fault must be mine.
I confess I blinked a couple of times at him. He was big and meaty, yet the cloth draped over his left shoulder displayed yellow kittens on a purple-and-emerald background. On the other he bore violets and daisies in even gaudier hues. Between them was a forest of black hair, with a black spade beard above. I found the combination unsettling, although bright color was not thought effeminate in that country. As it is part of my craft to be visibly a stranger, I was garbed in drab sailor clothes, which were screamingly conspicuous in Myto.
I nodded to his question. My nose was telling me horse, my eyes were saying road dust, and both added sweat, yet his clothes were fresh. He had taken time to change but not ba
the. Urgency? Why?
He announced himself. "True-valor of Galmish. I have work for you."
His manner nettled me; it implied that the outcome of our discussion was a foregone conclusion. Granted, he was capable of carrying me out under one arm, either kicking and screaming or sleeping peacefully, whichever he preferred. A warrior? Perhaps. A henchman for somebody, certainly. He was not acting on his own behalf.
"I shall be honored to hear how I may serve you, True-valor."
He glanced around impatiently, as if hoping his horse would walk in, ready to leave. "A certain noble wishes to hear some of your stories. He will pay you well." He laid his big hands flat on the table, as if about to rise.
I tore a mouthful of bread from the loaf. "Speak on," I said, pushing it in my mouth.
He reacted with surprise and then displeasure. "The house in which you will perform is three hard days' ride from here. You are capable of sitting a horse?"
I nodded and continue to chew.
Muscles flexed under his beard. "Well, then? I said you would be well rewarded."
I held out an empty palm.
Glaring, he reached under the violets and daisies and produced a wash-leather bag. After a prudent glance around the room, he tipped a shower of gold coins into his other hand for me to see. Then he replaced them and returned the bag to his motley. "My master is both rich and generous." He folded those arms as if daring me to try to take his expense allowance from him by force.
Apparently that was all the explanation he intended to provide. But no one in Verlia had been expecting me, or even knew of my existence. I had not been ashore long enough for my reputation to travel three days' journey and bring this musclebound flunky rushing to my presence. When the gods have work for me, they usually send word in dreams.
I had thought I was on vacation.
I swallowed half my cud and mumbled around the rest. "Tell me who summons me."
