He was only half-aware of what he was doing. He had guided the strange beggarman out of Alidis and to the river's edge, half a league away. With a single gold coin, he had arranged for a boat across the Dunwater, and after a few moments with his friend, the boat's owner and his son had agreed to come along on the journey.
He knew what it was like to talk to the beggarman. He knew that the boatman and his son walked with the same dreams he did, that they, too, dreamed of the gold that would be their reward for helping the beggarman across the river.
Dethil manned an oar and watched the western bank, like a dark shadow against the stars, come slowly into view.
Ah, he was close. The seeker felt him now, felt the rush of blood in the veins of its quarry. The seeker only needed to get close enough to touch the man, and then the man would belong to it, like these simpletons in the boat. The seeker had filled their minds with dreams of gold and so easily conquered them.
This Tuchek, the one it sought, what would his dreams be? It didn't matter. Once the seeker touched him with its shadow hands and reached into his mind, it would know. The desire of the heart was the seeker's to promise, and the promise was always taken as a certainty by its prey. It could toss aside these slaves once it had its quarry.
The seeker, too, had its dreams. The dreams of the man it had once been were held by another's promise, and that one had overthrown its will to the point that it no longer remembered either its name or the dreams.
All that was left was desire, unsated and insatiable.
The downward slope of the western bank bumped against the bottom of the small punt as it completed its crossing of the Dunwater. Like men made of wood, the boatman, his son and the halfwitted lamplighter clambered out of the punt and floundered in the waist-high water. The seeker made them carry the punt onto dry land before it, too, stepped from the boat.
Ah gods! The quarry was so near! The seeker had been mistaken to come after its prey with armed men before, it realized painfully. All that was needed was a simple touching, after all, and taking its prey captive was hardly necessary for that. The sudden and painful deaths of its servants had not troubled the seeker at all, only the inconvenience of having to seek out new slaves and the pain of having failed in its life mission.
It would not fail again.
They came out of the night in near silence, still soaked and cold from the river. The three men walked around the screen of brush that concealed the Entreddi camp and made straight for the fireside. Four or five dogs began barking furiously as they approached, awakening the entire camp. The two Entreddi standing watch lit torches, and their light revealed the newcomers. Behind them, just out of the torches' glow and visible only as a hooded shape against the darkness, another figure stood.
Aelfric, as soon as he heard the dogs barking, rolled out of his blankets and into the brush out of sight. He didn't know who the intruders were, but he had the fear of the hunted on him. If they were the duke's men, he would have to get away.
As quietly as possible, he began slipping through the brush toward his horse.
"Who are you and what do you want?" Ghoth E'Haila, the leader of the caravan, had a scimitar in his hand as he approached the three strangers. He was still in his small clothes, but his body was lean and wiry and his tense muscles rippled in the firelight. Tuchek stood behind him and to the left, his broadsword naked in his fist.
"We saw the fire…" The man speaking was bedraggled and wet, a plain, middle-aged peasant. To his left stood another man in peasant clothes, obviously his son, and to his right was a man in the tunic of a lamplighter. All three looked slightly dazed, as if drunk.
"What about it?" Ghoth's voice was not welcoming. "It is after the midnight hour and even we do not welcome guests at such times."
"Our boat was sunk. We need help."
"You will have to wait until morning, then. There is a town up the road half a day's walk. They can help you." Ghoth's voice had taken on a more casual air, his sword half lowered before his seeress spoke.
"They are lying." Jecha's voice was cold as she stood in the doorway of her wagon. "You must drive them away." The fates may have decreed the result of this meeting, but Jecha was determined to sidestep the trouble if it was at all possible.
Tuchek stepped forward. "I know this one." He declared with sudden recognition. "He's a boatman out of Alidis named Haejin, and that is his son Cealath. The other one is a half-witted lamplighter named Dethil. Haejin, what are you up to, running a boat on the Dunwater after dark?"
The boatman appeared neither to recognize Tuchek, nor even to be aware of his surroundings. He neither moved nor spoke. His two companions remained still and quiet, too, and Tuchek found that disturbing.
"You there! Hiding in the dark. Step out here into the light."
"No!" Jecha hissed to Tuchek. "I said drive them away."
"I want to find out what they are about, first." Tuchek replied. His sword was out and pointed at the figure behind the three from Alidis. His voice made it clear that he was not about to be argued with.
The beggar, a man with no hands and black sockets where his eyes had been, stepped forward to several cries of disgust. In the flickering shadow-light of the torches, he appeared even more horrible, his face slick with the ooze of leprous chancres.
"I'm just a poor sick beggarman, milord." The seeker said, its voice half a whine.
Aelfric turned and watched from the shadows as the four intruders came together under the swords and bows of the Entreddi and Tuchek. He had retrieved his sword from his pony, but he was not ready to run without Haim. He did not want to seem a coward if the men turned out to be harmless. Walking away from the fire had put him between the strangers and the night, and he watched them from behind.
None of the newcomers to the camp appeared to be armed, and they made no move toward any kind of weapon, so Aelfric's first reaction was one of relief. There was no way that these men had come from Elderest, at least. The soldiers of Elderest certainly would not have approached the camp in such a harmless fashion. Haim was standing with two or three other Entreddi by the fireside, holding a short bow casually. Tuchek stepped forward as if to pat the rivermen's clothing for weapons.
A shrill scream from Jecha stopped the Aulig swordsman in his tracks. "I told you to drive them away, Tuchek! Do not come near to them! Cannot you see? They are accursed!"
Suddenly too many things were happening for Aelfric to keep track. Several of the Entreddi stepped back from the men, making the thumb to forefinger circle sign against evil. Haim and the men beside him nocked arrows to their weapons. Ghoth pulled his scimitar to full ready. The three men from the river, still unarmed, went from immobility to swift motion on the instant, leaping forward to grab at Tuchek, whose sword was out and spinning.
Flash! Tuchek's sword took the head from the grasping boatman, who did not even raise a hand to stop him. Flash! Tuchek spun his sword loose from the boatman and plunged it two-handed into the boatman's son, even as Cealath's hands caught in the folds of Tuchek's shirt. The sword stuck in Caelath's ribs even as it killed him, and the third man, the lamplighter, managed to throw both of his arms around Tuchek's legs, throwing him to the ground.
The robed beggar came flying into the middle of the tangle of arms, legs and blood like a tattered bat and reached unerringly amid the bodies to put his hands…wait…he did not have hands, did he? Aelfric watched the beggar's stumps touch Tuchek, and the swordsman froze, his bloodied sword inches from the lamplighter's neck.
Ghoth, the closest of the Entreddi, was still several feet from the tangled men. He hovered uncertainly, scimitar in hand, afraid to strike for fear of hitting Tuchek. Haim and the other bowmen appeared similarly hesitant.
Tuchek stood up and freed himself from the sprawling bodies at his feet. The one called Dethil knelt at his feet and began to slowly rise. The Aulig turned to look at Ghoth. "Everything is all right." He declared in a wooden voice.
"Are you hurt?" Ghoth stepped f
orward, concerned for Tuchek.
Tuchek shook his head. "No. I'm fine." The beggar squatted back on his heels amid the bodies on the ground, his empty sockets appearing for all the world to be watching Tuchek intently. A ghastly grin lit his sickening face. The lamplighter moaned and gripped his head.
"They didn't hurt you?"
Tuchek looked surprised at the question. "No. Of course not. I'm afraid I can't stay with you tonight, though. I've got to get going."
The Aulig's behavior was extremely strange, Aelfric thought. He was not the only one frozen with uncertainty by the vague unreality of the fire-lit tableau.
Haim, standing beside two Entreddi bowmen, watched the scene with fascination. Tuchek had just killed the boatman and his son, and was talking to Ghoth as if nothing had happened.
"Tuchek, you must stay." Jecha commanded from her post at the door of her wagon. She turned to Ghoth and the other Entreddi. "He must stay! He is not himself!"
"Nonsense." Tuchek replied, although he did seem to sway a little as he came closer to Ghoth. "I'm just a little tired. Nothing a few miles on horseback won't …"
Ghoth instinctively put out a hand to steady his friend, and Tuchek struck viciously and without warning. His broadsword, still gleaming redly with the blood of the boatman and his son, whirled in his hand as he plunged it into Ghoth's vitals. Mingled shock and horror seized the Entreddi leader's face as he dropped his scimitar and fell to his knees.
"Tuchek!" He gasped. "What…what…"
Tuchek, ignoring him, crossed the distance between himself and the Entreddi by the fire in a single great bound and fell upon them like a wolf upon a flock of doves. His sword was everywhere at once, and only the fact that Haim stumbled backward saved his life.
The big half-breed fell into the fire, and he swore an oath as he tumbled into the brush, swatting at his clothing where it had caught fire. Across the fire he saw Tuchek, plainly mad with killing, run his sword through an Entreddi's spine. The swordsman freed his weapon and blocked two ineffectual scimitar blows aimed at him. A hastily aimed arrow whistled past his head. He ran one Entreddi through and kicked the other backward. With rising panic, Haim realized that no one would be able to stop the master swordsman as he killed.
From his position in the brush, Aelfric watched in horror as Tuchek, who had seemed so calm earlier, roared like an animal besotted with bloodlust. No Entreddi could hope to stand against him as he killed and killed.
He barely noticed as the half-witted lamplighter rose from the ground and ran past the fighting and into the circle of wagons.
Aelfric realized that he was no match for the swordsman, and he did not want to throw his life away. On the other hand, the Entreddi had given him shelter without asking for so much as a penny, and he could scarcely abandon them to be slaughtered.
With a shock, Aelfric realized that there was precious little resistance to Tuchek remaining. In a few moments, the master swordsman had slain the four best fighters among the Entreddi, and the remainder seemed to lack the skill to resist.
He watched Tuchek's sword rip into the face of an old man who was on his knees, begging for life. He steeled himself and raised his blade. Aelfric was very well trained in the use of it, but against the fury of the Aulig he doubted he could win.
Blood screamed for blood. Tuchek fought alone in the encampment, against the host of ogres that had taken the lives of his friends. An ogre whelp clawed for his knees and he ran his sword through its face. He had been a fool to come this far north, into the land of the Muharl, on this fool quest. All that was left was to kill or to die, and he did not wish to die.
So he killed and killed, using every ounce of skill learned in a lifetime of danger, expecting every second to feel the bite of a tainted ogre weapon, a weapon that would kill him with even a scratch. Miraculously he turned each proffered blade that weakly sought his flesh.
Jecha grabbed her long knife and ran after the lamplighter. The man was stupid, obviously a halfwit, but he was strong. Jecha knew she could not let him into the wagons where the children lay sheltered. She saw the murder in his half-empty eyes.
She came up behind him and thrust the dagger toward his back, but her old limbs betrayed her. The knife went into the man's shoulder, and he stopped, as if annoyed by a biting fly. He contemptuously backhanded her, knocking her senseless to the ground.
Dethil wandered in a fog of sensation. Somewhere here small creatures guarded the treasure that was rightfully his. He must get the gold. He battered the ancient hag with her evil spells and saw a dagger fall from her shriveled, bony hand. He could use a dagger.
Now he must only find the gold.
Mama Luskia held her arms around the four children in her wagon. She did not know what was happening in the dark beyond the door, but she knew the sound of fighting and she had heard men die before. Although fat and given to histrionics, Mama Luskia was no fool. She knew she must protect the children at all costs.
"I'm scared, mama." Deanna whispered, near to crying.
"Hush, child." Mama Luskia tried to keep her voice from cracking. "The men will protect us."
"I'll protect you." Cadmo said, trying to make his voice sound adult. He held a small belt knife in his hand and eyed the door fiercely.
The door rattled and came open with a crash that broke the bolt.
Pain and blood and darkness came in with the night.
Haim watched from the ground as Tuchek rose from the tumble of bodies that lay at his feet. Not one Entreddi had put a blade on the swordsman, of that Haim was sure. The Aulig looked about him as if in a daze.
Haim remained absolutely still, willing himself to look like one of the dead.
Where in the seven layers of the Abyss was Aelfric?
From the wagons, the screams of children ripped into the night like the terrors of angels.
Tuchek heard the hunting howls of blood mad ogres coming from the darkness beyond the fire. He was a full-blooded Aulig of the Cthochi, and he would not be hunted. Let him be, instead, the hunter.
Aelfric heard the screams of the children and recognized them for what they were. The paralysis of indecision left him in a moment, and he stood up from the brush, his sword at the ready.
If Tuchek was going to kill him, let him do it while he was trying to save the children, he thought. No D'root ever stood by and watched children being slaughtered.
As he stood, he caught the faintest of sounds, like water rippling over a grassy rill. He focused on the sound and realized that it was someone hysterically giggling. He looked at the three bodies on the ground, where the boatman and his son had died…Wait. One of them was not a body!
The beggarman still lay there, rocking back and forth on the ground, and he was giggling hysterically, even as he babbled arcana in some strange, mind-tugging language. What had the Entreddi witch said? Tuchek was not himself, he was bewitched!
Supernatural dread seized Aelfric. There, babbling on the ground not ten feet away was a warlock! How else could the eyeless beggar see? The touch of a warlock was madness, of course, and the eyeless beggar had infected the Aulig.
He started to back away from the evil being, making the sign against evil in the air before him. All of the warnings from his childhood returned to him. One could not defeat a warlock, made invulnerable with the power of the abyss. To lay a violent hand on a warlock was to die. Horror and dread turned Aelfric's blood to water.
A woman screamed in the night, the piercing cry of a small creature dying helplessly. Aelfric's dark imagining could hardly shape the picture to produce such a sound, but he knew murder when he heard it.
Drawing upon memories of his father, he steeled himself and stepped forward. His broadsword was in his hand.
The master swordsman turned his back on the fire and began walking toward the wagons where Haim had heard the children screaming.
With more courage than sense, Haim leaped from the ground and onto Tuchek's back.
Blood and death howled in
the seeker's blood. It had accomplished its purpose, and all that remained was to deliver the enslaved prey to its master. Others would come to assist the seeker in this purpose, and the seeker felt them already, many leagues distant, but coming closer day by day.
Let the swordsman slay! The bloodletting would only cement the bond, making the enslavement more sure. The one called Tuchek rode the demon horse of the seeker's thought, killing and killing.
The halfwit was a nothing to the seeker, a little piece of nothing that did its bidding for its mere amusement. Surely the seeker was allowed such a plaything on a night of such success!
Aside from that was the very practical consideration that no witnesses could remain alive to what had been done here this night.
Suddenly the seeker's sight-not-sight became aware of another presence, far too close. A young man, blood hot and desperate, approaching not from the fire, but from the blank night behind him! The young man bore a sword, and it was already swinging.
"No!" The seeker screamed in a language dead a thousand years.
Haim held onto the blademaster with all of his desperate strength. He applied a simple wrestling hold, for he knew that with this man finesse would only get him killed. He wrapped his great arms under those of the swordsman and behind his neck, and threw him to the ground. The swordsman struggled like a panther in his grasp, and even now Tuchek's hands grabbed for his face. Only by burrowing his face into the Aulig's neck did he prevent him from gouging out his eyes.
Tuchek's legs kicked into the ground, occasionally finding purchase, and Haim knew that in a moment the Aulig would break the hold or force him into the fire.
Aelfric raised the blade above his head the swung it downward in a long, whistling arc. He had never drawn blood with a weapon before, and he was surprised at how easily the broadsword went into the beggar's skull, splitting it to the depth of its neck. Handless stumps flailed harmlessly at the weapon as the warlock died, and the strange words in a foreign language ended abruptly.
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 14
