Riverwind the Plainsman

by Paul B. Thompson

  He halted where the stream flowed into the large triangular pool that dominated the plaza. The streams from the three waterfalls that ringed Xak Tsaroth converged here. Footbridges made of stout wooden planks spanned each of the three streams, though none of these creeks was more than waist deep. Perhaps the lizard men do not enjoy getting wet, Riverwind mused. He filed this thought away as his mind raced, trying to decide on a plan.

  “We’re waiting, barbarian!” Thouriss boomed.

  “I don’t want a spear in the back,” Riverwind retorted.

  “I have ordered my warriors not to interfere with you.”

  “Warriors? These?” Riverwind waved at the silent ranks of goblins. “All they are fit for is enslaving and murdering defenseless gully dwarves.”

  “Bold talk coming from a warm-blood! Does the little one guard your back? Ho! Ho!” There were guffaws from the goblin soldiers. “He was dead once. Soon he will be twice dead. Come ahead and meet your own fate, barbarian!”

  “Brud stay here,” the gully dwarf whispered behind Riverwind. “Goblins not strike. You hear what great master say.”

  “Don’t believe it. Thouriss would like it very much if we separated, then he could pick us off one at a time.” He felt a bump as the Aghar moved even closer to him.

  Riverwind advanced across the eastern footbridge. Brud stayed close to his back. At the foot of the palace steps, Riverwind paused.

  “Are my friends all right?” he asked. He gripped the mace’s handle so tightly that his hand went numb.

  “They are well. The old one got nicked by my guards. The fool tried to stave off my warriors barehanded,” Thouriss said with a sneer.

  “I want to hear them speak.” He put a foot up on the first step.

  Thouriss drew a gleaming two-handed sword. “Stand where you are, warm-blood.” Thouriss called out, and a draconian came running to his side. “Unstop their mouths,” he ordered. The lizard man unwound the gags from Di An’s and Catchflea’s mouths.

  “Are you hurt, old man?” Riverwind called.

  “Only a scratch,” Catchflea replied hoarsely.

  “And you, little one?”

  “He means to kill you!” Di An cried.

  “This is no secret,” Thouriss put in genially. He motioned to the draconian, and the gags were jammed back in. Raising his sword high, he slashed an “X” in the air. “Your name will be forgotten in the ranks of the many to fall to Thouriss the Conqueror.”

  “Only if you plan to talk me to death,” Riverwind remarked coldly.

  Thouriss laughed, a very unpleasant sound, like a hot iron plunging in cold water. “You have a mace in your hand. Do you know how to use it?” he asked.

  “It’s not my weapon of choice.”

  “Shanz! Give the barbarian your blade!” The draconian clomped out of his place in the cordon. Brud cowered behind the tall plainsman, making himself as small as possible. Shanz handed Riverwind his straight sword, pommel first. Riverwind gave Shanz the mace.

  “I have trained long against Shanz and the other Bozak,” Thouriss said, “but I haven’t yet fought a human. I am curious to discover what it’s like to kill one.”

  “We haven’t crossed blades and already you have me dead,” Riverwind said. “Why should I bother to be sport for you?”

  “Did I not say?” Thouriss asked with exaggerated surprise. “If you acquit yourself well, I will spare the old human and the elf girl. Does the weapon suit you, barbarian?”

  “A bit heavy, but it will do,” Riverwind replied. Outwardly, he seemed calm and controlled. Inside, he was seething with anger, fear, and anticipation. He had the beginnings of an idea, a way to beat the formidable commander—

  His wool-gathering vanished with the first swing Thouriss made with his great sword. The two-handed blade cleaved the air toward Riverwind’s skull. The plainsman backed off the steps and parried clumsily. Shanz’s sword was a good deal heavier than his saber, but it looked like an actor’s wooden blade compared to the monstrous weapon Thouriss wielded. Poor, terrified Brud threw himself flat on the lowest step and quivered.

  The commander advanced down the palace steps two at a time. His muscles bulged and knotted beneath his scale-and-mail armor like the workings of some fantastic machine. With everyone’s attention fixed on the fight, Brud leaped up and scampered up the steps of the palace. He ran right past Catchflea and vanished into the ruined interior. There was no blaming him. The old man wished he could disappear, too.

  Riverwind dodged the strokes Thouriss aimed at his head.

  “How am I doing?” Riverwind asked, trying not to gasp for air.

  “Not badly.” Thouriss brought his point up from the resting position, an underhand cut at Riverwind’s chest. The plainsman met the two-hander with the flat of his borrowed blade. The impact stung his hands, but he was grateful for the added weight of the draconian sword he wielded. He turned Thouriss’s attack aside. Riverwind extended his arm full-length and lunged. Thouriss made a coup parry and backed up a step. His clawed heel caught on a slab of broken marble and he stumbled. Riverwind disengaged and slashed hard across the commander’s chest. The sword tip scored a bright line along Thouriss’s brilliant armor. The goblins shifted their feet and muttered, but a glance from Shanz silenced them. Riverwind withdrew a pace to catch his breath. Swinging Shanz’s huge sword was tiring!

  “Well played,” Thouriss said. “If it weren’t for my armor, you’d have seen my blood.”

  “I noticed you wear armor, while I wear only leather,” Riverwind panted.

  “An even trade. The weight slows me down.”

  One-handed, Thouriss whirled his sword over his head.

  The glittering steel seemed to leave a shining trail in the air, so fast did the commander swing it. Riverwind ducked under the spinning blade. He lunged, only to have Thouriss beat aside his attack. He lunged again, steel sliding against steel. Thouriss’s serpent eyes widened as Riverwind’s sword came at his throat. He stepped into the lunge, hitting the plainsman’s blade with his mailed hand. The point passed over his shoulder, and the warriors closed together. Thouriss opened his mouth in a hiss of angry frustration. His two-inch fangs glistened in Riverwind’s face.

  The ophidian backhanded Riverwind on the jaw. He staggered back, blood running on his chin from where the mail links tore his skin.

  “Rahhh-ssss!” Thouriss howled. “Enough play! Now you die!”

  Riverwind checked his location. His back was to the plaza pool. Just where he wanted to be.

  Di An moaned through her gag. She looked to Catchflea. His eyes were shut and his jaw worked as if in speech. He must be praying to his gods, she thought, and added her own silent prayers to his.

  Riverwind flexed his fingers around the sharkskin grip of his borrowed sword. Thouriss was screaming at him. For all his size, Thouriss was not an experienced duelist. Riverwind was counting on that.

  Thouriss charged, sword held out in front of him in both hands. Riverwind stepped forward to meet him. They traded cuts and parries—one, two, one, two—until the commander flicked his wrist and hit Riverwind in the eye with the guard of his sword. Blinded, Riverwind stumbled back. He narrowly missed a killing stroke aimed at his blind side. Water lapped at his heels. He was on the very edge of the pool.

  The vision in his left eye cleared enough to see a crosswise slash coming from that side. Riverwind blocked it awkwardly. The shock of blade on blade went up his arm. He felt something hot on his arm and saw Thouriss’s keen edge had just laid open the skin on his forearm. Blood welled from the cut in rich red beads. The sight of his enemy’s blood restored Thouriss’s good cheer.

  “The wound does not trouble you, I hope?” Thouriss hissed, panting just a bit.

  “It’s nothing,” Riverwind assured him. Blood ran down his arm, seeping into the gaps between his fingers. Riverwind’s throat was raw from breathing hard, and his heart throbbed. Strangely enough, he was calmer now. Thouriss was not the perfect fighting machine he appear
ed to be. Not yet.

  The commander wasn’t going for wounds any longer. He was closing for the kill. The sunken city echoed and rang with the sound of blade meeting blade. Gully dwarves came out of their hovels and listened. Even the stolid goblin soldiers shifted restlessly as the two enemies battled before them.

  Thouriss wound up for a mighty overhand slash. Riverwind was so exhausted that he could hardly bring the borrowed sword up to parry. Now’s the time. He threw Shanz’s sword point-first at Thouriss. The surprised commander altered his attack to bat away the flying weapon. When he did, Riverwind lowered his shoulder and ducked under Thouriss’s sword arm. He grappled with the larger creature, wedging a leg between Thouriss’s muscled knees and wrapping his arms around the commander’s great torso.

  Riverwind was a fine wrestler among his own people, but he had no illusions as to how long he could survive against Thouriss’s brute strength. The commander howled again, this time with sardonic laughter.

  “Embrace me then, warm-blood! I shall break you apart like a dead tree!” he exclaimed.

  Gripping Thouriss was like hugging a statue, except this statue had a crushing grip of its own. Thouriss got a clawed hand around Riverwind’s forehead and began to twist. The plainsman gasped and grunted, trying to throw his weight against the commander’s tangled legs. Thouriss’s hissing laugh filled his ears as his head was slowly twisted around.

  Somewhere deep inside, Riverwind saw the face of Goldmoon. She had learned he was dead, and though she did not weep, all the sorrow of the world was in her face. He would not let that happen to her! His eyes flew open, and he saw Di An. The elf girl’s face plainly showed her own horror.

  Riverwind drove his elbow into the small of the commander’s back, and Thouriss pitched forward. But he retained his grip on Riverwind’s waist, and so both of them plunged into the plaza pool.

  The combatants sank beneath the surface.

  “Riverwind!” Di An screamed. She had worked her gag off. Catchflea opened his eyes. The water in the pool was always swirling from the currents in the streams that fed it, so there was no way for him to tell where the two had gone under. The goblin soldiers broke ranks and clustered around the pool. Shanz ordered them back to their places.

  Thouriss was slow to react to being submerged, but when he did, he panicked. It was as Riverwind had thought: the five-month-old commander, conceived and nurtured by evil magic, could not yet swim. Riverwind had learned to swim nearly as soon as he had learned to walk.

  Thouriss let go of the plainsman and tried to kick to the surface. Riverwind wrapped an arm around the commander’s legs and held him down. Thouriss thrashed and pummeled Riverwind’s back with his fists. His size and power were largely negated by his fear of drowning. He broke his hold on the plainsman and again tried to go up for air. Riverwind got on his back. So strong was Thouriss, that he was able to breach the surface with all of Riverwind’s weight upon him. They reared out of the water, Thouriss roaring and gasping for air. Riverwind tightened his arm-lock around Thouriss’s neck and dragged him under again.

  They sank so deep the water was violet and dark. Jagged slabs of pavement jutted up, adding to the danger. Thouriss tried to impale Riverwind on just such a slab, but the plainsman braced his feet against the stone and pushed away from it. The pressure began to affect Riverwind. His chest, his ears, his head felt as if they were in a vise and someone was cranking it tighter and tighter …

  “They’ve been under a long time,” Catchflea said. The old man had finally gotten his own gag off.

  “Is Riverwind a good swimmer?” Di An asked tremulously.

  “The finest in Que-Shu,” the old man avowed, though he actually had no idea.

  The draconians muttered and mumbled among themselves. The goblins shifted on their feet and kept glancing at Shanz. The draconian captain went to the edge of the pool and gazed into the water. He couldn’t see either fighter. He picked up the sword he had loaned Riverwind and returned it to his sheath.

  “What shall we do, sir?” one of the draconians called out.

  “Keep your places!” Shanz snapped. “It was the commander’s order that we not interfere!”

  “Thank the gods they obey orders,” Catchflea said in a low voice.

  Seconds stretched into minutes. Di An wept in earnest, and Catchflea felt a lump growing in his throat as well. No one, human or reptile, could survive underwater so long.

  Finally, Shanz approached. He drew his sword in such a fierce, swift fashion that Catchflea thought he was about to lose his head. Instead, the draconian cut the ropes holding him and Di An to the pillars.

  “Are we free?” the soothsayer asked hopefully.

  Shanz rammed his sword into its sheath. “I will take you to Master Krago. He will know what to do.” A guard of four draconians surrounded Catchflea and Di An and shoved them along to Krago’s private sanctum. Di An kept looking at the pool. The waters continued their giddy swirl, revealing nothing of the fate of the warriors lost beneath their surface.

  Krago was absorbed in an ancient scroll when Shanz brought the prisoners in. “What is it?” the young cleric asked. “Why have you brought them to me?”

  “Master,” Shanz said, “I regret to say—I have to tell you—”

  “What? Out with it.”

  “Commander Thouriss is—missing.” Krago stood so abruptly he toppled his chair. Shanz spoke with obvious trepidation, choosing his words carefully. “He lured the tall barbarian into a duel by threatening the hostages. The barbarian fought well, until the end, when he threw away his sword and struggled hand to hand. They fell into the plaza pool and never came up.”

  Krago’s head sagged. He stared at his toes for a long time in silence. “Khisanth will not be pleased,” he said finally.

  “Master Krago—” Shanz began.

  “Hold a moment, Captain. Let me think.” He picked up the small scroll he was reading and then put it down again. He moved around the room dazedly, his eyes small and glittering. Finally, he sat down in one of his high-backed chairs. “Leave the prisoners with me,” he said blankly.

  Shanz didn’t like that, but orders were orders. He said, “What about Commander Thouriss?”

  “Get some hooks and rope, then drag the pool,” Krago said. “Find Thouriss’s body. I may be able to restore it to life. If not—” The cleric shook his head. “I shall have to grow a new male in the vat.”

  Shanz posted four goblin guards outside Krago’s door. When he was gone, Catchflea thanked the young cleric.

  “You needn’t bother,” Krago said coldly. “I have tasks for both of you. If you cause me the slightest trouble, I’ll have you hamstrung. Is that clear to you?”

  It was.

  The cleric sank in his chair and shook his head. “It’s all too much,” he groaned. “My creation destroyed, drowned like a rat!”

  “You made him a warrior,” Catchflea said, gathering the grieving Di An to his side. “Did you think he would live forever?”

  “Thouriss was much too valuable to die in a duel,” Krago replied testily. “Had he fathered sons and daughters, then I wouldn’t care what happened to him.”

  “Is that all you can think about?” Di An asked. She rubbed her eyes to clear them. “The trouble Thouriss’s death makes for your grand design?”

  “Yes. Nothing else matters.” Krago smoothed out the scroll on the table. “Nothing.”

  Chapter 22

  From the Depths

  Thouriss finally went limp in Riverwind’s grasp, and he released him. The weight of Thouriss’s armor took the creature down to the nether reaches of the pool.

  Riverwind needed air, but he cast about for an alternative to surfacing in the center of the plaza under the eyes and arms of the goblins and their draconian masters. He found a tunnel in the eastern side of the pool, where a strong inrush of water headed. He swam into the hole and let the water carry him until he could bear it no longer. Driven by a crying need for air, Riverwind went up and surfa
ced in a tiny grotto. About ten inches of air space was available, so Riverwind trod water and took in deep, heady breaths of air.

  The ceiling of the grotto was not natural rock. Although it was too dark for Riverwind to see, the ceiling felt like fired clay. He thought that he must be in some sort of water pipe or cistern, a remnant of the great days of Xak Tsaroth. Riverwind paddled forward in the total darkness, feeling the cracks in the thick terra cotta. The water was flowing, so there had to be a way out. He only hoped it would be big enough for him to pass through.

  The bottom of the tunnel rose sharply, and he was able to get his feet under him again. Riverwind sloshed forward in a crouch. The pipe narrowed further, so he got on his hands and knees. Water lapped at his chin. He came to a fork in the pipe. He chose to go left, where a faint light seemed to shine.

  On all fours, Riverwind scrambled forward toward the light. His arm wound was bleeding again, his left eye was swollen shut, and his whole body ached from the pounding Thouriss had given him. The pain didn’t matter as much as getting out of this sewer and finding Di An and Catchflea.

  The light was a finger-thin shaft falling down a round opening that might have been a well in ages past. A fall of rubble had partially filled the water pipe, making a small island. Riverwind tried to stand, to reach up to the light and climb out. He couldn’t. The strength ebbed from his limbs, and he sank down, utterly exhausted. The blackness of unconsciousness covered him, and around him the water lapped and swirled.

  Di An tiptoed to the end of the vat where Krago’s new creation still slept. She hated the hideous thing half-sunk in its bath of quicksilver. It was growing more aware all the time; when Di An was near, it would turn its head as if looking at her. This was all the more disturbing because the monster’s eyes were still unopened. Other times, Krago would come in and talk to it, telling it what a beautiful, powerful creature it was. It made Di An ill.