by Peter David
“Do they need one, my love?” inquired Kate. “They conspired to kill you. What possible defense could be given for that?”
The room was starting to swirl around me, and I marveled over the fact that there were now three Kates where there had only been the one before. I was going to have one hell of a lot of fun once I got the trio back to the bedchamber. The Kates began to spin in circular fashion, and I did my best to keep my eye on them. As a result, I appeared to be bobbing my head with enthusiasm.
“The Peacelord agrees!” called Boar Tooth, playing to the crowd.
And Slake was there, stalking the perimeter of the clearing, playing off Boar Tooth perfectly as he said, “Are they condemned, then?”
I nodded, the reason being that I was trying to stay awake.
“They are condemned!” Boar Tooth bellowed, and a roar went up from the crowd then that was so deafening, it punched through the cloud of confusion upon me ever so slightly. I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus on the sequence of events, to remember where I was, and who was seated at my side, and who these poor wretches in the cart were. I had a vague recollection that they were a threat to me, but the specifics were beyond my ability to recall.
“Bring out the first one for execution!” called Slake. The slaves, now acting as muscled prisoner escorts, moved toward the cage and unlocked it. The rebels within began to cower back as they saw That Guy stepping forward, pulling his sword from its sheathe. He whipped it through the air with frightening speed, swinging it this way and that to please and delight the crowd with his unquestioned ability to murder an unarmed opponent who was being held in place.
Boar Tooth laughed loudly as he looked at the rebels shrinking back to the far end of the cage, and he called out, “We seem to have a dearth of volunteers! I guess we’ll have to pick someone to start!” The crowd joined in, their raucous chortling filling the hall and providing the only impetus to my staying awake.
And then a female voice cut loud and clear above the crowd, full of anger and strength and defiance, and it called out, “I’ll go first, you pack of bastards!”
The brave cry had a twofold effect. The first was to briefly surprise the crowd into silence. And the second was to shock me straight into sobriety, or at least a very close approximation thereof. Don’t let anyone tell you that a drunken man must wait a certain number of hours before he is fit to think for himself. It is entirely possible to be kicked directly out of your stupor if the reason is sufficient. And in this instance it most definitely was.
For stepping forward out of the cluster of rebels, her shoulders squared, her head held high, was Sharee. Her hair was longer and stringier than I remembered, and there was a shining purple bruise below her right eye, the origins of which I couldn’t even begin to guess. But it was her, and she looked right past her intended executioner, straight at me, with such hatred and loathing as I had never thought possible.
“Do your worst, Apropos,” she sniffed. “You always do anyway.”
Chapter 5
Bye Low, Cell High
The full weight of what was about to happen thudded upon my shoulders as I watched Sharee take several steps toward me and stop half a dozen paces away from That Guy. One of the slaves was now running forward with thick cloths which he was placing on the floor. Naturally. Her headless (or possibly bisected) body was about to flop to the ground, and blood was always hell to get out of flagging.
People were crowding in to get a better view, and Slake called as if he were the master of ceremonies at a circus, “Please be aware: There will be blood and gore flying! Any of you in the first three rows, you are very likely going to get wet!” This was all that was required to prompt the crowd to back away once more to a safer, and drier, distance.
Sharee had not taken her gaze from me, even though her death was standing several feet away and preparing to swing his sword. Everything that Kate had said to me about needing to be firm, about sending the right message, and letting everyone know the dangers of defying me … those were all fresh in my mind. But how in hell was I supposed to just stand there and watch Sharee be cut down in front of me?
Easily. By keeping your big mouth shut. She’s done nothing but cause you heartache and pain, and now she was scheming to kill you? You owe her nothing! Nothing!
And that was right enough, of course. I did owe her nothing. There was no earthly reason to stick my neck out so that hers would be spared. If it weren’t for her, I would still be taking it easy back at Bugger Hall, and none of this would have happened. She had shoved her nose in my business and turned my life on its ass. If her life was forfeit as a result, that was of no consequence to me.
Except …
… she might have answers. Answers to the puzzle of how I had come to be here. Answers that, if I did not obtain them, would haunt me to my dying day. She had, after all, been right there dying with me in the Tragic Waste. Whatever happened to me must have, somehow, impacted upon her.
Before I even had the notion fully formed in my head, I was on my feet and calling out, “Wait!”
Sharee’s expression never wavered, the contempt for me still writ large upon it. That Guy looked quite puzzled, however, for he had been pulling back his sword and preparing to let fly. My pronouncement certainly startled everyone else into silence as well.
“Peacelord, with all respect,” Boar Tooth said cautiously, taking several steps toward me, “what, precisely, are we to wait for? They have been condemned. That should be the end of it, should it not?”
You’d think so, wouldn’t you. My mind raced. Kate stared at me with open bewilderment, obviously wondering what in the world could possibly have possessed me? Well, I was wondering the same thing, except about a different circumstance that only Sharee might be able to shed light upon.
I spoke without knowing where I was going with it, which is always a risky endeavor. But I could not appear hesitant. Befuddling, arbitrary, yes, these were permissible. But, as noted earlier, hesitation will get a leader killed, every time—either by the enemy, or by his own people.
“This … would be an abomination against the gods!” I declared.
I don’t think anyone could have looked more surprised than the Lady Kate, who stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. No one else looked any more certain of my sanity, though. “It would?” she asked. “How do you know it would?”
“How do you know it wouldn’t?” I responded.
Her mouth opened as if she had some sort of answer to that, but then she closed it again and just sat there and stared at me expectantly.
“Do not think to dispute me on this, for I know these things!” I said, addressing the comments to her but encompassing the entirety of the assemblage as I did so. “You cannot possibly think that I would have accomplished all that I have—obtained all riches, all this greatness in the name of the residents of Dreadnaught—if the gods were not on my side? And because I am so favored, I have a certain … awareness, if you will … of what will be pleasing to the gods, both above and below.”
“That … makes sense, Peacelord,” said Boar Tooth, scratching the underside of his chin thoughtfully, “although I’ve never heard you express it that way.”
I drew myself up. I was not favoring my right leg at all by that point. Not only that, but I felt a faint burning in my chest from the area where the gem was embedded. It was not painful, however; instead it actually felt invigorating, as if new strength was surging through me. I felt as if I was literally radiating charisma. I wasn’t simply trying to come up with some sort of cover story. I was instead barking divine words of wisdom. In short … I was starting to believe my own fabrications. “Are you under the impression, Boar Tooth,” I demanded, brimming with confidence, arrogance, and a dollop of threat, “that I am obligated in some way to share with you every thought of mine?”
“No, Peacelord!” he said immediately. I fired a glance at the others of my followers, and they promptly shook their heads in response. I noticed from the corner
of my eye that only the Lady Kate wasn’t responding in the negative. She was just watching me like the proverbial hawk.
Nevertheless, satisfied with Boar Tooth’s acknowledgment, I pointed angrily at the prisoners. I endeavored not to make eye contact with Sharee, whose baleful glare hadn’t lost any of its venom.
“This,” I continued, “is a time of celebration and festivities. It is not a time for bloodshed, even if it be the blood of such as these, ” and I put as much contempt into the word these as I could. “As much joy as it would give those of us assembled here to see these bastards die, that pleasure must wait until tomorrow, lest blood spilled at a time of celebration place a curse upon all of us here.”
There was a collective gasp of fear from the assemblage, and then they jumped as one when a loud, earsplitting shriek pierced the air. It was Mordant, curled around the massive chandelier hanging overhead. He let out a second scream as if to further punctuate what I’d just said, and his head bobbed up and down. It was, of course, the simple reflexive gesture of a dumb animal, but it nevertheless apparently carried weight with the onlookers.
“So trust me, my friends,” I called out. “The prisoners have been condemned by me. They will die. But it shall be done on the morrow, while they have a final night to stew in their cells, listening to our merrymaking while knowing that the sands of time are running out on their pathetic existence … ses … existences … lives! On their pathetic lives!”
Well, as you can imagine, there were more huzzahs and more cheers. Men were pounding their fists upon the tables or their feet on the floor with such enthusiasm that I thought for a moment the place was going to come crashing down around our ears. The slaves shoved Sharee back into the cage, slammed shut and locked it, and proceeded to wheel them out once more. And not once, in all that time, did Sharee look away from me. I could practically feel the air crackling with her hatred for me.
Gods, what did the woman want from me?
And I realized … that I was going to have to ask her.
It was some time later, the revelries having gone long into the night, before I finally returned to my bedchamber. The Lady Kate accompanied me, but she did not look pleased. Also at my side was the drabit, having nestled on my arm once more. Despite her obvious discomfort with the situation, Kate gamely endeavored to make small talk. “The people were most impressed with Mordant this evening. Particularly his well-timed reinforcement of what you were saying.”
My imagination told me that Mordant understood every word she’d just said, but I couldn’t be sure. “Why so impressed?” I asked.
“Why, Peacelord … drabits are extremely rare creatures. There are some who say they are familiars of the gods themselves. When one such beast becomes as attached to you as Mordant has become, that naturally has an impact on your followers. And when you speak of the will of the gods and Mordant chooses that moment to chime in, well …” And she shrugged as if that more or less said everything that needed to be said. Which, perhaps, it did. I couldn’t help but notice, however, that she had called me “Peacelord” rather than “my love.” I wasn’t sure what that entailed, but I didn’t think it indicated anything good.
The moment the door to our chamber was closed behind us, Kate turned to me and her demeanor seemed to change completely, becoming far more intense and focused and frankly impatient with me. Her arms folded, she said simply, “Why?”
“Why what? Why did I delay their execution?” She didn’t nod. She didn’t have to. We both knew that was what was on her mind. “You heard my reasons.”
“I heard reasons,” she corrected. “I just … Apropos, I am not sure that they were true reasons.”
I shrugged off the cape and turned to face her. “Are you implying,” I asked coldly, “that I have lied? That I have been less than candid in some way?”
“I’m not saying that, no. In fact, I’m not saying it’s your fault at all.” She drew a deep breath as if summoning strength for a great task and then she told me, “I saw the way that one rebel was looking at you. I recognized her from her description. She’s the one called Sharee. There are some who say,” and she lowered her voice as if in fear that somehow we were being overhead, “that she is a Weaver. That she possesses magical powers of some sort.”
“No!” I said, trying to look as shocked as I could. I found interesting that such rumors existed, particularly considering that Sharee was relatively powerless. At least, so she’d told me those many months ago. I couldn’t know for sure if the situation remained the same … although I suspected that, were her weatherweaving powers in full force, she would never have been captured so easily, or even at all. “A weaver, you say? One of those creatures who can perceive the threads of mystical energy that exist in nature and ‘weave’ them together into spells and such?”
“Yes. And it is my concern that perhaps, somehow … she has cast some sort of spell upon you.”
I made sure to be properly taken aback. “Impossible! Impossible, I say!” Then I walked over to her and took her hands in mine, fixing a look of as much love and adoration as I could muster upon myself. “Why … how could any spell that such a being might cast possibly compare to the spell that you have placed upon me with your enchanting personality and beauty?”
She actually smiled at that and looked down, her face flushing slightly. “I know it sounds foolish. There have been no weavers in these parts for … well … it’s ridiculous to think on it. Still,” and then she returned her gaze to me and there was that same obvious concern. “The way she looked at you, and you upon her … as if you recognized her somehow …”
For a moment I considered dismissing the concern out of hand. But my experience with women—as calamitous as it had generally been—had taught me one thing at least. It was far preferable to come up with an alternate explanation for a woman’s worries than just claim that they were baseless … especially when there was, in fact, good reason for them that you simply didn’t want the woman to know about.
“You know … I felt that way as well,” I said slowly. I released her hands and draped my own behind my back, pacing thoughtfully. “It was as if I did, indeed, know her in some way. And I think I may have sorted out just how such a circumstance would be.”
“Pray tell!” Kate seemed enthused, genuinely interested, as if the secrets of the universe were about to be laid out for her. She threw herself across our spacious four-poster bed, propping her chin upon her hands and watching me with rapt attention.
I paced the room like a brilliant mystery solver unraveling a conundrum. “It is said by some that all of us live multiple lives. That the existence we experience now is merely one of many, and with each passing through this plane of existence we acquire more and more knowledge. Eventually those who become knowledgeable enough sit at the right hands of the gods themselves.”
“I’ve heard such things!” she said excitedly. “Go on!”
“It is further said that, as we live each life, we tend to encounter the same people. The bodies change, but their spirits, their essence, remain consistent. That is why there are times when you meet someone and you take an instant dislike to them. It is because, in a previous life, they did you some great disservice.”
“And likewise the reverse!” Kate declared. She was practically bouncing up and down on the bed. “When one is experiencing love at first sight, one is meeting a previous lover!”
I pointed at her triumphantly and said, “Yes! Exactly! The way that I felt about you when we first met!”
That brought her up short, and I instantly sensed I had made a mistake. Tilting her head in confusion, she said, “When we first met on one of your earliest raids, you beat me and then kept me bound hand and foot for three days.”
My mind froze, and the only thing I could think of to say was “At the time, it was the only way I was capable of expressing the immediate affection I felt for you.”
“Oh.” To my astonishment, the explanation actually seemed to satisfy her. Then,
as if solving a great enigma, she declared, “So … you are saying that you encountered that Sharee person before! That you recognized her in some way.”
“Precisely,” I said, relieved that we’d glossed past a potentially disastrous detour. “I recognized her as an enemy from a past life.”
“Not a lover?” She said it teasingly, but I could tell there was serious concern in her voice.
I shook my head. “No, of course not. You saw the hatred she bore for me; chances are she recognized some of that same carry-over resentment. Mayhap in a previous existence, we battled and I slew her, and she knew in me her past destroyer. And I likewise knew her as someone who had caused me some measure of grief.”
Kate bounced up to her knees like a joyous child. “Well, then! The best thing that you can do is send her on to the next life! And better luck next time, I say! Hopefully one of the lessons she will learn is not to cross swords with the mighty Apropos!”
“We can only hope,” I said approvingly.
“Be strong, my Peacelord,” said Kate, “for together, you and I … we can remake this world into our vision, and not all the rebels or plotters or schemers can stop us!”
She reached over for me then and yanked me onto the bed. The eagerness and aggressiveness of the Lady Kate, for a moment, gave me uncomfortable recollections of the time when the ring had had its way with me—along with, it seemed, just about every female in Isteria with a pulse. But then I reminded myself that those encounters were long past, and I gave in to the passion of the moment as clothes flew everywhere. The room was lit by a small candelabra which got knocked off its table in our gymnastics, and the light was instantly snuffed out. In the darkness I disappeared into her.
