Bloodstone (14 page)

Teres felt the streets beneath her boots and sensed the darker shadow of an unseen building. Her steps had taken her beyond the grounds of Lutwion's manor, into the adjacent portion of the city. Voices yet called through the viscous darkness. Lutwion had posted men along nearby streets and alleys; his net was flung wide, and now it drew back. But had the assassin slipped through its mesh? After all, Teres reminded herself, they knew not the face of the man they hunted. If he were one of the general's retainers, might not he have joined with his pursuers until a better chance for escape presented?

She froze in abrupt fear. From beyond her the fog was sundered by a shriek of terror! A mindless scream of stark horror, of unendurable agony, burst from the night; she could not say whether it came from one voice or several. Almost as its ragged note rose forth, the unearthly anguish broke off, silenced with grim finality. And Teres, who counted her nerve better than any man's, caught her breath with a shudder.

Teeth fixed in lip, pain calling her to reality, Teres fought to quell the panic in her heart. Slowly she drove the ice-tingle from her body, held her swordpoint steady before her. Had she imagined it, or had she glimpsed a sickly flicker of greenish light through the fog, just as the scream had reached her? Lightning reflected? Nerves?

There was sudden stillness all around... for what seemed an interminable space. Then she heard pounding footsteps close by. Lips drawn in a snarl, she poised her blade for the killing thrust.

"Steady, Teres! It's Kane," breathed a voice from a shadow she could dimly make out. She was too shaken to wonder until later how the stranger could see her this clearly in the darkness.

"That cry!" she mumbled.

"Came from close by--there's an alley leading off here, I think," Kane finished. "I was trailing someone who seemed in a greater hurry to leave than to join in the search. Lost him near here only a few minutes ago. Didn't give the alarm, because I figured he'd take off and escape cleanly before others could get here. I was trying to cut across his trail when I heard that scream. We'd better stay together till we know what's behind this."

For once, Teres felt glad for companionship. Shoulder to shoulder they moved toward the point from which the cry had seemed to originate. Men with torches ran to join them, casting light over the grisly scene they discovered.

Four men lay dead at the mouth of an alley. Three were soldiers; the fourth was Lutwion.

Their bodies lay twisted in grotesque angles, contorted as if they had been hurled back by some unthinkable force. Flesh seemed shrunken, features frozen masks of agonized dread. There was no need to feel for life. On each body glowered a brand of blackened flesh, smouldering clothing--a matted crater etched into human tissue, bridged by splinters of charred bone. It was as if the dead men had been struck by a stream of molten iron.

"What kills like that?" someone moaned. "Lightning?" wondered Teres. "Could they have been hit by lightning? I thought I saw a flash of lightning from this spot. Look--that man's sword is fused to his arm!"

"Lightning, could be!" growled Malchion savagely. "A fine coincidence, though, for Dribeck! More likely the scheming coward has meddled with sorcery for this deed! Well, by Ommem, I swear to you--Selonari will think lightning's blasted her towers when I march south! I'll roast Dribeck over a fire of his precious books and wash the streets with the blood of his people!"

He drew Kane aside, so that only Teres overheard their words. "Get back to Selonari as fast as you're able! I know your risk is triple now, but the plunder of that city will glut even your lust for wealth if you serve me well in this! Get me any information you can smuggle out--you know my agents there! My army will march for the Macewen as quick as I can muster, and I need to know every foul trick Dribeck's cunning mind is plotting!"

"You'll hear from me soon!" promised Kane. He melted into the fog.

"I tell you true!" swore Havern, red wine squirting through rotted teeth as he gulped too great a mouthful. "There's riot and plunder gonna be, like there never was before, no lie!"

"Gimme that bladder, fartmouth! You're slobbering more than swallowing!" complained Wessa, pawing at the wineskin with his good hand. "Damn... another leak! We'll have to finish this up!" He raised the skin to his lips and sucked noisily as a stream from the puncture sprayed over his filthy beard.

"No need to spare it, Wessa sweet. What I'm telling you is we can soon be fat and greasy as lords at an orgy!" He paused to blow his nose with his finger, narrowly missing the other. "Snurk! Let me have that back now, Wessa, come on."

"Here... fire your slosh-brains with more booze dreams!" sneered Wessa, surrendering the wineskin. "Back off, Havern, you gonna fall over and knock me in the river maybe in a minute. Thoem's left ball! See that mother of a rat there! He's a banquet for the both of us!"

Snatching a stone from the riverbank, he threw it after the rat, missing by several feet. "Damn! If I had the strength in my other arm! Been six years since that bastard's mace messed me up!" Whining, he began to suck the wine from his scraggly beard.

"That rat's gonna get his pack together and come back here looking to pick our bones, sure enough," warned Havern. "I'm telling you, though, we'll soon be gorging ourselves on roasts and sweetmeats, Wessa. All the food and wine our guts can hold, all the women our hands can fondle, all the riches our backs can carry away! Ours for the grabbing, that's no lie! Word's everywhere. Old Malchion's sending an army with his bitch daughter to march on Selonari. He's gonna burn that craphole to the ground, and there'll be looting like you never believed!"

Wessa reclaimed the wineskin. "Maybe so, but a man could get his head pushed out his ass with all the fighting," he said morosely. "No pity for a one-armed man in war."

"Your bad arm can hold a shield," Havern judged. "Who's gonna do any fighting, anyway, I want to know? Not us. We'll follow along old Wolf's soldiers, and let them do all the work of killing and dying. Once Selonari falls, we just step in and help ourselves. Safer than staying in Breimen, 'cause no guards gonna come running when you cut a throat! Hell, Wessa, every free rogue in Breimen's gonna follow along for a slice of the spoils!"

"Well, I figure we can't do much worse than what we are," Wessa conceded. His rheumy eyes grew crafty in greedy vision.

"You know it's gonna be the sweetest tit we ever chewed!" promised Havern, waving the flaccid wineskin grandly. They stumbled along Breimen's waterfront for a space in thoughtful silence, broken only by Havern's wheezing cough, and gurgling smacks as they squeezed at the bladder.

"Well, we found us one, Havern dear," observed Wessa with a cackle. "River left, us a prize here, sure enough, and with luck we're first to find him!" He pointed to a dark shape bobbing face down against the rocks.

Eagerly they clambered to the water's edge and hauled the corpse onto the bank. "Someone's been up to deviltry," smirked Havem, as they pawed through the dead man's clothing. "Didn't bother to weight the stir, so the current washed him back along the eddy. Knew this was a lucky night for us to scavenge!"

"Wearing livery of some lord, but this knife's too good for a servant, and here's gold growing stale in his almoner. Too bad the way his chest is all burned up, but maybe the vest can be patched over. Wonder what they done to him to kill a man like this! Shit, Havern, look at the bastard's face!"

"Pretty," remarked his comrade. "You know, I bet those boots will about fit me."

Wind rippling his mane, the stallion wanted to canter, and Lord Dribeck decided to give his steed a good run, once he completed inspection rounds. Brisk exercise might relax them both, loosen the tightness in his belly. A short gallop across the martial field and down a forest trail--to Dribeck, who was a better horseman than most of his officers, the prospect would be an exhilarating interval from the tension that hung over Selonari like the thunderclouds of war.

"I had about given you up for dead," he remarked, "even with my high regard for your capabilities. The men you left with the horses at length reported your disappearance, and when the small search party I sent to investigate also failed to return, it seemed that Kranor-Rill would hold yet another secret in its depths. Reports from the vicinity give out that the Rillyti are prowling about even into the forest fringe, and there's more than the usual flow of tales concerning strange activity in the heart of the swamp--curious sounds, sinister lights glimpsed through the mists, and the like.

"Probably accounts for the enthusiastic response my call for new troops drew from the southern frontier. Well, I shouldn't be cynical. All of Selonari's people are rallying to the city. If Malchion takes Selonari, our settlements fall spoils, and our free farmers will be Wollendan serfs."

"Kranor-Rill and its deadly children very nearly did claim me," Kane reflected, riding beside Dribeck. Bath, sleep, fresh garments transformed him from the grim, swamp-stained wanderer who had wearily ridden into Selonari the day before, but there remained a haggardness about him that had not been present earlier.

To Dribeck's anxious questions, Kane had unfolded a terrifying narrative of his ill-fated expedition to the hidden ruins of Arellarti. Several days spent searching the swamp-buried city had unearthed nothing of practical value. Meanwhile, the Rillyti had encircled their camp with ever growing numbers, until Kane was forced to break for the forestlands before the batrachian hordes decided to attack. Once beyond the city walls, Kane's party was ambushed and annihilated by the enraged creatures. Kane and a few others had fled into the swamp, where Kane wandered lost for several days, somehow eluding the Rillyti and the countless other perils of Kranor-Rill, until he at last crawled onto firm ground to return to Selonari. Evidently none of the others had survived the ordeal. At Kane's suggestion that further exploration might yet lead to some valuable discoveries, Dribeck balked, arguing that he had no more men to waste.

"I'll admit I'm relieved to have you with me once again," Lord Dribeck confided, as they rode past the confused mustering of new troops. "There's been hell to pay while you were gone, and frankly I value your assistance. Shenan knows, I'll need every resource I can draw upon, if my rule here is going to last out the month. There's madness loose in Breimen--old Malchion's henchmen murdered under fantastic circumstances--and the Wolf is using this as a final excuse for war. Had a spy planted in Lutwion's household, who might have known the truth behind all this wild talk of sorcery, but he vanished without a word to me. Malchion's marshaled his army for the conquest of Selonari, and I've only a few days to make a defense.

"Well, I've known for years Wollendan's blond raiders would someday decide to swallow up Selonari like they treated the other old states of the northern coast. I've never succeeded in impressing the danger upon the popular mind. The city could well be an ash heap in a few days, but my gentry still line up in their petty jealous factions, and the Temple refuses to submit to taxation. All I could get Gerwein to agree to, without forcing the issue at an untimely moment, was a 'gracious donation' of the Temple guard and a few tidbits of their hoarded wealth. At least she sends me well-trained soldiery--not to disparage the stalwart freeman, but a professional soldier is worth any five amateurs, just intentions be damned."

He pointed to a thin and scar faced officer, who directed the cavalry drill--mercenaries, by the mixture of nationalities his men represented. The tall man's blond hair was noteworthy among the ranks of dark-haired Selonari. "That's Ristkon, Malchion's old enemy, who came so near to wresting Breimen from the Wolf," explained Dribeck with some pride. "I learned where he had fled after his rebellion collapsed, and approached him. Ristkon was aglow for the chance to avenge his old defeat--brought his own company of cavalry along."

"So hate is stronger than clan loyalties," remarked Kane. "You've found a doubly valued ally there."

"I've a company for you to command, as well, Kane," Dribeck reminded him. "Coordination will be a major problem in meeting the Breim army, and the man who can surmount all this disorder might find himself quickly installed as my chief lieutenant."

"I appreciate your hint," Kane acknowledged through a grin. "The value of such promotion would seem, then, to balance on our victory. After all, few conquerors trouble to hang a defeated foot-soldier."

The first arrows swept across the morning sky in a sudden gust, prelude to the impending storm. An engineer clutched his throat and toppled from the thrusting bridge into the river; others cursed as iron fangs struck at exposed limbs and challenged mail tunics. Stolidly, guards stepped forward to raise outsize shields over the workmen, trusting that their light armor would turn back most of the arrows, while the shoulder-high framework at the bridge's advancing edge would form a barrier against direct fire. From the Breim shore of the Macewen River hissed an answering barrage of arrows, striking the heavily forested bank opposite without observable effect.

"Well, we got midway across the Macewen before Selonari arrived to dispute our crossing," remarked Teres, squinting into the dense forest beyond the flood plain. "Dribeck must be marshaling his full strength to block us here, but I can't see for shit how many he's brought up just now. Be good to finish that bridge before his entire force gathers to welcome us to our new lands."

Malchion grunted noncommittally, intent on the progress of the bridge. Unofficial boundary between the holdings of the two city-states, the Macewen River sprang from mountain streams of the Great Ocalidad range, then cut southwest across the Southern Lands to reach the Western Sea at Serpent's Tail, flowing through the same precipitous gap through which drained Kranor-Rill. Breimen and Selonari stood along tributary rivers, the Clasten and Neltoben, which joined the Macewen farther downstream from this spot--some eighty to ninety miles from either city. Short of marching northeast to the foothills of the Great Ocalidads, there were only two stretches where the Macewen might safely be forded at this season. Word had reached Malchion from Kane that Dribeck had divided his army to guard either fording. The Wolf had then prepared to bridge the Macewen at a point where the river flowed languidly through wide channels.