Empire of the East (21 page)

Something he had almost forgotten began to grow in Chup: his old happiness of combat. “At least,” he observed, “you have learned how to hold a blade since last we fought.”

Rolf was not minded to talk or even listen. His face showed how he, too, raged at himself for carelessness. He lunged forward, thrusting. To Chup, his own response seemed horribly slow and rusty; but still his hand had not forgotten what to do. It came up of itself, bringing the knife in an economical curve to meet the sword. The long steel sang, shooting two centimeters wide of Chup's ribs. Then quickly the sword slid back, to make a looping swing and cut. Chup saw it was coming downward toward his legs. They had no nimbleness to save themselves. He let himself drop forward, reaching down with his short blade to parry the stroke as best he could. He caught the sword blade in the angle between hilt and blade of his dagger, caught it and tried to pin it to the ground. But Rolf wrenched the sword away again. Rolf feinted twice before he struck again, but there was not much skill in his pretense, so Chup had time to get back on his feet, parrying the real cut even as he rose.

Chup saw as they circled that the loadbeast was moving steadily away. No help for that. His eyes were locked on Rolf's, and both of them were breathing harshly. So it went on for a little time, with nothing said. Rolf would advance and strike, or sometimes only feint. Chup parried, and faked attacking in his turn. With his short blade he could not very well attack a sword, held by a determined foe. If Chup had had his strong legs he could have tried and might have won—skipping back when the sword cut at him, driving forward then at the precisely proper instant for striking. Without perfectly dependable legs it would be suicide.

A first-rate swordsman in Rolf's place would have driven in on Chup, trying to stay just at the distance where the sword could strike but the dagger could not, pounding one stroke upon another until at last the shorter blade must miss a parry. Though Rolf was dangerous with a sword, he was far from masterly. Chup watched and judged him critically. Rolf was evidently determined he was not going to be tricked again into rushing to too close quarters with the Lord Chup. So he stood just a fraction of a meter too far away before he struck; and he failed to press his attacks. Against his efforts the knife in Chup's hand could, with a minimum of luck, stand like a wall of armor.

At last Rolf drew back a further step, and dropped his sword point slightly. Perhaps he hoped to provoke Chup into something rash.

But Chup only dropped his own arms to his sides and stood there resting, panting honestly. His legs were stronger than when the fight had started, as if exercise were an aid to the demon's magic. But in the joy of fighting, with health and strength and freedom come again, he had no great wish to kill.

He said: “Youngster, come with me to the East. Follow and serve me, and I will make you a warrior. Yes, and a leader of warriors. You may never be a great one with the sword, but you have the guts, and if you live long enough you may absorb a little knowledge.”

The murderous determination frozen in the young face did not thaw for an instant. Instead, Rolf closed again, and struck, once, twice, three times, with greater violence than usual. The blades rang, rang, rang. Ah, Chup thought, it was too bad, a good man wasted as an enemy. Chup would have to kill him.

If he could. The desert this near the castle must be patrolled. Should a squad of Western cavalry appear, that would be all for the Lord Chup and his ambition and his golden bride. And, too, the sun was lowering. Suppose they kept on duelling here until nightfall? To fight with blades in darkness was more like rolling dice than matching skills.

Rolf circled round him now, struck less frequently, and appeared to be thinking more. It seemed that he was searching for the proper way, trying strategies in his mind. He might hit on the right one. He would have the guts to try it if he decided it was best. Chup therefore had better get the initiative, and soon. How? He would dare Rolf, anger him, play on young impatience.

“Come here to me, child, and I will impart a little knowledge. Just a little spanking is all that I intend. Come, no reason for you to be so much afraid.”

Rolf was not even listening. He was looking eastward now, past Chup's shoulder, and there was a change toward desperation in Rolf's face.

Chup carefully backed up a step, to insure against surprise, and took a quick glance behind him. A thin cloud of dust rose from the desert, a kilometer or more away. Beneath the dust he glimpsed movement as of riders; and he thought that the riders were garbed in black.

Rolf, too, thought that he saw black uniforms, and plainly they were coming from the east.

Chup had lowered his blade again, at the same time stretching himself up to his full height. His beggar's rags were suddenly completely incongruous. In a lofty and distant tone, he said: “Burrow into the sand, young one.”

Rolf's thought, like a cornered animal, jumped wildly this way and that. It would be hopeless, in this barren country, to try to run from mounted men. The approaching riders now seemed to be coming straight on, as if they had already spotted Chup, at least. He stood quite tall and willing to be seen.

“Don't be an idiot. Hide, I say.”

Bending low, Rolf scrambled around the nearest hummock, threw himself down there, and dug himself as rapidly and thoroughly as possible into the sand between two straggly bushes. Not much more than his head, emerging amid roots and wiry stems, was left unburied when he ceased his work and froze, hearing hoofbeats nearby.

Looking out over the top of the hummock, he could see the head and shoulders of Chup, who stood facing away from Rolf with chin held high. And in that moment Rolf felt a chill brush over him, a shadow unseen by eyes yet deeper far than any simple lack of light. Something enormous and invisible brushed by him, something that he thought was searching for him. It missed him, and was gone.

The many hoofbeats, their makers still unseen by Rolf, had halted. Dust came drifting above Chup. Now an unknown, deep, and weary voice called out: “And are you Chup? The former satrap?”

“I am the Lord Chup, man.”

“Where is it? Were you able to—?”

Chup in his best commanding voice broke in: “And your name, officer?”

For a moment the only sound was the shifting of hooves. Then the deep tired voice said: “Captain Jarmer, if it makes any difference to you. Now quickly, tell me whether you—”

“Jarmer, you will provide me with a mount. That beast you see wandering away there will not support me longer.”

Some of the mounts shifted their positions, and now Rolf could see the one he took to be the captain, scowling down at Chup. Mounted beside the captain was one in wizard's robes of iridescent black, with the hump of some small beast-familiar showing under the loose robes at the shoulder. The wizard juggled something like a crystal in his cupped hands. A facet of it winked at Rolf, with a sharp spear of the lowering sun; again he felt the sense of something searching passing by.

Chup in the meantime was continuing his debate with Jarmer: “Yes, I have it, and it is not your job to ask for proofs of anything, but to escort me. Now the sooner you provide me with a mount, the sooner we will be where all of us want to go.”

There was a murmuring of voices. Chup vanished from Rolf's view, to reappear a moment later mounted. “Well, Captain, are there any more problems I must solve before we can be off? A Western army lies within that fortress, and if they've eyes they've seen your dust by now.”

But still the captain tarried, exchanging glances with his wizard. Then he spoke to Chup once more, in the tones of one who knew not whether to be angry or obsequious. “Had you no companion on your way out here from that castle? My wise man here says his crystal indicates—”

“No companion that I mean to tarry for. That ancient loadbeast, mirages, and a skulking predator or two.” Unhurriedly, but ending all delay, Chup turned his new mount to the east and dug his heels in.

The captain shrugged, then motioned with his arm. The wizard put away his jiggling piece of light. The sound of hooves rose loudly for a moment, then rapidly declined, with the settling of the light dust they had raised.

Almost unbelieving, Rolf watched and listened to them go. When the last sound had faded he pulled himself out of the sand and looked. The riders' plume of dust was already distant in the east from which the night was soon to come. Turning back to face the castle, he saw that some sentinel had—too late—given the alarm. A heavy stream of beasts and men, a mounted reconnaissance-in-force, flowed from the main gate toward the desert.

Rolf stood there numbly waiting for them. He had been given back hope for his sister's life, but robbed of something whose importance he had not understood until it was taken from him…though in truth his feelings were more relief than loss, as if an aching tooth had been pulled. His hand returned again and again to the empty pocket. His head ached from the robber's blow.

Ask help of the tall broken man.
Why had Gray's powers told him that?

On the first night of the long flight into the east there had been only brief pauses to rest. During the following day their toiling across the enormous waste of land seemed to bring the Black Mountains no closer. Jarmer during daylight slowed down the pace somewhat, pausing for long rests with posted sentinels. Chup at each stop slept deeply, lying with his golden treasure beneath his body, where none could reach it without waking him. When he awoke he ate and drank voraciously, till those of the black-clad soldiers who had been ordered to share provisions with him grumbled—not too loudly. His legs grew stronger steadily. They were not yet what legs should be, to serve the Lord Chup properly, but he could stand and move on them without expecting to fall down.

The second morning of the journey, the sun was very high before it came in sight; the Black Mountains of the East were tall before them now, casting their mighty shadows many kilometers out upon the desert. Clouds draped their distant summits. Seen from this near, they were no longer black, nor particularly forbidding. What had given them the hue of midnight from a distance, Chup saw now to be the myriad evergreen trees that clothed the middle slopes like blue-green twisted moss.

The troop now traveled upon a long, slow rise of land by which the desert approached the cliffs. The chain of peaks ran far on either flank to north and south, and curved ambiguously from sight in both directions, so Chup was hard put to guess how far the range might stretch.

Straight ahead was one of the higher-looking peaks, sheer cliffs rising to its waist. Now from somewhere on the tableland above the cliffs it disgorged a dozen or so flying reptiles. Down to inspect the mounted troop they flew, on laboring slow wings; the air here must be high and thin for them, and the season of their hibernation was approaching.

Looking more closely at the cliffs as he rode ahead, Chup saw that they were not after all a perfect barrier. To them and into them a road went climbing, switchback after switchback. Toward that road and half-hidden pass Jarmer was leading his men. And indeed the frayed-out start—or ending—of that climbing road seemed to be appearing now, beneath the riding-beasts' hurrying hooves.

Chup was observing all these matters with alert eyes and mind, but with only half his thought. A good part of his attention was focused inward, upon a vision that had grown in his mind's eye through the two long nights and single day upon the desert.

Charmian. The weight of the knot of his wife's hair, swinging in his pocket as the wind and motion of the ride swung his light and ragged garments, seemed to strike like molten gold against his ribs. He remembered everything about her, and there was not a thing that made her less desirable. He was the Lord Chup again, and she was his.

The gradually steepening slope slowed down the tired riding-beasts. The road they traveled, empty of all other traffic, veered abruptly away from the cliffs, then toward them again, on the first winding of the steep part of its ascent. The cliff tops must be a kilometer above their heads.

Chup drank again from the borrowed waterskin he had slung before his saddle. His thirst was marvelous; the water must be going, he thought, to fill out his recovering legs. Their muscles still seemed to be thickening by the hour, though the speed of recovery was not what it had been at first. He stood up in his stirrups now, and squeezed the barrel of the beast beneath him with his knees. The skin on his legs ached and itched, stretching to hold the new live flesh.

On the next switchback the road climbed past a slender, ancient watchtower, unmanned on this road where scouting reptiles perched and the defenders above held such advantage of position. In Chup's mind the slender tower was an evoking symbol of the slenderness of his bride. Again, with another turning of the road, the riders passed shabby, dull-eyed serfs at labor in a terraced hillside field. Among them were a few girls and women young enough to look young though they labored for the East; but Chup's eyes passed quickly over them, only searching for one who was not there, who could not be.

Oh, he knew what she was like. He remembered everything, not just the incredible beauty. But what she was like no longer seemed to matter.

It was a long and arduous climb, up through the narrow pass. As soon as they had reached the top, men dismounted wearily, and animals slumped to their knees to rest. They faced a nearly horizontal tableland, rugged and cracked by many crevices. Across this wound the road they had been following, and at its other side, two or three hundred meters distant, sprawled the low-walled citadel of Som the Dead. Several gates stood open in the outer rampart of gray stone. It did not look particularly formidable as a defense. There was no need for it to be; a few earthworks, now unmanned, stood right at the head of the pass where Chup and his escort had stopped. It needed no shrewd military eye, looking back and down from here, to see that a few men here could stop an army.

Beyond the citadel, the mountain went on up, to lose its head at last within a clinging scarf of cloud. This mountain, unlike most of those surrounding, was but little forested. Above the citadel, the rock itself grew black. The more Chup looked up at that slope, the better he perceived how odd it was. On that dark, dead surface—was it perhaps metal, instead of rock?—there were a few tiny, even blacker spots, that might be windows or the entrances of caves. No paths or steps led to them. They might be reptile nests, but why so high above the citadel, already at an altitude where the leatherwings had hard work to fly?

Jarmer was standing beside him now, looking forward as if half-expecting some signal from the citadel. Chup turned to him and asked: “I suppose that Som the Dead dwells there above the fort, where all the signs of life are gone?”

Jarmer looked at him oddly for a moment, then laughed. “By the demons! No. Not Som, nor demons either. Quite the opposite. That's where the Beast-Lord Draffut dwells—you may meet him one day, if you're lucky.” Then worry replaced amusement. “I hope you're what you claim to be, and what you bring is genuine. You seem quite ignorant…”

“Just bring me to my lady. Where is she?”

Shortly they were mounting up again. Jarmer turned away from the largest gate, and chose a path that followed close beneath the wall, round to the south flank of the citadel. There a small gate was open, just wide enough for the troop to enter in a single, weary file. They dismounted in a stableyard, giving their animals into the care of quick-moving, dull-eyed serfs.

Scarcely had Chup got his feet upon the ground when there came hurrying to him a man with the indefinable air of the wizard about him. He gave this impression more powerfully by far than the one who had accompanied the patrol, though the newcomer had no iridescent robes and no familiar on his shoulder. He was slight of build, with a totally bald head that kept tilting from side to side on his lean, corded neck, as if he wished to view from two angles everything he saw.

This man caught Chup's ragged sleeve, and in a rapid low voice demanded: “You have it with you?”

“That depends on what you mean. Where is the Lady Charmian?”

The man did something like a dance step in his impatience. “The charm, the charm!” he urged, with voice held low. “It's safe to speak. Trust me! I am working for her.”

“Then you can take me to her. Lead on.”

The man seemed torn between his annoyance and satisfaction at Chup's caution. “Follow me,” he said at last, and turned and led the way.

A series of gates were opened for them, first by black-garbed soldiers, then by serfs. With each barrier they passed, the aspect of their surroundings grew milder. Now Chup followed the wizard along pleasant paths of flagstones and of gravel, across terraces and gardens bright with autumn flowers and fragrant with their scent. They passed a gardener, a bent-leg cripple with a face like death, pulling himself along the path upon a little cart, his implements before him.

The last barrier they came to was a tall thorny hedge. Chup followed the bald wizard through a gateless opening. They came upon a garden patio, built out from a low stone building, or from one wing of it; Chup could not see how far the house extended. Here was the grass thicker and better cared for than before, and the flowers, between a pair of elegant marble fountains, brighter and more numerous.

By now the sun come round the mountain's bulk. It made a flare of gold of Charmian's hair, as she rose from a divan to greet her husband. Her gown was gold, with small fine trimmings of dead black. Her grace of movement was in itself enough for him to know her by.

Her beauty filled his eyes and nearly blinded him. “My lady!” His voice was hoarse and dry. Then he remembered, and regretted, that he stood before her in the rags and filth of half a year of beggary.

“My husband!” she called out, in tones an echo of his own. Mingled with the tinkling of the fountains, it was her voice as he had dreamed of it, through all the lonely nights…but no, he had not dreamed of her. Why not? He frowned.

“My husband. Chup.” The very sunlight was not brighter nor more joyful than her voice, and in her eyes he read what all men want to see. Her arms reached out, ignoring all his filth.

He had taken three steps toward her when his feet were pulled out from under him and a rough gravel path came up to strike him in the face. He heard a shriek of laughter and from the corner of his eye saw a dwarfish figure spring up and flee away from a concealing bush beside the path, trailing howls of glee.

The unthinking speed in his arms had slapped out his hands in time to break his fall and save his chin and nose. Gaping up now at his bride he saw her beauty gone—not taken away, or faded, but shattered in her face like some smashed image in a mirror. It was, as usual, rage that contorted her face so. How well he knew that look. And how could he have forgotten it?

She glared at him as he regained his feet. She screamed out her shrewish filth and hate—how often he had heard it, in the brief days he had known her before their marriage ceremony. He had not been the target, then, of course; she would not then have dared.

Now why was she screaming all this abuse at him? It neither hurt nor angered him. He had no intention of striking her or shouting back. She was his bride, infinitely beautiful and desirable, and he would have her and she must not be hurt. Yes, yes, all that was settled. It was simply that this side of her character was annoying.

She was screeching at him. “—Filth! Carrion! Did you ever doubt I would repay you triply for it?”

“For what?” he asked deliberately.

A vein of anger stood out in her lineless forehead. For a moment she could not speak. Then, in a choking voice, not unlike a reptile's caw:
“For striking me!”
A tiny drop of spittle came far enough to strike his cheek, the touch of it a warm and lovely blessing.

“I struck you?” Why, that was mad, ridiculous. How could she think—but wait. Wait. Ah, yes. He remembered.

He nodded. “You were hysterical when I did that,” he said, absently trying to brush the dust from his rags. “I did it for your good, actually. I only slapped you with my open hand, not very hard. You were hysterical, much as you are now.”

At that she cried out with new volume and alarm. She backed away toward a doorway that led into the building. From a gap between hedges there came running three men in servants' drab clothes. One of them was quite large. Together they ran to make a wide barrier between him and his lady.

“Take him away,” she ordered the servants in a soft and venomous voice, regaining most of her composure. “We will amuse ourselves with him—later.” She turned quickly to the bald wizard, who was still hovering near. “Hann. You have made sure he has it with him, have you not?”

Hann tilted his head. “I have not yet had that opportunity, my lady.”

“I have it,” Chup interrupted them. “
Your
lady, wizard? No, she's mine, and I have come to claim her.” He stepped forward, and saw with some surprise that the three fools in his way stood fast. They saw only his dirt and rags, and perhaps they had seen him fall when he was tripped.

He scorned to draw his knife for such as these. He heeled an ugly nose up with his left hand, and swung his fist into the stretched-up throat; one man down. He grabbed a reaching hand by its extended thumb, and broke bone with one wrenching snap. He had only one opponent left. This third and largest fellow had got behind Chup in the meantime, and got him in a clumsy grip. But now, with his fellows yelping and thrashing about in helplessness, the lout realized he was alone, and froze.

“I am the Lord Chup, knave; let go.” He said it quietly, standing still, and he had the feeling that the man would have done so if he had not feared Charmian more than Chup. Instead the big slave cried out hoarsely, and tried to lift Chup and throw him. They swayed and staggered together for a moment before Chup could shift his hips aside and snap a fist behind him, low enough for best effect.

Now he was free to turn once more to claim his lady. She once more howled for help. The wizard Hann hauled out a short sword from under his cloak—evidently feeling his magic had turned unreliable with the onset of violence—and threw himself between Chup and his bride. But Hann was not the equal of the last swordsman Chup had faced, and Chup was stronger now than then. Hann dropped his good long blade and fell down screaming, when he felt the knife caress his arm.

This time, however, Charmian did not resume her noise-making, nor did she try to flee. Instead she stood with bright eyes smiling past Chup's shoulder. He heard a foot crunch gravel behind him on the path.

It was Tarlenot who stood there. He had already drawn his sword, at sight of the lawn littered with writhing, groaning men. His eyes lighted unpleasantly in recognition as Chup turned round to face him. Tarlenot was not a tall man, but powerful and long of arm. His short pink tunic showed bare legs as muscular as Chup's had been in his days of full strength. Around his thick neck was clasped a thin collar of some dark, plain metal, a strangely poor-looking thing for one to wear who was otherwise garbed luxuriously. Tarlenot's face was haughty now, more so than Chup remembered; the countenance of a pouty child grown big and muscular; his fair hair fell with a slight curl round his ears. He nodded his head lightly in recognition to Chup, and gave him a little smile. But he made no move to sheathe his sword.