Exile's Return (10 page)

Slowly, Kaspar put the sword into the armor’s outstretched hands. Instantly it wheeled about and moved back to the wagon. With an inhuman hop, it jumped into the wagon, which bounced under its weight, then stepped into the coffin and lay down.

The three men didn’t move.

After nearly a minute of total silence and stillness, Kenner ventured to move to the wagon. The others followed. The armor lay in the coffin as it had when Kaspar had pried open the lid. For almost another minute they just looked at it. Finally Kaspar put out his hand and touched it, ready to pull back if there was any response.

It felt exactly as it had before.

The three men exchanged questioning looks, but no one said anything. Finally Kaspar climbed up on the wagon bed and replaced the lid of the coffin. He said, “Hammer,” and waited until Kenner handed him one from the tool box under the driver’s seat. Without hurry, Kaspar carefully realigned the heavy iron nails that had pulled out with the lid and then diligently hammered them all back into place.

Then he said, “We will find a priest tomorrow.”

The other men nodded. For the balance of the night, none of them closed an eye.

The wagon rolled through the streets of Shamsha, an hour before sundown. This was the first population center Kaspar would actually call a city. The walls could easily be breached by his Olaskon engineers in less than a week’s siege, but that was a week longer than any he had seen so far. The guards were called prefects, which struck Kaspar as odd, as that was the title give to a rank of senior military officer in Queg. At one time in ages past, this must have been a military post. The senior prefect gave the wagon a cursory inspection and then threatened to delay them for an indefinite period until Kaspar bribed him.

The three men had been silent most of the day. They had gathered together what they could of McGoin and buried him deep in a hole in the meadow. No one had spoken as they stood around the makeshift grave, until at last Kenner had said, “May Lims-Kragma quickly speed him to a better life.”

Flynn and Kaspar grunted agreement, and they packed up their camp and set off. It was nothing any of them could come to grips with. The monster and the armor coming to life were events so unbelievable that Kaspar knew the others were as reluctant to discuss it as he was; it was as if to speak of it was to admit the possibility that what they had witnessed was real.

Yet what troubled Kaspar most of all was the familiar feeling he had recognized. Something about all the carnage and evil had a recognizable quality to it. An echo of an earlier time in his life pressed into this mind, as if trying to remember a song once heard and barely remembered, yet associated with a memorable event, a festival or celebration perhaps. But in the field at night, it had been something unknown and unknowable, and like a man struggling to remember that nameless tune he at last grew tired of the process and push it aside. Better to concentrate on what to do next than dwell too long on what had already happened. It wasn’t as if he could change the past.

They found an inn with an impressive stabling yard and before retiring, Kaspar inspected the wagon and watched as Kenner and Flynn hauled the chest up to their room. When he had finished with the horses, he sought out the innkeeper.

The owner of this establishment was a prosperous man of advancing years, given to wearing a gaudy waistcoat over his puff-sleeved white shirt and almost pristine apron. He wore a knit cap that came to a long peak which fell over his left shoulder. He saw Kaspar regarding the odd red-and-white-striped hat and said, “Keeps me hair out of the soup. What can I do for you?”

“If a traveler needed to see a priest about something dark, which temple would be the right choice?”

“Well, that depends,” observed the innkeeper, his pudgy face set in a smile as his watery blue eyes regarded Kaspar.

“On what?”

“If you seek to do something dark, or if you wish to prevent something dark from happening.”

Kaspar nodded. “The latter.”

With a wide smile, the innkeeper said, “Out the front door, turn left. Go down the street until you reach the square. On the other side of the fountain lies the temple of Geshen-Amat. They will help you.”

“Thank you,” said Kaspar. He hurried up to the room and informed his two companions of what the innkeeper had told him. Flynn said, “Why don’t you and Kenner go, and I’ll stay here?”

Kaspar said, “I think this is the type of inn where our gold will be safe.”

Flynn laughed. “This chest is the least of my concerns.” He motioned with his head to the window outside. “It’s that thing we are burdened with that I fear. And I just feel better with one of us being close at hand.”

Kaspar said, “Then open the chest. I don’t know a lot of temples that work magic just because you ask nicely.”

Flynn took the key out of his purse and opened the lock. Kaspar said, “Give me your belt-pouch,” to Kenner, who did as he was asked. Kaspar picked over the odd sized and shaped coins, fetching out a few coppers, and half a dozen golden coins, then loaded it up with silver. “Any more and it’s robbery,” Kaspar observed.

Kaspar and Kenner bid Flynn farewell and headed down the stairs and out of the door.

As evening fell, the streets of Shamsha were crowded. Inns were alive with laughter and music, and many merchants were trying for that last sale of the day before closing up shop. The streets were festooned with banners and garlands, as the populace made ready for the Midsummer’s Festival that was less than a week away. Street lamps had been wrapped in colorful paper covers, bathing the ground in a soft glow, lending a gaiety to the scene that put in stark contrast the dark mood Kaspar and Kenner felt. As the two men reached the market square, they saw carts being loaded up as merchants shut down their stalls to head for home.

Across the square they saw the temple of Geshen-Amat. It was a large building with wide steps leading up to an ornately decorated marble façade, a bas-relief of gods and angels, demons and men.

On either side of the base of the steps rested statues. One was a man with the head of an elephant, and the other was a man with the head of a lion. Kaspar paused to inspect them for a moment as a monk walked down the steps. He had short hair and wore only a simple brown robe and sandals.

“You seek entrance to the temple?” he asked politely.

Kaspar said, “We seek help.”

“What may the servants of Geshen-Amat do for you?”

“We need to speak to the leader of your temple.”

The monk smiled, and Kaspar was suddenly visited by the odd notion that he had seen this man before. He was short, balding, and had the odd cast of features you saw on certain Keshians—dark eyes, high cheekbones, and dark hair, with an almost golden tone to the skin.

“The Master of the Order is always pleased to speak to those in need. Please, follow me.”

The two men trailed after the monk as he led them into the vast entrance of the temple. On both walls more bas-reliefs were cut into the stone, and every few feet a hanging lamp of oil burned, casting flickering shadows that made the bas-reliefs look as if they were moving.

Along the walls small shrines to various gods and demigods were situated, and before several of these people prayed. Kaspar realized he was observing rites in a faith he knew nothing about, for to the best of his knowledge the temples of his homeland had no counterpart to Geshen-Amat. For a brief moment he wondered if there truly was a god, and if so, were his powers and influence limited only to this land?

They reached a large hall containing dozens more shrines, but opposite the entrance rose up a heroic statue of a seated man. His face was stylized, his eyes, nose, and lips being rendered in a manner Kaspar could only call simplistic. In his homeland, as well as the other kingdoms of the north, the effigies of the gods and goddesses were of human proportions, save when they were small icons placed in roadside shrines, or adorning the homes of the faithful. But this statue was easily thirty feet from its base to the top of its head. The figure wore a simple robe, with one shoulder bare, and held out his hands, palms upward, as if granting a benediction. To its left and right, in roughly human proportion, sat the two figures Kaspar and Kenner had seen in front of the temple, the men with the heads of an elephant and lion.

Before the statue sat a lone monk, his hair white with age. The younger monk escorting them said, “Wait here, please.” He continued forward and spoke briefly into the older monk’s ear and then returned. “Master Anshu will see you momentarily.”

“Thank you,” said Kenner.

Kaspar said, “I must plead ignorance of your faith, brother. I am from a distant land. Can you enlighten me?”

The monk grinned and with unexpected humor said, “Would that enlightenment were that quickly achieved, my friend. Then we would have little work to do in this realm.”

Kaspar smiled at the jest, and said, “Tell me about Geshen-Amat, please.”

“He is the godhead, the one true divinity of which all others are but reflections. He is the one above all.”

“Ishap?” Kaspar asked quietly.

“Ah, you
are
from a distant land. The Balancer is but one aspect of Geshen-Amat. Those who sit at his feet, Gerani—” he pointed to the figure with the elephant’s head “—and Sutapa—” then the figure with the lion’s head “—are avatars, sent forth by Geshen-Amat to teach mankind the One True Path. It is not an easy path, but it does eventually lead to enlightenment.”

“Then what of all the other temples?” asked Kenner.

“Geshen-Amat provides many ways to travel the One True Path. There are avatars for every man and woman to embrace.”

Then Kaspar understood. “Ama-ral!”

The monk nodded. “In the ancient language, yes.”

“In my land that was considered a heresy and a terrible war was fought over the doctrine.”

“You are an educated man,” said the monk. “Here is Master Anshu.”

The elder monk approached and bowed before Kaspar and Kenner. He was wry and his skin was as brown as sunburned leather, but he had bright brown eyes. His head was completely shaved, and he wore the same brown robe and sandals as the young monk. The men returned the greeting and then the old monk said, “My disciple says you are in need, brothers. What may I do for you?”

“We have come into possession of an artifact, perhaps a relic, and we believe it may be cursed.”

The older monk turned to his disciple and said, “Bring tea to my quarters.” Turning to Kaspar and Kenner, he said, “Please, follow me.”

He led them out of a side door and through a long hallway, by the quiet. “You can barely hear the sounds of the city.”

“Meditation is served by silence,” said the old monk. He led them to a door and opened it for them. “Come, please.”

He indicated that they should remove their boots and Kenner and Kaspar complied. The room was large but sparsely furnished. A reed mat filled more of the floor, upon which the old monk sat. There was a small, low table to one side, which he reached over and placed between them. A moment later the young monk entered and provided cups and a pot of tea. He served Kenner and Kaspar then Master Anshu. When he departed, the old monk said, “Now, tell me about this cursed relic.”

Kenner started slowly, telling the entire tale of his group and how they had traded with local villagers for the artifacts they had looted from what appeared to be a tomb. When he detailed McGoin’s gristly murder the night before, the old monk nodded. “It may very well be that this is a cursed item. We live on a world that has seen elder races, and the burial places of the dead are often protected by wards of dark magic. I should like to see this relic.”

“Now?”

The old monk smiled. “If not now, when?” He stood up and without saying a word, motioned for the two men to put their boots on and return to the garden. He followed them outside where the young monk waited and said, “We shall accompany these gentlemen.”

The young monk bowed and fell into step beside his master. They quickly made their way down the steps of the temple, across the square, and down the street to the inn.

Kenner said, “I’ll go get Flynn,” and went into the inn, while Kaspar led the monks through the gate to the courtyard. They approached the wagon and the old monk’s steps faltered. He turned to his disciple and said, “Return to the temple at once! Bring Master Oda and Master Yongu. Hurry!”

The young monk ran off, and the Master Anshu said, “I can sense at this distance that you have something in that wagon that is…wrong.”

“Wrong?” asked Kaspar. “What do you mean?”

“I cannot describe how I know, but whatever you have in that wagon is not merely a cursed relic or artifact. It is something more.”

“What?” asked Kaspar.

“I won’t know until I see it.”

Kenner and Flynn exited the inn and Kenner introduced the old monk to Flynn. Kaspar said, “We seem to have something unexpected here. There are others coming from the temple.”

“Why?” asked Flynn. “What’s unexpected?”

“I won’t know until I view what’s in there,” the monk said, slowly approaching the wagon.

Kaspar jumped into the bed of the wagon, drew the tool box out from under the seat, and pulled aside the tarpaulin. He used a pry bar to lift the lid of the coffin.

The old monk moved to the side of the wagon and could not clearly see into it. Kaspar held out his hand and the old master gripped it with surprising strength, and Kaspar helped him into the wagon.

The monk turned and looked down upon the black armor. His mouth opened, but no words were spoke. He exhaled a deep breath, as if sighing with relief, then his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed. Kaspar grabbed him to keep him from falling, and then he handed down the still form to Kenner and Flynn.

Kenner knelt beside Master Anshu. “He’s alive.”

Kaspar turned and looked inside the coffin. For an instant he though he saw a hint of movement in the eye-slit. But then nothing.

“See if you can revive him,” he said, leaping down from the wagon.

A few minutes later, three monks entered the courtyard and when they were a few feet away from where Kenner, Kaspar, and Flynn gathered around the unconscious monk, they halted.