Dream (22 page)

“You adjust upwards for the extra body?” Shad asked as he sat down to take off his wet boots.

“Yeah.”

Jeff came in as the Jinxman was struggling to get his wet boots on over dry socks. “Nobody else in the area.”

“Good. I put your bolt on your pack.”

“Thanks.” Jeff examined the quarrel and returned it to his belt case. “That was quick and brutal.”

“Yeah, like Derek with a goat.”

“Screw you guys,” the Shadowmancer announced to the group at large as he brought the last of the gear to the new camp site.

“You have any problems with it?” Shad asked Jeff.

“Nah. We’ve done worse for less. Like that time you blew up that guy’s house.”

“
And
shot his camels,” Derek reminded them. “Before we rolled into Iraq I thought the whole camel thing was just a cliché.”

“He deserved it. If the freakin’ platoon commander hadn’t been so close I would have lit the SoB up instead of just inflicting property damage,” the Jinxman shook his head disgustedly. “Freakin’ child molester.”

“Its part of their
culture
,” Derek laughed.

“Screw them, their culture, and everything else about that place. If the brass didn’t want Iraq torn up they should have sent in the Peace Corps.”

“Her name is Margit,” Sam said nervously. Margit did not look up but kept eating fish in quick, tidy bites. “She’s fourteen.”

Shad wriggled his feet in his stiffening boots. “Does she have…Margit, do you have anywhere to go? Family, friends?” A solemn shake of her head was all the answer he got. “Well, great. Another mess Derek got us into.”

“
Yeah
, Derek,” Jeff pointed accusingly at the Shadowmancer who rolled his eyes.

“Ok, you’ll come with us until something else can be sorted out. Derek, what did they have?”

“Nothing special. About eight Marks between them. The furs are pretty nice, but we can’t afford the weight.”

“We can cache them in case we come back this way.”

“We have to come back this way to meet the Assembly,” Sam pointed out.

“That assumes we survive Death Valley.” Shad rolled to his feet and tapped Margit’s wrist, muttering a word before tossing a charm into her lap. “Keep this on you: it will keep bugs off. Sam, sort out some clean clothes for her-she’s gonna need a bath before bedtime.”

“Those are all she has.”

“What about the trappers’ gear-they have anything clean? She doesn’t need to be stylish anytime soon.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Great. Set her up, make sure she has a bedroll and something to keep off the rain, and then dump the rest of their gear in the river.” The Jinxman thought. “Hang on to any extra rain cloaks or ponchos-that powder has to stay dry. Derek, give her four Marks, and she can have half of what we get for the furs. At least half-depending on what we need for the next job. How’s the mule?”

“Not great-a bad saddle sore from carrying too much weight, underweight from working too hard, been beat on pretty good, and its left front hoof is injured-it’ll take a while for that to heal.”

“Well, there’s lots of grass and water here-we’ll cut it loose.”

“NO!” Margit gasped, tears brimming in her eyes.

The Talons stared at the filthy girl. “All right,” Shad said slowly. “We’ll take it along.”

“If you used a charm on the saddle sore we could take the pack saddle along,” Derek suggested.

“Its lame.”

“The saddle won’t bother it, and the hoof will heal. It can carry twice what Ula can- in an emergency it can still carry a partial load, bad hoof or not.”

“Those charms are for saving lives-I won’t have time to restock much,” Shad scowled.

“One more or less won’t make any difference, but if we need to medevac somebody the mule would literally be a lifesaver.”

“Good point.”

Sam helped Derek carry the trappers’ belongings to the riverbank and throw them in. “You really don’t care about killing them?” he asked cautiously.

The Shadowmancer shrugged. “Look, the thing I’ve learned is that you can’t dwell on stuff. You’ve seen Margit: she doesn’t deserve to be stuck with those jerks, and there wasn’t any way to get her loose without violence.”

“Shad seems to like it, the killing. So do the others.”

“Shad sees the world in black and white, and he’s kind of OCD about fixing peoples’ problems. Plus he really has a phobia about being seen as being nice-I think he is afraid it makes him look weak. And he’s an asshole, too. Fred is stubborn-once he sets his mind you aren’t going to budge him, he just bulls through no matter what. If Fred decides someone needs to die, he’ll kill them. Jeff is more sensitive, but he trusts Fred’s judgment-they’re like brothers. And Fred follows Shad. So there it goes.”

“But they waited for you to start it.”

Derek sighed. “Look, I’m the smallest guy in the group, the smartest guy in a group of smart guys. Social stuff isn’t all that easy for me-see, Shad doesn’t care at all about what almost anyone thinks about him, the other two lean on each other, so I end up being the goat of the group. That’s one of my roles.  When I joined the Guard I wasn’t much out of high school and I didn’t know squat. They made me part of the group and taught me a lot, got me squared away. Now, in many ways I’m the unit conscience, which is my other role. Shad doesn’t trust his own temper, Fred is so stubborn you can’t use him as a litmus test for anything, and Jeff is too laid back. So its on me.”

“Shad was pushing the trappers towards a fight.”

“I’m not sure how much of what Shad does is out of morality and how much of it is because he is a violent personality, but however much he was pushing, he waited for me to move.”

“And you did. Why?”

“Because I wasn’t going to walk away from Margit and leave her in that situation.”

“But…”

“Look,” the Shadowmancer held up a hand. “Just let it go. They’re dead, you didn’t kill any, so you’re OK. Don’t let it wear on you. C’mon, lets get back to camp and get some sleep.”

The mule’s name was Durbin, and it was quickly apparent that Margit was very attached to the beast. Durbin was tall and solidly made, although thin and tired-looking. “Nothing some time and easy living won’t cure,” Jeff pronounced after Shad used a charm to heal the mule’s saddle sore and stick-welts.

“You’re in charge of him,” Shad warned Margit, now clean and swimming in clothing that had belonged to the smallest trapper. It turned out to be an unnecessary warning as the big mule followed the girl like a pet, and the pack saddle loaded with nothing more than the sack containing the girl’s meager worldly goods didn’t seem to have enough weight to warrant Durbin’s notice.

They cached the furs and set off heading south, the quality of the road declining markedly as the day wore on. They called cadence, bellowed marching songs, and forced Sam to sing the
Firefly
theme and
The Hero of Canton
repeatedly, just to pass the time.

“Man, this is some boring way to travel,” Jeff shook his head as he pulled off his boots to powder his feet with talc while Margit warmed slabs of seared pike over an economic fire she had built unasked. South of the river the road followed the easiest path across a broad plains dotted with clumps of gnarled trees. Wild cattle and the occasional herd of goats kept safely distant from the road were the only signs of life.

“We’re just over a day’s march from a major city and there’s almost no signs of Human habitation,” Shad observed, working on a charm. “What a piss-ant setup.”

“There’s a bad stretch of forest between here and there,” Sam pointed out. “And the food that supports the city is produced to the north and west.”

“Which still makes no sense. The Ultimate Master had seven years, and for generations the local bozos had all the time in the world. They could have leap-frogged stockades down the road, clearing ground as they went. In a few years they would have had the road under lock and key, another decade and the forest would be woodlots and farm land. A ruler could start with the City-State, his son would be a King, and his grandson an Emperor.”

“They don’t look that world that way,” the Bard shrugged.

“Why? With the medical treatment via enchantment, the population ought to be putting pressure on them to expand.”

“Expand, yeah, but not like you think. Firstly outside the major places like the Fist and the City-State the medical resources drop much lower, and the non-Humans keep a steady rate of attrition going, and vice versa. The culture here is different. You don’t see that because all you deal with are taverns, alchemists, bravos, whores, that sort of transient population. Those people have no roots. There’s an entire society you’ve yet to encounter.”

“Its their
culture
,” Jeff laughed.

“Screw their culture,” the Jinxman pulled a knot tight and clipped the thread. “It’s a piss-poor way to run a country.”

“Let it go,” Derek slapped the Bard on the shoulder. “We spent an entire tour hearing about how the Iraqis were living wrong.”

“They were and still are. Those that are still alive, anyway.”

“I have to agree with Shad,” Jeff laced up his left boot. “Death Valley is not much more than a hundred miles from a major city. A valley full of treasure within easy walking distance and it sits there for centuries.”

“That’s inaccurate,” Sam objected. “First, you guys are different-I keep pointing that out. Not many people travel a hundred miles other than bravos and merchants. So its not within easy walking distance. Second, this isn’t safe country. If you’re not a bravo or somebody else with several levels in combat skills, its really dangerous territory. And last, the valley may be full of treasure, but its not just lying there. A lot of locals die every year trying to get loot out it, and a lot of those who succeed come to an untimely end trying to get the payday home. This isn’t the California Gold Rush-the locals have learned that the treasure stays put for a very good reason.” He signed. “Most of them, anyway.”

“Do the non-Humans ever make a play for the place?” Fred asked.

“On occasion. Whole warbands have died in the attempt.” 

Shad held out his mess kit up so Margit could fork over a slab of fish. “Thank you, Margit. Well, seeing is believing. I have to say that this is like finding a college frat full of virgins two blocks from a whorehouse.”

“Or unmolested goats close to Derek’s place,” Jeff grinned, but the Shadowmancer was too busy eating to flip him off.

Sam shook his head sadly.

The Black Talons made camp after covering twenty-five miles. They were surprised that Margit had no difficulty keeping up, and that despite his limp Durbin handled the distance easily. As soon as Fred chose a campsite the girl picketed the mule and set about building a fire and making their evening meal.

“A hard worker and doesn’t say a word,” Jeff observed to Derek as they approached the camp after a quick recon of the surrounding area. “I might marry her.”

“She’s a good kid. Her kind of life, a little kindness goes a long ways,” the Shadowmancer nodded. “Just an absence of abuse probably rates pretty high for her.”

Late in the second day from the river they turned east off the road and headed towards the line of mountains that slashed from north to south, covering a mile before making camp. “Another couple of days to the Valley,” Shad gestured vaguely towards the distant snowy peaks. “I still can’t get over how close it is.”

“The locals don’t walk twenty-five miles a day,” Sam said sourly as he examined a blister. “Horses aren’t all that common as mounts except in the military and for the very wealthy. People mostly stay put.”

“What can we expect to find there?” Jeff asked. “Could we run into other groups?”

“Possibly. There’s an old fort a group of Dwarves built a while back when they tried a scheme to get at the loot, and in the warm months there’s often a few bravos hanging around trying their luck. The area of effect within the Valley retreats a little every year, so every year there’s a few who try rushing, sneaking, and fighting to get at the loot closest to the edge. Although ‘close’ is a relative term. What I’m told, the first quarter mile on all sides was picked clean years ago.”

“And the magical radiation affects people?” Jeff dusted off the bowl of his mess kit and held it out for to the fish stew Margit had concocted.

“Just the locals, and only while they’re in it. They move slower and have trouble seeing the revenants. Figure losing three levels of ability. Outlanders aren’t affected, though.”

“Speaking of levels, everybody but Sam is on the verge, so plan your next move,” Shad pointed out. “You know, this stew is pretty good.”

“Beats the local field rations,” Derek agreed. “What’s the plan?”

“We’ll time our march so we arrive at the Valley in the morning, so third day from today.” Shad smashed a hardtack on the pommel of his dagger and dumped the pieces of hard bread into his stew. “Recon the conditions and figure it from there. Even with the bang sticks this won’t be easy.”