Exile's Return (5 page)

“From a war?”

He shrugged and nodded once, saying nothing.

“Bandamin was a soldier once.”

“Really?”

“Not like you,” she added quickly. “He served with a local militia when he was a boy, with his father, trying to make this a fit place to live in.”

“Seems they did a good job.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. We still have bandits and raiders to worry about. The Bentu slavers will take a free man and head south; they’ll sell him to a rich farmer or a miller, or if he’s a warrior, take him to the City of the Serpent River for the games.”

“This City of the Serpent River. How far is it?”

“Weeks by boat. Longer by foot. I don’t really know. Is that where you will go?”

“Yes,” answered Kaspar. “I need to get home, and to do that I need a ship, and the only ships that travel to my homeland are there.”

“It’s a long journey.”

“So I gather,” he said flatly.

After an hour, Sagrin returned and said, “Here’s what Kelpita will do…” He outlined a trade of some goods, seed at a future date, and some trade with another merchant in the next village. At the end, Jojanna seemed satisfied.

Kaspar said, “Throw in a room for the night, including supper, and you have a deal.”

“Done!” said Sagrin, slapping his hands together. “We have roasted duck and some stew for tonight’s meal, and the bread was freshly baked this morning.”

As he walked to the kitchen, Jojanna whispered to Kaspar, “Don’t expect too much. Sagrin can’t cook.”

Kaspar said, “Food is food and I’m hungry.”

Then Jojanna said, “You still have no horse.”

Kaspar shrugged. “I’ll find a way. Perhaps I’ll find a boat heading downriver.”

“That would be difficult.”

“Why?” asked Kaspar as he moved to pour himself another ale while Sagrin worked in the kitchen.

“I’ll tell you over supper. I had better go find Jorgen.”

Kaspar nodded, drank the ale.
A man could have a worse life than being married to a woman like Jojanna, with a son like Jorgen
, he thought to himself. Then he looked around the pitiful inn and thought,
But he could have a much better one, too
.

Kaspar came awake first. Jojanna and Jorgen slept on two cots that served for beds in the inn and Kaspar lay on a pallet on the floor.

Something had disturbed his rest. He listened intently. Horses!

Drawing his sword, he hurried along the hall and down the stairs. He found Sagrin already waiting in the common room, holding an old blade. Kaspar motioned for the stout old soldier to move to one side of the door as Kaspar hurried to the window.

He counted five riders. They milled around and chattered. One pointed toward the inn and another shook his head and pointed up the road. They wore heavy cloaks, but Kaspar could see enough of their garb to recognize them for what they were: soldiers.

After a moment, they turned as a group and rode north.

Kaspar said, “They’re gone.”

“Who were they?” asked Sagrin.

“Soldiers. They wore cavalry boots. I could see a single stripe on their tunics, though I couldn’t make out its color—white or perhaps yellow. They bore identical swords, but no bows or shields. They wore turbans with feathers on their heads.”

“Damn,” said Sagrin. “They must have decided to go to Mastaba, but they’ll be back.”

“Who are they?”

“There is a bandit to the south, in the city of Delga—if you can call it a city—who calls himself the Raj of Muboya. Those are his men. He’s claiming all the land between Delga and the banks of the Serpent Lake, and he’s garrisoning the towns and villages. The bastard is also taxing people.”

Kaspar said, “Is he offering protection?”

“Of a sort,” answered Sagrin. “He protects us from the other renegades and bandits around here, so he can pluck us like chickens himself.”

“It costs money to govern,” said Kaspar.

“I do just fine without a government,” said Sagrin.

“Find enough people with swords to agree with you, and you might convince him. Those five I saw could probably run this entire town without additional help.”

“You’re right,” said Sagrin as he sat heavily in a chair. “I’m what passes for a warrior in these parts. A couple of the farmers are strong, but none are trained to fight.

“I only know what I know because my father formed a militia when I was a boy and we fought a lot of thugs in our day.” He pointed to the scars on his arms. “Make no mistake, these were honestly earned, Kaspar. But now I’m an old man. I would fight, but I know I wouldn’t win.”

“Well, this Raj might not be the first bandit to found a dynasty. Where I come from—” He dropped the thought, then said instead, “If he can bring order and safety to people like Jojanna and Jorgen—women and children—that would be a good thing, no?”

“I guess. Whatever is going to happen will happen. But I reserve the right to complain.”

Kaspar chuckled. “Feel free.”

“Are you staying with Jojanna?” he asked, and Kaspar took his meaning.

“No. She’s a good woman who hopes that her husband is still alive.”

“Slim chance. If he is, he’s toiling in a mine, working on some rich merchant’s farm to the south, or fighting in the arena down in the City of the Serpent River.”

“I have my own plans, in any event,” said Kaspar. “They don’t include being a farmer.”

“Didn’t take you for one. Soldier?”

“For a time.”

“Something else, too, I wager,” said Sagrin. Heaving himself out of the chair he added, “Well, I might as well get started; the sun will be up in an hour and I rarely fall back to sleep easily, especially if I must sleep with a sword in my hand.”

Kaspar nodded. “I understand.”

He now knew what his next step must be. He needed to head south. There was a man gathering an army there, no matter what he called himself, and he had horses.

Kaspar needed a horse.

Kaspar waited silently.

He crouched behind some low brush while a patrol of cavalry rode by. He had encountered two other patrols over the last week since leaving Jojanna’s farm. Given what little he knew of these people, he had decided to avoid contact with them. Common soldiers had a decided tendency to use weapons before asking questions, and Kaspar had no desire to end up dead, a prisoner, or enlisted into any army at the point of a sword.

Leaving the farm had proved more troubling than he had expected. Jorgen seemed especially disturbed by the prospect of being alone with his mother again. On the other hand, the mule would help with all the heavy work, and Kelpita had a son who would come and work with them during harvest so Jojanna wouldn’t lose her grain.

Kaspar considered how they would have fared had he never arrived. They’d still be scrabbling to run the farm and wouldn’t have had enough wood or the mule.

Still, it had been harder to say goodbye than he had anticipated.

A couple of days before, he had skirted a village that appeared to be a staging post for the local patrols, and then had bartered a day’s work at a farm just off the road for a meal. The food had been meager and they had only offered him water to drink, but he had been glad for it. Kaspar remembered the lavish meals that had been the hallmark of his court, but quickly pushed the memory aside. He’d happily kill someone for a cut of hot rare beef, a bowl of his cook’s spiced vegetables, and a flagon of good Ravensberg wine.

Certain the riders were now gone, Kaspar returned to trudging along the road. What had been a broken old highway appeared to be in better condition the farther south he moved. There were signs of relatively recent repair-work at various places he had passed over the last two days.

As he rounded a bend in the road, he saw a large town in the distance. The land around him was getting progressively more verdant and abundant. Whatever else this Raj of Muboya had done, he had pacified the territory around his capital to the point at which farmers were prospering again; farms lined the road and orchards were visible up on the hillsides. Perhaps in time this more peaceful aspect would be visited upon the area where Jorgen and his mother lived. He would like to think the boy had a chance for a better life.

As he approached the gate of the town he saw signs of harsh justice. A dozen corpses in various stages of decay were on display, as well as half a dozen heads impaled on stakes. The men had been hung by ropes on crosses of wood, “crucified” in the Quegan language. He had been told it was a nasty way to die; after a while the body could not prevent fluid from gathering in the lungs and a man would drown in his own spit.

At the gate a squad of soldiers waited, each dressed like those he had seen on horseback, save that they lacked the cloaks and fancy hats. These ones also wore metal helms with chain guards over their necks.

One sauntered over to intercept Kaspar. “Your business in Delga?”

“Just passing through on my way south.”

“You have an odd accent.”

“I’m not from around here.”

“Your trade?”

“I’m a hunter now. I was a soldier.”

“Or maybe you’re a bandit?”

Kaspar studied the man. He was thin and nervous and had a habit of looking down his nose when he spoke. He had a weak chin and his teeth were gray. Whatever his rank here, he would be a corporal at the most in Kaspar’s army. He knew the type: self-important, not bright enough to realize he had risen as high as he ever would. Without taking obvious offense, Kaspar smiled. “If I were a bandit, I’d be a damn poor one. All I’d have to show for my labors is this sword, the clothing on my back, these boots, and my wits.” The soldier started to speak, but Kaspar cut him off and continued, “I’m an honest man, and am willing to work for my keep.”

“Well, I don’t think the Raj has need of any mercenaries today.”

Kaspar smiled. “I said I was a soldier, not a mercenary.”

“Where did you serve?”

“Somewhere I’m sure you’ve never heard of.”

“Well, get along and see you don’t cause any trouble. I’ve got my eye on you.” He waved him on.

Kaspar nodded and walked though the gate. Delga was the first real town he had visited in this land and it had more hallmarks of civilization than Kaspar had encountered in any settlement so far. The inns near the gate were run-down and as seedy as Sagrin’s, which was to be expected. The better inns would probably be located near the merchants’ quarter, so he walked until he reached a market square, which at this hour of the afternoon was thronged with people. Delga had all the signs of being a prosperous community and the people seemed content in their daily tasks.

Kaspar had studied governance all his life, for he had been born to rule. He had seen enough fools, madmen, and incompetents to last a lifetime and had read about many others. He knew that the populace were the foundation of a strong nation and they could only be taxed to a certain point. Kaspar’s plottings and intrigues had been designed, in part, to minimize the need for overt military confrontation, which was always an expensive undertaking that put a great burden on the people.

Not that Kaspar had cared much for his people’s happiness, one way or the other—he hadn’t even considered the plight of commoners until he had met Jojanna and Jorgen—but he was concerned for welfare of his nation in general, and that meant maintaining a contented populace.

Whatever else, the people of Delga didn’t look overburdened or worried. They showed none of the signs of being concerned about government informants or tax officials seeing too many luxury goods on display.

The market was a riot of colors and sounds, busy with afternoon trading. Occasionally he heard the sound of coins being counted out or a jingling purse, so he judged that hard money was returning under the Raj’s care.

At first glance, it seemed this ruler had the support of his people. Uniformed men, wearing a different livery, were strolling through the market, their eyes constantly searching for trouble. Kaspar guessed they were constables or the town watch.

He made eye contact with one; a broad-shouldered man with a scarred face and neck. The man stopped, but Kaspar didn’t avert his gaze and walked over to him. The man wore a blue tunic, but instead of displaying the high boots of a cavalryman with his trousers tucked in the tops, he wore balloon-legged pants that almost hid the boots entirely. His sword was a shorter weapon, and he wore no helm, but rather a felt hat with a broad brim.

“Good afternoon,” said Kaspar in greeting.

“Stranger,” said the man curtly.

“I take it you are a constable?”

“You take it correctly.”

“I was wondering, where might I go to find work around here?”

“Your trade?”

“I’m a skilled hunter and a soldier,” Kaspar continued politely.

“If you bring in game, you can sell it at the inns, but the Raj has no need for mercenaries.”

Feeling as if he had already had this conversation, Kaspar didn’t debate this point. “What about laboring?”

“There’s always need for those able to heft a bale or lift a crate at the caravanserai.” He pointed south. “Through the town and outside the gate. But you’re too late today. All the hiring is done at first light.”

Kaspar nodded his thanks and moved through the town. All at once, he was struck by a sense of the alien and the familiar. These people dressed differently and their accents and voices sounded strange to his ear. He had thought himself comfortable with the language, but now he realized he was only used to hearing Jojanna’s and Jorgen’s two voices. This was a town, a good-sized one, on its way to becoming a city. He passed new construction work and saw men eager to be about their business, and found the pace and rhythms of the settlement familiar.

Reaching the outer gate, Kaspar found that the caravanserai was indeed quiet. As the constable had warned him, most of the business of the day was done. Still, it was still an opportunity to ask questions. He went from caravan to caravan and after a few conversations he had the feel of the place. He discovered that a caravan making for the south would be departing in a week’s time, and the caravan owner said he should return then to seek a position as a guard, but in the meantime he had nothing to offer Kaspar.

By the time the sun began to set, Kaspar was tired and hungry. There was nothing he could do about the latter, but he could at least find a place to sleep if he was quiet about it. This land was hot, despite it being early spring—if he could judge the seasons on the other side of the world. The nights could get chilly, but they were far from cold.

He found some workers sitting around a fire and speaking softly, and asked permission to join them. They seemed content to let him, so he settled in and lay behind two men who spoke of things he could only imagine: villages whose names he had never heard before, rivers that coursed through alien landscapes, and other things familiar to them, but foreign to Kaspar. For the first time since coming to this continent, Kaspar wished not only to wreak destruction on Talwin Hawkins and those who had betrayed him, but simply to go home.

The wagons bumped along the old highway. It was a rugged ride, but it was a ride. Kaspar was glad not to be walking. He had finished an arduous week of work, loading and unloading wagons for scant wages—scarcely enough to pay for food. He had lost even more weight; he had to buy a whipcord belt to keep his trousers from falling down. He had supplemented his income by playing knucklebones with some of the other workers, but on the last day his luck had faltered and now he was barely more than a few copper coins ahead. But at least he
was
ahead, and every little improvement was an advantage. He had endured. Though it had been one difficult week for him, the other men had suffered a lifetime of difficulty. For Kaspar, the most telling characteristic was their complete lack of hope. For these workers, each day was an exercise in survival; tomorrow would take care of itself.

Kaspar felt a mixture of impatience and resignation. He was anxious to make as much progress as possible every day and to return home as rapidly as he could to settle accounts, but he knew the journey would take time, and that time was also dependent on many factors outside of his control.

His struggle across the harsh wilderness before he found Jorgen and his mother had been simple physical hardship, but the week he had spent laboring at the caravanserai had been as miserable a week as he had ever spent. It had exposed him to a level of human wretchedness which he’d never experienced before in his privileged life.

He had learned that the War, as it was known locally, had taken place when Kaspar was just a boy. The Kingdom of the Isles had defeated the armies of the Emerald Queen at the battle of Nightmare Ridge, when Kaspar had been barely out of nappies. Yet the effects were still being felt decades later.

Many of the laborers were the children of people driven from their homes by the advancing horde. The enemy had enlisted every able-bodied man they found, giving them the choice at sword-point: to fight for them, or die. Women were taken as whores, cooks, and menial laborers, and even some young boys were forced to serve with the luggage carts.

Thousands of children had been orphaned, and there had been no one to care for them. The weak had died, and those who did survive grew up wild, without any sense of family outside their gang of thugs, or loyalty beyond a petty bandit chieftain.

Bringing order to such a place would tax the wits of the most talented of rulers, Kaspar thought. He knew that if he was given the task, he would begin much the same way this Raj of Muboya had: by consolidating a core area, making sure it was stable and prosperous, and then expanding the sphere of influence, turning the influence into control. The young Raj might do this for most of his life before facing any organized opposition to the north.

As Kaspar had lived with the porters and teamsters for a week, they answered his questions and he had learned a great deal about the local area. To the east lay the Serpent River and beyond that the wasteland controlled by the nomadic Jeshandi; it seemed they had no interest in what occurred on this side of the river. But across the Serpent they ruled supreme; even the Emerald Queen’s army had been sorely pressed on that flank by the Jeshandi. Kaspar had read reports of the war from his father’s archives when he was a boy and given the immense size of the Queen’s army, Kaspar assumed the Jeshandi had to be a formidable cavalry to have avoided obliteration.

To the west rose the Sumanu Mountains and beyond them vast grasslands that rolled down to the River Vedra and a string of petty city-states. That natural barrier protected the Raj from conflict to the west. To the south, other minor nobles and self-styled rulers held territory, but from the rumors, the Raj was already halfway to winning a happy little war with one of his neighbors in that direction.

But far to the south, on the coast of the Blue Sea, lay the City of the Serpent River, about which these locals knew little. Once, it had held sway from the sea all the way up to the Serpent Lake, and had been ruled by a council of clans indigenous to the area. More than that, Kaspar didn’t know. Still, that was where ships docked, some from as far away as the Sunset Isles, the southern Keshian cities, and sometimes even Queg and the Kingdom. Which meant a way home for Kaspar. So, that was where he was bound, war or no war.

The wagons continued to bump along and Kaspar kept his eyes scanning the horizon in case trouble appeared unexpectedly. He thought it was unlikely, as the farther south they traveled from Muboya, the more peaceful the countryside seemed. At least, until they ran into the rumored war.

Kaspar sat at the rear of the wagon. The only thing he had to watch, besides the horizon, was the team of horses pulling the wagon behind his, and the dour expression of Kafa: a taciturn old driver with little good to say when he said anything at all.

The driver of his wagon was a voluble man named Ledanu, whom Kaspar tended to ignore, since his words tumbled out aimlessly as his mind wandered. Still, Kaspar had grown tired of the relative silence and judged he could endure a little of Ledanu’s rambling if he could glean a bit of useful information from among the flood of words.