Exile's Return (7 page)

“But we’re not thieves,” said Kenner. “We had partners and some of them had families. We could have given a small share of the profits to each of them, but would that have compensated for losing a husband or father?”

Kaspar slowly said, “They knew there’d be a risk traveling here.”

“Yes, but I have a wife and three sons,” said McGoin, “and I’d like to think that if I was buried up north, one of my companions would return home and give my widow enough to care for our sons and their futures.”

“Noble sentiments,” said Kaspar jumping down from the wagon. “What else?”

Flynn handed Kaspar a sword. It was as black as the armor, and when he put his hand on the hilt, a slight vibration seemed to shoot up his arm. “Feel it?” asked Flynn.

“Yes,” said Kaspar and he handed the blade back. It was lighter than he had expected, but the vibrating made him feel uneasy.

Flynn walked over to the armor and said, “Now watch.” He took the ring out of his pouch again and held it close to the metal. It immediately switched from a dull glow to a brilliant shine. “There’s no doubt about the armor’s magic, I think this proves it.”

“Persuasive,” agreed Kaspar. “Now, what does all this have to do with me?”

“We need an extra man,” said Flynn. “The fact you’re from the north and also wish to return to the Kingdom is a bonus. We were just looking to hire a clever swordsman to travel with us to the City of the Serpent River—we’re hoping that the clan war is now over.” Flynn put his hand on Kaspar’s shoulder. “But, as I said, perhaps the gods have placed you in our path for a reason, for a man who will go the entire distance through his own desire is better than any hired sword could be. We’re prepared to make you an equal partner.”

Kenner seemed on the verge of objecting, but then said nothing while McGoin nodded.

“That’s generous,” said Kaspar.

“No,” replied Flynn. “Before you agree you must know everything. Not all our lads died before we found this thing.” He pointed to the wagon. “The peasant who showed us where the armor lay would have nothing to do with retrieving it, wouldn’t go near it once he had uncovered it. We had discovered enough riches to live like kings, so after we loaded up four wagons worth, we headed south.

“By the time we reached your town of Heslagnam, there were only six of us left, and we were down to one wagon. We’d abandoned a nation’s wealth on the road behind us.”

Kaspar didn’t like what he was hearing. “So, someone wasn’t happy about you taking the body, armor, or whatever it was.”

“Apparently so. We were never attacked during the day, or while resting in a town or village, but at night, alone on the road, things started to happen.”

“One night Fowler McLintoc just died. Not a mark on him,” said Kenner.

“And Roy McNarry went off to relieve himself one evening and never came back. We looked for a day and found not a hint of him,” added McGoin.

Kaspar laughed, a short bark that sounded halfway between dry amusement and sympathy. “Why didn’t you just leave the bloody thing and take the rest?”

“By the time we’d figured out that it was the body they wanted, it was too late. We had already abandoned the other three wagons. We measured out the best of the gems—they’re in a bag over there—and concealed most of the jewelry and other valuable artifacts; we found a cave, marked it, and just left it all there. We sold the horses for food along the way, and eventually got here. But every week or so, someone always died.”

“This tale is not persuading me to go with you.”

“I know, but think of the prize!” said Flynn. “The magicians will pay a king’s ransom for this thing, and you know why?”

“I’m eager to learn,” said Kaspar dryly.

Flynn said, “I believe you are a man of some education, for you speak the King’s Tongue like a noble, yet you’re from Olasko.”

“I’ve had some schooling,” Kaspar admitted.

“Do you know the tale of the Riftwar?”

“I know that one hundred years past an army invaded from another world through a magic rift and almost conquered the Kingdom of the Isles.”

“More,” said Flynn. “There’s a lot that was never written in the histories. I heard something from my Grand-da—who served as a luggage boy at the battle of Sethanon—and it concerned dragons and ancient magic.”

“Spare me your grandfather’s fireside tales, Flynn, and get to the point.”

“Have you ever heard of the Dragon Lords?”

Kaspar said, “I can’t honestly say I have.”

“They were an ancient warrior-race, who lived upon this world before men; they were even here before the elves. They were a race of dragon riders who could perform powerful magic. They were crushed by the gods during the Chaos Wars.”

“That’s theology, not history,” said Kaspar.

“Maybe, maybe not,” answered Flynn, “but the temples teach it as doctrine, and while no mention is made of the Dragon Lords in the texts, the legends still remain. But look at that thing, Kaspar! If that’s not a Dragon Lord, straight out of its ancient tomb, I don’t know what it could be, but I’ll wager the magicians at Stardock will want to know, and will pay to find out.”

Kaspar said, “So you need a fourth man to carry this thing north, help ferry it from Port Vykor to this Stardock, and then ask a reward from the magicians?”

“Yes,” said Flynn.

“You’re mad,” said Kaspar. “You should have stowed it in the cave and brought the treasure out with you instead.”

Kenner, McGoin, and Flynn looked at one another. Finally Kenner said quietly, “We tried. We just can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“We tried to do what you said; but after we sealed the cave, we were no more than half a mile down the road before we had to turn around and go back. Then we stored all the gold and other goods, and fetched this thing out.”

“You are madmen,” said Kaspar. “I could go with you for a horse and the price of passage to the Kingdom, but I couldn’t promise to stay with you after that. You’ve given me too many good reasons to say no.” He paused for a moment. “In fact, I think I’ll say no right now and avoid the trouble.”

Flynn shrugged. “Very well. Try to leave.”

Kaspar jumped down from the wagon, his sword still in his hand. “What do you mean?”

“We won’t stop you,” said Flynn. “That’s not what I meant.”

Kaspar started to circle the three men. When he reached the door of the warehouse he said, “I bid you good fortune gentlemen, and hope we may hoist a drink together in a Kingdom tavern some day, but I doubt we will; this commission has all the hallmarks of a doomed undertaking and I’ll have none of it, thank you.”

He turned, pushed the door open, and tried to step through.

He couldn’t.

Suddenly, Kaspar hesitated.

He wanted to step through the door, but something made him wait. He turned and said, “All right, I’ll think about it.”

Flynn nodded. “You can find us here, but we have to be on the road by the day after tomorrow.”

“Why?” asked Kaspar.

“I don’t know,” said Flynn. “We just can’t stay in one place too long.”

Kenner added, “You’ll understand.”

Kaspar shrugged off the compulsion to stay and left the warehouse.

He wended his way through the early morning throng and found a cheap inn where the ale wasn’t too dreadful. He rarely drank before his midday meal, but today he made an exception. He spent more of his meager purse than he should have, but deep inside he already knew he would join Flynn and the others. Not because of some nonsensical magical coercion, but because he wanted to; these men could get him closer to home in the next six months than he could manage on his own over the next two years: he was no sailor, and would have to work for months to save the cost of his passage, and ships plying the waters between Novindus and Triagia were scarce in any case. Even taking a vessel to the Sunset Islands would cost him the local equivalent of two hundred gold coins—that was half a year’s work for a skilled craftsman in Olasko.

No, this way he would at least gain a horse and his passage to the Kingdom. From there he could walk home if he must.

He finished his ale and returned to the warehouse, finding the three men waiting. “You’re with us?” asked Flynn.

“To Port Vykor,” said Kaspar. “After that, we’ll have to see. I want a horse, enough gold for decent lodgings and food along the way, and my passage from Salador to Opardum. You can keep the rest of your wealth. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Flynn. “Now, we should prepare to leave at first light tomorrow. There’s a caravan heading south loaded with supplies for the military and while we can’t join it officially, we can shadow it for a while; it would keep bandits away from us.”

“Very well,” said Kaspar. “But first we have to find a coffin.”

“Why?” asked Kenner.

“Because down here people bury their dead, they don’t burn them, so a coffin under the tarpaulin will attract a lot less curiosity than that…thing will.” He pointed to the wagon. “You could drive it all the way to the City of the Serpent River without one, but I doubt you’ll get it past customs at Port Vykor. A late companion being brought home to rest, though—where do they bury the dead in the Kingdom?”

“Up around Quester’s View, I think.”

“That will have to do,” said Kaspar. He regarded his three new companions. “And if we do manage to get to the City of the Serpent River we will have to spend some of your booty on clothes. You gentlemen need to look more like cultured men of commerce than brigands and ruffians.”

McGoin ran his hand over his five days’ growth of beard and said, “You’ve the right of it, Kaspar.”

“Do you sleep here?”

Flynn and the others nodded. Flynn said, “We tried sleeping at inns along the way, but it’s impossible. You find yourself waking up, anxious to make sure that thing is safe.”

“Sometimes, two or three times a night,” nodded Kenner.

“So, now we sleep under the wagon,” said McGoin.

“Well, you three can sleep here if you must, but I’m for a hot bath, clean clothing, and a night in a good inn. Give me some coin, Flynn.”

Flynn dug out some silver pieces and handed them to Kaspar. “I’ll see you at first light.”

Kaspar left the inn and indulged himself for the first time since losing the citadel. He found a tailor and purchased a new tunic, trousers, and small clothes, as well as an outer jacket and a new felted beret with a metal pin clasping a false ruby. Then he found the best bathhouse in the town—which wasn’t close to the standard of the great bathhouses in Opardum.

Afterward, Kaspar felt refreshed and reinvigorated. He took a room at an inn off the main town square, and discovered an agreeable barmaid who, after only a little coaxing, arrived at his door after the other guests had retired and her chores were finished.

An hour after drifting off into a deep, satisfied slumber, Kaspar came awake with a start. He glanced around the room and felt disoriented. Slowly, he realized where he was and rolled over to inspect his bedmate.

She was a pretty thing, no more than nineteen years old and typical of her calling; a poor girl hoping to catch a rich husband, or at least, garner a generous gift for her favors. Only time would tell if she ended up married, or in a brothel.

Kaspar put his head down again but sleep refused to return. He turned over and tried to clear his mind of images, but each time he started to drift off he would catch a disturbing glimpse of the wagon in his mind’s eye, and of what rested upon it.

Finally, he rose and dressed, leaving the girl a small gift of silver. If Flynn proved correct, there would be ample wealth to replace it soon enough.

He was opening the door quietly as the girl awoke. “Leaving?” she asked sleepily.

“I have an early day,” Kaspar said, closing the door behind him.

He made his way carefully through the dark streets, mindful that few lawful folk were about this late. Finally he reached the warehouse and opened the door to find Kenner awake and the others sleeping.

Kenner approached him, treading softly, and said, “Knew you’d be back before dawn.”

Kaspar ignored the urge to respond with a jibe, and simply replied, “Why are you awake?”

“One of us is always awake. It’ll be better now that you’re here. What’s the time?”

“About two hours after midnight,” said Kaspar.

“Then you can take the next three hours and wake McGoin after that.” Kenner climbed underneath the wagon, pulled a blanket over him, and settled in to sleep.

Kaspar found a crate to sit on, and kept watch. Kenner was quickly asleep and so he was left with his thoughts. He resisted the urge to go to the wagon and lift the tarpaulin. Kaspar refused to believe that any unnatural compulsion had forced him to be here. He was here out of choice.

He cursed all magicians and all things magical as he thought about his recent past. It was too much of a coincidence, but he rejected the idea of fate or that the gods wanted him to be here. He was no one’s pawn. He had enjoyed the company of a magician, but Leso Varen had also been his advisor; and while many of suggestions he made to Kaspar had been repulsive, the benefits had largely outweighed the costs. Varen had been influential, perhaps the most influential advisor in Kaspar’s entire court, but Kaspar had always made the final judgment and given the final order on what would or would not be done.

Dark memories flooded his mind as he considered the arrival of Leso Varen. The magician had appeared one day in open court as a supplicant seeking a place to rest for a while; a simple purveyor of harmless magic. But he had become a fixture in Kaspar’s household very quickly, and at some point, Kaspar’s view of things had changed.

Had his ambitions always come first, Kaspar wondered suddenly, or had the magician’s honeyed words held greater sway?

Kaspar pushed away these unwanted thoughts; he felt deep bitterness toward anything that reminded him of his home and everything he’d lost. He turned his attention instead to what Flynn had said.

Kaspar struggled to keep events in order. Though it was rare for traders from Triagia to venture to Novindus, it was not unheard of. And for such a group to be here, seeking riches heretofore unseen around the Sea of Kingdoms, was perfectly reasonable. That both he and these men would arrive in this small town and discover a common interest was an improbability, but it could still be just a coincidence.

Besides, fate had nothing to do with where the white-haired magician had deposited him; certainly, there had been the high probability that Kaspar would not survive his first few minutes there. How could any agency or power know that he would escape and survive the wilderness? It was not as if someone watched over him; Kaspar had struggled hard for a long time to get to that square where he met Flynn.

He stood up and paced the floor quietly. The entire situation was beginning to fray his nerves. He was loath to consider that something beyond self-interest might influence him. Like many men of his position he had paid service to the gods—making offerings in the temples and attending services on certain holidays—but that had been out of duty, not conviction. Certainly, no Midkemian would deny the existence of the gods: there were far too many stories from reliable sources attesting to the direct intervention of this or that god over the ages. However, Kaspar was almost certain that such omnipotent beings were far too busy to preoccupy themselves with his particular circumstances.

He glanced at the wagon and then quietly approached the thing under the tarpaulin. Lifting the canvas, he looked at the dark helm. It wore a baleful aspect if ever he saw one. Kaspar reached out and touched it, half expecting some sign of life—a vibration or feeling—but his fingers brushed only cold metal, though it was unlike any metal he’d ever known. He studied the figure for a while longer, then replaced the covering.

He returned to the boxes and sat for some time, wrestling with the uneasy feeling he had gained by staring at the lifeless object. Then, he realized what was troubling him. As he regarded the armor, corpse, or whatever it was, he couldn’t dismiss his instinct that it wasn’t dead. It was merely lying there. And it was waiting.

Kaspar had fallen into a long conversation with the
jemedar
in charge of escorting the caravan weaving just ahead of their wagon. Given the officer’s age, Kaspar assumed that a jemedar was the equivalent to a lieutenant in the Olaskon military. Certainly, the
havildar
who rode at the young man’s side was as crusty an old sergeant as you’d find in any army.

At the end of their conversation, the jemedar—named Rika—agreed to allow Kaspar and his friends to follow the caravan at a discreet distance, without officially being part of it. He had inspected the coffin, but had not insisted on opening it. Obviously he didn’t consider four men to be a threat to his company of thirty.

So Kaspar sat astride a decent, if not memorable, gelding, who could probably make the long journey to the City of the Serpent River—so long as enough rest, food, and water were found along the way. Kenner rode a dark bay, and McGoin and Flynn drove the wagon: a solid, unremarkable freight hauler designed for mules or oxen rather than horses, but which moved along at a good rate in any event.

Flynn had shown Kaspar the contents of the other chest in the wagon, and Kaspar had been forced to admire their resolution to distribute the spoils among the families of their late companions; the gold and other items in the chest would have made the three extremely wealthy men for life.

Something about this entire enterprise was bothering Kaspar, however. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that everything was mere coincidence, no matter how improbable it was, the more he eventually became convinced something else was wrong.

He had experienced the same odd feeling when spending time with Leso Varen—the same detached sense that he was viewing his own life from a distance. But this time, he was fully aware that it was happening.

Perhaps his three companions were correct and the armor—as he had come to think of it—did have some sort of power over those who came into contact with it. Maybe he would have to go all the way to Stardock to be free of it. But whatever happened, he knew that it was but one leg of a long and arduous journey, but one which might get him closer to his goal than he could have hoped for mere weeks ago.

At midday, he and Kenner switched places with Flynn and McGoin and rode the wagon. With the soldiers still in sight there seemed little need for guards, yet both riders were anxious and kept peering back at the road from time to time.

Finally, Kaspar asked, “Are you afraid of being followed?”

“Always,” said Kenner, without offering further explanation.

Despite the army sentries one hundred meters up the road, the four men took turns standing guard around their own fire. Kaspar drew the third watch: the two hours in the deepest part of the night.

He practiced all the tricks he knew to stay awake. He had been taught these by his father the first year he had traveled with the army of Olasko on a campaign; he had been just eleven years old.

He didn’t look into the fire, knowing it would mesmerize him, capture his eyes, and then render him blind should he need to look into the darkness. Instead, he kept his eyes moving, otherwise imaginary shapes would rise up and cause false panic. Occasionally, he glanced skyward at the waning moon or distant stars, so that he would not fatigue his eyes staring at nothing.

An hour into his watch he noticed a flicker of movement over by the wagon, barely visible in the gloom. He moved quickly to the wagon, and at the very edge of the firelight he saw something again. He kept his eyes on the spot as he said, “Wake up!’

The other three men woke up and Flynn asked, “What?”

“Something’s out there, beyond the firelight.”

Instantly, all three men came out from beneath the wagon and spread out, weapons drawn. “Where?” asked Kenner.

“Over there,” said Kaspar, pointing to where he had seen the figure.

“Kaspar, come with me,” said Flynn. “Keep us in sight, and watch our backs,” he instructed the other two.

The two men moved forward slowly, swords at the ready. When they reached the place Kaspar had pointed to, they found nothing but an empty field. “I could have sworn I’d seen something,” said Kaspar.

“That’s all right,” said Flynn. “We’re used to it. It’s better to be safe than to do nothing.”

“This has happened before?”

Returning to the relative warmth of the fire, Flynn said, “It happens a lot.”

“Did you see who it was?” asked Kenner.

“Only a shape.”

McGoin crawled back under the wagon. “That’s good.”

“Why?” asked Kaspar.

“Because it’s not serious,” said McGoin. “When you can see what it is…then it’s serious.”