The Axe and the Throne (43 page)

His good feelings vanished when they found their raft floating away from the docks. The boat they had tied to was upriver, the two men aboard laughing while they paddled.

“No more than five boats per mooring,” one shouted.

“Not that you could call that bundle of debris a boat!” said the other. Their sleek vessel cut through the water with grace, making the possibility of reprisal out of the question.

“Stay here. I'll get the raft.” Keethro dove in before Titon could respond.

After a few minutes of labored swimming, an action he was not adept at, he boarded the raft and attempted to pole back to the docks, finding the river too deep to touch ground. He did his best to paddle with the stick, but it was impossible to tell if he was making any progress.

“It is no use,” shouted Titon. “You cannot make it.”

Keethro heard the splash of Titon entering the river as he continued to paddle. If anything it seemed he had drifted farther.

Aided by the current, Titon stroked with the arm that carried the pot, holding their newly purchased supplies to his chest with his other. He threw the fish, rope, pot, and salt aboard one by one after reaching the boat and hoisted himself up last.

“The fish is ruined,” he said. “The salt we can salvage.”

Keethro agreed. He saw no point in mentioning that Titon could have left the supplies on the docks and they paddle the raft back together. He settled instead for words of comfort. “Damn Southmen.”

“I will be happy to drink some boiled water for once though,” said Titon, surprisingly unaffected by the confrontation that had cost them five pounds of fish that he was no doubt eager to sample. “Perhaps my next solid shit will put me in a well-enough mood to think about trimming this bush about my face.”

Keethro chuckled in approval.

Most of the fish had to be discarded, having already turned to mush, but they saved some and planned to use it as bait before it began to stink too much. The bag of salt sat drying near the fire, and their second pot of water was nearing a boil. Keethro was ready for a nap and had just stretched out on the thin bed of cloth-covered straw at the back of the raft when he caught sight of the most fearsome structure he had ever seen.

“Those are no tits of the Mountain,” said Titon, having obviously seen the same thing.

“No.” Keethro knew what it must be, but the sheer scale of it made it difficult to believe. “So
that
is a castle.”

The rounded turrets of the mighty fortress seemed to reach into the clouds. Massive parapets surrounded the turrets and connecting walls, projecting outward in a way that made imagining they had been built by mortal men even more difficult. Titon looked a dwarf in comparison to such immensity.

“How does such a structure even come to be?” asked Titon with wonder.

“I do not know. It is incredible.” But Keethro's true thoughts were much darker.
I fear we may be crushed by those men powerful enough to create such a thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The familiar birdsong of the southern woods filled his ears as Tallos found himself pleasingly surrounded by the crisp winter chill. A light dusting of snow covered the otherwise naked branches of the trees, unmoving in the gentle breeze.

Nothing but sour oak and scraggy pine grew in these parts, and neither tree was of any use other than for timber or firewood. The acorns of the sour oak were not edible, no matter what was done to them. Even tree rats avoided the acrid fruit, eating instead the seeds in the pines' armored cones. In spite of this, Tallos continued forward with anxious steps, a bucket in his hand, and hope in his chest.

Then they saw it. They knew where it was, but each time they came upon it felt like a new discovery. The honey pine had stout, roundish needles. It stood tall among the oaks but short among the other pines. And that was the least of its differences.

Lia was the first to race to the tree. Having been taught to forgo her natural instinct to squat and pee beside it, she instead ran around it in tight circles, waiting for Tallos and Leona to catch up. At the base of the tree, Tallos was happy to notice that their harvesting pail appeared to be undisturbed beneath the simple knee-high roof that sheltered it from the snow and rain. He reached the tree, crouching to allow Lia to lick his face as he petted her. They had been careful not to tap too greedily into its veins, and looking up the trunk, Tallos could confirm it was as healthy as ever. The deep green of its needles contrasted with the bits of light blue from the sky that managed to peek between its countless limbs and fingers, and the scent was pure bliss.

Leona was beside him now, and she took over the responsibility of petting their overjoyed accomplice. Tallos carefully removed the pail, replacing it with the one he carried, and looked inside. A finger's width of thick dark amber pooled at the bottom—a fine harvest. Well pleased, he handed the pail to Leona so she could enjoy the first taste. Her face brightened when she saw how much they had collected. They could have brought it back to town and sold it for a handsome sum, but this was one of their few luxuries, and it had become a tradition for the three of them to share.

Leona dipped a finger into the gooey amber and scooped up a small amount. It stretched and pulled away from the rest, but was almost too thick to drip. She quickly licked the candy from her finger and closed her eyes. Tallos could taste it through her, the deep sweetness that was so much like honey, but both more light and luscious at the same time. To compare it to other tree syrup would be a grave injustice, as it had no green, piney flavor. The wind lifted the long brown strands of her hair, exposing her lean neck, and sharp-cornered ears. Her tongue would be even sweeter now, were it possible, and she seemed to read his mind as she leaned forward, eyes still closed, to kiss him. Her lips compressed against his own and began to part.

Tallos's nose smashed into something hard, and he inhaled the scent of unwashed beast.

“Hahaha!” The cry of laughter came from nearby, though it sounded more grating than cruel. “I told you he would pass out soon enough.”

Tallos gripped and clawed at the memory of his dream as it was torn from his grasp. The softness of Leona's lips…the curve of her breast. He almost preferred the nightmares to these dreams of his fondest memories. How much of them had been glorified and aggrandized, he could no longer say, but what he remembered of his previous life seemed too perfect to have ever been true. To be awakened to his new reality was a painful, jolting process. There was no perfection here, just the stench and ugliness of normalcy.

“Let him be, Kelgun.” The voice belonged to John, a man easily over twenty years though certainly not more than thirty. He was no small man—had he been he surely would not be speaking as such to Kelgun—but his demeanor revealed he was no fighting man either. He trotted alongside Tallos on his dapple-grey rouncey, looking as if he were ready to catch him, had Tallos fallen from his seat.

“He falls asleep because he is on the only ambling rouncey in the kingdom,” spat Kelgun. “A horse for a boy if ever there was one. I'd have a mind to put a straw bed on it and ride half asleep myself, but someone has to look out for the safety of this damn group.” The man turned his head, letting loose a few scratchy coughs. “And I am far too large a man for so tiny a beast.”

Sir Kelgun, as he called himself, was no giant, though he would have one believe as such from his self-descriptions. He was middle-aged and rode upon a black destrier—or rather what was left of one. The horse may have been large, but its age made it unfit for any real use. Nonetheless, atop the massive beast Kelgun did have some semblance of the knight he claimed to be, and in that he needed all the help he could get. His messy beard of wiry black and his menacing stare made him look more a brigand than anything else.

Tallos rubbed the sleep from his eyes and peered about. It seemed the vibrant colors of his dream were also exaggerated beyond that of reality. The needles of the pines and the cloudless sky both looked distinctly grey in contrast with his recent fantasy. He jerked to panicky alertness seeing the deep red upon the top of his right hand. The sleeve of his robe had fallen to the wrist, exposing his grossly raised and colored skin, and he looked to the side to see if John had noticed. John only stared straight ahead, but Tallos could not shake the feeling that the man had seen his secret.

“Tallos, sir? Would you mind if I took my turn?” Dusan, a boy no older than twelve, walked alongside Tallos's mount.

“He's no
sir
, boy,” scoffed Kelgun.

“No, of course.” Tallos slid from the horse, groaning when his feet made contact with the ground. He tried without much success to stretch the painful knots in his ass and thighs.

“Ha! What's the matter, mage? Can't even handle the peaceful stride of a child's pony? How do I find myself among such a sorry lot?” Kelgun's destrier snorted in what sounded to be approval.

“You are free to leave, just as any are free to join,” said Wilkin. “Such is our way.”

Wilkin could have been anywhere from sixty to several hundred years of age, there simply was no way of knowing. In any case, he seemed the only respectable member of their party. There was a depth to his eyes that spoke of endless wisdom and a kindness that implied a similar patience. Tallos found it impossible to imagine the man ever having been young. He looked as though he'd been born with his bald head and white, wispy beard.

“Aye, and the sorrier the lot, the more like they are to need protecting.” Kelgun unsheathed his sword, and the ringing of the metal was sweet music. His horse may have been old and wearied, but the sword shone with the perfection of a piece of metal that had been crafted and never used except for display. Even then, it would have needed daily oiling, cleaning, and polishing to retain such a luster, yet not once had Tallos seen him tend to it half so much as one might care for an axe.

“I am no mage, as I have told you.” Truth be told, Tallos did not mind the charge as it gave him an excuse to remain cloaked.

“No, of course not. That is why you insisted on us fetching you a robe and have since never parted with it. I have smelled much during my days, but you carry with you a stench of feet that might serve one better were they removed at the ankle. It must take a powerful magic to create such an odor, mage.” Kelgun laughed alone at his joke.

Tallos had not been afforded an opportunity to bathe since emerging from his vinegary hole, and he imagined Kelgun must be right about his fetid smell. His only hope was to bathe with his robes still on, but that would be certain death given the current cold. Tallos's village had been Wilkin's most northern stop, and Tallos guessed it would take at least another week of southerly travel before it was warm enough to risk it.

“Just do not expect me to assist you by calling the elements, should you start a skirmish.”

“Oh, no. A knight needs no help from the likes of you or any other man who hides his face, pretending to have cryptic powers. I assure you of that. Fairytales do not hold up against the edge of a sword such as mine.” Kelgun turned his horse so that he could better face Tallos, causing the beast to sidestep at an impressive pace. “And I never start a fight that I cannot finish. Just ask Sir Stormblade.” Kelgun grinned, sheathed his sword, and righted his horse, which had visibly exhausted from the showy maneuver.

Dusan made a disgusted sound in response to Kelgun's boasting, but quietly enough so that only Tallos could hear. The boy then hoisted himself upon the chestnut rouncey and crinkled his nose.
I need a bath, and soon
, thought Tallos,
or even the old tinker may see fit to abandon me.
Tallos walked to the rear of the horse so that he would be downwind of all the travelers.

“C'mere, Lily. Bring me another skin of wine would you?” said Kelgun.

It happened before Tallos had joined, but Dusan had confided in him that his older sister had begun to share Kelgun's bed shortly after he and his sister had joined the group. Lily now acted the part of both wife and squire, washing Kelgun's clothing and fetching him things. Dusan insisted to Tallos that the behavior was coerced, but to Tallos she looked eager enough to please the man. Tallos knew the types of men that the homely daughters of farmers usually wed, and in terms of youth, appearance, and status, Kelgun had them bested by a good margin—even if his knightly title was self-appointed.

Atop her painted pack mule, Lily fell back to ride beside Kelgun so she could hand him a fresh skin of wine, of which there were plenty. He tossed her his empty skin but did so poorly. She leaned back to try to catch it but failed, due to no fault of her own. She had deft hands for a woman, Tallos had observed on previous such exchanges, likely from her farm work where it was necessary to toss and catch items during the harvest sort.

“Ahhh. Damn woman. You couldn't catch an arrow to the belly at point blank range. We put the likes of you in at the forefront of a charge to keep the rest of us safe from archers.” Tallos saw both John and Dusan's heads shaking, either having heard this before or being simply tired of Kelgun's drunken rambling. “Beats the hell out of a shield. Bolts from a strong bow go right through a shield, they do. But not through a fat man with bumbling hands. No, he learns to catch at the front of the van, and in time he makes it look easy.” Kelgun slapped what he must have intended to be Lily's rump as she rode beside him, but struck more her lower back, as her cheeks were mostly molded into the muslin sacks that served as her saddle. She handed him his new skin of wine and went to retrieve the one that had fallen.

Tallos had already picked it off the ground and held it out to her so she did not need to dismount.
Why do I insist on acting kind to these people I intend to see burn?
he wondered.

Tallos was yet to extend his promise to spite the gods since having surfaced. His dreams and memories may have continued to solidify his hatred for the deities he had previously revered, but it did nothing to make him despise his fellow travelers. Any plots he had intended to hatch to slay them in their sleep remained shelled and embryonic.
To slaughter these lambs would simply be sacrilege on too small a scale
, Tallos reasoned in frustration.

“Yes, save your energy, girl. I have a new trick to show you tonight. One that I learned warring and whoring. One that will require more from you than I.” Kelgun concluded with his usual laughter.

Lily did not seem to mind the openness with which Kelgun proclaimed his conquest over her, but Dusan was another matter. Tallos could see the boy's left fist clenching the handle of his dagger repeatedly. He did not think Dusan would actually try anything. He was of the age of all thought and no action. Had he been a killer, he surely would have slit the knight's throat in his sleep long ago.

“A village ahead,” said Wilkin. Tallos wondered how the old man could see so far as he himself could make out no such features, and Tallos had the eyes of a hawk.

A quarter mile later, Tallos saw the village Wilkin had spoken of, but it was the deep thumping coming from the same direction that drew his main attention.

“What are those sounds?” asked John. The question was directed at Wilkin, but it was Kelgun who pulled his horse to an abrupt stop, causing the beast to snort loudly with a fear of danger shared by its master.