Dark Gods Rising (9 page)

Ludwig stuck his hand into the leather sack. After pulling it out, he looked with distaste at the pale pig fat coating his fingers. Turning his head, he saw erected tents speckled across the slight slope. Men walked among those tents. Others tended to arvids staked out amid the small trees and thick brush surrounding them. He envied those men because they did not have their hands stuck in pig fat. Wiggling grease coated fingers, he scowled at the sensation. “I hate this.”

“A man should never try to pull a sword on a fellow who’s near his mates,” Harlo observed. “Which one are you cursing?”

“It was a general-purpose curse. Garland gave me this job, but Yezman started the fight.” Ludwig ran his hands over the harness lines, working fat into the leather. It was just his luck to have so many arvids in this caravan. Their sensitive skin demanded their harness had to be cleaned and greased every few days. Looking at the pile of work he still had to do, Ludwig thanked the Seven Gods and Two Garland had not visited any of the other nearby caravans. It was a sure bet one of them would have been more than willing to throw some of their harness in Ludwig’s direction.

“Relax a little,” Harlo admonished. “Forget who you were and remember what you are.”

“What I am is gentry,” Ludwig said firmly. “I’m sure His Lordship will have forgotten my small lapse with his daughter’s virtue by the time we return.”

“Only because sweet Meliandra will have shared her virtue with a half dozen others by then. Hope springs eternal, lad. Mayhap Gertunda forgot to divorce you. That will allow you to get your hands back on her dowry.”

Ludwig shuddered. “May the blessed gods see she does
not
forget. The memory of her face is enough to give a man nightmares. Divorced or not, I will reclaim my just share of her dowry once Lord Wencheck sees fit to release me from this duty. See you, Harlo, if I am not dressed in robe and slippers by this time next year.”

“I’ll speak to Nedross on the matter,” Harlo promised. “After all, I’m his priest, and he is the god of hope.”

“The god of hope for causes eternally lost,” Ludwig corrected. “I was there when you invented him. We were ten at the time.”

“Why so we were,” Harlo agreed. “I’d forgotten.” He looked at Ludwig reflectively. “We have a long history, you and I.”

“You were never a good servant.”

“But I was always a good friend.”

Ludwig thought the statement over for a moment. “Usually,” he admitted, “but not always. You left my service.”

“You forgot to pay me,” Harlo reminded him, “and I have an extreme fondness for money. Still, I did come back in time to ensure your head stayed attached to your neck by talking his Lordship into giving you this job.”

Ludwig dipped his hand back into the sack of pig fat, scooped some of it up with his fingers, and pulled his hand free. After a few moments studying the pale glistening, oily fat, he looked toward Harlo.

“That,” Ludwig said, “was no favor.”

* * * *

In the dark hours of the night Ludwig dreamed of Meliandra’s pale form, body dressed only in moonlight, leaning over him. She stroked the long fingers of one hand down her body, pausing momentarily at strategically interesting areas, and then leaned lower until her face lay against his chest. Hair gently framing her face, she wiggled lower until her lips kissed his belly and moved lower still. Her eyes, wild with promise, fastened hungrily on his. Smiling seductively, she opened her mouth wide, wider still— and then she screamed.

Ludwig woke to discover hers was only one scream among many. A man’s form leaned over him.

“Hurry,” Charle whispered in his right ear.

“Whaa?”

“Brigands,” Harlo snapped. “Hurry, your beasts are loaded.”

Grumbling, Ludwig drew on his shoes, crawled out of his shared tent, and rose. Multihued lightning flashed, flared, and flamed in the sky.

“Califrey?” he asked.

“Is one of them. We must go!”

Ludwig tried to hurry. He stumbled as he was jerked erect by Charle‘s tug on his arm. After straightening his clothes and fastening his sword belt around his waist, he barked his knuckles on a tree while pulling his belt tighter. “May your roots wither and die,” he cursed. “May the worms burrow into you, and may your wood turn soft and rot.”

“No time for that,” Charle snapped.

The colored lightning stopped. The screams quieted, fading one by one until only two voices remained. Nighttime winds carried the clang of crashing swords. Men began yelling anew. Feeling confused, Ludwig stumbled after Charle.

Before long they reached a group of already loaded arvids. Jorge handed Ludwig the reins to Perciad and Lacking. Mewing affectionately, Lacking stamped on Ludwig’s foot. Perciad stuck a tongue in his ear.

“Can’t I take a different pair,” Ludwig protested. “These two will be no loss.” He brushed irritably at his ear, wiping saliva away as best he could.

“They know you,” Harlo explained, “and they carry the amber.” He looked to Charle. “Hurry it up.” Grabbing the reins of his two beasts, he jogged into the dark.

“I never signed on for this,” Ludwig muttered while tugging on his arvid’s reins. “Move it or I’ll cut your pizzors off and use them as whips.”

Running footsteps sounded behind him. Shooting a look over his shoulder, Ludwig released a bitter laugh when he saw Yezman’s dark figure emerge from the trees. Dropping the reins, he turned and drew his thin sword.

“I should have known you’d be involved in this,” he told the man.

“Ludwig,” Jorge warned, “you don’t want to make Harlo mad.”

With an imperious wave, Ludwig silenced the drover. “We’ll leave in just a few moments.”

“Yer going nowhere, gent,” Yezman growled. “Drop the sword.” He studied Ludwig’s thin blade with contempt as he raised his thick chopper.

“I have a better idea,” Ludwig said and lunged.

Yezman’s sideways swing would have worked excellently against a stationary tree. Unfortunately for him, Ludwig was not a tree. Ludwig ducked, dodged, and then ran his thin dueling blade straight through Yezman’s heart. Surprised shock spreading across his face, Yezman’s heavy weapon fell from his hand. Gently smiling, Ludwig stepped back and patiently waited for the man to fall. Yezman took a stumbling step forward, another. His knees folded, and he fell face forward in the grass.

“Took you long enough,” Ludwig complained to the dead man.

“Are you coming or not?” Charle snapped. “Harlo already left, and I’m not waiting any longer.”

“Coming,” Ludwig told him. He cleaned his sword on his pant leg, sheathed it, and walked to his arvids. Grabbing their cursed reins, he vowed once this trip was over he would eat nothing but roast arvid for a year.

* * * *

When morning arrived, Ludwig discovered he was surrounded by a considerable number of people and beasts. This fact did not surprise him. The previous evening’s darkness had not succeeded in smothering the talk and curses of the people he traveled among. It was the makeup of those people he found surprising. By the sun’s growing light, he saw he walked with fifteen others, each holding the reins of two arvids. Ludwig recognized only five. The others most likely came from some of the other nearby caravans, which meant the brigands were far more organized than he had thought. It had taken skill, planning, and men to attack more than one target in a night.

Near the front a bone thin man popped out of the brush to speak with a grizzled fellow named Trel. Trel dropped back.

“We’re being followed,” he told Harlo. “Best we can tell there’s a fairly strong magic user back there. None of our small magics are enough to shake him from our trail.”

“Califrey,” Ludwig broke in. “He has an amulet.” He thought about his statement for a moment. “I think he has an amulet.”

“He should’ve given up by now.”

“Garland never leaves a trail,” Harlo said unworriedly.

Trel cursed. “Then we have to kill the magic user or we’ll never escape.”

“Ludwig will handle Califrey,” Harlo promised. “He‘s been using amulets all his life.”

“Can you stop him?” Trel demanded of Ludwig. From the expression on his face he had his doubts.

“I signed on as an arvid handler,” Ludwig answered. “I never agreed to fight in a magic duel.”

Frowning, Trel looked to Harlo, back to Ludwig, and shrugged. “Just keep him occupied. Do that much and we’ll pay you double.”

“Triple,” Harlo insisted. “The task is dangerous, and we’ve no hope without him.”

Trel nodded respectfully to Harlo. “As you say, he gets triple.” His humorless eyes narrowed as they fastened once more on Ludwig. “Just be sure you do your job.”

Ludwig thought on his empty purse. The end of this trip would see a silver half-rugdle and eight double gold ones placed in it. A man could do something with sixteen and a half rugdles, but he could do a lot more with almost fifty. Fifty rugdles would give him a few nights at a decent bordello. The right woman might make him forget dear sweet Meliandra for a day or two. Failing that, well, any whore would help him escape his memories of Gertunda. Then again, meeting a freshly castrated boar could easily do the same. The boar would have a much better disposition than his wife had ever claimed.

Would this task really be difficult? Probably not. Califrey was a fake. He had to be. No true mage would stoop to thievery when there were so many easier ways to earn an easy living. By Ludwig’s reckoning, Califrey could probably do little more than make pretty lights and follow a trail. The man’s clumsy light show had already proved his incompetence.

“You have a deal.”

* * * *

“You’re my gal and I told you true,

that I thought you nosy.

You picked an ax from off the ground,

and cut off my toesies.

Well, my love, you know it
’
s true,

My breaking heart belongs to you,

but my darling can
’
t you see,

that you
’
re too rough for me.

Yes, you
’
re too rough for me.
”

“You’re not all that good at this,” Ludwig hazarded.

“True,” Harlo agreed. “Never could sing worth a lick.”

“I wasn’t talking about your singing. I would have more confidence if you treated this seriously.”

Harlo grinned. “Been in the same position more than a dozen times. I’ve reached the point where I make plans and then wait to see what happens.”

“Only problem is if your plan fails, we could all wind up dead.”

“Wouldn’t be fun if it was predictable,” Harlo responded. “However, if you really want my plan to work, I suggest you keep your attention on your job and not on my singing.”

Grunting, Ludwig looked away from his friend and peered through the covering trees.

The track they had traveled along was a thin animal trail leading up a mountain slope, littered with boulders, jutting trees, and arvid dung. If the thing owned a straight line, it had done a good job of staying hidden after they took its left hand fork and followed it until Harlo found a reasonable spot for an ambush. From his position high up on the slope, Ludwig could see nothing but twists and jagged turns along most of the trail’s length, but just past the fork almost thirty men climbed the start of the path. One kept far in front of the others. Califrey? Most likely. There would be other scouts out, too, but they were well hidden.

“Plan might work better if you shut up,” Ludwig muttered just loud enough for Harlo to hear.

“It doesn’t matter if they hear me,” Harlo responded. “Nedross has promised us success.”

“Now I am worried.”

The hunters grew closer, though they were still distant. The scout, it was Califrey, looked up, but his eyes focused nowhere near them. He was close enough Ludwig could feel the fringes of the man’s magic, and this meant if Califrey came any nearer he would know where they were, giving him warning enough to prepare his defenses.

Ludwig sighed. “Here goes.”

With a gut deep feeling of regret, he pulled on the thong tied around his neck. The thought of all those rugdles didn’t seem quite so appealing with the fight near. Tirelle, a dark amulet shaped like a naked fat woman, rose to meet his fingers. Shrugging because the decision had been made and there was no backing out now, Ludwig broke the thong and popped the amulet into his open mouth.

When his saliva covered her, merged into her, Tirelle’s essence came to life. Far below, Califrey’s head instantly twisted to focus on their position. His hand rose, pointing.

Ludwig froze. He tried to move a hand and failed. He lifted an arm, but the arm would not lift. The only part of him he could shift was his head.

“You might want to do something about this,” Harlo calmly observed, but it was obvious he, too, was frozen in place.

“I’m trying,” Ludwig muttered past the amulet in his mouth. Fortunately, his eyes and jaws and neck still worked. Eyes narrowing, he focused all his attention on Califrey. Grimacing, he concentrated for a moment before sending every erg of his amulet’s power straight at the man, smiling when Califrey staggered and hunched. The smile faded when the magician straightened. Watching with disbelief, Ludwig’s jaw dropped open, almost causing him to lose the amulet. At a time when the man should have been chittering with fear, when he should have been running pell-mell down the trail, he straightened.

“Uh-oh,” Harlo muttered just loud enough to break Ludwig’s concentration. “I suggest you try harder.”

“Shut up!”

Ludwig tried again. Clamping his mouth shut, he narrowed his eyes once more, focused his concentration, and, desperate, bit down on Tirelle. Hard.

She screamed. When her thin voice resonated through his skull, he wanted to release his own scream but doing so would only have once again risked him dropping the amulet. Teeth clamped tight in aural pain he inadvertently parted his lips, allowing her scream to fall down the hillside. Tiny hands scrambled around the inside of his mouth. Fingernails tore at his gums and small teeth bit into his cheek. Knowing his precious life was at risk, Ludwig accepted the punishment and bit down harder, tasting metallic blood trickling down his throat.

Ludwig ground his teeth deep into the wood.

Tirelle screamed louder.

“Good lad,” Harlo called from behind Ludwig’s shoulder. “You’re getting to him.”

The scream tumbled down the hillside, pushing torn grass and debris before it. Califrey’s figure staggered again and fell beneath the heavy weight of the amulet’s pain. Ludwig’s paralysis instantly left his limbs when Califrey’s attention wavered. Straightening, Ludwig pushed his face resolutely forward and pursed his lips so the scream’s effect was narrowed. Califrey started to rise, fell again, and then— slowly— he stood. Like a fakir climbing a rope, he pulled himself from the ground in a series of jerky movements which left him clinging desperately to a tree. Focusing on Ludwig, Califrey struck.

Pain like he had never known surged through Ludwig. Falling to his knees, he gasped, coughed, and Tirelle was suddenly lying on the ground before him. Despairing, Ludwig bowed his head and fought death while Califrey’s attack continued unabated. Sweat poured from his face. His heart stuttered, faltered. The amulet’s glittering eyes watched him with satisfaction.

“See how you like it!” her tinny voice cried out.

“Save me, Nedross,” Harlo gasped. “My firstborn son’s life to you, I swear.”

The pain coursing through Ludwig flickered, surged, and stopped. Ludwig straightened, his face damp, feeling nothing but whole. Feeling normal.

“Gods,” Ludwig muttered. “Nedross is real?”

“I always thought so,” Harlo said shakily, moving to stand beside Ludwig. “Then again.” He gestured with his hand. Looking down toward Califrey, Ludwig saw the man’s body lying loosely on the trail. “All I wanted was for you to distract him. They did the rest.”

A pair of drovers, bows in hand, were clambering up the slope. Further back, the brigands ran toward them.

“It’s just as well they did the job,” Harlo added, “for I’ve no idea which whore’s belly I planted my firstborn son in.”

His eyes grew suddenly huge. Gasping, Harlo jerked his sword free and shoved Ludwig to the side. A whisper of steel hissed above Ludwig’s head.

Ludwig struck the ground, rolled, and was up again, seeing a cloaked figure thrust at Harlo. Frozen, Ludwig watched, stunned by the suddenness of the attack. The man Harlo fought moved like a master swordsman. His blade flickered so quickly it seemed a flash of silver light. It struck once, paused, struck again, and blood ran down Harlo’s left arm. Calling on Nedross, Harlo stumbled back, and then renewed his attack.

“Could use some help here,” Harlo panted just before another wound appeared on his body. The strike had been so quick Ludwig did not even see it.

Face wet slick with fear, Ludwig pulled his own blade and made a clumsy lunge. The cloaked man dodged, but his dodge put him at a disadvantage. Harlo’s blade slid smoothly into the man’s chest and out his back.

Without a gasp, without a curse, the cloaked man fell, taking Harlo’s sword with him. Harlo leaned down, grasped the sword’s hilt, and pulled his blade free with a quick jerk. When he stepped back, sunlight captured Garland’s features, and Ludwig blinked with astonishment at seeing the caravan master there.

The two archers scrambled over the top of the slope, Jorge and Charle

“Time to play decoy,” Jorge panted, “and we better get a move on. There’s a lot more of them back there than there are of us here.”

Harlo placed his hand on Ludwig’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”