Kavin's World (22 page)

I do not remember with any great accuracy exactly how the rest of that day passed. There were two very small, very noisy heirs to the house, whose names would be Malvi and Hogir, two uncles’ names, and neither would be there at the naming-ceremony to break the cups for these babies. But the names of those men of the house of Hostan would live, as I had long ago sworn.

I was given a glimpse of Isa, with the two in her arms, and then driven out, according to old custom, pursued by the midwives who slashed at my retreating back with willow staves. One of the harridans was Samala, who laughed as she swung her stave, and seemed most needlessly vigorous about it. But the custom is a very old one among us, and is said to take evil away from the mother.

Then, with a bruise or two and a stinging ear, I went out into the great hall, where many waited for my arrival. Three days of feasting would honor this birth, a river of ale and a lake of wine, while from the sea to the hills feast-fires burned in the new villages of Koremon.

On the great table, in the torchlight, there stood that huge horncup which we name the First Son’s Cup, drunk down for the first son a man of our house names his own. It brimmed with new wine, from the wild Koremon grapes, red and strong; and as I entered the hall, Thuramon, in new and glittering garments, lifted it to my hands. He was, I saw, already well ahead of me.

That horn I drained, while the hall roared; men of Dorada mingled there with brown men of
Koremon,
and with their women folk, beginning already to mingle their speech and their ways. Outside, brazen trumpets of Dorada blared out, and a steady thundering began from the log drums of the Koremon folk, and from the half-finished wall near the harbor cannon boomed again and again.

Then Thuramon, rocking slightly like a roundship in a gale, came once more around the table, the horn refilled.

“Two sons at once, Prince Kavin of Koremon!” he roared. “Twice, the First Son’s Cup must drain. Ahooo! Take it, quickly, my lord, ere I spill it. Bad omen, wine spilled else than… hic
!…
down a man’s throat.”

And that one I swilled down also, whereafter matters became less clear.

Fortunately, any behavior on my part not fitting my high dignity probably went completely unnoticed in the general rout. For a long time thereafter, tales were told, concerning the various events of that feasting; some of the tales may have had a grain or two of truth in them, though it would be hard to tell where.

For example, it was said that the First Captain of Horse, a portly gentleman of great rectitude in matters of proper dignity, danced a hornpipe on the wharves of the new port, accompanied by no fewer than three peasant maids. Music was supplied by that model of grim warriorhood, the Armsmaster Caltus, who played on a bagpipe supplied by an unknown admirer. The event was not, in itself, unremarkable at the time, except for the total absence of any garments on any of the participants.

It is also said that the wizard Thuramon, far gone in drink, attempted several demonstrations of his art, with varying degrees of success. Some of his cantraps failed utterly, while one or two had far too extensive an effect. To one such success Koremon now owes the presence of a breed of very small green-colored ape, several hundreds of them, so far.

In the villages and newly harvested fields of Koremon, the birth of what the Koremon folk insisted on regarding as the King’s sons—though the Copper Crown remained in its cave—led
to
much, indeed. Their years of oppression had only buried the true nature of the brown folk, not slain it. Now, with a cause, it burst out of hiding. Two seasons later, there would be many more new subjects of this kingdom, for those three days and nights.

But, as I said, I do not recall much, myself. I can only remember that I found it unexpectedly good to be the founder of a house, and that there is a mysterious pleasure to a man in the possession of sons.

Thirteen

There were not many in the war party. Caltus, who would have died of shame if he had not been selected, and three men of the armsmen that he had selected himself; short, barrellike men of the same breed, called Punis, Marino, and Quint. These four were almost an army in themselves, I felt, having watched their kind at work. Then there was Thuramon, who had supplied himself with a most curious servant, literally of his own manufacture; a man, yet not really a man, called nothing at all. Of this, more
later
.

Next, I had as my own squire another curiosity: the son of Kakk Marag. This wild and shaggy youth had been somewhat tamed and educated, while his injuries had healed. Later, in our various misadventures through the journey to the new land, he had received a further polish. Some of it at his father’s hands, I think, and some because he had a good natural wit, and was most quick to learn, especially when he was interested.

He had become filled with wonder and admiration at what he conceived to be our warlike abilities; and he had striven to make himself like us. He was too young to feel any strong links to his own savage people, and he seemed to harbor no hate of those who had destroyed them. And me… who had been more than anyone else, responsible for that, and for his hurts… me, he selected as his hero and model. I never understood this, but he was a good boy, strong, quick, and damnably clever, this Marag Mik.

Then, after much careful thought, I selected three more, each one the best I could find in all those qualities that I might need. These three young men were Doradans: Daron of the house of Mador, his cousin Orm, and Semas of the house of Caldomas. Each was the best man of his hands I could find, each had learned to handle the great horses, and each had practiced with all the new ways and the new arms.

And one other came with us. One horse seemed to be riderless, but was not.

So small a party… but enough.
We had gone over the plan with much thought and care; our way was the best we could make. We knew that an army, slow and cumbersome, would be seen and known to the three long before we reached their land. And that they possessed means to destroy such an army, we did not doubt. Also, it would be a long while before Koremon
itself
was strong and populous enough to supply a great force; and the land would be defenseless against whatever evil the three might send.

Besides, the oath against the three was mine, and only mine.

We would go to their black valley, and look. If we could find a way, we would strike at them; if not, we might bring back something of knowledge about their ways and strength, to plan again. Or we might be all slain. Now that seemed most distastefully likely… but there was the matter of an oath. And if we were, well… we were but a round dozen. I somehow knew Macha Emrinn would manage to win free of most troubles, and that other could not be killed twice.

So, the loss of ten warriors would not weaken the people greatly. No doubt they’d mourn me; at least, one hoped so. But then, had I lived to grow old ruling them, they might have wished something else.

I thought such graveside notions as I sat my stallion Gold on the high ridges of the northern hill range. We could see Koremon in the distance, a mere shadow of green and sea mist; already nearly lost to sight. To gain a homeland, and lose it again, all in a single summer…

“You wear a strange look, Prince Kavin.” The knight, Semas, spoke at my shoulder. He was armed as I was, in chain and steel, and riding one of the great horses, a broad-shouldered black. As I looked at him, I thought I had made a good choice there.

“A last look, Semas,” I said. “Enough. Let’s ride on.”

The way was wide, and he rode beside me, as we moved on. Ahead, a long dry valley led on through the hills, an empty land that might once have been a river bed. Farther, we could see yet higher ridges where snow lay.

“I did not think the road would be so easy,” Semas said. The others were a little in advance of us, each rider with a second horse in train, and four more horses carrying such baggage as we might need. They rode slowly; little was said among them.

“It will not remain this easy,” I told Semas. “Our map is hardly more than a few scratched lines and words, like a blind man’s chart. But we know a little of what’s to come. First, these hills, and a difficult passage or two; then, a dry plain, nearly desert; and then, if we don’t die of thirst, another journey among mountains.
Real mountains, lad.”

“These are mountains enough for me,” Semas said. “Why these devils could not have made their lair by the sea, so we could have come at them with ships and cannon…”

“Most inconsiderate of them,” I agreed.

He watched the riders ahead, the horse that bore only an apparently empty saddle for one; and the horse on which a tall, lean shape in a dark cloak sat as stiffly as a wooden image. That one he looked at particularly.

“The ways of wizards are sometimes beyond man’s guessing.” Semas said.
“Now, that one… if a man must have a squire, why not a human being, at least?
Even that young savage of yours, my Prince… no offense, of course…”

I found that I could laugh a little, after all.

“Call him savage to his face, good Semas, and we’ll see how you two are matched,” I said. “As far as Thuramon’s servant is concerned, though… I think he knows what he’s doing. And after all, the… man… makes no trouble, rides and works with us like any other… except for his lack of words.”

“I have heard that he is a dead man, brought back to life by Thuramon’s art,” Semas said.

“I’m no wizard,” I said. “The means is beyond me, but in a way, that’s truth. He is a kind of… artificial man. He never lived, but you may say Thuramon… brought him to life. And how, and of what materials… well, it might be best not to ask. I think he has some human… meat. Thuramon learned new things from the ancient works of art magic we found.”

“If we deal with magic, we’ll have to have such tools.” Semas said. “But… he makes me uneasy.”

We rode, on and on, under skies that seemed always gray. Farther and farther into those seemingly endless hills, where nothing
grew,
where a chill wind blew down canyons of gray rock, and where the sun seemed to have no warmth. We had need for our provisions; we saw no game at all. Sometimes we found a snow-fed stream, and kept our water bottles filled, but even this water seemed curiously bitter, though it did us no harm.

Here and there we came across traces of an ancient road, possibly the work of the same builders who had lived in Koremon so long ago. Once we saw the fallen piers of what had been a bridge over a gorge, but we had to ride around, a longer way.

On the fifth day, we came into a long, steep-walled canyon, broad of floor and straight as a street. Far away, at its other end, we saw the first glimmer of green, and my stallion flung back his handsome head and whinnied at it.

“An hour’s ride to grassland!”
I called out, and the others kicked their horses to a canter, grinning with pleasure.

But as we rode down through that canyon, we saw a grim sight, and we slowed to a walk, looking about us in awe.

Bones, and more bones, lay in piles, more and more thickly as we rode down through that valley. Our horses’ hooves cracked them like dry wood, and their white dust rose about us. Men had died here, in uncountable numbers; and in battle, for here and there were shards of decayed metal, broken wheels like those of chariots, and other fragments less identifiable.

I brought Gold up beside Thuramon’s horse.

“I see heavy bones, like those of great horses,” I said. “And look there. What beast would that
have
been, even larger?”

A great tusked skull, like a boar’s, but ten times the size of such a beast’s skull, lay near the path we rode on. Beyond
lay
more such skulls, at which Thuramon stared.

“I have seen such beasts,” he said. “A long way from this place… they are used like horses, but much larger.”

“Were these the ancient folk of Koremon?” I asked. “And what battle could have been so great? There’s a nation of dead bones in this place.”

He bobbed along, silent in his
saddle,
his head bent as if in thought, but did not answer.

After a while, Thuramon lifted his head again, and looked ahead, toward the valley’s end. A breeze blew from there, cold, but with the smell of grass in it. It lifted his grizzled beard, and teased our horses’ nostrils. I glanced at the wizard, and was astonished. There was a strange look on his face, and a glint of tears in his eyes.

“Why do you weep for these?” I asked.
“So long dead… and nameless, to us.”

He shook his head, angrily.

“Weep? I’ve dust in my eyes,” he said, in a grating voice. And we rode on silently.

Then we came out of that place, and downward, into level rolling plains, where sparse grass grew. We unsaddled, and let our beasts
crop,
and we prepared a night’s camp.

There, Thuramon spoke again.

“The dead are not quite nameless,” he said, as if to himself. “Not quite forgotten. Even now, a few still know their names.” His eyes found mine, and seemed to burn. “Prince, these too fought against an evil. They died, but they conquered… because they did not submit. That place is not the valley of bones; it is the valley of a victory.”

“If we join those bony heroes in such a victory, I’ll never forgive you, wizard.” I said, and laughed. “I want to live to enjoy such small victories as the gods will let me have.”

Thuramon’s dark mood slipped away. “You,” he said, in a grumble. “You are so young yet, Prince.”

“Well, the gods are aging me every day,” I told him. “More quickly than I like.”

We went on, into the plains. Here, at least, there was game: a kind of swift small deer, and sometimes a few of a larger beast like cattle, but hairy. There were also many brown hares, which made a meal or two for us. But there were snakes, too, as we found when one bit the armsman Quin so that he could scarcely ride for a whole day.

But the grass was very sparse, and water seldom seen. Twice we found small springs, but then a day came when we had seen no more water for many miles. The grass was now only clumped, here and there, with dry gravel in the spaces.