Reave the Just and Other Tales (47 page)

Apparently, my mind had ceased to perform its functions. I could neither gauge the dangers nor estimate my chances of success. Without thought or circumspection, I pounded my mount with my heels until the beast plunged unwillingly down the slope into the swift tumble of the stream.

The chill shock of the waters, and the instant frenzy of my nag’s efforts to keep its footing, restored me at once to a saner state of mind. I was no hardy drover or muscled caravaneer to attempt such feats. And I lacked the skills to aid my mount in its struggles. With every heave on the reins, I threatened to overbalance the nag or unseat myself. Quickly, I resolved to retreat while I could—

Yet to turn seemed as perilous as to advance. I kept my beast surging forward. Together, we strove toward the traveler’s rock with all our strength.

Soaked and gasping, scarcely able to breathe amid my efforts to retain my seat, I saw within the space of a few heartbeats that my task was impossible. I had crossed no more than a third of the distance, and already I felt my mount’s hooves skid and stumble beneath me. In another moment, I would cause us both to capsize. The horse squealed in terror. I may well have wept.

As my heart quailed, however, and I began to slip helplessly from my saddle, the trapped man at last lifted his head and looked at me.

For an instant, his gaze held mine, and a sense of dislocation came over me, as though the wheel of time had jumped its rut and run briefly astray. Although I was about to founder and drown, I ignored my plight, for I had never seen eyes as
blue
and piercing as those of the man I sought to aid. They seemed at once deeper and more uncompromising than the very heavens—eyes which might stare into the heart of the sun as easily as into the pit of my cowardice and futility, without squinting.

During that instant, he appeared to keep me in my seat, and my nag upright on its legs, by the simple force of his gaze.

Then I found that I had covered more than half the distance. I remained in my seat, and my mount had gained better footing—retreat had become pointless. The beast and I had finally achieved a measure of unanimity in our efforts. Though we still plunged and stumbled frantically, we continued toward our goal.

After its brief dislocation, time’s wheel hastened in compensation. Events became a rush as urgent as the writhing of the river. My mount and I gained the traveler’s boulder on its downstream side. By some miracle, the froth-filled eddy there enabled us to turn, and then to press closely against the stone, so that the man might lower himself to us with less risk of a fall. Swiftly, he stretched out a leg and shifted his limbs downward until he straddled the nag behind me. As suddenly as we had reached him, we bore him back the way we had come.

My mount seemed stronger now, despite its extra burden. Doubtless the traveler’s weight improved its footing, and the sight of safety before us gave the beast vigor. Nevertheless I imagined that the nag drew substance from the man’s strange intensity—that the beast’s strength reflected its new rider. I felt the effect myself. Though he kept his seat by gripping my shoulders, he did not overbalance me, as anyone else would surely have done. Indeed, his grasp kept me steady, when I would have floundered without it.

Scant moments later, blowing spume like a creature of the vast sea, the horse heaved us recklessly up the drowned road to higher ground and dry dirt.

There the man squeezed my shoulders as if in thanks, then slid over the beast’s rump to the roadway. At once, all my fear was transformed to weakness. Urgency drained from me as though I were a cistern holed at its base, and a profound lassitude took its place. The day had held too many terrors, too much heat and thirst—more than I could endure. Helpless to do otherwise, I slipped from my saddle and folded to the ground. Supine, I closed my eyes and felt myself swept away by a spate of abject weariness.

I was not aware of sleep. To the best of my knowledge, I rested for a short time only. Yet when I looked up again the sun had moved noticeably toward midday, and my garments were dry. Truth to tell, it was the discomfortable sensation that I was being baked which had roused me.

Blinking rapidly to moisten my parched eyes, I propped my torso upright and peered about me.

By chance my head was turned toward the Ibendwey. The sight troubled me vaguely, but at first I could not name the cause. Was it because I had nearly perished there? No— For a moment or two I regarded the river stupidly. Then I grasped the truth.

Some distance below me, the stream chuckled placidly over a shallow ford. The tumult in which I had risked my life was gone, leaving no sign of its passage—neither debris nor dampness upon the verges, nor erosion of the banks. Tall as a man, the boulder on which the traveler had perched jutted calmly from the ford, unassailed by torrents, the stone as dry as dust.

If I had merely waited for an hour or perhaps two, the endangered man would have needed no rescue, and I could have spared myself—

Stung by a peculiar sense of alarm, I stumbled to my feet and wheeled to look for my mount, as well as for the traveler I had so foolishly aided.

Asked to account for my quick fright, I might have said I feared that the man had taken my nag and deserted me. The truth was otherwise, however—more obscure as well as more disturbing. In fact, I seemed chiefly to fear that he had
not
left me alone.

Too soon, I found that he had not.

Some small distance uphill from me, he sat my mount as though he owned the beast. Both he and the nag faced me in the light of the sun. By some weird theurgy, the horse had been transfigured. In every particular, it remained the decrepit nag Tep Longeur had granted me—and yet its manner had become regal. It appeared to consider itself one of the Thal’s coursers, avid for show or contest. It held its head up, snorting from flared nostrils and champing its bit. Its eyes regarded me contemptuously.

In contrast, the traveler was unchanged. His apparel had dried cleanly, and his boots had shed their mud as if they resisted mire and murk. He seemed untouched, untouchable—beyond the reach of Thals and sovereigns. His seat showed the natural poise of a born horseman. One hand controlled the reins with negligent ease. The sun shone full upon his face—and yet I received no impression of his features. They might have been aquiline or equine for all I knew. His gaze consumed me to the exclusion of other details.

My apprehension grew, and I squirmed under the discomfiting precision of his scrutiny as though I were a misbehaved boy. For a long moment, he studied me, considering what he saw. Then he announced, “I am in your debt.”

His voice was mild enough. Yet it hinted at the clangor of iron—a sound which both dismayed and stirred me, as if those responses were indistinguishable.

Still mildly, he instructed me, “Tell me your name.”

My thirst had renewed its force, accentuated by exertion. My throat clenched, and I could not swallow. Suddenly I feared this man as though he were another like Sher Abener, fatal and malign.

Yet I did not find it possible to refuse an answer. With an effort, I croaked, “Urmeny. Massik Urmeny. Sher Urmeny. Of Benedic.” Awkwardly I concluded, “A merchant.”

The man upon my horse appeared to consider my reply adequate. He nodded once with an air of unalterable resolution. Then he turned the nag and headed away up the slope at a gliding trot.

I was at once so amazed and so appalled that I could not immediately react. He took my mount— Comprehension failed me. I could not grasp what had just transpired. Instead of running or raging after him, I gaped at his back in stupefaction. I did not wonder at what he did. Rather, I wondered where my nag had learned that light-hoofed gait.

After a moment, however, the fact that he had just stolen my horse penetrated my thoughts.

Stolen my horse and abandoned me—

Without considering my actions, I pitched my worn limbs into a laborious run. In my mind, I shouted after him, Ho, fellow, fool, thief! Is this how you repay a debt?
That is my horse!
Nevertheless my lips released neither indignation nor protest. I could not voice what filled my heart. He was too substantial to be touched by my accusations.

Yet I required some outcry—I could not remain silent. Like a madman, I wailed at his back, “At least tell me
your
name! You are in my debt. Tell me who repays me.”

At that, he turned. The jarring beast I had ridden from Benedic pranced a neat curvette, then struck a pose of disdain while it awaited its rider’s next command. I stopped to hear him, and his answer reached me as clearly as a curse.

“I am Sher Urmeny.”

I was no longer certain of what I saw. My nag may have reared, pawing scorn into the air, before it bore its rider away.

Slack-jawed with astonishment, I stared after them. Had I been bereft of my wits? Perhaps so. Did the traveler mean to ride my horse to Benedic, calling himself by my name?
My name?
I wished to believe that I had misheard him, but his announcement conveyed too much certainty. First he stole my horse. Then he took my
name?
Because he was in my
debt?

Briefly I became so incensed that I fumed at the sky, stamping my feet and flailing my fists. However, I lacked the energy for such displays, and the heat of the day chastened them. Soon I grew calmer.

It was necessary for me to choose my course.

I could not remain where I was—so much was plain. When I had done railing at dark necromancers and thieving travelers, I would be left alone under the hard sun, hungry and friendless. Therefore I had no alternative but to continue my journey—or to return to Benedic. Wearily, I considered the matter.

In the name of my sanity, if not of my survival, I wished to increase my distance from Sher Abener—and from the traveler as well. I could have crossed the Ibendwey easily now—trudged footsore and beaten as a mendicant along the way I had begun this morning. The journey might slay me, however, unaccustomed as I was to such travel. I had no strength for the task. I also had no robe to protect me when the night grew cold. The man in my debt had taken it with my horse. If I wished to live, I must turn toward my lost home.

The prospect filled me with a dread bordering upon nausea. Yet it seemed unavoidable. Striving to summon courage enough for the hazard, I concentrated my attention, not upon Sher Abener, but upon the madman I had rescued.

Never before had I undertaken an action as perilous as broaching the Ibendwey’s spate. At another time, I might have prided myself on it. But my debtor repaid me by stealing my horse and pretending to my name.

In one sense, I had not the slightest comprehension of what had passed between us. In another, however, I found that I understood it well enough. Stripped of my life, degraded by friend and foe alike, dismayed by sun and thirst and futility, I had become somewhat mad myself. I could account for the behavior of madmen.

Perhaps he sincerely considered that he might repay his debt by confronting the difficulties which had driven me from my home. For that reason, he meant to ride into Benedic upon my nag, proclaiming himself with my name. But he would be laughed to scorn. I was too well known to be replaced by an impostor. If he were fortunate, he would merely receive ridicule and disregard—or perhaps expulsion from the municipality. Otherwise, he might find himself imprisoned by the Thal—or, worse, noticed by Sher Abener.

So it seemed to me that if I followed him I might eventually gain an opportunity to reclaim my horse.

This appeared my best hope. Certainly, I could not imagine another. Therefore I swallowed my visceral alarm, mustered the remains of my strength, and set out upon the course I had chosen.

Sadly, the vitality of decision soon deserted me. By the time I had crested the ridge and put the river behind me, I knew that even this road might prove too arduous. I should have drunk from the Ibendwey when I could. A furnace of thirst had come to fire in the parched tinder of my throat, and my tongue had swollen beyond speech. Yet that distress was no more than a dull misery beside the state of my feet. My sandals had been made for decoration rather than travel—already they had galled my skin to blisters and blood. Yet when I removed them I learned that the roadway was rougher than I had realized. Pebbles and shards gouged at my soles until I donned my sandals again. Then the straps of the sandals ate like acid at my flesh until I removed them again. Though the sun threatened to scald my face and neck and hands, I hardly noticed that hurt through the pain of my abused feet.

Benedic was the only destination I could hope to gain. Any farther goal would have seen me sprawled by the roadway in despair. Only the thought that I might retrieve my mount kept me upright.

Even so, I might have faltered and failed, were it not for the curious fact that the stranger seemed unable to outdistance me. Though the nag moved at a light trot, horse and rider remained in view. Indeed, I appeared to gain on them. By some means which baffled me, my abject trudge closed the distance. I made no effort to hasten after them. Yet I shortened their lead stride after stride.

Thus they lured me on through my misery. By the time they gained the walls of the municipality, they were no more than a pike’s cast ahead of me.

At other times, I had enjoyed the vista of those walls. Their clean and sweeping lines proclaimed Benedic’s kempt grace to all who approached. Now, however, they served principally to restore my apprehension. My feet were so bloody, and my skin so burned—my unhappiness so complete—that I had not thought myself still capable of fear. Yet I valued my survival enough to dread Sher Abener.

I wished to reclaim my mount
here,
outside the walls—away from the necromancer.

Stumbling, I strove to improve my pace, so that I might draw nearer to the impostor.

It was customary that Benedic’s open gates were guarded. It was
not
customary that the guards attended to their duties. The municipality had been a place of placid commerce and easy wealth for many years. Guards watched the gates only to inform strangers that they must pay their courtesies to the Thal, both in respect and in coin. When I had ridden outward, I had seen no sign that anyone marked my passing. Indeed, I had assumed that both pikemen slept in the gatehouse.