The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) (10 page)

Yazid smiled. “I’ll
try to stay alive, then.”

They kept their hands on their
weapons as he approached, but they did not draw them, which was a
good sign. Their faces looked familiar, confused like Ahmed’s
when he first met barbarians. Yazid was even more glad of his
decision to leave the boy behind. He was still too xenophobic. Best
to have him acclimate to paler faces more before allowing him into
tricky situations where he could cause overmuch trouble. One side
with such feelings was quite enough.

One question remained. Would
they understand him? He lowered his hand and bowed. “Greetings.
I am Yazid Valerian. We come in peace, if you are peaceful.”

One, apparently the leader,
stepped toward Yazid. He stood for a moment, icy, almond-shaped blue
eyes staring from a parchment white, hairless face, suspicious,
nervous. “Piss, ah?”

Yazid chuckled. “Close
enough.”

Brutus ground his teeth as he
waited. They were too far away to hear, which left Brutus on high
alert, with no way to know if he could relax. He cursed Yazid a
thousand times in silence, urging him to hurry, to remember his
companions.

Eons passed. Trees sprung from
the ground, rose, thickened, crumbled, and died. Brutus felt
senility creeping upon him as the years marched on, but he continued
to stand in stoic silence at parade rest, carefully avoiding locking
his knees so that he would not pass out.

At last, when enough time had
passed for the old universe to die and a new one be reborn, over and
over again, until one sprang into existence in which Yazid and
Brutus both existed once again and were doing the same thing, Yazid
broke from the strangers and returned. One of their number left
their party and went off toward the city, which Brutus found quite
alarming. He could barely contain his frustration. “Well?”

“They speak Priman. The
accent is hard to understand, but your ear picks it up soon enough.
It’s amusing, actually. They use many archaisms. They sound
like the writing in old books.”

Brutus ground his teeth.
“You
waste my time and try my patience, prelate. Are we at war or not?”

“Nay. It seems we are
well. They call this land Nillos, by the way. They’ve sent to
the city for orders on how to handle the situation.”

“So they say.
I
say
they’ve sent for reinforcements, old man. We
need to retreat to a defensible location
now
.”

Yazid scratched at his chin,
considering, and after a moment, he nodded. “Likely. I suspect
they are quite intimidated by our numbers and bearing. It is what I
would do.”

“Then we return to the
cave.”

Yazid shook his head. “It
will seem hostile.”

“What of it? Lie. They
did. Tell them we’re all going to take our afternoon nap. If
they don’t come back in force, than that’s just what
we’ll do, eh? And if they do….”

Yazid laughed out loud. “A
nap! I think I’ll find something better than that.”

“Not that it matters.
It’s not as if they can stop us.”

“Aye. I’ll think of
something sensible to say.”

Brutus kept his back against
the cold, moss covered surface of the cave wall as he moved toward
the entrance. Slowly, carefully, he eased his head from behind the
stone to catch a glimpse of the strangers. He guessed there were a
hundred, from the quick glance he was allowed. One shouted something
and waved a sword. Brutus heard the hum of an arrow whizzing through
the air and ducked back behind the protective stone just in time.
The arrow hit the cave wall and shattered.

Brutus called over his shoulder
to Yazid, “I thought you said they spoke Priman.”

“They
do
.
How can you not understand it, oaf?” Yazid chuckled. “He
said come out of the cave or die.”

Brutus shook his head in
amusement. “Will he understand me?”

“Probably not. Can I not
talk you out of this?”

“Will you surrender,
Prelate? These fools cannot defeat us. Would Ilaweh approve of such
cowardice?”

Yazid scowled. “No. He
would not. But it may cost us dearly.”

“Then we will make sure
it costs our enemies even more.” He leaned out of the cave,
shield raised against more arrows, and shouted, “We choose
death, dog! Let us see if you can deliver on that promise!”

It was quite a lovely dream in
which Caelwen Luvox found himself, one with no duties, only the
company of a soft-spoken, beautiful young lady, and so he was not at
all in a mood to be awakened. Had it been a woman’s voice, it
would have at least cushioned the blow, but it was Kelthas, his
second in command.

“Commander, you must
wake! There is terrible trouble!” Kelthas’s voice was as
young as his unshaven, boyish face, nervous and high pitched with
concern.

Caelwen was the sort of man who
came immediately, fully awake, and wasted no time yawning and
stretching, or regretting lost dreams. He rose and walked naked to
fetch his pants. “I’m listening.”

His quarters were small and
spare, though he was entitled by station to much better. It seemed
silly and grasping to demand the best of the guard quarters when his
own personal chambers were just across the yard of House Luvox. He
had plenty of space there, whereas many of his men had only the
rooms in the barracks. Even Kelthas, who was a lesser member of
House Noril, had no property of his own. The Guard was home to him.
Caelwen was happy to allow Kelthas the Captain’s quarters, and
serve his own duty in humbler accommodations.

As Caelwen finished dressing,
Kelthas explained how a patrol had encountered a group of foreigners
and had sent word for further instructions. “I sent Lorinal,
and he’s botched it badly.”

Caelwen shook his head and
cursed under his breath. It was indeed bad. Lorinal was as wrong a
man for this job as could be found. “What is the current
situation?”

“Lorinal took a hundred
men with him and apparently played things wrongly. The foreigners
are entrenched in a cave, and they can’t get them out.”
Kelthas clutched nervously at his sword hilt, his jaw clenching and
relaxing several times as he searched for words. “Right now
they’re just holding position and keeping them pinned in, but
they had several goes at them before giving up. We’ve got at
least thirty down, don’t know how many are dead or wounded.”

Caelwen clenched his fists in
frustration. “Mei!” He considered punching a wall, but
thought the better of it. He had done that far too many times in the
past. “You’ve screwed this up badly, Kelthas. Lorinal is
a skull cracker, not a negotiator!”

Kelthas nodded and stared at
the floor, blinking against tears, his face red with shame. “I
know that now, sir.”

Caelwen gave Kelthas five full
seconds of glaring, to let the point sink in, then softened.
Time
to train some leadership.
“So now you’ve the blood
of some of your men on your hands. It happens to us all at some
point. Learn from it and give what meaning you can to their deaths.”

Kelthas ground his teeth and
blinked vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

“Meanwhile, let’s
sort this one out. You say foreigners? From where? Barbarians from
Reese?”

“No, sir. I haven’t
seen them, but the patrol described them as thick, dark skinned men.
I specifically asked if he meant Reesians, and he was very clear
that they were not. Many of these men were darker, some almost
black, and fearsome looking in their arms and demeanor, though they
claimed to come in peace.”

Caelwen shrugged into his mail
and pulled it down at his waist, then reached for his sword belt. “I
have heard of no one like this. Except…” There
was
something familiar about this.
Southlanders!
It came to him
suddenly, and his blood ran cold.

“What is it, sir?”

Caelwen kicked himself mentally
for not controlling his reaction better.
We will not speak the
name until I know for certain.
“Just a hunch. History.
Book of Amrath, that sort of
thing.”

“I don’t
understand, sir.”

Caelwen fastened his sword
belt, then squeezed Kelthas’s shoulder and fixed him with a
sharp look. “You don’t need to. Just show me where they
are so I can defuse this. It could be
much
worse than you imagine.”

Caelwen peered through his
spyglass and considered the situation. It was as Kelthas had said: a
standoff at a cave at the foot of a small hill, thirty bodies or
thereabouts lying in the grass. At best guess, he had fifteen men
who were wounded but still alive. He’d also guess that number
would drop to seven in short order if he didn’t get them
medical attention.

Caelwen lowered his glass and
glared halfheartedly at the grizzled fighter who stood at his right.
“Lorinal, you are an idiot,” he sighed, unable to muster
any real anger at him for this situation. Lorinal was a fine
fighter, fiercely loyal, but common born and pig ignorant of
delicate situations. His solution to everything was to hit someone
in the head very hard until things changed. He excelled handling
thugs, thieves, and drunks, and that was all Nihlos had in the way
of violent threats.
Well, except for Meites, but they’ve
been quiet for years.

Lorinal’s arms were
folded across his chest in defiance. “It was entirely their
fault, sir! They refused to come peacefully!”

“These are not common
thugs who respond well to having their heads cracked, as you’ve
no doubt learned.” Caelwen shook his head in annoyance. “Why
aren’t
you
lying up there bleeding or dead? As I recall, you’re usually
at the front of the line when there’s pain to be inflicted.
You’re an idiot, there is no denying that, but I’ve
never thought you a coward.”

“Guess I’m getting
old, sir. I just ain’t as fast as I used to be. I got stuck in
just in time to call a retreat.” Lorinal cast a sour look
toward the cave. “Them blackies is plenty tough.”

“Pity. If you’d
gotten yourself killed, it would save me the trouble of having you
flogged for this mess.”

“Aye, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I should have you flog
your damned self.”

Lorinal nodded his agreement.
“Aye, sir.”

Caelwen shook his head in
bemused wonder.“You would, wouldn’t you? And not hold
back, I think.”

“Orders is orders. Sir.”

“Aye, ‘orders is
orders’. Give me your talker, Lorinal, and get out of my sight
for a while. I’ve better things to do with my whips than wear
them out on your scabrous hide.”

Caelwen lifted the talker to
his lips and pointed it toward the barbarians. “Hostiles, we
would like to parley!” he shouted. “Signify you
understand by waving.” He raised his glass again, and saw a
dark, almost black hand reach from the cave mouth and wave. They
understood. He raised the talker again and shouted, “Come
alone, and I will do likewise.” Again, the hand waved.

Caelwen turned to Kelthas.
“Listen to me. If I am killed, you must contain these men at
all costs, and take the matter directly to the Empress. Tell her
they are
Southlanders
. Do you understand?”

“Aye, sir.”

Caelwen put a hand on Kelthas’s
shoulder and gripped it to impress the point. “These men are
no Reesian barbarians. This could start a war that could destroy
Nihlos if it gets out of hand.
At all costs
.
Do you understand?
”

Kelthas nodded, a look of grim
determination on his face. “Aye, sir.”

Caelwen pulled his helmet on as
an added precaution, and set off alone toward the cave entrance.
Shortly afterward, a dark skinned man stepped from the cave and did
likewise. Caelwen noted his opponent was indeed armed, but his
weapon was sheathed. So far, so good. They strode toward one another
with purpose. When they met, the dark man extended a calloused hand,
and Caelwen returned the gesture. He was somewhat surprised to see
that these men apparently chose to grasp at the forearm rather then
at the hand, but it was easy enough to adapt.

“You understand me when I
speak?” Caelwen asked.

“I do. It is difficult,
but yes.” The voice was shockingly deep and guttural, the
accent brutal in and of itself, and yet, it seemed almost natural to
Caelwen. It fit this man.

“I am Caelwen, Commander
of Guards and Chief of Police of Nihlos. Identify yourself to me,
please.”

“Ah, someone of
authority,” the man said, nodding his appreciation. “It
is good. I am Brutus Samir, Tribune of Prince Philip of Xanthia. We
come in peace, Caelwen of Nillos. Why do you attack us?”

Caelwen considered his opponent
carefully. His limbs seemed thick as trees, the chest beneath his
tunic unnaturally swollen.
How in Mei’s name can he even
stand up?
He was armored in odd
style, with a horsehair helm that covered his cheeks and nose, mail
and lobstered plate at his chest, and some sort of armored skirt
about his hips. Below the waist, he wore more mail, with high steel
boots that came to his knees. All of it was
covered with
blood.
My men’s blood.
This was a hard man, then, no
one to trifle with. He would appreciate candor. “A foolish
member of my staff made a mistake. He will be punished. But it has
created a situation.”

Brutus nodded. “Easily
corrected by your men withdrawing.”

Caelwen shrugged. “There
is the difficulty, eh? I cannot simply make it disappear that twenty
or thirty city guards are dead. There will be an inquiry. I am sure
it can all be sorted out, but I cannot simply let you walk away.”

Brutus nodded. “I
understand. Now understand me. We are prepared to fight to the
death.”

This is a matter of pride,
then.
Caelwen waved the notion aside as if it were an annoying
fly. “I doubt that will happen. Time is on my side.” He
made a show of examining his opponent. “You do indeed appear
to be mighty warriors, but you must sleep some time. I can bring
more and more fresh men.”

“We’ll fight in
shifts,” Brutus answered with a broad grin. “We need
only a few to hold the mouth.” He nodded toward the fallen men
behind him. “We’ll die of boredom, I think, before we
fall to your swords.”

“Or dehydration.”

“The cave goes deep into
the ground. There is an underground river, with mosses, fish, bugs.
We can hold out indefinitely.”

Caelwen could not suppress a
wry smile at this. “A bold lie well told, but a lie
nonetheless.”

Brutus shrugged and smiled
back, offering nothing but an enigma.

Caelwen pressed on. “We
will build fires near the opening. Either you break your lines, or
you pass out from the smoke. We’ll get you eventually, and
alive, for the most part.”

Caelwen felt victory within his
grasp, only to have it torn from him by Brutus’s next words.
“Then we will fall upon our own swords.”

Caelwen’s eyes grew wide
despite his best effort to suppress his shock. He hadn’t seen
that one coming. “You would choose death over a simple
inquiry? It would be over and done with in a day or so, and you no
worse for wear.”

“We would choose death
over being arrested and humiliated, yes.”

That is truth, not bravado
.
Caelwen
considered Brutus long and hard, trying to decide on
his next thrust. At last, he said, “Here are my terms. We will
not call it ‘surrender’. We will call it ‘cooperation’.
Come peacefully and cooperate with my investigation, by your own
will. We will escort your men into the city without shame, under
cover of darkness so no one even knows. I will explain to my
superior. You will retain your arms, and be treated well, though you
will not be allowed to leave until the matter is concluded.”

It was Brutus’s turn to
think hard. His eyes narrowed as he considered the offer. “And
this superior, he will listen to what you have to say?”

Caelwen chuckled. “He is
my father. He will listen.”

“And if we refuse?”

Caelwen’s clenched his
jaw.
He will push to the end? Then so will I.
“I have
men dying out there. The only reason I am offering you terms is that
I need this to end quickly. If you leave my men to suffer before
they die, I will name you barbarians and treat you as such. I’ll
drag you naked through the streets, and I’ll personally hang
every one of you.”

Brutus raised an eyebrow at
this and snorted in amusement. “You are a hard man, Caelwen of
Nillos. I like that. I will confer with my men. You will have your
answer shortly.”

Caelwen nodded. “I will
wait.”

Brutus turned to leave, then
paused and called back, “Recover your fallen. Whatever our
answer, we will not deny you that.”

Caelwen watched him walk back
to the cave and heaved a great sigh.
This might just end well
after all.

Sandilianus shook his head and
shrugged, his weathered face taut with displeasure. “Call it
what you will, it seems surrender to me.”

Brutus grimaced, nodding. “Aye,
to me as well. And yet, if we keep our weapons, how can we be
surrendered?” He spat on the cave floor. “That is what I
think of diplomacy, but this Caelwen is no diplomat. His men may be
soft, but he is a warrior, there is no doubt. He has the bearing.”

“Does he lie?”

“No, I think he speaks
honestly, but it is his father who makes the final decision. I do
not like it.” Brutus turned to Yazid and raised an eyebrow.
“What say you, prelate?”

Yazid laid a hand on Brutus’s
shoulder and squeezed. “We will have many chances to die well,
if that is our fate. We have our mission to consider. Philip was
very clear. We are all of us expendable, save the one man who brings
him back information. I think he would have us sacrifice our pride
as well, if need be.”

“So surrender is the only
way we can complete our mission?” Sandilianus mused. “How
bizarre.”

Brutus shook his head in
disbelief. “So it would seem.”

Yazid slapped his hands on his
knees and rose to his feet. “Then we are resolved.”

Brutus nodded. “As you
said, it is exploration, the most dangerous of missions. It would be
easy to fight. It will take true bravery to place ourselves at their
mercy.” He thumped a fist against his chest in a perfunctory
salute and turned to leave. “I will give him our answer.”