The Hero of Varay (22 page)

Joy finished dressing long before I got my leather tunic laced up. Then I went to check on my companions. They were up—dressed, ready to go, already armed and armored. Lesh would have seen to it that they were wakened in plenty of time.

My armor and weapons were in the great hall waiting. Timon had packed my chaps and helmet, knowing that I wouldn’t be wearing them. The helmet is another heavy bit of metal that I avoid as long as possible. I dug out my lucky Cubs cap to wear instead.

We ate. All of the people who lived in the castle were there for the meal, even though it wasn’t quite dawn yet. They knew something about what we were off to do, and sharing the farewell meal with us was one way of showing their support. We ate fast, not worrying about digestive problems, then finished getting ready to leave … so we could fit in another breakfast at Castle Basil.

“I’m having a bad case of
déjà vu,”
Joy said while Lesh and Timon helped me finish dressing. “This is like that scene in
Cat Ballou
where they’re all helping Lee Marvin get dressed for the big showdown.”

I wished that she hadn’t said that. I have enough trouble keeping from feeling ridiculous when I’m all fitted out ready for a rumble, and I remembered the scene she was talking about all too clearly.

We got my chain mail on. It didn’t hang quite as low as the tunic. Then my weapons: two elf swords over my shoulders, dagger at my waist on one side, quiver on the other. I would carry my compound bow until we got to the horses. I had a pistol and a box of cartridges packed, but that was just old habit, since I didn’t expect to use the gun.

“You look like something out of a comic strip,” Joy said when I was ready to go. She didn’t quite manage to swallow her laugh. She had been holding it back for ten or fifteen minutes by then.

“Prince Valiant?” I suggested with an exaggerated grin.

“No, Hägar the Horrible.” This time, Joy didn’t even try to hold back the laugh. “You didn’t even shave.”

“I probably won’t until we get back.” Joy and I just looked at each other for a moment. “We’re going to be late for breakfast,” I said finally, mostly to break the tableau.

“We just …” Joy started and then she just shook her head.

We had quite a load of gear to take through to Basil. Joy held the passage open while Lesh, Harkane, Timon, and I shifted everything through with the help of a couple of our other people. Baron Kardeen had people waiting on the other side to carry everything to the great hall and then out to our horses.

When we made our entrance into the great hall, the room fell silent and people turned to stare—even the servants who were starting to haul in the breakfast victuals. I always got some stares—the Varayans all saw me as a big shot, the local equivalent of a rock star, I guess—and Joy is always worth a stare. I didn’t let it bother me most of the time, but Joy wasn’t used to that kind of intense attention.

“It always makes me think that my fly is open,” I whispered, and she relaxed a little.

“Maybe it is,” she whispered back.

“No, I already checked.” We both laughed and went on in to eat.

The head table was more crowded than usual that morning. Parthet, Aaron, and Mother were there. Even Kardeen came out to eat with us, and that was unusual.

Joy kept staring at Aaron, but so did I, and nearly everyone else. He may have received more attention than I did. In two days, he had apparently aged ten years. He was as tall as me but not as heavy. His hair had grown considerably too, into a modest “natural.” His voice had deepened and he spoke more slowly, considering his words, but he still smiled a lot and didn’t seem bothered by his magic spurt of growth—though everyone else was concerned about it, including me. There couldn’t be any question of taking him home to his family now. They would never believe that Aaron was really Aaron.

And
eat
… Aaron packed away as much food as any two of the garrison soldiers, and
their
appetites were legendary.

Breakfast went on for two hours, a little longer than usual, and afterward I said private farewells to Kardeen, Parthet, and Mother, and asked each of them to keep an eye on Joy. I went upstairs to see the king. He was asleep, but he was breathing easily and there was more color in his face. Encouraging. When I went back to the great hall, I talked with Aaron for a few minutes, incredibly curious about how he was taking everything that had happened to him. I was still curious after our talk. It really didn’t seem to faze him in the least.

Then I went off alone with Joy while Lesh and the others finished loading our horses in the courtyard.

“I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you to be careful,” Joy said.

“I’ll be as careful as possible,” I said. We both knew how empty that promise might be.

“I’m too new a wife to be a widow.” And then she came into my arms and started crying.

We couldn’t share much of an embrace with all the metal I was wearing, but I kissed her eyes, tasting the salt of her tears. Then we kissed for real, but she was still crying.

“There’s more to me than you might think, Joy,” I said. “When you get a chance, ask Uncle Parthet to tell you about the magic that the Hero of Varay has. And remember how quickly I healed from that stabbing and the operation. It almost drove the doctor crazy.”

We held hands as we walked out to the courtyard. Quite a lot of the garrison and staff came out to watch us leave. Seven horses were ready, four to ride, three to carry our supplies … and the head of the dead elf. His birdcage was perched atop the packs on one of our packhorses, tied in place. The eyes turned to meet mine, and there was anger in his look.

“I will not forget this humiliation,” the elf said, and Joy screamed.

“What is that?” she demanded, clinging to me. Well, I
had
mentioned the elf to her, it had been impossible to avoid all talk of him, but seeing—and hearing—the reality was still a shock for her.

“That’s what’s left of the elf who stabbed me,” I said, leading Joy off to the side, out of sight of him.

“That head talked.”

“Parthet provided part of the magic. Apparently the elf improved it a little. He’s our guide, the only one who can make it possible for us to find the relics we’re looking for.”

“How can you trust him?”

“I can’t, but he has every reason to help us. He wants his head and body to go home to his father for a proper send-off, and the only way that can happen is if we succeed and get home safely. The rest of him is locked up in the castle, and if we don’t make it back, terrible things will happen to it—at least things that the elf considers terrible.”

Joy was shaking as if she had fever and chills. I guided her over to my mother, and Mother knew what was wrong. I kissed Joy, told her again that everything would be all right, and hurried to my horse—Electrum, son of Gold.

I had help mounting, and as soon as I was up, my companions mounted, also with help. We could have made it unassisted, but we were too loaded down with armor and breakfast to make it alone without looking terribly undignified. The others started walking their horses slowly toward the gate. The magic doorway to Castle Thyme was down in Basil Town. I turned Electrum around and walked him over to Mother and Joy.

“I will be back,” I said, projecting all the confidence I could muster. I
would
be back, at least once or twice—I hoped.

Then I turned my horse again and followed the others off to the main gate. The way was open, doors pulled back, portcullis raised, the short drawbridge to the top of the path down.

There was a commotion on the ramparts above the gate and in the gateway itself before we reached it. People were pointing down the side of Basil Rock.

“Someone’s coming, running hard,” one of the guards shouted. I caught up to my companions and reined in to wait. Lesh, Harkane, and Timon were each leading one of the pack animals. Lesh had the one that carried our elf’s head.

After a moment I rode out onto the drawbridge that crosses a small gap at the edge of the rock. On the top switchback below, a youngster was running hard up the lane. I looked on down to the town and saw a group of people, several of them pointing up. Whatever the runner was about, the townspeople knew.

I rode Electrum down to meet the runner. He couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen years old. He stopped when he saw me and fought to catch his breath.

“What’s wrong, lad?” I asked.

“You’re the Hero?” he gasped. I nodded. “It’s terrible, lord, terrible.” As his breathing settled down, his voice got stronger, his speech more coherent.

“It’s forest trolls, Lord. A mighty band of them. They attacked Nushur and put it to the torch.”

11
Precarra

I reached down and pulled the kid up behind me. Then I turned Electrum around on the narrow lane and trotted back up to the courtyard. I let the boy from Nushur down and listened while he told his story again, in more detail. The trolls had hit Nushur in the night, screaming and burning, but showing more organization than usual. A few survivors thought that they had seen a warrior directing the attack, someone so large that he had to be an elf.

When he finished, the boy came to me and clutched at my leg.

“You have to come, lord, or they’ll return and finish us for fair.”

“I’ll send a patrol,” Baron Kardeen said. “They can reach Nushur well before sunset.”

“We need the Hero of Varay,” the boy said, his voice getting shrill.

Kardeen looked to me.

“I guess we can ride that way,” I said. The boy’s fingernails were biting into my leg. “I’ll take a look and see what I can learn. Your patrol can follow up. We’ll ride southeast from Nushur. Shouldn’t add more than a day and a half to the journey.”

“Looking for another sword to strap to your puny back?” the talking head asked scornfully.

“Maybe for a more cooperative guide,” I told him. That ended
that
conversation.

“You stay here, boy. Ride out with the patrol that follows us.” I looked from him to Kardeen. The baron nodded.

“Wait five minutes and I’ll send a man with you,” Kardeen said. “He can ride back to meet the patrol if you follow after the trolls. Save a little time.”

“Fine.” I turned to the boy again. “You’d best go inside and get some food and rest while you can.”

“You’re going to Nushur?”

“I’m going,” I told him, and he finally let go of my leg.

It did take no more than five minutes for Kardeen to get the extra rider out, armed, armored, and mounted. I led the way to the gate again after another wave at Joy. She was still looking worried and scared, standing next to Mother. The story the boy from Nushur told couldn’t have helped Joy’s nerves. Most of the crowd followed us to the gate. A few people came out onto the drawbridge to watch as we rode down to the town of Basil and beyond. On the second switchback, I looked up and saw both Joy and Mother at the top of the path. From there, they would be able to see us until we crossed the Tarn River east of town and got to the first curve on the road to Nushur.

We took the path down the side of the rock slowly, spaced far enough apart that none of the horses would feel crowded and perhaps get skittish—five riders, eight horses, and one unencumbered head. The lane leading down from Basil Rock is steep enough to require caution at any time.

As we rode through town, people watched silently. Maybe they were impressed with how quickly their Hero could ride to the relief of Nushur. Or maybe most knew that something was already in the works.

It was a silent start to the ride. I didn’t feel much like talking, and none of my companions tried to start a conversation. We crossed the Tarn and the thin strip of farm fields that separates Basil from Precarra Forest east of town. It was a familiar road. I had covered the entire distance between Basil and Thyme three times when I first arrived in Varay, and I made it a point to ride to Nushur to visit the magistrate and the village’s inn two or three times a year, the way I tried to visit every population center. Nushur was one of the hardest places to reach, because the nearest magic doorway was in Basil. Few places were farther by road from a portal.

The morning was already warm, and I started to bake before we had traveled a mile. Once we got into the forest, things were a little better. There are no carefully maintained rights-of-way along the roads of Varay. Trees crowded the trail and big trees forced the dirt lane to detour. Early in a particularly hot and dry August, the creeks that the road crossed were all low, hardly wet enough to count. We rode at a moderate pace and let the horses take it easy, stopping occasionally to let them rest and drink. That’s the way any long ride starts. Riders and horses both need a chance to build up to the demands of the road. Push too hard at the start and you might not finish. In any event, you can count on the journey’s taking longer than it has to.

I had no special warning from the danger sense that is part of the stock in trade of the Hero of Varay. After three years and a couple of months, that sense seemed as normal as the routine five. It wasn’t perfect. It could be fooled just as the others can be. That meant that we kept our eyes open on the road and we would post sentries when we camped.

The ride to Nushur was uneventful. We had the road to ourselves but for a couple of farm wagons early in the ride. We stopped to rest the horses halfway to Nushur and took time to have a light meal ourselves. After that, we picked up the pace and reached Nushur with more than an hour of good daylight left.

Nushur was still smoldering, more than thirty-six hours after the attack. Two-thirds of the buildings had been burned to the ground. Once a fire starts in one of those cottages, there is no putting it out. But there was also nothing left of the magistrate’s manor or the pub but stone foundations and hearthstones. The survivors hid until they saw my pennant on Timon’s lance. Then they came out of the ruins slowly, alone or in small groups, to stand in the center of their village and wait for me to say something.