The Man In The Wind (8 page)

       “Besides,” Iris added, “how many people do you think want to stay in Volikar? I’m willing to bet most of the traffic is just passing through. I spent some time in the city, and…it’s a little like a ghost town.” Too late, she realized that it might not have been the best turn of phrase.

       As usual, Rai ignored it. “That’s because Volikar spends more time at war than at peace, and every time a new conflict arises, the draft goes out. Volkari soldiers die at such a rate that they have to keep enlisting more, just to sustain the military.”

       “Even with you?”

       He nodded. “Especially with me, at least in the beginning. Serberos used to make some effort to hide the fact that his army was adopting the dead casualties, because he knew that if it was reported to the Galactic Counsel, the rulebook would likely be brought down on his head. Then he got older and he stopped caring so much, as you know. But the other thing is, the ones I pick up don’t regenerate into healthy men. They’re not alive, just reanimated. At some point—generally sooner than later—the corpses have to be discarded out of uselessness. Cannon fodder will only get you so far.”

       The girl was moderately disturbed by the causal tone in which Rai discussed such grotesque subjects. But that macabre life was the only one he’d had for decades, so it wasn’t hard to cut him some slack. That, and she was actually intrigued by the details of his former occupation. “Have you ever brought someone completely back to life?”

       “I never needed to,” he answered.

       “But is it possible?” She was aware that perhaps she sounded a touch too eager, but she’d never been very good at tempering her curiosity, or her enthusiasm for knowledge of any kind. Rai gave her a sidelong glance.

       “It is, but that doesn’t give you license to go throwing yourself off a cliff or anything.”

       Iris screwed up her face. “I don’t think I’d even want to be resurrected. Are there side effects?”

       “I couldn’t tell you. I assume so. I doubt a body that’s died once is going to live as long the second time. Stopping puts a strain on the heart.”

       “Well, yeah.” She shivered. “It’s just really creepy to think about. I mean, sorry.”

       “No offense taken,” he said. Truth be told, he rather enjoyed her impulsive, impetuous inquiries. For so long, there had been no one. And now he was willing to accept the feeling of being intruded upon, because it meant that there was another presence. Besides, what did he really have to hide? Her comments made it apparent that news of him was widely spread whether he liked it or not. Across the worlds, everybody thought the worst of him. There was nowhere to go but up.

       His foot broke through an invisible wall of tightly packed snow, and he found himself sinking an extra inch or two into the ground. He cast a bemused look back at Iris, who grinned widely. “You found it!” she exclaimed.

       “It’s not cleared.” Rai gazed to the left. Ahead, a colossal boulder loomed out of the bosom of the snow, its dome capped by the product of the night before. “There’s your formation,” he told her helpfully.

       “You’re so good at this.”

       He rolled his eyes, but her cheery, patronizing tone made him smile in spite of himself. “Which way?”

       She pointed toward the rock. “It sort of winds around toward the base of the stone there, and then it’s a pretty straight shot to town. We should start to see mileage markers soon.” Sure enough, as they rounded the curve of the great rock’s flank, they came upon a small, arrow shaped sign that appeared to be perched on top of the snow. “There,” said Iris triumphantly. “All we have to do is follow those back to the main street and we’ll be all set.”

       “And you honestly think someone will pick us up?” Rai could not disguise his skepticism, even for her sake. He was fully conscious of how out of place he looked, a towering, severely underdressed figure.

       “They don’t know who you are, dear.” Iris made her voice as soothing as possible. “You see all kinds of weird shit up here in the frozen wastes. By vagabond standards, you’re practically old money.”

       He regarded her with a sense of muted wonder, marveling at the easy grace with which she was able to completely discount every malaise he could imagine. “You are the strangest person I have ever met.”

       “Rai, I don’t want to be mean,” she said, “but I think I’m one of the only people you’ve ever met.”

       “Aside from when I was a kid, yes.” He paused for a moment, scanning the surrounding flatlands to see if he could spot the next marker. He was not successful. Iris leaned over next to him, rubbing her legs, which were stiff from the cold.

       “This sucks,” she said sulkily. “I’m never doing my dad any favors in the North ever again.”

       “Do you want a lift?” Rai asked. “I can carry you.” He was not without sympathy; although he had grown extremely accustomed to a life largely without senses, his faint recollections of flesh and blood were enough for him to know that wading through thigh-high snow would not be a pleasant experience.

       “Wait, really?” Her face lit up.

       Obligingly, he knelt in front of her. “Come on. Don’t worry about the pack, it’ll be fine.” She stepped cautiously over his arms, looping hers around his shoulders. He stood up, gripping her calves gently. “Better?”

       “This is the tallest I will ever be.” She spoke with a subtext of reverence. “I feel like a knight.”

       “I’m not galloping,” he replied tersely. “Watch out for the signboards.”

       “Okay. I’ll let you know if you’re getting off track.” He resumed walking. They traveled like that for the next two miles. Without having to break ground or make sure he wasn’t accidentally abandoning her, Rai was able to navigate much more efficiently, and it wasn’t long before they picked up the marker trail.

       “Wow,” said Iris, genuinely impressed. “Maybe you should carry me everywhere.”

       “Only when there’s snow.”

       She rested her chin on his shoulder. “But you don’t get tired, so why not?”

       “If I carried you everywhere, your legs would wither, and then how would you steal things?”

       She shrugged her shoulders. “You could be my partner in crime.” He could sense her cheek through the thin fabric of his shirt, and every time she breathed, her chest pressed in against his back. “I kind of like having you around,” she was saying.

       “It’s only been three days. Four, at most.”

       “So? Traumatic experiences hasten the formation of deep interpersonal bonds.” The pedagogical tone of her voice dredged up distant memories of a schoolhouse in a place he could no longer name. She indicated another post, and he turned slightly in the direction it was pointing.

       “Was that traumatic for you?”

       The girl shifted position. “Listen, buddy. I had to pee in a bottle, alright?”

       “Point taken.”

       A sharp breeze kicked up, causing her to nestle her head down into the hollow of his shoulder. “Why is it so damn cold here?” she complained, to no one in particular. Then she said, “Sorry I’m whining. Nothing about this trip went as planned.” Her voice softened a little. “But I’m glad I found you.”

       “Because otherwise, you’d be struggling through the snowbanks with two hundred extra pounds of gold.” A dry smile had found its way onto Rai’s lips. He had always been possessed of a quick, caustic wit, and he appreciated the chances she gave him to exercise it.

       She made a fist and pounded his deltoid lightly. “I did not know a hermit like you would know so much about cracking wise. I’m trying to say something nice about you, idiot.”

       “Go ahead,” he said, still smiling. “I’m sorry.”

      Iris ejected a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “I’m glad I found you because I like you and you probably saved my life. There. That’s all I wanted to say.”

       Rai didn’t answer, but she felt him squeeze the back of her leg, where his hand was flush against her boot.

At the behest of Serberos, royal notices were put into production in every kingdom with which Volikar shared a border. Steward Tarnslen oversaw the process, making absolutely certain that every inhabited inch of the area would be covered. If the necromancer somehow managed to slip through their fingers at this late stage, chances were that they would never find him.

       Tarnslen was afraid the king might not survive news as bad as that.

      The notices were being printed in the afternoon of the third day since the break-in. By the morning of the fourth, distribution would begin. He had elected to utilize several squadrons of low-flying aircraft which would literally drop packets of the flyers over predetermined routes. It was, he thought, the fastest, most all-encompassing method. Within hours, the streets of Volikar would be coated with the information. And then, all they had to do was wait.

       There was no photographic evidence of the necromancer’s companion; this was their only setback. Though he had questioned everyone in the castle extensively, as ordered by Serberos himself, he had received no new intelligence. He hadn’t been expecting any. The climate on the night of the theft was abhorrent, which, he admitted, added to the daringness of the feat. No one could possibly have seen her, even if they were mad enough to be standing outside.

       Ever diligent, Tarnslen compensated for this deficiency by ensuring that a large portrait of the necromancer was displayed across the top half of the page. The boy was effectively ageless, a fact that currently worked enormously in their favor. He would not die of exposure, nor would he ever tire in his flight, but Tarnslen knew for certain that he was clad in little more than rags. Unless he and the woman made it out of the vicinity fairly quickly, he would not be in disguise. In fact, the tall, steely-eyed sorcerer would stand out like a sore thumb. 

       Tarnslen was pleased by the thought of recovering Serberos’ necromancer soon. Since the day he had discovered his prized treasure lost, the king’s health had seemed to be in a steady decline. The old man spent more and more time alone in his room. He didn’t eat. When he did rarely emerge, his face looked spent with age. Shadows lurked under and behind his eyes. Nothing touched him any longer. Among the soldiers, the bets—of which Steward Tarnslen strongly disapproved—were raging. But he, too, had to concede that the outlook on Serberos’ already waning life looked grim. The only thing to bolster him was the reinstitution of his precious sorcerer. This, Steward Tarnslen was determined to do.

       The telephone beside him gave a tinny ring. He picked it up, cradling it between chin and shoulder. “Yes.”

       On the other end, an indistinguishable voice issued words that seemed to satisfy the steward, whose stern face eased into something resembling a smile.

       “Excellent. Move out. We’ll have these fugitives found by sundown.” He hung up the phone, straightened his tie, and went to inform his master.

---

From a distance, Volikar’s most major thoroughfare looked like little more than a sled run. Great tracks were carved into the dirty snow, punctuated by a mess of hoofprints. “Isn’t it glamorous?” Iris asked, her voice a caricature of dreaminess. “Isn’t it everything you imagined?”

       “I’m putting you down,” said Rai. He noticed that her hands lingered on him for a second after her feet were safely on the ground. She came to stand at his side.

       “Okay,” she said. “Let’s hitch a ride.”

       Volikar’s reputation, or the reputation of its king, preceded it, and so it wasn’t exactly a popular destination for tourists. If people had to pass through the snow-ridden nation for any reason, it was usually qualified with a statement such as, “Oh, we’re not staying there.” Nonetheless, the fruits of King Serberos’ early conquests were many, and the resulting empire was sprawling enough that it was extremely difficult to avoid in any direction, which gave the roads a false veneer of business at any given time. Iris knew these things. Her whole plan was dependent on them.