The Monster War: A Tale of the Kings' Blades (12 page)

T
HE WAGON BROKE ITS REAR AXLE ON A ROCK and tipped. The barrels slid, broke open the tail-gate, and fell out, one after the other, exploding in a fog of powdered garlic. Fortunately Stalwart was on the uphill side, or he would certainly have been flattened. As he began to move, he expected the noose around his neck to choke him, but the rope had been tied around one of the barrels, so it went with him. Trussed so he could do nothing to save himself, he slid within a torrent of bags and clothes and one archlute to land in the heap of staves and garlic.

“Now you’ve done it!” Murther screamed. “Thrusk’ll have the skin off your back for this. And look at the poor boy! Dead he is!” She came closer, fussing and coughing.

Stalwart was coughing also, and his eyes were full of burning garlic.

“You come here and help, Cordwainer, right now!” she yelled.

The man’s voice, farther away, bellowed that he was busy with the horse. Saxon agreed loudly. The woman, to her credit, waded into the debris and dragged Stalwart out. He lay on his side, which was a wonderful experience after so long facedown, and he coughed around the gag. At least his torment in the wagon was over. Almost anything would be better than that. But oh, his eyes!

“Poor boy!” she muttered. She struggled, trying to unfasten the gag, having trouble with Thrusk’s knots. “Not our fault. Have to do what we’re told, see. ‘Don’t stop,’ he said. ‘Take him all the way to the landing if you can.’ Well, that’s Thrusk for you—mean as they come.”

The wagon creaked and settled as Saxon was freed from the shafts.

“Never said we could untie him,” the man growled, coming to see.

“Well, and how are we to get him to the landing if we don’t? You going to carry him, Cord-wainer?”

“Could put him over the horse.”

“I’ll ride the horse, thank you. Don’t you just stand there like a dumb mule. Bring the canteen, if there’s anything left in it. Look at his face! And then cut his hands free so—
Look
at his hands, won’t you! And his feet’ll be no better, I’m sure. Oh, his poor face!”

The woman, querulous sourpuss though she was, treated Stalwart with consideration, wiping his tongue and cracked lips with a wet rag. Had she just put the bottle to his mouth, he would probably have choked himself. He wanted her to wash out his eyes, but he couldn’t speak, so he waited.

“Thrusk never say we’re to cut him loose, Murther.” The man continued his growl, but he was sawing at Stalwart’s bonds as he did so.

Stalwart managed a swallow. He must be alive. No one dead could hurt so much.

His troubles were far from over. When his mouth had been cared for and he had drunk his fill, when his eyes had been washed out and he could see again—although still not very well—then it was time for the blood to start returning to his hands and feet. His fingers looked like pig guts, except they were blue. Hurt? His jaw hurt, but the pain of the blood returning to his hands was going to be worse than that. Murther and Cordwainer fretted and muttered and wanted to continue their journey.

“Any more water?” he croaked. The woman handed him the canteen and he emptied it. “Is my lute all right?” What good was a lute to him with his hands like this?

“Looks fine,” the man said. He twanged the strings. “That’s a wondrous strange-looking lute.” Then he stiffened and looked around.

Hooves! Horsemen were coming from the west, from the way the wagon had come—could it be
Snake
? Stalwart struggled upright and managed to stand up with some help from Murther. No, it was not rescue coming. It was Thrusk and his band, who had stayed behind to look out for pursuit. How they must have laughed if they had watched Snake and the Old Blades galloping past along the highway, chasing nothing! Stalwart squared his shoulders and tried to look more defiant than he felt. Should be easy—a dead jellyfish would look more defiant than he felt. His hands were useless balls of sheer agony and his feet not much better. He still wore a rope around his neck, which did not help his dignity much.

Thrusk reined in, enormous on horseback, a mountain against the sky. “Have a nice nap, did you?” he inquired.

“You are a bucket of dog vomit and your mother ate rats.”

The big man studied him for a moment and then smiled. He swung a leg over and slid down from his horse. He walked closer, very close. Even on level ground he could fill the sky.

“What did you say, runt?”

“You are a stinking barrel of dog vomit and your mother ate rats raw.”

Someone sniggered. Thrusk looked around quickly and the laughter stopped at once.

He turned back to Stalwart. “I’m not allowed to pull that rope over a branch, which is what I’d like to do, slipgibbet. But I got no orders not to teach you manners.”

“You couldn’t teach manners to a pig.”

“That’s quite a lute you got this time. Who’d you steal that one from?”

“It belongs to a friend of mine and you keep your paws off it, you oversized latrine worm!”

The men-at-arms sitting around on their horses were watching to see if their leader would control his temper or hit a man half his size. Stalwart was too mad to care which happened. But he jumped when Thrusk’s huge hands grabbed at his neck and in one swift motion ripped his shirt and doublet open to the waist.

“What’s that for?”

The giant shrugged. “Just a precaution.” He had guessed about Ironhall. Thanks to Snake’s cleverness, he had found the only Blade who did not have a binding scar over his heart, but he was still suspicious. “I could flog you, for starters.”

“Sure you could, but the reckoning is coming and it’s a lot closer than you think. You’re in over your head, animal.”

Thrusk guffawed and appealed to his audience. “Listen to who’s calling me an animal!” Some of them laughed, too, although the humor escaped Stalwart. “Well, you won’t be around to sing any songs about it, sonny. The good Doctor has a very special treat in store for you.” Chuckling, Thrusk took the rope and walked back to his horse. Stalwart had no choice but to stagger along behind him on feet that felt like two red-hot bricks.

“Because,” Thrusk said as he tied the other end to his saddle, “in future you are going to help guard our little nest for us. You’ll be one of our watchdogs. Right now I’m going to take the dog for a run.”

S
ISTER CLOUD HAD BEEN EMERALD’S FIRST GUIDE in Oakendown. She was caring and affectionate and did not have a mean bone in her body—and not many other bones either. She was exactly what one would expect an air-love person to be, but she was also exactly what Emerald needed under the present circumstances. She provided sympathy, wash water, fresh clothes, and even her own spare pair of shoes, which were a better fit than those Emerald had been enduring for days. After that she busied herself preparing a meal; she answered questions.

She had been the first Sister kidnapped, back in the spring. Two others taken after her had tried to escape and been eaten by the chimeras. Swan and her daughter had arrived only a few weeks ago. Emerald told them of her own experiences without mentioning Snake’s conspiracy.

Cloud, in turn, told her all about Quagmarsh. There were a dozen sorcerers living there. The Doctor was their leader, or possibly his wife was, because it was her fire element that drove their partnership. He was a water-time person, infinitely patient. The rest of the inhabitants, men and women both, were bespelled to complete obedience.

Emerald asked about chimeras.

“Abominations! Monsters! He makes them by blending people and animals. Wants to mix human intelligence with animal speed and toughness; thinks he can produce an army of unbeatable warriors and send it to conquer Baelmark and win the war.”

“What sort of animals?”

“Anything. He keeps experimenting—rats, dogs, birds. Even cattle and pigs.”

“So some of them are big?” Emerald, asked, thinking of the seal.

Cloud rolled her eyes. “They’re all big and keep getting bigger! They roam the fens, eating everything they can get their claws on. And we’re reduced to eating gruel,” she added, handing Emerald a bowl. “All we got. Used to get nice fish.”

The shadows were growing long, but the bugs were not as bad as before, for the sailors’ wind had risen—the breeze sent by the sea at evening to hasten the boats home. It was taken for granted that Emerald would move in with her fellow hostages, although she had the option of cleaning out one of the empty hovels for herself. The hut would suffice for all of them at a pinch, and company was comfort.

As the three women and one child sat around on the floor eating their meager supper, Swan began to join in the talk and show a little vivacity, recovering from the agony of being separated from Belle. She might be a very charming woman in normal times, but her disposition was water-love, which was about the worst possible combination to withstand such an ordeal. Her daughter was unwilling even to look at Emerald or sit anywhere but on her mother’s lap. Whatever abuse had provoked their terrors could not be discussed while the child was present.

Obviously neither Cloud nor Swan would offer much resistance to the traitors’ demands. Emerald vowed that she, as an earth type, would be made of sterner stuff. She did not think this den of horrors could remain secret very much longer. If Sir Snake and his Old Blades did not find it by themselves, the starving chimeras would lead them to it, preying farther and farther afield until they began eating farmers’ livestock. All she had to do was endure until rescue arrived.

“What exactly will I be required to do?” she demanded.

Swan’s arms closed protectively around Belle.

Cloud sighed. “Two or three times a day you get called up to what they call the hall—it’s just a big hut, really. They will have four or five sacks laid out. Without opening them, you have to say which contain something bespelled and which don’t. That’s all.”

“But you mustn’t lie!” Swan cried. “Carmine will ask you if you have lied, and Cloud and I will be given the same test. You can’t cheat them.”

“Sometimes they give you the same ones again,” Cloud agreed. “There’s no way to cheat. They get brutal if they think you’re trying to deceive them or if you refuse to cooperate.” She glanced at Belle, who was sucking a finger. “And you may not be the one they make suffer.”

Emerald pointed in horror at the child, and Cloud nodded.
Fair skin that scars easily
, Skuldigger had said.

“I have never heard anything so despicable,” Emerald said. “But I have never witnessed a public execution either. I do hope I can start soon.”

“Not just watch,” Swan snarled. “I’d like to
do
it.”

“Slowly,” said Cloud, and that was the first time Emerald had ever heard her utter a harsh word against anyone.

E
MERALD WAS SUMMONED JUST AFTER SUNSET. The messenger was a vacant-faced youth who bore the discordant whistle of the obedience spell. He seemed little better than half-witted, but when they reached their destination he pointed it out to her and ran off into the twilight. Perhaps he was not as stupid as he seemed.

“Hall” was an absurd name for what was merely a large shed. It had no door on its hinges or shutters on its windows; its floor was packed dirt, and birds nested in the rafters of a badly sagging roof. There was no furniture, nowhere to sit. It did boast a stone chimney with a fire crackling on the hearth—ominously, on this still-warm summer night. The long metal rod that lay with one end in the coals looked suspiciously like a branding iron. Emerald stopped just inside the door and surveyed the people standing there.

To her left were Doctor Skuldigger, his over-dressed wife, and two elderly men she did not know. Since they bore no enthrallment spell, she assumed they were sorcerers. Opposite stood Marshal Thrusk and a man-at-arms she recognized from the morning. Between them was Wart, looking much the worse for wear. His eyes were scarlet and swollen, his jaw was puffed out and already turning purple, and his doublet and shirt hung in rags, tattered and grass-stained as if he had been dragged. In an insanity of insanities, he was still clutching his precious archlute, hugging it to him with both arms, not using his hands. But he was still alive, which was a relief; and he smiled lopsidedly at her. She tried to return the smile, being reminded that her face, also, had been bruised by Thrusk’s fist, although not nearly so badly as his.

She knew why the conspirators wanted her. She was horribly afraid she also knew why they wanted Wart, because the cage with the otter stood just outside the door. She braced herself for whatever was coming, wishing her lower lip did not keep trying to tremble.

“Aw?” sighed the Doctor. “Here she is. Emerald, I must ask you some questions. Mistress Skuldigger will know if you try to lie to us, and in that case I shall have no choice but to order Marshal Thrusk and man-at-arms Foster to punish you severely. I hope you understand that it is kinder to settle the matter once and for all, and teach you obedience right at the beginning. Now, why were you expelled from Oakendown?”

She told the truth as she knew it—if she had been the victim of a plot, it had not been knowingly.

“What do you know of Sir Snake?”

“That he is very stupid and incompetent.”

“Ah, that is a lie!” Carmine said.

“Your husband told me so himself.”

The only person who found that exchange funny was Wart, who laughed. “Don’t believe that one if he tells you day follows—”

Thrusk hit him. It was not a killer blow, just a backhand slap across the mouth, but it must have hurt like fury on top of the existing bruise. Wart staggered and almost dropped his archlute. When he straightened, he was blinking away tears of pain; blood trickled from his torn lips.

“Can’t you control that animal, Doctor?” Emerald shouted.

Thrusk laughed. “I’m not as much animal as he’s going to be very shortly.”

Skuldigger ignored him. “Aw? What do you know about Snake that I did not tell you?”

“Nothing but hearsay,” Emerald said. “I never met him.”

And so on. For a long time she managed to answer without lying. But finally Skuldigger brought her to a fence she could not jump. “Do you think the boy knew that you were bait?”

“What value have my guesses to you?”

“Aw? You are evading the question. Marshal, you may start using the iron now.”

“Yes, sir,” The big man stalked over to the hearth. He showed no signs of reluctance or distaste at what he was about to do. “Hold her, Foster.”

Before Emerald could turn on her heel and run, the man-at-arms stepped between her and the door, although he did not lay hands on her—not yet. There was nowhere to run to, anyway. She would soon be caught and dragged back, and then either she would be made to suffer more or—much worse!—little Belle would.

“Of course I knew,” Wart said hoarsely. “I helped Snake plan it all.”

All eyes went to him. He seemed astonishingly unworried by his peril, brave beyond his years, even if he was as old as he claimed. Again Emerald sensed that odd disturbing something about him that had bothered her before, only this time stronger than ever. There was death in it, and a trace of love, time…it reminded her of some sorcery she had met somewhere recently.

“Do tell us,” Skuldigger moaned, “everything.”

Wart shrugged. “What is there to tell? The original idea was Snake’s. The King approved it. Sir Chefney did most of the organizing. I added a couple of details.” He showed no signs of lying, but he was certainly bragging. How could he be so bold? Did he have no idea what the otter was for? “We arranged for Emerald to be expelled from the school with no money and no way out except whatever the Sisters offered. Meanwhile, the Sisters were noting who in Tyton was wearing magic, and Mistress Murther’s was a very unusual magic. So Emerald was put in her path. Bedroom, I mean. When nothing significant happened, I came forward with the wagon and we trailed the bait…. Sorry, Emerald. But it’s true, isn’t it? We trailed the bait until you swallowed it, Skuldigger. Snake and his men made no effort to stop you, of course, because they wanted you to lead them to your lair—which you did. Thank you. They’ll be here shortly.” He stopped, grinning as well as his bruise would let him.

He was
not
lying! And now Emerald remembered where she had met that sorcery—on the two Blades she had seen so briefly in the gate-house. Not that Wart was bound as they had been, but whatever she was detecting on him was strangely similar.

“Mostly true,” Sister Carmine said uncertainly. “That last…he’s not sure…but he’s not really lying….”

“Explain,” wailed the Doctor. “Marshal Thrusk and his men waited behind to see if anyone followed the wagon when it left the main road. No one did. There was no magic on it or on you. If you are not lying to us, then Snake lied to you. You were misled!”

“Well, if you won’t believe me,” Wart said haughtily, “then I won’t play your silly games. So there!”

“Aw? You force us to use force. The iron, Marshal—on the girl.”

Thrusk chuckled and bent to test the cool end of the iron with a cautious finger, preparatory to picking it up. Wart turned his archlute so the soundbox was on top. Gripping it by its neck, he raised it like a giant club.

Foster cried out a warning. Thrusk straightened and spun around. They both reached for their swords as Wart swung the long instrument in a great arc overhead. The soundbox crashed into a rafter, exploding in a shower of splinters and inlay—mingled with a deluge of dust and bird droppings. The strings twanged a sonorous dying dirge.

Thrusk guffawed and let go his hilt. “Didn’t judge that too well, did you, shrimp?”

Wart reached into the remains of the lute and pulled out a sword. “In the King’s name,” he shouted—voice quavering with excitement—“I, Stalwart, companion in the Loyal and Ancient Order of the King’s Blades, by virtue of the authority vested in me as a commissioner of His Majesty’s Court of Conjury, command that all present do now lay down arms and submit to the Royal Justice.”

Thrusk drew.

“Kill him!” one of the older men shouted.

Wart said, “If you insist,” and bounded across the room.