The Sword & Sorcery Anthology (39 page)

Arrogant basic assumptions were drilled into the soldiers of
Shinsan. Remaining humble under stress might be difficult.

“I came from the east.”

“But the hill people.... They rob and kill everybody. Papa said.” He
edged closer, fascinated by Tain’s swords.

“Sometimes their luck isn’t good. Don’t you have a name?”

The boy relented reluctantly. “Steban Kleckla. Are those swords?
Real swords?”

“Longsword and shortsword. I used to be a soldier.” He winced. It
hurt to let go of his past.

“My Uncle Mikla has a sword. He was a soldier. He went all the
way to Hellin Daimiel. That was in the El Murid Wars. He was a
hero.”

“Really? I’ll have to meet your uncle.”

“Were you a hero when you were a soldier? Did you see any wars?”

“A few. They weren’t much fun, Steban.” How could he explain
to a boy from this remote land, when all his knowledge was second-
hand, through an uncle whose tales had grown with the years?

“But you get to go places and see things.”

“Places you don’t want to go, to see things you don’t want to see.”

The boy backed a step away. “I’m going to be a soldier,” he declared.
His lower lip protruded in a stubborn pout.

Wrong tack, Tain thought. Too intense. Too bitter. “Where’s your
dog? I thought shepherds always had dogs.”

“She died.”

“I see. I’m sorry. Can you tell me the name of the village? I don’t
know where I am.”

“Wtoctalisz.”

“Wtoctalisz.” Tain’s tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar sylla
bles. He grinned. Steban grinned back. He edged closer, eying Tain’s
swords.

“Can I see?”

“I’m sorry. No. It’s an oath. I can’t draw them unless I mean to
kill.” Would the boy understand if he tried to explain consecrated
blades?

“Oh.”

“Are there fish in the creek?”

“What? Sure. Trout.”

Tain rose. “Let’s see if we can catch lunch.”

Steban’s eyes grew larger. “Gosh! You’re as big as Grimnir.”

Tain chuckled. He had been the runt of the Demon Guard. “Who’s
Grimnir?”

The boy’s face darkened. “A man. From the Tower. What about
your horse?”

“He’ll stay.”

The roan would do what was expected of him amidst sorcerers’
conflicts that made spring storms seem as inconsequential as a child’s
temper tantrum. And the mule wouldn’t stray from the gelding.

Steban was speechless after Tain took the three-pounder with a
casual hand-flick, bear fashion. The old soldier was
fast
.

“You make a fire. I’ll clean him.” Tain glowed at Steban’s response.
It took mighty deeds to win notice in the Dread Empire. He fought a
temptation to show off.

In that there were perils. He might build a falsely founded,
over-optimistic self-appraisal. And a potential enemy might get the
measure of his abilities.

So he cooked trout, seasoning it with a pinch of spice from the
trade goods in his mule packs.

“Gosh, this’s good.” As Steban relaxed he became ever more the
chatterbox. He had asked a hundred questions already and seldom
had he given Tain a chance to answer. “Better than Ma or Shirl ever
made.”

Tain glowed again. His field cooking was a point of pride. “Who’s
Shirl?”

“She was my sister.”

“Was?”

“She’s gone now.” There was a hard finality to Steban’s response.
It implied death, not absence.

IV

Steban herded the sheep homeward. Tain followed, stepping carefully.
The roan paced him, occasionally cropping grass, keeping an eye on
the mule. For the first time Tain felt at ease with his decision to leave
home.

It was unlikely that this country would become his new home,
but he liked its people already, as he saw them reflected in Steban
Kleckla. He and the boy were friends already.

Steban jerked to a stop. His staff fell as he flung a hand to his
mouth. The color drained from his face.

That Aspirant’s sense-feel for danger tingled Tain’s scalp. In thirty
years it had never been wrong. With the care of a man avoiding a
cobra, he turned to follow Steban’s gaze.

A horse and rider stood silhouetted atop a nearby hill, looking like
a black paper cutout. Tain could discern little in the dying light. The
rider seemed to have horns.

Tain hissed. The roan trotted to his side. He leaned against his
saddle, where his weapons hung.

The rider moved out, descending the hill’s far side. Steban started
the sheep moving at a faster pace. He remained silent till the Kleckla
stead came into view.

“Who was that?” Tain hazarded, when he reckoned the proximity
of lights and parents would rejuvenate the boy’s nerve.

“Who?”

“That rider. On the hill. You seemed frightened.”

“Ain’t scared of nothing. I killed a wolf last week.”

He was evading. This was a tale twice told already, and growing
fast. First time Steban had bragged about having driven the predator
away. Then he had claimed to have broken the beast’s shoulder with
a stone from his sling.

“I misunderstood. I’m sorry. Still, there was a rider. And you
seemed to know him.”

The lights of Steban’s home drew nearer. Boy and sheep increased
their pace again. They were late. Steban had been too busy wheedling
stories from his new friend to watch the time closely.

“Steban? That you, boy?” A lantern bobbed toward them. The
man carrying it obviously was Steban’s father. Same eyes. Same hair.
But worry had etched his forehead with deep lines. In his left hand he
bore a wicked oaken quarterstaff.

An equally concerned woman walked beside him.

Once, Tain suspected, she had been beautiful. In a round-eye sort
of way. Doubtlessly, life here quickly made crones of girls.

“Ma. Papa. This’s my new friend. His name is Tain. He used to be a
soldier. Like Uncle Mikla. He came across the mountains. He caught
a fish with his hands and his horse can do tricks, but his mule will bite
you if you get too close to her. I told him he should come for supper.”

Tain inclined his head. “Freeman Kleckla. Freelady. The grace
of heaven descend.” He didn’t know an appropriately formal Iwa
Skolovdan greeting. His effort sounded decidedly odd in translation.

Man and wife considered him without warmth.

“A Caydarman watched us,” Steban added. He started coaxing
the sheep into pens.

The elder Kleckla scanned the surrounding darkness. “An evil day
when we catch their eye. Welcome, then, Stranger. We can’t offer
much but refuge from the night.”

“Thank you, Freeman. I’ll pay, that your resources be not depleted
without chance of replacement.” There was a stiffness about Kleckla
which made Tain feel the need to distance with formality.

“This is the Zemstvi, Stranger. Titles, even Freeman and Freelady,
are meaningless here. They belong to tamed and ordered lands, to
Iwa Skolovda and the Home Counties. Call me Toma. My wife is
Rula. Come. I’ll show you where to bed your animals.”

“As you will...Toma.” He bowed slightly to the woman. “Rula.”
She frowned slightly, as if unsure how to respond.

This would be harder than he had anticipated. At home
everyone had positions and titles and there were complicated,
almost ritualized protocols and honorifics to be exchanged on every
occasion of personal contact. “They’ll need no fodder. They grazed
all afternoon.”

One bony milk cow occupied Kleckla’s rude barn. She wasn’t
pleased by Tain’s mule. The mule didn’t deign to acknowledge her
existence.

Toma had no other stock save his sheep. But he wasn’t poor.
Possessing cow and flock, he was richer than most men. Richer, in
some ways, than Tain, whose fortune was in metal of changeable
value and a few pounds of rare spice. Which would bring more in the
marketplace of the heart?

“You’ll have to sleep out here,” Toma informed him. “There’s no
room....”

Tain recognized the fear-lie. “I understand.” He had been puzzling
the word
zemstvi,
which seemed to share roots with
frontier
and
wilderness
. Now he thought he understood.

“Are you a new Caydarman?” Toma blurted. He became contrite
immediately. “Forget that. Tell me about the man you saw.”

Because Toma was so intent, Tain cut off all exterior distractions
and carefully reconstructed the moment in the manner he had been
taught. A good scout remembered every detail. “Big man. On a big
horse, painted, shaggy. Man bearded. With horns.”

“Damned Torfin.” Toma sublimated anger by scattering hay. “He
didn’t have horns. That was his helmet.”

There was a lot to learn, Tain thought. This was an odd land, not
like the quiet, mercantile Iwa Skolovda he had studied at home.

He considered the little barn. Its builders had possessed no great
skill. He doubted that it was two years old, yet it was coming apart.

“Might as well go eat. It isn’t much. Boiled mutton with cabbage
and leeks.”

“Ah. Mutton. I was hoping.” Responding to Toma’s surprise,
“Mutton is rare at home. Only the rich eat it. Us common soldiers
made do with grain and pork. Mostly with grain.”

“Home? Where would that be?”

“East. Beyond the Dragon’s Teeth.”

Toma considered the evasion. “We’d better get inside. Rula gets
impatient.”

“Go ahead. I have a couple of things to do. Don’t wait on me. I’ll
make do with scraps or leftovers.”

Toma eyed him, started to speak, changed his mind. “As you will.”

Once Toma departed, Tain pursued the Soldier’s Evening Ritual,
clearing his heart of the day’s burdens. He observed the abbreviated
Battlefield Ritual rather than the hour of meditation and exercise he
pursued under peaceful circumstances. Later he would do it right.

He started for the door.

His neck tingled. He stopped, turned slowly, reached out with an
Aspirant’s senses.

A man wearing a horned helmet was watching the stead from the
grove surrounding the Klecklas’ spring. He didn’t see Tain.

Tain considered, shrugged. It wasn’t his problem. He would tell
Toma when they were alone. Let the Freeman decide what ought to
be done.

V

The sun was a diameter above the horizon.

Tain released the mule and roan to pasture. He glanced round at
the verdant hills. “Beautiful country,” he murmured, and wondered
what the rest of his journey would bring. He ambled a ways toward
the house. Rula was starting breakfast.

These people rose late and started slowly. Already he had
performed his Morning Ritual, seen to his travel gear and personal
ablutions, and had examined the tracks round the spring. Then he
had joined Toma when his host had come to check the sheep.

Toma had first shown relief, then increased concern. He remained
steadfastly close-mouthed.

Tain restrained his curiosity. Soldiers learned not to ask questions.
“Good morning, Steban.”

The boy stood in the door of the sod house, rubbing sleep from his
eyes. “Morning, Tain. Ma’s cooking oats.”

“Oh?”

“A treat,” Toma explained. “We get a little honeycomb with it.”

“Ah. You keep bees?” He hadn’t seen any hives. “I had a friend who
kept bees....” He dropped it, preferring not to remember. Kai Ling
had been like a brother. They had been Aspirants together. But Ling
hadn’t been able to believe he hadn’t the talent to become Tervola.
He was still trying to scale an unscalable height.