Exile's Challenge (47 page)

“For what?” Talle demanded irritably.

“For your savages,” Jaymes answered. “What else?”

“I can use magic,” Talle said, “to bring them to us.”

“Sure you could. But how many? An' what about the demons? Listen,
Inquisitor
, I'd like to get out of here alive.” Jaymes smiled sweetly as he could. “An' bring at least the major with me. So you best do what I say now—this is my country we're in.”

Talle scowled and said nothing; Jaymes suppressed a chuckle as he followed the black-clad figure up the slope.

They walked for half a day before Jaymes decided on a suitable location, and then settled his company beside the trail. Var could see that it was heavy with tracks, and he wondered if the scout could truly discern the shapes of men's feet from the marks of the animals. Talle complained as Jaymes ordered him to lie down and covered him with a square of tarpaulin, over which the scout shoveled snow until only the Inquisitor's angry dark eyes showed from beneath the covering. Across the way, Jaymes took position beside Var.

“Was that necessary?” the officer of marines asked as they crouched behind a thicket. “Covering him like that?”

“It keeps him quiet, don't it?” Jaymes returned, and grinned. “Wouldn't you sooner he was quiet?”

Var resisted answering in the affirmative for all he smiled back at the scout. Instead he asked, “How long shall we wait?”

Jaymes shrugged. “No knowing, Major. They might come sooner or later. Maybe tonight; maybe not for days. But they use this trail, so …”

Var nodded and hoped it be soon; he'd have this thing done and over with. The more he saw of the Inquisitor Talle's practices, the less he liked them. He hoped it be soon and they return to Grostheim with the knowledge that might defend Salvation. Save then Jared Talle would undoubtedly look to hang Abram Jaymes.…

But they came that night: first a deer that trod the path wary, many-pronged antlers ducking and weaving in the filtered moonlight as the animal tested the wintry air; then three savages, clad all in furs and rawhide, with nocked bows in their hands and eyes downturned to the trail they followed.

The ambuscaders did as Jaymes had ordered.

Var confronted the first man, springing out from cover to drive his saber clean through the savage's belly. Jaymes came not far behind, swinging his rifle to slam the stock against the face of the third man as Talle sprang up and flung himself on the second.

Var's target was slain in the instant, carved through by the saber that pierced his heart. Jaymes's was smashed unconscious. Talle muffled his in the tarpaulin and struggled with the burden until Jaymes tapped, almost gently, on the upraised head and the savage fell silent.

“Bring them.” Talle again assumed control. “I need the two alive.”

“Best cover our tracks first.” Jaymes faced the Inquisitor with obstinacy writ hard on his dirty face. “Lest you want their brothers trailin' us back.”

Talle snarled a curse, then ducked his head. “Your country, old man.”

“You better believe it,” Jaymes said, and hauled the slain savage off the trail to hide the corpse amongst the snowy undergrowth. He came back and set to scuffing up the snow. “Who's carryin' them?” he asked, looking at the Inquisitor.

Talle appeared outraged at the suggestion.

Jaymes said, “You an' me, then, Major. Inquisitor—why don't you use that tarpaulin to sweep our backtrail?”

Talle looked further outraged, but he took the canvas sheet and set to wiping out their tracks as Var and Jaymes each shouldered a supine body and began to move, as fast as they could under their burdens, back to the hollow where the horses were hid.

“They'll be missed come mornin' at the earliest,” Jaymes said, “an' if God's on our side, later—so we got a little time to get out of here before their friends come looking. So let's ride!”

Without further preamble, he heaved one unconscious savage onto the pack mule, lashing hands and feet in place across the crosstree saddle, then set the other on his own mount. The mule snorted irritably and Jaymes slapped it across the muzzle.

“You'll go afoot?” Var asked. “Can you keep up?”

“I reckon,” Jaymes answered. “Can you keep the mules on the line?”

Var nodded; Talle only sat his horse, impatient to depart.

“Then ride out,” Jaymes said. “I'll cover your backtrail an' I'll see you at the fort.” He chuckled. “Maybe I'll be waitin' for you.”

Talle needed no further bidding: he beckoned that Var follow him and drove harsh heels against his horse's flanks. Var hesitated a moment, looking back at Jaymes, wanting to say something but unable to find the words. He settled on a nod and a smile and went after Talle.

Jaymes watched them go, thinking that it would be easy to put a rifle ball into the Inquisitor's back, and at the same time wondering if the bullet would—could—kill the man. And then what Var's reaction would be: he wanted the major on his side. Talle's throat he'd cheerfully slit, and not feel a grain of remorse … save he wondered if the Inquisitor was necessary now, to help defeat the wilderness folk and their demonic allies.

He hid the tracks as best he could—knowing the while that the savages would find them if they came looking—and
took after the horses. He supposed Talle would perform his filthy magic back at Fort Harvie, and did not look much forward to that witnessing, save that it appeared the future of Salvation was at stake, and therefore—perhaps—the Inquisitor was necessary.

Do the ends justify the means? he wondered as he went after them. If Talle can defeat the demons, then do I go along with him? Or will that just hand him command? God, but it would be so much easier if the demons slew Talle—unless I need him to make Salvation free. Abram Jaymes amused himself, as he loped long-legged through the snow, with musings on which threat was worse: Jared Talle and the Autarchy he'd see the New World freed from, or the demons he knew too little about … until Talle gave him that knowledge.

Best, he decided, to let the Inquisitor have his way for now and decide what to do when they got back to Grostheim. Snow fell on his face, dislodged by a bird that took flight at his passing, and he laughed softly, wondering how Major Tomas Var should take the news that he led what little resistance existed in Salvation. He liked Var; it would be a pity if he must kill the major.

Reluctantly, Var did as the Inquisitor ordered, hauling each savage from the mules and manhandling them—awake now—into the kitchens. Still obeying, he secured them each on a table, arms and legs lashed firmly in place before he slit their crude leather clothing so that they lay naked, screaming imprecations.

“What now?”

“Build up the fire, eh?” Talle smiled. “It's cold in here.”

Var thought the man's smile colder and did as he was bade.

“Now leave us,” Talle said. “This is not for your eyes.”

Var hesitated. Talle studied him a moment, as if he looked upon another specimen suitable for necromantic dissection, and Var quit the room, busying himself with the animals and wondering on the fate of Abram Jaymes. He saw the horses and the mules bedded and fed and went to the barracks,
stoking up the fire there, setting water to boiling as he examined what supplies were left.

It was near dark when the first scream exploded across the yard. Var stiffened, almost dropping the cup he held. He had heard men screaming before—men shot or bayoneted, men struck by cannonballs, men struck by sabers or trampled down by charging cavalry horses—but he had never heard such a scream as that, and it chilled his blood. Almost, he went across the yard to … he was unsure … protest? To watch? Instead, he told himself he had a duty to obey, that Jared Talle was his commanding officer and dedicated to the Autarchy, doing what he did only to secure Salvation's future. But he could not, entirely, shake off the notion that Talle did what he did from sheer enjoyment.

Then the door flung open and Abram Jaymes came in, snow-sheeted and shivering.

“Dear God, it's cold out there.” The scout glanced back, through the still-open door. “What's he doin'?”

“Whatever”—Var shrugged miserably—“Inquisitors do.”

Jaymes kicked the door shut and crossed to the stove. “Sounds like it's not much fun, except maybe for him.”

Var shrugged again. The screaming echoed off the fort's walls. “The savages take heads, no?” he asked dully. “Don't they torture prisoners?”

“Sure, but they're savages.” Jaymes shrugged out of his furs and turned his back to the heat. “Aren't we supposed to be civilized?”

All Var could think of by way of response was to ask, “Is there any brandy left?”

They emptied the bottle as the screaming went on. One man died—both Var and Jaymes recognized the sounds of dying—and then the other began. Jaymes tossed meat and vegetables into a pot, constructing a stew that neither man ate, their appetites quite lost. The moon rose over the fort's walls and spilled cold silver light across the yard, the frozen bodies lying there, and the screaming went on. Then ceased abruptly.

Jared Talle came out, shrugging into the fur coat that seemed to dwarf his frame. In the moon's light shadows
stretched dark across his face that, as he came through the door, Var saw were great splashes of blood. He carried his jacket and shirt in his hands, and his bare chest was boltered worse than his face. He was smiling.

“Hot water, excellent.” He tossed his clothes aside, gesturing at his chest and face. “I need to wash, no?”

It was Jaymes who asked him, “What did you find out?” Var felt too benumbed to speak.

“Much.” Talle set to splashing water over the blood, sluicing it carelessly off, so that slews spread over his breeches and through his hair. He seemed not to notice, or to care, as he pulled on his shirt and jacket and found a place at the table, waiting as Jaymes handed him a bowl; then eating with hearty appetite. “Listen …”

He spooned up stew before he spoke again. Then: “These savages call themselves Tachyn. They came here from across the mountains, but before that they dwelt in another place, another world.” His predatory face grew animated. “They came here by magic! Not by land, or boats, but by magic! Think on that, eh? If we could learn such skills, then the Autarchy might go anywhere … conquer all the worlds there are!”

“You'd like that?” Jaymes asked.

Talle looked at the scout as if he were mad. “Of course! To own such power?”

“Why?”

“Because we can,” Talle said. “Because with such magic we might cross the mountains and own all the land beyond. Past that—all the worlds.”

“Ain't that,” Jaymes asked, “somewhat like what the demons want to do? An' what are you planning to do about them?”

“The savages are Dreamers,” Talle said. “Some of them, at least. The demons enter their dreams and show them how to influence us—that's how”—he flung a careless hand at the window, indicating the bodies—“they achieved this; what they did in Grostheim. They can make men dream and go mad.”

“Then surely we must defeat them,” Var said. “Face them
with this knowledge and drive them—savages and demons, both—out.”

“Save we can gain their knowledge.” Talle's thin face was animated. “I'd have that knowledge for the Autarchy. Think on it! Could I only learn how they transport themselves across the worlds, what might we not conquer?”

Jaymes said, “Who knows?” and looked at Var.

Var held his expression carefully bland. “What do we do next?”

“Return to Grostheim,” Talle declared. “We must go back with this news and send it home. Then more Inquisitors shall be sent, to plumb all the depths of this land. After that? Why, we shall mount a great expedition that shall capture savages and demons and learn everything they know.”

“I thought,” Var said, “that the demons are not physically in this world. How then, shall we capture any?”

Talle laughed. “They're coming! There's a sacrifice the savages intend to make that shall deliver them here. And then …” He went on laughing.

Var asked, “What sacrifice?”

“I'm not sure,” Talle said. “A child? Some link with that world they came from. My … subjects … were not entirely clear. But when the sacrifice is made, the demons shall take form here, and we can capture them and learn from them.”

“What,” Var asked, “are they planning to do here?”

“Conquer,” Talle said, beaming as if he entirely approved of such ambitions. “They're dedicated to conquest.”

Like you and the Autarchy, Var thought.

“And can we not defeat them?” Var asked. “What then?”

Talle stared at him as if he were mad. “We are the Autarchy,” he said. “
The Autarchy!
We rule the known world—how can we be defeated?”

In that instant, had he not known it before, Tomas Var recognized that the Inquisitor Jared Talle was entirely insane. He did not know, in that instant, that he threw in his lot with Abram Jaymes; only that the Inquisitor was crazed, and likely as great a threat to Salvation as any demonic invasion.

He nodded politely and said, “Of course,” and looked at
Jaymes, who raised an eyebrow, then back at Talle to ask, “What next?”

“We leave for Grostheim in the morning,” Talle said. “We must mount an expedition in the spring. That's when the demons shall come.”

“Likely there'll be savages before that.” Jaymes studied the exhilarated Talle with calm, cold eyes. “We left tracks they'll be followin' soon as they find out about your … subjects.”

Talle frowned; Var, his military training to the foreground, asked, “How soon?”

“Can't rightly say,” Jaymes answered cheerfully. “It'll depend on when they find our tracks an' work out what's been done. But I tell you this—they can travel a lot faster than us, so we might have a fight on our hands, 'less we can lose them.”