Legends: Stories By The Masters of Modern Fantasy (83 page)

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Authors: Robert Silverberg

BOOK: Legends: Stories By The Masters of Modern Fantasy
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Drogen!
Only Drogen and the Lord of the House, of all those who weren’t Tsurani, were permitted arms. Dirk closed the secret door, too stunned to appreciate how clever it was. Once closed, it appeared indistinguishable from the wall.
He hurried down to the large dining hall and saw over the fireplace the two swords hung there, heirlooms of Lord Paul’s family. He considered taking one down, then remembered that should the Tsurani find him with a sword in his possession, he would be hanged without any opportunity to explain.
He returned to the kitchen and took a large boning knife from the butcher’s block next to the stove. That was something he had handled many times before, and the familiarity of the handle was reassuring to him.
He had to do something about finding Anika, but he didn’t know what. Drogen must have taken her with the gold. He ran back to the barn to see if anyone else might have survived. Within minutes he knew that only he and Anika had survived.
And the Tsurani, of course.
Panic struck Dirk. He knew that if one of them stuck his head outside one of the huts he would be hanged for carrying a kitchen knife, no matter what the reason.
He put the knife in his tunic, and climbed into the loft. He went to the canvas bag that served as his closet, holding his few belongings. He removed his only coat, and saw a long cut below the collar. Drogen had lashed out at him first, because he had awakened. He must have thought Dirk’s throat cut. Then he had killed Hemmy, pushing him atop Dirk, causing them to fall through the hay door. Only the darkness and the fall had saved Dirk’s life, he knew. Had he not fallen out of the barn, Drogen would certainly have insured the boy was dead.
Dirk put on his extra shirt for warmth, ignoring the sticky blood
soaked into his undershirt and the shirt he already wore. Wearing the extra layers of clothing might be the difference between life and death. He considered pulling a tunic off one of the other boys, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch the bodies of his dead friends.
He again donned his coat and took his only pair of gloves from the bag, along with a large woolen scarf Litia had knitted for him the year before. He put them on and checked the bag for his other belongings: there was nothing else there he could imagine would help him.
He hurried down the ladder. The only thing he could think of doing was following the murderer. He was terrified of waking the Tsurani, and not certain they would care about the murder of people they obviously felt were inferior to themselves. They might blame Dirk and hang him, he feared.
Drogen. He had to find Drogen and rescue Anika and get the gold back for her. The boy knew that without gold the girl would be at the mercy of the town’s people. She would be forced to depend on the generosity of relatives or friends. But he was terrified enough he couldn’t move. He stood in the barn aisle, rooted with indecision.
After a time he heard a shout from across the compound. The Tsurani were up and one had seen something. A confusion of voices sounded from outside, and Dirk knew they would be in the barn in moments.
He hid himself in the darkest corner of the stall most removed from the door, and lay shivering in fear and cold as men came into the barn, speaking rapidly in their odd language. Two walked past where Dirk lay, once casting a quick glance in his direction. He must have simply assumed Dirk was another dead boy, for he said nothing to his companion, who climbed the ladder to the hayloft. After a moment, he shouted down, and the other responded. He heard the man return down the ladder and the two of them leave the barn. Dirk waited until it grew quiet again, then got out of the straw. He hurried to the door and peered out. From his vantage point he saw one Tsurani instructing others to search the area.
Uncertain of what to do next, Dirk waited. A Tsurani he knew to be of some rank came out and pointed to the tracks in the snow. There was some sort of debate, and the man who had sent the others searching seemed to be indicating that someone should follow the murderer.
Then the leader spoke in commanding tones and the other man
bowed slightly and turned away. Dirk realized that no one was going to follow Drogen. He was going to get away with killing more than two dozen people and kidnapping Anika and taking all of Lord Paul’s gold. The Tsurani soldier in charge seemed content to leave this matter to his own officer, when the bulk of the command returned from their mission.
Dirk knew that if anyone was to save Anika, it would have to be him. Dirk slipped out of the barn and around the side, and when he was certain no one was nearby, he went down the hill behind the barn and made his way into the woods. He hurried along through the birch and pines until he found the sled tracks. He turned to follow them.
 
D
irk slogged his way through the snow, his breath a white cloud before him. His feet were numb and he felt weak and hungry, but he was determined to overtake Drogen. The landscape was white and green—the boughs of pines and firs peering out from mantles of snow. A stand of bare trees stood a short distance away, and Dirk knew he had left the boundary of Lord Paul’s estate.
The murderer was making good time, despite having to pull the heavy sled. He knew that he gained on Drogen each time he had to pull the sled up a hill, but each time he went down the next slope, Drogen probably gained some of that time back.
Dirk stopped to rest a moment, His best chance of finding the murderer, he knew was to catch him at night. Dirk glanced around. He had no idea how much time had passed; a good part of the day, he realized, but he couldn’t tell from the grey sky where the sun was and when darkness would arrive.
A rabbit poked its head above a nearby ridge and sniffed. Dirk wished he had some sort of weapon, or the time to rig a snare, for a rabbit cooked over an open fire would be welcome, but he knew such wishes would go ungranted.
He continued on.
 
I
t began to snow as darkness came, and it came quickly. Dirk’s plan of following through the night vanished along with the sled tracks. Dirk tried to follow the tracks, but there was no light. It was the blackest night he could remember, and he was terrified.
He found a small clump of trees overhung by a large pine bower
thick with snow that acted like a roof, and he crawled in for the meager shelter it provided. He built up a low snow wall around him, having been taught as a boy that such a wall would shelter him from the wind. He dozed but didn’t sleep.
 
A
soft sound woke him. He heard it again. He poked his head out from under the pine bower and saw that snow had fallen from a branch in a large clump.
He crawled out and looked for tracks. There were places where the snow had fallen lightly, and he could barely see the tracks, but they were there, and they pointed the way.
Dirk began again to hunt down the murderer.
 
A
t sundown he saw the light of the fire, high on a ridge to the east. Drogen was making his way toward the city of Natal. It was free of the Tsurani invaders. Once there, Drogen could make his way to Ylith and from there anywhere in the world, the Kingdom, Kesh, or the Island Empire of Queg. How Drogen was going to cross the frontier, Dirk didn’t know, but he assumed the man had a plan. Maybe he just counted on the Tsurani holding tight to their campfires and not having too many men in the field in the dead of winter. From what he had heard, there had been almost no fighting between them and the Free Cities and Kingdom forces since the first heavy snow of winter.
Dirk slogged his way toward the fire.
 
H
e finally reached a place from where he could get a glimpse of the site. Slowly approaching as quietly as he could, Dirk saw a single man resting on the sled, warming his hands on the fire. Drogen must have thought himself free of pursuit, for he had taken no pains to hide his whereabouts. At his feet, Anika lay in a bundle of furs. Dirk had aired them out every fall after fetching them out of storage, so he knew the girl was well protected from the cold. She appeared to be asleep—probably exhausted from terror, Dirk thought.
Dirk stopped, again rooted by fear. He had no idea how to proceed. He made up and discarded a dozen plans to attack the murderer. He couldn’t imagine how to attack a trained warrior, one who was paid to fight.
Dirk stood freezing on his feet, watching the fire grow dimmer. Drogen
ate, and still Dirk remained motionless. Cold, exposure, hunger, and fear were on the verge of reducing him to tears.
Then Drogen threw more wood on the fire and wrapped a blanket around himself. He lay down on the ground between the sled and Anika, who moved, but didn’t awake. He was going to sleep!
Dirk knew that he could only rescue Anika and regain Lord Paul’s gold by sneaking up on Drogen and killing him as he slept. Dirk had no compunctions about the act; Drogen had killed everyone Dirk had known since leaving his family to work at the master’s estate, in their sleep, and he deserved no more than they got. Dirk just feared he wouldn’t be up to the task, or would inadvertently wake up the killer.
Dirk moved his legs, trying to regain circulation in the freezing night, and eventually he judged it safe to approach the camp. Stiff legs and an inability to catch his breath drove Dirk to a heart-pounding frenzy. He found his hands shaking so badly he could barely manage to get the heavy knife out from within his jacket.
The familiar handle was suddenly an alien thing that resisted fitting comfortably in his palm. He crept forward and tried not to let panic overwhelm him.
He stopped on the other side of the sled, uncertain which way to approach. He decided that he’d approach Drogen’s head.
Dirk held the knife high, and crept around the sled, slowly, moving as carefully as he could so as not to make noise. When he was just a few feet away, Drogen moved, shifting the blanket around his shoulders. He snuggled down behind Anika, who didn’t move.
Fear overwhelmed Dirk. He knew if he didn’t move now, he would never move. He struck down hard with the knife and felt the point dig into the murderer’s shoulder.
Drogen shouted in pain and convulsed, almost pulling the knife out of Dirk’s hard. Dirk yanked it back, and struck out again as Drogen tried to rise. The point again dug deep into his shoulder, and he howled in pain.
Anika awoke with a scream and kicked off the furs, then leaped to her feet, spinning around and trying to understand what was happening. Dirk pulled the blade out and was ready for a third strike, but Drogen charged, driving his shoulder into Dirk, knocking him aside.
The boy rolled on the ground and found Drogen sitting atop Dirk’s
chest, his hand poised to deliver a blow. “You!” he said as he saw the boy’s face in the dim light of the dying fire. Drogen hesitated.
Dirk lashed out with his knife and struck Drogen in the face, cutting deeply. Drogen reared back, his hand to his cheek as he cried out in pain. Dirk acted without thought. He pushed hard with his knife, driving it deep into Drogen, just under his rib cage.
Drogen loomed above Dirk in the dim light, his eyes wide in silent astonishment. His left hand dropped from where it had momentarily touched his cheek. With his right hand he grabbed Dirk’s tunic, as if he were going to pull him upright to ask him something. Then he slowly toppled backward. He didn’t release his grip on Dirk’s coat and he pulled the boy upright, then forward.
Dirk’s legs were pinned under Drogen, and he was forced to bend forward.
Dirk frantically pried the dying man’s fingers from his coat. He fell back and the pain in his side was a searing agony. He saw the blade of the knife protruding from his coat and his head swam. Using his elbows, he pulled himself back and got his legs free of Drogen’s weight. Dimly he was aware of a sobbing voice saying, “No.”
Dirk was in a fog as he reached down and pulled out the knife from Drogen’s body. He turned as a girl’s voice again said, “No!”
“You killed him!” screamed Anika as she rushed toward Dirk. The disoriented boy stood uncertain of what was occurring. He tried to focus his eyes as his head swam from pain. “I—” he began, but the girl seemed to fly at him.
“You killed him!” she screamed again as she fell upon him. He stepped back, his heel striking Drogen’s body and he fell, the girl suddenly atop him. She landed heavily upon Dirk, her eyes wide in shock. She pushed herself up from atop Dirk and looked down between them.
Dirk followed her gaze and saw that the knife was still in his hand. Anika had impaled herself upon the blade. Confusion beset her features and she gazed at his face and at last said, softly, “The Wood Boy?”
She fell atop Dirk. He moved her aside, but held her in his arms, and he sank to the snow, holding her. She looked up at the sky, eyes glassy, and he gently closed them.
Then Dirk felt a hot stabbing pain in his side and bile rose in his
throat as he realized somehow he had been cut. He touched the wound and hot pain shot through his body, and his eyes seemed unwilling to focus. He knew that he couldn’t move with the blade there, and reached up to grip the handle again. Mustering all the resolve he could, he pulled the knife from his side, and screamed at the agony of it. After a moment, the pain subsided and was replaced by a throbbing torment, but one that didn’t make him feel as if he was going to die. He slowly stood, and turned to confront the girl.

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