The Return of Kavin (11 page)

“Oh, now,” the Emperor said, petulantly. “This is going to be another complaint, isn’t it, Paravaz? More trouble collecting tax moneys, is it? Or that matter of coinage?”

“Yes, my lord,” Paravaz said. He was close at hand as the Emperor continued to pace; the other courtiers had deliberately fallen back a few paces to allow privacy. No one wished to annoy Paravaz by seeming over-curious.

“My lord,” he went on, “the taxes have been raised as high as they can be raised. As it is, we cannot collect in every case… and there is always money required for the usual business of state, beyond the sums your Illustriousness is devoting to the Lord’s altar…”

“Oh, come now,” Sharamash said, frowning. “A little
twisting,
and the money will come… we’ve plenty of soldiers to use in the tax collections, if necessary.”

“I have twisted, my lord,” Paravaz said. “Hard. As for soldiers… they must be paid, and the new coinage does not please many of them.
As it does not please many of the merchant class, either.
They have a foolish trust in gold and silver metal, my lord… and some of them are growing very difficult.”

“Pah!” Sharamash said, angrily.

“It is a serious matter, lord,” Paravaz told him. “There is the rebellion in Quenda, especially. It is the Quenda mines that have sent us, much of the silver… till now.”

“But I must have the silver, especially!” The Emperor looked at Paravaz with a queer, wild expression. “The god told me… that when his altar was complete, he would… he would do much more. Only another few hundred weights… another month’s work, at most.”

“But there is no more bar silver from Quenda,” Paravaz said, patiently. “We must depend on whatever we can collect in coins. Could we not wait a while for the completion of the altar…
”

“Wait? How can you say that?” Sharamash snapped. “Why?”

“We must raise more soldiers,” Paravaz said. “More ships, too. Unless we send gifts to the northern border lords… gifts that will cost much. I must tell you that there may be trouble there, too. And we cannot struggle on two borders at once, north and south.” His face was grim. “My lord, if the kingdoms eastward… Meryon, or Grotha, or even Spathan… should look toward our shores, they might recall what has gone before. Seek vengeance for wounds not yet healed… while the Empire is thus tangled…”

Sharamash uttered a high cackle. “Paravaz, you are an old woman!” he said, grinning. “Let the kingdoms plot, for all the good it’ll do them! And let those border lords do without their bribes for once… and for the rest… strike hard in Quenda. Take back those mines swiftly, whatever the cost. Get silver as fast as you can!” His eyes burned wildly. “Let every damned merchant scream his head off and plot against me, let all my dear false friends creep about hatching revolt! Paravaz, it will not matter! Have you no faith in Him, in the Lord of Night? He has promised! He will send forth all that I
need,
he will send a black doom on all my enemies!” The Emperor shrieked with delight, grinning as he spoke.
“The whole world, Paravaz!
All nations, all! And even the lands beyond, where no man has gone, all of it will bow before Him, soon!”

Paravaz stood watching as the Emperor withdrew; the ruler of Mazain capering with glee as he disappeared into the inner halls of the palace.
And, at the Chancellor Paravaz’ elbow, the gray-sprinkled beard of the Lord Chamaras, and his low voice.

“He is mad, Paravaz,” Chamaras said, but not loudly enough for any ear but Paravaz’.

“Certainly,” Paravaz said in as low a voice. “Like his grandfather… though he had no turn for religious matters, that one.” Paravaz shrugged. “It runs in the blood, I fear.”

“It becomes… impossible,” Chamaras said.

“For the Emperor, nothing is impossible,” Paravaz said.

“Is there nothing to be done…
”

“For us?”
Paravaz glanced at the other. “No.” He smiled thinly.
“For lesser lords, perhaps.
But think, Chamaras. Think. We have our power… but it rests in the Emperor alone. We have given the commands, sweated the taxes,
sent
many to the axe… in his name. But in ours as well! If we… if some accident befell the Emperor… we would go down with him. No matter what, we must serve him, though the Empire falls about our ears.”

“Must?” Chamaras asked, narrow eyed.

“Have you friends, Chamaras?” Paravaz asked coldly.
“If so, it is well for you.
I have none any longer.
Except… that one.”
He stared at the doorway. “Mad as he may be, he is all.”

And in the state cabin of the Windbird,
far east
of Mazain in the dark sea, the captain chuckled, draining his cup.

“Mad, of course, m’lady,” he said. They sat around the wooden table under the yellow lamps; the captain and two mates, and the Lady Gwynna, at supper.

“Though I’d be obliged if you’d keep my maunderings to yourself, lady,” he added a little nervously.

“Of course, good Samavan,” Gwynna said, with her sweetest smile. “How can you think such a thing? That I’d betray the confidences of such a fine man as yourself… after you have done so much for a poor shipwrecked woman, helpless as I was…”

She had paid, in good solid gold pieces, for her passage; but at the moment, the point was not essential.

“Aye, it’s a queer port these days, that Mazain,” one of the mates said, and poured more wine. “Done well enough this past year, trading east and southward… but what I hear tell, we’ll be lucky if the Imperial Customs don’t tax the very meat off our bones.”

The captain chuckled, and glanced around. “Well, now, I’m no fool, you’ll grant me that. Didn’t you think I’d taken the matter under thought, eh? We’ve made hardly a coin’s worth, if you go by the ship’s book. Oh, yes,
it’s
poor men we are, unless the customs men have more wit than I’ve ever seen ‘em have.”

“Wit?”
The mate shrugged. “I hear there’s a demon-god in Mazain these days. Maybe they’ve witches for customs takers, too.”

“Ah, I doubt it,” the captain said. “But the Emperor’s mad, right enough, and he’s got a demon-god too. Though it hasn’t been much help, from all I’ve heard.”

“I know little of the Emperor’s new god, myself,” Gwynna said. “My… late husband, the Lord Barazan, did not wish to take any part in such things.” She gave a delicate shrug of ladylike distaste. “But I did not know that matters were quite so bad in the Empire as you tell me… and so much worse in the short while I’ve been gone.”

“Growing worse, day by day, m’lady,” the captain said.
“Rebel armies coming north, a dozen barons and lords rising against the Empire.
I’ll not keep the ship long in Mazain this trip. It might be that war’ll come all the way to the city walls, and I’m a man of peace, I am. Go west, I will, and wait till all the important folk settle their quarrels.”

“Might be your ladyship would be wisest not to have come at all,” one of the mates said. “All’s peaceful enough in the Kingdoms these days. If I was
yourself
, lady, I’d take a journey to some spot where there’s no chance of house burnings and manslayings. Why not Meryon shore, for one?”

Gwynna stared at the man, and a sharp pain gripped her; but she kept her expression calm.

Armadoc, she thought, remembering the forest and the river in a swift, bright flash of tortured yearning, and thrust it back into unremembrance again.

“Ah, but I’ll have much to do in Mazain,” she said lightly. “Many things that I must take care of…”

In a courtyard, gray with dawn, the ape-servants of Thuramon were bringing out three horses, saddled and ready. Hugon, yawning enormously, swung himself into a saddle; beside him, Kavin waited, and Zamor. The gate opened, and the three clattered forth into the cobbled street, and down through the city of Drakonis. Fraak sat, perched on Hugon’s saddlebow.

Beyond the walls, a wide road curved away toward the hills; westward, the sea glinted in the morning light, and a wind came, bringing the sharp salt smell of it. In the other direction, a village of thatched roofs began to awaken, and there was a scent of wood smoke.

Hugon stared around, on either side, as they rode; Zamor, too, examined the country. Kavin’s face was oddly grim, with a look of tense foreboding; he stared straight ahead as he rode, and seemed disinclined to talk.

“It’s a beautiful land, this Koremon,” Hugon said, watching a flight of birds. Fraak stretched his wings, and uttered a note; Hugon patted his head warningly. “No, Fraak, no hunt today.”

“I don’t wonder at the folk of Dorada settling here,” Zamor said. “It’s like
Numori,
hereabouts… those hills could be our own mountains.”

“Dorada was more beautiful,” Kavin said suddenly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “But only one man lives now who remembers Dorada…
myself
.”

Hugon glanced at the big man with the youthful face and the silvered hair, and
remembered,
with a strange chill… this man had been born generations ago. Common men had lived and died, while Kavin slept that strange sleep… and now he still lived.

“Thuramon,” Hugon said. “He was with you then. He remembers your Dorada, too.”

“He was not born there,” Kavin said.

For a while the three rode in silence, the big horses at a steady canter, the only sound the jingle of metal and creak of leather. The sun rose higher, but the road was shaded by huge old trees. Now and again they passed a cottage, and once rode through another tiny village. Kavin kept silent, his eyes shadowed.

“That wench, now,” Zamor said after a long while. “The old warlock said we could count on her word… still, I wonder.” He glanced at Hugon, who rode beside him now, Kavin just ahead. “I’d never have guessed you were such a backward one, brother Hugon.”

“Eh?” Hugon glanced at him.
“How?”

“Why, you never bedded the lady at all, and there was time enough to do it before we put her aboard ship for Mazain,” Zamor said, grinning blandly.

“I did not,” Hugon said. “If I’d wanted a female leopard, I’d see if there were dealers in wild beasts about the town.” He glared at Zamor. “And why should I? There’s an abundance of willing girls in Drakonis… as you found out yourself, I think.”

“Great Snake, there are!” Zamor agreed, with a broad grin. He closed his eyes reminiscently for a moment and chuckled. “And a scarcity of
real
men, they told me. Several times, in truth…”

“Spare me,” Hugon grunted.

“But you should have given the noble lady something to remember the last night she was with us,” Zamor said. “She would have been easy to persuade, I’d guess, from one or two of her looks at you.”

“All that concerns me is whether she’ll keep her word if we ever find a way into Mazain,” Hugon said, frowning. “As Thuramon says we must. Getting into the Imperial City may be easy enough when the time comes. But if the Lady Gwynna betrays us, we’ll never get out again. It’ll be back to the oarbenches, if we’re lucky.”

“Not living,” Zamor said grimly. “I had many months on that bench. But if you wanted to be sure of the woman, you should have eased her widow’s woe. It’s the only way to be sure of a female’s word… or reasonably sure, anyway.”

“Ah, now, don’t forget, I still have the crystal charm,” Hugon said, grinning. “I can enchant the girl with it whenever I need to. Keep her silent, at any rate.”

“For a few hours,” Zamor said. “We need more than her silence. She’s our only key to the place Thuramon spoke of. With her help all will go swiftly… without it, who knows?”

“It was a fair oath,” Hugon said.
“She, to go back to her place in Mazain, and be ready to help us.
And in return, Thuramon to aid her in going back to her Armadoc that she seems to yearn for.” He chuckled. “Though I suspect the warlock’s cheating. I can’t think of any way she can go home to Meryon and live.”

Ahead, the road curved upward around a hill; on the green slope, among the trees, a gray mass of stone showed. As they came closer, Hugon could see that it was a dolmen shrine, very ancient from the nearly featureless look of the stones, but bearing the familiar symbols of the Great Goddess. He kicked his horse and trotted ahead to where a path led up toward the shrine; drew rein, and swung down.

“A moment,” Hugon said, as the other two drew up. He took his leather wine bottle from the saddle and patted Fraak. “Stay there, pretty one.” Then, to the other two, “I’ll pay my respects to the Goddess here. We’ll need all the luck we can find, I think.”

He went up the narrow path while Zamor and Kavin sat in their saddles, waiting.

“He may be wise at that,” Zamor said in a low voice, watching Hugon’s distant form. Hugon had knelt before the stone, and was pouring wine. Zamor glanced at Kavin, curiously. “I thought all of you of this land worshipped the Goddess.”

Kavin shrugged. “I… have done so. But
She
may not be pleased to take anything I give her. I once… took a different view of such things. No, I find it better to remain away from
Her
shrines.”

“In Numori, men are not even allowed near such a shrine,” Zamor said. “The Goddess is for women, the Snake for men, in my land. It seems to work out well enough. If we need luck, we ask the women to get it for us.” He chuckled.

On the hillside they could see Hugon, who had risen to his feet now. He still faced the ancient dolmen, but he was evidently finished with his offering; he was reclosing the wine bottle. Then, oddly, he seemed to freeze where he stood; and the two at the foot of the slope heard him utter a strange cry. Abruptly, he backed away, still facing the shrine; then he turned and came running down the path. As he came closer, they saw he was as pale as a man who has escaped a terror, and his eyes were staring wildly. He reached his horse and swung into the saddle, his heels thudding into the animal’s ribs.

Zamor and Kavin spurred after Hugon, and after a time came up with him as he slowed his own horse to a walk. He sat in the saddle, hunched down and staring ahead; there were beads of sweat on his forehead.