Lynortis Reprise - Karl Edward Wagner, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 1
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
eBook Version: 2.0.
Lynortis Reprise
Karl Edward Wagner
Prologue
High above the blighted wasteland Lynortis broods in gloomy majesty. Lofty
eyrie on a fang of sandstone, the fallen citadel stares out over the silent
wilderness of desolation far below. Lynortis. Fortress city whose walls no
army could overwhelm. Tyrant lord of the limitless forestlands sprawled at its
feet.
Lynortis, your eyes are sightless now, and the rich rolling valley over which
you reigned is the boneyard of two hundred thousand souls. Lynortis is dead,
and there are no mourners. No longer do carrion hawks nest in your gutted
halls; even the jackals have abandoned your dunes of bleached bones. Alone and
silent, you are the funeral obelisk for your unburied tens of thousands--and
for the bones of your conqueror. When slayer kills slayer, all are one with
the slain.
Two nations died here although one was hailed victor. Ask the dead whose side
won the war.
I
Hunters in the Forest
The girl's breath came in ragged sobs, and her stride was a broken stumble.
Hours before, her long legs had run swift, sure as a deer beneath the
misshapen trees. A deer is swift, but hounds are patient. Since noon they had
hunted her through that insane nightmare of moss-grown destruction. Now her
tanned legs were scratched and bruised as they pumped wearily beneath the
thorn-laced branches, and her bare feet left smears of blood upon the gnarled
roots. Her long brown hair was disordered with twigs and moss; her
thigh-length shapeless gown hung in grimy tatters about her lithe figure. The
only sound she uttered was the jagged rhythm of her breath.
"Not here!" The hoarse drawl came dimly front a hundred yards to her right.
"Not here!" An answering bail from her left, and closer. There echoed a stamp
of hooves and jingle of harness.
She darted into the wreckage of a huge trebuchet. A tent of saw-briar overgrow
the rotting beam of its counterweight, and the shadowy shelter within was
tiger-striped by the declining sun. Heedless of tearing thorns, she wriggled
closer to the charred timbers of the mammoth siege machine. Smeared with soot
and leaf mould, her tanned limbs and shift of coarse brown cloth merged with
the rotting timbers of the apparatus. Against her thin face her brown eyes
seemed large as those of some nocturnal creature. She froze--motionless save
the fast rise and fall of her high breasts and the quick, hunted flicker of
her eyes.
At first there had been hounds. They had almost caught her then. But she had
slithered breathlessly through a debris-choked tunnel, and when the baying
pack had followed, the rotted shoring had given way. Now men's eyes had to
search out her trail, and it was enough to hold a scant lead.
A moss-grown skull stared up at her, the rest of its bones still crushed
beneath the throwing arm of the trebuchet. Two skeletons in rotting mail lay
half-buried in the earthworks, ensnared in a nest of saw-briar. Near her feet
lay a rust-pitted dagger; a mouldering swordhilt protruded from beneath the
wreckage of the throwing arm. The rusted weapons gave her comfort no more than
the rotted bones caused her fear. Her terror was of the present, and of the
savage men who hunted her.
"Here! Fresh blood!"
From behind her--and close. She had been unable to bide her trail. Her
concealment was no refuge.
Hopelessly she broke from cover, flinging herself past the shroud of thorns.
Their excited shouts were close--in a few seconds they would reach the ruined
siege engine. Rank brush and twisted second-growth trees promised scarce cover
to bide her flight.
"Yo! That's her!"
Terror urged another burst of strength to her aching legs. She dashed headlong
through this graveyard of a battle three decades silent. Each breath was
agony, and still her lungs could not draw breath enough.
They were following close to her heels, confused in the war-scarred forest,
making too much noise themselves to catch the sound of her flight. But they
had horses.
She hurtled the fallen beams of a smashed springald, stumbling over the piled
rusted fragments of its iron-headed bolts. It brought her up just short of a
weed-grown trench that lay hidden a stop beyond. But this was a region of the
battleground she did not recognize, and she dared not chance shelter that
might instead be a cul-de-sac.
A tangle of yellowed bones filled its bottom, she saw as she leaped scrambling
across. Then into a brush-grown ravine a dozen painful strides beyond. Wriggle
snake-like down its slope, where bones line the eroded dirt like cobblestones.
They are stopping by the trench, making certain their quarry doesn't hide
there...
The gully emptied into a wash of detritus and sparse scrub. Beyond lay a thick
stand of broken trees--cover, if she could reach it. She darted onto the wash,
keeping low.
"Yee-hee!"
She skidded on the loose rubble of the clearing. Half a dozen horsemen broke
through the patch of woods ahead. They had encircled her.
"Here! We got her!" They pounded toward her.
She spun, but there was no escape behind. The others were pelting down from
beside the ravine she had quitted. She stood in full sight in the low scrub of
the wash. Again she whirled. She was trapped.
Fear twisted her face. They laughed as they closed on her, this band of forest
outlaws who would take their time before letting her die. Hard-faced killers
whose plundered gear was as mismatched as the men who wore it. They moved in
slowly, tempting her to try to run through their circle.
She sobbed a curse at them--half-crouched, backing away as one moved closer,
spinning about as another crept still closer from behind. They were playing
with the prey who had cost them so much toil. A circle of grinning wolfish
faces, casually moving in across the space of washed stone and dry bones.
The lead horse of the group that had waited in the timber stalked toward her.
Its fat rider was the bandit chief, Grey--who had let his men drive his quarry
into his dread grasp. His blubbery lips twitched in a triumphant grin.
Then his horse stumbled, its hoof breaking through the gravelled crust with an
eerie brittle smash.
Man and steed screamed in tearing agony. From the splintered bubble beneath
the wash erupted a spewing mist of black vapor, flowing heavily across the
barren space.
The horse plunged to the ground, spilling its rider in a writhing heap that
spared him the mercy of a broken neck. She could see the blackened skin slough
away from blistered features as the outlaw leader screamed mindlessly for a
moment longer. And already the black mist had billowed over those who were
with him.
Those who yet could, fled in desperate panic. The black vapor swirled like a
hell-driven cloud, flowing across the wash--breathing its searing death upon
all who were near.
The wind was blowing back toward the ravine, she saw, and carefully gauged the
spreading cloud. Of those with Grey, all lay shrieking on the bone-strewn
gravel. Those who had hounded her were trying to outrace the mist, in their
terror forgetting their prey.
Somewhere she found strength for a final burst of speed. Perilously skirting
the advancing cloud of vapor, she escaped its withering tendrils and reached
the patch of forest that lay upwind. The vapor would slowly dissipate, but by
the time the survivors regrouped it would be dark--if any still had heart for
their game.
On failing legs she stumbled into the shelter of the gnarled trees. And into
the grasp of the man who stood watching from their shadow.
She opened her mouth to scream, but already one spade-like hand smothered her
lips, while the other enclosed her wrists. With desperate strength she
struggled against him, but he held her fast with casual strength.
"Quiet!" His voice rumbled in her ear. "I won't hurt you!"
She shuddered and hung limp in his arms. Her heart hammered painfully, but it
was useless to try to break away.
He removed his hand from her lips, but retained his grip on her wrists. "Don't
worry, I'm not with them," he told her. "Let's just rest easy now, and let the
survivors distance between us. I think they're too demoralized for any more of
this."
He added, "What's your name?"
"Sesi," she admitted, after a pause. She twisted about to get her first good
look at the man who held her.
No wonder she had not seen him as she plunged into the trees--he might have
been one of the gnarled and massive trunks come to life. While he was not much
above the average height of a big man, he was built on the solid scale of an
ancient oak. Chest and torso broad and hard as some mighty bole, pillar-like
legs, arms thick with corded muscle--all gave him an aura of massiveness more
than size, of awesome and irresistible strength. The long-fingered hand that
pinned her wrists was large and sinewed; coarse red hair furred its back and
the thick forearm. He wore a leather vest trimmed with tufted wolf fur and
silver conchos, laced half-open, and a shirt of light mail beneath. Tight
leather trousers flared to cover high riding boots. A heavy knife was sheathed
at his belt, and the curiously wrought hilt of a broadsword protruded from
behind his right shoulder. Sesi had never known a man to carry his sword
strapped diagonally behind his back, and she judged him an outlander.
A short beard rusted his coarse-featured face and nape-length red hair was
tied by a leather band sewn with bright bits of girasole above the craggy
brow. His eyes... Sesi shivered. Cold, blue. Eyes of a killer... eyes that had
watched many a man die, had absorbed a fragment of each death, and the
essence of death flamed within their blue depths.
"I am called Kane."
And Sesi tore her eyes away, wondered for a moment whether her escape from her
pursuers had been good fortune.
Kane released her, and she pulled away from him. Her wide eyes regarded him
nervously, as she tried to gather the edges of a tear that opened her shift
halfway up her side.
"Who were they?" He asked casually.
"Bandits. Scavengers. Their sort prey on travellers in the mountains nearby.
Sometimes they slink into the battlefield to steal from the dead. Masale
decreed that this all be left untouched as a monument to his victory--but no
one guards the field, and the vultures creep in for what they can steal. There
is iron, gold..."
"I see bones."
"There are bones."
"Why were they chasing you?"
Sesi knotted the frayed edges of her gown over the tanned curve of her hip.
"Can't you guess?"
He studied her, then shrugged, face impassive. She could not read his
thoughts. "They went to great effort."
"You saw?" She combed fingers through her tangled mane.
"I was curious to know why a gang of petty killers was so desperately
searching the forest."
"Why are you here? This land is forbidden to all."
"Do you live here?" he asked instead.
"There are a few of us," she told him uneasily,
"Then I'll take you there."
"I can find my way."
Kane shook his head. "It's growing dark, and this land is treacherous with
overgrown pits and unexploded shells--as those who hunted you learned. My
horse is not far."
Sesi shrugged wearily and followed the stranger. It seemed dangerous to trust
a man with eyes like Kane's, but then she had little choice.
II
The Key
The fire-blackened stone walls stood roofless beneath greying skies. Ragged
gaps in the masonry evidenced the impact of stone missiles flung from mammoth
siege engines from the fortress high above. One wing lay in a smashed jumble
of weed-grown debris; the main hall was gutted to bare walls. Incongruously
spared amidst splintered stone, a stained glass rose window flamed red, gold,
and blue in the dying light.
Once the wooded plain at Lynortis's feet had known many stately manor houses
such as this. Two years of unleashed hell had smashed the land and its people
like a princess's doll-things in the path of a mad stampede. The marvel was
that this much of the mansion yet stood one stone upon another.
A far wing--once kitchens and servants' quarters--showed a streak of smoke
from a broken chimney. Yellow light leaked through chinks in the boarded
windows, and the broken roof showed crude repairs. A gaunt-ribbed cur snarled
from the shelter of a wall as Kane approached.
"Let me down. They'll want to know," Sesi slipped from Kane's saddle and
limped toward the low stone building.
Kane sat on his horse, sensing the eyes that watched from within. Casually his
fingers freed the clasp that held his scabbard to his left hip. A tug on the
hilt would pivot the scabbard on its shoulder swivel, freeing the blade in an
instant.
"Hranal!" She pushed at the door. "It's all right. Let me in."
The dog--he was not growling a challenge. He was snarling in fear. Kane
realized it just as the door was flung open.
Her scream and the scrape of Kane's blade clearing the scabbard shivered in
the air at the same instant. Kane spurred his mount toward the door, but
already strong arms had yanked Sesi inside.
The door was too low, or Kane would have bolted through--with room to
maneuver, a mounted swordsman could break up any free-for-all. Instead Kane
leaped from his saddle and squinted into the dimness within--warily holding
onto the reins. Several shadowy shapes struggled inside the low-ceilinged
room. Kane started for the door, and a tall figure barred his way.
"Kane! Wait!" the man shouted. "This isn't your fight!"
Kane paused, watching the other's poised blade. Inside, the struggle subsided.
The figure stepped from the doorway--a broad-shouldered blond man in
silver-studded mail.
"Kane! By the Seven! I said that has to be Kane when I saw you ride up!"
"Hello, Jeresen." There were lines of hard living and a long sear that had not
been there fifteen years before, but the face was one he knew well. A
suggestion of paunch and shadows beneath his eyes indicated the mercenary
captain had lived well before hard times left their recent mark.
The big blond-bearded man grinned and sheathed his sword. "Been a long time,
Kane since you and me put Roderic on his brother's throne."
Kane nodded, casually lowering his swordpoint. "That was a good fight,
Jeresen. What eventually happened after I had to leave?"
Jeresen chuckled. "After Roderic calmed down, I got your old job. Now and
again someone would have doubts as to the justice of Roderic's claim to the
throne--enough to keep it interesting, and remind Roderic he needed me and my
men. Few years back, Roderic bit into a kidney with some unsuspected spices in
it. After that, all hell broke loose, and when we finally cut our way out of
there, there wasn't much left of us. Since then we've done one thing or
another. Yourself?"
"One thing or another."
Jeresen eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"
"Going from one place to another. Lynortis is a good place to pass through
when you don't care to meet anyone."
"Yeah, I'll bet," grinned Jeresen. "What were you doing with the girl?"
"Picked her up along the battlefield. She was running from a gang of bandits,
until their leader's horse smashed an unexploded gas bomb. I was carrying her
back here hoping for shelter for the night."
Jeresen swore exultantly. "That was that son of a bitch, Grey! So the goddam
fool busted open an old Lynortian gas bomb, did he? Wish I'd seen it! The
bastard was trying to steal the key to a fortune right out of my grasp!"
"Key to a fortune?"
"Yeah, that's what you had cozied up on your saddle with you just now. Hell,
come on in, and I'll tell it over a few bottles. There's gold enough in this
to share with all my old comrades."
Kane returned his sword to its scabbard and followed Jeresen into the mined
wing. Inside were maybe ten armed men--blond Waldann mercenaries under
Jeresen's command. Kane recognized a few faces and exchanged greetings. He
guessed there must be others who had not joined them--unless this battered
handful were all that remained of the once formidable troop that had followed
Jeresen northward to earn a living by their blades.
Sesi, her arms tied behind her back, hunched miserably in a chair. Her eyes
sought Kane in desperate hope. There was blood on the stones of the floor, and
the old couple who cowered in one comer of the kitchen would not help her.
Neither would the heavyset man who lay in the center of the crimson stain.
Kane looked away and sat down at the long table.
"Hranal! Wine!" Jeresen yelled to the elderly man, who was dabbing at his
smashed lip. "Wine for us now--then have your woman cook meat. Make it good,
or you know what to expect. Laddos, go with him."
He sat across from Kane. "The place is a ruin, but the cellar still has
bottles of rare vintage unbroken by the siege. So you're only passing through.
There's a coincidence."
Kane declined to press matters. "A fortune, you were saying."
The Waldann captain grunted. "Silver, gold, gems--as much as every man can
carry if we're quick."
"How quick?"
"We'd better be out of here by daylight."
"There's nothing here but the bones of two armies."
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]