King of the Bastards (13 page)

Asenka shook her head in disbelief. “So it is weak to desire
companionship? To want a partner to share life with? You think it is bad to
desire love?”

Rogan blinked. “You place words in my mouth, woman. I grew up a
fighter, a rover, a soldier, seeing wealth and warmth and never having it. The
eyes are keys to the gut, and my guts were often empty. The rich had food and
jewels to buy all that they needed, including a new woman. Why would love enter
into it?”

“You are a savage.”

Rogan was unapologetic. “And your point is? I wanted to be a
ruler, a king, to have what I always desired—ultimate power. Once I took the
crown of Albion, even more fighting went on. There was always a bastard around
to try to take my crown. On a tower of skulls, I built my throne and knew peace
at last.”

“And yet, you are here.”

Rogan was silent for a long time and then said, “I was bored, so
I left.”

“I disagree that you knew no love. Truly, love makes one strong.”

“No, it doesn’t. Love makes you do stupid things. It makes you
create images of yourself. It lets you hold a tiny hand in your own. It makes
you feel and desire odd things like seeing grandchildren. It gives you a
weakness.”

“You miss your queen?”

“I can buy another wife, but not another son or daughter. You
see, that’s what love does to you. It makes you care. Since my son and my
family are in peril, I’d do anything to stop those attacking them. Karac knew
it. My enemies have used that weakness against me. They have exploited it. A
strong man would sail off and pass wind in the direction of Albion. Me? I am
weak, for I would bite the balls off Satan himself to get at the ones who harm
my children. That’s what love brings—a chink in the armor.”

“Did you love your queen?”

Rogan slipped out from beneath her and stood up. Stretching, he
looked out of the tent flap.

“You make me talk too much, woman.”

“How did she die?”

“A child killed her,” Rogan said. “She had a baby and never
recovered.”

“I am sorry…”

Rogan tensed. “Get out of here and leave me be. You got what you
came for. More actually. Go.”

§

Donning her clothes, Asenka exited the tent and left Rogan
to his brooding. A campfire glowed at the edge of the village. As she approached
it, she saw Javan and Zenata sitting close together, the glowing embers
flickering off their faces. They said nothing as she approached, but both of
them smiled. Asenka sat down and looked into the fire.

“Save your smiles,” Asenka snapped. “I do not love your master,
Javan.”

“I would never presume that you did, miss. In truth, it is just
as well that you don’t love him.”

“Why?”

“Because eventually, everyone that loves Rogan dies…”

“You have known him your entire life, no? You don’t love him?”

Javan stoked the fire. “No, I don’t love him. He is not a man
that easily allows that. I respect him, admire him, and would certainly give my
life for him—and indeed, I probably will end up dying for him before we leave
this land—but nay, there is no love there. I cannot allow myself that
weakness.”

“You are a strange pair.” Asenka noted how close Zenata sat to
Javan and how she looked at him when he wasn’t aware. “Did Rogan love his
queen?”

Javan raised an eyebrow. “All this talk of love is unseemly and
strange to my ears. I am not a bard. But since you asked about the queen, I was
a young man when she passed, but I do recall her. She died after her last
child, a daughter. Did my uncle love her? Well, their relationship was more
like fencing, to be frank. I think she loved Rogan. Very much so.”

Asenka persisted, “But did he love her?”

“As often as he could, in his fashion. And she seemed satisfied
with that. But Rogan does love his children unto death. That much is certain.”

“How can he love his own children so much, but not feel the same
for their mother?”

“Because it is easier to love those of your own blood rather than
just a partner. That is the way of the barbarian—and my uncle is a barbarian
before anything else.”

“What say you? Are your thoughts the same in regards to love?”

“I am from Albion,” Javan said, smiling. “Though probably coarse
in your eyes, we have a more advanced way of being. I have known the love of a
partner, and hope to know it again.”

Javan’s eyes went to Zenata and then looked quickly away. Both
blushed.

Asenka stood. “Rogan told me of his vision. He never shared that
with you, his faithful servant. I know. I was outside the tent when you left.”

Javan shrugged. “He is teaching me the ways of life, miss. I am
not his slave. I am his nephew and loyal subject. Besides, he will tell me in
time.”

“Ha! Why do you think so?”

Javan’s smile faded and he stared into the fire. There was a deep
sadness about him.

“Tell me,” Asenka demanded. “Why will he share it with you if he
is so incapable of love?

“Because,” Javan whispered, his eyes not leaving the flickering
flames. “I am all he has left, and we are a long way from home.”

DURING THE NEXT
few days, Rogan and Javan took the
longer steel weapons salvaged from the wreckage of the ship and worked them
into smaller implements—daggers, arrowheads, spearheads, and axe heads, since
the tribe was skilled at using those weapons. There was no time to teach the
Kennebeck of swordplay. Besides, an axe or spear in their hands could be just
as deadly. Rogan was glad to perform the work. It took his mind off the events
transpiring across the sea. While they manufactured the weapons, Asenka and
Zenata trained the men of the tribe on better methods of fighting.

The sun rose high into the sky. The village buzzed with activity.
Rogan and Javan labored with the weapons, while Akibeel sat nearby, head bowed
in prayer. Asenka and Zenata had gathered their women warriors and the
Kennebecks in a large clearing. The rest of the tribe busied themselves with
preparation.

Rogan sweated over the fire, beating an arrowhead into shape with
a stone hammer trimmed with metal. He swatted with irritation at a mosquito and
then surveyed his handiwork.

“These weapons will make for a great equalizer. Amazarak’s forces
will be stunned when they have to face the Kennebeck folk armed with steel. And
the loyalty we glean from these people will be a good thing later.”

“True enough, sire,” Javan answered.

His voice sounded far away. Rogan noticed that Javan studied
Zenata, who taught hand-to-hand combat in the clearing. They watched as Zenata
flipped her pupil over her shoulder for the third time. The other tribesmen
laughed.

“I think the women are training dogs to shave. A hopeless task, I
reckon.”

“And still, they try,” Javan murmured, his usual stoic manner
dreamy as he watched. “They are noble savages. They have heart, if not the
skills. And that may win the day. They will be ready.”

“They had better be. Time draws short.” He glanced down at the
weapons. “But we have stacked more weight on the scale, eh? And they seem
proficient enough with these. Good. I grow anxious for a fight.”

Finished with his meditations, Akibeel stood and approached them.
“You might get your wish sooner than you expect.”

Rogan glared at him. “Why is that?”

“Amazarak’s forces regularly attack us,” Akibeel said. “But with
the exception of what happened on the beach, they have left us alone since your
arrival. We are overdue for an assault. I fear that they will try again before
we ascend the mountain. If so, our numbers may dwindle long before we even
reach the top.”

“So be it.” Rogan swung the hammer. “I would welcome an attack.”

Akibeel didn’t respond.

§

Asenka lay with Rogan again that night, while Javan and
Zenata grew closer, as well, telling each other secrets of their childhoods.
The Kennebecks and Asenka’s warrior women slept as much as possible, reserving
their energies in preparation for the assault.

Akibeel heard Javan and Zenata speaking, soft and low, but their
words weren’t of passion. He heard the girl ask, “What are the Thirteen?”

Javan dutifully replied, “One of the stories I heard at school
was that they are what remains from a previous universe. You see the sky, full
of stars that goes on forever?”

“Yes.”

“Story was that the ultimate God, the creator of all others and
of this cosmos, destroyed a previous universe to make this one. I don’t
comprehend how, of course. But the yarn goes that the Thirteen are all that
remain of that original universe, thirteen entities with different desires for
this world.”

The girl lay silent for a bit before saying, “I wonder why the
God of creation allowed such things to live.”

“He must have a reason. Either that or those that know of the
Thirteen are lying or that some force talking to the Thirteen lied to them.
They say the ultimate negative force in the universe is a liar.”

“One of these Thirteen, Croatoan, or who was it?”

“Meeble. Croatoan. Different names for the same swine.”

“He is at the top of the mountain?”

Javan cleared his throat a little. “Supposed to be, but I think
he isn’t there, at least not yet.”

“Why?”

“If Meeble was, why wait? His servants cause chaos, and he loves
that, I suppose, but if he were here, he’d be on a rampage, no waiting.”

Akibeel retired to his lodge, and though his eyes were closed,
too, the old shaman did not sleep.

Instead, he traveled the astral plane.

What he saw filled him with dread, and when he returned to his
body, he still could not sleep.

He shivered silently, wrapping his arms around his legs and
drawing his knees up close. Then he rocked back and forth.

For Akibeel, the dawn was a long time in coming, and when the sun
finally rose, it brought no warmth.

§

Dawn came early for the others, as well. They rose quickly,
ate a brief breakfast, and then made their final preparations. As they packed
supplies for the trip, Akibeel pulled Rogan aside.

“I traveled last night,” the old man whispered. “And I am afraid.
I fear we will lose this battle.”

“Why?”

“Because Amazarak’s forces also make preparations and their
numbers far outweigh ours. They are stronger. I fear my people will lose
strength during the ascent. The mountain will shatter their resolve. Croatoan
exudes fear like an aura. It permeates the atmosphere at the summit.”

Rogan grinned. “Let us be honest. Many of your tribe will
probably weaken just from the climb alone. You’re not mountain folk. You are
forest dwellers.”

Akibeel appeared unfazed by the veiled insult. “It is not a sheer
climb, but a gradual one, for your information. My people could eagerly face
and best Amazarak’s soldiers if that were the only obstacle. But as I said,
fear is in the air. And it is not his human followers that I am concerned
about. There are others, like the beasts you saw in the vision. The hairy
giants.”

“The ape-men. But you said there were only a few dozen.”

Akibeel nodded. “Aye, there were. But there are more of them now.
Last night, I saw many more pouring from their caves. I do not know how their
number could have grown so quickly.”

“I think the spirits screw with your head. No matter.” Rogan
shrugged. “They can bleed and die, yes?”

Akibeel nodded again. “Everything can die, Rogan. You just have
to know how to kill it.”

Rogan clapped the shaman’s bony shoulder. “That’s the first
sensible thing you’ve said since we met you on the beach. Leave the ape-men to
Javan and I, and to Asenka’s females. And after we’ve finished with them, and
their blood melts the snows, we shall see if this Croatoan can perish as well.”

They rejoined the others. Akibeel pulled his cloak tighter about
himself. Rogan joined the procession of fighters arming themselves. He selected
his sword, a quiver of arrows, and a bow. Javan approached, elbowing his way
through the crowd, and extended a flask of water. Rogan drank deeply.

Javan said, “We have a long trek ahead of us, sire.”

“Yes,” Rogan agreed. “And when we are done, an even longer
journey awaits us. Let’s get on with it. I have had my fill of this village.”

Suited up, armed, and ready, the small Kennebeck army departed
the forest and headed for the low plain beneath the mountain. Asenka’s warriors
flanked the troops on both sides. Akibeel and six braves led the way, followed
by Rogan, Javan, Asenka, and Zenata, and then the rest of the force.

All of them felt eyes on them as they left the shadow of the
forest, as if the very trees were watching them leave. Somewhere above the
leaves, a great bird cried out, its screech echoing across the land. As the
party emerged onto the plain, a dark shadow raced across the countryside. They
cast their gaze to the sky, but it yawned, empty.