Saga of the Old City (13 page)

Everyone not holding fast to something and braced had been thrown flat by the force of the creature hitting the vessel, but in a moment most of the crew were back on their feet and shooting again. Was the serpent mortally wounded by them? They would never know, for its writhing and splashing on the surface had attracted something else. Yanoh had seen something huge and dark rise beneath the sea serpent, and then the wounded monster had suddenly been jerked beneath the ochre-stained waves. Gone without a trace!

Everyone aboard was happy that whatever could take it so easily was satisfied with that meal. They’d patched the stern sufficiently to allow them to make for shore and safety in Caverncliff Cove, one of the secret places the bargefolk wintered in. The small bay was on the eastern tip of the land that surrounded Nyr Dyv’s Midbay. The vessel had made port without further trouble, and had been there for a week.

It astonished Gord to learn that he’d been unconscious for so long, but he wasn’t worried. His head was sore where it had been gashed, and he knew that his scalp would always bear the scar of the encounter. He did feel pride in having been part of the fight against the monster, and that his own skill with the dagger had been vital to the survival of the whole Rhennee “family” aboard the barge.

Because of that skill, Gord now had a place of honor in the group. Everyone-Gord included-seemed to have forgotten about his gawking and his hesitation during the early stages of the battle, and the bargers enthusiastically acknowledged him as an adopted member of the Rhennee tribe. There were only five other barges at the place, for with the advent of warm weather most of the bargefolk had set forth on their travels. Those five, however, joined in the celebration Miklos held.

At his first opportunity, Gord asked the lord of the barge for more information about the creature that had come so near to finishing them all.

“What do you call those things, anyway?” he inquired.

“Big bastards,” Miklos replied.

“No, I mean, what is its actual name?”

“Shit, I’ve never seen anything like it before!” Miklos responded. “Nor as big as that, either.”

Gord didn’t feel quite so cocky after that short exchange. He realized fully that a lot of good luck had assisted them, and their missiles had been only a part of it. Anyway, he was still alive to tell about it-and that was the important thing. With that, he dismissed the whole affair and concentrated on the celebration.

There was all sorts of food and drink, singing, music, and dancing. Gord scrutinized all of the younger women, thinking that chance might have it that Adaz, the girl he’d met and liked as a boy when he first stayed with the Rhennee, would be among the folk from the other barges.

There were several strikingly pretty girls in the crowd, and all returned his scrutiny with bold looks. This, in turn, brought him black looks from any number of the men there, and when he noticed this Gord quickly quit his flirting. A fight would not be the way to end a feast celebrating victory over a sea monster and his adoption into the bargefolk tribe. But, even though he now kept his eyes elsewhere, and conversed only with the men around him, the damage had been done. As Gord was lifting his goblet to drink more of the harsh red wine the Rhennee favored, it was struck from his hand.

“On your feet, dog! Now that you are one of us, I can challenge you to the test of the blades!”

A tallish, muscular fellow stood before him, legs spread in an aggressive posture. “Piss off!” countered Gord. “Why should I want to fight you?”

“Are you a coward?” the Rhennee replied, shouting. “All saw the way you looked at Estrella-and the way she returned your lustful gaze! She’s my woman! Honor demands that I fight you for her-now!”

Just as he was about to suggest that the fellow bugger his honor and go pick a fight with his woman, Miklos stood up and shouted back at the challenger.

“Are you calling the family of Miklos curs? Are you saying that we have no pride? Pig!” He bent down, grabbed Gord by his blouse, and pulled him upright. “He will fight, and he will teach you manners!”

“Crap…” said Gord under his breath.

“What was that?” demanded Miklos.

“I said that that man is a craphead and a stinking yellow mongrel who cannot beat even a large child in a fair fight,” Gord hastily replied.

“Good! Teach him a lesson!” shouted the captain, even as Gord’s opponent was reaching grimly for the dagger on his wide belt. Gord could feel the celebrants in the immediate area moving back to make an arena for the impending fight.

Too bad for Gord that he had only his small sheath knife. The great dagger he had thrown into the sea serpent’s orb was somewhere in the waters of the lake-or, more probably, lodged in the intestines of some leviathan. According to the test of the blades, which he had heard about from his barge-mates, Gord must face his opponent with whatever weapon he had. At least its point was sharp and its edge keen.

“Be careful, brother!” hissed Miklos, speaking nearly in Gord’s ear so that the others nearby could not hear. “Zoltan is young, but he is one of the best daggermen in the whole tribe.”

Gord heaved a long sigh. “Thank you, my lord,” he replied sarcastically, out of the corner of his mouth. The remark was lost on Miklos, for he had turned away and was already busy with the active betting going on.

Someone came out of the crowd with a leather thong and tied it to the left wrists of the combatants so that they were separated by about a yard when the cord was stretched taut. In the instant after this man stepped back, Zoltan swept his dagger through the space between them. Gord reacted well, but not quickly enough to prevent Zoltan’s blade from tracing a stinging path across the front of his blouse, breaking the skin beneath but doing him no great harm. So, thought Gord, this is how we begin!

As he circled his opponent warily, Gord could just barely distinguish the voices shouting out the odds. In the space of the few seconds following Zoltan’s opening swipe, they had risen from seven to two all the way to ten to one-in Zoltan’s favor. Even though concentrating hard on the matter at hand, Gord could not help but feel indignant at that. Hell, one little slash across his belly didn’t mean he’d lost the duel!

The rules of the ritual dictated that if either combatant cut the tie that held them together, then that person was considered the loser and must either pay the winner a dozen silver nobles or be outcast. Gord actually considered slashing the thong and ending the contest, for what did a few coins mean? But the backing of his new “family” kept him at it. Gord assumed that they had wagered everything they owned on him, judging from their shouts of encouragement and their catcalls about Zoltan’s ability. He had to go on, even though it looked bad. Miklos expected him to prove himself worthy.

The years of schooling he had undergone would now be put to a real test. These conditions were almost the same as those prescribed in practice matches with less lethal weapons, but he wished they were using swords rather than shorter blades. Gord was a better swordsman than knife fighter, though not by much.

Slash and stab, parry and thrust…. The match went on for minutes, but seemed like it lasted hours. Both contestants were sweating from strain and exertion, but Gord marveled to himself that the tension was not actually affecting him, and that he was still feeling fresh and ready. He moved with fluid ease and was unwinded. Zoltan, on the other hand, seemed to be tiring a bit. He was panting, and moving his legs as if they were heavy. Interesting…

Gord stepped up the pace with a flurry of feints, movements, and actual attacks, intermixed with much circling designed to keep Zoltan on the move. He was cut twice more in the process, but both wounds were merely scratches, although they must have appeared worse to the audience from the sound of their reactions to the touches. He now heard someone offer odds of a dozen to one, but no cry of acceptance followed. Great!

Now, suddenly, Zoltan carried the fight to him-stamping forward, his blade moving with blurring speed. Gord danced back, parrying wildly, saving himself barely, and taking a cut on his weapon hand in the process. Now his grip would be less sure, for the blood flowing into his palm would make the handle of his small knife slippery. It was certainly time for him to come up with a winning attack or be beaten… and either shamed or killed.

Zoltan was most certainly tired from his furious onslaught. His breathing was labored, and he was gulping air as often as he had the opportunity. When he eased his attack a bit, Gord again countered with his own series of cuts, rushes, and so on. He feigned exhaustion also, and gradually slackened the pace of his offense. The bigger man thought he saw his opportunity and went for it.

Zoltan jumped forward suddenly, body crouched low, right arm looping forward, dagger set for a killing thrust into the kidneys or gut. But Gord wasn’t there when the attack ended. He had suddenly leaped back as far as possible, pulling on the leather thong with all his might. Zoltan, off balance, continued forward and fell heavily on his face, his left arm extended by the tie, dagger likewise before him. In a flash Gord leaped atop the man, looped the thong around his neck, and poised his knife at the edge of his throat.

“Who is a dog?” he asked.

“Not my brother Gord!” came the strangled reply from Zoltan.

“I am yours then, Gord!” cried the Rhennee girl Estrella, rushing to his side.

Chapter 11

“What do you mean, I can’t give her back?” Gord said with surprise, but in a low voice. “I didn’t want her in the first place.”

“It would be a mortal insult to Zoltan, Estrella, and the Rhennee code,” Yanoh told him. “Every hand would be turned against you if you did.”

“But I don’t want Estrella-not that she isn’t desirable!” Gord hastened to add, casting a glance toward where his prize sat a few paces away. “Why can’t I just make a present of her to Zoltan? I could say that I… I’ve taken a holy vow of celibacy-no women allowed!”

“Stop talking like an outsider, brother Gord of the Rhennee. We have no such silly thing as celibacy amongst the True Folk.”

Gord tried another tack. “Zoltan will be my enemy forever unless I return her to him.”

“Poo!” Yanoh sniffed. “He’s your sworn enemy for life now, that much is true. It would be a good insult to cast Estrella back at him, but that would not soothe Zoltan-and it would bring everyone else down on your head as well. Wait! I have it.”

“Have what?” Gord asked, finding it hard to keep the volume and tone of his voice under control.

“The solution, stupid. You can solve the problem easily. Do you have silver? You’ll need at least fifty silver pieces to do it.”

“Dammit, Yanoh! Do what?”

“Get rid of Estrella and let Zoltan know that you think he is worse than pig shit. All you have to do is kill her. The silver will pay off her family, and-”

At that, Gord was up and gone. He strode over to where Estrella was sitting, took her arm to help her up, kissed her, and marched the beaming Rhennee girl off toward the barge of his “family.” This brought a cheer from the assemblage of onlookers, at least those who weren’t too drunk by then. Gord resigned himself to his fate: he now had a woman whether he wanted one or not. Zoltan, meanwhile, stood in the background glaring daggers at both. Somehow, thought Gord, the fellow betrayed something more than hatred, however. Was that a hint of relief he saw in those sullen eyes?

Completing repairs and finishing the celebration took another week. The six barges at Caverncliff Cove were joined by several others in the interim, and most of the original ones left within a few days. As surely as if directed by the fates, the first new barge to arrive bore none other than Adaz, his friend from his earlier days with the Rhennee. She was now mature and more lovely than Gord’s remembrance of her. She was delighted to see him too, at first.

“Gord, you have grown so big and strong and handsome!” Adaz cried when they first met. She ran her hand over his muscular arm.

Gord flushed at that and murmured vaguely about having had to do much growing up. “And you, Adaz, you… you… are as beautiful as ever,” he finished somewhat lamely.

“Thank you, Gord. I know that you mean it, too. Why else would you have come all the way from Greyhawk just to find me?”

They talked a bit, casually, as Adaz linked her arm in his and steered him toward the community encampment. It was all downhill, in a manner of speaking, after that. When she saw Estrella and learned of the fight with Zoltan, she shunned Gord entirely. That made him sad and furious at the same time.

“Don’t worry,” Yanoh reassured him. “As soon as you become a chief man in the tribe and you have your own barge, then you can have as many women as you can keep!”

Worst of all, Estrella was a nag and a bitch. She was pretty, but the constant whining tone in her voice drove Gord mad. At every opportunity she was after him to get her presents-jewelry, clothing, any number of things she must have-all of it, she assured him, to enhance Gord’s status, of course. When she wasn’t on that tack, Estrella was urging him to get rid of Zoltan, challenge Miklos for lordship of the barge, take her to some rich town, and so on and so on and so on. If she caught him looking at Adaz or any of the other young girls, or even thought he might wish to look, she would verbally abuse him or physically attack him, scratching, biting, hitting, and kicking him until he had to subdue her.

“Beat her more frequently,” Miklos advised sagely.

Gord was certain that Zoltan was somewhere nearby laughing. Every time he looked up from a scene with Estrella, he saw the fellow’s back as he walked away. Zoltan’s shoulders were either shrugging or shaking with mirth-and Gord knew there was no reason for him to shrug. In desperation, he sought out his arch-enemy one day when Estrella was busy elsewhere.

“You won, Zoltan,” said Gord.

“How well I know that, Gord.”

“I don’t wish to be your enemy, Zoltan. Let us put this behind us and be friends.”

Zoltan did shrug then. “That you did me two great favors is true. You spared my life when it was yours for the taking. And you made it worth living by ridding me of Estrella. I would kiss you if I could, but our custom dictates I must now be your foe. However, you need never worry that I shall again try to kill you, friend Gord, because if I did, that bitch would be mine again!” His darkly tanned face split into a huge laugh at that, head thrown back, white teeth showing.