The Shaman (10 page)

There
was a moment’s pause; then all eighteen called, “I!” After a minute, so did
Lucoyo. It was just his bad luck that Ohaern chose him for companion.

They
went into the city when the sun was low, entering by twos and threes. Lucoyo was
amazed at the extent of it and the overwhelming number of people—amazed and
repelled that so many people could live together with so little room for each.
It showed; there were quarrels on every hand, and he saw two fights break out
as they walked along.

Byleo
had grown up between the riverbank and the fortress on its hilltop. The houses
varied between the lodges of the hunters, new and strange to Lucoyo, and the
tents of the nomads, which were more familiar to him, though not quite like
those among which he had grown up. At least the street between them was a good
twelve cubits’ wide, though it was only dust; there was no grass and few enough
trees, but there were weeds a-plenty, if the dried remains of last year’s crop
were anything to judge by.

After
fifteen minutes’ walk through a warren of such streets, they came into a
broader one, at least ten yards in width. The houses here were built of mud
brick, something that Lucoyo and Ohaern stared at. “Surely it will wash away in
one good rain!” Lucoyo protested.

“Surely,”
Ohaern agreed. “What are these pictures painted on the walls?”

Lucoyo
frowned. “That one is a fish—and surely that is a joint of meat. I see a sheaf
of grain, but what is that foaming bowl next to it?”

“I
cannot say,” Ohaern said, “but I do recognize a bunch of grapes, there. What
can such drawings be for? Surely not mere decoration!”

“They
show what goods we have to trade, outlander,” a fat man called, lounging in the
doorway under the sign of the foaming bowl. “Mine shows a bowl of beer. If you
have goods to trade, you may taste of it.”

“Beer?
What is that?”

The
merchant grinned. “A drink made of grain, though it must be made by a special
recipe, and takes a week and more to prepare. I will let you drink all you want
for only one small piece of amber, if you wish it.”

“Perhaps
tomorrow,” Ohaern said, interested, “but for now, we must go to the stockade
and learn how we are to go about our trading.”

“Ah,
well!” the merchant said with regret. “You had best hurry, then, for they close
the gate when the sun sets.”

“Thank
you, stranger.” Ohaern hastened his steps, asking Lucoyo softly, “Surely the
amber traders would give us more than a few bowls of drink for a piece of gem?”

“It
would seem to be a bad bargain,” Lucoyo agreed. “Why do you suppose this street
is so wide, Ohaern?”

“Look!”
Ohaern pointed at the stockade, straight in front of them, though still much
higher. “It goes directly to the gates! It is wide so that a troop of soldiers
may march down it side by side!”

Lucoyo
lifted his head slowly. “Yes, that would make sense. Well, let us go to it side
by side, then.”

They
came to the great stockade gates just as the sunset reddened the sky. “You have
come too late,” the sentry told them. “There is no more trading today.”

“Can
we not come in and stay the night?” Ohaern peered in through the gate. “I see
that other traders do, and we would prefer to be here when the trading begins
in the morning.”

“Well,
you can if you wish,” the Kuruite soldier said, “but you shall have to barter
for your dinner.”

Ohaern
nodded. “I have amber.”

The
soldier’s eyes gleamed with a covetous light. “Give it to me and I shall see
you fed!”

Ohaern
reached into his pack and pulled out a lump of amber the size of his thumb. “Is
this all?” the soldier asked contemptuously.

“No,
but I must save some to trade in the morning, must I not?”

“There
is that,” the soldier said reluctantly. “You will need breakfast, too. Very
well, enter.”

Ohaern
and Lucoyo went in, and found Glabur and his two men already waiting. Not far
away, Dalvan and Jannogh lounged and gossiped. They were careful not to
acknowledge one another, pretending to be strangers. The soldier was true to
the bargain and brought them dinner—if bowls of cold porridge can be called
dinner. Ohaern pointed this out to the man, but he only said that he would
bring it to them hot, for breakfast. Then he walked away, chuckling to himself.

Lucoyo
tasted the mess and made a face. “I hope that soldier is still on duty when—”

Ohaern
cleared his throat rather loudly.

“—the
moon rises,” Lucoyo finished hastily. “It will be good to know we have a
protector.”

“What?”
said another barbarian sourly. “Do you think that man would care whether you
lived or died?”

“So
long as I had amber or fur to trade him? Yes.”

“A
point,” the stranger admitted. “Have you?”

Lucoyo
saw the covetous gleam in the man’s eye and grinned. “Whether I do or not,
friend, he will learn in the morning. But what trade goods have you?”

“It
is too late to talk.” Ohaern gave Lucoyo a warning glance. “We should be abed.”

“What,
when the moon is not yet risen?” Lucoyo gave him a wink. “Surely it would be
quite unnatural for traders far from home to forgo the pleasures of talk and
news any sooner than that!”

Ohaern
lifted his head, understanding coming into his eyes, and Lucoyo turned back to
strike up some gossip—and just incidentally learn a little more about Byleo and
its Kuruite soldiers. He discovered, for example, that they changed the
sentries an hour after sunset and again in the middle of the night; that the
sentries tended to gossip and nap at their posts; and that there were always
two stationed by the prison door, and one by the southern gate. The gleam of
approval in Ohaern’s eye told him that he was doing well.

For
his part, Ohaern looked around at his men, noting that they had done as he
said—spread themselves out at the edge of the crowd, nearer to the long houses
where the soldiers dwelled. There were nine of them, two for each of the
soldiers’ houses, to strike down any who might respond to an alarm, and one to
knock down any who might come stumbling out of the women’s house at the wrong
moment. Ohaern nodded, feeling the tension mount. He knew that five more of his
men were hidden in the maze of houses below, all within sight of the main road,
all ready to come out and attack any who sought to follow him when he emerged
with Manalo—if Manalo were still alive and well, pray Lomallin! There were two
more of his men at the edge of the crowd near the prison, and two more opposite
them; they would account for the guards. One last Biri was chatting with a
stranger not far from the small, one-man gate; he would be the one man, when he
had struck down its guard.

That
left Lucoyo and himself to drop any sentries who might be on duty inside the
prison. Ohaern had a little mistrust of the half-elf still, but not much, and
knew that Glabur would be watching from his post by the barred door, anyway.

They
were ready. He prayed for moonrise—and for clouds.

The
moon rose, a thin sickle, and though there were no clouds, it was still dark
enough to hide their movements.

“Now!”
Ohaern said. “We shall take the guards at the prison door!”

“What?”
Lucoyo looked up, startled. “Do you mean to charge them?”

“Aye.”
Ohaern frowned down at him. “What else?”

“What
else? They will raise the hue and cry before you are halfway to them, that is
what else!”

“It
is dark.”

“Not
dark enough to hide a hulk the size of yours! Only think—if you saw a man of
your bulk charging at you with Glabur and Dalvan behind him, what would
you
do?”

“You
do not mention yourself,” Glabur said with a tone of menace.

“Me?”
Lucoyo spread his hands. “Slight, short me? Who would take notice of
me?
Who would feel threatened? Nay, you fellows creep around to the sides, so that
you may pounce
after
they have not noticed me!” And he was up and away,
walking swiftly toward the prison.

Glabur
started to shout after him, but Ohaern caught his arm. “No, let us trust him.
He has done nothing to earn anything else.”

“But
if he should turn traitor now, with hundreds of Kuruite soldiers about us—”

“If
he should not, he will have us into that prison without noise. See! He changes
his gait!”

Glabur
looked where Ohaern was pointing and saw the half-elf stumbling, almost
staggering, toward the prison. “What stratagem has he in mind?”

“Only
a prank, like as not. Do you and Dalvan circle to the left; I will take the
right.”

Keeping
low, Glabur and Dalvan went to the shadow of the wall and followed it until
they were out of the guards’ line of sight. Then they dashed across a small
patch of open ground into the shadow of the prison wall and crept along it to
the corner.

Ohaern,
however, had no obliging wall to shield him—but a happy thought struck him, and
he stood up and strode openly and boldly toward the temple. The prison guards
looked up, stiffening, and so did a sentry on the wall—but they relaxed as he
went to the temple portal. No one thought twice about a worshiper going to
Ulahane’s temple in the middle of the night.

But
once in its shadow, Ohaern flattened himself against the wall and crept to the
corner that overlooked the prison door. He arrived just in time to see Lucoyo
stagger up toward the door.

Two
spears were leveled at his midriff. “Stand!” a guard snapped. “Where do you
think you go?”

“Latrine.”
Lucoyo followed the statement with a loud hiccup, then explained, “Burshting.”

“The
latrines are over against the western wall, fellow!”

“Can’
make it,” Lucoyo slurred. “Flood. Here.”

“If
you dare to think of it, I’ll see you inside that door for good and all! Then
you can manage in there, where they
have
no latrines—or where every
scrap of dirt is a latrine!”

Lucoyo
stared at them, owl-eyed, then shook his head slowly. “Dirty,” he said. “Sick.”

“What
matters illness, to those who go to Ulahane? They will not live long enough!
Nay, and the few who
are
kept alive, awaiting judgment, deserve death
anyhow—so what matters illness, indeed?”

“
‘Deed,” Lucoyo echoed. “You go in there?”

“Only
to serve the prisoners their slop! How dare you say that a soldier of Kuru
should dwell amidst such filth!”

“Oh
... I dunno ...” Lucoyo joined his hands, twiddling his thumbs. He seemed to
have heavy going of it—they kept tripping over one another. But he rolled his
eyes up, pursing his lips as he contemplated the moon, and the two guards
stared at him, beginning to grin, wondering what this foolish drunk would say
next.

“The
barbarian hasn’t tasted beer before,” one of them grunted to the other.

“The
first time always takes them like this,” his partner agreed.

“Ah!”
Lucoyo stabbed a forefinger upward. “Found it!”

The
guard stared. “Found what?”

“Why
Kuruite soldier might go in prizhon!”

“Oh,
have you really,” the one soldier purred, and the other demanded, “Why?”

“
‘Cauzh he might
fall on ‘eml”

“Fall
on them?” The soldier grinned, and his mate laughed. “You talk nonsense,
fellow! Why should we fall—”

The
big shadows that loomed behind them raised war clubs and struck down with dull
cracks. The two guards stiffened; then their eyes rolled up and they slumped to
the ground.

“That
is why,” Lucoyo hissed.

“Well
done, archer!” Ohaern’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Now! You three hold the
door!”

“Can
you two wear these soldiers’ helmets and pectorals?” Lucoyo asked Glabur. “I am
too slight—no one would believe it.”

Glabur
nodded. “A good thought.”

“And
I shall bring out Manalo!” Ohaern turned to the door.

“Alone?”
Lucoyo stared at him.

“Yes,
alone. The guards are out here—why should there be need for more than one? But
if anyone comes near, friend Lucoyo, do you carry on more of these antics you
used on these guards.”

Lucoyo
nodded. “No one will think anything of a fool entertaining a couple of bullies.
But how shall you get in? There is no latchstring, nor any other means of
unlocking it that I can see!”

“Like
this.” Ohaern laid hold of the handle of the prison door, set himself, and
heaved. Every muscle in his body stood out; for a few seconds his form was a
gigantic bow, straining against wood. Then something snapped, and Ohaern nearly
stumbled as the door shot open. But he caught himself, chest heaving, and
turned back to his three friends, who were staring, wide-eyed. “Close it after
me, but be ready to open when I knock like this!” He struck the door in a
brief, complex rhythm.

Glabur
jolted out of his daze and nodded. “We shall, Ohaern!”

“Good.
I should not be long.” Ohaern glanced down at the two prone and now naked
soldiers. “Oh, and—hide the refuse.” Then the door closed behind him.

Lucoyo
jolted himself out of a daze. “Has he always been that strong?”

“Only
since he grew up,” Glabur told him.

Lucoyo
shook his head in amazement, then said, “Well, we had better do as he said. You
two stay on duty, in case anyone looks this way. I’ll haul.” He laid hold of a
guard’s feet and began dragging.

Glabur
glanced at Dalvan and said, “The halfling is trustworthy.”

“So
it would seem,” Dalvan replied. “I pray Ohaern has no difficulty!”

Ohaern
was having a little trouble finding his way in the dark, but the body he
tripped over cursed him in his own language, and he bent down to say, “My
apologies, Biri. How came you here?”

“I
got drunk,” the Biri snapped, “and they robbed me of all my trade goods. Then
they claimed I could not wander the town with no substance, so they threw me in
here. They tell me I go to Ulahane tomorrow night. And you, man of my nation?”