The Sword & Sorcery Anthology (46 page)

Tain helped with the saddle. “Better than what?”

“I see. They haven’t told you. But they’d hide their shame,
wouldn’t they?”

“I don’t understand.”

“The one they call the Witch. She’s their daughter Shirl.”

“Lords of Darkness!”

“That’s why they have no friends.”

“But you don’t blame them?”

“When the Children of Hell curse someone with the Power, is that
a parent’s fault? No. I don’t blame them. Not for that. For letting her
become a petulant, spoiled little thief, yes. I do. The Power-cursed
choose the right- or left-hand path according to personality. Not so?”

“It’s debatable. They let me think she was dead.”

“They pretend that. It’s been a little over a year since she cast her
spell on the Baron. She thought he’d take her to Iwa Skolovda and
make her a great lady. But she doesn’t understand politics. The Baron
can’t go back. And now she can’t come home. Now she’s trying to buy
a future by stealing.”

“How old are you, Torfin?”

“Nineteen, I think. Too old.”

“You sound older. I think I like you.”

“I’m a Caydarman by chance, not inclination.”

“I think you’ve had pain from this too.”

A wan smile crossed Torfin’s lips. “You make me wonder. Do you
read minds? What are you, carrying such a sword?” When Tain didn’t
respond, he continued bitterly, “Yes, there’s pain in it for Torfin Hakes
son. I was in love with Shirl. She used me. To get into the Tower.”

“That’s sad. We’d better go in. Be careful. They’re not going to be
glad to see you. Caydarmen burned the Kosku place. One of his girls
was killed.”

“Damn! But it was bound to happen, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. And that was just the beginning. Kosku went after Olag and
Grimnir. He was killed too.”

“Which one did it?”

“Too late. Olag, but he’s dead too. He killed Mikla and wounded
Toma first, though.”

“Help me with the saddle. I can’t stay.”

“Stay. Maybe together we can stop the bloodshed here.”

“I can’t face them. They already hate me. Because of Shirl.”

“Stay. Tomorrow we’ll go to the Tower. We’ll see the Baron himself.
He can stop it.”

“Mikla lived with Stojan’s daughter. The old man will want to
avenge him.”

“All the more reason to stop it here.”

Torfin thought again. “All right. You didn’t cut me down. Maybe
you have a man’s heart.”

Tain smiled. “I’ll guard your back, Trolledyngjan.”

XV

Rula and Toma were talking in low, sad tones. Tain pushed through
the doorway. Silence descended.

Such hatred! “Torfin will stay the night. We’re going to the Tower
in the morning. To talk to the Baron.” Tain glared, daring opposition.

Toma struggled up. “Not in my house.”

“Lie down, damn it. Your pride and fear have caused enough
trouble.” Toma said nothing. Rula tensed as if to spring.

“Tain!” Steban whined.

“Torfin has said some hard things about himself. He’s almost too
eager to take his share of responsibility. He’s willing to try to straighten
things out.

“In no land I know does a father let his daughter run away and just
cry woe. A man is responsible for his children, Toma. You could have
gone after her. But it’s easier to play like she’s dead, and the Witch of
the Tower has nothing to do with you. You sit here hating the Baron
and refuse to admit your own part in creating the situation....”

He stopped. He had slipped into his drillmaster’s voice. Pointless.
Recruits had to listen, to respond, to correct. These westerners had
no tradition of personal responsibility. They were round-eyes. They
blamed their misfortunes on external forces....

Hadn’t Toma blamed Mikla? Didn’t Rula accuse Toma?

“That’s all. I can’t do any good shouting. Torfin is spending the
night. Rula. Steban gave you a package.”

She nodded. She refused to speak.

“Thank you.”

For an instant he feared she hadn’t understood. But the packet
came with a murmured, “It’s all right. I’ll control my feelings.”

“Is the broth ready?” He felt compelled to convince Rula.

She ladled a wooden bowl full. “Tain.”

“Uhm.”

“Don’t expect me to stop feeling.”

“I don’t. I feel. Too much. I killed a man today. A man I didn’t
know, for no better reason than because I responded to feelings. I
don’t like that, Rula.”

She looked down, understanding.

Steban chimed, “But you were a soldier....”

“Steban, a soldier is supposed to keep the peace, not start wars.”
The almost-lie tasted bitter. The Dread Empire interpreted that
credo rather obliquely. Yet Tain had believed he was living it while
marching to conquest after conquest. Only when Shinsan turned
upon itself did he question his commanders.

“Tain....” There was a life’s worth of pain in Steban’s voice.

“People are going to get killed if we don’t stop it, Steban.” Tain
tapped herbs into Toma’s broth. “Your friends. Maybe there are only
six Caydarmen. Maybe they could be beaten by shepherds. But what
happens when the Baron has to run?” He hoped Toma was paying
attention. Steban didn’t care about the long run.

Toma’s eyes remained hard. But he listened. Tain had won that
much respect.

“Governments just won’t tolerate rebellion. It doesn’t matter if it’s
justified. Overthrow the Baron and you’ll have an army in the Zemstvi.”

Toma grunted.

Rula shrieked, “Tain!”

He whirled, disarmed Steban in an eye’s blink. Torfin nodded in
respect. “Thank you.”

“Steban,” Toma gasped. “Come here.”

“Dad, he’s a Caydarman!”

Tain pushed the boy. A soul-searing hatred burned in his young
eyes. He glared at Mikla, Torfin, and Tain.

Tain suddenly felt tired and old. What was he doing? Why did he
care? It wasn’t his battle.

His eyes met Rula’s. Through the battle of her soul flickered the
feelings she had revealed the day before. He sighed. It was his battle.

He had killed a man. There was blood in it. He couldn’t run away.

XVI

“I want to see Shirl,” Rula declared next morning. “I’m going too.”

“Mom!” Steban still didn’t understand. He wouldn’t talk to Tain,
and Torfin he eyed like a butcher considering a carcass.

Tain responded, “First we take care of Mikla. Steban. The sheep.
Better pasture them.” To Toma, “Going to need sheds. That barn’s
too crowded.”

Toma didn’t reply. He did take his breakfast broth without difficulty.

He finally spoke when Steban refused to graze the sheep. “Boy,
come here.”

Steban went, head bowed.

“Knock it off. You’re acting like Shirl. Pasture the sheep. Or I’ll
paddle your tail all the way out there.”

Steban ground his teeth, glared at Tain, and went.

Rula insisted that Mikla lie beside the new home’s door. Tain and
Torfin took turns digging.

Tain went inside. “We’re ready, Toma. You want to go out?”

“I’ve got to. It’s my fault.... I have to watch him go down. So I’ll
remember.”

Tain raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I thought about what you said. I don’t like it, but you’re right.
Four dead are enough.”

“Good. Torfin! Help me carry Toma.”

It was a quiet burial. Rula wept softly. Toma silently stared his
brother-in-law into the ground. Neither Torfin nor Tain spoke. There
were no appropriate words.

Tain saddled the roan and threw a pad on the mule. He spoke to
her soothingly, reassuringly.

He knelt beside Toma while Torfin readied the paint. “You’ll be all
right?”

“Just leave me some beer. And some soup and bread.”

“All right.”

“Tain?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, Toma.”

The mule accepted Rula’s weight, though ungraciously. Tain
donned his weapons. Little was said. Tain silently pursued his
Morning Ritual. He hadn’t had time earlier. Torfin watched. He and
Rula couldn’t talk. There were too many barriers between them.

The Tower was a growing, squat, dark block filled with frightening
promise. A single vermilion banner waved over its ramparts. A feather
of smoke curled from an unseen chimney.

“Something’s wrong,” Torfin remarked. They were a quarter mile
away. “I don’t see anybody.”

Tain studied their surroundings.

Sheep and goats crowded the pens clinging to the Tower’s skirts.
Chickens and geese ran free. Several scrawny cattle, a mule, and
some horses grazed nearby.

No human was visible.

“There should be a few women and children,” Torfin said.
“Watching the stock.”

“Let’s stop here.”

“Why?” Rula asked.

“Beyond bowshot. Torfin, you go ahead.”

The youth nodded. He advanced cautiously. The closer he drew,
the lower he hunched in his saddle.

“Rula, stay here.” Tain kicked the roan, began trotting round the
Tower. Torfin glanced back. He paused at the Tower gate, peered
through, dismounted, drew his sword, went in.

“Whoa.” The roan stopped. Tain swung down, examined the
tracks.

“Six horses,” he murmured. “One small.” He leapt onto the roan,
galloped toward the Tower gate. “Torfin!” He beckoned Rula.

Torfin didn’t hear him. Tain dismounted, peered through the gate
into a small interior court. Quarters for the garrison had been built
against the bailey walls.

“What is it?” Rula asked.

“Six riders left this morning. The Witch and the other five
Caydarmen, probably.”

Rula’s cheek twitched. She wove her fingers together. “What
about the people here?”

“Let’s find Torfin.”

The youth appeared above. “They’re up here.” He sounded miser
able.

Tain guided Rula up the perilous stair. Torfin met them outside a
doorway.

“In here. They saw us coming.”

Tain heard muted weeping.

“Trouble,” Torfin explained. “Bad trouble.”

“I saw the tracks.”

“Worse than that. She’ll be able to cut loose for real....” The youth
pushed the door. Frightened faces peered out at Tain.

The three women weren’t Trolledyngjan. And their children were
too old to have been fathered by the mercenaries.

Tain had seen those faces countless times, in countless camps.
Women with children, without husbands, who attached themselves
to an occupying soldiery. They were always tired, beaten, frightened
creatures.

Mothers and children retreated to one corner of the Spartan
room. One woman brandished a carving knife. Tain showed his
palms. “Don’t be afraid. We came to see Baron Caydar.”

Rula tried a smile. Torfin nodded agreement. “It’s all right. They
mean no harm.”

The knife-woman opened a path.

Tain got his first glimpse of Caydar.

The Baron lay on a pallet in the corner. He was a spare, short man,
bald, with a scraggly beard. He was old, and he was dying.

This was what Torfin had meant by saying the trouble was big.
There would be no brake on the Witch with the Baron gone. “Torfin.
Move them. I’ll see if I can do anything.”

The Baron coughed. It was the first of a wracking series. Blood
froth dribbled down his chin.

Torfin gestured. The Tower people sidled like whipped dogs. Tain
knelt by the old man. “How long has he been sick?”

“Always. He seldom left this room. How bad is it?”