The Trials of Lance Eliot (12 page)

“You're crying,” said Tsurugi. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” I sniffed. “Well yes, but that's not the point. Hang it, never mind that I'm crying. I plead mitigating circumstances.”

Neither of us spoke for a while. At length I asked, “Tsurugi, why did you come back?”

A long pause, and then, “Duty.”

“Duty?” I exclaimed. “You fought four dozen savages and got your head bashed in for the sake of
duty
?”

He assented.

“I don't understand you,” I mumbled, leaning against the side of the cage. “But it doesn't matter. Tsurugi, what in blazes are we going to do? I heard them talking—”

“You understand them?”

“I can understand any language, I think. Kana gave me a dose of Linguamancy when I arrived in Rovenia.”

“What did they say?”

“One of them wanted—dash it, he wanted to impale us on spits and roast us. Another wanted to sacrifice us to some god. The chief told them to keep us alive. Tsurugi, what will we do?”

“We'll wait,” he said. “Get some rest.”

Turning over on his stomach, he put his head on his arms and went to sleep. That calm, serene expression came over his face. The sun shone overhead. Birds sang. It was almost peaceful. There was no point in remaining awake, so I lay down, closed my eyes and fled into sleep.

When night fell, the Nomen packed up their camp and resumed their march. Around midnight they turned southeast. “They're returning to their territory,” said Tsurugi, leaning against the side of the cage with his arms crossed.

“What will they do with us when we get there?”

“Torture, probably.”

I shuddered. Any torture devised by these barbarians would be very painful indeed.

As dawn came and the Nomen stopped to make camp, one of them threw a skin of water and some meat into the cage.

“Let me try the water,” said my companion. “Don't touch the meat.”

He took a mouthful from the skin and handed it to me. The water was tepid and tasted like shoe leather, but it was liquid. “I've had enough,” I said, holding out the skin. “Drink some more.”

“You drink it.”

“Drink the rest, drat it! Drink it or I'll knock you out and pour the stuff down your throat.”

It was an empty threat, but he took the skin and drank.

One of the Nomen gave us some moldy bread and another skin of water that evening. Although I felt sure the water would give me cholera or dysentery, I drank it anyway. There was nothing I wouldn't have given for a sandwich, a pint of beer or a pipe of tobacco. Hours passed in silence. Tsurugi wasn't a talkative companion.

I couldn't but wonder at him. He sat with his arms folded and head bowed, not seeming worried or anxious. His face was as empty as it had ever been, and when he spoke it was with the same toneless resignation.

On our fourth night of travel I lost my temper. “You're supposed to be a legendary soldier,” I shouted. “All you've done is sit there like a sozzled vagrant, saying nothing, staring at nothing, doing nothing. Why aren't you panicking? Why aren't you doing
something
,
dash it?”

He didn't reply. I gave up. I might as well have been shouting at a brick.

We left the oaks and traveled through hilly country. On the fifth day we reached a pine forest. Our captors made camp in a clearing far within. When night had fallen, all but a few of them gathered their weapons and slunk into the gathering darkness.

“What's going on?” I asked. “Where have they gone?”

“On a raid,” said my companion.

“A raid? What are they raiding?”

He didn't reply.

“Hang it, Tsurugi, what are they raiding?”

“A town, a homestead. I don't know.”

This was not encouraging news. Misery may love company, but I wouldn't have inflicted the Nomen on my worst enemies—not even on the Skeleton. He was a miserable old wretch, but he didn't deserve the Nomen.

The Nomen returned, driving prisoners before them like sheep. The captives stood, trembling, crying, clinging to each other, while the chief Noman divided them into two groups. One was bound with coarse ropes and made to sit at the edge of the camp. The other huddled together as the savages stacked wood around them and doused them in oil.

Two men were separated from the first group and thrown into our cage. They were unconscious. Tsurugi and I laid them out as comfortably as we could (not very comfortably) and turned our attention to the chief. He was making quite a row, dancing around the prisoners soaked in oil and scratching symbols on the ground with an iron spike. When he had encircled the captives with runes, he cast aside the spike and seized a torch.

“Pearl-eyed Ilt,” he shrieked, “Weaver of Fate, greatest of the gods, take our tribute and lend us power!”

With that he hurled the torch at the captives. There was a roar as the flames leapt skyward, a chorus of screams and then an unbearable silence.

It's easy enough to say a hundred people were killed. A hundred deaths is a statistic, words on a piece of paper. That night I saw a hundred lives end in a blaze of sparks and smoke, and I've never forgotten it. It haunts my dreams to this day. A hundred deaths is not a statistic, my friend. A hundred deaths are a hundred tragedies.

I crept into a corner of the cage and curled up on the cold iron bars. Presently I felt a hand touch my arm. It was one of the men who had been shoved into the cage with us. He was a pale chap, not more than nineteen or twenty years old. It was too dark to determine his looks. He shook me gently and asked, “You all right, old boy?”

“I don't think so.”

“Neither am I. What's your name?”

“Lance.”

“I'm Regis.”

“What's the name of the other fellow?”

“The burly man or the man with black hair?”

“Tsurugi is the one with black hair. What's the name of the other?”

“I don't know.”

“What happened? What the deuce is going on?”

Regis sighed and slumped beside me. “I don't know. I was wandering through the Tetrapolis—”

“What's the Tetrapolis?”

“You're not from around here, are you?”

I laughed bitterly at the irony of the question.

“What's so funny?”

“I was laughing bitterly at the irony of the question. No, I'm not from around here. What's the Tetrapolis?”

“The four cities: Aque, Agnis, Riku and Ventus. I was wandering through the Tetrapolis, plying my trade. I'm a gambler—a very unlucky gambler, apparently. I'm not careless, but I didn't foresee any of this. I was putting bets on hunds in the races in Agnis when these barbarians smashed in the door and grabbed me. They popped a sack over my head, so I didn't see much. I'm glad I didn't. I could smell smoke, and fires were roaring, and embers burned my skin. Then I blacked out and woke up in this cage.”

“What happened to the other captives?”

Regis turned a shade paler. “I don't want to know. This is a nightmare.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We're going to pray. Well, I'm going to pray. May El save us! I don't think anyone else can.”

I didn't share his confidence in El, but I didn't have the heart to argue. He said nothing more, so I shut my eyes and drifted into the haze between sleeping and waking. Time passed. A hand gripped my shoulder and shook me awake. I yawned, brushed away the hand and muttered, “What do you want?”

“Keep quiet,” said a voice behind me. I turned and saw Tsurugi through the bars of the cage. For a moment I assumed I was dreaming, or possibly dead.

“How did you get out?” I hissed.

“Quiet. Wake the others and wait for me.”

The darkness swallowed him, and I hastened to rouse my companions.

Regis awoke instantly. “What's amiss?” he asked.

“We're going to escape,” I whispered. “Stay quiet.” I shook the other man, but he was hard to wake. At last he sat up, blinking and sniffing. “Don't make a sound,” I told him. “We need to wait for Tsurugi.”

We waited. The man began to cry, and then I made another of those dratted mistakes that still make me burn with shame. I clenched my fists and snapped, “Hush! Do you want them to hear us?”

The man put his hands over his face and cried harder.

I hushed him again. “Shut up, won't you?”

“Lance, leave him be,” said Regis, putting his arm around the man's shoulders. “Be brave,” he whispered. “We need to hold on for a few hours. Just a few hours. Then we can cry.”

At length Tsurugi returned with two packs, set them on the ground and faded into the night. Reappearing with another two packs, he slipped to the hatch and pulled it open. “Each man take a pack,” he said. “Follow me. Watch your step.
Do not make a sound.
”

We took the packs and threaded our way through the tents with utmost care. Only when we had slipped into the forest did Regis say, “I don't know who you are, but I can't thank you enough—”

“Keep it to yourself,” said Tsurugi. “Follow me.”

So we followed him. My muscles were stiff and my feet were cold. Walking hurt, yet we walked for hours, hardly able to see, stumbling over roots and stones: right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. The straps of our packs cut into our shoulders, and I could feel my spine bending slowly into a crescent shape under the weight.

“How are you getting on, old boy?” asked Regis from behind me.

“I feel like I'm trapped in Dante's
Inferno
.”

“You feel how?”

“Never mind. I feel wretched.”

“So do I. Are we stopping soon?”

“I don't know. Tsurugi, are we stopping soon?”

“When the sun rises,” said Tsurugi, without turning around.

Black sky paled to indigo, and indigo blushed to the pink and gold of dawn. At last we came to a narrow ravine like an exposed tunnel, and Tsurugi told us we could stop. We tumbled into the ravine and lay upon pine needles. Birds were singing in the trees above us.

“We're free,” I said. “I can't believe it.”

We lay for at least half an hour without saying anything. Regis dozed with his eyes half-open. Tsurugi sat with his arms crossed, head tilted to one side, listening. The other man sat apart from us. Now that the sun had risen, I was able to study my companions.

Regis wore a white undershirt, plain brown trousers and an outer garment like a poncho, woven blue and purple with silver threads. His hair, which was so blond it looked silver, was held back in a ponytail. His most prominent features were his nose, a commanding Roman nose, and eyes the color of sapphires.

The other man wore a tunic and trousers of coarse cloth. He held his head in his hands, so I couldn't see his face. The hair that showed through his fingers was the color of old straw. He was trembling. At length he began to sob. The sound woke Regis, who sat up and asked, “What's wrong, old boy?”

“My wife, my children.”

A hush fell upon our group.

“Were they captured?” I asked.

“No, they…they….”

He dissolved into tears.

Regis was at his side in an instant, rubbing his back and murmuring words of comfort. It seemed awfully cold-hearted to do nothing, so I sat next to the man and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Tsurugi didn't move. Only his eyes changed. They were full of tears.

“Let's get some sleep,” suggested Regis as the man finished his cry. “Introductions can wait.”

The man lay down, hiccupped twice and fell asleep.

“Poor fellow,” said Regis, wiping tears from his own eyes. “A hole has been torn in his life. I don't think it will ever really heal.” He turned to Tsurugi. “Listen, before I say anything else, I need to thank you.”

“Forget it,” said Tsurugi. “Both of you rest. We move at dusk.” He stood, gathered the canteens and went off to find water.

“Not an affable fellow, is he?” whispered Regis.

“You've no idea,” I said.

We were awoken by Tsurugi late that afternoon. With groans that words cannot express, I heaved myself to my feet and stretched. Tsurugi brought forth bread and dried fruit from one of the packs. It was the first good meal I had eaten in nearly a week, and it was delicious.

“What's your name?” asked Regis, addressing our other companion.

“Miles.”

“I'm Regis.”

“My name is Lance,” I added. “That's Tsurugi. I'm glad to meet you.”

No one spoke for a moment, and then Regis asked, “Where did you get all these supplies, Tsurugi?”