The three men returned to their cabin, remaining quiet, each caught up in his own thoughts until they were summoned to take a quiet meal with the captain.
That morning it took the better part of an hour to get organized and haul the coffin onto the beach. The tide was running high and the breakers were pitiless, but at last Kaspar and his companions stood on the beach with an escort of thirty soldiers from Maharta and their officer.
The young lieutenant, Shegana, inspected the coffin and the sling that had been rigged so that four men could carry the burden. He obviously didn’t care for this assignment and had taken no pains in hiding that fact from Kaspar as soon as they had boarded ship. They weren’t even out of the harbor when he had turned to Kaspar and said, “My instructions are to get you to a certain point marked on a map given to me by the Father Elect of the Temple of Kalkin. I have also been instructed to treat you with courtesy and insure my men also show respect. I take it from what was said that you may be a gentleman or even a noble, though that was never stated explicitly. So, sir, I shall endeavor to conduct this mission to the best of my ability, but I wish to make one thing clear: if it comes to a choice between keeping my men or you three alive, my men will live, and you three will be on your own. Is that clear?”
Kaspar kept silent for a long moment, then said, “If we survive this quest, Lieutenant, I wager you’ll become the sort of officer men will follow into the breech. But you’ll also need to learn to be more discreet when given orders that don’t please you.”
The earnest young lieutenant signaled and his men picked up the coffin. They moved toward a trail that led from the beach into the bluffs. Kaspar looked at Kenner and Flynn, nodded once, and followed.
The first three days of the cross-country trip were arduous, but without incident. The trail from the beach had led up through seaside cliffs and over a plateau broken by gullies, which forced them into a fair amount of climbing.
Kaspar spotted ample game sign, and some large predators: bears, wolves, and mountain cats. As they wended their way higher into the mountains, the weather got cooler, with the temperature plunging to near freezing at night, despite it being late summer, and soon they passed into forested hills, with many streams to ford.
Evening found them in a relatively clear area, an almost flat outcropping of rock upon which they built a fire, around which Lieutenant Shegana placed sentries.
“Lieutenant, you might halve your guard and let your men get a bit more sleep,” Kaspar offered. “I’m an experienced tracker and there hasn’t been a sign of another human since we beached. The only thing we might fear are large predators, and the fire should keep them away.”
The lieutenant merely nodded, but Kaspar noticed later that night that there were only two sentries instead of the usual four.
The next two days passed quietly, but on the morning of the third one of the advanced scouts returned with the news that the trail leading up into the mountains had been identified. An hour later the entire party reached a plateau where the trail forked, one track leading north to skirt the foothills, while another leading west rose steeply into the mountains.
Lieutenant Shegana said, “Well, gentlemen, if the good Father’s directions are accurate, from here we climb until we arrive at the foot of the Pillars of Heaven, above which rests the Pavilion of the Gods.” He nodded and the scout strode off at a brisk trot. The four men who were detailed to lug the coffin picked it up and the party set off.
For another day they traveled, and near sundown they reached a deep pass. The lieutenant said, “This is where we must wait. The Father Elect said that from this gap you must travel alone.”
Kaspar nodded. “We’ll leave at first light.”
The mountains appeared to be almost without feature, a tableau of murk and shadow, with whatever light the setting sun provided being devoured by the heavy clouds above.
The lieutenant said, “This is an ill-omened place, sir. My instructions were clear; I am to wait here for two weeks and if you do not return within that time, we are to return to the ship without you.”
“I understand,” said Kaspar.
Kenner looked at Flynn. Then he said, “We’re supposed to carry that coffin up those mountains?”
“Apparently,” said Kaspar.
“I do not envy you,” said the lieutenant. “And carrying that burden is the least of it.”
The soldiers made a fire. There was little conversation while they ate.
Kaspar came awake in a rush, standing with his sword drawn before he was clear that the sound rousing him was Flynn’s cry. In a moment he looked around and understood the source of Flynn’s panicked wail. Around the ashes of the campfire lay Lieutenant Shegana and his men, faces contorted in horror, eyes wide, all of them dead.
Kenner also was on his feet, looking around as if he was about to flee. “What?” he shouted, as if an answer would make the terror go away. “What is it?” He kept looking from face to face. “Who did this?”
Kaspar put his sword away. “Someone or something that decided these soldiers had got too close to the Pavilion of the Gods.”
“We’re all going to die!” shouted Kenner, nearly hysterical.
Kaspar grabbed him by the shoulder and dug his thumb in, making the pain distract his attention. “All men die. We just aren’t going to die today. If whatever it was that killed these soldiers wanted us dead, we’d be dead.”
Kenner pulled away from Kaspar, but his eyes were now focused and the terror was ebbing from his features. “Why?” he whispered.
“I have no idea,” said Kaspar. “A warning, perhaps?”
“As if we need more warnings?” shouted Flynn, his fear replaced by anger. “As if we need more death to speed us on our way?”
“Get a hold on yourself, man,” Kaspar commanded. “I’d have thought you’d be used to death by now.”
Flynn said nothing to that.
Kenner said, “How are we to lug supplies and that…thing?”
Kaspar looked around as the morning sky grew brighter. “We may have to travel in stages. We’ll carry the relic and some food for half a day, then one of us stays with it while the others come back and fetch more supplies. It’ll be slow going, but we have two weeks to get where we’re going and then back here. I assume the ship will be there a few days after that.”
Kenner said, “Then let’s get on with it!”
There was no objection to that. The men started preparing for the climb up the Pillars of Heaven.
Kaspar carried the armor by its feet. Removing it from the coffin had lightened the load considerably, and the rope harness that had been used for the coffin now lent itself to supporting the armor. Now Kaspar labored with two ropes tied around the armor’s feet, and looped over each of his shoulders. It was the worst part of the burden, for they were climbing, so the thing’s feet would often swing down and strike him in the stomach or thighs, if he wasn’t alert and kept the rope taut. The men rotated positions by the hour so no one of them would be free of bruises at the end of the day.
Kaspar had the thing’s sword slung over his shoulder in a makeshift back-scabbard he had fashioned from a pair of belts taken off from the dead soldiers. It had taken an entire day to dig a shallow grave and cover the twenty-one men. Kaspar felt a pang of regret when he threw earth over Lieutenant Shegana. He had shown promise; he was the kind of lad Kaspar would have welcomed in his own army.
Kaspar looked skyward and called a halt. “I think if we’re going to return for more supplies, we’d better start looking for a place to camp.”
Flynn nodded and said, “It looks flat up ahead.”
They climbed for another few minutes and found a small plateau. They were still close to the timberline, so Kaspar said, “I’ll gather wood for a fire and stay with this thing. You two should head back to the last camp and stay the night. In the morning, gather up as much as you can carry and come back.”
“This will make for slow going,” said Flynn.
<
br /> Kaspar looked at the mountains rearing above them. “Who knows how long it’s going to take to find these Keepers? We may be up there for days. And if it gets as cold as it looks, we’ll need food to keep our strength up.”
Kenner looked nervous, his eyes wide. “What if…whatever is making us do this thinks that Flynn and I are running away?”
Kaspar grew impatient. “If you want to stay the night alone with this thing, I’ll go with Flynn.”
Kenner shook his head. “No, I’ll go.”
Flynn said, “Well, the sooner begun, the sooner finished. Let’s go.”
Kaspar walked a short way with them and then turned off into the woods and started gathering firewood. Kaspar found enough deadfall that he didn’t need to cut anything. He gathered enough wood for two nights and then sat down. Exposed, the alien armor looked even more baleful in the fading light.
When the fire was going, Kaspar took out his rations and ate. He drank from a water skin, then opened up his bedroll. The goose down–filled roll would be welcome. It was going to be a cold night.
He kept the fire bright against any predators hunting and turned in, crawling into the bedroll. As he drifted off to sleep, Kaspar heard a wolf’s howl in the distance. He opened his eyes and glanced around. It was close.
He lay still for a few minutes, listening for an answering howl. Kaspar had no knowledge of the wolves in these mountains. In the mountains of Olasko, there were three breeds of wolf as well as wild dogs. The lowland wolves were dog-sized and hunted in packs, and were the bane of farmers when winter thinned the herds of deer, antelope, and elk. Wolves would eat anything, even mice, and if game grew scarce, they’d raid farms for chickens, ducks, geese, farm dogs, barn cats, or anything else they could take. It was rumored that they’d even hunt humans if starving, though as long as he had been Duke, Kaspar had never heard a report of such.
The dire-wolves of the highlands tended to run in smaller packs, and were noticeably larger of head and shorter of leg, and they avoided humans when possible. They were only slightly bigger than their lowland cousins.
The swamp-wolves of the southeastern marshlands of Olasko were simply lowland wolves that had taken to living in the wetlands—the only difference Kaspar could see was that they had a darker coat which camouflaged them with the darker foliage.
The howl was not answered, and Kaspar drifted off to sleep.
Sometime during the night, another howl woke Kaspar, and he came alert with his hand on his sword’s hilt. He listened but no sound except the wind in the trees below could be heard. He glanced over at the armor, a mute figure lying on the other side of the dying fire. After a long moment of studying the flicking light that reflected off the thing’s surface, he put down his sword and returned to sleep.
It was midday when Kenner and Flynn hove into view, carrying large backpacks loaded with supplies. They sat down heavily and Flynn asked, “No troubles?”
“There was a wolf somewhere close by, but nothing more.”
“Wolf?” asked Kenner. “Alone?”
“Apparently,” said Kaspar as he threw more wood into the fire. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” He inspected the stores. “If I calculate this right, here’s what I think we should do. Tomorrow morning, you two take the supplies…” Kaspar laid out a plan whereby they could move along the trail for a few days, leapfrogging one another until they had used up enough supplies to be able to carry the remainder. They rested that afternoon after ensuring they had enough firewood. Kaspar wasn’t too worried about the wolf, but he knew that bears could be brazen when they smelled food, and this time of the year—late summer—they were beginning their mating rut; the males would be aggressive and the sows would be hungry, looking to store fat for the coming winter’s hibernation.
As night approached Kaspar said, “We should probably stand watch. Just in case something smells our food and sneaks up on us.” After his own encounter with a gray-muzzled bear, from which he emerged with his life only because Talwin Hawkins had known how to slay it, he thought it best to forgo mentioning any specifics.
Kaspar elected to take the middle watch, letting Kenner and Flynn have unbroken sleep; they would be the ones hiking the next day and Kaspar would have ample time to rest. He spent the time on guard reflecting more upon his own life.
Black memories flooded in as he considered the arrival of Leso Varen. The magician had appeared one day in open court, a supplicant seeking a place to rest for a while, a purveyor of harmless magic. But he had swiftly become a fixture in Kaspar’s household, and at some point Kaspar’s view of things had changed.
Had Kaspar’s ambitions come first, or the magician’s honeyed words? Kaspar realized he had done things that now repelled him, and that the longer he was removed from those events, the more abhorrent they became. He remembered his last day at the citadel in Opardum. He had been convinced that he would be executed once taken prisoner, so he had been determined to fight to the death. He had had no idea of who was behind this onslaught from Kesh and Roldem until Talwin Hawkins had broken into the last room Kaspar and those loyal to him defended; and then it had all made evil sense.
That Quentin Havrevulen was with him was ironic to the point of black comedy. When Talwin revealed himself to be the last of the Orosini, Kaspar at least understood his motives, and he almost applauded his guile. Talwin had been so well disguised as a squire of the Kingdom that he had fooled even Leso Varen’s magic. The defeat had been swift and overwhelming.
But what had taken Kaspar most by surprise was the final disposition of his life—being banished to dwell upon his misdeeds. And he cursed Hawkins for it, because it was having precisely the effect intended. For the first time in his life, Kaspar was experiencing remorse.
Kaspar wondered how many women like Jojanna and boys like Jorgen had died. Before he had been banished to this land, he had seen them not as people, but as obstacles in his plan of conquest. His dreams of grandeur, to sit the throne of Roldem—not the most powerful nation in the world, but the most influential, cultured, and civilized—all that was vanity. Murderous vanity which gained him nothing. For what would come next? Conquering the world? Somehow contriving to bring Kesh and the Kingdom to heel? Turning the Eastern Kingdoms into more provinces? Sailing across the sea to bring order to this chaotic land? And then what? The fabled continent to the north—whose name he couldn’t even recall? Invade the Tsurani homeworld? How much was enough?
And when all was done, what would he have to show for it? He was a solitary man, with only one person in the world—his sister—for whom he felt a shred of love, and there was no one with whom to share the dream.
Kaspar sat down and regarded his two sleeping companions. Flynn had a wife. Kenner a girl he hoped waited for him, but both had dreams that could be realized, not impossible fantasies of power and control. Control was an illusion, his father had told him. Now he began to understand. He envied these two men, men who were hardly friends, but at least men whom he trusted. There was nothing of ambition or avarice left to either of them. They were simply men struggling to free themselves of a curse and get back to a normal life.
Kaspar wondered what normal life would be for him be once he was free of this geas. Could he ever be satisfied with finding a woman, settling down, and fathering children? He had never really wanted to have children, though his time with Jorgen gave him a sense of what it would be like to have a son. Children had always been the eventual product of a state marriage, tiny guarantees of good behavior on the part of neighboring states. The idea of loving one’s children had always seemed quaint, at best.
He woke Kenner, who nodded and changed places with him without speaking, so as not to disturb Flynn. Kaspar wrapped himself up in his bedroll and lay quietly, waiting for sleep to come.
But sleep did not come easily, for inside he felt a dull, swelling ache, a pain that was unfamiliar to him, and made him wonder if he was getting ill.
After a time he realized what this alien feeling
must be, and when he did he wanted to weep, but he didn’t know how.
The wolf came an hour before dawn. Kaspar sensed something a moment before Kenner screamed. Kaspar and Flynn were both up with their weapons drawn just in time to see the wolf rip out Kenner’s throat.
“Grab a firebrand!” shouted Kaspar.
The biggest wolf Kaspar had ever seen was a dire-wolf he had hunted in the mountains of Olasko. It had easily been six feet from nose to tail and weighed in at over one hundred pounds. This animal was close to half as big again. The beast was seven or eight feet long, weighing as much as a man: Kenner never stood a chance once the animal leapt. Kaspar gripped his sword and wished for a spear. He did not want this monster getting in close, yet the sword was only effective as a thrusting weapon. It would have to be a near-perfect thrust to kill it.
The wolf let go of Kenner’s limp body and growled a warning. Flynn had pulled a brand from the fire and held it in his left hand, while waving a sword with his right. “What do we do?” he asked Kaspar.
“We don’t let it go. It’s a man-eater, and it’s smart enough to scout out the camp one night, and come back the next. We have to kill it, or injure it so that it’ll crawl off somewhere to die.” He glanced around. “Circle to your right, keep the torch in front of you. If he charges, thrust the flames in his face and try hard to cut him as he goes by. Otherwise, drive him around the fire to me.”
To Kaspar’s surprise, Flynn showed unusual resolve, for the beast would make even the most experienced hunter hesitate. The creature lowered his head in what Kaspar recognized as a crouch before a spring.
“Get ready! He’s likely to leap!”
Flynn took the initiative, and with a short hop thrust the torch at the creature, causing it to shy away. With a torch in his muzzle, and a campfire to his right, the wolf jumped away to the rear and left, landing almost sideways.