17 endings, happy and otherwise

  "You’re sure?"

  Tymon blinked. The golem’s handwriting wasn’t the best—not surprising for a creature with twigs for fingers—but the message was clear enough. The thing just gave a creaking nod, then stepped back, expectant, as Tymon handed the parchment scrap over to Seb.

  Seb studied the script. "I’m guessing the puts him here in less than hour. The rest of our guests may be hard on his heels, Tymon."

  "Should be, rather. A complication—or an opportunity. Let’s find out." He turned back to the golem. "Thank you. Please return to your station, and if you pass Lord Vor on the way back be sure he doesn’t see you."

  In a moment the small creature was gone again, stumping off with surprising speed down the valley pass. In a moment its form was hidden in the steam from the springs and vents.

  "The woman described sounds a lot like Princess Ashesa," Seb said, watching the creature disappear.

  "Yes, and if we’re interpreting our scout correctly, she hasn’t come of her own free will. I have no idea what Lord Vor hopes to gain by this."

  "He wants to kill you."

  "I know that. I even suspect why. Yet what has this to do with the Princess? She shouldn’t be here, especially now."

  Seb shrugged. "I agree, and yet she is here. So. What shall we do?"

  "What we have to do, Seb. No more and, unfortunately, no less."

  §

  Progress was slow but steady, mainly because of Vor’s refusal to grant Ashesa any respite. He allowed stops for water, once or twice for calls of nature—around a tree or bush, still tethered—but none for rest. Ashesa had never known it was possible to walk as far as she had in one day. She wouldn’t have kept on a horse this long without resting the poor beast more than once. She observed as much to the taciturn Lord Vor.

  "Highness, I’ve probably killed more horses than you’ve ridden. Sometimes it’s necessary."

  "I’m not a horse, Lord Vor."

  "No, but unless you keep up with me I’ll kill you too."

  There seemed no arguing with that. Ashesa kept walking, despite the ache in her legs and the pain in her feet and the mind numbing weariness that seemed so much a part of her now that she could not tell where it ended and Ashesa began. To make matters worse, the path they were on had started to slant upward into the mountains again, making walking more difficult. Here and there hot springs steamed and bubbled out of the rocks, leaving white and yellow crystals on the stones as the water cooled and dripped down the hill face. The air was sulfurous and fetid; Ashesa felt the beginnings of a raging headache.

  "I can’t..."

  "Shhhh!!"

  Vor commanded silence with a hiss far sharper than any from the fuming rocks. Ashesa looked around, but saw no one, no reason for alarm—or at least no more reason than a half-crazed vassal and a scene transported from the Underworld. Vor didn’t so much summon her to him as haul her in like an eel on a fishing line. He whispered to her then, and Ashesa felt a cold knot of fear settle in her stomach. "You will take your cues from me, and if you interfere with me or fail to obey me in the slightest regard, you will die. Understood?"

  Ashesa nodded. She was perilously short of options. She had to content herself with making meticulous mental notes for Lord Vor’s execution. She planned to supervise the entire affair herself. Lord Vor put his arm around her shoulders and held his dagger to her throat. Ashesa now even considered doing the final act in person, if she could train long enough to handle that great chopped-off-looking headsman’s sword in time. Best not, though, she told herself. Some things just should not be delayed.

  Lord Vor scanned the rocks ahead. "I know you’re there!"

  Who does he think is there? Thought Ashesa, distracted, then she remembered.

  Tymon the Black.

  Ashesa had a little help remembering. Tymon walked out onto the ledge formed where the slope she currently trod met a cliff face. Lord Vor tightened his grip on Ashesa and she felt the point of his dagger touch her skin, almost like a mosquito bite. It began to sting.

  "Lord Vor, why are you here?" Tymon asked. He hardly raised his voice; he might have been greeting an old acquaintance at some chance encounter for all the tension in his voice.

  "I want to speak to you, Magician," Vor said, "come closer."

  "Certainly."

  Tymon started down the slope towards them. When he got to within twenty yards of them Lord Vor shifted his grip on Ashesa a bit, and she no longer felt the dagger’s point. Ashesa wondered if Vor’s dagger had a new target now.

  "That’s close enough," Vor said.

  "No, I don’t think so," Tymon said. "Not yet, at least."

  He came closer. Slowly, steadily, closer. He had a dagger in his hand, a short, stubby, wicked looking thing with what looked like three points. Ashesa hadn’t seem him draw it, or any sheathe to draw it from. She stared at it, fascinated.

  "I’m warning you, Magician. I have your Master’s Beloved!"

  Tymon nodded. "I see you have Ashesa of Morushe, and I am curious as to ‘how’ and ‘why,’ I admit it. Though I must correct you on one point: I have no ‘Master,’ save only myself."

  Tymon never paused. He was barely ten yards away now, and closing the gap steadily.

  "Stop where you are! I’m warning you—"

  "Or what?" Tymon was very close now.

  "I swear I’ll kill her!"

  "No need to swear, Lord Vor: I believe you. Here. Let me save you the trouble."

  Tymon’s hand snaked forward. Ashesa felt a sharp sting just below her left breast. She gasped in horror and disbelief as she saw Tymon’s dagger, the hilt alone showing now, jutting from her midriff. She felt the cold metal piercing her flesh, saw the blood, then she could feel very little. All of her went numb, her limbs slack and useless; her vision dark.

  Oh.

  "—fool! They’ll never believe—!"

  Lord Vor was shouting. Why was Lord Vor shouting? In another moment, she could no longer bring herself to care as she felt herself falling down and down into darkness.

  §

  Prince Galan rode with Sir Tals and Dukes Molikan and Laras. There were no other retainers, not even a squire or servant to handle the horses. The four were plainly dressed though well armed; they rode through the central highlands pass like young knights-errant, out for adventure and brave deeds, or at least reckless endangerment. Sir Tals led the pack train himself, and seemed entirely too good humored about it, to the Dukes’ way of thinking, but no one said anything. No one knew what to say and Prince Galan, his companions would have agreed if they’d ever spoken to each other about the matter, was not helping at all.

  "Where are we going?" Duke Laras said aloud, to no one in particular. Prince Galan, riding a few lengths ahead as he tended to do, didn’t hear him, or at least didn’t respond.

  Sir Tals tried to get the pack train to pick up the pace a bit, without much luck. "We are going to avenge the death of Prince Daras. It’s a personal quest that Prince Galan has chosen and that we, as greater or lesser royal vassals, are bound to support."

  "Of course," Duke Molikan said. "Though I’d feel better about it if I knew just where this vengeance was to take place, and how long we can expect to be in the saddle. I’m not as young as I was. . .well, when I was younger."

  "We left Morushe yesterday," Duke Laras said. "I’m still surprised no one took us for mercenaries and challenged us."

  "We’re a small group," Tals said. "Hardly a threat to the kingdom. It’s not as if we’re invading with banners flying."

  Duke Laras glared at the young man. "Do you think for a moment King Macol didn’t know who we are and where we were by the end of the first day?"

  Tals shook his head. "Of course not, Your Grace. But without some word from Galan himself about his intentions, Macol had no clear course of action. I’m sure he chose to pretend that he did not know. That’s what I would have done...besides watching us very carefully, of course."

  "Which is what really explains why we were not challenged: Macol forbid it. He will, of course, have us followed."

  "I believe you are right, Duke Laras. We’d have attracted less notice if we’d taken the pass near Kuldun, but that one is little more than a foot trail by all account and bad on horses. Also, it would have cost us time. Our Prince seems to be in a hurry." Sir Tals made an another effort to speed up the pack horses, who had clearly found a pace they liked and weren’t about to abandon it. Prince Galan was getting further and further ahead. "If your Graces would be kind enough to persuade him not to leave us. . .?"

  By the time Laras and Molikan had managed to get Prince Galan to wait, they had just cleared the northern edge of the pass. The Blackpits lay only a few leagues to the west. Unfortunately, between the path west and Prince Galan’s party there sat a very large contingent of Wylandian chivalry, their armor and lances gleaming silver in the afternoon sun.

  Bloody hell.

  Sir Tals abandoned the pack train to its own devices and spurred his mount ahead to where Prince Galan and his two Dukes waited.

  "They were waiting for us," Molikan said. "They knew."

  Laras nodded. "So it would seem. I hope your folk can manage a ransom."

  "Tolerably," Molikan said, "though I’m more worried about our Prince here. What’s the price for a captured Crown Prince these days?"

  "I don’t think anyone’s made the offer yet, Gentlemen," Tals said drily. "In either case let’s not assume too much. If King Aldair knew we were coming, doubtless he has plans of his own."

  "Then ransom, however profitable, may not be his intent. The next move is up to him," Laras said, "though I would advise keeping our hands near our swords but not too near, if you catch my meaning."

  That was nothing but sense. Sir Tals waited with his countrymen for what seemed like a long time but couldn’t have been more than a few moments. Finally the line of horsemen parted and two figures rode out, stopping about two lengths from the main body.

  "The rather large gentleman on the left is Aldair," Molikan said, "I met him years ago at a tournament. He entered the lists himself, as I recall."

  "Foolish thing for a king to do," Laras said.

  Molikan nodded. "Perhaps, but it made for an interesting tourney. I don’t recognize the other man."

  "I do," Tals said. "That’s Lord Kyre, Aldair’s chief counselor. He sparred with my late Master from time to time."

  "Are you referring to the lists or diplomacy?" Molikan asked.

  Tals smiled. "Both, though sometimes where Lord Kyre was concerned it was hard to tell. The man is dangerous, in all senses of the word."

  Laras shrugged. "Two dangerous men, then, or so Aldair is also reckoned. So. Either they’ll charge now, or Lord Kyre will come over to talk to us first."

  "Are we going to wager?" Molikan asked.

  "I would if I knew which way to cover," Laras said.

  Tals glanced at Prince Galan who merely sat, impassive as a stone, throughout his vassals’ banter and bravado. Tals waited, because there was nothing else to do.

  Lord Kyre finally rode across the meadow to where Prince Galan and his retainers waited. He stopped at a respectful distance and saluted Prince Galan. "Greetings, My Lord of Borasur. Your Cousin Aldair sends his compliments, and begs to inquire what your business within his kingdom may be."

  Sir Tals began a diplomatically evasive reply but Prince Galan, who had sat like a sack of flour for all this time, spoke first, firmly and very clear.

  "Tell my Cousin of Wylandia that I have come with my most trusted men to avenge the death of my brother and his kinsman, Prince Daras. I am on a quest. I come not as Lord or Prince, but as a grieving brother, and man, to slay the vile person known as Tymon the Black."

  Sir Tals sighed. The hand is played. Madly, for good or ill, but it is played.

  Lord Kyre saluted and rode off to carry Galan’s reply to his master. Sir Tals waited for whatever might follow next. What followed next was King Aldair of Wylandia riding out with Lord Kyre as escort to greet Galan personally.

  "Cousin," he said, smiling so broadly Tals thought the man’s homely face would break, "I would be honored if you will allow me to join your quest."

  Later, as they all rode together at the head of the column, Sir Tals managed to ride next to Lord Kyre.

  "Ah, Sir Tals. A pleasure to see you again."

  "It has fortunately proved so, My Lord, though I must confess that I am curious as to how your Master knew to expect us."

  Kyre shrugged. "Quite understandable. For myself, I am curious as to how your master knew the one justification for trespass that His Majesty Aldair would not only accept and forgive, but indeed welcome with open arms."

  "I don’t know," Tals said frankly.

  "Well, then, I’m afraid we will both have to live with our curiosities unsatisfied."

  Tals sighed. "You wouldn’t have told me in any case, would you?"

  Kyre grinned with infuriatingly good humor. "Of course not. But then, only your curiosity would have gone wanting."

  §

  "What are you doing here, Cousin?"

  It was the first question Ashesa thought to ask upon opening her eyes again, despite all the other questions waiting their turn. Mero was the daughter of Ashesa’s mother’s sister, and a childhood playmate. She was literally the last person Ashesa expected to see.

  Duchess Mero sat back on her heels, still holding the damp cloth she’d been using to bathe Ashesa’s face. "In the ‘Land of Shadows’ you mean?"

  Ashesa groaned as she made herself sit up. It wasn’t easy. Her head felt as if it weighed as much as mountain, and her midriff was very sore and felt bruised. She reached down and touched the bandage, curiously. "I’m not dead, though I thought I was. Tymon did stab me, it seems…."

  Mero nodded. "Scared me senseless when they brought you in. Fortunately, he used this." Mero held up the dagger. Ashesa could now see that the triple point she’d noticed before was actually one blade and two barbs, like small harpoons. "Quite ingenious, really. The barbs catch flesh to hold the hilt in place. The blade collapses into the hilt...except for a bit, which carries the drug. Any blood you saw was your own. Enough to convince Lord Vor, but I’m afraid you’re going to have a scar there, Cousin."

  Ashesa nodded. "Better than dying...You still haven’t answered my question."

  Mero looked grim. "I could ask the same of you."

  Ashesa considered her secret, and decided she didn’t value secrets very highly just then. "I owe Tymon a debt. I came to pay it."

  "So did I."

  The princess sighed. "He has his hands in many orchards, this magician."

  "So it seems. Now answer a question of mine—why was Lord Vor holding you hostage?"

  Ashesa thought long and hard before she answered. "He thought I could get him close to Tymon so he could kill him. I don’t know why he chose me or why he wants to kill Tymon."

  Mero sighed. "I think I do, damn him. His ambition will get my Lord killed if he’s not stopped."

  "You knew of Vor’s plans?!"

  "I do now, Cousin," Mero snapped. "Before, I merely suspected. I pray that my Lord had nothing to do with the attack on your betrothed, but he is too easily led by Vor, despite all he may think of who commands whom. He’s a good man at heart, Cousin. He needs to be better served by his advisors."

  Ashesa nodded. "What happens now?"

  "That greatly depends on you two," Tymon said. He stood at the tent flap, smiling faintly.

  "How long have you been listening to us?" Mero asked.

  "I always listen to you," Tymon said. "I’d be a fool to do else. Highness, I am sorry about that nick I gave you. It couldn’t be helped."

  "What about Lord Vor?"

  "He’s in place. He doesn’t know his part . . . yet."

  Ashesa glared at him. "Is this all any of this means to you? A play? A fabulation? I almost got killed!"

  "Which would have been a tragedy. Tragedy is always an option. Sometimes we avoid it, sometimes not. Still, the nature of the beast is change, and the shepherding of events to create one truth at the expense of another is always a serious affair, Highness, whatever the means. What we do tomorrow will affect the course of lives and nations for good or ill. Is this not serious enough to suit you?"

  Ashesa wanted to be angry, but knowing how much of her current predicament was her own fault took a little of the edge off her blade. "I don’t know what this is all about, Magician, but I came to warn you."

  "About Vor?" Tymon asked mildly.

  "About Galan," she said. "He means to kill you. I won’t let you hurt him, but I felt I had to let you know."

  "Highness, doing harm to your prince is something I’d very much like to avoid. With you and your cousin’s help, I might just manage. I may have rescued you from Vor but it was on my account that you were in danger, so you owe me nothing. Yet I must ask for his sake: are you willing to work with me one last time?"

  Ashesa glanced at Mero, then met Tymon’s gaze squarely. "Tell me what you want me to do."

  §

  Koric worked quickly, because he knew that, if he paused to consider more carefully, he might not get the thing done at all. He only had enough twine for the golem’s hip joins; the arms he joined with small strips of cloth torn from his own cloak and wrapped several times around the twisted piece of lightning-blasted oak that served as the creature’s shoulders.

  Seb watched critically. "It’s ugly. I mean, even for a golem."

  Koric sighed. "It is, isn’t it? Even for a first attempt."

  Seb nodded. "Still, that’s not the most important consideration. Can you do the glyph correctly?"

  "I-I think so."

  "You’d best be certain. We will only have one chance to get it right."

  "Master Seb, you could be of more assistance with a little less commentary."

  Seb smiled. "Your pardon, Magician."

  "I’m not a magician!"

  "Oh, yes you are. You’re like Tymon in that; you can’t help it. Something in the blood, I guess. A wild spirit or breath of the divine, I don’t know, but it’s there. Otherwise Tymon wouldn’t have trusted you with this."

  "So why are you standing over me?"

 

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