Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 2 - Seven Altars of Dusarra(1).pdf - Lawrence Watt - Evans - margozap

by Lawrence Watt-EvansCHAPTER ONEThe rider paused at the top of the low ridge;

the plain that lay just beyond was spread out before him under the pale stars

of late summer. Directly before him there was an interruption of the flat

earth; jagged silhouettes rose in black humps, huddled together within an

uneven stone zing. The circle was broken at the point nearest him, and a

single shattered wall rose to mark what had once been a substantial gatehouse;

beside that wall flickered an orange flame, as warm as the stars were cold.

Although he was still too far away to discern any details, he knew that this

was the town of Skelleth, and that the single light was the watch fire of the

guardsman at the ruins of the North Gate. He had been here before, and knew

that of the five gates in the crumbling city wall only this one was guarded.

It was guarded against him and his kind. There was no sign of life other than

the lonely fire, and even had the man posted there been fully alert-as he

undoubtedly was not at this hour-he could not have seen the rider or his party

at such a distance in the dark. Their approach was undetected. The mounted

figure sat for a moment, his face invisible in the darkness and the shade of

his trader's hat, studying the panorama; he glanced up as a nightbird flew

overhead, and his eyes shone a baleful red with reflected starlight. His

hollow-cheeked face had no nose, but only close-set slit nostrils; ragged

black hair hung almost to his shoulders, but there was no trace of a beard on

the leathery brown hide of his jaw. He was inhumanly tall and correspondingly

broad. He was, in short, not human, but overman. His long-fingered hand,

with its oddly jointed thumb and opposable fifth finger, grasped the

guidehandle of his mount's harness, an unnecessary precaution; his warbeast

was trained to obey verbal commands or the pressure of its rider's feet, and

moved with such feline smoothness that there was no danger of dislodging its

master. The creature was blacker than the night sky, and as silent; its golden

eyes and polished fangs were the only discernable features. It stood the

height of a man and, from its stubby whiskers to lashing pantherlike tail,

measured a good eighteen feet. Its triangular ears were up and alert, but it

gave no warning growl. Accordingly, the overman raised his arm in the signal

to advance and led his companions over the final ridge and down onto the

plain. His warbeast moved with silent catlike grace, its great padded paws

disturbing not a single stone; the rest of the party was not so circumspect.

There were four in the party, all grown overmen, but only the leader rode a

warbeast; his three followers made do with yackers, the universal beast of

burden of the Northern Waste. Each rode upon one of the ugly creatures and led

another heavily laden with the goods they hoped to trade in Skelleth. There

was something slightly ludicrous in the stately dignity of the overmen as they

perched stiffly upright upon the broad backs covered with ropy, matted brown

hair, and guided their beasts with finely tooled silver bits in slobbering

black-upped mouths full of uneven yellow teeth. The yackers' hooves rattled on

every pebble, it seemed, and there was a constant snorting and rumbling from

the six shaggy, drooping heads. They were travelling the ancient Wasteland

Road, which led straight to Skelleth's North Gate; as the last yacker reached

the foot of the ridge, the leader turned his warbeast off the road, heading

west instead of south. "Hold, Garth!" called the second in the procession.

The leader tapped a signal with his heel and the warbeast halted. "What is

it?" His companion drew up beside him and asked, "Where are we heading?

Is that not Skelleth?" He pointed to the flickering watch fire. The third

overman pulled up beside them as well as Garth replied, "Yes, of course that

is Skelleth, and that is where we're going." "Then why have we left the

road? These yackers are quite slow enough as it is." It was, the third

overman who replied, "Larth, did not Garth explain our situation to you?"

"I remember nothing that explains our turning away from our destination."

"Then you remember nothing. We are to enter the town in secrecy." "It was not

you I asked, Galt." "Galt, however, speaks correctly," Garth said. "The

Baron of Skelleth does not want overmen in his town; most especially, he does

not want me there. When last I saw him he ordered his guards to kill me on the

spot. Fortunately, they did not cooperate. However, if we can present the

Baron with a peaceful trading caravan in the market square, not as a

possibility but as an accomplished fact, I think he can be made to see reason

and accept us." "So we are to sneak in like thieves?" "Why else are we

travelling by night?" Galt's tone was sweetly reasonable. "It is not

dignified!" "And what would be dignified?" Garth inquired. "To ride directly

in by daylight, and demand as our due that we be allowed to trade." Galt

snorted. "That might be dignified, but it would also be stupid, perhaps

fatally so. Garth says there are more than thirty guardsmen in Skelleth; true,

they are mere humans, and none too well equipped by his account, but there are

only four of us, and we are not exactly well armed either." Garth added,

before Larth could reply, "It would not do for friendly traders to be

bristling with weapons; we cannot risk incidents involving bloodshed. That is

why I required that you three be unarmed, and I will conceal my own weapons

before we begin our dealings with the people of Skelleth." "Quite correct."

Galt nodded in agreement. Larth continued to look unconvinced. "Still," he

demanded, "why have we left the road?" His answer came from the fourth and

youngest overman, who had not yet spoken, showing the proper deference to his

elders; he could not, however, refrain from replying, "Because there's a guard

on the road, stupid!" Larth's voice was emotionless as he said, "Galt,

restrain your apprentice." As all knew quite well, that flat tone was

indicative of building rage; Galt did not hesitate to order his underling to

shut up. When Larth had calmed somewhat, he asked, "How do you know that we

can find another entrance unguarded?" "I don't know for certain," Garth

said. "But when I was here before, they guarded only the north; the West Gate

opens on a road that leads only to the Yprian Coast, which has reputedly been

deserted for centuries, so what need to guard it? Therefore, we will enter

through the West Gate. We will reach it by circling wide around, well out of

sight and sound of the guard at the North Gate. Now, if we are to reach the

market square before dawn we must move onward, so let there be no further

debate." His warbeast, in response to a signal undetectable to the others,

strode onward. "Very well," Larth said. It took rather more to get his

yackers moving once again, but a moment's prodding eventually registered with

their dim brains and they resumed their plodding and snuffling. Galt and his

apprentice were not far behind. There was still an hour remaining before

first light when the little caravan reached the West Gate-which was, as Garth

had expected, unguarded. It was also in such a state of total ruin that only

the fading trace of an ancient road leading through the rubble showed where it

had been, and it was only under protest that the yackers could be compelled to

make their way across the jagged bits of broken stone. Garth's war beast paid

this minor inconvenience no heed whatsoever. Once inside the wall, there

was little immediate improvement in their surroundings. On either side of the

road stood nothing but ruins. Gaping holes half-filled with rubble showed

where cellars had been of old, sometimes rimmed with uneven remnants of walls

of stone or wood or plaster, and between these pits were the broken pieces of

buildings that had had no cellars and now lay in heaps upon bare earth. Galt

commented, in a careful whisper, "Hardly the awesome fortress that our

ancestors described." Larth, in a rather less cautious mutter, replied, "Who

can tell in this darkness? It looks deserted; Garth, are you sure this is

Skelleth?" "Yes, I'm sure; only the central portion is still inhabited. When

the wars ended so did the town's reason for existence, and so did the supply

trains from the south that kept it going. It's been slowly dying ever since.

That's why I think the people will welcome trade, even if it's with overmen."

"I hope so." Larth's voice sank into an, incoherent mumble. The party moved

on, and around them the buildings became less ruinous; on either side stood

sagging, abandoned houses and shops-derelict, but still upright. Rotting

shutters hung from bent hinges; broken doors stood open, revealing only

blackness. Then, as they approached the surviving center, more and more doors

were closed, even barred, and fewer shutters missing or broken. Before too

long the only openings on either side were other streets, rather than empty

lots where buildings had been razed or had fallen in. Everything was dark,

however; the people of Skelleth were clearly all still abed. Finally the

street debouched into the market square that occupied the town's exact center;

it, too, was dark, silent, and empty. Garth was pleased to see that the

Baron's mansion, which occupied the entire north side of the square, was as

dark as any other building. He stopped his warbeast in the center of the

market and motioned for Galt to join him. When Galt obeyed, he whispered.

"This is the place, trader; that is the seat of the local government. Where

would you suggest we set up?" Galt studied the square carefully, and finally

pointed to the southeast corner. "That looks good." Garth nodded. "Then you

three set up there. It occurs to me that a warbeast will not be a welcome

sight in Skelleth, and I am going to put Koros and my weapons somewhere out of

sight. I would suggest that you do the same with the yackers; just tie them up

in an alley somewhere, where they won't upset the merchants. Koros, I think,

had best go somewhere further out; I'll find a ruin somewhere on the West

Road." "As you wish." "I'll be right back. Just remember, keep it

peaceful." Galt nodded. Garth turned and rode back along the route they had

just come, while the others made their way to the southeast corner of the

market and dismounted, stiff from their long ride. Galt studied the

location with a practiced eye, then indicated a spot in front of a tightly

shuttered shop, just beside the mouth of a narrow street. His apprentice

immediately hauled a bundle off one of the yackers and began spreading

blankets on the ground designated. Larth stood nearby, peering apprehensively

about in the gloom, and Galt found himself grateful that Garth had made sure

the party was unarmed; Larth was plainly nervous enough to have drawn sword at

the slightest sound, which would simply not do. Of course, that was Larth. He

himself was not so easily bothered, nor so easily commanded. The dagger in his

boot was simply a sensible precaution, and none of Garth's business.

Leaving Larth to his anxiety, he began hauling bundles off yackers. In a

matter of moments the ugly beasts were unburdened. Galt whispered to his

apprentice, "Tand, you start spreading out our wares. Get Larth to help you if

you can, but don't start an argument. I'll be back in a moment." He gathered

up the lead ropes from the six harnesses and began coaxing the yackers down

the narrow street, out of the market. The beasts were not actively

uncooperative, but it was still difficult to manage all six of them, so that

he was several minutes at the task. Finally he managed to get them arranged in

a circle, their lead ropes tied together. Although they could still move

about, they were far too stupid to move all in the same direction; this

arrangement should keep them more or less in the same place for quite some

time. It did block the street, but Galt hoped that wouldn't matter much. It

didn't look like a major thoroughfare. Besides, that meant that the overmen

could not be taken from behind by enemies coming up this street; even if they

got past the yackers, the inevitable noise would serve as a warning. The

yackers were a new problem for him. Though he was a master trader, all his

previous experience had been gained on expeditions to Lagur, since that was

the only place the overmen of the Northern Waste currently traded. There were

no yackers used on such expeditions, since all trade with Lagur went by sea.

Once the beasts were taken care of, he returned to the square. He could hear

the sounds of furs being unpacked; either Tand was working incredibly fast, or

he had gotten Larth to help him, judging by the noise. Then, just as he

was about to turn the corner into the market, the sounds stopped abruptly. So

did he. Something was happening, obviously. Peaceful, peaceful, he reminded

himself; he fixed his most nearly human smile upon his face and strolled

forward as casually as he could. Larth and Tand knelt motionless amid heaps

of furs and carved whalebone, staring off to their right. Following their gaze

he saw a ragged human farmer, pulling a rickety cart half-full of squash,

standing motionless in a street opening into the eastern end of the market.

The farmer's mouth hung open and his eyes were wide, the whites palely visible

in the first light of morning-light which had crept up while Galt was securing

the yackers without his noticing it. It appeared very much as if this man had

never seen an overman before, and quite possibly he hadn't. Larth and Tand

were also staring, and it occurred to Galt that it might well be that neither

of them had ever seen a human being before. This, Galt knew, was the

decisive moment. Secrecy was gone. Now, if their mission was to succeed, they

needed to convince the humans that there was nothing out of the ordinary about

overmen trading in their marketplace. Garth had hired him as an expert on

dealing with humans, and he knew that humans could be convinced of anything if

only approached properly. He waved gaily, broadened his smile, and called,

"Greetings, good sir! Would you care to see our wares?" The man turned his

gaze from the others to Galt, but his mouth remained open and his eyes wide.

Galt gestured at the heaps of trade goods. "We have fine furs, such as are

rarely seen in these lands; we have fine carved implements of use in any home.

Come and look, friend!" The man's mouth slowly closed. He swallowed, and

looked back and forth between the overmen. His eyes roved around the market

square and found no one else and nothing out of the ordinary-except the party

of overmen. Galt judged him to be recovered from his shock and considering the

situation. He would not turn and run, because that would mean abandoning his

cart; it had been a stroke of luck that the first human to find them had been

so encumbered. He had two sensible options; he could behave as if the overmen

belonged there, or he could raise an alarm. It was Galt's job to convince him

the former was the better course. Still smiling, he called, "It costs

nothing to look, sir, and should something catch your eye, our prices are

reasonable." They certainly were! This trip was, not expected to make a

profit, nor break even, but only to establish an opening; accordingly, he and

Garth had agreed that they would refuse no serious offer-though they would

haggle, of course; that was expected, and suspicion would be aroused if they

did not-and would even give away goods free if it seemed advisable. "If you

haven't brought any money, we might trade for those fine vegetables." That

decided him. The man found his voice and called, "Wait a moment, and I'll come

look." He began moving again, wheeling his creaking cart into the square.

As he did, a shuttered window in the second story of the building the overmen

had chosen to set up in front of opened, and a head was thrust out. "What's

all the yelling? It's not yet dawn!" Galt doffed his hat politely and

called up, "My apologies, good lady; it was thoughtless of me to bellow so."

The head, which was indeed female-Galt hadn't been completely certain-turned

to look at him. There was a moment of silence save for the creaking of cart

wheels as the farmer positioned his wares. Then the woman asked,

conversationally but in an unsteady voice, "You're an overman, aren't you?"

"Yes, good lady, my companions and myself are overmen, come to trade

peacefully. We have fine furs and jewelry that would surely please one as

lovely as yourself; Tand, hold up that white fox for the lady." Tand was

still motionless with surprise, but picked up his cue with only the briefest

hesitation and stood, displaying an excellent fur. The woman noticed Larth

and Tand for the first time but paid them little heed, looking instead at the

stacks of furs. There was a pause, and then she said, "I'll be right down."

Her head vanished from the window, and Galt's false smile relaxed into a

genuine one. The danger was past. They had been accepted. When Garth

returned several minutes later he found a small crowd clustered around his

companions, bickering cheerfully over quality and price.CHAPTER TWOGarth

glanced apprehensively at the door to the Baron's mansion as it swung open for

the first time that morning. So far whatever gods there might be had smiled

upon his little caravan; they had had no trouble on the road from Ordunin, nor

with the merchants and farmers who had so far entered the market. The

reactions of the villagers to a quartet of overmen sitting calmly in their

midst amid displays of furs and carved whalebone had varied from simple

acceptance to astonishment and horror-which could usually be soothed by a few

quiet words and perhaps a gold coin or two. The fact that those already there

appeared unconcerned had been a major factor in preventing general alarm or

even a-riot. Unfortunately, Garth knew the Baron of Skelleth and his

guards would not be so easily swayed. His previous visit to this northernmost

outpost of humanity had ended messily, and the Baron had ordered his death,

more for being an overman and uncooperative than for any specific crime.

Of course none of Skelleth's pitiful guardsmen were likely to try and tackle

four overmen; Garth thought it unlikely that the village's full complement of

three dozen would have been a match for his party if he hadn't insisted his

companions be unarmed. They were on a peaceful trading mission, and he was

determined to see that it stayed peaceful. For far too long had the overmen of

the Northern Waste been dependent upon the sea traders of Lagur, who missed no

opportunity to exploit their monopoly; if Garth succeeded in opening a land

trade route through Skelleth the monopoly would be broken, and his people

would have their first chance at a decent life since the bitter Racial Wars of

three centuries earlier-and incidentally Garth would be honored and wealthy,

which would be enjoyable. The door was open now, and three guardsmen

stepped through, blinking in the bright summer sunlight; Garth recognized one

of them. The tall one in the steel helmet was Herrenmer, captain of the guard.

The unknown pair took up their posts, one on either side of the door.

Herrenmer, having stationed his men, took a casual glance around, his duty

done for the moment. His gaze fell on the overmen and Garth saw him tense. He

spoke to his men, but Garth could hear nothing over the noise of the market;

then all three started across the square toward the outlanders, Herrenmer in

the lead, all three with hands near their swords. Garth put down the

wolfskin he had been showing to an overweight woman and said, "Larth, keep an

eye on my goods while I speak to these men." He stood and stepped forward to

meet the soldiers. The trio stopped a dozen paces from the displays;

Garth stood halfway between. There was a moment's pause, then Herrenmer

demanded, "What are you doing here?" "We have come to trade." "You

know that the Baron wants no overmen in Skelleth." "I was aware that he

wanted no armed overmen adventurers, an attitude I can fully understand, since

such would tend to disturb the peace of your town; but surely he can have no

objection to four unarmed traders, whatever their race or nation!" Garth had

carefully thought out this little speech in advance, and was pleased to see

that it had the desired effect, leaving Herrenmer momentarily confused and

speechless. He pressed his advantage. "I have heard the Baron himself

express dismay at Skelleth's poverty and lack of trade; surely, then, he will

be glad to have a whole new people eager to deal with Skelleth. We have gold

and furs and other goods to trade for our needs, which will make Skelleth's

merchants wealthy when sold in the south, where we dare not venture. Surely

the Baron cannot object to that, for where the merchants are wealthy the

government cannot fail to profit thereby." "I know nothing of that; it is

not my concern." Herrenmer paused, considering, then went on, "I will speak

with my lord further about this." He turned and strode angrily back to the

mansion; his two men followed, and when Herrenmer vanished through the

still-open door, slamming it behind him, they took up their posts once more.

Garth watched them go, then turned back toward his companions. Before he could

take a step, however, he heard his name called. He stopped and looked about

for the source. A waving hand caught his eye, and he recognized a man

approaching across the market. "Greetings, Saram," he called. "Greetings,

Garth," the man replied. Saram was heavily built, of medium height; he

wore his hair short and kept his full black beard neatly trimmed, though he

claimed it was not from vanity but practicality. When last Garth had seen him,

he had worn the mail shirt and short sword of the Baron's guards, with iron

studs in his leather helmet marking him as a lieutenant; now he wore a ragged

but clean tunic of gray homespun and went bareheaded. Only the leather pants

and heavy boots remained the same. He drew up within convenient speaking

distance and remarked, "So you have returned as you promised." His tone was

casual, but his green eyes flicked warily about, missing nothing. "I have,"

Garth answered politely. Saram had done him considerable good when last he was

in Skelleth by refusing to attempt to kill him. "The old man said you would."

Saram's eyes focused on Garth's face as he spoke. The overman shrugged,

his face impassive, and said nothing. "I had my doubts, but here you are.

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