The Cataclysm (14 page)

Graym smiled; they continued on.

At the crest of the hill, Darll raised his hand in silent warning. The others obediently
stopped the cart.

“Keep low!” he ordered. They dropped to the ground and peered into the valley below.

Tombstones and open graves, white tents and a great many ropes stippled the valley and
spread up the opposite hill. A hundred helmeted, armored warriors stood in line, ready for
inspection. Graym looked shocked.

“These scum robbed the graves,” said Darll. “And they're wearing the corpses!”

“Odd taste in armor, made out of bones. What for, d'you think, sir?” Graym asked.

“Wolves love bones,” Darll said bitterly. “Sheep shy away from them. No use in shying,
though. The wolves always win.” He smiled grimly. “I know. I'm a wolf.”

He pointed downhill cautiously. “The two in front with the swords are drillmasters,
showing close-quarter thrusts. The ones checking the lines are lower-rank officers.”

A man dashed up to a soldier, who was twisting this way and that, cuffed him, and yelled in his face. The shouting carried all the way to the
hilltop.

“That,” Darll said dryly, “would be the sergeant.” “Which one is Skorm?” Graym whispered.
“My guess would be the big guy, wearing the sawed-off skull.” They watched as Skorm paced calmly and evenly inspecting the troops. The warlord, stepping over a skeleton, kicked the skull. It
shattered on a tombstone.

Graym peered down at him. “Now there's a man who knows the value of appearances.”

“Don't you ever say anything bad about anybody?”

Graym shrugged. “There's more than enough of that around, sir, if you want it.”

“What if we split them down the middle?” a voice said.

They rolled and turned around, Graym snatching the axe from his belt. Rhael, a battered
spear with a mended haft in her hands, was standing behind them. She was dressed in
leather armor that probably had been trimmed from a butcher's apron.

“I've always heard that was how to deal with a larger force,” she said.

“Young Elder Rhael,” said Graym, “why don't you go back to town and keep bad folk from
climbing the hill to surround us?”

Rhael looked at Graym admiringly. “You have the mind of a warrior.” She stood stiffly. “I
won't let you down. I promise.”

They watched her run back over the hill crest. “I wish I could move like that,” Graym
said, envious.

“Wouldn't look good on you,” Darll muttered. Graym rubbed his rotund middle. “True enough,
sir.” “Now,” Darll said, “what's your battle plan?” “Battle plan, sir?” “You left Rhael to
guard our rear - and an ugly rear at that. What's your plan of attack?“ Graym shuddered. ”Attack? Don't even think it, sir. My plan is to run around Skorm and go on to Krinneor. Why do you think we brought the cart?”

The Wolf brothers looked vastly relieved. Darll stared at him, then began to laugh. “I
like your style, fat man.”

Graym hefted the axe. “Right. The chains, sir.” Darll was suspicious. “You're setting me
free?”

“On good behavior.” Graym glanced sideways down the hill at the soldiers. “I can't send
you running past that lot in chains. They'd hear the rattle for sure.”

Darll dropped to one knee and laid the chain on a boulder, turning his head away and
shutting his eyes tightly.

Graym swung the broadaxe overhead, brought it down. Sparks shot in all directions. The Axe
of the Just Kidding sliced through the chain and gouged the rock. Shards Hew, grazing
Darll.

He raised his right hand to wipe his cheek. His left hand automatically followed, a
chain's length behind, then dropped. He looked with wonder at his hands, then looked
longingly at the horizon ahead of them, beyond the army. “Right. Ready to run for it?”

He pulled a thong from his pocket, wrapped it around the sleeve of his right arm. Then he
bent, tightened his boots, and stood straight.

Graym stared. With only a few tucks and touches, Darll had gone from prisoner to
razor-sharp man of war. Graym stared down the hill, where an army was blocking their way.
“Just think, sir,” he said, “earlier today, the world was sweet, and I wanted it to last
forever. Isn't life amazing?”

“While you've got it,” Darll said. He poked at Jarek, who was playing mumblety-peg with
his sword. “Tighten everything, boy. You want free limbs. Loosen for marches, tighten for
fights or retreats.”

Jarek tightened his belt hurriedly. Groaning with the effort, Graym bent and tucked his
breeches down into his boot tops. He stood puffing and stared down the hill.

Jarek said eagerly, “Are we going to fight now?”

Graym shook his head. “That, my boy, would be the worst disaster since the Cattle-Kissing.”

“Cataclysm!” Darll said automatically. “I think we can run around the end of the valley
there and be safely on our way to Krinneor before they know what happened.”

“We'll be the first traders through Skorm's blockade,” said Graym suddenly. “They'll call
us heroes and pay triple the value on every glass of ale.”

He raised the Axe of the Just Kidding. “To Krinneor!” Skormt turned around, looked in
their general direction. The Wolf brothers shrieked and dived for the cart. “No!” Graym
shouted.

It was too late. In the struggle to fit underneath the cart Fanris's foot dislodged the chuck block. The cart started rolling downhill.

The ale!" Graym ran forward. Darll followed, swearing. Jarek whooped and charged alongside
him. The Wolf brothers, terrified at being left alone, jumped up and ran after them.

Cart and barrels hurtled down the hill, bouncing over rocks, heading straight for Skorm
and his officers.

The officers took one look and ran.

Astonishingly, none of the rank-and-file warriors budged. “Training's training,” Darll
panted, “but that's not possible.”

The lead barrel, now thundering down faster than a man could run, bounced off a dirt pile
and into the first row of warriors, who didn't even look up.

The second barrel hit the second row. The third barrel tangled the ropes that had strung
the soldiers together. The bodies fell apart.

Darll gripped Graym's shoulder. “They're fake! Nothing but armor on sticks and bones!”

He ran toward the “officers,” apparently the only living men on the field. Skorm shouted a
command in a harsh voice.

Two of the men sidled around Darll, keeping out of range of his sword. One of them raised
a throwing mace and swung it with a deadly whir.

Graym, desperate, flung the axe end-over-end. It thunked handle-first into the
mace-swinger, knocked him senseless.

Darll leapt over the fallen man, stepping on his back. “Officer material,” he grunted, and
wrapped his dangling manacle chain around the other man's sword and pulled. The sword flew
out of the man's hand.

Darll shouted back to Jarek. “Pick up his sword!”

Jarek picked it up, dropping his own sword. Graym punched an opponent in the stomach and
doubled him over, sent him stumbling into two men behind him.

The men staggered back and raised their swords, jumping at the Wolf brothers, who were
closest.

Fanris and Fenris looked at the armored, bone-covered sword-carrying men. Panic-stricken,
the brothers both shrieked, “We surrender!” and tossed their maces in the air.

The maces hit each man squarely in the head. Fenris and Fanris looked at each other in relief and turned to run away.

The remaining men, daunted by five berserkers crazed enough to charge an entire army, fled.

Skorm turned his skull face toward Graym. The grave- robber charged, aiming a vicious
two-handed sword straight for Graym's heart.

Darll yelled, “The axe!” picked it up, and threw it.

Graym caught the axe by the thong, just as it struck Skorm's sword and shattered the
blade. Graym grabbed the axe handle clumsily, and smacked Skorm on the head.

Skorm Bonelover, the Sorrow of Huma, the Dark Lady's Liege Man, the legendary Eater of
Enemies, dropped to the ground with a whimper.

The fat cooper, axe in hand, stood panting over him. Rhael ran down the hill, spear in
hand.

“We won!” she cried exultantly.

Halting, she looked down at Skorm's shattered sword and frowned. “That looks familiar,”
she said. “That's the Protector's Sword of Office!”

Graym bent and pulled the skull off Skorm's face. He was conscious again and looked
pinched and scared, but fairly ordinary beyond that.

“Protector!” Rhael gasped.

Darll kicked the Protector's sword hilt away from him and stood watching over him.

Rhael was staring admiringly at an embarrassed Graym. “I heard the noise. I saw the whole
thing. You charged an army by yourselves!”

Darll opened his mouth to explain, but Jarek trod on his foot. “We toppled our barrels on
them. Then Graym was the first one down. Not even Darll could outrun him.”

Rhael sighed. “What a wonderful idea. But your trade goods - your ale - you sacrificed
them for us?”

“One barrel made it,” Jarek told her. “It rolled off to one side and didn't hit anybody.”
He shook his head. “But I bet all those other soldiers are drinking it now.”

“There are no other soldiers, rock-brain!” Darll growled. “This Protector and his friends
built them out of corpses, tugged on ropes to make them move, pretended to train them.
They wanted to scare everyone out of town, then loot it, and it nearly worked.”

Jarek scratched his head. “Why didn't the town set up a bunch of fake soldiers to fight back?” he asked. Darll looked at Graym, at Jarek, and at
the Wolf brothers, who, seeing the fight was over, had returned. Darll grinned.

“They did set up fake soldiers. Sort of.”

Graym cleared his throat. “Well, we'd best get on the road.” He handed the Axe of Just
Kidding back to Rhael. “Business calls, Miss. Glad we could help, and all.”

She brushed his cheek with her finger. “You knew,” she said wonderingly. “Even before you
attacked, you knew Skorm was a fraud.”

Graym looked uncomfortable. “Well, I had an idea. Couldn't be sure, of course.”

Darll rolled his eyes.

Graym, feeling awkward, said simply, “Nice meeting you, Miss.” He turned and walked
through the graves and the shattered mock soldiers.

They collected the cart and the single surviving barrel. Graym tried, briefly, to find the
barrel taps and the rest of their belongings, then said, “Give it up.” They dragged the
cart through the scattered armor, framework, and bones of the open graves.

The cart rolled freely. Jarek looked at the single barrel in it and said happily, “The
price of ale must be way up now.”

“Best thing that could happen, really,” Graym said, but he sounded troubled. He and the
Wolf brothers drew the cart alone. Darll and Jarek walked alongside as they moved up the
last hill before Krinneor. Darll was trying to learn the second verse of “The Bald Maid
and the Barber.”

Fenris, beside Graym, said, “I hate to turn him in.”

Graym nodded. “He's not a bad lot. Wanted to kill us or jail us, but face it. Who
wouldn't?”

Fanris, on his other side, said, “Can't we just let him go?”

Graym stared at the road. “He's expected. We were paid half in advance. We can't just
two-step into Krinneor - ”

“Do we need to go there so bad?” Fenris asked softly.

Graym looked back at the cart, bouncing easily with one barrel of ale and no supplies.
“It's all we've got left.”

They walked in silence, watching Darll try to teach Jarek to juggle. The mercenary, even
while mocking Jarek's efforts, had a hand affectionately on the man's shoulder.

The road cut through a pass and angled to the left. Jarek sniffed the air. “I smell
something funny.” “That's the sea, boy,” said Graym. But Darll looked troubled. “I didn't
know there was an arm of the sea here.“ ”A port city,“ Graym explained. ”Not just rich, but a trade center. We're nearly here. Beyond this curve, we'll see the road on the shore,
probably a lovely seaside view, all the way to Krinneor - ”

They rounded the comer.

The hill plunged down to a sandy beach strewn with rocks. The road ended, half-covered
with sand, sloping down into the water and disappearing. Ahead was water, all the way to
the horizon,.a new sea, still gray with the silt and mud of the land collapsing and the
waters rushing in.

A half mile out from shore, a group of battered golden spires stuck upright, barely a
man's height above the waves. Gulls were nesting on them.

The men rolled the cart to the beach and stood. “The golden towers,” Fenris said. “The
marble doors,” Fanris said. “And excellent drains,” said Darll.

Graym, staring at the spires in shock, murmured, “I hear that's very important for a city.”

The others laughed for quite a while. Graym sat on a rock by the shore, staring.

Jarek moved down the beach, picking up stones to skip. The Wolf brothers, once they were
over their fear of gulls, took off their boots and went wading. Darll walked up to Graym.
“Where to from here?”

“Nowhere.” Graym stared, unseeing, over the open water. “No horses, no food, no money. No
Krinneor.” He blinked his eyes rapidly. “All gone.”

Darll was shocked. “There's a world out there. You can start over.”

Behind them, a voice said, “You can stay here.”

Rhael came forward, holding some sort of medallion and twisting it in her fingers. Her
determination was gone; she looked unsure of herself.

Graym stared at her a moment. “You knew the truth about Krinneor, didn't you?”

“We all knew. No one wanted to tell you before you helped us.”

“I don't suppose you did, Miss,” Graym said heavily. “And after?”

“Afterward, Elder Werlow was afraid of you. You're fierce warriors.”

Darll had the grace not to laugh. “So you let us go. Good joke.” Graym sighed. She twisted
the medallion chain almost into a knot. “I argued with them and said I'd follow you and apologize, and - and give you this.”

She held up the medallion, realized how twisted it was. “Sorry.” She untwisted the chain
nimbly, then dropped it over Graym's neck. “There.”