Act of Will

SCENE XIII



The Party Leader

On the last day of our journey I got a clearer view of Stavis and it, or rather one aspect of it, came as something of a shock. Stavis sat astride the river Yarseth only a couple of miles from where it emptied its brown, unsightly waters into the sea. I had known this before, but being presented with the reality of the thing was a different matter. The Yarseth was merely a dark and drowsy worm, but at its mouth was the ocean, and there the sparkle was like the billion shards of some immense fractured mirror. I had never seen the sea before.

It was loathing at first sight. I’m sure there are many well-traveled and broad-minded individuals who are accustomed to the ocean and don’t even recall their first glimpse of it. I, having weaseled my uneventful way into a shabby, provincial adulthood within a twenty-mile radius of the supremely shabby and provincial town of Cresdon, was neither well-traveled nor broad-minded. The sight of that near-infinite expanse of water scared the living daylights out of me, leaving me feeling not so much inadequate as nonexistent, and I found myself glancing at it furtively every few minutes to make sure it was still there. It was.

At least you could walk on the Hrof. Back in the golden age of Mrs. Pugh and her cockroach-ridden hovel, I had some nagging doubts about the very existence of the sea, as if I was preparing myself for someone to confess that the whole ludicrous “area of salty water” thing was a story to frighten children. The sea had been like magic and dragons or peace and liberty: mythically fictitious. But there it was, huge, vibrant, and glittering smugly to itself. I spent the next two days undergoing what you might call an ordeal by confrontation.

Stavis itself didn’t help. The road brought us gradually into a sprawl of white-plastered buildings and a population of every racial type imaginable. Here was a Cherrati trade enclosure hanging with silk; there were the people I knew only—and quaintly—as snow folk, from farther north than any map I knew of, selling seal pelts and buying iron spear tips by the sackful. Verone herders with their smelly okanthi rubbed shoulders with Dranetian silver dealers and Mesorian glass merchants. The sea drew all races, and in Stavis they met and bartered, calculated their profit and loss in a dozen languages and a hundred dialects. And rather than feeling like one of the ingredients in this great cultural stew, I merely felt left out and longed for the familiar pettiness of Cresdon.

Our passage through the city was marked by a sudden darkening of the skies until the clouds swirled violet and cracked with electrical flashes. When the rain came I ducked into the wagon and stared out of the back as Stavis’s international cross section ran for cover and the raindrops bounced eight inches high off the Empire’s new-laid pavements.

The Empire had been here only eight months. In that time, Orgos assured me, little had changed, except that prices had gone up, taxes and soldiers had appeared, and the Diamond Empire was looking fat and pleased with itself. The populace adapted by marking up their cod, herring, and sailfish prices until the only people who were really any worse off were distant trade partners and, of course, the very poor. So Stavis, with the usual economic sidestep, kept everyone happy. Everyone who mattered, anyway.

We were stopped twice as we entered the city, but even I could see that such challenges were formalities and only some spectacular idiocy on my part would get us into trouble. There was nothing to suggest that even word of us had reached the laconic guards. I couldn’t help being slightly offended that they had lost interest in me, but after a moment’s reflection on Empire execution practices, the feeling passed. By the time Orgos had given a street name, the troops were waving us through with thinly masked apathy. That night I resolved to raise a mug of the best ale I could find and toast Commander Harveth Liefson.

Once inside the city, the party rode as a unit with its weapons stashed in the wagon. Renthrette tied her horse to the back and climbed up next to me, muttering enthusiastically about the different architectural styles and the magnificent seafood. I tried to give her the look of shriveling distaste she had thrown me every hour or so for the last week, but my heart wasn’t in it. Her eyes shone as she soaked up the rain-drenched scenery or haggled for imported mangoes with basket-laden street children. The transformation was astonishing. She smiled while she talked to me and at one point actually said, “You seem to be making progress with Orgos. You learn fast, Will. If you need any help or advice, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

I stared at her, speechless (not a condition I often find myself in, as you will have gathered), wondering what I had done to deserve such sunny chumminess from Renthrette after our former sojourn in the frozen wastes. But it was soon clear that it wasn’t just this bloody city which delighted her so much.

“She’s just relaxing now,” said Orgos when I pressed him on the matter. We were waiting to cross the Yarseth, swollen with seasonal rain like an overfed anaconda. Its bridges were either completely submerged or showed themselves as crazy little walkways arching in and out of the river like sea serpents. We had to be ferried across in leaky pontoon boats.

“But why is she relaxing?”

“She is comfortable here,” said Orgos, “and perhaps she feels she has to—how shall I put it?—assert herself less now.”

There had been a slight smile on Orgos’s lips as he concluded that last sentence. He was skirting around some crucial factor.

“Fine, Orgos,” I interrupted bitterly, knowing he was holding back. “Don’t tell me, see if I care.”

“Well,” he laughed, “I think you’ll figure it out for yourself when we meet the party leader tonight.”

So that was it. She was practicing her charm for her big-shot lover. She didn’t need to fend me off anymore, because he would do it for her. For all her posturing, she would rely on her boyfriend’s sword arm after all. But all was not lost. Now, while her guard was down, I would charm my way into her heart. I would show my wit, perception, and sensitivity (the last one I would have to fake, but it had worked before), and she would fall for me. Give me a couple of days and, to Renthrette, the “party leader” would be an embarrassing, bone-crushing thug compared with the sophisticated William Hawthorne.

Still, that image of the bone-crushing thug rather slowed me down a little. I didn’t particularly want to find myself chivalrously jousting some seven-foot bonehead for her hand. I toyed for a moment with the idea of turning the “leader” in to the Empire guards, but that seemed vaguely below the belt, even for me. See? After only ten days with these clowns I was already letting my judgment get clouded by their laughable principles.

Perhaps it was Renthrette’s letting her hair down (literally, as it happened), and generally being amiable and gorgeous, but I was rather going off the idea of breaking company with the party here. Partly it was Orgos’s broad grin, partly it was Mithos’s noble tolerance of my existence, partly it was the fact that Garnet didn’t ax me in my bed, and partly it was because I felt out of my depth in Stavis with its urbane, colorful populace, its Empire guards, and its immense ocean. By comparison the party felt like old friends. Well, kind of. Maybe I would travel with them until I found some placid nation of imbeciles who liked theatre and playing cards. I figured I should at least meet their “leader” and hear their plans before I decided. Who knew? Maybe there was money in this adventuring lark.

The house was in a wealthy suburb with roofs of blue slate and glass in the windows. The grey stone buildings dotted with ancient shells were as different from the lurching ruins of Cresdon as the paved, guttered streets were different from Cresdon’s ratty alleys. On the corner, two men sold spidery crabs and immense lobsters. Orgos enthused about steamed lobster, but I took one look at the massive claws of one antique blue monster and wagered a few silvers on the beast taking the arm of anyone who tried to get it out of the tank.

As we stabled the horses and unloaded the wagon, Mithos said to me, “The party leader is not expecting us yet since we left Cresdon earlier than intended. I am not sure what the precise nature of the task ahead of us is, but if you wish to come further with us, I could speak on your behalf. Unless you have other ideas, of course?”

“No,” I muttered uncertainly, “I have no other plans.”

I wasn’t actually thinking about my plans at all, because something in the reverential way Mithos and the others referred to their nameless leader was beginning to get to me. My mildly resentful disinterest was quickly being replaced by curiosity. whatever I felt about my companions, I could not avoid the fact that they were a rather unusual group of individuals. Once I had admitted this grudging respect for them I was faced with the problem of putting a face to the leader they so clearly looked up to. When I tried to get some information out of Garnet concerning their mission east of the city, he told me that he didn’t care what they were doing as long as “the leader” decided the cause was worthy. For a second he looked reflective, so I jokingly broke the mood by asking him if he would lay down his life for his precious leader.

“Unquestionably,” he replied instantly.

Idiot.

The rain began again in a sudden flurry and we hurried into the house, stamping our feet and shaking our cloaks. Somewhere upstairs I heard footsteps: the party leader? My heart was beating a little faster as we entered the dim hallway, but Mithos just turned to me and said, “Will, we will meet the leader alone first and then invite you in.”

I nodded dumbly and they left me standing there, listening to the rain drumming on the roof and wondering what I’d got myself into this time.

One by one they creaked their way up the wooden staircase. I pushed a door open and stepped into a bare room with a couple of chairs and waited, listening to the wordless muttering above me.

They were gone for five minutes. Maybe a little more. It felt like an hour. Then came footsteps on the stairs and Mithos appeared, beckoning to me. Instantly my heart began to patter again and I followed him up, sucking in my stomach (no mean feat) and squaring my shoulders.

At the top of the darkened stairs a door was ajar from which light and gentle conversation trickled out onto the landing. Mithos, now no more than a bulky silhouette above me, pushed the door wide and stepped inside. Before I had even crossed the threshold I heard him speak my name in introduction and, trying to look strong and silent, I glanced around.

The room was small and windowless, lit by an oil lamp that hung from the rafters and glowed yellowish, the shadows russet and amber. Garnet, Renthrette, and Orgos sat at a table looking at me, and a girl in a long dress of blue cotton stood on the other side. I caught her black eyes and, taking her to be the maid, thought vaguely that she was going to offer me a beer. I looked around for the party leader.

I turned swiftly to see if he was behind the door. He wasn’t. I looked back and the girl in the blue dress spoke. “Welcome to Stavis, Will, and to our company. I am Lisha, elected leader of the group.”

I stared at her aghast, and I think my mouth fell open. She looked about fifteen. She was tiny. Smaller than me! Her hair was long, black, and straight and she had the small, elegant features and olive skin of the Far Eastern races.

But that’s off the subject. What I was actually thinking as the point was pounded home like a tent peg through my skull was No chance, mate. You have to be bloody joking. This might be your party leader’s daughter or even his bit on the side, but . . . Then I caught Renthrette’s glance of knowing satisfaction and I knew that this was indeed “the leader.”

She came towards me and shook my hand in a businesslike manner, ignoring absolutely the look of astonishment that gripped my face.

“Pleased to meet you, Will,” she said. Her voice had no accent. I don’t mean it was untainted by any special dialect; it had no accent at all. I could listen to her for hours and have no clue where she came from.

“What?” I said.

“Lisha,” she prompted with a small smile.

“Right,” I muttered woodenly. My eyes were starting to sting after all that staring at her, so I blinked them deliberately.

“And you are interested in joining us?” she said evenly.

For some reason this question brought a panicked chaos of un-certainty as I tried to cram this girl into the picture and then come up with a verdict.

“Well,” I hazarded, “I don’t know about join, but I may like to travel with you. Part of the way. A little distance. For a while, like.”

Did I really want to entrust myself to the wishes of this diminutive female? Hardly. I could see myself enjoying a few hours of cross-cultural entertainment with her, if she was up for it, but follow her? Respect her word and put my life on the line at her command? Fat chance. Still, I couldn’t have hoped for a less menacing-looking leader, and it did seem that one of my theories about Renthrette was well out of play. I cheered up.

“Well,” I went on over the silence, “Mithos here said I might be able to tag along, and I reckon I could be useful. And, er, I could really do to get out of the Empire for a while, if you follow my meaning. I’m not sure I’m all that desperate to return to Cresdon. Also, Stavis. I mean it looks real nice—seafood, diverse architecture, and stuff—but it’s not really my kind of town. You know what I mean, love? I’m sure you all have a ball here, but me? Too much water for a start, and . . .”

I caught Garnet’s glance of shocked anger and realized that I had put my arm around Lisha’s shoulders in a matey kind of way and was being, at best, casual in the way I told her my feelings on the matter. I froze and drew myself back to attention, murmuring, “But . . . er, if you don’t mind me sitting in on your discussion, I would be grateful. My concern is that at present I would be more of a hindrance to you than a help. I am already in your debt for getting me this far.”

That ought to do it. She smiled again—disarmingly—and asked me to sit down. I did so. whatever she looked like, you did what she said, if only because Garnet looked ready to remove vital organs from anyone who didn’t hang on her every word. At the table the lamp’s ochre glow was stronger, and shooting Lisha a sidelong glance I saw, with a start, not a girl but a woman. A very young-looking woman, admittedly, but that was a feature of those Eastern females; any girl between fourteen and forty-five looked about the same age. I put her around thirty, but I had no real clue. In a short skirt and ribbons she might have passed for twelve. Except maybe for her eyes.

She did all the talking and the others sat there as if enchanted, saving their few questions till she had finished.

“The situation is a simple one, though I fancy the solution will not be,” she began, unrolling a piece of mapped vellum. “Stavis is here,” she said. “To its immediate east is a ninety-mile stretch of grassland and scattered hamlets. East of that the land is more fertile, but almost as sparsely populated and with few decent roads. Even traveling as the crow flies we would have to get across two hundred and forty miles of precious little. It’s not hard country, but it would be very slow. I think our best bet is to sail along the coast and dock in the south of Shale. It is the count of Shale who requires our presence. He is operating on behalf of his own lands and those of Grey-coast to the east and Verneytha to the north.”

I shifted in my chair, and I think I made some kind of noise. Not words exactly, just a sort of grumbling sound, like the sound your stomach makes after one of Mrs. Pugh’s breakfasts.

“What?” she asked. “Will, do you have something on your mind?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just . . . Those places. Shale, Greycoast, and Verneytha. I used to hear stories about them when I was a kid. Sometimes they come up in old plays. I kind of forgot they were real.”

“What kind of stories?” said Lisha seriously.

“Oh, you know,” I said. “Old tales of witches and sorcerers. Kids’ stuff.”

“Yes,” she said, as if I’d raised some important point. “The legends go some way back.”

She paused for a second and looked around the table at our expectant faces. I kind of wanted to laugh at the situation, these seasoned fighters taking their orders from this little bit of skirt, talking about musty old stories of witchcraft and God knew what else. It was obviously ludicrous; so why was no one laughing?

I remembered a flash of amber light which knocked down enemy troops, a light the same color as the stone in Orgos’s sword. . . .

But that made no sense. If being around these idiots was making me believe in magic, then I really should get away before I lost my mind altogether.

“The problem is simply this,” she went on in the same measured, unaccented tones. “The three lands are connected by a series of vital trade routes upon which they depend for their economic survival. Recently these roads have been plagued by raiders. Not random groups of bandits such as you encountered on your way, but an organized force of trained soldiers, perhaps numbering a hundred or more. The three countries have soldiers of their own, but have been unable to track down the raiders who are slowly but surely bringing ruin to the region. Our task therefore is one of detection rather than of combat; we must determine who is responsible for these assaults and supply the baronies with the information necessary to engage and defeat the raiders.

“There is one more thing of which I think our employers are unaware. Over the last two months the Empire garrison in Stavis has almost doubled in size. Since there has not been any sign of revolt here, I fear that the Diamond Empire intends to push further east still. Shale, Greycoast, and Verneytha may prevent the Empire’s advance, but only if their current situation is reversed promptly. Are you willing to take on the task?”

If that was a genuine question, no one treated it as such. They nodded with hasty nobility and only I found myself looking doubtful and chewing over details of what she had said. Details such as 240 miles by sea and an enemy of over a hundred trained soldiers. She continued deliberately, “Good. You have come a week ahead of time, which gives us longer to prepare. Will, you should speak with Orgos as to how you can best use that time. And now it is late and we must begin our preparations early tomorrow. Sleep well. It is good to be with you all again.”

She smiled around at them with what seemed to be genuine affection and for a moment looked more like a mother than a daughter.

“Mithos,” said Lisha, “show Will to his room, please.”

I watched them grinning at each other like they were at some kind of family reunion and wondered, not for the first time, how long I could hope to last in their company.