Karsten had villages in plenty, growing larger and richer as the travelers penetrated into the black-earthed bottom lands along the wide rivers. And there were petty lordlings set up in fiefs who offered employment to the two from the north. Though Koris laughed to scorn the wages they suggested and thus increased the respect with which he and his ax were regarded, Simon said little, but was alert to everything about him, mapping the land in his head, and noting small customs and laws of behavior, while, between times when they journeyed alone, he pumped the Guard Captain for information.
The Duchy had once been a territory sparsely held by a race akin to the ancient blood of Estcarp. And now and then a proud-held dark head, a pale face with cleanly cut features, reminded Simon of the men of the north.
“The curse of the Power finished them here,” Koris observed when Simon commented on this.
“The curse?”
The Captain shrugged.”It goes back to the nature of the Power. Those who use it do not breed. And so each year the women who will wed and bear grow fewer. A marriageable maid of Estcarp may choose among ten men, soon among twenty. Also there are childless homes in plenty.
“So it was here. Thus when the sturdier barbarians came overseas and settled along the coast they were not actively opposed. More and more land came to their hands. The old stock withdrew to the backlands. Then warlords arose among the newcomers in the course of time. So we have the Dukes, and this Duke last of all—who was a common man of a hired shield company and climbed by his wits and the strength of his sword arm to complete rule.”
“And so will it go with Estcarp also?”
“Perhaps. Only there was a mingling of blood with the Sulcarmen, who, alone, it seems, can mate with Estcarp and have fruit of it. Thus in the north there was a stirring of the old blood and a renewing of vigor. However, Gorm may swallow us up before there has been a proving of anything. How is it, Simon; does this town we approach beckon you? It is Garthholm on the river, and beyond it lies only Kars.”
“Then we go to Kars,” Simon answered wearily after a long moment. “For the burden is still on me.”
Under his plain helm Koris’ brows rose. “Then it is indeed laid upon us to walk softly and watch over our shoulders the while. Though the blood of the Duke is not high and he is eyed sidewise by the nobles, yet his wits are far from blunt. There will be eyes and ears within Kars to mark the lowliest stranger and questions asked of blank shields. Especially if we do not strive to enlist at once under his banner.”
Simon gazed thoughtfully at the river barges swinging at anchor by the town quay. “But he would not be inclined to enlist a maimed man. Also are there not doctors within Kars who would treat one injured in battle? A man, say, who ailed from a blow on the head so that his eyes no longer served him well?”
“Such a one as would be brought by a comrade to see the wise doctors of Kars?” chuckled Koris. “Yes, that is a fine tale, Simon. And who is this injured warrior?”
“I think that role is mine. It would cover any awkward mistakes which a keen witted eye-and-ear of the Duke would note.”
Koris nodded vigorously. “We sell these ponies here. They label us too much as being from the mountains, and in Karsten mountains are suspect. Passage can be bought on one of the river boats. A good enough plan.”
It was the Captain who carried out the bargaining over the ponies, and he was still counting the wedge-shaped bits of metal which served as payment tokens in the duchy as he joined Simon on the barge. Koris grinned as he slapped the handful into his belt purse.
“I have trader blood and today I proved it,” he said. “Half again what I was prepared to take, enough to aid in any palm-greasing when we come to Kars, should that be needed. And provisions to keep us until that hour.” He dumped the bag he carried on board along with the ax from which he had not been parted since he took it from the hands of Volt.
There were two days of lazy current gliding on the river. As it neared sunset on the second, and the walls and towers of Kars stood out boldly not too far ahead, Simon’s hands went to his head. The pain once more shot above his eyes with the intensity of a blow. Then it was gone, leaving behind it a small vivid picture of an ill-paved lane, a wall, and a door deep set therein. That was their goal and it lay in Kars.
“This is it then, Simon?” TheCaptain’s hand fell on his shoulder.
“It is.” Simon closed his eyes to the sunset colors bending the river. Somewhere in that city he must find the lane, the wall, the door, and meet with the one who waited.
“A narrow lane, a wall, a door—”
Koris understood. “Little enough,” he remarked. His gaze was for the city, as if by the force of his will he could hurl them across the space still separating the barge from the waiting wharf.
Soon enough they came up the quay to the arch in the city wall. Simon moved slowly in his chosen role, trying to walk with the timidity of a man who could not trust his sight. Yet his nerves were prickling, he was certain that once within the city he could find the lane. The thread which had drawn him across the duchy was now a tight cord of direction.
Koris talked for them at the gate and his explanation of Simon’s disability, his plausible story—as well as a gift passed under hand to the sergeant of the guard—got them in. The Captain snorted as they passed down the street and turned the corner.
“Were that man in Estcarp I’d have the sign off his shield and his feet pointing on the road away before he had time to name me his name! It has been said that the Duke grows soft since he came into rule, but I would not have believed it so.”
“Every man is said to have his price,” Simon remarked.
“True enough. But a wise officer knows the price of the men under him and uses them accordingly. These are mercenaries and can be bought in little things. But perhaps if the code still prevails, they will stand firm in battle for him who pays them. What is it?”
He asked that sharply for Simon had stopped, half swung around.
“We head wrong. It is to the east.”
Koris studied the street ahead. “There is an alley four doors from here. You are sure?”
“I am sure.”
Lest the sergeant of the gate be more astute than they judged him, they went at a slow pace, Simon being guided. The eastward alley led on into more streets. Simon sheltered in a doorway while Koris sniffed their back trail. In spite of his distinctive appearance the Captain knew how to take cover, and he came flitting back soon.
“If they have set any hound on us he is better than Estcarp’s best, and that I do not believe. So now let us get to earth before we are remarked to be remembered. East still it is?”
The dull pain in Simon’s head ebbed and flowed, he could use it as a “hot” and “cold” guide in a strange fashion. Then a particularly bad blast brought him to the mouth of a curving lane and he stepped within. It was walled with blank backs of buildings and what windows looked out on it were dark and curtained.
They quickened pace and Simon shot a glance at each window as they passed, fearing to see a face there. Then he saw it—the door of his vision. He was breathing a little hard as he paused before it, not from the exertion of pace, but rather from the turmoil inside him. He raised his fist and rapped on the solid portal.
When there was no answer he was absurdly disappointed. Then he pushed, to encounter a barrier which must be backed with bars.
“You are sure this is it?” Koris prodded.
“Yes!” There was no outer latch, nothing he could seize upon to force it open. Yet what he wanted, what had brought him there, was on its other side.
Koris stepped back a pace or two, measuring the height of the wall with his eye.
“Were it closer to dark we could mount this. But such a move now might be noted.”
Simon threw away caution and pounded, his assault on the wood that of a drum. Koris caught at his arm.