The cataclysm t2-2 Page 11

  Jarek counted on his fingers twice, then said proudly. "I know! I know! That leaves six barrels — "

  "Yes. Five full barrels," Graym said. He walked unsteadily to the wagon. "And one other" He thumped it three times, pausing to let it echo. "One… empty… barrel."

  The others ducked their heads, avoided his eyes. "It leaked," Darll said, shrugging.

  Graym rocked the barrel back and forth and ran his hands around it. "Bone dry. No water marks, no foam flecks."

  "Ghosts." Jarek looked solemn.

  Graym snorted. "Ever seen a drunk ghost?"

  Since none of them had seen a ghost of any sort, drunk or sober, they all shook their heads reluctantly.

  "Might have been magic," Fenris said.

  "True enough," Fanris said quickly.

  Graym wiped the mud off the barrel end to expose a second, cleverly hidden bunghole. He felt in the comer of the wagon and pulled out a second tap. "And which one of you," he said firmly, "was the mage?"

  He folded his arms. "Now, I know it's been a long, hard, dusty trip. A man gets thirsty. And you've all known me as long as you've worn dry pants. I'm not a hard man."

  "You're a soft man," Darll said, but wouldn't look him in the eye.

  "I'm a forgiving man."

  "Hah! If you were, you'd let me go, but no — "

  "It's a matter of principle, sir," Graym said firmly.

  "And the money," Jarek reminded him.

  "And the money, of course."

  "Tenpiece," Darll said bitterly. "Took me straight from the Bailey of Sarem with a promise and a bag of tenpiece."

  "Plus twenty when we get to Krinneor," Fen said.

  "When we hand you up," Fan said.

  "Thirtypiece." Darll shook his head. "The best fighter in Goodlund, second or third best in Istar, carted off to prison for thirtypiece."

  "But enough prologuizing." Graym was swaying on his feet. "I can't stand a fella who prologuizes all the time. Let's say I'm forgiving and let it go at that. And, now, I'm going to ask who's been sneaking ale while I wasn't looking. I expect an honest answer. Who was it?"

  Jarek raised one hand.

  The Wolf brothers each raised a hand.

  Graym looked at them in silence.

  Darll raised a hand, his chains pulling the other after it.

  After a long pause, Graym sighed. "Good to have it out in the open at last. Better to be honest with each other, I say."

  " 'True thieves best rob false owners,' " Darll muttered.

  "I've always thought that a fine saying, sir," Graym said. "Witty, yet simple. But I don't see it applying here."

  Darll shook his head.

  "Still and all," Graym continued, "we've done well. Three months on the road, and we've four barrels left." He shook a finger at the others. "No sneaking drinks from here. We'll need it all at the end of the road in Krinneor."

  Jarek said eagerly, "Tell us about Krinneor, Graym."

  "What? Again?"

  "Please!"

  Jarek wasn't alone. Fen and Fan begged to hear the story, and even Darll settled, resignedly, to listen.

  Graym picked up a bowl and took a deep swig of SkullSplitter. "I've told you this night after night, day after day — in the Black Rains, when the dust clouds came through, and in the afterquakes, and when we'd spent a long day dragging this wagon over flood-boils, potholes, and heaved-up rock on the road. And now you say you're not tired of it." He looked at them fondly. "I'm not either.

  "Back in Sarem, I was nobody. Every town needs a cooper, but they don't care about him. They buy his barrels and leave. And I'd watch them, and I'd know they were off — to fill the barrels, travel up roads, and sell their stock."

  Jarek leaned forward. "The city, tell us about the city!"

  "I'm coming to that." Graym loved this part. "Every time a stranger came down the road, I'd ask him where he'd been. And he'd talk about Tarsis by the sea, or the temples of Xak Tsaroth, and one even showed me a machine from Mount Nevermind, where the gnomes live. The machine didn't work, of course, but it was a lovely little thing, all gears and sprockets and wires.

  "But one and all, dusty from the road and tired from travel, told me about Krinneor, and the more I heard, the more I wanted to see it." Graym's eyes shone. "Golden towers! Marble doors! And excellent drains." He looked at them all earnestly. "I hear that's very important for a city."

  They nodded. Graym went on. "After the Claychasm — "

  "Cataclysm," Darll snapped.

  "Cataclysm, thank you, sir. I keep forgetting. After that night, when the ground shook and the western sky was all fire, people were frightened. They quit buying barrels, saying that trade was too risky. That's when I realized that no one was coming down the road from Krinneor, and no one was going there."

  He tapped the bowl of Skull-Splitter, which he had emptied again. "And that's when I realized there was no more good Sarem ale going from Sarem to Krinneor. The poor beggars there would be as dry as a sand pit in no time.

  "So I made these." He thumped the broken barrel, refilled the bowl from it. "Extra thick staves, doublecaulked, double-banded. Bungs four fingers deep. Heads of the last vallenwoods in stock this far west. Harder than any man has seen. I spent everything I had making them, then borrowed from you all to finish them. And when the bailey heard we were going, he asked me to take you, sir, to the Bailey of Krinneor for safekeeping." He nodded respectfully to Darll.

  "For prison, you fat fool," Darll said. "I can't believe I let a man like that capture me, especially after I beat the town soldiery. A scrawny, bald-headed, weak-armed man with no more strength in him than in a dead dwarf's left — "

  "You wouldn't have if you hadn't been drunk," Jarek pointed out. He looked at Darll admiringly. "Single-handed, and you beat them all. If you hadn't been drunk — "

  Graym interrupted. "And I hope it serves to remind you, sir, that ale is not only a blessing, but can also be a curse, and not to be taken lightly." He downed the bowl of SkullSplitter. "Back to my story. I took you, sir, and the tenpiece from the bailey — "

  "Then we got the ale," Jarek said. "And the horses," Fen and Fan said together. "Without paying for them," Darll finished. "And I gathered victuals and water and spare clothes and knapsacks, and off we set" — Graym pointed to the east — "down the long, dangerous road! Facing hardship! Facing hunger and thirst…" He broke off. "Not as much thirst as I thought, apparently, but some thirst. Facing the unknown! Facing a ruined world! And for what?" He looked around at the watching faces. "I ask you, for what?"

  Jarek blinked. "For Krinneor."

  "True enough. For the golden spires, the marble towers, the excellent drains, and the fortunes that made them. Think of it!" Graym waved an arm unsteadily. "A city with all the gold you can dream of, and nothing to drink. And us with a cart full." He glanced to one side. "A cart HALF full of the best ale left in the world!"

  "Our fortunes are made. We can ask what we want for it, and they'll pay twice what we ask. One barrel of Sarem ale will be worth the world to them, and five barrels leaves us one apiece."

  Darll looked up, startled. "You're counting me?"

  "You did your share on the road, sir," Graym said. "Each of us gets profits from one barrel of ale. And, if we're all clever — " he looked at Jarek and amended hastily, " — or at least if we stick together, we get exclusive Sarem trade rights to Krinneor. We'll have all the food we want, and houses."

  "And a sword?" Jarek asked eagerly. "I've always wanted a sword. My mother wouldn't let me have anything sharp."

  Graym smiled at him. "And a sword. And maybe a quick parole for friend Darll, and a tavern for me to run — "

  "And a woman for me," Fenris said firmly.

  "And me," Fanris echoed.

  Graym scratched his head, looked dubious.

  "Right," Darll said. "I'm sure that somewhere in Krinneor there's a pair of dirty, nearsighted women with no self-respect left."

  The Wolf brothers brightened considerably.
>
  By late night, the blanket screens were down and they'd piled wood on to make a man-high flame. The Wolf brothers were singing a duet about a bald woman who'd broken the heart of a barber, and Darll was weeping.

  "You 'member," he said, his arm around Graym, "'member when the bounty hunters attacked, and I saved us?"

  "You did well, sir," said Graym.

  Darll snuffled. "I was going to run off, but then I remembered you had the keys to the manacles."

  Graym patted his pocket. "Still do, sir."

  Darll, tears running down both cheeks, wiped his nose. "You know that when you free me, I'm going to kill you."

  Graym patted Darll's shoulder. "Anybody would, sir"

  Darll nodded, wept, belched, tried to say something more, and fell asleep sitting up.

  Graym lay down, rolled over on his back, and stared at the stars. They were faint in the dusty air, but to Graym they shone a little clearer every night. "I used to be afraid of them," he said comfortably to himself. "They used to be gods. Now they're just stars."

  When the sun came up the next morning, it rose with what Graym heard as an ear-splitting crack.

  He opened one eye as little as possible, then struggled to his feet. "Isn't life an amazing thing?" he said shakily to himself. "If you'd told me yesterday that every hair on my head could hurt, I wouldn't have believed you."

  Fenris stared out at the dusty field nearby and quavered, "What's that terrible noise?"

  Graym looked where Fenris was pointing and found the source. "Butterflies."

  Fenris nodded — a mistake. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over with a thud. Fanris, beside him, whimpered at the sound of the impact.

  Graym, moving as silently as possible, crept over to Darll, shook him by the shoulder. Darll's manacles rattled.

  Darll flinched and opened two remarkably red eyes. "If I live," he murmured fuzzily, "I'm going to kill you."

  Graym sighed and rubbed his own head. "I thought you already had, sir."

  By midmorning, they were back on the road and near the first rank of western hills. Graym, pulling the cart along with Darll, was almost glad they had lost so many barrels. The wagon lurched to a stop at every rock in the road… and there were many rocks.

  At least the companions were feeling better. SkullSplitter's effect, though true to its name, wore off quickly. Jarek was humming to himself, trying to remember the Wolf brothers' song of the night before. Darll, after swearing at him in strained tones for some time, was now correcting him on the melody and humming along.

  Fenris, perched on the cart, yelled, "Trouble ahead!"

  Fanris gazed, quivered. "Are they dangerous?"

  Darll grated his teeth. "Kender! I hate the nasty little things. Kill 'em all. Keep 'em away. They'll rob you blind and giggle the whole time."

  Graym looked up from watching the rutted road. Before he knew what was happening, he was surrounded by kender: eager, energetic, and pawing through their belongings. The kender had a sizable bundle of their own, pulled on a travois, but the bundle changed shape ominously.

  "Ho! Ha!" Darll swung two-handed at them, trying to make good on his threat to kill them all. They skipped and ducked, ignoring the length of chain that whistled murderously over their heads.

  "Here now, little fellers," Graym said, holding his pack above his head. "Stay down! Good morning!" He smiled at them and skipped back and forth to keep his pack out of reach, and he seemed like a giant kender himself.

  One of the kender, taller than the others and dressed in a brown robe with the hood clipped off, smiled back. "Good morning. Where are we?"

  "You're in Goodlund, halfway to Sarem if you started from just west of Kendermore." Graym snatched a forked stick from the hands of the tall kender — who didn't seem to mind — and hung his pack from it, lifted it over his head.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Oh, around." The tall kender took a forked stick from one of the others, who didn't seem to mind either. "East, mostly." He spun the stick, making a loud whistle. "Do you know, the gods told me that the world's greatest disaster would happen in a land to the west? Only it didn't."

  "What are you talking about?" Graym looked openly astonished. 'The Catcollision?"

  "Cataclysm!" Darll snarled.

  "Cataclysm, thank you, sir. I keep forgetting." Graym turned back to the kender. "All that happened in the east, you know."

  "I know," the kender said, and sighed. "The gods lied to me. They did it to save our lives — we were going west to see the run — but still, a lie's a lie." He fingered the torn collar of his cleric's robe. "So we don't believe in the gods anymore."

  "Good enough," Graym said, brightening. "Smashed the world, didn't they? We're well rid of that lot."

  "But they did save our lives," Fenris pointed out.

  "From horrible deaths," Fanris added, "like being smashed."

  "Or squished, Fan."

  The tall kender shrugged. "You miss a lot, worrying about things like that. Say, what's that smell?" His nose wrinkled.

  "Dirt, mostly," Jarek said.

  The Wolf brothers scowled. "It's a perfectly natural smell," Graym said. "Strong, but natural." He smiled down at the kender. "My name's Graym."

  The kender smiled back. "Tarli Half-kender. Half man, half kender."

  Graym looked startled, then shrugged. "Well, I'm liberal-minded."

  He offered his hand, taking care to keep his pack and pockets out of reach. But at a shout from Jarek, Graym whipped his head around.

  "Here now! Off the cart. Mind the barrels." His knapsack fell from the stick.

  Tarli caught the pack nimbly, flipped it over once in his deft fingers, and passed it to Graym, who was surprised that a kender would return anything. "Thank you," he said to Tarli, but his mind was on the kender falling and climbing all over the cart. The barrels, three times their size, wobbled dangerously. "Don't they know they could be killed?"

  Tarli looked puzzled. "I don't think it would make much difference. Like I said, you can't worry about things like that, like Skorm Bonelover, coming from the east."

  "Who?" The name sounded vaguely familiar to Graym's still-fuddled mind.

  "Skorm," Tarli said helpfully, "the Fearmaker, the Crusher of Joy."

  "Oh, THAT Skorm. You know him, do you?"

  "Only by reputation. Everyone's talking about him." Tarli looked to the east. "Well, we'd better keep going if we want to meet up with him." He put two fingers into his mouth and whistled.

  The crowd of kender scrambled off the cart and scampered down the road again, pulling the travois behind them. To Graym's watchful eyes, their pockets seemed fuller, and their bundle of supplies seemed larger, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  "Cunning little things." Graym watched the kender running happily away. "Good attitudes, the lot of them. You can't keep them down."

  "I'll try," Darll grated, "if you'll let me go." He held out his manacled hands.

  "Ah!" Graym reached into his pack. "Can't do that, sir, but I could give your arms a rest while we're dragging the cart. You promise not to run off, sir?

  He vaguely remembered Darll's saying something last night that should make Graym nervous, but dragging the cart was hard work, and Darll deserved a reward.

  Darll looked sly. "Word of honor." He braced his feet for a quick start and smiled at Graym.

  The Wolf brothers ducked under the cart. Even Jarek looked suspicious.

  "Right, then." Graym fumbled in the pack, then reached into his left pocket…

  Then checked his right breeches pocket, his hood, and his jacket…

  Then stared at the departing kender. He looked back at Darll's impatient face. "Life," he said thoughtfully, "can be funny, sir…"

  When Darll understood, he shook both fists at the kender and swore until he was panting like a runner.

  Darll and Graym started off again. They grabbed the crosspiece of the wagon tongue, braced their feet in the dirt, and pulled. The wa
gon rolled forward quickly. Graym dropped the crosspiece.

  "That was too easy. Jarek?"

  Jarek hopped into the cart and counted loudly. "One, two, three, four — "

  After a pause, Graym said, "And?"

  "That's all," Jarek said.

  Graym stared, disbelieving, at the distant dust cloud of the departing kender. "They walked off with a BARREL?"

  "Cunning little things," Fenris said.

  "Industrious, too," Fanris said.

  Jarek finished the inventory. Finally he hopped down and announced, "They got the barrel of Throat's Ease lager, our spare clothes — "

  Graym laughed. "Picture one of those little fellows trying to wear my canvas breeches 1"

  "And most of the food."

  Graym fell silent.

  "So we make it to Krinneor in one night or go hungry," Darll said.

  "We can do it," Graym said confidently. Landmarks weren't hard to read, but he had often discussed the road — wistfully — with merchants buying barrels and casks. "There's this hill, and one little town, and a valley, then, and a downhill run from there to Krinneor."

  "And prison for me. and a forced march to get there," Darll said gruffly. "I'd be running away free, and you'd be — " He looked at Graym sharply. "I'd be gone if it weren't for those nasty, little, pointy-eared thieves."

  Graym said gruffly, "You ought not to criticize others, sir. Not to drag up the past, but you've done worse."

  Darll glared at him. "That wasn't a fair trial. The bailey wanted blood, and he got it."

  "Of course, he wanted blood. You hurt his dignity. You had only a sword, and you half-killed ten soldiers armed with spears, maces, and swords."

  Darll objected. "When I half-kill ten men, I leave only five left alive. I beat them badly, but that wasn't the charge against me, anyway, unless you count resisting arrest."

  "True enough, sir," Graym said agreeably. "You scarpered the town treasury and then nicked a hay wagon."

  "Nice way to put it. A real sophisticate, you are."

  "Assault, theft, intoxication, breaking and entering, reckless endangerment, incitement to stampede, vandalism, arson." He paused. "That's the lot, isn't it, sir?"