Okay, I’d made it through, and I’d a strong feeling that the answer to the matter of Julia’s killer lay in the besieged citadel below. Offhand, I didn’t see any easy way into the place at the moment, to make inquiry. But that was not the only way I might proceed. I decided to wait where I was, resting, until it grew dark — that is, if things here proceeded in a normal dark-light fashion. Then I’d slip downstairs, kidnap one of the besiegers and question him. Yes. And if it didn’t get dark? Then I’d think of something else. Right now, though, just drifting felt best…
For how long I dozed, I was uncertain. What roused me was the clicking of pebbles, from somewhere off to the right. I was instantly alert, though I didn’t stir. There was no effort at stealth, and the pattern of approaching sounds — mainly slapping footfalls, as of someone wearing loose sandals — convinced me that only a single individual was moving in this direction. I tensed and relaxed my muscles and drew a few deep breaths.
A very hairy man emerged from between two of the stones to my right. He was about five and a half feet in height, very dirty, and he wore a dark animal skin about his loins; also, he had on a pair of sandals. He stared at me for several seconds before displaying the yellow irregularities of his smile.
“Hello. Are you injured?” he asked, in a debased form of Thari that I did not recall ever having heard before.
I stretched to make sure and then stood. “No,” I replied. “Why do you ask that?”
The smile persisted. “I thought maybe you’d had enough of the fighting below and decided to call it quits.”
“Oh, I see. No, it’s not exactly like that…”
He nodded and stepped forward. “Dave’s my name. What’s yours?”
“Merle,” I said, clasping his grimy hand.
“Not to worry, Merle,” he told me. “I wouldn’t turn in anybody who decided to take a walk from a war, unless maybe there was a reward and there ain’t on this one. Did it myself years ago and never regretted it.
Mine was goin’ the same way this one seems to be goin’, and I had sense enough to get out. No army’s ever taken that place down there, and I don’t think one ever will.”
“What place is it?”
He cocked his head and squinted, then shrugged. “Keep of the Four Worlds,” he said. “Didn’t the recruiter tell you anything?”
I sighed. “Nope,” I said.
“Wouldn’t have any smokin’ stuff on you, would you?”
“No,” I answered, having used all my pipe tobacco back in the crystal cave. “Sorry.”
I moved past him to a point where I could look downward from between the stones. I wanted another Look at the Keep of the Four Worlds. After all, it was the answer to a riddle as well as the subject of numerous cryptic references in Melman’s diary. Fresh bodies were scattered all over before its walls, as if cast about by the whirlwind, which was now circling back toward the point whence it had risen. But a small party of besiegers had apparently made it to the top of the wall despite this. And a fresh party had formed below and was headed for the ladders. One of its members bore a banner I could not place, but which seemed vaguely familiar black and green, with what might be a couple of heraldic beasts having a go at each other. Two ladders were still in place, and I could see some tierce fighting going on behind the battlements.
“Some of the attackers seem to have gotten in,” I said.
Dave hurried up beside me and stared. I immediately moved upwind.
“You’re right,” he acknowledged. “Now, that’s a first. If they can get that damn gate open and let the others in they might even have a chance. Never thought I’d live to see it.”
“How long ago was it,” I asked, “when the army you were with attacked the place?”
“Must be eight, nine — maybe ten years,” he muttered. “Those guys must be pretty good.”
“What’s it all about?” I asked.
He turned and studied me.
“You really don’t know?”
“Just got here,” I said.
“Hungry? Thirsty?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Come on, then.” He took hold of my arm and steered me back between the stones, then led me along a narrow trail.
“Where are we headed?” I asked.
“I live nearby. I make it a point to feed deserters, for old times’ sake. I’ll make an exception for you.”
“Thanks.” The trail split after a short while, and he took the right-hand branch, which involved some climbing. Eventually this led us to a series of rocky shelves, the last of which receded for a considerable distance. There were a number of clefts at its rear, into one of which he ducked. I followed him a short distance along it, and he halted before a low cave mouth. A horrible odor of putrefaction drifted forth, and I could hear the buzzing of flies within.
“This is my place,” he announced. “I’d invite you in, but it’s a little uh —”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll wait.”
He ducked inside, and I realized that my appetite was rapidly vanishing, especially when it came to anything he might have stored in that place. Moments later he emerged, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Got some good stuff in here,” he announced.
I started walking back along the cleft.
“Hey! Where you headed?”
“Air,” I said. “I’m going back out on the shelf. It’s a bit close back there.”
“Oh. Okay,” he said, and he fell into step behind me.
He had two unopened bottles of wine, several canteens of water, a fresh-looking loaf of bread, some tinned meat, a few firm apples and an uncut head of cheese in the bag, I discovered, after we’d seated ourselves on a ledge out in the open and he’d gestured for me to open the thing and serve myself. Having prudently remained upwind, I took some water and an apple for openers.
“Place has a stormy history,” he stated, withdrawing a small knife from his girdle and cutting himself a piece of cheese. “I’m not sure who built it or how long it’s been there.”
When I saw that he was about to dig the cork out of a wine bottle with the knife I halted him and essayed a small and surreptitious Logrus sending. The response was quick, and I passed him the corkscrew immediately. He handed me the entire bottle after he’d uncorked it and opened the other for himself. For reasons involving public health I was grateful, though I wasn’t in the mood for that much wine.
“That’s what I call being prepared,” he said, studying the corkscrew. “I’ve needed one of these for some time…”
“Keep it,” I told him. “Tell me more about that place. Who lives there? How did you come to be part of an invading army? Who’s attacking it now?”
He nodded and took a swig of wine.
“The earliest boss of the place that I know of was a wizard named Sharu Garrul. The queen of my country departed suddenly and came here.” He paused and stared off into the distance for a time, then snorted. “Politics! I don’t even know what the given reason for the visit was at the time. I’d never heard of the damned place in those days. Anyhow, she stayed a long while and people began to wonder. Was she a prisoner? Was she working out an alliance? Was she having an affair? I gather she sent back messages periodically, but they were the usual bland crap that didn’t say anything, unless of course there were also secret communications folks like me wouldn’t have heard about. She had a pretty good-sized retinue with her, too, with an honor guard that was not just for show. These guys were very tough veterans, even though they dressed pretty. So it was kind of debatable what was going on at that point.”