by Owen G. Tabard
in Issue 115, August 2021
1
Although he had traveled widely throughout the empire during his years of itinerancy, never before had Hanno the philosopher seen such devastation as he now beheld. For days he and his companion, the warrior Thrax, had ridden the ancient highway, amid the half-ruined ziggurats that spoke of this region’s glorious past. But as they neared the outskirts of the capital, smoldering remains of walled gardens and upturned mile-marking stelae along the road bore witness to a more recent kind of ruination. A queasiness came over Hanno at the sight of impaled heads lining the road before them, putrefied and buzzing with flies.
“So, the Daevas have overtaken Morash at last,” Thrax said.
“Strange” said Hanno, “that they have wrought such indiscriminate destruction on a city they would seek to rule.”
“Right you are,” Thrax said. “But I think you may find that Daevas are not creatures that think rationally.”
They rode past another row of heads which seemed to have been moldering in the sun a while longer than the others, and here along a crest, Hanno thought he saw even the decapitated head of a horse, but hard to tell, withered and far off as it was. Hanno squinted at it and said, “Why execute a horse? I see not the reason for it. What possible crime could its owner have committed to warrant that?”
Thrax considered a moment then replied, “Perhaps it was the horse?”
As they rounded a curve, a tight pass through a low slope opened up ahead. Hanno reckoned it had once been solid rock, hewn by some means known to the ancients. Now granite cliffs climbed high on either side of the narrowing road.
Their horses lined up, with Hanno’s in the lead, and they made their way single file through the pass. Hanno was abruptly halted when a group of men suddenly poured forth from behind the rocks, and a booming voice called out, “Hold, travelers! Your money or your life!”
Hanno’s steed reared so as not to collide with the gargantuan figure who stepped into the middle of the road at the head of the group. He was a tall man, perhaps even a bit taller than Thrax, but also stout of frame and enormously pot-bellied, draped with a cloak of impressive width to match his massive person. A sword of glistening steel rested lazily upon one shoulder. He was flanked by a group of ten men of more ordinary size, some young some old, sturdy folk but hardly fighting types. All these bore short bronze-tipped dories and calfskin shields.
“Bandits!” Hanno cried.
Thrax drew his mount into a cautious trot, and presently sidled up to Hanno, his sword at the ready. Giving a look to their leader, Thrax said carefully, “I think not, Hanno.”
“Thrax!” the brigand leader cried. “Why you scabrous cur, welcome back!”
“Ah, a friend of yours?” Hanno asked with evident relief.
“You might say that,” Thrax said. “Good to see you again, Rollo.”
2
“I hardly recognized you!” Rollo laughed heartily as he led them down a tree-shaded dirt path that diverged from the highway beyond the pass. “Why, you’ve the look of a Cithran dandy in that new armor.”
“And you look like a disreputable highwayman with your band of ruffians upon the road,” Thrax sneered.
“Oh, that.” Rollo frowned and paused for a glum moment. Then immediately his face brightened and he belted out another laugh. “Well, what do you expect an honest merchant to do? I swear our new overlords shall drive poor Rollo to penury!”
At the end of the path was an old villa of mud brick. Rollo showed them to a shaded portico at the entrance where they took their seats on wooden benches. Rollo’s men were now in action as servants, roles in which they seemed eminently more comfortable. One tended the horses, another waited upon them with ale and plates of olives. Rollo offered a pitcher of frothy black Morashan ale to Hanno, who partook of it joyously.
To Rollo, Hanno asked, “You said something earlier about new overlords?”
“Aye, the Daevas have come and made Morash their own. Our friend Thrax here pulled up stakes and went north, then without him our own troops collapsed, surely as you like.” Rollo then turned to Thrax, “I’m not one of them, but there are those who say you deserted.”
Thrax scowled. “I made no oath to the city fathers.”
“No, you didn’t.” Rollo met the stern gaze of Thrax then hastened to add, “Oh, you’ve made some new enemies to be sure. Mostly those old fathers themselves, at least the ones whose heads aren’t now on spikes.”
Thrax shook his head. “I shouldn’t have wished it on any of them, though we may have quarreled.”
Rollo went on, “The bulk of that cursed army marched off erelong, but ruined my corn business in the meantime! Now I’m left destitute, collecting taxes for the petty governor they’ve installed here.”
Hanno grinned as one of the servants presented a tray of cured meats. “Our gracious host has an interesting definition of destitution.”
“You should’ve known me before, lad!” Rollo roared boisterously. “There was a time I’d have treated such splendid company to fresh meats and fine wine. Now this is the best I have to offer.” Rollo set down his cup with a splash, “As a matter of fact, I’ve some business that could use your assistance. I’m off to deliver the taxes I’ve collected to the Daeva governor, the Druj-Eshema, this afternoon.”
“Taxes you’ve collected, or stolen?” asked Thrax with a growl.
“You wound me, friend. I’m no outlaw but now am duly appointed tax-collector. I swear to you before Ashura that all the monies I’ll be bringing to the Druj are lawfully collected.”
This answer seemed to satisfy Thrax. “And what do you need?”
“Why, hardly anything at all. Just accompaniment on the journey, maybe a friendly hand to help in a scrap. I’m not the only bandit on these roads, oh-ho!” Rollo laughed, very pleased with his own joke. “A taxman with full saddlebags makes an inviting target. My boys are loyal but they’re hardly warriors. You, on the other hand! I couldn’t think of a better man to have at my side if Druj-Eshema were to become disagreeable.”
Thrax was still skeptical. “And why might that be?”
“Who can say? You know how these Daevas can be. In any event, there’ll be good coin in it for you.”
At this Hanno broke in, “Coin in it, you say?”
3
“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” Thrax said through his teeth to Hanno.
“How’s that?” Rollo called back to them, hand to his ear. He was riding some distance behind on an old draught horse that barely kept pace with their Cithran steeds as they rode across the Morashan hinterlands toward the fortress that served as the base of operations for this fearsome Daeva governor they’d been told of, the Druj-Eshema.
“None of your concern, friend,” Thrax said. Then in a low voice, Thrax spoke to Hanno again, “Rollo’s as stout a warrior as they come but he’s not one to place a premium on the honesty, I assure you. Something’s amiss.”
“He made a valid oath,” Hanno said. “I think if the money were stolen, it would have been apparent by now.”
Thrax scratched his chin. “True enough. But I’m uneasy nonetheless. We had best be prepared for a fight.”
Hanno chuckled, “And when has that ever troubled you?”
Thrax brightened as Rollo had managed to catch up to their side, seemingly becoming as winded himself as his horse in the effort. “What’s all this about, now?” he said, panting.
“I’ve never seen a Daeva before,” Hanno said, changing the subject. “They are the descendants of evil gods, it is said.”
“So they say,” Rollo replied, “but hearken well to one who’s fought them, and then served them lo this past year: They’re flesh and blood just as you and I. They’re a beastly lot, of course, and their teeth–oh! those teeth–they’re surely not human. But there’s more god’s blood running through our friend Thrax here than any Daeva.”
As they approached the Daeva camp, the creatures guarding the gate perked up. Hanno could tell at once they were no demons, although they may have been cast from the same mold. They were strange, spindly-limbed beasts, yet powerful if only for sheer size. They were vaguely mannish in their general shape, but these were not the wooly sort of hybrid creatures he knew—the fauns and centaurs that haunt the forested foothills. No, these Daeva were men of a strange and reptilian countenance. They wore no obvious clothing but were decked with heavy armor of steel-plate on breast and shoulder, set atop shirts and skirts of mail. Atop their heads were a pair of short, coiled horns, like those of a ram. Their skin was ashen gray, pulled tautly over expressionless beaks set with rows of gnarled fangs.
Rollo steadied himself atop his horse and made a gesture toward Hanno and Thrax, whilst calling out to the Daevas, “My friends are here to accompany me to see his lordship the Druj.”
The Daeva responded with a low thrumming sound from his throat. A loud clack came from the other side of the palisade, then the gate swung open, and they entered the camp.
A wide avenue proceeded from the gate through perfect lines of canvas tents. None of the Daevas stood idle. Hanno saw dozens of their soldiers drilling through the breaks in the tent lines, while the hammerfalls of the smith could be heard not far off.
The guards who greeted them at the entry handed over responsibility to another pair of Daevas who encouraged the men off their horses and led them briskly past the soldiers to the Druj-Eshema.
The Druj stood before them proudly, in gilt cuirass graven with the image of twin dragons locked in a fiery combat. His eyes were limpid, jaundiced pools, with a habit of blinking one at a time, something Hanno found perhaps most disconcertingly alien of all the strange habits of these beings.
The Druj opened his mouth slightly, but made no perceptible movement as he spoke, save a slight quivering from a dewlap of crimson. His tone was clear and without accent, chirping as a parrot might speak. “I welcome you, Rollo, and pray you make obeisances.”
Eyes downcast, Rollo said, “My most gracious lord Druj-Eshema, I, your unworthy supplicant, bid you greeting.”
Thrax grunted derisively, but if the Druj was insulted by this he did not show it. “That is well,” said the Druj. “I trust your collections proceed apace?”
“Ah, of course, noble lord. About that—”
Just then a Daeva came from behind Rollo, bearing the saddle bags taken from Rollo’s horse. With a bow, the Daeva spoke some words in that strange chirping language to the Druj. There was some back and forth for a moment, then the bags were cast upon the ground. A tinkling pile of bronze farthings spilled out, an amount that would have scarcely been enough to pay for the meal they had eaten at Rollo’s villa.
“You dishonest dog, Rollo!” Thrax cried. “What of your oath?”
“Aye,” said Rollo, “and I’ve kept it, for all these monies were lawfully collected. There just isn’t very much of it.”
“Most disappointing,” said the Druj.
“My lord!” Rollo stepped backward and began to stammer a reply, but the Druj halted him with a wave of a three-taloned claw.
“It is known that your people pay in goodly measure. We must conclude that the monies are defalcated by yourself.” Druj-Eshema shut one eye, then the other. “The penalty is severe.”
With a trill the Druj spoke a signal, and the soldiers surrounding them advanced. Thrax drew his sword and snarled, “If you mean him any harm you’ll be going through me first.”
The Druj stepped backward as the Daeva soldiers continued their menacing steps toward the men. Hanno then spoke. “Oh most noble lord,” he said, “We’ve contracted with Rollo for his protection. If you have charges against him then let them be proven. As your servant, surely he is entitled to answer this accusation under the law.”
The Druj gave another chirping command and the soldiers halted, then stepped back. “You speak well. Rollo may have his trial,” he said to Hanno. “By ordeal of combat.”
Rollo’s eyes widened, and he screamed at Hanno, “You fool! We could have fought our way out of this. What have you done?” Where up till the present moment Rollo had been subtly creeping backward, he now turned around and bolted. He did not manage to get far, however, as his ungainly frame made him quite a bit slower than a Daeva running at full clip. He was swiftly overtaken and brutally brought down with a blow to the back of the skull. Bone crunched and blood flew from his neck as Rollo crashed to the ground, dead.
4
“Unfortunate,” said the Druj. Then, turning to Hanno, he said, “Now, come along, your trial awaits.”
“But—ah— noble lord,” Hanno said, “surely I am not to answer for the charges now that Rollo— ah— now that Rollo has—”
“It matters not,” the Druj interrupted. “You have invoked the right. Jurisdiction attaches and cannot be sundered. For this is the ancient principle of our law: that the servant answers for the crimes of the master.”
“I suppose that explains the horse,” Hanno muttered ruefully.
Then suddenly he was seized upon by the cadre of waiting Daeva soldiers, and at their forceful urging was led down an avenue of tents and around a corner to a circle set with sharpened stakes surrounding its perimeter, a sort of makeshift arena within the camp. The other Daevas ceased their drills and began gathering around. They spoke not a word nor did they fidget or move about while waiting, as a crowd of human soldiers might have. Rather they stood erect and orderly even as they waited in silent anticipation.
The soldiers shoved Hanno forward through a break in the circle, stunned that these creatures who seemed so sluggish would suddenly spring into action and cast him with blinding speed into mortal peril. But as the fear coursed through his body he regained sufficient presence of mind to cry out: “Wait!”
The Druj raised a clawed hand and halted the proceeding. “Yes?” he chirped.
“If there is to be a trial by combat, I would name a champion!”
“Very well,” the Druj replied, “for such is your right.”
“I was beginning to wonder when you would ask,” Thrax said with a grim smile.
“Indeed,” said Hanno. “I name Thrax to fight in my stead.”
“And I accept,” said Thrax, as he brazenly sauntered into the arena.
Thrax cast his sword aside and removed his armor, for the Daevas indicated the fight was to be barehanded. Soon the quiet was broken by a roar as the Daeva’s own champion stepped forward. A typical Daeva in most respects but a fair bit taller and bulkier than the others, with horns protruding straight above his head and out into many points as a stag.
The fight was a fair one, at times it seemed to be quite close. Hanno could see how these ferocious Daevas could be a match even for one as mighty as Thrax. But after some good back and forth grappling, the tide of this bout turned decisively in favor of Thrax, with the Daeva champion noticeably tiring amid a torrent of blows. The Daeva fought through it, staggering back again and again to make ever more ineffectual efforts, face bloodied and bones shattered. After Thrax at last battered the piteous creature senseless he looked up for a cue to halt the fight, but the Druj merely stood by implacably.
“Satisfied?” Thrax demanded through labored breath, for he too had tired greatly from his furious effort to subdue the champion. “He’s out now, I’m not going to kill him.”
“It is well,” the Druj said. “The trial is over.” With that, one of the soldiers entered the circle with a short sword, knelt beside the unconscious champion, and plunged the blade into his neck.
Thrax flinched at this but said nothing. He dusted off his breeks and collected his armor, then made his way slumped-shouldered to join Hanno and the Druj around the body of Rollo, still splayed lifeless in the dust where he had fallen.
“Ah, he’ll have few to mourn him, the faithless swine. Still—” said Thrax with a touch of melancholy. He knelt beside the body and took up one of the spilt farthings from the ground, then slipped the coin into Rollo’s mouth. “Travel well on your journey, old friend.”
The Druj gave a strange approximation of a nod. “It is a pity. It seems Rollo was innocent after all.”
“I don’t see how that follows logically—” Hanno began to say. The Druj regarded him, blinking with one eye, then the other. And Hanno thought better of finishing that remark.
©August 2021, Owen G. Tabard
Owen G. Tabard is a lifelong fantasy fan who lives in Florida. His work has appeared previously in Swords & Sorcery.