The Serpentwar Saga

A company of guardsmen were stationed with them, and their captain was known to Calis. They had gone inside the tavern to talk, while the mercenary company was left to itself outside. Every man had bathed in the river, drank his fill, and now they were resting before mounting up to ride.

Erik watched the horses with interest. Here was something he could understand. He saw that each mount was being given a snaffle bit, a cavalry saddle with a breast-band, and saddlebags, with room for a sleeping roll or rolled-up tent behind the saddle’s cantle.

Foster was walking nearby when Erik noticed something. ‘Corporal,’ he said.

Foster halted. ‘What?’

‘That horse isn’t sound.’

‘What?’

Erik moved between two rails of the corral fence and pushed past the milling horses near by. One of the horse trader’s handlers shouted at Erik; he had tried to learn the language of this land on ship, and knew that man was ordering him to stay away from the horses, but he didn’t have enough confidence in his ability to say he just wanted to look. He waved at the man as if returning a greeting.

Reaching the horse, he ran his hand down the left foreleg, picking it up. ‘Bad hoof.’

Foster said, ‘Damn their greedy hearts.’

The wrangler reached them, shouting at them to leave the animals alone. ‘You haven’t paid yet! They are not yours!’

Foster unleashed his legendary rage. Gripping the man’s shirt in one meaty hand, he raised him to his toes and screamed in his face. ‘I should have your liver for lunch! Get your master and tell him if he’s not here before I lose my good mood, I’ll kill him and every cheating whoreson of a city man within five miles!’ He half pushed the man as he let go of his shirt, and the wrangler fell back against the horse, who snorted in protest and moved away. Turning, the man ran off to find his employer.

This exchange wasn’t lost on the guards who came with the horse traders, and suddenly there were armed men in all directions moving to get ready for a fight. Erik said, ‘Corporal, was that wise?’

Foster only grinned.

A few moments later the horse trader was upon them demanding to know why they had assaulted his man. Foster said, ‘Assault? I should have your heads on pikes! Look at this animal!’

The man glanced at the horse and said, ‘What about him?’

Foster looked to Erik and said, ‘What about him?’

Erik suddenly found himself the center of attention of every man within view. He looked around and saw Calis and the leader of the city guardsmen coming out of the tavern. Someone had obviously alerted them to the possibility of danger.

Erik said, ‘He has a bad hoof. It’s cracked and festering, and it’s been painted over to look healthy.’

The man began a stream of protests, but then Calis said, ‘Is this true?’

Erik nodded. ‘It’s an old trick.’ He moved to the horse’s head and looked into his eyes, then inspected his mouth. ‘He’s been drugged. I don’t know what, but there are several drugs that will deaden the pain enough to make him not limp. Whatever they gave him is wearing off. He’s starting to show a hitch in his walk.’

Calis came up to the horse trader. ‘You were given this commission by our friend Regin of the Lion Clan, were you not?’

The man nodded, attempting to bluff. ‘I was. My word is bond from the City of the Serpent River to the Westlands. I will find whichever one of my misguided retainers is responsible and have the man beaten. Obviously someone is attempting to curry my favor, but I will have no cheating of good friends!’

Calis shook his head. ‘Fine. We shall inspect every animal, and for each one we reject, you will be fined the price of a sound horse as well. This is one, that means we get one other sound mount for no charge.’

When the man looked to the Captain of the company that had accompanied the horse man, he smiled. ‘Sounds fair to me, Mugaar.’

Seeing no relief, the man touched his hand to his heart. ‘It is done.’

As the defeated merchant stalked away, Calis said, ‘Hatonis, this is Erik von Darkmoor. He’ll be inspecting each animal. If you would see he’s not interfered with, I would be in your debt.’

Erik extended his hand. The man shook it with a firm grip. He was a soldier of middle years, but only a little grey took away his youth. He was strong and looked like a seasoned fighter.

‘My father would come back from the grave to haunt one such as that if he cast shame upon our clan,’ said the guard captain.

Turning to Erik, Calis said, ‘Can you vet more than a hundred horses by first light tomorrow?’

Erik glanced around and shrugged. ‘If I must.’

‘You must,’ said Calis, walking away.

Foster watched a moment, then turned to Erik. ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Get to it!’

Erik sighed in resignation and, looking around, called for some of the men in his company to lend a hand. He couldn’t get another expert to magically appear, but he needed men to walk and jog the animals and move the vetted ones to another location.

Taking a deep breath, he began with the closest horse.

• Chapter Thirteen • Search

The barman looked up.

The inn was crowded, and in the normal course of business, anyone entering should not have caused him to notice. But the figure who entered was not one of his ordinary customers, nor was the barman an ordinary barman.

The newcomer was a woman, tall and alert in her stance, wearing an all-concealing robe of sturdy weave, fine enough to mark her as more than a common street girl, but not so elegant as to mark her as nobility. For a moment the barman expected one or more men to follow her, escorts to protect her from the street’s rougher denizens. When none appeared, he was certain there was nothing ordinary about this woman. She glanced around the room as if seeking someone; then she locked eyes with the barman.

She threw back the hood of the cloak, revealing a youthful appearance – though the barman knew well enough appearances were deceiving – with dark hair and green eyes. She was not pretty but striking, with a full mouth and good cheekbones. Her eyes were dangerous. Most men would have called her beautiful, but most men wouldn’t have known how dangerous she was.

A young bravo stepped up to intercept her before she could reach the bar. He was at the peak of youth, feeling too much the rush of blood and ale. He was nearly majestic in appearance, half a foot taller than six feet, with shoulders broad with iron plates, and enough scars to ensure that few of his boasts were challenged as lies.

‘Here, now!’ he said with a drunken laugh, pushing back a crested helmet so he could see better. ‘What is so wonderful a wench doing without my company?’

This brought a laugh from two of his companions and a disapproving look from the whore who had counted on all three of these soldiers making her night profitable. The woman stopped as the young warrior stepped before her, and looked him slowly up and down. ‘Excuse me,’ she said softly.

The man-boy grinned and seemed about to say something. Then his smile slowly faded, until he looked down upon the woman with a puzzled expression. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly as he stepped aside.

His friends looked on in amazement and one stood up to say something. The barman produced a light crossbow and put it on the bar, with the bolt pointed directly at the protester. ‘Why don’t you sit back down and finish your drink!’

‘Hold on, Tabert. We spend a lot of gold here! Don’t be threatening us!’

‘Roco, you get drunk on cheap wine down at the market, then stagger up here to grope and fondle one of my girls until closing, when half the time you don’t have enough to pay for her company!’

The girl who had been sitting with the three men stood up and said, ‘And the half of the time they have money, they don’t have any iron left in their swords from all that cheap wine, and even when they do, it’s nothing much to brag on.’

This brought a torrent of laughter and insults from the rest of the patrons of the commons. The third warrior, who had been holding the whore until she stood up, said, ‘Arlet! I thought you liked us!’

‘Show me your gold, then I’ll love you, darling,’ she said with a grin lacking any affection.

Tabert said, ‘Why don’t you three boys head on down to Kinjiki’s and annoy his girls for a while. He’s Tsurani blood, so he’ll bear up under the abuse with better grace than I.’

The two companions looked ready to dispute this request, but the first, who had tried to stop the woman, nodded slowly and pulled his helm back down. Reaching under the table, he retrieved his weapon and shield. ‘Come on. We can find our fun somewhere else.’ His two friends were about to protest when he bellowed, ‘I said come on!’ The abrupt rage startled the others and they hesitated, then agreed, following him out of the room.

The woman reached the bar. The barman knew her first question before she asked. He said, ‘I haven’t seen him.’

The woman raised one eyebrow in question.

‘Whoever it is you’re looking for, I haven’t seen him.’

‘Who do you think I’m looking for?’

The barman, a stout fellow with muttonchop sideburns and a receding hairline, said, ‘There is only one kind of man who would bring a woman like you searching, and one like that hasn’t come by recently.’

‘And what kind of woman are you taking me for?’ she asked.

‘One who sees things others miss.’

‘You’re very observant for a barman,’ she countered.

‘Most barmen are, though they learn not to show it. I, on the other hand, are not most barmen.’

‘Your name?’

‘Tabert.’

Lowering her voice, she spoke. ‘I have been to every shabby inn and dirty taproom in LaMut, seeking something I was told on good authority would be here. So far I get nothing but blank looks and confused stammering.’ Speaking even more softly, she said, ‘I need to find the Hall.’

With a smile he said, ‘The back room.’

He led her through a small back room, then down a flight of stairs. ‘This storage room connects with others, below the city,’ he said. He opened a door at the foot of the stairs and led her to the far end of a narrow hall. There was no door, only a small alcove doorway, hidden by a piece of cloth hung from a metal rod. As she reached the door, Tabert said, ‘You’ll understand when I say if you’re in this room, I can’t help you. I can only show you the door.’

Miranda nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure of the meaning of what he said. She stepped through into the small room. As she stepped across the threshold and passed under the rod, she felt the energy emanating from it. For a brief instant she saw a tiny storage room, stacked high with a few empty ale and wine casks and some crates, but instantly she understood the barman’s words. She willed herself into phase with the energies coursing down from the metal rod, and an instant later she stood somewhere else.

The Hall was endless. Or at least no creature able to communicate had ever discovered the end of it. Miranda saw that every so often a doorway, a rectangle of light, adjoined the Hall on the sides. Between the entrances a grey nothingness loomed. That she could see at all was something of a mystery, for there was no obvious source of light. Miranda shifted her perceptions and instantly regretted it. The darkness she experienced was so profound it produced an instant despair. She returned her sight to the magically tuned vision she had employed, and again she could see. She considered the barman’s words. ‘You’ll understand when I say if you’re in this room, I can’t help you. I can only show you the door.’ He knew of the magic portal into the Hall but could not empower anyone to enter. Only a talent like Miranda or a few others on Midkemia would have the means of entering the Hall and surviving once there.

She turned and looked at the door she had just stepped through, seeking to set it apart in her mind from the others, should she need to return this way. At first nothing out of the ordinary marked the doorway; at last she noticed faint runes hovering over the top of the door, difficult to see. She focused her attention on them and memorized the shape and formation, in her mind translating the glyphs to ‘Midkemia.’ Across from the door, only a featureless grey void beckoned. The doors were staggered on the left and right so that none faced another. She moved down and saw that the glyphs of the door on the other side of the one through which she had entered bore a different mark. She memorized that one as well. If she were to be turned around somehow and lose sight of where she was, a series of familiar landmarks would prove useful.

After memorizing a half dozen of the nearest door glyphs, she continued on – assuming that, without information, one direction was as apt as another – and began to walk.

The figure in the distance appeared roughly human in shape, but it could have been a member of any number of races. Miranda stopped walking and watched. She was able to defend herself, but she thought it better to avoid rushing into trouble if she could. A door to her right provided the potential for escape, though she had no idea what was on the other side.

As if reading her thoughts, the figure yelled something, holding out its gloved hand to show it was holding no weapons. The gesture was less than reassuring, as the creature was otherwise bristling with more arms than Miranda thought anyone should be able to carry and still walk upright. Upon its head a full visor masked its features, while the body was covered in a material that looked as rigid as steel, yet gave the appearance of being more flexible. It was a dull, pale silver in color, almost white, and lacked the high reflective quality that most polished armor possessed. The creature carried a round shield on its back, giving it a turtle-like appearance. A longsword’s hilt peeked over one shoulder, while what appeared to be the stock of a crossbow was visible over the other. At the right hip hung a short sword, and an assortment of knives and throwing implements hung around the figure’s torso. A whip was rolled up and hung from the left side of the creature’s belt. And over one shoulder a large sack was thrown.

Miranda called out in the Kingdom tongue. ‘I can see you are not carrying anything in your hand … at the moment.’

The figure moved cautiously toward her and said something in a language different from the first it had used. Miranda answered in Keshian, and the slowly walking arsenal answered in yet another tongue.

At last Miranda spoke in a variant of the language of the Kingdom of Roldem, and the figure said. ‘Ah, you’re a Midkemian! I thought I’d recognized Delkian a bit ago, but I’m rusty.’ He – for his voice sounded like that of a man—said, ‘I have been trying to tell you that if you jump through that door, you’d better be able to breathe methane.’

‘I have means of protecting myself from lethal gas,’ answered Miranda.

The man reached up slowly and removed his helm, revealing a face that was almost boyish – a freckled visage set with green eyes and topped with a damp mat of red hair – a face split with a friendly smile. ‘Few who walk the Hall don’t, but the stress is pretty awful. You’d weigh about two hundred times as much as you do normally on Thedissio – which is what the inhabitants call that world – and that can slow movement down a great deal.’

‘Thank you,’ Miranda said at last.

‘First time in the Hall?’ asked the man.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Well, unless you’re a great deal more powerful than you look – and I’ll be the first to admit that appearances are almost always deceiving – it’s usually first-timers whom we find wandering the Hall without company.’

‘We?’

‘Those of us who live here.’

‘You live in the Hall?’

‘You’re a first-timer, no doubt.’ He set the bag down. ‘I am Boldar Blood.’

‘Interesting name,’ Miranda said, visibly amused.

‘Well, it’s not the one my parents gave me, certainly, but I’m a mercenary and one must attempt a certain level of intimidation in my line of work. Hardly credible, I know, but it does prove to be the case. Besides’ – he pointed to his own countenance – ‘is this a face to inspire terror?’

Miranda shook her head and smiled in return. ‘No, I guess not. You can call me Miranda. Yes, it’s my first time in the Hall.’

‘Can you get back to Midkemia?’

‘If I turn around and walk about two hundred twenty doors, I suspect I’ll find the right one.’

Boldar shook his head. ‘That’s the long way. There’s a door a short way off that will put you in the city of Ytli, on the world of Il-Jabon. If you can get through the two blocks to another entrance without being accosted by the locals, you’ll find a door that leads back into the hall next to the door that leads to … I forget which Midkemian door it is, but it’s one of them.’ He leaned over, opened his bag, and took out a bottle. He fished around inside the sack and produced a pair of metal cups. ‘Care to join me in a cup of wine?’

‘Thank you,’ said Miranda, ‘I am a little thirsty.’

Boldar said, ‘When I first stumbled into the Hall – must have been a century and a half or so ago – I wandered around until I almost starved to death. A very agreeable thief saved my life in exchange for a seemingly inexhaustible series of reminders of that fact, usually in conjunction with a need for a favor from me. But he did save me a great deal of difficulty at the time. Knowledge of how to navigate the Hall is quite useful. And it’s knowledge that I’m delighted to share with you.’

‘In exchange for …’

‘You catch on quickly,’ said Blood with a grin. ‘Nothing is free in the Hall. Sometimes you might do something to build accounts and put others in your debt, but nothing ever goes without something in return.

‘There are three types of people you’ll meet in the Hall: those who will avoid you and spare you their society in passing, those who will try to bargain with you, and those who will try to take advantage of you. The second and third groups are not necessarily the same thing.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ Miranda said with a challenge in her voice.

‘As I said earlier, you couldn’t be here in the first place and not have some capacity. But remember this is also true of everyone else you meet in the Hall of Worlds. Oh, occasionally some poor soul without any powers, talents, or abilities blunders in unbidden. No one quite understands how. But quickly they walk out the wrong door or run into those who seek easy prey or step off into the void.’

‘What happens when you step off into the void?’

‘If you know the right spot, you end up coming into a saloon of a great inn, known by many names, owned by a man named John. The inn is called simply “The Inn,” and as John is known as, variously, “John the Oathkeeper,” “John Without Deceit,” “John the Scrupulous,” “John Who Has Ethics,” or any other of a half-dozen such honorifics, the saloon is usually called “Honest John’s.” There were, at last count, one thousand one hundred and seventeen known entrances to the saloon. If you don’t know the right spot, well … no one knows, for no one has ever returned to tell anyone what exists in the void. It is simply the void.’

Miranda relaxed. The mercenary’s affable manner was such that she doubted he would attempt to take advantage of her. ‘Would you be willing to show me to one of these entrances?’

‘Certainly, for a price.’

‘That being?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘In the Hall, there are many things of value. The usual: gold and other precious metal, gems and stones, deeds of ownership to estates, slaves and indentures, and, most of all, information. Then there is the unusual: items unique, services personal, manipulations of reality, souls of those who will never be born, things of those types.’

Miranda nodded. ‘What would you?’

‘What have you?’

They began haggling.

Twice in less than a day. Blood had proven his worth. Miranda was finding herself fortunate that he had been the first person she encountered, rather than a party of interdimensional slavers whom they encountered several hours later. Miranda had a personal distaste for the institution of slavery, a bias now heightened by the attempt to reduce her and Boldar to inventory.

Boldar had disposed of the four guards and the slaver after attempting to allow them peaceful passage. Miranda thought she might have been able to cope with them alone, but she was impressed how Boldar had instantly recognized the moment the negotiations had soured and had disposed of two guards before she could begin to focus her mind on protecting herself. By the time she would have encased herself in a protective aura, the conflict was over.

The slaves had been freed – which had required a great deal of argument on Miranda’s part, for now she had to make good on the portion of profit Boldar stood to make upon acquiring the slaves and selling them. Miranda pointed out that as he was currently in her employ, he was in fact acting as her agent, and she was free to do with the slaves what she chose. He found this proposition somewhat dubious, but after considering the difficulty of feeding and caring for the slaves, decided that accepting a bonus from Miranda would prove the better solution.

The second encounter had been with another band of mercenaries, who seemed inclined to give Blood and his employer a wide berth, but who, Miranda was certain, would have acted entirely differently had she been alone.

While they walked, she learned.

‘So if you know the locations of the common doors, the journey through the Hall can be shortened?’

‘Certainly,’ said Blood. ‘It depends on the world, how many doorways exist, and where they are relative to one another in the Hall. Thanderospace, for example’ – he waved at a door they passed – ‘has but one door, which unfortunately opens into the hall of sacrifice in the most sacred temple of a cult of cannibalistic humanoids, who are less fussy about defining cannibalism than they are devoted to eating anyone who stumbles into their most holy of holies. This is a world seldom visited.

‘Merleen, on the other hand’ – he waved at another door a short distance ahead – ‘is a commerce world that is served by no less than six doors, which makes it a hub of trade, both among its resident nations and for other Hall worlds.

‘The world from which you appear to hail, Midkemia, has at least three doors I’m aware of. Which did you use to enter?’

‘Under a bar in LaMut.’

‘Ah, yes, Tabert’s. Good food, decent ale, and bad women. My sort of place.’ He seemed somehow to be grinning behind the mask. How Miranda could tell she didn’t know. Perhaps it was some subtlety in the mercenary’s body language, or a note in his voice.

‘How does one learn of these doors? Is there a map?’

‘Well, there’s one,’ said Boldar, ‘at Honest John’s. It’s on a wall in the public room. There you can see the known limits of the Hall. The last time I looked, there were something like thirty-six thousand-odd doors identified and catalogued.

‘There are occasionally messages forwarded to the Inn from those who encounter new doors, either in the Hall or upon any world where a new passage is discovered. There’s even one legendary lunatic whose name I forget who is exploring the far reaches and sending back messages, some which take decades to reach John’s. He’s getting so far from the Inn he’s becoming a myth.’

Miranda thought. ‘How long has this been going on?’

Boldar shrugged. ‘I suspect the Hall has existed since the dawn of time. Men and other creatures have lived here for ages. It requires a certain talent to survive for long within the Hall, so it has its appeal for those who seek a … higher-stakes sort of living.’

‘What of you?’ asked Miranda. ‘You could live well on most worlds with the fee you charge me.’

The mercenary shrugged. ‘I do this less for the bounty than for the excitement. I must confess that I do grow easily bored. There are worlds where I could rule as king, but that has little appeal for me. In truth, I find myself happiest in circumstances that would drive most sane men mad. War, murder, assassination, intrigue – these are my stock-in-trade, and there are few who match me in skill. I say this not to brag, for I have your commission already, but to tell you simply, once you grow used to living in the Hall, there is no other life.’

Miranda nodded. The scope of the place was staggering; it was literally the sum of all known and quite a few unknown worlds.

Boldar said, ‘As much as I am enjoying your company, Miranda, and as much as I enjoy the wealth you promise, I grow tired; while time has no meaning here, fatigue and hunger are real in all dimensions – at least the ones I’ve visited. And you still haven’t told me where you go.’

Miranda said, ‘That’s because I really don’t know where I’m going. I’m looking for someone.’

‘May I enquire whom?’

‘A worker of magic, by name Pug of Stardock.’

Boldar shrugged. ‘Never heard of him. But if there is one place where both our present needs can likely be met, it is the Inn.’

Miranda was uncertain, and wondered at her own reluctance to embrace the obvious. If there was a communal center to the Hall, then should Pug have come through the Hall, that was the most likely place to inquire. But she feared others might also be interested in his passing and thought it likely he would have avoided letting others know of his whereabouts. Still, it was better than wandering aimlessly.

‘Are we far from the Inn?’

‘No, actually,’ said Boldar. ‘We’ve passed two other entrances since we met, and there is another a short distance away.’

He motioned for her to follow, and after progressing past another two doors, he pointed to the void. ‘This is very difficult the first time.’ He pointed to the door opposite the void. ‘Note that mark?’

She nodded.

‘It’s Halliali, a nice place if you enjoy mountains. One of the entrances to Honest John’s lies across from it. Now, you simply step off and expect to meet a step a foot or so beyond the edge of the void.’ So saying, he stepped into the grey and vanished.

Miranda took a breath, then, as she started to duplicate his move, thought, Step up or down?

Miranda fell forward: the step was down and she had guessed up. Strong arms caught her, and she opened her eyes wide at the sight of white fur on them.

She tried remaining calm as she disengaged herself from her helper, a nine-foot-tall creature covered in that same white fur from head to foot. Black spots broke up the otherwise snowy surface, and two immense blue eyes and a mouth were the only visible features on a shaggy head. A plaintive grunt was followed by Boldar saying, ‘If you have any weapons, now is the time to surrender them.’

She saw he was efficiently divesting himself of his arsenal, including several rather innocuous-looking items that had been secreted about his person. Miranda carried only two daggers, one in her waistband, and another strapped to the inside of her right calf, and she quickly surrendered them.

Boldar said, ‘The proprietor learned ages ago that his establishment thrives so long as it is neutral ground for everyone. Kwad ensures that no one who starts trouble remains inside the saloon any longer than necessary.’

‘Kwad?’

‘Our large hirsute friend here,’ answered Boldar. As they left the doorway, he continued. ‘Kwad’s a Coropaban; stronger by the pound than any creature known, almost completely resistant to any magic; and the most toxic poisons take a week or so to kill one. They make incredible bodyguards, if you can get one to leave their homeworld.’

Miranda stopped and gaped. The saloon was immense, easily two hundred yards across, and twice that deep. Along the right wall, nearly the entire way, ran a single bar, with a dozen barmen rushing to meet their customers’ demands. A pair of galleries, one above the other, overhung the other three sides of the hall, thick with tables and chairs, providing vantage points from which those drinking and dining could gaze down upon the main floor.

There every game of chance conceivable was being played, from several variations of dice to a knife duel in a small sandpit. Creatures of every imaginable conformation moved easily through the press, greeting one another as they chanced upon old acquaintances.

Creatures carried trays covered with a variety of pots, platters, cups, buckets, and bowls. Some were put before creatures that defied Miranda’s sense of order. At least a dozen clearly reptilian creatures were dining in the hall, the mere fact of which caused her to be very uncomfortable. The majority of the clientele was humanoid, though an occasional insectlike being or something that looked like a walking dog could be seen.

‘Welcome to Honest John’s,’ said Boldar.

‘Where’s John?’ she asked.

‘He is over there.’ He pointed to the long bar. At the near end stood a man wearing a strange suit of shining cloth. It consisted of trousers that broke without cuffs at the top of shiny black boots with oddly pointed toes. The jacket was open in front, revealing a white shirt with ruffles, closed by pearl studs and sporting a pointed collar, set off with a cravat of bright yellow. Upon his head he wore a wide-brimmed white hat with a shimmering red silk hatband. He spoke closely with a creature that looked like a man with an extra set of eyes in his forehead.

Boldar waved as they approached and the man identified as John said something to the four-eyed man, who nodded once and departed.

With a wide smile, John said, ‘Boldar! It’s been, what, a year?’

‘Not quite, John. But close enough.’