Unclean (11 page)

He didn’t look intoxicated, either. Perhaps he’d just come off duty and was heading for the same soldier’s tavern Malark had visited.

In any case, whatever his business, he appeared perfect for Malark’s purposes. The spy waited until the legionnaire was just a few paces away, then stepped forth from the shadows.

Startled, the legionnaire jumped back, and his hand darted to the hilt of his broadsword. Then he hesitated, confused, perhaps, by the contradiction between the menace implicit in Malark’s sudden emergence and the innocuous appearance of his empty hands and general demeanor. It gave the spy the opportunity to step closer.

“What do you want?” the soldier demanded.

“Answers,” Malark replied.

That was apparently enough to convince the warrior he was in trouble. He started to snatch the sword out, but he’d waited too long. Before it could clear the scabbard, Malark sprang in and slammed the heel of his hand into the center of the other man’s forehead. The legionnaire’s leather helmet thudded, no doubt absorbing part of the force of the impact. Not enough of it, though, and his knees buckled. Malark caught him and dragged him into the narrow, lightless space between two houses.

When he judged he’d gone far enough from the street that he and his prisoner would remain unobserved, he set the legionnaire down on the ground, relieved him of his sword and dirk, and held a vial of smelling salts under his nose. Rousing, the warrior twisted away from the vapors.

“Are you all right?” Malark asked, straightening up. “It can be tricky to hit a man hard enough to stun him, but not so hard that you do any real harm. I like to think I have the knack, but armor makes it more difficult.”

“I’ll kill you,” the soldier growled.

“Try if you like,” Malark said and waited to see if the prisoner would dive for the sword or dagger now resting on the ground beyond his reach or attack with his bare hands.

He opted for the latter. Wishing the space between the buildings weren’t quite so narrow, Malark nonetheless managed to shift to the side when the captive sutged up and hurled himself forward. He tripped the legionnaire then, while the other man was floundering off balance, caught hold of his arm and twisted, applying pressure to the shoulder socket. The warrior gasped at the pain.

“We’re going to have a civil conversation,” said Malark. “The only question is, do I need to dislocate your arm to make it happen, or are you ready to cooperate now?”

As best he was able, the legionnaire struggled, trying to break free. Malark applied more pressure, enough to paralyze the man.

“I really will do it,” said the spy, “and then I’ll go on damaging you until you see reason.”

“All right!” the soldier gasped.

Malark released him. “Sit or stand as you prefer.”

The bigger man chose to stand and rub his shoulder. “Who in the Nine Hells are you?”

“My name is Malark Springhill. I do chores of various sorts for Tharchion Flass.”

The legionnaire hesitated, his eyes narrowing. Perhaps he’d never risen in the ranks, but he was evidently more intelligent than that fact would seem to imply. “You… are you supposed to tell me that?”

“Ordinarily, no,” Malark replied. Out on the street, a woman laughed, the sound strident as a raptot’s screech. “I’m a spy among othet things, and generally I have to lie to people all the time, about … well, evetything, really. It’s something of a luxury that I can be honest with you.”

“Because you mean to kill me.”

“Yes. I’m going to ask you what truly happened in the Gorge of Gauros, and I couldn’t let you survive to report that anyone was interested in that even if you didn’t know who sent me to inquire. But you get to decide how pleasant the next little while will be, and how you’ll die at the end of it.

“You can try withholding the information I want,” Malark continued, “in which case, I’ll torture it out of you. Afterwards, your body will be broken, incapable of resistance when I snap your neck.

“Ot you can answer me freely, and I’ll have no reason to hurt you. Once you’ve given me what I need, I’ll return yout blades, permit you to unsheathe them, and we’ll fight. You’re a

legionnaire. Surely you’d prefer the honor of a warrior’s death, and I’d like to give it to you.”

The legionnaire stared at him. “You’re crazy.”

“People often say that, but they’re mistaken.” Malark decided to confide in the warrior. It was one technique for building trust between interrogator and prisoner, and besides, he rarely had the chance to tell his story. “I just see existence in a way others can’t.

“A long, long while ago, I learned of a treasure. The sole surviving dose of a philter to keep a man from aging forever after.

“I coveted it. So did others. In those days, I scarcely knew the rudiments of fighting, but I had a friend who was proficient, and together we bested our rivals and seized the prize. We’d agreed we’d each drink half the potion, and thus, though neither of us would become immortal, we’d both live a long time.”

“But you betrayed him,” said the legionnaire, “and drank it all yourself.”

Malark smiled. “Are you saying that because you’re a good judge of character, or because it’s what you would have done? Either way, you’re right. That’s exactly what I did, and later on, I started to regret it.

“First, I watched everyone I loved, everyone I even knew, pass away. That’s hard. I wept when my former friend died a feeble old man, and he’d spent the past fifty years trying to revenge himself on me.

“I attempted to move forward. I told myself there was a new generation of people to care about. The problem, of course, was that before long, in the wink of an eye, or so it seemed, they died, too.

“When I grew tired of enduring that, I tried living with dwarves and later, elves, but it wasn’t the same as living with my own kind, and in time, they passed away just like humans. It simply took a little longer.”

The soldier gaped at him. “How old are you?”

“Older than Thay. I recall hearing the tidings that the Red Wizards had fomented a rebellion against Mulhorand, though I wasn’t in these parts to witness it myself. Anyway, over time, I pretty much lost the ability to feel an attachment to individual people, for what was the point? Instead, I tried to embrace causes and places, only to discover those die too. I lost count of the times I gave my affection to one or another town along the Moonsea, only to see the place sacked and the inhabitants massacred. I learned that as the centuries roll by, even gods change, or at least our conception of them does, which amounts to the same thing if you’re looking for some constancy to cling to.

“But eventually I realized there was one constant, and that was death. In its countless variations, it was happening all around me, all the time. It befell everyone, or at least, everyone but me, and that made it fascinating.”

“If you’re saying you wanted to die, why didn’t you just stick a dagger into your heart or jump off a tower? Staying young forever isn’t the same thing as being unkillable, is it?”

“No, it isn’t, and I’ve considered ending my life on many occasions, but something has always held me back. Early on, it was the same dread of death that prompted me to strive for the elixir and betray my poor friend in the first place. After I made a study of extinction, I shed the fear, but with enlightenment, suicide came to seem like cheating, or at the very least, bad manners. Death is a gift, and we aren’t meant to reach out and snatch it. We’re supposed to wait until the universe is generous enough to bestow it on us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry about it. Most people don’t, but the Monks of the Long Death do, and there came a day when I was fortunate enough to stumble across one of their hidden enclaves and gain admission as a novice.”

The legionnaire blanched. “You’re one of those madmen?”

“It depends on your point of view. After a decade or two, paladins descended on the monastery and slaughtered my brothers and sisters. Only I escaped, and afterward, I didn’t feel the need to search for another such stronghold. I’d already learned what I’d hoped to, and the rigors and abstentions of the ascetic life had begun to wear on me.

“According to the rules of the order, I’m an apostate, and if they evet tealize it, they’ll likely try to kill me. But though I no longer hold a place in the hierarchy, I still adhere to the teachings. I still believe that while all deaths are desirable, some are better than others. The really good ones take a form appropriate to the victim’s life and come to him in the proper season. I believe it’s both a duty and the highest form of art to arrange such passings as opportunity allows.

“That’s why I permitted younger, healthier, more successful men to pass by and accosted you instead. It’s why I hope to give you a fighter’s death.”

“What are you talking about? It’s not my ‘season’ to die!”

“Are you sure? Isn’t it plain your best days are past? Doesn’t your leg ache constantly? Don’t you feel old age working its claws into you? Aren’t you disappointed with the way your life has turned out? Why not let it go then? The priests and philosophers assure us that something better waits beyond.”

“Shut up! You can’t talk me into wanting to die.”

“I’m not trying. Not exactly. I told you, I want you to go down fighting. I just don’t want you to be afraid.”

“I’m not! Or at least I won’t be if you keep your promise and give back my sword.”

“I will. I’ll return your blades and fight you empty-handed.”

“Ask your cursed questions, then, and I’ll answer honestly. Why shouldn’t I, when you’ll never have a chance to repeat what I say to Dmitra Flass or anybody else?”

“Thank you.” The inquisition didn’t take long. At the end, though Malark had learned a good deal he hadn’t comprehended before, he still wasn’t sure why it was truly important, but he realized he’d come to share his mistress’s suspicion that it was.

Now, however, was not the time to ponder the matter. He needed to focus on the duel to come. He backed up until the sword and dagget lay between the legionnaire and himself.

“Pick them up,” he said.

The soldier sprang forward, crouched, and grabbed the weapons without taking his eyes off Malark. He then scuttled backward as he drew the blades, making it more difficult for his adversary to spring and prevent him had he cared to do so, and opening enough distance to use a sword to best effect.

Malark noticed the limp was no longer apparent. Evidently excitement, or the single-minded focus of a vetetan combatant, masked the pain, and when the bigger man came on guard, his stance was as impeccable as a woodcut in a manual of arms.

Given his level of skill, he deserved to be a drill instructor at the very least. Malark wondered whether it was a defect in his character or simple bad luck that had kept him in the ranks. He’d never know, of course, for the time for inquiry was past.

The legionnaire sidled left, hugging the wall on that side. He obviously remembered how Malark had shifted past him before and was positioning himself in such a way that, if his adversary attempted such a maneuver again, he could only dart in one direction. That would make it easier to defend against the move.

Then the warrior edged forward. Malark stood and waited. As soon as the distance was to the legionnaire’s liking, when a sword stroke would span it but not a punch or a kick, he cut at Malark’s head.

Or rather, he appeared to. He executed the feint with all the necessary aggression, yet even so, Malark perceived that a false

attack was all it was. He couldn’t have said exactly how. Over the centuries, he’d simply developed an instinct for such things.

He lifted an arm as if to block the cut, in reality to convince the legionnaire his trick was working. The blade spun low ro chop at his flank.

Malark shifted inside the arc of the blow, a move that robbed the stroke of much of its force. When he swept his atm down to defend, the forte of the blade connected with his forearm but failed to shear through the sturdy leather bracer hidden under his sleeve.

At the same moment, he stiffened his other hand and drove his fingertips into the hard bulge of cartilage at the front of the warrior’s throat. The legionnaire reeled backward. Malark took up the distance and hit him again, this time with a chop to the side of the neck. Bone cracked and, his head flopping, the soldier collapsed.

Malark regarded the body with the same mix of satisfaction and wistful envy he usually felt at such moments. Then he closed the legionnaire’s eyes and walked away.

North of the Surag River, the road threaded its way up the narrow strip of land between Lake Thaylambar to the west and the Surague Escarpment, the cliffs at the base of the Sunrise Mountains, to the east. The land was wilder, heath interspersed with stands of pine and dotted with crumbling ruined towers, and sparsely settled. The slaves and their keepers marched an entire morning without seeing anyone, and when someone finally did appear, it was just a lone goatherd, who, wary of strangers, immediately scurried into a thicket. Even tax stations, the ubiquitous forttesses built to collect tolls and help preserve order throughout the realm, were few and far between.

Tammith had never before ventured farther than a day’s walk from Bezantur, but she’d heard that the northern half of Thay was almost all alike, empty, undeveloped land where even freemen found it difficult to eke out a living. How much more difficult, then, must it be to endure as a slave, particularly one accustomed to the teeming cities of the south?

Thus she understood why so many of her fellow thralls grew more sullen and despondent with each unwilling step they took, and why Yuldra, the girl she’d sought to comfort just before the Red Wizards came and bought the lot of them, kept sniffling and knuckling her reddened eyes. In her heart, Tammith felt just as dismayed and demoralized as rhey did.

But she also believed that if one surrendered to such emotions, they would only grow stronger, so she squeezed Yuldra’s shoulder and said, “Come on, don’t cry. It’s not so bad.”

Yuldra’s face twisted. “It is.”

“This country is strange to me, too, but I’m sure they have towns somewhere in the north, and remember, the men who bought us are Red Wizards. You don’t think they live in a tent out in the wilderness, do you?”