Someone was trying to make sure Urnst’s northern bordersettlements failed, and whoever they were, they were good. The Justicar could chalk at least three caravans up to his enemy’s credit, and the gods only knewhow many other raids had gone unreported. Whoever orchestrated these bandits had power enough to secure inhuman help and an intelligence network that let them slip their own men into each expedition. That meant the leaders had wealth, had power-and had a larger plan. Yet, they were subtle enough merely to try to makethe settlers lose hope and leave. This seemed to rule out the obvious culprit, the half-demon king Iuz. Iuz would have simply eradicated the settlements through violence, and he had far more power to call upon than a handful of ogres and a cut-rate cambion.
The Justicar’s current employer, the Countess of Urnst, was awise woman. She knew that her counselors were security risks and that her border patrols had been infiltrated. Obliterating this problem would require a certain silent, savage touch. Hence came the Justicar. He had a simple commission: Get the wagon trains safely moving. To accomplish this, he would have to eliminate the cause of the raids.
Because the caravans left from secret locations and took secret trails, someone was obviously seeding agents among the caravans to lead them into ambush. This meant that the enemy must have a spy that somehow discovered the caravan routes.
To find that spy, the ranger had accompanied the teamsters on their journey back to their usual home base. Somewhere here, there was a spy, the next step up a ladder that would lead the Justicar to the head of the conspiracy. He had followed the trail back to where the caravans began, and now once again he hunted for unworthy souls.
Along the Franz River, on the border of the County of Urnst and its eastern neighbor Nyrond, there lay an area of careful neutrality. Both kingdoms watched each other in mutual hostility and therefore had opened a niche for exploitation.
The river had become a haven for showboats and pleasure barges. As long as gambling, prostitution, and alcohol were peddled on the river, the boats were technically under no one’s tax and no one’s law. Thebarges were careful never to touch upon the shore, plying rowboats back and forth to pick up passengers and supplies. Huge, lordly, and teeming with revelers, each barge existed as a tiny kingdom with its own power struggles, its own politics, and its own maze of petty crime. They were floating worlds the size of villas, crewed by dozens of sailors, waiters, cooks, prostitutes, card sharks, and armed guards.
A typical barge of its kind, the Saucy Gannet measured two hundred feet in length, soared three stories tall, and had been decked out in painted wooden feathers from gilded stem to crested stern. Onboard gambling halls, bars, and brothels catered to a bizarre array of tastes. Cheap tavern housing could be found below decks while the upper levels were as opulent as a palace. The whole contraption plodded through the water, propelled by a huge stern wheel. Guests who had tried to skip their gambling debts now walked along a treadmill that turned the wheel.
Festooned with banners and with its idiotic figurehead grinning at the world, the Saucy Gannet was a universe all of her own.
The Justicar did not approve.
In a world where so many suffered and where so much work still needed to be done, he objected to seeing such effort being wasted upon sheer banality. Watching a pair of leggy women wiggle past, the Justicar leaned on a rail and distastefully wondered if merely touching the ship would somehow taint his soul.
Two tourists seemed to be enjoying their little dip into debauchery. They were dressed largely in ostrich feathers, most of which were placed to the rear. They looked the shaven-headed man slyly up and down, leaning back upon the rails in invitation. All of a sudden, one girl saw the hell hound skin grinning wickedly at them from the Justicar’s backpack, bugged her eyesout, and dragged her companion into a hasty retreat to the farthest possible corner of the ship.
From his nest inside his friend’s backpack, Cinders gave ahappy sniff of the air.
Girlie girl smells nice!
The Justicar pulled an apple from a passing tray. He bit into it, chewed for a while, and carefully examined the barge with its waving bunting and its dens of sin. Every person aboard was being fleeced by the captain, robbed by crooked games and thieving waitresses, yet more and more visitors came aboard at every stop. With the end of the war, people seemed in a frenzy to spend their time upon frivolity.
It was a monument to wastefulness, illusion, and greed. Cursing in disgust, the Justicar pitched his apple core down into the river. “Ihate this place.”
Burn! Cinders seemed to jiggle with glee. Burn! Burn!
“Look, just have a snack, will you? And no burning!” Aftershoving a piece of coal into the hell hound’s mouth, the Justicar angrilysnatched another apple from a passing dish. “You do realize they’retrying to make us pay for all that damned fish oil?”
Just to make the day perfect, a bystander decided to invade the Justicar’s private retreat beside the rail. The intruder had the physique ofa piece of knotted string, a huge axe-beak nose, and had decked himself out in an archer’s cap adorned with pheasant plumes.
“So there you are! Thought I saw you there. Said to myself,‘Polk,’ I said, ‘now there’s a fellow in need of company!’”
“Oh, lovely.” The Justicar seethed with raw hatred forthe entire universe. Polk the teamster was exactly the right thing to worsen an already irritating day. “You’ve woken up.”
“Had to, son. I’m your host! Brought you here, should lookafter you. No telling what trouble a young ’un like you might blunder into in aplace like this. You need an old hand to watch out for you, someone who knows the ropes, has an investigative mind.” Polk helped himself to a bite from theJusticar’s apple. He decided to keep it and finished the entire fruit as hetalked.
“This is the life. This is the payoff. Here’s where we comeat the end of every trip.” The man managed to shower droplets of apple juice allover the front of the Justicar. “Wagoning! That’s the life. You take my word forit, son. Give up this ne’er-do-well trapping you do and take up a proper job!”
“Yeah, right.” The Justicar had worked long and hard to makehimself into a fearsome figure. He had eliminated bandits and preyers-upon-the-weak from Celadon forest to the borders of Iuz. In stark, unyielding efficiency he had no equals. Wrenching his eyes away from the sight of the riverbanks, the Justicar turned himself to the job at hand.
As annoying as it seemed, Polk was his first, best, and only source of information. The big ranger turned to glower down at his companion.
“Talk to me, Polk. So, this is where you were just before youwent out on your job? All of you?” The man tried to leave Polk no openings forfuzzy logic. “This exact barge at this exact town?”
“Right here! The Gannet’s the best punt on the river,and every teamster knows it. Best spread of crowds, too.”
“So I’d heard.” The Justicar rested one hand on the pommel ofhis sword. “Who do you talk to when you get here? Is there one barmaid whoalways listens, one gambler you always see, one woman you always request?”
“You mean do we blab about where we’re going? Pfffft!” The teamster mimed his own mouth being stitched tight. “Our lips are sealed!That’s for us to know and the world to find out! You know me,son-professionalism first! Never interfere with the job!”
Apparently, someone was interfering with the job. Someone knew the days and dates that the northbound supply caravans were leaving. Since the teamsters and wagon crews had all been slaughtered to a man, it seemed unlikely that the spy was one of their own.
Clearly, a spy had made a business out of eavesdropping on the wagoners. All in all, it would be easiest to let the spy seek out the wagoners. Much as it pained him, the Justicar decided to attach himself to Polk and his friends.
A gaggle of teamsters had gathered to spend their wages on booze and women before heading out on yet another supply train. Walking slowly after the wagoners, the Justicar followed them down through the gambling dens and into the barge’s painted halls.
A big tavern overlooked the broad, curved stern. It was a noisy place filled with the sounds of dice, clanging beer steins, and revelry.
Teamsters and wagoners were readily recognized. They wore leather jerkins, heavy boots, and had money to burn. Every bar girl in the tavern instantly looked the teamsters up and down then began to circle their prey like sharks homing in upon the scent of blood.
At one of the tables, a waitress carefully snipped a gambler’s purse free from his belt. The Justicar felt a flash of raw hostilitybut judged that the thieves were only stealing from other thieves. Justice was being served-none of this was his affair. Seeing his glowering, all-knowingstare, the waitress backed hastily away and whispered in the ear of a man behind the bar.
The barkeep tugged at his nose and waved one hand at the Justicar. “Hey, soldier! Care to set down your pack and sword?”
“No.”
The Justicar scanned the tables. Some teamsters were being sped upstairs by some of the girls, but most were clustering about a table where men played a game of cards. As he tried to read the pattern of the crowd, the Justicar felt the bartender stalking over to his side.
“Soldier? Most folk find it better to leave their weapons atthe bar.”
“Go away.”
“Is that a magic sword?” The bartender seemed to sniff like aweasel as he ran his eyes along the skull-pommeled blade. “If it is, we can takereal good care of it for you.”
The weapon was intensely sharp, enchanted, and cared for by a man who knew the value of his tools. Turning, the Justicar slowly pushed the bartender away only to have the tavern bouncer suddenly appear on the scene.
The bouncer growled, then saw a kindred hostility in the Justicar. They met each other’s eyes in cold silence, each measuring the othercarefully. The two men nodded at one another, then both turned aside to go back to their own affairs. Escaping with his life from between the two heavy-set, grim men, the barkeep scuttled quickly back to the shelter of his bottles, jugs, and jars.
A pert blonde waitress made it her business to perch on a table at the Justicar’s side. She cocked her head and nudged at the man’s blackscabbard with her toe.
“Hey stranger! So what do you do? Ranger? Soldier?”
The Justicar settled his pack on the deck. “It isn’timportant.”
“Do you dance, soldier?”
“I don’t.” The Justicar found himself a place at the cardtable and wiped clean a chair. “Never learned.”
“I can teach you. It’s cozy!” The girl gave a winsome smile.“Why don’t I just keep you company?”
Growling like a surly wolf, the Justicar settled in his chair. “I hate company.”
“Don’t you want to be friendly?”
“No.”
The woman finally took the hint. She sniffed and stalked haughtily away, leaving the Justicar alone. From inside his backpack, a happy Cinders tickled his thoughts into the Justicar’s mind.
Girlie smells nice!
“Well a sniff is all we get. Now keep your nostrils open.”
Sitting beside him and shuffling cards, Polk clucked his tongue and fixed the Justicar with a disappointed eye.
“Son, you have to learn to lighten up. That’s the mark of areal hero. Devil-may-care, full of life! They take adventure in their stride.”
“Shut up. Deal the cards.”
The Justicar had only a small purse of gold left-a purse hekept in a badger-skin sporran at the front of his belt. Its proximity to his wedding tackle made it far too sensitive a place for any cutpurse, but until he finished his commission, the Justicar’s sum total of wealth stood at sevennobles, a poor sum to last a game of cards. He watched one round of the card game, then concocted a set of self-made rules that minimized financial risk. He wanted to nurse his funds and watch the tables so that he could listen to the talk. Cinders’ ears would have been helpful, but the hell hound skin was anextremely recognizable mark. Instead, the Justicar kept his backpack underneath his feet with the hound’s nose just peeking out into the air.
Ringed about the table were a dozen assorted teamsters, wagoners, and riverfolk. A fur trapper with a whole fox skin serving as a collar for his coat gave the Justicar a sharp nudge in the armored ribs.
“Hey, baldie! Are you betting?”
“I’m betting.” The Justicar advanced the minimum bet. “Dealme two.”
There were no women at hand. They would wait to see who was winning before making their moves. Hunched about the table, the gamblers made a fast and friendly game.
There was enough money at hand to make the ale flow freely, and Polk had a cavernous thirst. The man found time between beer steins to play a wickedly lucky game. Wearing a moustache of foam, he whooped as he laid down a winning hand and hammered at the table with glee.
The Justicar watched his own money disappearing and slowly supped his beer.
“Polk, you play well. You play this in a lot of places?”
“A hundred towns and a hundred trails with a hundred girls inevery one of ’em, son!” The teamster raked in the pot, then gleefully tossedcoins to the waitress and ordered a round of ale for the whole table. “I’m ateamster, son! A merchant adventurer, explorer, hunter, scout! We’re heroes oneand all!”
The blonde waitress returned with drinks-pointedly thudding amug beside the Justicar in an attempt to spill his beer. She retreated and kept her distance from the entire table as though convinced the Justicar was the carrier of some unsightly disease.
Much as it annoyed him, the Justicar’s mission required himto make conversation. Clandestinely changing his mug with the man next to him, the Justicar watched Polk drain his stein.
“So it’s a good life? You can’t go that far that often.”
“Well I do the borderlands, son. That’s where the money is!”The teamster dealt cards with a speedy skill. “Heroes! When we head out dayafter tomorrow, there’s folk going to be cheering our arrival with tears intheir eyes.”
Excellent. His mouth was spreading the news. Arranging his cards, the Justicar silently assessed the crowds. A new man had come over and silently joined the game while a shifty-eyed foreigner had leaned back in his chair at a table nearby.
“Cinders?”
Feet smell bad! Magic girlie-girl smells good. Spicy! The hell houndseemed relatively happy in confinement. Prey found? “No.”
Burn now?
“No.” Although Cinders echoed only in the Justicar’smind, the Justicar had to whisper in reply, and he had attracted attention. He hastily tripled his usual bet, then remembered too late that he was almost at the bottom of his funds. “Damn!”
“Never blame the cards, son! A good workman never curses histools.” Polk dealt extra cards all around-unwittingly giving the Justicar awinning hand. With an ironic snort at himself, the Justicar scratched his shaven head and laid down the cards. He gathered in a good ten nobles, gaining a hard glare of irritation from the trapper with his mangy-collared coat. Summoning the grumbling waitress, the Justicar arranged for a platter of hot sausages and mustard for the table.
Happily ensconced with sausages to his left and beer to his right, Polk somehow managed to both fill his mouth, drink beer, and keep a firm grip on his cards.
“That’s the way, son. Spend it while you have it. No pointcounting your coins when you’re freezing your butt off on the Rift Wastes.”
Wonderful. The Rift Wastes were a very specific stretch of countryside. Polk was well on the way to blowing his secret destination. Casting his eyes surreptitiously across the table, the Justicar carefully assessed the other players, looking for a single change in breathing or a twitch of the eyes that might provide him with a clue. He rubbed his nose and used the move to cover another whisper to his backpack down below.
“Cinders?”
Magic girlie-girl smells nice!
Looking up at the all-male table, the Justicar blinked. He sniffed loudly, caught a whiff of a spicy feminine scent, then whipped his head quickly to the right. The fox-skin draped about the trappers neck met his gaze in shock, the dead fox jerking with a quiver of fright.
“Ha!”
One fist lashed out in a blur as the Justicar caught the fox-collar by the throat. The fur screamed and instantly turned into a huge cobra. The snake gaped its fangs, and the Justicar instinctively yelped and threw the thing away. As it hit the ground, the cobra shimmered and changed into a skinny, naked little woman a mere two feet high. She immediately flipped out a sturdy pair of translucent wings and flew madly off across the crowd.
“Get down!” the Justicar screamed as he pulled Cindersfrom his pack.
The Justicar surged huge and angry up out of his seat, spilling the astonished fur trapper to the floor. With one hand he grasped the holy symbol around his neck while the other hand crackled magic all about his fingertips. He hurled a spell that streaked across the room and smacked into a potted fern beside the doors. Laughing at his aim, the pixie spread her wings and whirred gleefully from the room.
The fern lashed out like an insane octopus and grappled the girl with its fronds. The pixie screamed in fright, her torso trapped and her legs kicking as she desperately tried to fight free. The little creature looked up at her pursuer with a thin, exquisite little face. Her pointed ears quivered in alarm as she tried to break open the ferns. As the Justicar thundered across the deck planking toward her, spilling every chair and table in his path, the pixie jerked, struggled, and then suddenly wormed one hand out of the fronds. She pointed at the plant, screamed a frantic syllable, and a stream of magic darts blasted the fern apart. With bits of pot and clods of dirt showering the floor, the little creature righted herself, ripped away the fern fronds, and then raced in panic through the door. Fern fronds trapped her wings, but her legs drove her forward with an astonishing turn of speed.
The whole tavern erupted into chaos. One man tried to block the Justicar’s way and was straight-armed to the floor for his pains. Arrivingat the doorway a second after his prey had gone, the warrior kicked the door open and lunged out onto the open deck.
Magic!
A spell blast ripped past his head. With Cinders giving an instant’s warning, the Justicar jerked back and felt the doorjamb beside himexplode into flames. He leaped instantly through the heat, sensing flames hungrily tearing at the wooden walls above.
The pixie saw him land. Snarling, she backed a step away and suddenly disappeared from sight.
“Cinders, shoot high!”
The hell hound blasted a huge sheet of flames across the escape route and into the open river. Invisible and cursing, the pixie dodged back the other way, fleeing to the upper decks of the barge.
With the tavern in flames behind him, the Justicar swore as he tied Cinders into place about his helm. He ran fast as he leaped past deckchairs wreathed in fire.
“Talk to me!”
Girlie-prey runs left! Invisible or not, the hell houndsnose and ears could pinpoint her to within a fraction of an inch. Runs fast!
That put her sprinting along the deck between a row of chairs. The Justicar ran hard and heavy in pursuit, matching his prey twist for turn as she fled in a panic up the superstructure and onto the highest promenade.
Magic!
The Justicar dived and rolled, his heavy body hitting the deck in a practiced move that brought him back up to his feet. A lightning bolt ripped past his ribs, missing him by the thickness of a hair. The bolt struck the ship’s stern castle, severed a flagpole and sent a banner arcing down intothe panicked crowds below. Crew members were already running for water buckets and bellowing “Fire!” at the tops of their lungs. Flames blossomed as a brandycask caught fire inside the tavern door, blocking the stairs to the upper levels as blazing liquid sluiced across the decks.
Roaring with anger, the Justicar hurled a deck chair through the empty air, heard a thud, and suddenly saw a naked, skinny pixie skidding hard across the planks.
Fern-covered and disheveled, the blonde girl speared him with a glare of such pure, smarting malice that it almost hit him like a blow. The pixie spun onto her feet, one hand trailing a stream of glittering sparks as a new spell formed around her fingertips.
Magic.
“I see it. Thanks!”
The Justicar summoned magic of his own and punched it out along the deck. It caught the pixie in the rear. The girl froze like a statue, caught in mid-stride by a spell designed to hold her paralyzed in place.
A naked study in panic, she stood balanced with her eyes bugging wide. Pleased with a job well done, the Justicar dusted off his hands and stalked menacingly along the deck toward his prey.
Chaos still reigned on the barge below. Gamblers and drunkards fought to escape the smoke-filled tavern as the fire bells screamed. Waitresses and working girls stampeded off toward the bow. The guards decided that the law had finally arrived upon the Saucy Garnet and immediately jumped ship to swim for shore. Pleased by the commotion, the Justicar stood with the hell hound pelt gleaming on his back and gave a triumphant, predatory smile.
Cinders seemed to dance and wriggle as he sensed the panic all over the barge.
Flames! Burn!
“Sniff it in good health.” The Justicar stalked around toface his prey and squatted down on his heels to contemptuously meet the pixie face to face. “So, what have we here? A pixie that casts spells?”
Suddenly breaking from her sham, the pixie moved with lightning speed. With a squeal of glee, she slapped her hand across the Justicar’s face. Glittering pixie dust spattered him like a rainbow, and thehuge man froze in place instantly. The pixie danced across the deck, around and around her victim, who merely squatted on his heels and watched with dull, blank eyes.
Naked as a brat and seething with joy, the pixie finally leaned her elbow on her victim’s cheek and twiddled magic dust into the air.
“Faerie dust! Pure as dew, straight off the faerie’s butt!”The little creature had a husky voice with a twangy foreign accent. “Always knowthine enemy! Faerie dust! Once a day! Befuddles enemy. Bam!” The girlmade a triumphant punch at empty air. “So suck on that, wolf boy! One in, onedown-the faerie takes the prize!” Prancing, the pixie rubbed her knuckles intothe Justicar’s skull. “Who’s the big man now, huh? Who’s my slave? Who’s mydrooling boy-toy! Come on! Come on, say it!”
Looking dazed and bemused, the Justicar stared dully at the girl. “Yes, Mistress. I am your boy-toy slave.”
“Ha!” Lean and skinny as a snake, the pixie made adancing little turn and slapped her rump. “Make that ‘Perfect and ExquisiteMistress’!”
“Perfect and Exquisite Mistress!”
“Too hoopy!” The pixie pranced and sat upon her victim’sknee. “And who’s the smartest damned girl that ever flapped her wings?”
“You are, O Perfect and Exquisite Mistress.”
“And who”-ripping away the last wriggling strands of fern,the pixie flicked out a brilliant cascade of blonde hair-“who is the mostbeautiful, most exotic, most sensual sight a mortal ever beheld?”
“You are.” The Justicar repeated the words with absoluteconviction. “You, O Perfect and Exquisite Mistress.”
“Of course.” The pixie turned a pirouette. “Praise me! Do youlike my hair? My nails? Don’t you just adore the smell of my skin?”
“Yes, O Perfect and Exquisite Mistress. Your hair is perfect,your wits are keen, you are graceful as a swallow’s flight.”
“Exactly.” The pixie sighed then folded her fingertipsbeneath her chin, perched in front of the Justicar, and prettily fluttered her lashes. “Is there anything else, O slave?”
“Yes, O Perfect and Exquisite Mistress.” The Justicar’s eyessuddenly flicked to spear the girl. “Gotcha!”
He snatched her like a bug and held the girl kicking and squealing in his hands. The Justicar rose to his feet and shook a last glimmer of faerie dust from his prize.
“A pixie with an ego problem. Lovely.”
Gaping, the pixie writhed with fury, unable to hide the astonishment in her eyes.
“I hit you with faerie dust, you bastard!”
“I went to school in Celadon forest.” The Justicar shrugged.“We ate that damned stuff like sugar.”
“Bastard!” The pixie began a frenzied kick-kick-kickof her little feet. “Let me go!”
“Oh yeah-well that’s an option. I can see that!” The Justicartook a loop of cord from a pocket and dropped it over the girl, roughly trapping her wings and arms in place. “Come on! It’s high time we had a little talk aboutsome wagon trains.”
The pixie instantly sank tiny teeth into his hand, breaking the skin and making the man curse her and let go. She landed on her scrawny bottom on the deck, looked up, and hissed with triumph as a shadow loomed over the Justicar from behind.
A thin man in black tried to stab the Justicar in the spine. Cinders whipped his own head about, fixed the assassin in his mad red eyes, and gave a scream of glee.
Prey!
The Justicar whirled, caught the stabbing blade with the same motion, and broke the assassin’s arm. He stabbed the man with his own knife,leaving the envenomed blade in the assassin’s gut as he continued to turncompletely around.
A second man had risen up over the rails. This man fired a bow-aiming not for the Justicar, but for the little pixie. The naked girl frozein terror, helpless to do anything but watch the arrow come straight for her throat.
The Justicar moved with a speed almost too fast to see. His sword cleared the scabbard quicker than thought and cut the arrow out of the air. Both halves of the dart passed to either side of the pixie’s face, and shesank numbly down onto her knees.
The second assassin leaped the rails and whipped out a short sword well coated in a greenish, sticky venom. He ran at the Justicar, who dropped to one knee and flicked his sword to strike the assassin’s blade away.The assassins short sword fell, ringing on the ground, and the Justicar instantly punched with his fist, the blow lifting the man up and slamming him down five paces away.
The assassin flashed to his feet, whipped back a hand that suddenly held a throwing knife-
And then screamed as a thundering blast of fire wrapped him in agony from head to toe.
Burn! Burn-burn-burn!
“Cinders! Damn it!”
The assassin would have been the spy’s contact-the next stepin the chain that led to the mastermind. Now the man was bubbling like a well-done roast, and the whole upper deck was aflame. Cinders had managed to set the entire promenade on fire, and strings of burning bunting fell to spread the blaze all across the lower levels of the barge. The management was definitely going to be annoyed.
The Justicar sheathed his sword, snatched the dazed pixie in his arms, and held the creature tight against his chest.
“Do you like water?”
“No!”
“Good.”
With a heavy bound, the man launched himself across the rails and plunged thirty feet down into the icy river. The pixie wailed, then disappeared amid the splash as the Justicar, his hell hound skin, his black sword, and his armor all speared deep into the water. Swimming with slow, powerful strokes, the Justicar traveled underwater for a dozen yards then broke the surface, letting the struggling pixie take a breath. The man looked back once at the blazing pleasure barge and then grimly struck out toward the northern shore.