Hiero Desteen: 02 - The Unforsaken Hiero Read online

  The Unforsaken Hiero

  Hiero Desteen 02

  (1983)*

  Sterling E. Lanier

  Contents

  Prologue - A Change of Mission

  1 - The Kingdom of the East

  2 - A man alone

  3 - Summoned—and Followed

  4 - Dark Perils, Dark Counsels

  5 - The Spinner and the Web

  6 - Runners in the Night

  7 - Hunters and Their Prey

  8 - Any Port in a Storm

  9 - Winds of Change, Winds of Chance

  10 - Of Musterings in the North

  11 - In the Taig

  12 - Battle Morning

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Book information

  -

  Prologue - A Change of Mission

  There were two fires burning in the night, providing the only lights on the dark plain. A small group was scattered about one. A short distance away, Hiero and Luchare sat by the other, facing Brother Aldo. The old man was staring into the flames, his tightly curled white beard standing out brightly against skin that was as dark as that of Luchare.

  "I must go north at once," Brother Aldo said at last. "I must arouse those of my Brotherhood. We have sought peace for many lives, but now there is no peace. Destruction is coming upon us, and we must take action against it, It is no longer enough to watch and study the foe." Sadness deepened the lines on his face, momentarily revealing his great age.

  Hiero waited in silence. His skin was lighter and redder in hue than that of his companions, and his black hair was coarse and straight, trimmed just below the ears in a short bob. With his hawk nose and sturdy, lithe frame, he might almost have been one of his remote Amerindian forebears, save for the neat mustache; the facial hair indicated the Caucasoid admixture of his once despised ancestry.

  Beside him, Luchare seemed to be drowsing, her head resting against his shoulder. He tightened his arm around her waist, smiling fondly. To his right, he could see that Captain Gimp and the sea rovers were still talking around their fire. Off to his left, the line of the great forest towered in the dark. He wondered what the strange women of the trees and their queen Vilah-ree were doing. Would he ever see one of them again? With an effort, he brought his mind back to the present as Brother Aldo began speaking again.

  "We have done well, this far," the old man said. "We've blocked the Unclean, destroyed many of them, and we have this." He pointed to the packet that held the lost volumes of the ancients. "You have accomplished your mission, Per Hiero. But your work is not done. The next danger comes from the South. And it is there that you must go—you and Luchare!"

  "What about the books?" Hiero protested. "I am supposed to get them to Abbot Demero as fast as I can. These southern wastes are not my territory. I came here only to get the knowledge we need in the North."

  The Elevener smiled faintly. "Don't worry about Demero, my boy. The books will go north with me. Your abbot will approve. I know Demero—have known him longer than you have lived. Who do you think put me on watch for you? Why do you think I was so handy when you were trapped in the drowned city? Think about it for a moment."

  Hiero grunted in surprise. But Aldo's words explained many things. It had been no accident, no fortunate coincidence, that had brought the Elevener to aid them so opportunely. How many others had somehow been alerted to watch over this mission? Hiero grinned ruefully. "I should have guessed that Demero would have a few extra tricks he never told me about," he admitted.

  Brother Aldo chuckled, then sobered quickly. "I'll leave for the North at dawn. I'll take Gimp and his men with me. We'll get a boat somehow; there are many ways. But I must also take Gorm with me. Call him."

  Hiero sent a rapid mind call on the wavelength of the young bear. A moment later, the burly shape of Gorm padded up to them from where he had been curled in apparent sleep. Does no other ever sleep around here? came a mental mumble as the bear flopped his bulk down beside them.

  Hiero laughed. You do nothing but sleep while we have to do all the hard thinking and planning. He eyed Gorm appraisingly, It was fantastic that this strange folk had hardly been noticed by the Abbey students. Their brains were quite as good as human minds, and only their desire for privacy had kept them so long hidden. The Death had caused strange and horrible mutations, but it had also created wonders, and one of those was the race of Gorm, the silent and hidden bear folk, whose Wise Ones had sent Gorm out to gather knowledge.

  You want me to go north with the Old One here, came Gorm's thought. He seemed quite placid, and his brain waves were clear and undisturbed.

  "I don't want you to go anywhere away from me," Hiero said aloud, then put the idea into thought. He was conscious of how much he would miss this furry friend. But Brother Aldo thinks it might be best if you went north with him and got back in touch with the Wise Ones of your folk.

  To Hiero's surprise, Brother Aldo had picked up his thoughts, those he meant to be private as well as those to the bear. Now the old man sent a message meant for both Hiero and Gorm.

  Listen well, both of you. This is a great struggle between that which is evil and vile and that which we believe to be good and blessed. The high Councils of the Unclean are sealed to us. But my Order has watched them for many years, back beyond the life span of the remotest grandsire of any here. They seek universal domination and they would restore the evils that brought The Death to the world.

  We must work together, we of the honest and life-preserving ones of whatever form. We must fight them wherever they appear. There is great evil rising in the South, in D'alwah and its neighbors. I want Hiero to go there with Luchare, to her ancient kingdom, the nation where I was once a native and which I know well. And you, Gorm, I want to go north and make report to your Elders, to tell them of our need. What say you?

  There was an instant of mental silence. Then an ursine thought came in answer. I must go. I understand some of what you think. It must be so, for it is the charge laid upon me by the Wise Ones of my people. Now can I sleep?

  Suiting action to thought, Gorm got up and wandered off into the dark, where they could hear him curling up again.

  "Well, Hiero," Brother Aldo said, "we can use speech again. All this thought sending wears one out, eh?" He smiled.

  Hiero found little to smile about. "Even if Abbot Demero might agree to let me go, what do you think I can do down in the South? I know little of D'alwah, save for what Luchare has told me. How-can I help in a strange country with unknown laws and rules of behavior? What can I do in a foreign land without friends, except for this one?" He bent his cheek to nuzzle the mop of tight black curls that lay on his shoulder.

  Luchare looked up at him with eyes that were clear, with no sign of sleep in them. "What can you do? Look, Per Hiero Desteen, have you forgotten who I am? My father is King Dariyale of D'alwah, and I'm his only heir. You're my husband. You'll be a prince of the unknown North. Everyone will accept you." She looked over at Brother Aldo. "You have many Eleveners there, don't you? I've seen them helping the village people when there's trouble. That means we have allies there—though not in public. And we'll have Klootz."

  She whistled sharply and waved an arm over her head. Hiero smiled as a towering shape paced up to the girl, massive hooves clicking on bits of gravel as it came. A giant head with blubber lips and a drooping snout lowered itself so that the huge, soft nose touched her hair briefly. Then the morse stood quietly waiting to see why he had been summoned.

  When humanity began to pick itself up after The Death, the horses were gone, vanished without a trace. In the far North, the reviving str
ucture of the Abbeys and their dependent farms tried many other animals and found these mutated descendants of the moose to be best. Hiero and Klootz had chosen each other at the annual calf-pick years before, and they had never been separated.

  I wonder how he'll like the South, Hiero thought to his mate and the older man. Nothing like him there. Will the people be afraid of him.?

  "Not afraid," Luchare answered, stroking a leg of the morse. "He would be admired as a creature no one had ever seen before. He would add to your prestige."

  Hiero stood up and began to stroke the enormous, palmate antlers with careful fingers, peeling off the velvet where it came away easily. He could feel the heat underneath where this outer cover of the new antlers was not ready. Klootz lipped his shoulder affectionately.

  Aldo resumed his argument. "Consider what you have already done in a land foreign to you and with only the help of friends you found along the way. You've saved a princess, crossed the great Inland Sea, and fought and beaten some of our worst enemies. And you've accomplished a nearly impossible mission."

  "You've done what no one else could have done," Luchare added when Aldo stopped. "You have defeated the one who calls himself S'duna, the chief of their horrid Blue Circle. Now you can go on to be a leader of my people."

  Hiero looked down at her, and his heart filled with this love that was greater than he had ever known before. Then he thought of Abbot Demero, the grim old warrior who had sent him on this mission. Would the ruler of the Abbey Council approve of his going south with a new wife and a new task? He seemed to see the lined old face in his mind, and it was smiling at him. A sign? Hiero shrugged at the idea and then thought again. Perhaps he was picking up a vague and transient thought from far away. He smiled and looked at Brother Aldo, another wise old man who had gone to war because he had no choice in his own soul.

  "Tell Gimp that you'll leave for the North at dawn. Luchare and I will go south on Klootz. I assume that you can communicate with your Eleveners in the South? Then send me word and we'll open a channel of messages." He laughed a little sourly. "You say you know Abbot Demero. Then you can keep him off my back and not let me be cursed and expelled from the church. Now let's get a little sleep."

  -

  1 - The Kingdom of the East

  Golden sunlight streamed through the narrow windows of the palace, and a great gong boomed, announcing that day had come again to mighty D'alwah. The sound was echoed and re-echoed from far and near as the watch on the walls and the patrols along the bridges and covered ways answered with their smaller strikers of ringing metal The whole walled city pealed and rang, a vibrant diapason of challenging sound. Hiero sat up in bed with a jerk, covering his ears against the clamor and muttering darkly.

  "You do that every morning," Luchare's voice said. "After all the time we've been here, I should think you'd be used to the gong."

  He pried his eyes open to see her dressed and seated at her mirror, coloring her lips and her eyelashes with the bluish paste which was currently the height of fashion at court. He pursed his lips and made a light spitting noise.

  She looked around and grinned merrily. "Don't be so stiff. I have to look my best when I'm officially entertaining the noble ladies at breakfast. And what kept you up till all hours last night? Talking religion with our high priest again?"

  "Umm." He'd found the breakfast she had ordered for him on a tray beside the bed and he began eating. "Old Markama isn't bad for a high priest—for a D'alwah high priest, that is. But, my God, what has happened to the church down here? Celibate priests! And all these so-called monasteries where the nobles send their unwanted young of both sexes to paint wooden pictures or sew and pray all day—and to live in silence and chastity! It's as if the Unclean were already in control and determined to make people go crazy." His face became suddenly serious. "And I can't be sure that this isn't a hotbed of the Unclean with their minions all wearing mechanical mind shields."

  "Hiero!" Her face grew troubled as she stared at him. "I know you really believe that. You may even be right. But you haven't found any proof—just a few people whose minds you can't read. And you told me when you were training me that a lot of people have natural screens, people who are unaware of it themselves."

  He sighed and dropped the subject, while she turned the conversation to the Court Ball that was being given in the palace that evening. But after she left for her official duties, he dressed and moved slowly out of the palace and into the maze of the city, still brooding as he exercised his legs.

  There was something ugly and dangerous going on in the royal castle. He could feel it, though no clear thoughts came through to him. But there was a deep undercurrent of hatred, impossible to disguise from someone who had been through all he had with the Unclean and their allies.

  Yet he had been treated very well. When he and Luchare appeared on Klootz, the guard at the main gate had saluted, let them through, and given her full royal honors. An hour later, he had been closeted with Luchare and her father, Danyale IX, hereditary ruler of the sovereign state of D'alwah.

  To Hiero's surprise, he liked the king, and Danyale made it plain that he liked his new son-in-law.

  The king was a large, heavy man, still muscular, but inclining a little to fat, now that he had passed the half-century mark. His curly, graying hair was worn short, and his face was handsome and open over his mustache and beard. His kilts and robes were of a magnificent weave and color, and he wore many rings and pendants. But he was never without a long, two-edged sword whose handle was plain and worn. His handgrip was firm and hard.

  Was this the brutal tyrant whose only daughter had fled into the wilderness to avoid a marriage foisted upon her by her dynastic-minded father, as Luchare had claimed?

  Danyale brought the matter up while he and Hiero sat on the edge of a parapet of the palace. The ever-present guards had been waved out of earshot and lounged some distance away, conversing in low tones and watching both their ruler and their new prince.

  "Look, Hiero, I know what Luchare must have told you about that business of marrying her off to Efrem. But all my nobles insisted—the whole council, including the church fathers. What was I to do? God knows, we must have allies. Chespek was all there was. Efrem is afraid of me, and I thought I could control him, see that he didn't harm the girl. I know the bastard's reputation as well as she does. But, damn it, this kind of thing is part of being a king. And with my only son dead ..." He looked into Hiero's eyes and said nothing further for a moment.

  "I understand," the Metz priest said quietly. "The realm has to come first, all the time." He rather admired the older man. It couldn't be easy for the king to apologize for something he saw as a vital, standard matter of politics.

  There was no trouble in communication. Hiero was a master linguist, and Luchare had coached him in the speech of D'alwah for weeks as they journeyed toward her home.

  "What will Efrem do now?" Hiero's question was only partly idle. The priests, awed by his powers and knowledge of the past, had told him much, and he had learned more by mind search. But, as a matter of honor, he could not probe Luchare's father. And he needed to know what the man thought, how his mind worked, and what his capabilities were. If D'alwah were to be protected from the Unclean and their grim allies—if it were to be enlisted on the side of the Abbeys—then much still had to be learned.

  Danyale's answer was a snort of contempt. "Hell fume in private, then do whatever the priests tell him when he goes to confession for half-murdering some slave girl. Forget him." He eyed Hiero, his wariness apparent all at once. "You seem to have pull with the Church Universal, my boy. Do the nobles up your way control the priests? Down here it has been a long, constant struggle to keep the power in my hands and out of theirs—or worse, from some puppet whom they might raise up against me. You seem to know all their priestly secrets and a lot of your own as well. You could be of much help to me," he added. The attempt was regrettable, Hiero thought; Danyale was no intriguer, but a decent, if not
-too-bright, soldier, trapped in a decadent court and surrounded by schemers, both civil and ecclesiastic.

  "We do things differently," he evaded. "Our nobles and gentry are so busy fighting the Unclean that we learned long ago to be one pillar of the state and support the church as the other. And," he added, as if in afterthought, "of course we have no actual king, but only a noble, supreme Council with both church and civil members," It was only half a lie, since the Abbey Council was actually that. The fact that there were no nobles could wait until Hiero and the Metz Republic were ready.

  "Well," Danyale said heavily, "I suppose you have secrets, too. I find the world harder and harder to understand." He looked up, a smile tugging at the corner of his full lips. "One thing, though. I'm damn glad to have you as a son-in-law, prince or no prince. Oddly enough, I love my daughter and I'm glad to see her happy. But more than that—" He leaned over and tapped Hiero's knee. "I think you're going to be valuable to me, my boy—to me and to D'alwah."

  He rose, clapped the Metz on the shoulder, and strode off to his day's duties. He was not an unkingly figure, Hiero reflected, and perhaps somewhat more clever than he appeared.

  There were other meetings of a similar nature and meetings with the great men of the kingdom also. Markama, the archpriest, was a decent enough old man and could have exerted great power, had he possessed the basic ability to lead. But he was obsessed with ritual and hieratic obscurantism. But at least he was no enemy, being in awe of Hiero's knowledge, both of church secrets and of the Unclean, whom he truly feared and detested.

  Most of the work of the church—the accounts, administration, schools, and such—seemed to be in the hands of one Joseato, a priest just below the archpriest in rank, a thin, colorless bureaucrat who always carried bundles of parchment and had a perpetually distracted air. Hiero found nothing special to dislike about the man. But Joseato had a shielded mind, which was a big factor to consider. Could he have a bluish metal locket under his robes, a mechanical mind screen of the Unclean? Of course, as Luchare had pointed out, the shield could be innate, as many were, or the result of the sketchy mental training which even the southern church had not completely lost. There was no way of telling what power, mental or physical, impelled a good mind shield, and he could hardly ask the priest to strip. Joseato simply had to be watched, as far as that was possible.