Dead Man Riding East: Death, high fashion and romance of sorts

By Jim Webster

Once more we visit the ‘Land of the Three Seas,’ where the unintended theft of a tyrant’s concubine, followed by the inadvertent acquisition of a wife, leads to revenge, the fall of dynasties and over-exposure to the world of high fashion. Such are the adventures of Benor Dorfinngil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: May 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781782344438

Jim Webster

I can cope with being described as fifty-something. During the course of a reasonably quiet life I’ve done a number of things. I’ve farmed cattle all my life, and at the same time have been a consultant and a freelance writer. I also fit in being a husband and father. My life has included some intriguing incidents, at the age of twelve, my headmaster was somewhat put out to discover that not only was I selling ammonium nitrate to other boys to make bangers, it wasn’t actually forbidden by the school rules. I’ve watched Soviet troops unload coffins from a transport plane at Tashkent; been questioned by an Icelandic gunboat captain, not so much at gun point as at 40mm Bofors point, and according to the nice man at Frankfurt airport, I inadvertently invaded Germany. I was perfectly happy to believe him, I am happy to believe anyone who points a Heckler & Koch MP5 at me. Brought up on the classic masters of SF, I bought Jack Vance, ‘The Dragon Masters,’ in the early 1970s and that book taught me that the world or society the characters lived in was every bit as important as the plot. I’ve also written Supplements for Pelgrane Press to go with their ‘Dying Earth’ role-playing game, inadvertently contributed to the design of the FH70 Field Howitzer and living where I do on the outskirts of Barrow-in-Furness most of my mates have at one time or another built nuclear submarines. Me, I tend to seasickness on a particularly bracing bus trip.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Batra waited silently in the shadow, a midnight blue robe drawn about her. Her rescuer should not be long now. Although barely seventeen, it had taken less than six months of being a concubine to Prince Cirramar of Talan to convince Batra that she had made a mistake, and she was now remedying that mistake. She had seen how another concubine had made her escape, and had decided to follow her example. Batra had sounded out the carpet maker, who was allowed into the women’s quarters, and he had agreed to get a message to Fausto. Fausto was coyly described as her childhood sweetheart, but in reality he was perhaps the only real friend Batra had. Fausto had replied, Jacinto the carpet maker had forwarded the note and Batra had recognised Fausto’s handwriting.

A labourer in Metal Quay, if Fausto had ever written before it was with chalk on a wooden tally board. His letter to her was hardly a love letter but at least he was coming.

She peered over the parapet and saw him in the street below, moving swiftly from shadow to shadow, a coil of rope over his arm. He looked up and she waved to him. Immediately, he ran across the road and, standing as close to the wall as he could, braced himself and prepared the rope to throw. Batra glanced round. She had given her jewellery to the guards; there should be no one on this wall walk for another half hour.

Fausto lowered his right arm and brought it up rapidly. The rope sailed up towards her and Batra caught it as it landed on the roof top. She quickly tied the end around the low brickwork castellation. Suddenly, she heard shouts, and froze. Looking over the parapet she saw guards running towards Fausto, their armour gleaming in the light of the torches they were carrying. She shouted to him, but her warning was unnecessary, Fausto made to flee but one of the guards sprinted after him. Fausto stopped and spun round. The short handled mattock in his right hand caught the guard in the chest. From the wall-top Batra could hear armour crumple and ribs crack. Fausto stepped over the fallen guard and swung his mattock again at the second who raised his shield to block the blow, whilst his colleague stepped forward and drove his spear-point into Fausto’s throat. Fausto sagged at the knees and collapsed. Now there were guards running along the parapet towards Batra from both directions. It was obvious they had been betrayed. Almost contemptuously she untied the rope and threw it down to the ground. The end fell across Fausto’s body. Then without taking her eyes off his broken form, she stepped calmly off the parapet, leaving the guards behind her grasping at empty air.

***

It was a nice room; the sun came in through the window and cast a warm light on the girl lying in the bed. Cirramar looked down at the body of Batra and then glanced at the doctor. The doctor shook his head.

Whatever I do, she’ll be dead within the hour.

Cirramar pondered the broken body on the bed in front of him.

It seems a waste, really. Does she feel any pain?

The doctor became reassuringly professional.

As instructed, I did everything I could to ensure she lived, and that included giving her a mixture of herbs for the pain.

Cirramar smiled and made a gesture of dismissal. The doctor left quietly and Cirramar glanced down to the clerk sitting by the bed.

Well Galomar, did she say anything?

The clerk looked at his notes.

"Quite a lot, much of it incomprehensible, half formed words or bits of names, but there was one name that she mentioned, Alissa."

Cirramar stopped fidgeting with his cuffs, his interest now aroused.

Alissa you say... so do you think the girl copied her?

I would think so, but there is more, whilst she was talking about Alissa, I quietly asked her if she knew how Alissa escaped. My question must have got through the haze of drugs because she answered me. Apparently she had seen Alissa escort a man through the women’s quarters, and being inquisitive had followed them. She had heard the man introduce himself as Benor Dorfinngil, also known as Benor the Cartographer, of Toelar.

Cirramar paused to gather his thoughts. The escape of Alissa had been a public humiliation. He glanced at the girl on the bed and observed dispassionately, And being a tyrant I cannot allow my will to be publically flaunted, otherwise others will try. And being notoriously vengeful I will obviously have this Benor tracked down and both he and Alissa will be killed or brought back here to Talan for execution.

Galomar nodded. It is what is expected of you.

Cirramar breathed in deeply.

Then give word to have it done, please, Galomar. I have no doubt that you can arrange for the proper funding of the operation.

Galomar smiled mirthlessly.

For a tyrant, everything is within budget.

Cirramar glanced down at the girl on the bed and briefly smoothed the covers with his left hand. Then, as if remembering himself, he stood erect and walked out of the room without looking back.

Galomar stood up, too, glanced down at the girl and followed his master out of the room.

***

Rothred Axlebowkin felt that he was getting used to Toelar life. He was cleaning a dart carcass in the larder as he heard Benor arrive. He seemed in a good mood, so Rothred asked Had a good afternoon?

Ah, a delight, Benor beamed, a genuinely civilised afternoon. Madame Afflagar introduced her ‘niece’ to society and society was suitably gracious. The old termagant also recognised Virinal as her companion and great-niece.

Well she could hardly admit that her niece was her daughter and her great niece her granddaughter, Rothred observed.

Given that she doesn’t admit to being a day over forty five, probably not.

So what else was said?

Oh, Madame even announced, in tones that would have frozen the marrow of a lesser man, that Virinal is walking out with Kirisch.

At this point Tillie, Rothred’s wife, put her head round the door.

I did wonder if that would be mentioned.

You should have seen it, Tillie. Kirisch proved to a lot of respectable ladies he could drink tea out of a cup without killing anyone or succumbing to uncontrollable lust. Benor paused, his eyes sparkling, which knowing some of them was probably a disappointment.

Tillie reverted to practicality. Dinner is ready. Benor, can you fill three glasses from the Ale barrel? Rothred needs to wash before he sits down to eat.

In the kitchen Benor filled glasses and put them on the table. Still drying himself with a towel, Rothred sat down at the kitchen table and hung the towel over the back of his chair. After taking a sip from her glass, Tillie put the glass down, looked round, reached behind the clock on the mantelpiece and produced a letter.

This came for you today Benor, your brother Sar sent one of his lads round with it. It was apparently waiting for you at Meor.

When Benor saw the handwriting on the envelope he paled and passed the envelope hastily back to Tillie, You open it please.

Tillie shot a concerned glance to Rothred who shrugged. She opened the letter and scanned it quickly, then read it more carefully.

You have a wife?

Yes.

If Tillie sounded unnecessarily incredulous, Rothred thought, Benor sounded unnecessarily defensive.

Tillie composed herself and read on.

She wants to see you.

Rothred felt that it was a chance to contribute. He put down his glass.

That’s nice. Where is she?

About four thousand miles away.

Without any further explanation, Benor stood up and walked across to his sword hanging by its baldric from a hook on the kitchen wall. He took it down and put it on, but Tillie stood up and patted him gently on the arm

Not until after dinner surely? You lay out the plates and I’ll serve. Then you can tell us all about it.

***

By the time the meal was served there were five of them gathered in the kitchen: Virinal and Kirisch had joined them at Tillie’s invitation. Tillie insisted they let Benor eat first before plying him with questions, and it gave him chance to get things clear in his mind. Finally plates were emptied and Rothred topped up everybody’s glass from the barrel. Benor looked around the table.

"It was just after the siege of Oiphallarian. Lord Faerbalt wanted me with him to map the territory to the north, in the Coldraith Mountains where he was thinking of building a keep. Well I rode with him north and helped him survey the mountains, had a few weeks hunting with him in the high valleys and I think the cold just got to me, because then I collapsed.

Someone said I needed warmth, and Faerbalt called in a favour with some idiot mage he knew, who would transport me to Tideholt, which is a pleasant small town on the shore of the Lower Sea..."

***

Benor stood in the middle of the pentagram Faerbalt had hand chalked on the rough stone floor. He kept very still, as if trying to make sure he wasn’t touching the edge of anything. Faerbalt studied him carefully.

Right, so you’ve got everything? That Klune crossbow thing of yours, a decent sword, not just that self-important bread knife you carry, and a stout staff to lean on?

I’m supposed to be going for warmth and rest, not to take part in a war.

You never know, you might be lucky. I think you ought to have a shield as well.

Benor threw both hands up.

You’re dropping me in the middle of Tideholt. Last time I was there, the middle of Tideholt was the harbour. I’ll put money on it that I’ll end up swimming - or stuck in the mud if the tide is out. The last thing I need is a shield. Benor stopped to reconsider his statement, Alright, the last thing I need is armour, but a shield comes a close second. He noticed a look of doubt cross Faerbalt’s face.

Look, if they have a war to which I’m invited, I’ll borrow one rather than feel left out.

Faerbalt nodded unhappily. Then he brightened and said:

A harbour? I suppose there could be a chance of a spot of fishing. He disappeared and returned with a reel of fine fishing line, which he dropped into Benor’s pack. He stepped back. Anyhow no time for chittering, we’d better get you on your way. He glanced once more at the young man who had been standing to one side watching the exchange. You sure you can handle this?

The young man bridled, I’m perfectly competent in these matters.

So run through it again for us please. Faerbalt’s tone was of someone who wasn’t entirely convinced.

The young man sighed. Yes Lord Faerbalt. I will activate the ritual, I will keep in my mind Tideholt, which I am assured, and here he halted briefly is if recalling a phrase exactly, is a fine sun-drenched city complete with vine-shaded taverns and plump serving-wenches. He glanced a Benor who was glaring at him, and I will not think about the harbour. Instead I will think of the statue.

Faerbalt nodded and glanced at Benor.

You happy with that?

Benor shrugged. Bluidy mages, I always have as little to do with magic as I can; it merely allows self-satisfied and over educated idiots to accomplish in the blink of an eye an error that would take a score of honest men a lifetime to make.

The young man sniffed.

I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’ then. Please prepare yourself.

Benor checked to see that he was standing as near the centre of the pentagram as he possibly could and closed his eyes. The latter was for no real reason, just a conviction that whatever was going to happen, it would be better if it happened unseen.

There was chanting, and it faded, he felt the sun on his skin and he had the sensation that he was falling. He opened his eyes to see he was plummeting through a group of statues. He frantically grasped at a sculpture he could only describe as priapic, abandoning his staff. He looked hastily around; he was in a walled garden dotted with scantily clad females. The garden lay between two large buildings, and in front of him were perhaps a score of muscular men, naked to the waist and exercising with spears. Benor suspected he had arrived in a private enclosure. He also suspected uninvited guests were unwelcome.

His staff hit a sheet of bronze below him and it rang like a gong. At the sound, the exercising men froze and turned to look in his direction. One immediately hurled a spear, which ricocheted off the part of the statue he was holding. Benor didn’t hesitate, dropped onto the bronze, snatched up his staff and ran in the opposite direction to the men. Behind him there were shouts and he accelerated. He came to a wall too high to climb and ran left along the foot of it. The path under his feet became a corridor as it went into the building and he slammed the door behind him, urgently bolting it. He sped on through the building trying to find a way through, but kept coming against locked doors. Behind him he heard the crash as the bolt gave way. He ran onwards, entering what seemed like a large reception chamber. He ran to the door at the far end and tried to open it. Like all the others it was locked.

You need the key.

He spun round. A youngish woman was watching him; she had been concealed behind a wall hanging. She gestured to him and for lack of a plan he followed her. Behind the wall hanging was an alcove with a narrow door set into it. She unlocked it and led him through, closing it gently and locking it behind her. Benor could hear shouts from the reception chamber and the sound of searching.

She held a finger to her lips and beckoned for him to follow her again. They walked rapidly down a narrow corridor, and at another alcove she reached in and produced a long cloak, which she handed to him.

Put this on and pull up the hood.

Benor did as he was told. She unlocked the next door and led him into a music room; half a dozen young women were sitting in a circle playing instruments. They ostentatiously ignored Benor and his silent companion who led him through the room and then onwards through a maze of others. Some of these rooms were occupied by women who ignored them, some of the rooms stood empty. Finally she led him up a winding stairway, down a short corridor and opened one of the three doors at the end. From there she led him up a short flight of steps into a small summer house on the roof. Here, she waved him into a richly appointed and obviously feminine room, deeply carpeted and cluttered with furniture and a long divan.

She pointed to a chair and Benor sat obediently in it.

Where am I? What’s going on?

Introductions first. I am Alissa, a senior concubine of the Prince of Talan. You are in the Harem of the Prince of Talan. So, other than being a dead man, who are you?

Benor concentrated on the important bit.

What do you mean, ‘dead man’?

You are a man in the Harem of Prince Cirramar, Prince of Talan. He is a cheerless individual, paranoid, capricious, although apparently occasionally whimsical. He has decreed that death is the penalty to any man who enters here, other than him. And whilst I don’t claim to know the Prince too well, I’m pretty sure you aren’t him.

Benor stood up, I am Benor Dorfinngil, also known as Benor the Cartographer, of Toelar.

I am Alissa, originally of Watersmeet. She smiled, I suspect Watersmeet means as little to you as Toelar does do me.

Benor nodded. But why have you brought me here?

Alissa turned away from him, a gesture which allowed him to admire her figure. She turned back with two glasses and a decanter she had lifted from a small table behind her.

I am thirty-five, I am the concubine of the current Prince of Talan, as I was concubine of the previous one, and have met neither of them. I have been trapped here long enough and have decided to leave. A lifetime of embroidery lacks appeal. But to leave I need a helper and a companion, ideally one who is as desperate as I am. When I saw you arrive I realised you fitted the bill. You are, to put it bluntly, perhaps the only man in Talan who dare not betray me, as by being here you are automatically condemned to death.

Benor took the wine glass she offered him and poured himself a drink from the decanter, he sniffed it carefully, sipped and smiled. He raised his glass to her.

Madame, Benor Dorfinngil at your service.

She pointed to the divan. You rest for a while. I will go and collect a few things.

Much to Benor’s surprise he fell asleep and sleep solidly, until he was awakened by Alissa closing the door behind her. It was late afternoon and she was now dressed in a simple tunic and baggy trousers. She was carrying two bundles, one of which she passed to Benor.

It contains food, water, money, and a long plain robe which you can wear over your clothes. She slipped out again, closing the door behind her.

Benor opened the bundle and put the contents carefully in his pack, the small pouch of silver coins he tucked in his britches pocket. The robe he tried on, discovering it both covered him fully and was a comforting dull brown colour, which should be convincingly inconspicuous.

As he was adjusting the robe, Alissa arrived again, this time carrying a tray. This she set on the table and passed him a plate.

We’d better eat now; I’m not sure when we’ll next get a chance.

Benor looked at his plate, which was piled with an assortment of delicacies: sea urchins fried in savoury oils, thin strips of fish soused in vinegar, little tartlets filled with spiced fish roe. He somewhat warily tried some of the sea urchin. It was surprisingly crispy, but not unpleasant. Alissa noticed his hesitation.

I’m sorry about the choice; it’s from the buffet laid out in the grand salon for later this evening, if I’m not there, then the other girls will just assume I’m entertaining a lover up here.

Does that happen often?

Alissa smiled sweetly.

"Do you mean, do I often entertain lovers, or do you mean, is it common for the girls to entertain lovers?

She grinned at his embarrassment. Don’t worry; you’re not the latest in a long queue of failed lovers who’ve been jettisoned because they didn’t meet my exacting specifications. But yes, the girls do risk bringing men in, and occasionally one is caught.

She fell silent, and Benor felt he ought to contribute something positive to the discussion.

So how are we to get out?

Alissa gestured at the window, which opened to a small roof garden where the swift twilight of evening had almost passed.

We cross the roof garden, and from there onto a roof which overhangs the street, we wait for everything to go quiet, drop down on a rope and make our way to a kinsman of mine in the city. We cannot stay there, if I’m missed, they will search there, but he will help us.

She reached under the divan and pulled out another bundle and tossed it to him. Benor caught it and examined it, a rope made from plaited and knotted embroidery thread. He tested it for strength, it seemed adequate.

I have made it long enough to reach the ground even when doubled, so we don’t leave it behind us.

Benor nodded and took one of the tartlets. Even by Toelar standards these were pleasantly spicy.

***

Benor and Alissa lay side by side on the edge of the flat roof, shielded from view by the low parapet. Perhaps forty yards away to the right was a tower where Benor could see a guard, silhouetted against the lights of the buildings in the town. Benor could see that even a Toelar Roofrunner was going to struggle in Talan, the houses were tall - six stories in some cases - and many people seemed to live their lives in public on the roof gardens and on the balconies. To the left another guard was pacing the wall-walk. Benor could feel his sword press uncomfortably against his side but ignored it. Screened by the low shrubs of the roof garden Benor and Alissa waited until he turned and started back, then Benor slithered forwards and crawled swiftly up onto the parapet. There was a gargoyle below him, and he looped their improvised rope over it and slid rapidly to the ground. He pressed himself against the wall and tried to hold the bottom end of the rope so it remained flat against the wall for as much of its length as possible. Motionless in the shadow, he waited for Alissa. She would remain hidden, waiting for the guard to make his way to one end of his patrol path, glance in their direction and walk back again. To Benor it seemed to take an age, until finally he felt the rope move above him. He stepped to one side and Alissa slid down the rope to stand next to him. She pulled one of the two pieces of rope hard and the whole cord dropped to the floor. Benor quickly looped it over his arm and then they darted rapidly across the street, to halt in the shadows a few yards down the side-street opposite. There was no cry from the roof, and Benor permitted himself the luxury of relaxing slightly.

He asked, "Why was