Foreign Devils by John Hornor Jacobs

Author:John Hornor Jacobs [Jacobs, John Hornor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2015-09-17T04:00:00+00:00

‘All right, pard,’ Fisk said, slapping my face lightly. ‘Where’dya keep it?’

‘Keep what?’ I said, chest aching.

‘The grog, Shoe. Cacique.’

‘Waterbag on Bess,’ I said.

Fisk disappeared but returned shortly, placing the bag to my mouth and letting me drink the burning, spicy liquor.

‘Keeping the cacique in a waterbag? Think I’m gonna steal your hooch, Shoe?’

Shaking my head hurt. ‘I’m old,’ I said. ‘And know all the wiles of man.’ Where did that come from? I thought.

Fisk smiled. ‘Can you sit?’

‘Yes. I think so. Winfried?’

‘Right here, Mr Ilys. You took a terrible blow,’ Winfried said. Her wild-eyed look had disappeared. She seemed calmer now, cantered.

‘Bah. I’m fine.’ When I moved, something in my side was a tad crunchy and there was pain, a whole world of it in my chest. I tamped the pain away. Ignored it. With great effort, I sat up and, after some effort (and support from Fisk) rose to my feet. I took another long pull on the cacique and then surveyed the damage around me.

‘Godsbe,’ said I, looking around. ‘We’ve got two more dead stretchers here.’

‘And a dead horse,’ Fisk said. His face was unreadable. He turned to me. ‘That’s why I don’t name them, pard.’

His black lay in the dirt, neck slashed and bled out, making a muddy swath around its head.

‘She was a good mount, Fisk,’ I said, bowing my head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Not as sorry as those who killed her,’ he said, looking at the dead vaettir with an awful expression. ‘Now go ahead and tell me the stretchers are more than just killers,’ he said, and spat.

‘How did they—’

‘Came in close after you dropped that big bastard and I managed to hit the other two a few times – enough to scatter them.’

‘Buquo can carry one stretcher, I imagine, along with you and Winfried.’

Winfried sounded alarmed. ‘We’re bringing them with us? The vaettir corpses?’

‘Oh, yes. Get them stuffed and shipped off to Rume, we could make a pretty penny,’ I said, thinking back on Livia’s letter to Fisk. ‘But that one,’ I said, indicating the stretcher that Beleth had bound and marked up with glyphs, ‘We need to show to our friend Samantha Decius. An engineer. If there’s anyone that can tell us what Beleth is doing – or trying to do – it’s her.’

Fisk nodded. ‘You can ride, pard?’

I toddled over to where Bess stood. She busked me with her head and then nipped at my coat.

‘I imagine so,’ I said, testing the damage done to my ribs. They were barking with pain, sending out burning rings around my chest. Every breath was an agony. But I’m dvergar and we can push it all aside. ‘I can make it to Porto Caldo.’

‘Lighten the mule’s load, and we’ll sling this other stretcher on the back and make a beeline for the Big Rill. At the shore, we can cut saplings for a travois,’ Fisk said. ‘You need help up, Shoe?’

I dumped some pots and pans, an extra bedroll, one of the large sacks of oats.

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