Episode 24 -- Voyage to Perdition

"Move yer carcass!" A heavy foot smashed into Gundar's ribs and the bonds around his wrists tightened. "We're on our way."

Gundar tried to suppress a groan, and was only partially successful. He commanded himself to to stand up, but his bruised body refused to respond. It seemed only a minute or two since the party stopped to rest, but every muscle in his body had stiffened up as he dozed the precious time away.

"Move!" the king's soldier growled again, yanking Gundar to his feet. Gundar staggered forward, knowing from bitter experience that his captors had no reservations about dragging him along on his belly behind a trotting horse. They needed some trophy to mollify their king, but they did not seem particularly concerned about whether their prize arrived alive or dead.

The commander had enlisted Doremus' help to search for Moly and her precious cargo, sending a handful men to deliver the news of their venture to their king along with the prisoner. No one had paid the least attention to Gundar's version of the story. In their eyes, he was already condemned. One of Gallagher's men -- a ravisher of royalty -- a purveyor of lies unworthy of hearing. Once again, Doremus' charm had prevailed.

I'd be better off dead, Gundar thought as he stumbled down the endless highroad, barely able to keep up with the horses' brisk walk. When they tire of torturing me to extract information I do not possess,.they will hang me or worse.
Nausea overtook him. His guards had allowed him to drink from the river before securing him to a tree, and he had overindulged in the fresh coolness even though he knew better. He vomited without breaking his stride, caring nothing about the mess on his clothes. All that mattered was staying on his feet, and even that seemed increasingly unimportant.

His ears started to buzz, and his vision blurred. He saw, or imagined he saw, Eric the blacksmith prancing past with his magnificent carriage and team. He looked right at Gundar, then touched the team with his whip. They raced ahead without a backward glance. Gundar wanted to shout a plea or a curse after him, but his mouth refused to make a sound.

He began to fall, lightly as a feather, in slow motion. Pain and struggle washed away. He let himself float, praying that this was the end. His only wish now was to escape the reality which had served him so cruelly. .

It was Lexa who caught him, her eyes stormy as the Mystic Sea. "You fool -- what have you done?"

"I meant to rescue the princess," Gundar muttered, "and win some honour for myself."

"Honour!" Lexa snorted. "Do you think honour is so easily acquired? Loyalty and humility must be learned first. Otherwise you will never be anything but a yapping puppy, dancing around and demanding the attention of your betters."

Gundar looked into her eyes, yearning to plead his case. Lexa's face blurred and became Arestasis' stern countenance. "You have broken your bond. You will pay the price."

"I had no wish to disobey, master," Gundar said. "'Twas my love for Lexa that drove me. . ."

"There is always a noble-sounding excuse," Arestasis said, "but the truth of the matter is that you will have your own way, and all other considerations be damned."

Is the Archmage truly conversing with me through some magic, Gundar wondered, or is it my own conscience upbraiding me? Either way, I have much to answer for.

"Do with me as you will," he said, fighting an unaccountable desire to weep. "If I must die, then let me die. You called my a spoiled pup when we first met, and I thought myself greatly wronged. Your judgement was sounder than mine. If I should live, then I beg you to set my feet upon a nobler path."

"You submit at last?" the Archmage said with a touch of humour. "When all is lost, and you have nowhere else to go?"

Gundar's pride flared briefly. How dare this overblown conjurer speak such words to a prince of the Northlands? Then shame flooded over him.

"I put myself in your hands without condition," Gundar said. "Such as I am."

Pain and fatigue and sickness returned, along with the jolting of wheels on cobblestones. He was lying on the floor of Eric's carriage, the provision bag beside him.

"Be of good cheer," Scaramouche's voice came from the bag. "You fainted, and Eric volunteered transport. We will be at the palace soon, and make everything clear."

"I fear that is beyond your power," Gundar whispered. "They think I kidnapped the princess. Even if she is found, who knows what story she will tell?"

"All will be well," Scaramouche assured him cheerfully. "Take my case. I thought all was lost when I fell from Moly's back, but I managed to stay out of sight and Eric chanced to come by at just the right moment."

"You are indeed a fortunate creature," Gundar said, and then fell silent, remembering the terrible curse under which Scaramouche laboured. When the full moon came, the mannikin would be transformed again to some creature or other. It might be years before he had the power of human speech again.

"Would you like some wine?" Scaramouche asked. "There's still half a bottle here."

"No thank you," Gundar said. "My stomach is churning."

"Ah! River water!" Scaramouche said wisely. "Nasty stuff, especially if you drink too much of it. Wine is much healthier."

Gundar allowed his eyes to close. No matter what his future held, he needed a nap.

After a minute or an hour, a harsh voice broke into his slumbers. "Up with you, Sleeping Beauty. Time to meet your fate."

Gundar sat up. The heat of the day had turned to evening. The carriage stood before a massive building of maroon brick with brazen double doors big enough to admit eight horsemen riding shoulder to shoulder. The door to the left was embossed with the image of a bundle of rods; the one to the right was adorned with a pair of crossed axes.

"Is this the king's palace?" Gundar croaked.

The soldier barked a short laugh. "No. His judgement hall."

Gundar climbed painfully from the carriage. Eric turned to watch, giving no sign of recognition. "Thank you, kind sir," Gundar said.

"You are most welcome," Eric answered. He clucked with his tongue and the team moved on. Gundar's heart sank when he realized that. despite Scaramouche's assurances, the blacksmith would not be present to speak on his behalf. Even if Eric's testimony failed to help his cause, it would be comforting not to be alone.

Gundar stifled the overweening desire to call after Eric and plead for his help. It was hardly likely that anyone would believe Eric any more than they had believed Gundar. No -- if there was any help, it would have to come from Archmage Arestasis. Was he still in town? Had he any inkling of the fate of his swine-herding bondsman? Did he even care?

It matters not. I am here by my own fault, and must face whatever comes with whatever dignity I can muster.

Gundar set his face resolutely towards the great brazen doors.