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The Archive: Stories
"The Spirit Loaf and the Life Price"
by John Payne
June 1999
Almost as soon as they rode into the outskirts of Dwarfbelly Bend, Kumalo and Helga felt something watching them, tracking their movements. They didn't know what it was, but they knew what it wanted. The two of them, along with Kumalo's boy spear-carrier, Malcolm, had just completed a raid on the tomb of some long-forgotten wizard king or mad priest, and had brought back with them a number of treasures. There were dozens of tarnished and grimy baubles, gold and silver rings and crownlets caked in ancient dirt, pried from half-decomposed fingers and skeletal brows. All were valuable. But they knew that the lurker which watched them as they rode into town had eyes for only one of these, an egg-sized ruby called the Heart of the Siobhan. And, frustrating as it was for poor Malcolm, Helga and Kumalo couldn't explain how they knew this.
They were an odd threesome. Helga was a fighting woman from the barbaric Northlands, tall and blonde, like almost all her people. She stood taller, in fact, than almost any man in these parts, and her heavily muscled frame did little to encourage romantic thoughts. Her face was likewise one which inspired feelings of camaraderie rather than desire. She was perhaps twenty years old. Kumalo, in his mid-twenties, was a head shorter but even more massively built. He was also quite nearly as black as she was pale, which made him even more exotic in these parts than his barbarian companion. He was handsome, with his black hair cut short, and gold rings in his ears to set off his dark skin. He had the smile of a rascal and the laugh of a true friend. The boy, Malcolm, was about fourteen years old. He was a little taller than Kumalo, lean and fit, with a mop of brown hair. About a year ago, Kumalo had saved him from a gang of robbers in an alley in Sarsenna, less than a month after the boy had run away from home seeking adventure. Malcolm had tagged along ever since, grateful and eager to learn from the black swordsman.
As the three of them rode into town, Helga and Kumalo agreed upon a course of action to eliminate the thing that watched them. They went to a small, dingy shop in the outskirts. Malcolm and Helga went inside; Kumalo stayed out with the horses. As Helga opened the door and stepped inside, a bell tinkled, and a musical voice greeted them.
"Good morning to you, beautiful Helga. And you, too, boy." The shop was tiny, and crowded. Shelves lined the walls, full of bottles and skin flasks, jewelry, metal braziers, scrolls, bells and finger-cymbals, small ceramic pots, candles, knives, dried animal skins, and a few odd-shaped hats. Herbs and peppers hung in strings from the ceiling. The place smelled strongly of spices, and of burning incense. No one else was in the shop; the voice seemed to have come from a door at the back of the room.
"Good morning to you, too, Rinoor. Are you busy today?"
To get the rest of the story, contact me and I'll send it to you.
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