The Sword Of Bayne Omnibus Read online

  He had a last thought for Valdra and Pedrague.

  Then there was a flash of light and consciousness waned.

  Part II: The Boy

  There was nothing.

  Then there was existence.

  Bayne came to consciousness of a sudden, bright light in his eyes, felt softness at his back, warmth on his skin, the scent of nature upon his nose. His sword still in his hand.

  Springing to his feet in a crouch, his heavy weapon was extended and ready to strike.

  He had come to in unfamiliar circumstances, which was why he had not hesitated to ready his sword. But before him was a verdant field, rolling hills in the distance and a bright sun overhead.

  Confusion.

  An imprint in the soft, ankle-high grass was evidence of where Bayne had slumbered. But how had he got there?

  I should be dead.

  True enough. He had been beneath the mountain. He had fallen into a depression filled with bubbling lava. There should be nothing left of him, not even ash.

  Was he dead? Was this the afterlife? Bayne thought not. Would his skin feel the tug of the gentle breeze if he was dead? Would the smell of the grass climb to his nostrils if he were but a spirit? It did not seem likely.

  So what had happened? He had not a clue. The mountain. Falling. A flash of light. Unconsciousness. Now here.

  Where was here?

  Bayne stood taller, the better to take in his surroundings. Besides, there seemed no immediate threat, making a defensive stance unnecessary.

  His eyes scanned the horizon. As far as he could see, there were low hills lined with green trees. About his immediate vicinity was a pasture of short, immature grass. The ground was likely recently a tilled field, but this season had been allowed to grow natural with weeds and hay and some few flowers taking over, not an uncommon practice for farmers.

  But how had he got there?

  Another oddity occurred to the warrior. The sun was bright here. The surroundings green. It was the height of summer. Upon leaving Pedrague on the side of the mountain, the weather had been autumn and often near freezing high among the crags.

  He had been moved through both space and, apparently, time. Was it the future? The past? Did those things even matter where he now was?

  It was too much for Bayne to take in. Though no dullard, he was a relatively simple person. Magic was beyond him, though he was intelligent enough to realize high magics had been at work here. To what end, he did not know. Perhaps Pedrague’s god was taking a hand in all of this, or perhaps the immortal Verkanus had mended from Bayne’s wounding of him. Or perhaps there was someone else manipulating Bayne.

  He would find out. If someone had brought him to this place, it must be for some purpose, perhaps evil but perhaps not. He would play their game for some while, at least until he knew what game it was.

  His only regret was he had been pulled from his search for Valdra. With no knowledge of his whereabouts, or even the when of his current placement, he had no hope of looking for her.

  But Bayne was a man of action.

  He moved forward.

  One booted foot in front of the other, he sheathed and slung his sword on his back and marched straight ahead in the direction he had been facing toward low hills. Why that direction? Why not? It was not as if he knew the lay of the land.

  It took some minutes of steady tromping, but eventually he came to the bottom of one of the low, grassy hills. Still walking, Bayne stared up and ahead to a grouping of trees atop the climb. From there he hoped to have a better vantage, to better be able to take in a lay of the land and possibly find some bearings.

  Gradually he made his way up the hill, all the while pondering his whereabouts. Something seemed familiar to him, as if he had been here before. But the more he thought and thought, the further back he pushed his memories, he found there was no true recollection of this gentle land. The place was new to him, but it wasn’t. Could his unknown origin be tied to this region?

  Reaching the top of the grass-laden mound, Bayne paused to stare about. From the heights of the hill he could make out much. Behind him lay a shallow valley surrounded by the low hills. The hills themselves continued to his left and right as far as he could tell considering the many trees blocking much of his view.

  Ahead lay a much larger valley of tilled fields in the distance. Far, far away, along the remote horizon, rose up massive towers of mountains one after another and forming a long range of the crags. A goodly distance to the right, a road of red bricks slunk its way from a forest there and wound through the fields and past a house so far away Bayne could barely make out the gray smoking rising from its chimney.

  The house. The road. Signs of civilization. Where there was civilization, there would be people, perhaps people with answers. Bayne needed to know where he was, when he was. As much as he disliked the idea of approaching strangers in a strange land, there was little choice.

  Once more, he walked.

  Making his way down the other side of the elevation was not as simple as climbing it had been. Here giant roots of the many trees on the hill had eaten away at the soil, killing all plant life and leaving behind rocky, desolate ground. But Bayne remained wary of his footsteps and made his way down with relative ease.

  At the bottom of the hill, he angled to his right in the direction of the road. Soon enough he was making his way across rows of tilled dirt. He glanced down every few steps to watch his footing and to try to tell what crops would be planted in the field, but there was no evidence of planting, only the tilling. Too soon, he surmised. Further evidence he had left behind cooler climes for the Spring or early Summer of this odd land.

  Tromping and tromping, he reached the road. It was a good road, built solid with the bricks packed tightly together, and placed atop a slight rise in the land that was obviously not natural. Men had built this road, men who were civilized.

  Bayne turned to his left along the road and continued on. The road curved like a dying worm throughout the tilled fields, but ahead always lay that strange-looking house. The closer Bayne grew to the place, the odder and odder it looked. The outer walls were built of the most regular red bricks he had ever seen, nearly mirroring those of the road. The chimney appeared to be constructed of a large tube of steel, and the porch of the place seemed to be one large slab of stone. Windows of several sizes were to be seen around the building, all the shutters open. To add to the unusual look of the place, sheets of thin glass had been placed within the windows. The glass was an excellent touch, Bayne had to admit, as it would keep out insects and other unwanted creatures, but how could a person breath in such an enclosed edifice? It seemed unnatural.

  Perhaps magical.

  Bayne paused. He had had enough of magic, of wizards and gods and illusions and all the nonsense that came with them. True, the priest Pedrague was a gifted mage and seemed to be a fine fellow, but the world of magic was unreal to Bayne. His very existence was tied up with magic, with Verkanus having summoned him to a battlefield. Then his memory had been wiped clear somehow, likely through magic. And there had been his climb of the mountain, his pursuit of Verkanus, all layered with magic, possibly things that had existed only in his mind. Which possibly included the woman Valdra.

  Bayne grumbled. Yes, he wanted nothing more to do with magic.

  But that house lay ahead there, and it had been the only structure he had seen that possibly contained people.

  He needed someone to tell him where and when he was.

  Enough thinking. He marched on.

  Nearing the house, for that was what it seemed, Bayne noticed rows of short, yellow flowers planted to the left and right of a walkway of blue stones that meandered from the road up to the front door of the house, that door a solid-looking wood that had been stained a dark green.

  Bayne paused once more, this time where the walkway met the road. Should he draw his sword, be prepared for anything? These lands looked peaceful, as did the house despite its magical appearance.
No, no sword would be needed, he thought.

  The door to the house swung open. A boy stepped out onto the stone porch, pulling the door closed behind him. The youth was entranced by a wooden toy soldier in his hand, thus he did not immediately take note of Bayne.

  The warrior eyed the lad. Chubby. Tousled yellow hair. Greasy fingers climbing over the toy. Dark blue breeches that ended at the knees. A red and white striped shirt. Odd-looking white shoes, possibly of leather. Bayne guessed the lad at perhaps ten years of age.

  The boy looked up. “Gah!”

  But he did not flee. It was obvious he was surprised upon seeing the swordsman. Still, he had enough courage to stay where he was, his eyes going from wide in fear to narrow in confusion and possibly curiosity.

  “Boy,” Bayne said, “can you tell me what lands are these?”

  The youth stood there, quiet and unblinking, the toy soldier still gripped in a hand that had dropped to his side. The toy was forgotten for the moment.

  It occurred to Bayne that perhaps he and the lad did not share the same language. “Can you understand me, boy?”

  The brat sneered and stuck out his tongue. “What’s it to you?”

  Bayne rethought drawing his sword.

  “Booger!” the boy yelled.

  Any other man might have dropped his jaw in surprise. Here he was, walking along a road, not harming anyone, and then when he asks the first person he sees for advice, he is called a “Booger.” But Bayne kul Kanon was not any other man. He had witnessed and taken part in far too many grotesqueries to allow simple words to cause him an emotional crumble.

  Still, he did believe in a level of manners, of being treated as he would treat anyone else until they had done him harm.

  “You should watch your mouth, boy,” the big man said, “because someone might come along who has not the forgiving nature of myself.”

  “Shut up, booger!” the lad yelled, twirling about and raising his toy soldier overhead as if to throw it. “You don’t tell me what to do!”

  “Apparently no one does,” Bayne said, “and that is the problem.”

  The brat’s eyes went big with hate as his lips curled into a snarl. He pulled back the arm holding the toy, then slung it forward, pitching the wooden soldier at Bayne.

  A heavy sword flashed and the toy exploded in mid-air, shattering into a thousand splinters.

  The remains of the doll fluttered to the ground at Bayne’s feet, the warrior standing there with his weapon extended in both hands, his eyes narrowed in anger.

  The boy was like stone, his arms at his sides and his eyes wide in disbelief. For a moment, he was in shock. Then he sneezed. And the crying began. He blubbered and stamped his feet and cried tears that ran down his face in tiny streams.

  Bayne simply shrugged and returned his sword to its sheath on his back.

  The lad stamped another foot and pointed at the warrior. “I’ll get you! Just wait until I get my dad.” Then he turned, shoved open the door to the house and ran inside, shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!” as he slammed the door closed behind him once more.

  Bayne shrugged again, then deciding he was likely to find little aid from this place, put his feet to working once more and continued on his way down the road.

  He had made it some little distance when he heard someone shout behind him.

  “Hold it right there, mister!” a voice yelled.

  Bayne stopped and spun about.

  Approaching from the now open door to the house was a man. He appeared angered, his chest puffed out and his stride with stern purpose, yet he wore no armor and carried no weapons, thus seemed not a threat. Yet like the boy he wore strange garb, and Bayne told himself to be on his guard for magic, for a strange wizard of some sort was the only type of person Bayne could imagine wearing a short-sleeved shirt of bright blue covered in multi-colored flowers, a row of buttons down the front. And there was the man’s footwear, odd black sandals with a sheen as if made of bone or some oiled substance, beneath tan leggings that stopped above the knees. If Bayne had not found himself magicked into this strange land, he might have found the man’s clothes humorous. Perhaps the fellow is a jester.

  The man’s words quickly proved he was no clown. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he said with a sour face as he came to a stop several yards from Bayne and placed his fisted hands on his hips.

  “I am Bayne kul Kanon.”

  The other fellow eyed the warrior from top to bottom. “You look like a freak, like something out of history or mythology.”

  Bayne’s brow furrowed. “I know not what you mean.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” the man said, taking another step forward and pointing a finger at Bayne. “Who the hell do you think you are destroying my kid’s doll like that?”

  “The boy?” Bayne asked, nodding back toward the house.

  “That’s right, idiot,” the man said. “He said you took a sword and chopped up his favorite soldier.”

  The warrior’s eyes grew serious, grave. “There is no call for insults.”

  The man huffed and stomped the ground much as the child had done. “Insults? You want insults, you imbecile? I can give you insults all day long!”

  Bayne growled. “I see where the child learned his manners.”

  The oddly-dressed man guffawed and spat at the ground, his lips forming into a sneer. “Manners, shmanners. Nobody goes around breaking up my kid’s toys. Now either you fork over some coin, or I’ll make you pay another way.”

  “You wish me to give you money for the child’s toy soldier?”

  “That’s right, bub,” the man said. “Start emptying your pockets or get ready for an ass whipping.”

  Bayne could hardly believe what he was hearing. Here he stood, a good head taller than the other man, and obviously much stronger physically. As well, Bayne was armed and wore a chain shirt. The other had no weaponry, no mail, no shield, nothing. It seemed the height of madness to speak as the man had to Bayne, especially as the swordsman had done him no harm other than smashing a toy that had been thrown at him. Perhaps there had been a miscommunication from the child, or maybe the child had even lied. Children were known to do such when they found themselves in trouble. That had to be the situation here.

  “My apologies, sir,” Bayne said. “I wish no quarrel with you. I had merely stopped in front of your home to ask --”

  “Don’t give a damn,” the man interrupted. “You’re just making excuses. You broke the toy, you pay for it. It’s that simple.”

  For the second time that day, Bayne growled deep in his throat. His hands clenched at his sides and his eyes narrowed into slits. “It would seem you are intentionally trying to offend me.”

  “There’s no seeming about it,” the other said. “You might be big and strong, but I took martial arts at university. I can kick your ass all over this road if I want.”

  A grin slid over the warrior’s lips. A jester. A clown. Yes, that made sense. It was all that could make sense. Or Bayne was dealing with a madman.

  The man stepped closer, his pointing finger nearly jabbing Bayne in the chest. “Hey, I’m not playing with you, screwball.”

  Bayne glanced down at the finger. “You are testing my nerve.”

  The finger poked, punching the big man’s chain-clad chest. “You don’t scare me, buster.”

  That was enough. One more jab like that and … “I suggest you remove that finger and we discuss this like --”

  The finger poked again.

  Bayne roared. His left hand snapped up and grabbed the finger, twisting and bending the digit backwards.

  The other man howled his fury and pain and jumped back trying to pull his hand free, but the swordsman would not let go. Bayne squeezed and twisted the finger once more.

  There was an audible crack.

  Tears sprang to the eyes of the man from the house as he cried out and dropped to his knees. His voice was childish and barely above a whisper. “Please, oh, please, oh, please, don’t do t
hat again.”

  Bayne stood over him, glaring. “Are you going to treat me as a man, with the respect due every individual?”

  The man’s head bobbed up and down. “Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, indeedy.”

  Bayne flung the finger away, sending the other fellow sprawling back on his rear in the middle of the road, tears spraying. The man from the house rolled himself into a ball and cried like a child.

  The warrior simply stood there watching the pathetic figure huddled at his feet. The man should not have taken things so far. Bayne had no wish to harm anyone outside of a battlefield, but there is only so much verbal abuse he would suffer.

  After a few minutes of sniffling, the man from the house managed to climb to his feet, his injured hand curled up in front of his stomach, his hair hanging in his eyes which were fixed upon a spot between his feet..

  “I was simply seeking information from the boy,” Bayne said.

  A red, harsh gaze shot up to glare at the warrior.

  Bayne took a step back to give the man room. Apparently the fellow’s anger was still strong, which was a shame for him if he should be so stupid to continue his insults.

  “I hope you have a good litigator,” the man said, “because I’m going to sue you for everything you own.”

  Bayne chuckled. “You are seeing it. I carry everything I own.”

  “Not for long,” the man said. Then he spun and darted along the road and into the house.

  The swordsman watched after the door was slammed shut once more, expecting it to open soon afterward, but nothing happened. The sun continued to shine down. Birds flew by overhead. Smoke curled up from the chimney.

  But the man from the house did not return.

  Bayne shrugged and turned to continue his way along the road. Perhaps there would be another house. Hopefully its inhabitants would be more courteous.

  Part III: The Bandits

  There were no more houses. Or, at least, there were no more houses to be found over the next several hours that Bayne walked.