Jason Cosmo Read online

  Jason Cosmo

  Dan McGirt

  Content

  Dedication

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  About the Author

  Dedication

  To my parents, with many thanks.

  1

  The arrival of the stranger was quite a shock. My humble village of Lower Hicksnittle was normally a quiet place, which was natural enough considering its location on the northern fringe of the backward kingdom of Darnk. Its inhabitants plodded thickly through life, considering all things beyond the confines of their clustered hovels and rocky turnip fields to be alien, hostile, and ultimately unimportant. We knew little of events elsewhere in the Eleven Kingdoms, for travelers from the south were rare. To the north lay endless leagues of empty wasteland and the black wall of a distant, unexplored mountain range. Lower Hicksnittle was as isolated and uninteresting a place as could be found. Hence our amazement when the stranger appeared in our midst.

  He strode into the Festering Wart Tavern like an insult and stopped in the middle of the common room with his hands on his hips and arrogance on his face. All the village men were there that spring evening, drinking stale rutabaga beer and gossiping about the recent rash of mottled pig pox going around. We ceased our talk to stare at him in sullen, suspicious silence. The only sound was the sputtering of the smoky pig fat lanterns which hung from the dangerously bowed rafters.

  He was thin and pallid and outlandishly dressed. His peach-colored breeches were too tight, his white blouse too ruffled, the bobbing yellow plume on his hat too long, and the golden curls of his hair too dainty. We Hicksnittlers favored ill-fitting gray garments woven from mudflax and cottonweed and kept our hair cropped short. His attire was one strike against him. The sword at his belt was another.

  “I am Lombardo of Calador,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the stench of the place. It was important to breathe lightly at the Festering Wart. Strong men had died here by simply inhaling the foul air too deeply. Some of their bones still lay scattered in the filth on the floor. “Many call me Lombardo the Magnificent.” We made no response and he seemed surprised that we didn’t recognize his name. “I have come to your quaint village, good peasants, seeking a man with whom I have business. His name is Jason Cosmo.”

  I jumped in my seat and the others turned their heads to glare at me, holding me personally responsible for Lombardo’s intrusion into their world. Observing our reactions, he approached my table. Cloying perfume assailed my nostrils even through the overpowering smells of the Festering Wart. Farmer Ames and Burlo Stumproot, my drinking partners, gagged and looked away. I held my breath and met his gaze.

  “You, sirrah,” said Lombardo, jabbing a manicured finger at my face. “Do you know where I may find the one I seek?”

  “I’m Jason Cosmo,” I said. “What do you want with me?”

  “I want your head.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Think you so?” I looked up into his pale blue eyes, cruel as hooks. He wasn’t joking.

  “There must be some mistake.”

  “There is no mistake, dog.” He tapped the hilt of his sword. “Stand.”

  “I’ll sit, thank you.”

  “I said stand, dog!” He whipped his rapier from its scabbard and pressed the point against my throat. I looked to my fellow Hicksnittlers for support and found they had all taken a sudden absorbing interest in their fingernails, despite the fact that there were nearly twenty of us to his one. Of course, we didn’t have swords. I stood.

  “Listen, I’ve paid my taxes and—”

  “Silence!” he hissed. I fell silent. Lombardo raised his voice to make a general announcement. “Good villagers! This man who dwells among you is not, in truth, a man.” He paused for dramatic effect. “He is a demon in human form!”

  The Hicksnittlers gasped with horror. Burlo and Ames quickly got up from the table and moved a safe distance away, taking their beer mugs with them.

  “I always knew there was something strange about him,” said Ames. “Always readin’ them books.”

  Burlo nodded. “Yep. A normal man don’t have use for books, just pigs and turnips and women. Even so, who’d have ever thought old Jason was a demon in human form?” The other men asserted that they were equally shocked at this revelation.

  “I’m not a demon!” I said. The sharp steel point at my throat muffled much of my indignation.

  “He lies!” said Lombardo. “Think on it! Have your crops failed, your livestock taken ill, your children disobeyed, your wives nagged you?” The wide-eyed villagers nodded assent to these propositions. Lombardo jabbed his rapier slightly forward, causing me to stumble back against my bench as he continued. “Here is the cause! He poses as one of you even as he casts his vile enchantments over all you hold dear!”

  “It’s a terrible thing,” said Ames wisely, “when a man casts vile enchantments over all that his neighbors hold dear.”

  “True,” said Burlo. “Of course Jason ain’t a man no more. He’s a demon in human form.”

  This was getting out of hand. I suddenly backed away from Lombardo’s sword, pushing the bench along behind me. The table was still between us and he made no move to close the gap.

  “This is crazy!” I said. “You’ve known me all my life! I’m a farmer like you, a Hicksnittler, a proud son of Darnk!”

  “Precious little farmin’ I seen you do,” said Farmer Godfrey, squinting at me from his seat across the room. “Your turnip patch is half the size of any other man’s.”

  “That’s because I’m also the local woodcutter, as you all know. I cut the firewood that keeps you warm through the cold Darnkite winter. I bring the lumber you use to build your proud shacks. Just as my father did before he died, and his father before him.”

  “What about the books?” said Ames, “Evil things, those books. Full of black magic.”

  “They aren’t! Magic isn’t even legal in Darnk.”

  “I know that. But I still have to wonder about those books. How do we know you haven’t got a spell for calling up mottled pig pox in one of them?” The others grumbled darkly at this suggestion. Lombardo merely smirked.

  “Well, if you had ever bothered to learn reading, you could see for yourself.”

  “No point in it,” said Ames. “I’ve got no use for reading. It’s bad business through and through.”

  “There is nothing sinister about reading. My dear, departed mother taught me—”

  “Your mother was from parts unknown,” said Godfrey. “She was probably a witch. That means you’re at least half witch, even if you’re not a demon.”

  “Take that back, Godfrey, or I’ll brain you.” My mother was not a witch, but the runaway daughter of Brythalian gentry who had fled an unwanted marriage and found her way to Lower Hicksnittle, where she had fallen in love with Jolan Cosmo, my father. Strong-willed, educated, and exquisitely beautiful, she had never been fully accepted by the Hicksnittlers, especially the spiteful, jealous wives who envied her looks and grace and frowned on her foreign ways. Janna Cosmo simply ignored their unkind remarks and lived her life as she pleased, which included educating me in what she considered a fitting manner. I knew more about history, geography, mathematics, and other topics than the rest of the village put together. Not that I had much practical use for my knowledge in Lower
Hicksnittle, but I was grateful to my mother for her gift to me.

  I started toward Godfrey but was stopped short as Lombardo turned my angry words against me. “Fear not his threats, Goodman Godfrey,” he said loftily. “I shall protect you from this demonic witchspawn!”

  This was too much to bear. “Don’t listen to this peacock—maybe he’s the demon!” I pointed an accusing finger at the swordsman.

  “Good point,” said Farmer Derbo. “It’s for sure that fellow ain’t from around here. He must be… a damned foreigner!” The crowd gasped at this stunning realization and I relaxed a little. Instinctive rural xenophobia would preserve me, for a damned foreigner was as bad as a demon in the Hicksnittler’s view.

  Lombardo’s predatory smile undermined my confidence. “Good squires!” he cried, promoting us several ranks in the social hierarchy. “Do you hear how the demon betrays himself? He admits there is indeed a demon present, but seeks to deceive you into believing it is I since it was I who exposed him to you. But if I am a demon, then why would I expose him? Because I am not! Therefore, he is!” He raised his sword in triumph. The Hicksnittlers considered his argument and decided it was sound. They scrambled away from the tables and backed against the far wall, making religious signs and averting their eyes from me.

  “Wait a minute!” I said. “What kind of logic is that? Burlo! Ames! Guys! Think about it!” But it was obvious that Lombardo had won his case. Logical reasoning has never been a big part of the Darnkite national character.

  “You will deceive them no longer, foul demon!” said the swordsman, taking a deliberate step forward. I was on my own. I upended the heavy wooden table and sent Lombardo sprawling. As he hit the floor I raced across the common room, through the kitchen, and out the back door.

  Strong arms snaked around me as I reached the outside. It hadn’t occurred to me that Lombardo had brought help. His lurking ally hurled me roughly to the muddy ground. I saw him framed in the spillage of light from the doorway, a squat, hulking man with arms like posts. He flashed a gap-toothed grin and dove atop me, knocking the breath from my lungs. We rolled and grappled, wrestling for advantage. He was exceptionally strong, but so was I, my muscles lean and hard from swinging an axe and dragging fallen trees.

  Lombardo appeared and sheathed his sword with an arrogant chuckle. “Guido will make short work of you, Cosmo. He wrestled bears before entering my service.”

  I believed it. Guido forced my arm into a position it wasn’t meant to assume. I slammed my knee hard between his legs, but to no visible effect. Maybe he was a eunuch. The henchman countered by sinking his teeth painfully into my shoulder while attempting to pull the lower half of my face away from the upper half. Twisting my head out of his grip, I got a knee against his chest and shoved him off me. He took a mouthful of my shoulder with him. I sprang to my feet.

  Lombardo drew his sword again and danced forward, whipping the blade back and forth in the air. I backed away, trying to watch both master and henchman. Guido was back on his feet and slyly tried to sidle his way behind me.

  “Why do you want to kill me?” I asked, hoping to distract them as I racked my brain for a plan.

  “I am a bounty hunter,” Lombardo said. “And with your capture I will be acknowledged as the greatest of all time. It will be nice to have my true talent properly recognized. Notice how I cleverly convinced these peasants you hide among that you are a demon, thus cutting you off from what aid they might have given you.”

  “I’m impressed. But I think you’ve made a mistake. I’ve committed no crimes.” Lombardo held the weapon, and thus the initiative, but I had some choice about which way I retreated. I aimed for the tool shed across the yard where I might be able to grab a weapon of my own.

  “Then someone is wasting a large reward.”

  I was halfway to my goal, but if Guido eased over much further he would block me. “Just how much of a reward are you talking about?”

  “Ten million gold crowns.”

  “Excuse me? I thought you said—”

  “Ten million gold crowns.”

  “That’s insane!” You could buy a small kingdom with a mere one million crowns and still have enough change to pick up a couple of dukedoms on the side. Ten million crowns staggered the imagination.

  Lombardo shrugged. “Perhaps so. But someone is paying and I, Lombardo the Magnificent, will collect.” He lunged and nicked my chest. “You are so smug. You pose as a stupid peasant and hide in this cesspool of a kingdom, yet go boldly by your own name—an insulting challenge to all who seek you.”

  “Who’s hiding? I was born here. I live here. There has to be a mistake!”

  “I tire of these games!” Lombardo lunged to attack.

  I was close enough. I whirled and sprinted the last few yards to the shed. Guido wasn’t fast enough to intercept me and Lombardo didn’t react in time. I yanked the door open, reached inside, and grabbed the first handle I felt. It was an axe. I brought it up just in time to deflect Lombardo’s thrust and hit Guido in the face with the blunt end of the head. Bone crunched and he dropped to the ground. I charged Lombardo, who turned heel and ran. I pursued, screaming like a barbarian raider.

  Lower Hicksnittle consisted of about a dozen wooden hovels arranged around a central square. The Festering Wart, our combination tavern and town hall, squatted on the east side of the open area. I raced around the corner and into the village square, where two horses were tethered and the villagers were just exiting by the front door. Lombardo abruptly stopped his flight and turned to face me. I skidded to a startled halt. The men of Lower Hicksnittle gaped at the sight of me, mud-soaked with bloody axe in hand, my moonlit face twisted into a grimace of rage and surprise. Lombardo dramatically extended his sword like an accusation. I knew what was coming next.

  “There is your proof, good villagers! Exposed, the demon has gone mad and now seeks to murder us all, rape your wives, and devour your children! We must stop him!” The Hicksnittlers swung their heads about, gapes intact, to stare blankly at Lombardo. Letting him handle the berserker demon woodcutter was one thing; getting involved themselves was quite another. Lombardo sensed the problem before I could think of a way to exploit it. Gesturing toward his horses, he said, “A reward of ten silver coins to each of you if you help me save your village from demonic destruction!”

  That was good enough for the Hicksnittlers. They stooped and gathered stones and globes of mud which they hurled at me with indifferent accuracy. I danced and dodged as they pelted me, then suddenly charged the smirking Lombardo, taking him by complete surprise and knocking the rapier from his grasp with a sweep of my axe. He stumbled back and fell to the ground, his arms upraised. My neighbors ceased their barrage and watched with morbid fascination as I lifted my axe to finish him.

  “Preserve me, good villagers!” he cried pitifully.

  I reconsidered. The women and children had come out of their huts to investigate the commotion and were staring at me from every direction, wide-eyed. I couldn’t hack a helpless man to bits with the whole fearful village watching. In fact, I lacked the stomach to hack a helpless man to bits under any circumstances.

  On the other hand, he was dangerous. I couldn’t just let him go. I looked around and saw the answer. Flinging the axe aside, I reached down and yanked the quaking bounty hunter to his feet.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “Give you a bath.” I hefted him into the air and carried him, kicking and squirming, to the town well, which was no more than a bucket on a rope beside a deep hole in the ground.

  “Cosmo, no!” Ignoring his plea, I tossed him in head first. His cry of outrage ended with a distant splash. For a moment I wondered if throwing a man headfirst down a well was morally any better than hacking him to bits. Probably not, but it was much cleaner and he had a chance, however slim, of surviving the fall and being rescued later.

  The villagers eyed me warily. Some still held rocks. I chose my words carefully. “I’m really not a
demon,” I said innocently. They looked unconvinced. “May great Grubslink, God of Impoverished Peasants, strike me down if I am.”

  Even my dull-witted neighbors knew that a true demon would not invoke the name of one of The Gods. Granted, Grubslink was fairly low class as gods go, but he was a god nonetheless. More importantly, he was our god.

  The Hicksnittlers murmured among themselves. Ames finally spoke up. “Maybe you’re not a demon, Jason, but you’re still trouble. I don’t know what you’ve gotten mixed up in, but mark my words, there’ll be more like that Lombardo character to come looking for you. We don’t need a bunch of damned foreigners coming here to endanger our families and mess up our village. You’ve already ruined the water supply. It would be best if you just left now and took your trouble with you.” The others nodded their agreement.

  In a true display of Darnkite loyalty, my neighbors were throwing me out of town at the first hint of danger. But as I considered their words, I realized they were right. Until I knew the truth behind Lombardo’s talk of a ten million crown bounty I had no assurance that other bounty hunters would not come looking for me. By remaining here it was very possible that I would put all of Lower Hicksnittle at risk. I had no right to do that.

  “Very well,” I said. “I will go.” The Hicksnittlers breathed a collective sigh of relief. I took the reins of Lombardo’s horse and led it to my hut, where I gathered my own axe, some food, my spare shirt, and a few worn books in a leather sack. In the morning I would leave the only home I had ever known.

  * * *

  2

  In the dingy land of dunghills that is Darnk, there is but one clean spot—Whiteswab, a pristine little town three day’s ride south of Lower Hicksnittle. The actual distance between the two settlements is slight, but there is no road connecting them, a condition satisfying to the inhabitants of both places. Consequently, I had to pick my way along a narrow, overgrown trail surrounded by thorns, brush, and brambles while flies buzzed around my head and gnats attempted to fly up my nose. It was not a pleasant journey. I arrived at Whiteswab near dusk of the third day.