Over the previous year, the difficulties of the journey made the members of the expedition all the more determined to reach Serica. Reaching Serica would give meaning to their trip, and the significance of the goal justified every step. Sandun felt that death was the only alternative to reaching Serica, and they were not there yet. One final chain of mountains separated them from the great rivers and cities of Serica.
“Find out more about this city they are heading to,” Sir Ako said. “What is good about Tokolas?”
The next day, Sandun found Rogge out with the oxen. He talked about Tokolas while checking on the harness and the hooves of the big pack animals. Sandun helped as best he could.
“Tokolas not the biggest city, but centrally located, and the government is honest,” Rogge explained. “Merchants are taxed, yes, but the taxes are fair. Once you get within their borders, it is safe—or as safe as anywhere these days.” Rogge sighed. “Times were bad before but now, with ten different rulers and marauding gangs of warriors and former soldiers, it’s hard for a merchant to make an honest living. Some lords are better than others, and with the death of King Borsos in Vasvar, the Lord of Tokolas is the best one left. A modest man, that’s certain. Seems like half the other lords have declared themselves king or even emperor, but not him. For several years, he has been just the Lord of Tokolas. Perhaps now he is called Lord of Kunhalvar? I don’t know.”
“Is he the most powerful ruler of the ten?” asked Sandun.
Rogge pulled at his short, neatly trimmed beard. “No, I would not say so. The Iron King must have the largest army. But everyone has been building their strength, ready to fight off the Kitran horde. No one knows where the Kitran Empire’s army has gone. Years and years ago, when the revolts started, people expected the great horde to ride down from the north and crush everything. But they didn’t. Why? Lots of rumors, lots of wild stories about dragons and witches and dark sorcery—nothing I would credit.”
Sandun followed Rogge back inside. They drank tea together beside the fire. Sandun looked at Rogge’s hands: they were veined and calloused from long years of pulling on ropes and leading pack animals.
Rogge looked back at him with a steady gaze. “Been four hundred years since there was trade to Kelten. The merchant guild still has old books about it. Twice I’ve heard proposals from young traders wanting to make the trip. Never went beyond talk. Back in the days of the Gold Kingdom, the trade was pretty much one direction: Serica-glass and fine silk went west, gold and silver returned.” Rogge said this with a note of disapproval in his voice.
“Was that a problem?” Sandun said, with curiosity.
“Too much gold and silver is a problem for any merchant. Better to trade goods in both directions. The Kitran don’t care about Serica-glass, nor silk. Trash and vanity they call it. But gold and silver? That they will kill for. I don’t mind turning a profit, if I can sell goods for three times what I paid for them, I’ll take your silver. But I don’t want to carry ingots of metal when I could be carrying goods. Less danger, you understand.”
Rogge lowered his voice, “You traded with the little people of the mountains. That sword you wear—made by them, I wager. Such weapons are sought after among collectors in Serica. The knives, those are really special—some strange stories about them. Some are…well, for lack of a better word: magic. The sort of thing that ends up in the treasury of a true king. If you have one, and I’m not saying you do, my advice is: keep it hidden.”
That evening, the Archives Expedition gathered for dinner. Sandun recounted Rogge’s comments. He spread out a map that he had copied from one in Gushi’s library. “The merchants are going to Tokolas, capital of the province called Kunhalvar. It is not the closest major city, but it is well run, and its leader is, by their thinking, good to merchants. Further, it is centrally located in Serica, and we can go elsewhere if Tokolas is not to our liking.”
“All of us remember the civil war of Kelten,” Sir Ako said firmly. “We can trust that Sho’Ash will ensure that the best man will win.”
It was decided. They would leave with the merchants and head east, on the last stage of the journey to Serica.
Part Five
Hazeny
The day of departure was stormy. The Gipu women very theatrically wailed and cried copious tears. Their fathers, come to collect their daughters, looked on with unreadable expressions. Lord Itor explained to Sandun that this was their custom and not to think anything of it. And that the expedition would be welcomed back with open arms when they returned before next winter.
“You have blessed our town with what, I am sure, will be strong and healthy children. Come back in a year and see them!”
The biggest argument took place between Basil and Olef.
“No, you cannot go. You must stay for at least the next year.” Basil was quietly emphatic.
“And I must go with you. I can still yet ride. And draw a bow. There is hardly a bump!” Olef pointed to her midriff.
However, despite her words, Olef was noticeably pregnant; she had put on some weight, but then they all had in Gipu after the months of hard travel on the road and eating tough deer or scrawny rabbits and Kagne’s bland boiled roots.
“Fine, you haven’t gained more than eight pounds, and you can still ride. What about next month? And the month after that? And the month after that?”
“Tis no matter. We will arrive at this big city, Tokalas or whatever it’s called, in two months’ time. I’ve seen the maps, heard the talk. By Sho’Ash, I know what you’ve been thinking these last weeks, and I’m not staying.”
Basil retorted, “If you knew my thoughts, why did you say nothing?”
“Because I’ll have none of it. Remain here, surrounded by strangers? Nay. I’ll not lie awake nights wondering where my man is and if he’ll ever return or if he’s dead in a ditch due to some Sogand’s arrow that’s laid him low.” Olef angrily tossed her hair. “I’m not some noble’s daughter, them that’s taken to bed for months afore the baby’s due. My mum went north, near 150 miles, carrying me, so she said. In search of the Kelten soldier as put the child in her. I can do the same.”
Basil looked at Sandun and Sir Ako in mute appeal. Sir Ako just shook his head and turned to checking supplies on the rams.
Sandun had to agree with Olef. “I think it’s better if she comes with us. The merchants from Serica seem convinced that Tokolas is as safe and well run as any city can be. We should make it in two months, assuming no floods, hostile armies, sieges, and so on.”
“But the risk, if the child is born early…” Basil said with concern in his voice.
“Then blame yourself, blame her, and yes, blame me if you want. It’s well known that the Great Commander’s army traveled across the Archipelago with a woman for every man and nearly as many children as there were soldiers by the end of his wars. You didn’t have to ‘hunt the doe’—as you well know.”
“Aye, as I know.”
So it was settled: Olef was riding with them. So also was Ashala. She sat on the saddle of a small horse, looking very pleased. Gushi stood beside her horse, examining the harness. After the decision to head east was made, Sandun had gone to talk to Gushi at his home.
“You are leaving soon, I hear.” Gushi was in his study, while several younger women were writing translations in a room next door. “We will miss you. Our knowledge of Kelten has progressed much since you have come. My daughter is nearly fluent now, I think?”
“Yes, she has a great talent for languages. So much so that I’d like to have her accompany us to Serica, with your permission.”
Gushi stood up and looked out the narrow window. A cold draft came through a small opening, though he, like the other residents of Gipu, seemed heedless of the winter air. He sighed.
“I have talked with her; she wants to go with you. See Serica! I wish times were less troubled. If she were expecting a c
hild, it would be out of the question, but as I gather she is not…well, yes, Ashala can accompany you to Tokolas.” Gushi turned away from the window and looked searchingly at Sandun. “Children are important in Gipu. Important to Gipu’s future. An expert translator of Kelten may be important later. It is uncommon for Gipu women to leave. I expect her to return, and I expect you to bring her back home. Since my wife’s death, Ashala and her sister Mashia have been a comfort to me. Still, you Keltens have more than kept your side balanced. Five, perhaps six women with child. I do wonder why Ashala is not among them. You enjoy her in bed, yes?”
Sandun felt his face flush, and his mouth went dry. “I do, sir. We…we are in bed often. I daresay no woman can ask for more.”
“Well, we can hope for better results in the future.”
“We can get married, Ashala and I.” Sandun said this out of a sense of desperation as a mass of conflicting emotions roiled in his mind.
Gushi waved his hand dismissively. “Marriage in Gipu is more complicated than you imagine. It is not like Serica, or Shila, or Rakeved, or anywhere. By our customs, you already are married, or konta. However, the fixed relationship, askonta, that is only found between a Gipu man and a Gipu woman, and it includes an alliance between clans. You are not from Gipu; you have no clan. Askonta would not be proper. Ashala may go with you to Serica, but be careful with her!”
And now, with the farewells all said, the expedition headed out of Gipu, accompanied by their faithful Piksie rams and Basil’s dog, following the Serice merchants. Nagor and his guards escorted them beyond the city walls. As they walked, Nagor pointed out some landmarks that they could use to help them find their way back to Gipu.
The trail they followed went south for two days. Then, beside a stone watchtower manned by Gipu soldiers, the trail divided. One path continued south toward Hotan, and the other turned east, heading toward a small gap in the great mountains. Here Nagor bade them farewell. He and Sir Ako embraced, and then Nagor gave his final words, which Ashala translated.
“Nagor says: Be careful, my friends. Serica is at war. Be on your guard. Return soon to Gipu.” They all shared a final mug of agardoa, and then they parted ways. The flag of Gipu, a dark crow flying in a blue sky, fluttered in the cold wind from the tower.
Soon the trail followed a rushing river that collected waters from the highlands. After half a day’s travel, they were amid the mountains, and the river was below them as it carved its way deep into the earth. The canyon became steeper and narrower, the trail twisting and turning along the side of the valley like a snake.
Snow flurries drifted down from lowering clouds. The merchants showed no concern about the weather, though the men from Kelten were nervous.
Sandun took the opportunity to have further conversations with Rogge. Ashala rode just behind, translating the occasional word or phrase. The merchant leader talked about the troubles of the last two decades, mostly the plague that had crossed the land from east to west, killing young and old indiscriminately. “Sometimes, we’d ride up to a village and everyone, everyone would be dead or hao.”
Sandun looked at Ashala questioningly. She said, “Run away.”
Rogge said that in previous years the caravans would travel a regular route from Sasuvi, west and over the mountains to Gipu, then north to Fantu’veri, south back through Gipu to Hotan, and then east, through the mountains to Virloges. From Virloges they went upriver, past Lakava, and returned to Sasuvi. Now with all the fighting between the Red Swords and the Sogands, Sasuvi was not safe for merchants. “One set of city guards will steal everything; another will steal half but keep all the mules. Last year, a trader I knew was executed for ‘profiteering.’ Profiteering? Blame merchants because prices are high? Like blaming the Mur River for not holding to its banks when the rains come. No merchant will go to Sasuvi now. May they enjoy the mountain-high prices of Dumbovar apple wine for the next few years.”
On the road, in public, Ashala set her face in an expression of disinterest in her surroundings, as though living outside of Gipu was a decidedly inferior change in circumstances. But in their tent, she was all smiles. Despite the hard ground, she was especially enthusiastic for love, as was Sandun. On the road, being away from Gipu, the journey became an adventure for the two of them. Travel brought new things to talk about and deepened their feelings for each other. Away from the safety of Gipu, Ashala was more dependent on Sandun, and he felt in turn a greater responsibility for her.
At lunch on the second day, Sandun brought up the question of tactics with Sir Ako and the others. The merchants described the land ahead as uninhabited. But once they left the mountains, they would be in the flatlands of western Serica.
Sandun said, “The merchants are hopeful about the road to Tokolas, but we should proceed expecting trouble. Law and order have broken down such that even city guards are no better than highwaymen. What should we do?”
This prompted an hour of debate from everyone. That the merchants would not fight was agreed upon by all. “Scatter to the four winds; every man for himself, I predict,” said Kagne with the consensus view.
“The robbers will try to attack out of ambush, knowing the road, and with advance warning of our coming,” Sir Ako said, speaking from long knowledge of bandit attacks.
“We could stay off the main roads?” offered Padan.
“Even if we do, we must needs plan for an attack,” said Sandun. The words of Gushi, that he needed to keep Ashala safe, echoed in his head.
“We shall have two scouts ahead and two behind, in visual contact with the main party. Rotating twice a day, all but Olef. Those in the main train at the time of the attack, pull packs off the animals and form a breastwork. The scouts will work back toward the main group, picking off bandits at range. No heroics. The merchants are not with us and are not a priority. That said, the more bandits that die, the less likely we are to be attacked in the future.”
By this point, everyone had trained long enough under Sir Ako to understand what he wanted. Kagne and Sandun had become adept with bows and could reliably hit targets at range, and all of them were comfortable with close combat: with weapons and without.
At Gipu, they had purchased swords and other gear of war, replacing the things they had left buried before they climbed the lightless tunnel beside Mount Pandion.
Two days in, the mountains soared high above them. Water came rushing down from above. The path they followed crossed stream after stream, along bridges of ancient stone and more recent ones made of wood. Without past centuries of labor that had been undertaken to make these bridges, to travel ten miles would have taken a week or longer instead of a day.
The air was warming and only rarely did snow fields extend down across the trail. Temperate breezes from the east warred with the chill air flowing down from the Tiralas to the west. The plants were changing; pines gave way to broad-leafed trees, bare rocks to grassy meadows.
Finally, the trail took them over a small knoll and there, looking down a wide and expanding valley, they could at last see the vast plain of Serica laid out before them. Even the merchants, who had seen the view many times before, took a break and sat beside small fires, sipping tea and toasting to their future good fortune.
The Archives Expedition gathered together and gave thanks to Sho’Ash for his blessings. Then they all shook hands and said three cheers for King Pandion. One of their last Zeres wineskins was opened, and they all shared a mouthful of the sweet Nemiadan wine. Sandun told them that the expedition had left Tebispoli one year ago. That was a sobering thought; they had been gone now for a year.
The Serice merchants, having finished their tea, were anxious to depart. So on they went, down the hill to a shelter in the valley. That night the air was fragrant with the unfamiliar smells of tea plants and night flowers unknown to the lands of Kelten.
The next day and every day thereafter they came across farmers, who looke
d much like the short people of Gipu, with very round faces, and all of them had the pointed Serice ears. When they smiled, which was often, they revealed teeth stained dark brown. Some of the older women had teeth that seemed nearly black, a look Sandun found both unnatural and ugly.
At a small village just off the path, the villagers invited the caravan to stay and join them for tea and trade. Small disks wrapped in dry leaves were brought out and passed from the farmers to the merchants. Eventually, as Sandun watched with an eagle eye, he was rewarded as one of the cakes was unwrapped. Inside was a dark mass of dried, shredded tea leaves.
Even here, in the high hills at the edge of Serica, indications of war could be seen. Few young men were visible, and those that came into view were armed with spears like those of the Gipu guards: tall and made of a dark wood. Young women all had small children about their feet or on their backs. Unmarried young women either did not exist or were kept hidden from view. The marketplace was not much more than a clearing with a single empty building on the side for rainy days.
The tea was good, and in the evening a large fire was built and the tea farmers came down from their hidden houses and sang songs while beating complicated rhythms with sticks that they threw from hand to hand.
Sandun could not understand more than one word in ten. Ashala told him that the tea farmers spoke a language more similar to the language of Gipu than that of Serica.
“How many languages are spoken in Serica?” Sandun asked with a sinking feeling.
“Oh, well…” She rattled off the names of fifteen languages. “Each province has its own way of talking. In Gipu, we rarely see merchants from the coastal provinces of Aonnihad or Monoarvar, but they sound so funny; it’s hard not to laugh when they speak, though that would be rude.”
The Burning Tower Page 18
