“You hear things.” Simna kept flashing his torch from side to side to ensure nothing was overlooked. “Besides, doesn’t money always follow corruption?”
“I would not know,” the herdsman replied frankly. “There is none of it in my village, nor among my tribe.”
“‘Tribe,’” Simna muttered. “Hoy, that figures. You’re not exactly a sophisticate from the big city, are you, bruther?”
“Kora Keri is the biggest town I have ever seen, and that only recently.”
“Well, lemme tell you, Etjole—I can call you by your friendly name, can’t I?”
“You just did,” Ehomba pointed out pragmatically.
“Etjole, if there’s one thing I know, it’s corruption.” If it occurred to Simna that admitting to this body of knowledge might reflect less than favorably upon him personally he gave no sign that he realized it. “And believe me, money follows it the way a honey badger tracks bees.” His torch swept back and forth, the swinging flame leaving behind a wake of flickering light. “It’s got to be here somewhere. It’s got to!”
“Perhaps that is what you are looking for up ahead.” “What?” Simna had been gazing back at his companion. Now his attention shifted forward. Raising his torch as high as the tunnel would allow, he saw what he had hoped to find glittering back at him.
The gold was piled higher than a man, higher even than one as tall as the rangy herdsman. Coins, bracelets, rings, chokers, tiaras, bullion, slabbed bars, goblets, plates, and all manner of other devices lay in a single imposing heap, as if casually discarded during a trash pickup. Peering from the small mountain of gold like iridescent insects were jeweled earrings and buttons, rings and wristlets, and all manner of elaborately carved lapidary decorations.
Eyes wild as a mad kudu, Simna ibn Sind had prepared to take a flying leap onto the golden hillside when he felt a hand restraining him. Attempting to shake it off, he was startled by the strength of the grip. Tough and well built himself, he quickly became frustrated at his inability to loosen that unyielding grasp.
Cobalt blue eyes flashed at Ehomba. “What’s the idea, bruther? Let me go! Or are you going to stand there like a disapproving priest and tell me you have no love for gold yourself?”
“Actually, I do not,” Ehomba told him, quite honestly. “It is you I am concerned for.”
Licking his lips in anticipation, Simna’s gaze darted between his eccentric friend and the kingdom’s ransom that dominated the chamber. “Don’t worry about me. This will fix anything that’s wrong with me.”
“When I was young,” the herdsman went on, still keeping a firm grip on the other man, “I learned that many delicious-looking fruits are safe from grazing animals despite their enticing appearance because they contain one form or another of deadly poison.” He nodded at the hoard. “Here is the treasure of Corruption. Think a moment, my friend, on what we have just seen. Corruption corrupts everything it comes in contact with. The instant our eyes and minds cleared we saw that his house was corrupted, the furniture within was corrupted, everything that grew inside and nearby was corrupted. What makes you think this is any different? The fact that it is shiny?”
“C’mon, Etjole! This is gold, and jewels! Not plants or wood.”
“It is the provenance of Corruption.”
“Let go of me.” The swordsman struggled furiously in the other man’s grasp. Eventually, one flailing hand encountered the knife sheathed at his waist. “Let me go or by Gwetour . . . !”
Ehomba released him. Simna staggered a moment before regaining his balance. “Take it if you will, then,” the herdsman said, “but do me one favor first. Pick only one piece, one coin, and examine it closely before you hurl yourself upon the rest.”
Simna squinted at the tall southerner. “That’ll shut you up?”
Ehomba nodded, just once. “That will shut me up.”
“More than worth it, then.” Pivoting, the slim swordsman bent and chose a coin from the bottom edge of the pile. It was a fine coin, lustrous as the day it was minted, with the silhouette of some obscure emperor stamped on one side and an obelisk surrounded by cryptic symbols on the other. Simna turned it over and over between his fingers, flipped it into the air, and caught it with the insouciance of an experienced juggler.
“There! Satisfied?”
“Let me see.” Ehomba leaned forward and the other man held the golden disk out for him to inspect. “Yes, it is a large coin, and based on what little I know about such things, real gold.”
“Of course it is!” Simna did nothing to try to hide his contempt and impatience. “What else did you expect?”
“I was not sure. Something like what is happening to your hand, I think.”
“Something . . . ?” The swordsman blinked and looked down at the coin in his palm. “What are you babbling about?”
“Beneath the coin. See?”
Simna squinted, and then his eyes widened. With a yelp as if he had been stung by a hornet, he flung the coin away from him with a spasmodic twitch of his arm. Holding his wrist, he gaped open-mouthed at his hand.
A neat hole the exact diameter of the coin had appeared in the flesh. The edges of the quarter-inch-deep wound were black and festering. White pus oozed from the center and a mephitic miasma arose from the rotting meat. It was a stink with which both men were by now all too familiar.
“Ghontoh!” Simna exclaimed. Still tightly clutching his wrist, he started to tremble as he looked back over his shoulder at the gleaming, beckoning golden hillock. “If I’d gone and jumped onto that, buried myself in it like I wanted to . . .” He left the rest of the thought unvoiced even as he tried to expel the synchronal vision from his mind.
Ehomba had slid his pack off his back and was rummaging through it. When he rose from the inspection, he had a small piece of sealed bamboo in one hand.
“Here,” he said gently, “let me see it.”
Shakily, the swordsman held out his ulcerated palm. The herdsman examined it thoughtfully for a moment, then unsealed the bamboo. Pushing a finger inside, he smeared it thoroughly with the milky sap the container held and proceeded to rub this across the injured man’s open palm. After repeating the treatment several times until the wound was thoroughly invested with the sap, he resealed the bamboo vial and replaced it in his pack.
“Give me your other arm,” he directed Simna. The swordsman obeyed without question. Ehomba promptly tore a long, winding strip from the sleeve of the other man’s shirt.
“Hoy, that’s Bakhari silk! Do you know what that costs in a Thalussian marketplace?”
Ehomba eyed him darkly. “Which is more important to you, Simna—your shirt, or your hand?” Wordlessly, he began to bandage the circular lesion with the silken strip. The swordsman did not comment further.
Satisfied, Ehomba stepped back and examined his handiwork. “The dressing should be changed every three days. If you keep the wound clean, it should be healed in a week or two.”
“A hole like that? Are you crazy? Even if that goo you smeared on it is worth anything, it’ll take at least a month for the flesh to replace itself.”
“Oura is mistress of many unguents and salves. I have seen her reduced sap from the leaves of the kokerboom tree save a child from a mamba bite.” He offered the other man a thin smile. “Of course, if you think you can do better, you are welcome to do so. Perhaps immersing it in gold bullion would be more to your liking.”
“I never met a herdsman with a sense of humor,” Simna grumbled. His tone changed quickly. “That’s the second time you’ve saved my life. How am I ever supposed to repay you?”
With a shrug, Ehomba turned. He was more than ready to leave the tunnel. He had been ready to leave before he had entered it. “I know that had our situations been reversed, you would have done as much for me.”
“Oh, sure, hoy, absolutely.” The swordsman nodded too vigorously. “I would’ve done so without a thought, bruther!” Holding his torch in his good hand, he followed Ehomba as they sta
rted out of the stench-filled cavity. “I guess you’re not as green as you look. For a start, I expect you know more about certain kinds of corruption than me. Organic corruption, anyway. Meself, I’m more conversant with the societal variety. I just didn’t think there’d be that much difference between the two. Urban corruption wouldn’t have rotted a hole in my hand.”
Ehomba glanced back at him, only half his face visible in the enveloping darkness. “Perhaps not, but presented with such a circumstance I would have a worry for my soul.”
Simna trailed behind in silence for a while before venturing to inquire uncertainly, “Are you sure you’re just a herdsman?”
“Cattle and sheep, with the occasional moa,” Ehomba assured him. “I miss them even as we speak.”
“Hoy, well, better you than me, bruther. Meself, I prefer the companions of my days and nights slimmer, smoother, and better smelling. Watch your step,” he added solicitously. “Remember that big rock that sticks out of the floor near the entrance.”
They emerged into sunlight that, mist-shrouded and dimmed as it was, seemed brighter than any either man had ever encountered before. Without a word, Ehomba turned to his right and began to make his way along the flank of the mountain, keeping to the open spaces in the rain forest while heading north.
“Hoy, wait a minute!” Surprised by the abruptness of the other man’s departure, Simna ibn Sind hurried to catch up to him. “Where are you going?”
Without slowing or looking back at the swordsman, who continued to pace him, Ehomba replied succinctly, “North.”
“North?” Simna echoed. “That’s it? Just ‘north’? North to where? North for what?” Somewhere nearby a flock of very large and throaty birds trilled in chorus like a carillon of silver bells.
“Just north.” The herdsman stepped over a root that hugged the ground like a petrified snake. “You would not believe my purpose if I told it to you.”
Licking his lips, Simna pressed close on the other man’s heels. “Okay, okay, look—I’ll tell you what I was really doing here, and then you tell me, okay? We’ll each tell the other the truth.” He eyed the tall herdsman eagerly. When no response was forthcoming to his offer, he added enthusiastically, “I’ll go first.
“You say that you’re going north? Well, I was heading south. Way south. Further south than a sensible man might be expected to want to go.” He took a deep breath, framing his imminent revelation. “I’m looking for Damura-sese.”
Surrounded by steep jungle, Ehomba halted and peered over at the swordsman. “That is too bad. I happen to be from the south, and as a southerner I can tell you that there is no such place as Damura-sese. All that exists of it is the name. I have heard about it all my life, and I can tell you with complete confidence that no such place exists on the face of this Earth.”
Simna’s expression turned sly. “Ah, but that’s what they all say. I figure it’s because anyone who knows anything about the place wants to keep it a secret until they can mount an expedition to find it for themselves.” He slammed his closed fist against his chest. “Well, I’m an expedition! I’m going to find it, and all the riches the old legends say it holds, and buy myself a khanate or a kingdom. And then when the norics who’ve been hounding my heart come looking for me, I’ll send a battalion of my household cavalry to harry them into the nearest river.”
Ehomba listened to all this in silence. “Better to secure yourself an honest and stable position with some noble courtier, or learn a distinguished trade. You might even consider farming.” His eyes seemed to change focus, to see far off into the mist-murky distance. “There is much to be said for working in close contact with the earth.”
“You keep close to it.” Simna tersely jerked a thumb back the way they had come. “Didn’t you get close enough to the earth back there?”
“That was not the earth, but its dross.” Again he looked over at his companion. “I tell you there is no Damura-sese, Simna ibn Sind. There are only stories that mothers use to amuse their children and see them off to sleep. That too is a sort of magic, but not the kind you seek. If you think you will make your fortune by finding it, you might as well try to market your dreams.”
“Don’t try to talk me out of it, because you can’t.” The swordsman pushed through a line of leafy branches, keeping a careful eye out for stinging insects as he bashed his way through. “Okay, now I’ve done my part and told you of my intentions. Now it’s your turn. And since I’ve been pretty forthcoming, I think you owe me more in the way of detail than ‘I’m going north.’”
Ehomba sighed heavily. Good-natured though he might be, the swordsman was tenacious as a leech. Clearly he was not going to let the matter rest until he heard something that would satisfy him. So the herdsman explained his purpose, and his intentions, in making his way northward, eventually to take ship to the unknown west.
Simna listened to it all in silence, occasionally nodding sagely as Ehomba made his points. When the herdsman finished, the swordsman grinned crookedly up at him and commented, “That’s some story.” He sidled closer and lowered his voice, as if there were someone besides bugs and birds present to overhear. “Now really—what are you up to? You’re after treasure too, aren’t you? Everyone’s looking for treasure. Or you’ve been given some secret assignment by a high wizard, or better yet, by a banker. There’s a lot of gold at stake here. I can tell. There has to be, or you wouldn’t have come this far and gone through everything that you have already.” He gave the taller man a comradely nudge in the ribs. “Come on, Etjole. You can tell old Simna. What are you after, really?”
Ehomba did not look over or break stride. Another steep-sided ridge loomed ahead, clad in its familiar coat of rain-forest green. “What I told you was the truth. The whole truth. There is nothing else.”
The swordsman chortled aloud. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. One of the better liars I’ve encountered in my time. But not the best, not by a long shot. See, I’ve been around, Etjole. I can tell when a man’s having me on and when he’s telling the truth just by studying the way his cheeks twitch and his lips quiver. I look them right in the eye and I can tell. You’re good, but you can’t fool me.”
Stolid and determined, Ehomba strode on. “You are right,” he replied imperturbably. “I cannot fool you. You are too perceptive for me.”
Simna beamed, well pleased with himself. “See? I knew better! Now then, what is it that you’re on to? A sunken merchant vessel laden with scarce trade goods? A spice merchant’s caravan on its way from far Narinchu? A pirate’s abandoned lair, or jewels guarded by the spirit-wraith of a dead queen?”
“Something like that,” Ehomba replied noncommittally. The ridge ahead looked less imposing than the last several he had crossed. Perhaps the mountains were beginning to subside. It would be good to travel on level ground once again. He was tired of climbing.
Simna pouted. “Fine then! Be that way. Keep the truth to yourself. I’m sure you’ll tell me when the time comes.”
Frowning, Ehomba looked over at him. “Tell you? Do you think you are coming with me? I thought you were bent on finding Damura-sese?”
“One expedition at a time,” the swordsman replied. “Truth be told, bruther, when speaking of directions, ‘south’ is pretty generalized and offers little in the way of direction. You, on the other hand, seem to have a definite destination in mind.”
“Not as definite as you seem to believe.” Ehomba kicked aside a fallen branch that was decorated with spotted blue liverworts.
“More definite than mine, anyway. Wherever it is, Damura-sese isn’t going anywhere. So I had this notion that I might tag along with you for a while.” He indicated the knife at his belt and the remaining longsword slung against his back. “I can hold my own against any half dozen men in a fight, keep a dragon at bay, satisfy three women at once, outdrink the biggest primate in a tavern, and ride all day and all night while asleep in the saddle. I’m a boon companion with more stories to tell than any two pro
fessional guides, better songs than a tintinnabulation of troubadours, and I won’t run out on a man in a tight spot. You’ll do well to keep me in your company.”
Ehomba could not repress a slight smile. “If you can handle that sword as well as you do your tongue, truly you would be a good man to have at one’s back in a fight. But I do not need, or want, any company.”
“Oh.” Simna was momentarily crestfallen. But his irrepressible good spirits rapidly returned. “Want to keep all the treasure to yourself, eh?”
The herdsman’s gaze rolled heavenward. “Yes, that is it. I want to keep all the treasure to myself.”
“Well, don’t worry. I’ll only expect for what I’ll earn. So you won’t mind if I keep company with you for a little while?”
“It may be more than a little while,” a somber Ehomba informed him. “As to you ‘tagging along,’ much as I might wish to do so, I cannot very well prevent it. I think you are like malaria: It can be made to go away for a while, but it always comes back to make a man sick and uneasy.”
Simna lengthened his own jaunty stride. “Flattery’ll get you nowhere, cattle-man. So this fortune you’re on the trail of, how big is it? Are we after gold, or works of art, or what?”
By evening Ehomba was almost ready to use the spear on his tirelessly garrulous new companion, but he was too weary. Simna ibn Sind prattled more than a convocation of women gathered for the village’s annual coming-of-puberty ceremony. The herdsman finally compared it to a forlorn steer bulling in the fields. Eventually and with an effort of will he was able to largely tune out the drone of the peripatetic swordsman’s voice.
Briefly, he considered abandoning the man while he slept. Attractive as he found the imagery, however, he could not quite bring himself to do it. Since he could not courteously lose the fellow, he decided that he would have to find some way to tolerate him. The prospect did not concern him overmuch.
Once they had trudged another couple of hundred leagues or so north without encountering any sign of treasure, he decided, Simna ibn Sind would undoubtedly dissolve their little company of his own accord.
Carnivores of Light and Darkness Page 11
