by Tom Liberman
“We judge in what we call leagues and furlongs. They are distances a horse of good breeding should be able to travel in a certain amount of time. A league is about the distance a horse can canter in twelve minutes and a furlong is the distance a horse can gallop in fifteen seconds. Now, these numbers will vary depending on the horse but in this way we can express the distance between two points accurately enough.”
Petra looked down at the pounding hooves, but the sight made her instantly dizzy and she looked back up again. As they approached the encampment the desert began to burst with trees and flowers and the witchy woman was able to pick out a few landmarks. She spotted a yellowish bush coming up quickly and began to count as they flashed past it. Fifteen seconds later she dared turn slightly in the saddle to see how far behind them the bush lay and nodded her head. “I suppose it’s as good as any other system of measurements,” she shouted.
Manetho watched this entire episode with a narrow frown on his face and nodded his head when she completed her experiment. The woman was intelligent although he found that witches often were. Local tribesmen ostracized those who took up the magical arts and he wondered if it might be the same in the north. Therefore they often disguised their quick minds with witchy ceremony in order to further their work. A good witch made her money selling potions and herbal remedies to the average superstitious lout and airs of superior intelligence did not go a long way towards endearing a practitioner to her best customers. Amongst the nomads there were many who believed in the superstitious nonsense of the witches and there seemed to be no end to their gullibility. “It would prove an interesting experiment,” he shouted over the thundering of the hooves and the howling of the wind.
Petra looked at him with a small smile on her face but did not reply, and so they rode on into the day. It took them another two hours, as Manetho had suggested earlier, to arrive near the outskirts of the nomadic camp, but they spotted the smoke from its many campfires long before that. The horses seemed to sense the proximity to the tents and keeping them limited to the pace of a canter proved too much for all of the inexperienced riders. The horses leaned into their reins and first Milli’s, then Brogus’s, and finally Petra’s broke into a heart-pounding gallop that numbed the senses. Only Dol, his thick muscles straining, managed to keep his horse under control. The fierce nomad who came back with the extra horses sent his horse into a gallop after the other three while Manetho kept pace with the sturdy dwarf.
“You are a powerful rider,” he shouted at Dol.
Dol took a second to glance over at the nomad and nod his head before he returned his attention to the powerful beast. Manetho watched the struggle closely. The horse knew the rider was inexperienced and tried its best to take control of the situation but Dol kept a firm hand on the reins and refused to give the steed its head. After another mile of struggle the horse shook its mane with a loud whinny and resumed the canter without protest. Within another minute the multi-colored tents became visible and the wizard took them towards the densest cluster.
When they arrived a few minutes later they found the other three companions and their nomadic escort standing near a group of tall tents which had various horse symbols painted on them. One was a horseshoe, another the anvil and tongs of a blacksmith, and there were other symbols that Dol did not recognize. Petra and Brogus stood on the ground with their hands on visibly quaking knees while Milli waited for them literally bouncing up and down in excitement, “Wasn’t that great!” Then she ran over to her horse and gave it a hug, her little body not even coming up to the chest of the creature. “I love you!”
“Horses often have a profound effect on young women,” said Manetho to no one in particular as he smiled indulgently at Milli. She did not notice.
“Wasn’t that incredible!” asked Milli again. Brogus, still bent over, waved his hand at her but Petra managed a weak smile and a nod of her head. “Dol, wasn’t that fun?” asked the girl as she came over and grabbed him by the hand. “Did you ever dream of anything like that?”
Dol raised his eyebrow at the girl but could not help the small smile that came across his face. “It was exhilarating,” he finally admitted.
Brogus, slightly recovered, looked at the beasts and shook his head, “I wonder what it would be like to take a few back … home. I’m not sure they would thrive underground but the speed at which an army could attack ….”
“Come now,” said Manetho. “The Black Rider awaits us in his tent.” He made a motion with his hand to the other nomad and the man began to gather the horses.
“Where are you taking him?” said Milli her eyes wide and she went back over to her horse and began to stroke its flank.
“He will be well taken care of,” said Manetho as he nodded his head and smiled broadly. “There is little in the world a Black Horseman values more than his horse.”
“Can I visit him?” said Milli continuing to stroke the animal.
“Of course,” said the nomadic wizard, “I must warn you that he is not yours. He merely served as your steed for a short time. His real owner will want a fair price for him.”
Milli looked down at the rings on her finger and smiled, “I think I can afford him.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said the nomad with a smile. “Do not embark upon a negotiation without consulting me first. You are my guest and I would not want you to be taken advantage of.”
“I usually get a good deal,” said Milli with a smile as she flipped her hair back. “I know the art of negotiation.”
Manetho laughed, “Indeed, and Black Horsemen are as susceptible to the wiles of a pretty woman as anyone else in the world I would imagine. Still, consult with me first. And now, we must head to the Black Rider’s tent. He awaits us and he is not a patient man.”
The four visitors followed Manetho through the maze of tents that made up the encampment. At every turn strangely dressed nomadic men, women, and children, turned to stare at the group as they passed. A dark skinned woman in a shimmering gold and green gown that exposed her midsection flashed past and Brogus was so enthralled he completely lost track of the others. If Milli hadn’t noticed, gone back, and grabbed him by the hand, he might never have found his way to the leader’s tent.
“Did you see her?” said Brogus with a lopsided grin on his wide jawed face.
“Yes, I saw her,” said Milli rolling her eyes and shaking her head. She noticed that the normally implacable Dol also watched as the woman walked away, her hips moving enticingly.
“Va va voom!” said Brogus with a curvy motion of his hands. “They don’t make them like that in Cr … back home.”
Milli put her hands on her hips, raised her eyebrows and said, “They don’t?”
“I didn’t mean you,” said Brogus as his eyes went wide. “What I was saying is that dwarf girls ….”
“Go on,” said Milli her hands still on her hips.
“Shouldn’t we catch up with everyone else,” said Brogus as inspiration suddenly came to him. “We don’t want to get lost. There they go!” he concluded and pointed to Dol who was just disappearing behind an orange tent with half a dozen blue and gold ribbons hanging from the front. A small group of nomads, drinking something from tiny little cups and jabbering in their strange language watched as they rushed past to catch up. “Hello, hello,” said Brogus. “Nice to meet you, must be going.”
“You’re an idiot,” said Milli as they caught up to Dol and the others.
“Now,” said Manetho as they came to a large, black tent. It was easily twice the size of those around it and made up of a heavy cloth material that completely blocked the brilliant sunlight. “This is the tent of the Black Rider. You are my guests so your behavior reflects upon me.”
“It must be hot in there,” said Brogus and fingered the heavy material that made up the outside of the structure.
A tall nomad stood at the entrance to the tent and looked down at the dwarf with a sneer on his face. His hand went to the hilt of his curved swo
rd and rested there gently although he said nothing.
“We are here to see the Sheikh,” said Manetho to the man and stared him directly in the eye. The warrior bowed his head slightly and motioned to the interior of the tent with gesture of his left hand. The right remained on the hilt of his sword.
“The Sheikh?” said Petra.
“That is the title he prefers. Sheikh Ming the First,” said Manthos cooly. “Now come, he is not a patient man as I have said.”
“I thought he was the Black Rider,” whispered Brogus to Milli. The girl shrugged her shoulder, “Shut up, and don’t say anything when we’re inside. Let me and Dol do the talking.”
“That’s not fair,” said Brogus, “besides, I’m the only true blood dwarf in the group. I speak for my people more than you or Dol.”
“Shut up,” hissed Milli as they made their way through the folds in the fabric and suddenly emerged into a spacious chamber where food and drink were laid out on a number of tables that sat flat on the ground. “This isn’t a trade negotiation; this is us trying to get to the five volcanoes so that Dol can complete his mission.”
“You shut up,” said Brogus in an attempt at a whisper that carried across the tent to where a darkling sat in a chair behind a wooden desk. He looked up with strange purple eyes and Brogus’s hand immediately went to the axe at his side while Dol grabbed the handle of the Hammer of Fire.
“Your people and mine have had their differences in the past,” said the darkling behind the desk with a quiet voice. His face was calm and he glanced back down at the papers in front of him before he continued. “I’m told you’ve journeyed far.”
“Hello, Black Rider,” said Brogus.
Milli elbowed him in the side, “Greetings, Sheikh Ming, we are travelers from afar but we ended up here unintentionally. We wanted to be in the five volcano region.”
“Greetings,” said the darkling. “As I said, your people, the dour miners, the dwarves, and my people, the darklings, have had many … difficulties over the years. I hope you will not hold me personally responsible for these troubles.”
Dol released his grip on the handle of the hammer but Brogus kept his hand on the hilt of his axe. “I have battled darklings of all shapes and sizes,” said Brogus and ignored Milli who stomped on his foot. “They make slaves of my friends, kill my brothers,” he continued and his eyes suddenly blazed with anger.
“That they do,” came the voice of a rotund man as he ambled into the room from some hidden chamber in the folds of silk that seemed to fall down all around them. “However, this particular darkling came to me all but dead after an encounter with his own kind. I’ve found, after years of mutual acquaintance that he is a reasonable man and you would be wise to listen to his advice.”
“We’re listening,” said Milli with a glare at her companion. “Behave yourself, Brogus. We’re guests. We represent Manetho.”
Brogus pulled his arm away from Milli and glared across the divide at the darkling although his gaze shifted back and forth to the fat newcomer as well.
“You come from the north,” said Ming his face expressionless as he dabbed at another piece of parchment with his quill. “There are armies gathering to the north and I would like to learn of them. In exchange I might be able to help you travel to this volcanic region of which you speak.”
“That sounds fair,” said Milli with a wide smile as she tilted her head slightly to the side and pushed her breasts up towards the darkling.
“So, you ended up here accidently,” said the fat man with too broad a smile.
“Tahnoon,” interrupted the Black Rider, “Our guests have just arrived after days of difficult travel. Their skin is not accustomed to the heat of the desert. Let them sit, eat, drink, and enjoy themselves before we confront them with accusations.”
Tahnoon frowned and a sour expression came across his face, “As you will, Ming. As you will. Honored guests, please, partake of the food and drink. I wish you health and happiness.”
“Thank you,” said Milli with a little curtsy that seemed to puzzle Ming, Tahnoon, and Manetho who looked at one another but said nothing.
Brogus flumped down on the floor while trying to keep his hand on the hilt of his axe and almost fell over sideways as he lost his balance. Dol sat down carefully, making sure to keep the head of the hammer resting on the thick leather strap that kept it from rubbing against him. There had been several incidents in the first weeks of travel where the hammer rested against combustible materials for too long and started to smoke. So far no fires were the result of the carelessness but he took more care now. Milli sat down daintily on a little cushion and reached out to one of the clay pitchers and hesitated before pouring herself a glass.
“That is a fruit tea,” said Manetho, “not too dissimilar from what we had at our first meeting but perhaps with more of a crisp and sweet flavor.”
Milli smiled broadly and poured herself half a cup while Manetho, Ming, and Tahnoon made their way to the table. Petra also sat down and completed the table which was apparently set with seven in mind. Tahnoon clapped his hands and half a dozen rather scantily clad young women instantly appeared, although from where remained a mystery, and began to serve the food and drink.
“I must apologize for my rude friend,” said Ming with a motion to Tahnoon. “Tahnoon is concerned about the security of my realm. The news of armies gathering in the north has him somewhat jittery. I am Sheikh Ming and you already know Manetho, a wizard of my court. It is fortunate he was with the patrol that encountered you or I’m afraid the language barrier might have caused confusion and possibly ended in violence.”
“I am Milli, this angry fellow is Brogus, this is Dol, and this is Petra. Thank you for sharing your tent with us. It was indeed a long and hot journey. We did not come to your lands prepared for the terrible heat of your desert.”
Petra spoke for the first time as she looked carefully around the tent for magical totems. If any lurked, hidden in the folds of silk, she could not spot them but the place had the whiff of powerful magic about it, “How is it that we can all understand one another here? Is there some enchantment on the tent itself?”
Tahnoon bellowed out a laugh, “The witches of the north are as perceptive as those of the south. Yes, this tent is a meeting place for the many nomadic tribes that roam the desert. Of late we’ve had many meetings with the other tribes ….”
Ming stopped further discourse with a look at the rotund fellow who stopped in mid-sentence. “I’m terribly sorry, great lord. I did not mean to speak out of place.”
“It is no secret that we’ve had meetings with the other nomads of the Sands,” said Ming with a shrug of his shoulders. “You’ve given away no state secrets but in the future you should drink less and talk the same.”
“As you will,” he said and managed to somehow bow from his seated position. “You are most perceptive, Petra was the name?”
“Yes, and you are Tahnoon?” said the witch with a smile at the fat fellow.
The fat man nodded his head as he quaffed a generous amount of red liquid that he poured himself from a tall glass decanter a moment before. “I am Tahnoon the fat,” he said with a laugh as a little dribble of the red liquid leaked from the corner of his mouth. “Would you care for some Bloodreaver Red?” he asked and waved the decanter at the group. “The Bloodreavers were a powerful nomadic tribe that used to patrol the territories to our north. That was before Sheikh Ming began to organize our fighters.”
“I’ll have a glass,” said Brogus although he still wore a suspicious look on his face. “You don’t have any beer by any chance?”
“We brew a sweet malt here in the desert, from a particular plant, but it is not to the taste of all.” said Tahnoon and he clapped his hands again, “It comes from a flowering plant called Agava.”
A moment later a girl came out with a heavy pitcher and another carried several thick metal mugs that bore the stamp of a hammer superimposed upon a mountain.
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��Those are dwarven made,” said Brogus as his eyes opened wide to examine the thick beer steins. “Where did you get them?” His hand once again went to the axe handle at his side.
“Be calm, friend Brogus,” said Ming with a smile. His teeth were white and his purple eyes seemed friendly and reassuring. “There is an enclave of your people in the mountains to the west of the Sands. It is called Temin of the Mount and these mugs are their product. We also buy beer from them on occasion but the heavy taste is not to the liking of most nomads.”
“Beer is beer,” said Brogus as he watched the amber fluid pour from the pitcher and into his mug. He swirled it once, threw back his head, and quaffed deeply. “Ahhh, it’s sweet, not dwarven brew that’s certain, but still, a good omen after long days in your hot sun and endless journey on your devil horses.” He finished the first glass with another giant swig and then held out his mug for a second serving. The girl poured without hesitation and the dwarf sipped more slowly this time.
“Delicious,” said Milli sampling generously from the arrayed plates in front of her. There were fruits of all sorts that she did not recognize. They had unfamiliar but wonderful flavors that seemed to explode in her mouth. “Perhaps it is just my days on horseback in the sun but I suspect you of the Sands have a larger sense of palate than the dwarves of my home.”
“So you are part dwarf then,” said Ming as he glanced up from his own meal. He ate lightly and although he brought his glass to his lips at regular intervals barely seemed to drink at all.
“Oh no,” said Milli flashing her best smile and twirling her hair with her bejeweled right hand. “I was rescued by dwarves when I was but a little girl. They found my caravan destroyed by orcs and took me in.”
“A most fortuitous event,” said Tahnoon as he drank deeply from his glass yet again. “Otherwise we would not have the pleasure of such beauty at our table.”
