Many in the crowd gasped at the steep price, shrugged their shoulders, shook their heads, and moved away, seeking the refreshment tent or preparing for departure.
A small group remained, some to listen and watch, and a few to offer bids.
“Fifteen hundred and one!” shouted the dandy, laughing and glancing around to see if he could determine who was serious, who’d stayed just to play games, and who was merely watching.
“Fifteen hundred and one dinari!” echoed the clerk, hurriedly writing down the opening bid.
“Who ... ?” began Brint.
“And five!’ ‘ said Harroun firmly.
“Ah! But, my dear old papa, consider whom you bid against! I am Badishah, son of Alama Sheik, the very wealthy Port Master of Port of Samarca, you should know!”
“I am greatly pleased to meet you, young sir,” said Harroun, bowing calmly. “I remember your goodsire well. We fought side by side under old Sultan Fadouzal, long since. When you return to Port, give him my regards.”
“You know of our wealth and influence, then?” asked the younger man, with a slight sneer. “No wealthier man exists in Samarca, I vow to you.”
“That is true ... of your good father,” said a new voice.
Douglas stepped forward, bowing to the elderly Sheik and nodding coolly to the young man. “What of your own wealth, Master Badishah? How deeply into your father’s pocket do your idle fingers reach, I wonder.”
Badishah drew himself up—but still had to look above himself to stare at the stranger’s face, for Douglas was five inches taller than he.
“My business is my business,” he snapped. “Take care, whoever you are!”
“I’m called Douglas Brightglade, a traveler from ... a far place,” replied the Pyromancer, winking solemnly at Myrn. “I’ve enjoyed the Slave Traders’ hospitality and their interesting show, and I feel it incumbent on myself to save them from being shortchanged. I bid fifteen hundred and twenty-five dinari, Auctioneer!”
The crowd, sensing an amusing confrontation and eager to see the supercilious young son of a wealthy sheik bested in a bargain, moved closer to the circle, calling out encouragement and a few ribald remarks.
“Easy! Easy!” cried Brint, holding up his hands. “All must get their chance to bid. Fifteen hundred and—”
“Fifty,” Harroun said quickly.
“Fifteen hundred and fifty dinari!” responded Brint, quickly and a bit breathlessly.
His clerk scribbled furiously, recording the desert man’s bid.
“Ah! You’d test my will and my purse?” Badishah snarled at Harroun. “Add another fifty dinari, Slave Trader!”
“Two thou—,” began the recorder.
“And one!” Douglas said softly.
“And five!” retorted the elderly sheik, still calm as morning.
“Bah!” snapped Badishah. “Make that... three thousand!”
“I—I must sadly pass, then.” Harroun sighed and shook his head. “Three thousands dinari... Why, my whole sheikdom would yield little more than that!”
The crowd sighed, laughed aloud, and relaxed.
Brint took a deep breath. “Three thousand dinari are bid by the young gentleman from Port! Going for the first time! Going—”
“See his cash first,” advised Douglas suddenly. “I wonder if he can pay the price.”
“You have the... the gall to question my credit!” screamed Badishah. “I’m good for the price, Slave Trader! My credit is well established.”
“But I will offer three thousand in hard cash .. . solid gold and silver dinari” the Pyromancer told the auctioneer. “Real money. Here and now!”
He shook his left sleeve over the sand floor and a long, gleaming stream of silver, along with a large handful of gold coins, fell out. The flow seemed to go on forever and ever.
“Cash takes preference over credit,” ruled Brint in a choked voice. “You are called upon to produce ... ah ... three thousand dinari in cash, young Badishah. On this spot!”
“The terms, as explained to me earlier by this young Trader’s older associate,” Douglas explained, “are cash only. No credit! I offer three thousand ... in this gold and silver.”
He gestured at the considerable pile of bright metal at Myrn’s feet.
“Forget the whole stinking thing!” blurted young Badishah. “I don’t need a witch-woman, anyway, no matter how pretty and willing!”
“Then,” said Brint, “going once ... twice—”
“However, I don’t want the girl on those terms,” Douglas interrupted, shaking his head.
“Then ... what?’ sputtered the Slave Trader, at a loss for words for the first time.
“Harroun Sheik!” Douglas whispered to the old man. “I’ll buy the lady for you, if you’ll accept my terms. Not for your son to marry, but rather as your advisor.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the Sheik whispered back in a shocked voice.
The dwindling crowd moved back again toward the center of the floor, where Myrn stood before the considerable pile of gold and silver coins.
Well... ah ... er..., gasped Harroun. Well, my thanks, young sir, but—”
“Take the money,” insisted the Pyromancer, leaning forward again to whisper in his ear. “The lady is my beloved wife and needs your protection. This will buy it... if you’ll extend it for gold and silver. But you must decide at once, good sir!”
“I accept your very kind offer of a loan,” Harroun said in a loud, carrying voice. “On your terms, sir!”
He turned to the Slaver, gesturing toward the coins. “There’s your payment. I declare the sale closed!”
“Sold to Harroun Sheik of Hollow Hill!” cried Brint quickly, before anyone else could interfere.
The crowd cheered lustily while Badishah stomped angrily away, shouting to his servants that he would to return to Balistan at once.
“Thank you!” said Douglas to the elderly chieftain. “Come! I think the auction is well over. The sun will be setting in a few minutes, and you’ll want to get an early start in the morning.”
While Brint was supervising the stacking, counting, and sacking of the coins, Myrn flung her arms about her husband’s neck and buried her head in his shoulder, laughing and weeping at the same time.
“Get a receipt!” Douglas advised the desert man. “Let’s go somewhere and have a cool drink and talk business, sir!”
“Gladly!” replied the Sheik. “Gladly! I suspect I’ve failed to find young Saladim a wife, but I believe I may have found him a few powerful friends.”
“Friends ... wives ... What’s the difference!” Marbleheart the Monkey laughed aloud. “I think we managed that fairly well, Wizards all. Didn’t even use any magic!”
“Oh? And where did all those shiny coins came from, may I ask?” Myrn wondered. “Flarman’s treasury hidden deep under Wizards’ High?”
“Well, Flarman won’t mind, under the circumstances,” Douglas insisted. “Flarman Flowerstalk has little use or time for money, anyway. What’s for supper, may I ask, lady-wife?”
Myrn skipped happily along beside him and began to plan her menu aloud, much to the desert chieftain’s amazement and Marbleheart’s amusement.
“Roast lamb, done just the way you like it best, Harroun Sheik, and mashed potatoes? Or better... roasted potatoes with butter and chives. Sweet young peas and onions? Dessert? What’s a good dessert on the desert, I wonder.”
“Join us for supper,” Douglas invited Harroun. “Sounds like it’ll be a grand feast!”
“Apparently so,” murmured Harroun, struggling not to laugh aloud and failing completely.
Chapter Fourteen
The Foothills
In the last of High Desert’s short twilight, Lesser Dragon and Nameless arrived and settled down behind the large dune overlooking the Slave Traders’ busy, noisy encampment.
“Do you think she’s there?” muttered Lesser. “Do you see her?”
Nameless nodded eagerly.
The flying horse shook her head slowly. They stood watching the activity of the Slavers’ camp for a long moment.
“It gets quite chilly very quickly out here,” observed the filly’s vast companion. “I’d better stay close, then. You can snuggle next to me and avoid any chills that might be lurking about.”
The horse snorted and bumped her companion with her hip, as if to say, That’s the idea, old chap! We’ll watch through the long night together.
Lesser Dragon settled down, wriggling his hips, tail, legs, and shoulders until the soft sand flowed about him, hiding them both from all but the closest examination.
He closed his eyes and dozed. (It’s the way of all Dragons to sleep whenever nothing presents itself for action.) After full dark, Nameless wandered slowly away to examine the guard outposts and study the stars, which were very bright in the deeply indigo sky.
Myrn and Douglas sat side by side eating the delicious roast, the minty sauce, and the roasted potatoes Blue Teakettle had sent them.
They had told Harroun Sheik their story—stories, rather—and explained their missions.
Marbleheart Sea Otter, taking a break from being a monkey, stretched himself full length in the still-warm sand, listening to their talk and putting in comments when he felt the conversation needed a boost.
The Journeyman Aeromancer, also restored to his proper shape, sat listening silently. His head nodded at times, for it had been a long, hot day. As a caterpillar he found he became uncommonly foot-weary by eventide.
“It’ll take us three days to reach Hollow Hill, my home,” Harroun explained, nibbling the raspberry ice Myrn had conjured a moment before. “Um! Delicious, my dear mistress ... er, Myrn! If you can cook like this, my son will have lost a perfect, beautiful, and talented first-wife!”
“I cannot lie to you, Harroun.” The Aquamancer laughed delightedly. “The whole dinner was prepared for us by a good friend and merely transported hither by a minor magic I mastered years ago. I’ll mention your pleasure to Blue Teakettle, who prepared it all, when I see her again—which I hope will be sooner rather than later, Douglas! It’s only twelve days until Summer Solstice, you realize.”
“We’re both closing in quickly on our goals.” Douglas smiled back at his wife. “Three days for you to reach the foothills, you say, honored sir?”
“Yes, and please ... call me Harroun,” insisted the desert chief. “I never did go much for all these courtly titles and honorifics. I’m a simple country man.”
“But have not always been such,” observed Cribblon. “I heard you say that you once served under the old Sultan alongside such notables as the chubby Port Master.”
“He was not always so overweight, nor as fond of strong drink,” said Harroun, shaking his head sadly. “He and I were in the forefront of several terrible, splendid battles. When the fighting was over, Alama accepted from Sultan Fadouzal the post of Port Master, but I only wished to go home and raise my sheep, my goats, my horses, my camels, and my children.
Unfortunately, perhaps, six of the seven last were daughters. ... All but one girl and my lad have married well.”
“You son is your youngest child, then?” Douglas asked.
“The very youngest!” Harroun laughed. “And the apple of his sisters’ and his father’s and mother’s eyes! He’s but seventeen, is Saladim, and more of a poet than a warrior, I’m afraid. Having six doting older sisters, he’s been slow to think of his own marriage. I would allow him his own choosing, if he’d shown any inclination that way.”
“I am only recently a husband and father myself,” said Douglas. “Perhaps you should give him a few more years?”
“I’ve struggled with the idea of waiting, I admit.” Harroun sighed, and finished his ice. “You may be right, Pyromancer. Certainly, aside from your fine Wizard-wife, here I saw no one I would have considered as daughter-in-law at the auction today.”
“There’s plenty of time,” Myrn said, thoughtfully picking at the last of her dessert with her spoon. “Have you left any of the sherbet, Marblehead?”
“I’ve had more than enough and am about to join our friend the Aeromancer in slumber.” Marbleheart groaned sleepily. “What do you say, Masters? Shall we adjourn for the night?”
“For all your pranks and jokes, Familiar,” Douglas said yawning, “I give you this: you know when to stop partying and go to bed.”
“It’s a natural Otter talent,” the water-animal said, then yawned.
Harroun chuckled and rose gracefully.
“I will seek my bed, also, friends,” he said, yawning as well. “We will ride at dawn, Mistress Myrn. I’ll send you my youngest and only remaining unwed daughter Marrah to fetch you when it’s time to depart.”
“I’ll be ready, good sir. My monkey and my caterpillar will accompany me, if you don’t mind. As we explained, it’s the nature of my Journeying that my wonderful, sleepy-eyed husband may not interfere.”
“What will you do then, Wizard?” the chieftain asked Douglas.
“Oh, I’ll be a distance behind, or maybe before, you. Not so far away that I cannot help if things go wrong, and yet not so close as to be judged interfering with Myrn’s Journeying in her Craft.”
“You could join us in night camp, however?” Harroun asked. “You may trust my people to be discreet. I have a comfortable tent you can share with your goodwife, if you wish.”
“I’m greatly tempted,” Douglas admitted, hugging Myrn about the waist. “But the people—the forces—we face are very good at noticing what happens at night. No, I’ll remain unseen by you and by them for the moment.”
“If that’s your decision, then,” Harroun agreed. “I’ll see you, Lady Myrn, in the earliest morning.”
“Afyrrc in the Morn!’’ Marbleheart began to hum from beyond the dying campfire. “Someone ought to set those words to music.”
The journey to the rugged, shadowy foothills of the Darkest Mountains passed without incident. Myrn was magically aware of her husband some miles behind them, but refrained from urging him to come closer, although she felt the need for his comfort and conversation.
She missed their children very much, too.
Marbleheart, again disguised as a black monkey, was all about the Sheik’s caravan, making friends and chattering questions everywhere. Or he rode silently (which was unusual for him, for he loved good conversation almost as much as a good Seafood dinner) on Myrn’s saddlebow.
The Journeyman Aeromancer had gladly given up the fuzzy form of a caterpillar and assumed that of a yellow-and-gray sand sparrow, in which form he acted as messenger between Myrn and Douglas. His sharp sparrow eyes would be useful, Douglas said, in what might lie ahead.
Myrn soon made a fast friend of Harroun’s youngest daughter, Marrah, a lively, eager eighteen-year-old maiden who rode astride as if she were part of her horse and was filled with information about the sights and moods of High Desert and the animals, birds, and reptiles they saw along the trail.
“Marrah,” cried Myrn early on the second afternoon. “I see a lake, off there!”
“You should know a heat mirage when you see one, being a Magician,” the desert lass said with a laugh.
“Wizard!” Myrn corrected her. “Magicians are mere dabblers usually. Strictly entertainers! Nobody takes them all that seriously.”
“Do you know any entertaining tricks, though?” the girl wondered, reaching over to ruffle the monkey’s dark fur.
“Are you speaking to me or to Myrn?” asked the Otter-Monkey. “Yes, I know all sorts of amusing tricks and spells. I can start fires just about anywhere. I can make myself invisible, too. That’s a very difficult spell to work, however. Other magicks cross with Invisibility Spells and one has to be very, very careful, my dear Mistress Marrah.”
“I’d rather not be invisible,” exclaimed Marrah. “Although, on second thought, it sou
nds quite exciting.”
Myrn laughed and told her a story about her first experiments with Invisibility Spells, back on Waterand Island.
“I carefully fashioned a Cloak of Invisibility for myself, following an ancient Water Adept pattern. When it was finished, I put it on over my petticoat and walked down to the village below Waterand Palace.”
“What fun!” said Marrah. “What did you do? Tweak someone’s nose? Steal a pie from the baker’s table?”
“I might have, except I realized very soon that I was invisible .. .but only to the Menfolk! The Waterand ladies saw me quite well. A girl rushed up to me and wanted to know why I was walking about in my shift! I was so embarrassed!”
“It could have been worse, of course,” Marbleheart chortled. “It could have been the men who saw you in your underwear!”
Anecdotes helped fill the long, hot afternoon’s ride.
“We’ll camp tonight under yon outcrop,” Harroun dropped back to say. “It must be a dry camping, however. No water within near on a day’s ride of here, unfortunately.”
“Yet I sense cool, clear water not far off,” Myrn objected. “Aha! Under the sand and rocks, it is. Since coming to this desert land, I’ve sensed water a number of places where you would swear no water ever was.”
“Even if there were water sufficient to drink and water our horses,” the Sheik asked, “wouldn’t this harsh soil be unsuitable for green crops? This desert is quite barren, I’ve always been told.”
“I’ve been riding across your High Desert for a number of days now, and I’m becoming increasingly convinced that there is water not far under the sand,” Myrn insisted. “What’s needed is a way to draw it to the surface and distribute it to gardens and fields. Did you know that the soil in a rain forest is poorer in nutrients than in most deserts? Master Augurian swears it’s so! But, then, I’ve never been in a rain forest nor a true jungle.”
“Nor have I,” admitted Harroun, shaking his head, “and I find it hard to imagine such a place. Still, it might well be worth exploring the matter, if there is water not far beneath our sands. Even if the soil is poor, water would allow us to raise larger herds of goats or sheep. Maybe even cattle! Cows need a prodigious amount of water.”
Aeromancer Page 17
