by Robert Day
Growing more confident and fluid with each swing and step, Valdieron worked at disarming the Prince, knowing it would serve his cause no good to slay him, as much as he may have deserved it. After a pressing combination, he had Khalan backpedaling at the center of the circle, and three consecutive strikes had the saber whizzing through the air into the ground, while at the same time he stepped into Khalan with what would have been a finishing blow had he so desired. Trying desperately to backpedal, the Prince's heel caught on the protruding trapdoor that led to the oubliette, and he fell back heavily.
The crowd ceased chanting as Valdieron stepped away, tossing his sword towards the guard who had handed it to him and returning to kneel before the Equinary, his head bowed as a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him. Every muscle burned, and his head felt like it was running with fire from the wound below his neck. He sensed Khalan rising, smacking the dust off himself as he stalked into the crowd, disappearing, much to the crowd's amusement.
“Your skill and actions have been noted, Valdieron of Tyr,” spoke the Equinary after a time, the crowd growing silent and expectant as they waited on the verdict. “As such, you will accompany us on the morrow to Stonemere, where the Council of Riders will confer on your punishment. Any comments you wish to make will be held until then. Take him away.”
A surprised but not displeased murmur ran through the crowd as the two guards moved forward to grab him again and lead him to the oubliette, though not as forceful this time. The jailer opened the trapdoor, and he was lowered inside, but there was no binding him as the trapdoor was closed and latched.
He heard the lord order three guards to remain on watch there, but he did not really care as he stumbled to the bench and pulled himself onto it. There was no longer feeling in many of his muscles, as if the exertion had caused whatever drugs were left in his system to become more potent, and despite the fire in his back, he fell asleep almost instantly.
Soft hands, combined with coolness across his back, woke him some time later; how long he could not tell. He jerked his head around quickly, despite the pain in his neck and the sharp pain it caused him. A figure stood over him, dressed in a dark robe with a hood, and Valdieron began to move but halted as he felt what must have been a poultice across his back wound. He realized this person was most likely a healer, and if he had wanted him dead or hurt, he had the opportunity while Valdieron slept but had not taken it.
“Do not move. The unguent will cleanse your wound and help it to heal.”
He gave a start at the sound of the female voice. There were no other guards, but still this woman was here. Obviously the lord felt he was to be trusted enough to let her enter by herself.
“Rest. You have a long road ahead of you tomorrow.” With that, she laid a cool hand upon his shoulder and he let his head fall back as warmth began to spread through his body, fighting the shocking coolness of the pit and the infections which clung to his many wounds. It brought with it drowsiness, but this one was welcome, and as he let it overcome him he thought he heard her speak again.
“Until me meet again, Valdieron.”
That voice sounded familiar. Where he had heard it before? Try as he might, he could not remember, as his memories, like dried autumn leaves before a breeze, swirled and eddied just out of reach. Sleep overtook him again, but the words hung with him through turbulent and restless dreams.
Chapter 7
The preparations for leaving Salt Springs were almost finished when Valdieron returned from bathing in the cool waters of the spring. It had indeed been salty to the taste, though not enough that it was undrinkable, and he guessed it was something to do with minerals in the ground. A small stream ran into it from the lush fields in the North, making him think it was water from an underground bore that filled the spring.
He was given fresh clothing by one of the four guards that accompanied him, none of whom seemed inclined to speak with him, though they did converse with one another in their Darishi dialect, which was preferred over the common tongue of the North.
The Equinary and his family were mounted and surrounded by a guard of twenty riders, all heavily armed. There were also several small wagons, along with servants behind, then another ten warriors taking up the rear. Horses waited for Valdieron and his guards.
“Can I call my own horse?” he asked the man who was in charge of his guards, a small Darishi with sparse hair and a squat figure, which seemed strange when compared with those around him. The other guards had told Valdieron earlier he was the Principal, which Val assumed was a similar rank as Captain. He stood slightly shorter than Valdieron, but he had the presence of an experienced and honored warrior.
“How so?” asked the Darishi skeptically, his grasp of the common tongue not the best but easily understood.
“My horse comes to my call. I sent him away when the Hara'kar attacked, but he should be near at hand.”
The Darishi looked far from convinced as he eyed Valdieron, but he held his hand up for pause. “Wait here and I will ask the Equinary if it is acceptable.” So saying, he turned and jogged to where the Lord waited with his family. The Equinary leaned down to speak with the guard, their words lost on Valdieron, but the King's manner appeared unchanged as he straightened, though he did pass a glance towards Valdieron before turning to bark another order to a lagging Darishi finishing the loading of the last wagon.
“The Equinary has granted your request, but if your horse does not respond, he will assume you have attempted to signal your men, and it will weigh heavily on you hereafter. Understood?”
Valdieron nodded, suddenly concerned Shakk may not respond to his call. The fight with the Hara'kar took place a day's ride away, so Shakk could be anywhere by now. He hoped the stallion had somehow followed him, but it was a minor chance. Now, he wondered if he should just accept the horse provided for him, not wanting to make it any harder on himself.
Yet there was the possibility of showing he was not lying, so he gave the shrill whistle that would bring the sorrel stallion if he were in hearing distance. He had once made the call over the distance between their farm and Shadowvale, but that was less than half a league as the crow flies. Maybe in this flat land the whistle would carry farther than usual, but he made it as loud as he could, just to give himself the best possible chance.
Those around him spun on hearing the loud whistle, expecting some sort of trickery, but bewilderment showed on faces as nothing happened, and soon they returned to whatever they had been doing.
Soon, everybody was mounted except Valdieron and the guard he had made the request to, who was shaking his head, as if to say Valdieron should not have tried such a ruse. He mounted his own horse and motioned for Valdieron to do the same.
With a sigh and a silent curse at his foolishness, Valdieron shifted to the horse he had been provided with. It was a splendid sorrel mare that would have fetched a great price to a horse breeder in the North, though to his eyes not a match for Shakk.
The sound of distant hooves gave him pause, his foot in the stirrup, and he turned to glance across the eastern flats. His sharp eyes made out the dark shape of a horse against the shimmering heat of the ground, followed by a trail of dust. Emerging from the cloud at one point was another form, and he felt himself smiling with joy as he recognized the sleek form of the Moorcat.
He moved to the edge of the clearing, followed closely by the guards and the eyes of many of the others. He felt a moment's joy as the stallion approached, followed by the Moorcat. The presence of the guards around him, many holding bows at the ready, prevented him from rushing out and greeting his two animal companions, so he waited while Shakk approached cautiously, eyes showing fear and caution at the sight of the many armed men.
Kaz remained behind some distance, stalking forward slightly as if waiting for an attack. Maybe he remembered the Hara'kar, and saw these Darishi as threats as well.
“Don’t shoot!” pleaded Valdieron, as the bowmen fixed their aim on the menacing cat. The Princ
ipal raised his fist, halting their attack as Val told him the cat was his also, and that it would not attack unless provoked. Although he seemed skeptical, the Principal looked to the Equinary for any help before signaling the bowmen to return to their positions.
“I must search your mount first,” warned the Principal, dismounting from his own animal and moving towards Shakk as the stallion came to a halt before Valdieron. Val grabbed the bridle and spoke softly to the stallion while the principal stepped up and made a brief search through the saddlebags. He removed Llewellyn's rapier and the spare dagger Valdieron had kept inside, before returning to his own horse and remounting.
“Know that there is no hope of escape should you decide to run, Valdieron of Tyr, and although you will not be killed before you reach Stonemere, your trip will be made less pleasant should you make an attempt.”
Valdieron nodded that he understood before climbing onto Shakk, the stretch making the quickly healed wound on his back twitch slightly but it passed without further irritation. He thought to ask the Principal who had healed him the previous night, for whoever it was knew her job well. The poultice had fallen off the wound when he was woken that morning, with little more than the feeling of a new scar, and using the reflection of the spring's water as he bathed, had confirmed the scar was much smaller than the wound had been. He wondered if there had been magic involved, for he had not felt the tingling of his skin as he had when healed at the tournament, but such a recovery had to be magically enhanced.
Shakk shifted under his weight, as if urging him to move, possibly make a break away from these strange men, but Valdieron held him in check and turned to where Kaz crouched at the ready. He called softly and the cat crept forward, still eyeing the Darishi tentatively but obviously eager to be close to Valdieron. The animal's loyalty made Valdieron smile, but it quickly turned to a frown as he noticed the cat's limp. It was not visible without a good look, but as the cat came closer he shifted to see a long streak of dried blood along his left hind leg. It did not appear deep or serious, but still it must have made running uncomfortable for the big cat.
Kaz let off a soft roar as he sat at Shakk's feet, and Valdieron reached down to lay a soothing hand on the cat's head, gently scratching behind the ears. He had assumed the cat dead at the hands of the Hara'kar, and had regretted having brought him with him on the dangerous journey, but luck seemed to have been with him, and the three were together again.
“Stay out of trouble,” he whispered softly to the cat, pushing his head away playfully and Kaz spun back around with a playful roar and swipe with a paw, though Shakk shifted slightly, not knowing if the cat was serious or not. Turning back to the Darishi, Valdieron noticed them watching him with bewilderment mixed with awe.
The Equinary broke through their ranks and called for a start. Khalan eyed him menacingly as the column passed, the Prince's contempt evident, though there was no sign of injury to him, other than to his pride, from the previous day's duel.
The five guards fell in around him as he dropped in behind the column, some distance behind the wagons and herded cattle, though they gave him plenty of room, or at least they gave the Moorcat plenty of room, their hands never far from their bows or swords. Kaz seemed to delight in their fear, turning occasionally to look at them and growl deep in his throat.
The lands of the Darishi were well travelled, he found, as the column wound almost languorously over and around the rolling plains, sometimes following worn paths and trails, other times relying on the guidance of the Equinary as they skipped between paths. Ever onward they headed south, the unerring direction of the Equinary confirmed that night when they made camp, with the South Star looming over their destination, glowing brightest among its kindred in the pale moonlight.
Covering less than ten leagues a day with the ponderous wagons and cattle, it took the column three days to reach the southern boundary of the Black Lion clan, where Valdieron noticed more of the strange stone formations. He questioned the Principal, whose name he found to be Jalek, about these formations, and he had been correct in assuming they were boundary markers.
“These are the symbols of the Black Lion Clan, that same which adorns the Equinary's cloak. That is for the other clans to know they are entering our lands. They are set up five hundred paces from each other, all around our lands, and occasionally we have these watch-posts set up.” He motioned off to the side of the worn path they were travelling, to a small wooden hut, worn and overgrown with bush. It was squat, barely man height and a few paces square, with a small enclosure for horses or animals attached to it.
“There is food and supplies inside for those of the Black Lion Clan scouts who often survey our boundaries.”
“Whose land are we entering now?” asked Valdieron curiously. The lands to the south appeared much as that of the Black Lion Clan, though maybe a little drier, and he had seen no signs of habitation as yet. Even in the Black Lion lands he had seen few settlements along the roadways, with those he did see being only log dwellings used more for temporary lodging than permanent location like those at Salt Springs.
“This is neutral land, a zone belonging to no clan, used often for skirting another's lands, especially if you are not well liked at the time by that clan. Ten leagues further on we will come to the lands of the Daris Clan.”
“Why are they called the Daris Clan?” he asked curiously. “I have heard of the other clans who name themselves after something, but who are the Daris?”
Jalek pursed his lips in irritation but sighed before answering. Valdieron knew the Principal was not comfortable with speaking to Valdieron, nor was he obliged to, with Valdieron being considered a criminal. This made Val come to like him.
“Daris means 'First People' in the old Tongue, and is the native title of the Darishi. They were the founders of our people, from which the many clans emerged. They are the most prosperous of the clans, and are afforded the greatest honor when we meet.”
This was something Valdieron had not known about, not that his knowledge of the Darishi had been great, but he had learnt a little from Llewellyn. “What is this Stonemere we are travelling to?”
Again the resigned sigh from Jalek before he answered, though this time there was irritation in his voice. “Stonemere is the site of the annual meeting of the Clans, where decisions concerning the clans are passed by the council of Equinaries, along with other things.” This answer showed that Valdieron did not need to know what these other dealings were, as his stay there would probably not last long, nor would it likely be repeated.
“And there the council of Equinaries will pass judgment on me?” he asked rhetorically, wondering what sentence the council would likely pass. He was hoping to somehow prove his claims of the Hara'kar attack, and Khalan's murder of his brother, but the likelihood of that was slim.
“Yes,” answered Jalek. “They will most likely sentence you to the Sacrifice of the Serpent. It is what they usually do to those who commit crimes against the honor of the clans.”
The Sacrifice to the Serpent did not sound like a particularly pleasant fate, but he was loath to question Jalek about it, and instead rode in silence, trying to picture what it would entail. He had never been fond of snakes, though he had killed several in his childhood living on the farm. The concept of being bitten to death by poisonous snakes was predominant in his mind, and it was no surprise over the next few nights that he would dream of this fate.
He had decided to leave the Dragon's Tear in his saddlebag, not wanting to be caught putting it around his neck in case the Darishi believed it to be magical, but after three nights of snake-filled dreams, he decided to try and retrieve it. He was successful, using the darkness to hide his moves. From thereafter, he was able to escape these visions in Kel'Valor, where he continued his sessions with the sword against anything the Combat Ambit could throw at him. Though he knew it was probably worthless if he was to be sacrificed in several days time, while he lived there was hope, even if it meant fighting the
Darishi to escape.
A plan of escape began to formulate in his mind as he studied to movements of the Darishi, especially at dusk when they camped. With the oncoming darkness he knew there was the cover he needed, given that he could see well even in the dimmest moonlight, and the Darishi could not. They appeared more observant then, however, as if realizing that if he did escape then, the chance of losing him to the darkness was great. The bowmen especially watched him, and he knew if he tried anything there would probably be half a dozen arrows fired at him within a moment.
What did surprise him, five nights into the journey, was when one of the warriors, who were called Haita'kar (similar to the Hara'kar, he noted), asked Jalek if Valdieron could spar with him. Usually of an evening, the guards who were not on duty or assigned to the Equinary's tent would sit around a small fire, talking or singing or sleeping. The warrior who approached him was young, a few years older than Valdieron with the smooth face of one who did not have to shave regularly. He regarded Valdieron with awe mixed with trepidation.
Jalek seemed surprised by the offer, but turned to Valdieron to relate the question.
“This is Akor. He would like to know if you would like to spar with him. With wooden swords, of course.”
Valdieron was surprised by the offer, but was keen to learn what he could about the Darishi's fighting style, as well as hone his own skills. In the days to come he might have to rely on his skills to get him out of a very compromising predicament. He nodded, and the young Darishi smiled, though Jalek held Valdieron's gaze, indicating he was being afforded a certain amount of liberty. Silently cursing the old warrior, he retrieved his boots and rose to follow the Haita'kar back to the campfire where the others were.
It became obvious the young warrior had planned this on his own as he stopped Valdieron away from the fire, leaving briefly before returning with two wooden swords. Both were identical, long and straight, much the same as his own sword with double edged blades and a single cross guard.
