Arash-Felloren

by Roger Taylor

  Aigren picked up a long-handled hammer and pointed to a pile of rocks by the hut.

  ‘Break those,’ he said, thrusting the hammer into Barran’s hand.

  Barran looked at it and then at the rocks. His immediate reaction to the order and the surly manner in which it had been voiced was to use the hammer on his new employer – he’d killed men for less. But a twinge from his foot reminded him that he had few choices at the moment and, supporting himself on the hammer, he hobbled over to the pile.

  ‘How small do you want them?’ he asked, barely keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.

  ‘The women’ll show you,’ came the reply, as the three miners disappeared into the hut. Barran stood for a moment leaning on the hammer and staring at the closed door.

  ‘Work if you want to eat.’ The voice was followed by a rhythmic pounding.

  He started and turned round. The women were working with their pestles again, beating out a slow, insistent tattoo. It was one of them who had spoken. He caught her eye and nodded towards the rocks. ‘Just break them?’ he asked.

  ‘Just break them.’

  Not being able to stand, wielding the hammer proved to be no easy task, but eventually he managed to make an impromptu seat amongst the rocks from which he could work to some effect. Part of him rebelled at being obliged to do such menial and seemingly pointless work, but as he worked, he began to remember digging trenches and excavating under foundations in conditions that were far worse than this. At least no one was trying to kill him here. And, when need arose, he was good at this kind of undemanding, physical work – he just had to find his pace. The memory recalled, he gradually relaxed and was soon working with an easy rhythm, his hammer-blows counter-pointing the dull pounding of the women’s pestles.

  Still, it was hot. An airless, clinging heat soon brought sweat to his brow, griming the dust there into an unpleasant grittiness. He was tempted to complain about it, but the sight of the women working on, silently and steadily, prevented him.

  After a while, the reason for what he was doing became apparent. The women were grinding the rock fragments that he made into a coarse powder. From time to time one of the deep mortars that they were using would be tilted and rolled along its bottom edge to be emptied where the children were playing in the dust – except that they were not playing. Like their parents they were working, nimble fingers spreading out the dust and young eyes searching through it intently.

  After some time, one of them cried out and there was a brief halt to the relentless beat of the pestles as the women broke off and went to examine some find. At the second such call, Barran swung himself upright on his hammer and hobbled across to see what was happening. At first he could see nothing, then the child twisted his hand and a bright flash between his thumb and forefinger revealed a tiny crystal. The women nodded approvingly and one of them, wetting her fingertip, dabbed it up and took it carefully over to a small pot. Seeing Barran following her, she motioned him back to his work defensively. He gave an apologetic shrug and did as he was bidden, affecting an indifference he did not feel. The sudden brightness of the crystal had cut through more than the dusty air; it seemed to have cut right through him also. Almost in spite of himself, he was intrigued.

  ‘That’s what you’re after is it?’ he said, as he settled himself back on to his rough seat. ‘They’re very small for jewellery. Are they worth the trouble?’

  ‘Jewellery?’ The woman paused and half-turned towards him, then she turned back and delicately dropped the tiny find into the pot. Her face was puzzled as she stood up. ‘Crystals are crystals. They’re all precious.’

  Barran resorted to honesty. ‘I’ve never heard of such things before. What are they used for? Who wants them?’

  The woman was filling a bucket with the rock fragments he had broken, throwing back on to the pile those that were too large. She looked at him with open suspicion. ‘Everyone’s heard of crystals,’ she said stonily. Barran met her gaze. Under the grime and weariness was a strong face. He decided not to argue the point. He’d find out all he needed in due course if he was patient. ‘I’ve come from far away,’ he said softly, but in a tone that ended the exchange.

  The work continued as before, Barran breaking the oddly brittle rocks, the women working their pestles, and the children sifting through the dust. Barran willed his foot to heal quickly. He might be good at this kind of work but he had no desire to be doing it for longer than necessary.

  There was only one more crystal found during the remainder of the day. Barran remained where he was, continuing his pretended indifference to what was happening. But this time, the women’s inspection resulted in an excitement that had not attended the previous ones. Barran craned forward discreetly to catch the ensuing conversation but heard only, ‘Ellyn, it’s a tint – I’m sure it is.’

  Ellyn was the woman who had spoken to him; Aigren’s wife, he presumed. He did not hear her reply, but her manner was doubtful. She held up the crystal and moved it from side to side, peering at it thoughtfully for some time before she shook her head. There was an appeal from the first woman, of which Barran caught, ‘… a rainbow vein hereabouts… always said so.’ Then, apparently by way of compromise, the crystal was placed in a different pot to the two previous finds.

  The brief snatches intrigued Barran further. What in the name of sanity was a tint? And what was a rainbow vein? That they were matters of some significance was confirmed almost immediately, for despite Ellyn’s caution about the latest crystal, the mood of the women changed perceptibly. Even the rhythm of their pounding seemed to be lighter, and from time to time they spoke to one another. Once, Ellyn gave a tight, thin smile and looked up at the sky. For an instant, Barran, who had been desperately trying to hear what was being said, saw her as the younger, more hopeful woman she had once been. The sight disturbed him.

  Shortly afterwards, as the light faded, the men reappeared. In so far as he had thought about them, Barran had presumed that they had been idling the day away in the hut while he and the women did the work, but each was carrying a pannier of rocks on his back. These they proceeded to tip on Barran’s heap, making it considerably larger than it had been at the beginning. He watched them blankly.

  Then the pattern of work shifted. Barran was told to continue with his rock breaking but the women and children vanished into the hut, taking the mortars and pestles and the two small pots with them. Subsequently, several more panniers of rocks were brought out but eventually Aigren came to the door and motioned Barran inside.

  The door was closed behind him immediately – and well bolted too, Barran noted, as a dull thud made him turn. A heavy crossbeam had been dropped into stout brackets behind the door. What would these impoverished people need such protection for? He set the question aside, with all the others.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the comparative darkness, the process not being helped by a sense of disorientation. For, what he had taken to be a large lean-to hut built against a rock face was actually only an entrance hall to a cave. Furthermore, he realized, the cave was man-made. He had done enough sapping in his time to recognize the toolmarks. Despite himself, he was impressed.

  ‘You cut this yourselves?’ The question came out before he had time to consider it.

  ‘Some,’ Aigren replied, tersely. He showed no sign of enlarging on this comment and Barran remained silent. Just how foolish these people were he had yet to decide, and until he did so, it was important that he gave away as little as possible about himself.

  He looked around. The light was coming from a few oil lamps perched on ledges cut into the rock, and the air was remarkably fresh for a cave. There was even a hint of a breeze, but there was a warmth in it that was not pleasant. The wooden entrance hall was apparently used primarily as a store-place for tools. It was more substantial than it appeared from the outside, though the roof and walls were canted and twisted as though a massive hand had tried to push the whole structure over. Surely it hadn’
t been built like that, Barran thought. And yet these solid rocks couldn’t move, could they? More and more questions. He pointed to a bundle of hammer handles leaning against the wall. ‘Could I use one of those for a stick?’ he asked. ‘This hammer’s a bit awkward for walking with.’

  Aigren nodded.

  Barran tested a few before picking one that would serve him both as a support and a well-balanced weapon should need arise. As he hobbled back into the cave, he saw that the women were preparing food while the men sat sullenly at one end of a long wooden table. Tentatively, he joined them, watching carefully for any sign of offence being taken. Now he should learn something. There was nothing like food after a hard day’s work to loosen tongues, and they must surely want to learn about him – who he was, where he was from, how he had come there and so on. They were obviously not a garrulous group, but once the conversation started he was sure that their taciturnity would fade away and that he would be able to nudge events along to learn more about them and their strange trade.

  He was to be disappointed however. The food was simple and filling, if gritty, but it was eaten in almost complete silence – a silence which deepened on two occasions when a distant creaking sound drifted into the cave. Everyone except Barran abruptly stopped eating. Aigren and the other men craned forward as if to hear some faint message in the noise, and the women and children watched them anxiously. Then the sound was gone and they were eating again, but the atmosphere was tense and Barran sensed that any attempt at conversation would be unwelcome.

  And, quite suddenly, he was asleep. A great deal had happened to him that day – he had been unhorsed, knocked unconscious and injured, lost both horse and possessions and finally transformed from mercenary soldier into oafish labourer, working in a mine such as he had never even heard of, in an unfamiliar and bizarre land. What amounted to combat readiness had kept him alert so far, but as soon as that relaxed – and the bolted door and the food was sufficient to do this – his body sought to fulfil its own needs. He had a broken impression of being dragged from the table and laid down somewhere but, despite the pain of his injured foot, he remembered nothing until Aigren’s voice intruded on him.

  ‘Dawn, Barran.’

  His eyes opened and though he was stiff and sore, he was immediately wide awake in anticipation of the violence that had so often accompanied awakenings in strange places for him. But all was quiet. He blinked to clear his vision. Aigren was walking away from him through the lamplit gloom. Around him, others were stirring. He saw that their beds, like his, were little more than rough blankets laid on the ground in a wide recess cut into the cave wall. He had slept in worse places, but the knowledge offered little consolation as the pains caused by his unyielding bed and his injured foot really began to make themselves felt. His hand landed on the hammer handle that he had chosen as staff and weapon and he levered himself up on it. As he did so, his attention was caught by a patch of deeper darkness further along the cave. He peered into it and saw others. Tunnel entrances, he decided. That must be where the men worked. Doubtless they had it in mind for him to work along with them eventually, and the opportunities for flight from underground would be considerably less than those he would have breaking rocks outside. He tested his injured foot gently. It was a little easier. Normally he healed quickly – as much a learned inner discipline as a fortunate natural attribute – and sitting while he worked the previous day had obviously helped. However, it would perhaps be in his best interests to exaggerate his incapacity.

  Aigren was lifting the crossbeam that secured the side door. Barran hobbled awkwardly over to him.

  ‘Is there any water? I’d like to wash.’

  Aigren looked at him. For the first time, Barran sensed violence in the man – smouldering and distant, but there nonetheless. Be careful, he reminded himself, tightening his grip on his staff. You know nothing of these people and you’re in no position to defend yourself properly here.

  Aigren nodded towards a barrel standing by the side of the door. ‘Water’s for drinking,’ he said. ‘Some for washing in a couple of days maybe. Unless you want to walk to the river.’

  Despite reading the answer in Aigren’s face, Barran asked, ‘Where is it?’

  Aigren flicked his head. ‘Half a day east.’ There was a hint of a sneer. ‘If you know the way.’ Then bitterness. ‘And if it hasn’t moved.’

  The comment meant nothing to Barran.

  ‘Here.’ It was Ellyn. She was offering him a canteen and a basket of bread. ‘This will get you through the day.’

  ‘See he earns that,’ Aigren said to her harshly as he pushed open the door. Warmth, dust and a reddish morning light rolled into the cave. Ellyn gave Barran an enigmatic look as she walked past him.

  * * * *

  The day passed much as the previous one until about noon when three men walked into the camp.

  Chapter 5

  Barran’s interest quickened as soon as the strangers appeared. Their arrival was apparently unexpected but they were obviously known to the women, who suddenly became subservient and ingratiating. One of them ran, almost girlishly, to the hut, ‘To get the men.’

  Barran eyed the men surreptitiously while he continued his work. One was carrying a small case and was conspicuously better dressed than the others. He was also slightly ill at ease.

  A client and two bodyguards, Barran decided. The latter were quite unmistakable. One of them was a tall hulking individual who rolled from side to side when he walked and whose arms arced away from his sides. He stood close to his charge, face set. The other was of more average build and had settled himself against a rock, apparently uninterested in the proceedings. The dangerous one, Barran concluded, as he watched the man looking indifferently about the camp. The first would be some moronic ale-house bruiser whose physical presence was intended to deter would-be attackers. Barran thought it unlikely that he would be able to use the sword that hung from his belt. The second, however, would be the one who anticipated and thought. He would go to some lengths to avoid trouble but would move in quickly with deadly force if real need arose. Hewould be able to use a sword – and the knives he would have secreted about him. Barran was grateful for the fact that he was sitting at a menial task and covered in dust. Just as he had read the man, so he knew that he himself would be the object of an intense inspection. He must do nothing to give away his own calling.

  He turned his attention to the bodyguards’ client.

  The man was an incongruous sight against the bleak rocky surroundings. He was anxiously – and fruitlessly – brushing dust from an ornately embroidered shirt and periodically mopping his flushed face. Barran knew two things about him already; he was important and he was a fool – or most probably so. The women’s actions marked his importance and the two bodyguards gave some measure of his folly – men bought for protection could always be bought by others. And the man did not even carry a knife!

  But who was he?

  Aigren and the other two miners emerged from the hut. They were carrying a table and two chairs which they set down in front of the stranger. Awkwardly, Aigren swept a kerchief over one of the chairs and motioned him to sit. When he had done so, the man nodded, and Aigren sat opposite him. The other miners stood a respectful distance away.

  The women having stopped working, Barran did the same. He leaned forward, rested his chin on the hammer and prepared to watch. The stranger glanced at him and there was a brief conversation which Barran deduced involved an explanation by Aigren of who this new worker was. The man looked at the smaller bodyguard who made a slight hand movement. Seemingly this indicated approval and the man turned back to Aigren again.

  Not really expecting serious trouble, are you then? Barran thought. This must be a regular meeting – a routine affair. Had it been otherwise, a conscientious bodyguard would have been holding a knife at his throat while such a judgement was made. Much would be given away here if he had the wit to see it.

  Aigren gestured to Ellyn,
who, almost like a serving girl, brought the two pots containing the crystals to the table. A merchant, Barran decided. This would be interesting.

  The man delicately lifted the lid of one pot, inserted a finger and stirred it around gently as he studied the contents. He seemed satisfied. Ellyn said something to him and pushed the other pot forward expectantly. This received a more thorough examination, with individual crystals being taken out and inspected closely. At one stage he opened his case and took out a large eye-glass to facilitate this. In the end, however, he shook his head slowly, and with an apologetic shrug towards Ellyn, carefully tipped the contents of the second pot into the first. Though she gave little outward sign, Barran could feel her disappointment. One of the other women actually gave a subdued cry.

  Then, bargaining proper began. Aigren pulled out a bag from his tunic and slowly emptied the contents on to the table. Despite his control, Barran could not restrain a start as the crystals caught the dusty sunlight and transmuted it into a disproportionate brightness. The glint that he had seen between the child’s fingers the previous day was multiplied manyfold. It seemed to reach out and pinion him, and something stirred deep within him. As did hard-learned warning signals. When he finally managed to pull his eyes from the crystals and back to the two men, he realized that he was holding his breath and craning forward with his hands clenched tightly about the top of the hammer handle. He cast a quick glance at the bodyguard by the rocks to reassure himself that his momentary lapse had gone unnoticed. Lucky, he reproached himself with some relief. But that had been a shock. He had no name for what he had just felt, but it was a long time since anything had moved him so. He had to force himself to keep his gaze away from the crystals.

  Fortunately, the bargaining was now underway. The merchant’s high-pitched and whining voice weaving around Aigren’s slow grumble gave Barran something to concentrate on. He had not been impressed by the ability of the miners to drive a bargain at their first meeting, and he had a strong suspicion that something similar was going to happen here. And, for some reason, even though it was not he who had sweated beneath the Thlosgaral to wrest these crystals free, he now felt a powerful resentment that they might be parted with at too low a price.