Arash-Felloren

by Roger Taylor

  But so it proved to be. He had acquired some knowledge of the local currency on his way through the Wilde Ports and though he could not hear what was happening, he could see that the coins the merchant was stacking on the table were the wrong colour for the value that he had just placed on the crystals.

  What kind of a dolt was Aigren? Couldn’t he see the clothes this man was wearing – and the kind of men he was employing to accompany him? Items worth only what was being put on the table did not need to be protected by one bodyguard, still less two!

  And there was something else about the merchant. Something wrong about this meeting other than Aigren’s incompetence. Barran could not help himself but lean forward intently as he reached out to snatch this elusive impression.

  And it was there. Clear for anyone to see who had any vision worth speaking of! The man was desperate for the crystals – it was in his every gesture, in every inflection of his voice. He would have paid ten times what he finally conceded with a little moue of reluctance. Barran glanced round at the two other miners and the sullen faces of their wives and children, but they were oblivious to the reality of what was happening. Sheep for shearing. For an instant he actually considered intervening, but the notion quickly transformed itself into a heightened determination to find out more about this place, about the crystals and what made them so precious. And too, about the merchants and who they in their turn sold the crystals to. He must do this even if it meant delaying his escape. Somehow, there was a great deal of money to be made here.

  Yet, even as this resolve formed, a sense of foreboding suddenly swept over him – a nameless fear which awakened his every battle instinct. But unlike the previous shock, this one he recognized as an old friend, awful though it was. More than once in the past it had saved him – made him turn to find an attacker at his back, made him seek out an ambush ahead. He ignored it at his peril. But what possible danger could there be here? The miners had offered him none – and they needed him for work. Besides, injury or no, they were so slow that he could probably deal with all three of them at once if he had to. The mines themselves were dangerous, of course, and he had no great love of confined spaces, but he had no intention of going underground. And the bodyguards would do nothing unless their charge was attacked. Then, as suddenly as the fear had come to him, came the answer. The hint of something unnatural about the slowness of the miners and their women, the anxiety of the merchant. It is this place that makes them like this.Something about the Thlosgaral drains the life out of people.

  It was a vivid realization. Even though no reasoning came with it, Barran knew that this conclusion was true. He must not stay here too long or he too would degenerate into one of these dull-witted creatures. It added an urgency to the resolution he had just made.

  Yet how was he going to learn anything from these people? Such conversation as he had heard so far had been confined to simple instructions and requests – and even these had been few in number. Perhaps tonight, with a bargain struck, there might be a small celebration of some kind that he could use to ease his way into their confidence? He dismissed the conjectures – they were beginning to cloud his mind. He wasn’t going to fall asleep so easily tonight and, at the very least, he could ask outright what the crystals were used for and who bought them. Showing himself stupider than his employers might perhaps make them more talkative.

  Aigren and the merchant were concluding their business, the merchant having produced a balance from his case and some kind of a measuring device. Aigren’s face was immobile, but his posture was full of self-satisfaction. Barran wanted to strangle him.

  After the merchant and his escort had left, there was a brief debate amongst the miners and their women, before the men disappeared back into the hut and the women returned to their pestles.

  Barran found it difficult to concentrate. The light from the crystals seemed to have lodged within him so that when he closed his eyes they were there again, making all about them seem distant and gloomy – no longer real. He wanted to handle them, hold them up and scatter their light about him, peer into their hearts. He wanted to…

  He wanted.

  Wanted.

  And mingling with this desire, two other contradictory needs pulled at him: the need for knowledge about the crystals, and the strange realization that the Thlosgaral was in some way a dangerous place to linger in. It did not occur to him that all thoughts of simply escaping this place, of his lost horse and possessions, of employment in the war in the north, were gone. As the Thlosgaral itself did every day, Barran had subtly changed.

  However, the relentless rhythm of the group soon reasserted itself and Barran could not have said how much time had passed before he looked up and saw five men approaching the camp. Just as he had made an immediate assessment of the merchant and his bodyguards, so now he made one of these new arrivals, though this time it was easier. Their dress and demeanour were unmistakable: they were scoundrels of some kind. Barran noted however, that though they all wore swords, they were carrying staffs obviously fashioned from the hammer handles such as the one he had chosen for support. Robbers then, but perhaps not casual murderers, he concluded. He stopped hammering and discreetly reached for his own staff leaning on the rocks by his side.

  In the few seconds which it took Barran to reach this conclusion, the new arrivals were seen, first by the children, and then the women. The children jumped up and ran to their mothers who ushered them back to the hut. Barran could see that the women were alarmed but not terrified. That was good.

  A further look at the newcomers told him that they were little more than street ruffians. Nasty and brutal, but no match for a professional soldier. Still, he had no desire to defend himself against five opponents, particularly in his present condition.

  ‘Stay where you are!’ The command froze the children, but the speaker still chose to emphasize it by purposefully smacking his staff into the palm of his hand.

  ‘There’s no need to frighten the children, Fiarn,’ Ellyn said, a hint of anger creeping through her sullen manner.

  ‘It’s as well they don’t disturb your menfolk at their work, isn’t it, Ellyn?’ the man replied. He walked unhurriedly towards the woman. The others followed. ‘You know how… concerned… they become when they have to pay the Landgeld.’

  The woman bared her teeth as if to say something, but thought better of it. Instead she lowered her head to avoid looking at him. ‘We’ve nothing for you. It’s been bad lately – poor quality crystals and few of them at that.’

  Fiarn nodded, full of mocking concern. ‘Normally there’s nothing I like better than listening to your tales, Ellyn. You’ve such an entertaining imagination. Not quite as slow as most around here – yet. But it’s been a tiring day – there’ve been so many buyers about recently that, as you see, I’m actually having to do some of the collecting myself.’ He took hold of her chin and forced her head round towards Barran. Barran made no response but remained sitting, carefully maintaining an expression of indifference. ‘And things can’t be too bad if you’ve taken on a worker, can they?’

  The woman jerked her head free. ‘He’s just a traveller – got an injured leg – he’s bound to us for a month, that’s all. We’ll be lucky if he digs enough to cover his food.’

  Fiarn’s expression became one of impatience and he pushed her to one side. ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Just get the money and don’t waste any more of my time.’ He walked towards Barran. The woman stared after him for a moment, then turned to go into the hut. ‘And remember, don’t go shouting for your men. You know what happened last time.’ Fiarn raised his staff warningly.

  As he drew nearer, Barran took his hand from his staff but made no effort to stand. If need arose he could do the man greater damage, more quickly, from this position than standing face to face. Fiarn was taller and heavier than he was, though he doubted he was as strong. And he could see a hint of that slowness about him that pervaded the miners. Everything about him confirmed street f
ighter rather than soldier, but Barran still needed to know a great deal more about what was happening here before interfering. He would have to hold his tongue and await events. Act slow and stupid.

  He allowed himself to look confused as he met the man’s gaze.

  ‘What’s your name, traveller?’ Fiarn asked, towering over him.

  ‘Barran, sir.’

  ‘What are you doing in the Thlosgaral, Barran?’

  ‘Came here by chance, sir. Thought it might be a short-cut. I’m not from round here. I was looking for work. I’m a farm labourer by trade, but these good people helped me when I lost my horse.’ He became earnest. ‘You haven’t seen a horse wandering about loose, have you, sir? He’s a…’

  Fiarn raised a hand to silence him and then stared into his wilfully vacant eyes for a moment in amused disbelief. ‘It’s either sold or eaten by now… farmer,’ he said, scornfully emphasizing the last word. Ellyn came out of the hut. She had a small pouch in her hand. Fiarn glanced from Barran to the purse and back again, then abandoned his interrogation and, shaking his head, turned back to Ellyn. ‘Have we seen a horse! Not often you come across someone even stupider than a miner,’ he announced, for everyone’s benefit. His men laughed. Snatching the pouch from the waiting woman, he took a handful of coins from it and dropped the rest on the ground.

  ‘Just have it ready for me in future,’ he said grimly, holding a fist in front of her face. ‘I know how much you get and I’ve had enough of these games.’ Suddenly he was angry. ‘You people have no gratitude for anything. You owe for the equipment, the right to dig here, and for protection from the robbers who haunt this place. Robbers who wouldn’t hesitate to slit your throats while you slept… children and all. Don’t forget it. Do you understand? Explain it to your husband very slowly when he gets back. He doesn’t seem to have grasped his position fully yet and I don’t want him coming round causing problems again. He was lucky not to have been more badly hurt than he was.’

  They were gone.

  Ellyn crouched down and picked up the money then silently returned to her work. Barran watched the three women for a while before he started working again. So many thoughts filled his head that he felt as though he was cutting through dense undergrowth in search of a clear path that lay nearby.

  Slowly it emerged. These people had a valuable resource which they bargained away more foolishly than children. Then they allowed themselves to be robbed in silence. Therewas money to be made here. All that was needed was a little more information so that a plan could be formed. Then a little determination – a characteristic Barran had in great measure. That, and other less commendable traits.

  For as long as he could remember, he had earned his living by fighting for other people. Through the years, all manner of lords and dukes and petty princes had employed him and his kind when their greed, intransigence, or just plain folly, had transformed a dispute of words into a dispute of swords. Without fail they had all claimed to be injured parties fighting for natural justice against treacherous enemies, though Barran could scarcely recall a time when he might have been inclined to believe such protestations. Fighting first for one side and then the other as his commander of the moment negotiated better terms was a common occurrence.

  One thing Barran did remember from the earliest days was that, on the whole, he was brighter than most of his companions and, fortunately for his continued well-being, bright enough to keep such knowledge to himself. And two things he soon learned. One was that while fighting and pillaging might satisfy certain needs within him, the money and power that he craved was to be found not by those who fought but by those who commanded their services. The other was that – like the merchant – those who had to buy the swords of others for their protection invariably became hostage to them. He had resolved long ago to profit from the first and avoid the hazards of the second.

  Thus, he had worked diligently at the art of soldiering. He had a particular aptitude for the darker side of that art, for he could be vicious and cruel, delighting in hurting others, sometimes even where no gain was apparent – and the adulation and acclaim that that had brought him soon taught him the fundamentals of true leadership.

  Eventually he came to have his own band of mercenaries and for a while it prospered. But despite his clear-eyed schemes and his savage bravery, slowly but inexorably the wild vagaries of combat took away trusted friends and battle-hardened allies alike, and left him approaching the middle of his life with no more wealth than he had once set out with, but many more scars, both inward and outward, and an increasingly desperate view of what lay ahead.

  Yet it was all he knew and he could but follow the call to arms wherever he heard it.

  And it was following such a call that had brought him to the Thlosgaral. Rumour declared that it was the Great Lord returned to mete out vengeance to those who had once dispossessed and banished Him, but Barran gave such nonsense no heed. It was more practical considerations that had lured him north – a reliable contact who had paid a portion of cash in advance, the promise of a good, well-written contract, offering many benefits not least amongst which was equitable shares of all profits from the campaign.

  The events of the last two days however, had dispatched such remaining enthusiasm as he had for joining another army. The merchant had shown him the presence of great wealth in the vicinity; Fiarn had shown him opportunity. And here he was, a wolf amongst the sheep. With each blow of his hammer he saw a sunlit path to power and riches opening before him.

  He stopped hammering and began to sketch out his new future. He must wait a little and build up his strength, learning what he could about the crystals, the merchants, and Fiarn and this whole frightful place. Then he would probably have to deal with Fiarn. Unless the man had others more powerful behind him, that shouldn’t present too much of a problem. Only a fool would have approached a stranger and stood in front of him as he had – so vulnerable. He must have become so used to bullying women and weary men that he had lost whatever fighting edge he had once had. And there was that hint of the miner’s slowness about him. Barran pursed his lips and nodded to himself, but even as he reached this conclusion, old habits cautioned him sharply – casually underestimating people thus could prove fatal.

  ‘Work, Barran, if you want food.’

  He started, jerked suddenly back to the present. It was Ellyn. He grunted and began breaking the rocks again. The admonition was timely – assume Fiarn is sharp and dangerous, he thought sternly. Assume he has allies. But don’t linger. This is no place to be for any length of time. Again he felt afraid. The emotion inspired him.

  ‘The man frightened me,’ he shouted across to the women.

  There was a slight faltering in the rhythm of the beating pestles.

  ‘He frightens everyone,’ Ellyn replied. She did not seem inclined to continue, but Barran noticed her jaw tighten. This woman was not yet completely crushed. Probably because of the children, he thought. One day, her anger might spill out.

  ‘Where I come from, a debt is a debt. A lawful thing. Something to be given and repaid without reproach by either side. Why did he come with so many men and threaten you like that?’

  Ellyn’s pestle came down with unusual force, disrupting the rhythm. ‘Youmust come from a long way away, Barran. Debts to the likes of Fiarn are never paid off. He and his kind own this place.’

  ‘Own it? How can someone like that own a place like this? Is he a Lord or a Duke?’

  All the women turned to him, pausing in mid-stroke. Managing an expression of naivete, he looked at them briefly, without stopping his own work.

  ‘There’s no Lord, no Duke, dispensing justice and maintaining order around here, man. Not even in Arash-Felloren. Fiarn’s just a bandit.’ Ellyn almost spat out the words. ‘One of a score or more such living off the backs of the mining families. The only respite we get from them is when they fight amongst themselves for the right to persecute us.’

  Barran shook his head in feigned bewil
derment. ‘You should stand against him. There must be law somewhere hereabouts.’

  Ellyn’s shoulders slumped, her anger crushed like the rocks under her pestle. Barran cursed himself. Somehow he had stopped her talking. He took a chance.

  ‘Why don’t you stand against him?’ he demanded.

  Ellyn’s temper flared briefly. ‘Because others have done it, and been killed and maimed for their pains. Get on with your work and be quiet.’

  Barran was content to accept the rebuke. In that short exchange he had learned a great deal about life in the Thlosgaral. And even more about his future. And it was good. Merchants desperate for the crystals, bands of men terrorizing the miners and fighting amongst themselves…

  It all held out great promise.

  As if in confirmation, there was a cry from one of the children and the three women abandoned their work to examine the latest find.

  Later, the men appeared. They had had a bad day. A rock-fall had buried much of the work of the previous days and one of them had received an ugly gash to his arm. As a consequence they looked set for several days’ hard work before they could expect to mine any further crystals. Ellyn read her husband’s face as soon as he emerged from the hut, and Barran in turn read hers. She had become increasingly nervous as time passed and now he could see her struggling not to flinch away even though she was holding her husband’s gaze as she told him what had happened. For her pains she received a back-handed blow across the face that knocked her to the ground. It was followed by a furious tirade. The children scuttled hurriedly into the late-afternoon shadows. Not an uncommon scene then, Barran thought, but he watched impassively as Ellyn struggled to her feet, in the shade of her glowering, fist-clenched husband. Almost reluctantly her hand came to her bruised face.