Arash-Felloren

by Roger Taylor

  Suddenly, and to his considerable surprise, Barran found himself attracted to her. Too long without a woman, he thought, as he looked at her, dishevelled and degraded. But it was not that – not that alone, anyway. There was something beneath the grime and despair. That strong face, and that momentary flash in her eyes as she had struck the ground – a flash that spoke of a knife between the ribs of her sleeping husband one night. He added a caveat – if this place doesn’t eat the heart and brains out of her first. Then he looked at the husband. Jaw jutting in wordless anger, the man seemed about to strike her again, but though she backed away she did not cower. And there was that flash again. Dangerous, thought Barran, though he doubted that the man saw it.

  ‘I couldn’t do anything else, could I?’ Ellyn shouted. ‘He’d have started on me or the children, you know that.’

  The man turned from side to side, like a trapped animal. Barran braced himself. Uncharacteristically he felt that he would intervene if the man renewed his attack on the woman, even though doing so might bring the rage of all of them down upon him. But no attack came. Instead the man let out an almost animal cry. Ellyn reached out to touch his arm but he dashed her hand aside. The two stood silent and motionless for what seemed to be a very long time, then the man said, ‘Enough.’

  His voice was suddenly very soft and controlled. At its touch, every part of Barran became alert. The man had passed beyond a certain point. He was going to do something wildly dangerous. Watching him intently, Barran could feel his own hands shaking and his breath coming faster. He paid no heed. They were familiar and appropriate responses and he was too experienced a fighter to be afraid of being afraid. His body was preparing itself and he knew he could trust it. If the man turned against him, he would be ready – and his injured leg would not impede him.

  Ellyn, though schooled in different sensitivities, also felt the change. ‘What are you going to do?’ she said, bending forward urgently and trying to catch her husband’s eye. He did not reply and she repeated the question even more anxiously, this time seizing his arm.

  ‘Get our money back from Fiarn,’ he replied simply, brushing her aside roughly and picking up a long hammer.

  Ellyn did not respond immediately but gazed at him vacantly as though unable to grasp what he had said. He was almost out of sight by the time she recovered. Then she was running after him, shouting, ‘No! He’ll kill you this time.’

  When she reached him she seized hold of him and was dragged over the rocks for several paces before he stopped. Her shrill pleading ended abruptly as Aigren struck her again. She lay still. Aigren walked away without a backward glance.

  It was only a little later, as the women were bathing Ellyn’s bruised face and trying to console her, that Fiarn and his companion returned to the camp. They were carrying Aigren. As they dropped him on to the ground, Barran did not need to look at him to know that he was dead. Ellyn made to move to him but Fiarn grabbed her roughly.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you to keep him away?’ he snarled. She was wide-eyed with fear. ‘He was always trouble.’ He kicked the body and swore. ‘I’ve let you get away with too much. And what have I had in return? Endless ingratitude from Aigren and the lowest yield of any of my mines.’ He was shouting now. ‘I’ve had enough of you. I’m doubling the Landgeld on this place. You can…’

  ‘No! You can’t!’ Ellyn snatched herself free and struck him a stinging blow across the face.

  Don’t do it, Barran thought, reading the woman’s temper as Fiarn recovered from the shock and, his face contorted, lifted an arm back to strike her. White and shaking, Ellyn let out a piercing shriek and leapt at him, hands tearing at his face, feet lashing out wildly. Fiarn crashed to the ground, Ellyn flailing on top of him. It took Fiarn’s companions some time to drag them both upright and, even then, three of them were having difficulty in restraining the demented woman. Fiarn’s face was alight with rage. He stepped back and pulled out a knife.

  ‘No! Put the knife away. We need to talk.’ Barran’s powerful voice cut through the din.

  The camp was suddenly silent and all turned towards him – even the miners and their wives who until now had simply been watching events, completely bewildered. Barran remained seated, his staff resting casually across his knees.

  Fiarn’s expression became one of disbelief. ‘Talk?’ he mouthed.

  ‘Talk,’ Barran confirmed purposefully.

  Fiarn gestured to his companions and made a circling motion with the knife. ‘Fetch that oaf here. We’ll see how well he talks with his tongue cut out.’

  As the men walked towards him, Barran took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, at the same time forcing himself to relax. He tested his grip on the staff. This was going to be very dangerous. He would have preferred a great deal more information before making a move against Fiarn but, if Ellyn was killed, this group would disintegrate and…

  And there was something about this woman…

  Damn! Why was he doing this?

  Two men were in front of him. All choices were gone now.

  He let them reach down and take hold of his arms but resisted as they tried to drag him to his feet. Then, carefully favouring his uninjured foot, he stood up suddenly and drove his staff straight upwards. Propelled by legs, arms, and many years of harsh experience, the ends of the staff caught each man under the chin with appalling force, lifting both of them off the ground. The two of them were still collapsing as Barran slid his hands together and swung the staff round to bring it down with a crushing blow on the head of a third.

  Urged by panic rather than consideration, Fiarn’s fourth companion lunged out and grabbed the staff hastily. He was a big man and seeing his inadvertent success he grinned triumphantly at Barran. There was still a vestige of a grin on his face when Barran let go of the staff and drew a knife and stabbed him under the ribcage. Almost gently, Barran eased the staff from the man’s dying grasp.

  In the span of scarcely half a dozen heartbeats, Fiarn’s power in the Thlosgaral had been destroyed. All he could see, however, was Barran’s awful focused intent as he moved towards him, his limping gait serving only to make him more frightening.

  The blow that knocked the knife from Fiarn’s trembling hand was scarcely necessary. He reached out to grab the end of the staff in the vague hope of defending himself, but it vanished upwards. As his eyes followed it, a blow behind his knees swept his legs into the air and sent him crashing down on to the rocky ground.

  Through the clamour of his frantic breathing and his pounding heart, Fiarn became aware of a foot on his chest, the end of the staff pressing on his throat, and a voice saying, ‘We need to talk.’

  * * * *

  Within three years, Barran, with Fiarn as his lieutenant, held sway over more than a third of the mines that worked the Thlosgaral. Unlike his rivals however, Barran had extended his enterprise to include nearly all of the crystal merchants. His power grew relentlessly.

  Chapter 6

  ‘Come on, move yourself. It’s nearly dawn.’

  Dvolci’s deep voice rumbled cavernously through the slumbering darkness where Atlon was floating. It provoked a response that Atlon felt was lucidity itself, but it was a distant and unintelligible grunt that actually drifted into the gloomy Wyndering room. There was an exasperated sigh, then a significantly more purposeful, ‘Move yourself,’ accompanied by a poke at the form under the blankets.

  Atlon repeated the grunt more slowly and waved a vaguely defensive arm towards his tormentor, but otherwise did not stir. The poke was contemplated again but abandoned in favour of a vigorous shaking. Atlon swore into his pillow then plunged his head underneath it.

  Dvolci chuckled darkly, ‘Lie there, if you wish then. But you’ve made better choices. “Mattress was given a good beating only last week”.’ It was an alarmingly accurate imitation of Ghreel’s voice. ‘A beating, no less. There’s house pride for you. I wonder what a bed bug with a headache thinks about people sharing its home.’

&nbs
p; Atlon, abruptly awake, emerged from under the pillow and rolled over sourly, scratching himself. ‘It’s not even dawn yet,’ he grumbled. A nerve-jangling grinding sound filled the room, making him clamp his hands over his ears.

  ‘Must you do that?’

  ‘It’s my breakfast,’ came the injured reply. ‘Do you want some?’

  Atlon forced himself to focus on his companion in the dim light. Narrow taunting eyes met his bleary gaze. Dvolci was sitting on his haunches and leaning forward intently. His sinuous body ended in a pointed head which was tilted ingenuously to one side. A taloned paw was offering Atlon a heavily scored piece of rock. Atlon scowled. ‘Get off my chest, I’m awake now.’

  Dvolci slithered gracefully to the floor. He began chewing the rock again, revealing white and alarming teeth. Atlon grimaced at the noise and swung out of the bed.

  ‘You’d think with all your learning, especially with your knowledge of the Power…’ Dvolci hung mockery about the word. ‘… you’d be able to wake up in a more civilized manner – greet the world with a little cheerfulness, perhaps.’ He stopped chewing and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. ‘It’s almost as if you reverted to something more primitive when you went to sleep. Of course, you’re not alone in that. It seems to be a very common human trait. Mind you, I’ve always thought that…’

  ‘… humans are not a particularly well-evolved species yet.’ Atlon finished the sentence as he slouched over to the stone sink and began pumping the handle. ‘Unlike the felcis, they have no teeth worth speaking of, rather inadequate hands, and a quite pathetic digestive system, as I remember.’

  Dvolci nodded sagely. ‘Yes, indeed. One wonders at times how you’ve all managed to get this far considering such disadvantages.’ He crunched the remains of the rock nosily. ‘Still, don’t fret, you’re quite endearing on the whole. And your imperfections can sometimes add to your charm.’

  ‘At least we don’t irritate people by being brisk and hearty when we wake.’ Atlon plunged his face into the cold water to end the conversation.

  Dvolci delicately picked his teeth while Atlon washed and dressed.

  ‘Where shall we go first?’ he asked eventually.

  Atlon thought for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I’m no wiser about that than when we started,’ he said. ‘We’ll just have to keep asking and following the trade route back to its source – if it has only one source.’ He frowned. ‘I must admit, I’m surprised we’ve never heard of this city on our travels… what was it – Arash-Felloren? Does the name mean anything to you?’

  ‘There’s something vaguely familiar about it. It’s got an old sound – very old – but I can’t place it.’ The felci gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It’s probably only a small town when all’s said and done. You know how parochial people are – everyone thinks that their village is the centre of the whole world.’

  Atlon looked doubtful. ‘This is a big inn to serve a small town.’

  ‘Well, we might learn something over breakfast. There are quite a few other people staying here.’

  Atlon’s expression changed to one of surprise. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I looked, of course,’ Dvolci replied. ‘While you were comatose in your pit I had a good prowl around the place.’ His voice rose. ‘And don’t look at me like that. One of us has to stay alert. You know how treacherous your kind can be. This could be a den of thieves and murderers for all we know.’

  Atlon buckled on his sword. ‘I can look after myself quite well, thank you.’

  Dvolci snorted. ‘Half a day with the Queen’s elite troops doesn’t make you a warrior, you know,’ he said. ‘Especially when all you did was raid an empty fortress.’

  ‘It could have been very dangerous.’ Atlon protested defensively. ‘And it was more than half a day. I spent a lot of time with them – as you know. They were quite impressed by me.’

  Dvolci gave a scornful whistle. ‘You mean they remembered you vividly – it’s not the same thing.’

  Atlon straightened up. ‘Impressed. Their word, not mine. They said I was a very quick learner.’

  Dvolci moved to the door. ‘Why don’t you try learning to wake up in the morning then.’

  * * * *

  Breakfast at The Wyndering was both constant and variable. Constant in that Ghreel and the fare he served each week were always the same, variable in that those present on any two consecutive days were rarely the same.

  Not that the latter was anything to do with the former, for Ghreel, oddly enough, was a remarkably competent cook. It was simply the location of the inn, which stood at a busy crossroads. All the traffic between the Wilde Ports and Arash-Felloren passed by it, as did such traffic as moved through the region north and south.

  Thus, though he had imagined himself to be a solitary guest the previous evening, Atlon now found himself in a room with a score or so others, all busily eating at four long tables. Some were grouped together, others sat alone, but that they were all travellers was apparent from their dress and general demeanour. Beyond that however, Atlon could not deduce anything about their various trades and professions. Nevertheless, he was relieved to note that they appeared to be an improvement on the group that had been decorating the place on his arrival. Two boys and, occasionally, Ghreel, were moving amongst them, serving food.

  Atlon sat down at the end of one of the tables. Dvolci jumped up beside him. The man sitting opposite started slightly but Ghreel, who was lumbering by, gave an almost feminine cry.

  ‘What the hell’s that?’

  The general hubbub dropped and all eyes turned towards him.

  He answered his own question. ‘It’s a rat!’

  Embarrassed, but managing a smile as he met Ghreel’s gaze, Atlon forced himself to be pleasant. ‘It’s a he, and he’s a felci. He travels with me. He’s my companion.’

  ‘Not here he’s not. He – it – isn’t staying in my inn.’

  Atlon looked around the room. There were at least three dogs lying under the tables. ‘The dogs stay,’ he said.

  But Ghreel was not going to bandy words with this know-all teacher from far away. Momentarily forgetting Atlon’s easy way of paying, he leaned forward menacingly. ‘Get it out of here, or I’ll throw it out.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about felcis, do you?’ Atlon said. He motioned to a passing boy for food in the hope that morning routine might divert his irate host. Then he laid a hand on Dvolci’s sleek neck. ‘It’s not a good idea to touch him. Felcis are a highly intelligent species and they don’t like being mishandled. They’re deep rock-dwellers, and…’

  ‘I know a rat when I see one.’

  There was a flicker of impatience in Atlon’s eyes but he kept his tone conciliatory. ‘Then when you look a little more carefully, you’ll see that he isn’t one, won’t you? Look at him. He’s nothing like a rat. He…’

  Ghreel however, was not listening. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. One of the dogs pricked up its ears, then scrabbled to its feet and sauntered over to him. It was a large, muscular animal with torn ears and scars on its face bearing witness to its history as a fighter. Atlon gave Dvolci an inquiring look. The felci gave a slight nod and Atlon edged resignedly away from him.

  Ghreel seized the dog by the chain around its neck and turned it towards Dvolci.

  ‘See it off!’

  Immediately, the dog set up a great clamour, barking furiously, its paws scrabbling on the rough floor as it pulled against Ghreel’s grip in an attempt to reach its prey. The big man staggered as he struggled to restrain it. Atlon looked anxious but Dvolci seemed unconcerned by the uproar, sitting on his haunches and peering curiously about the room.

  ‘Get it out of here or I’ll let him go,’ Ghreel shouted to Atlon above the din.

  Atlon was about to reply when Dvolci gave a low whistle and turned towards the dog. As if seeing it for the first time he began to stare at it intently, tilting his head first one way, then the other. The dog redoubled its
outcry at the challenge. Dvolci continued staring for a little while then dropped gently on to all fours and, crouching low, began to crawl slowly along the bench.

  ‘Quietly, if you can,’ Atlon hissed between clenched teeth as the felci crawled over his knees.

  Dvolci made no response, but stopped briefly about two paces from the dog. Then, without warning, he leapt forward. There was a collective gasp from all those who could see him, and more than a few jerked their feet off the ground in a very unmanly anticipation of a wild flight by the felci. But it was suddenly quiet. In between frantic barks, the dog had found itself nose to nose with the felci and, for some reason, had lost interest in its loudly announced intention. Though all that could be heard was the felci’s whistling, now very soft, the dog’s ears flattened against its head, its tail curled tightly and protectively between its legs, and it dropped to the floor with a whimper. So sudden was this collapse that Ghreel almost overbalanced.

  It took the innkeeper a moment to grasp what had happened, then he swore at the dog and yanked violently on its chain. But to no avail – the dog remained motionless, its head turned away from Dvolci. Eventually Ghreel drew back his foot to kick it.

  ‘No!’ Atlon cried. ‘Leave it. I told you you didn’t know anything about felcis. It’s lucky your dog had a bit more sense. It could have been cut open from nose to tail by now.’ Suddenly he was on his feet, very angry. ‘And what the hell were you playing at anyway? Do you always set the dogs on to anything you happen not to have seen before? Is that the way travellers are treated at The Wyndering?’ He waved an arm across the watching room.

  Dvolci, leaving the scene of his triumph, gently bumped into the irate Atlon as he trotted back along the bench. ‘Quietly,’ he said, softly and with heavy irony.