“Careful,” Keris called out to her, “don’t get trapped in the stampede.”
Shann ignored her. I’m not a child.
Diamond blades flashed as the three of them set about dispatching the quota needed for food supplies. The beaters parted their mounts so as to allow the bulk of the herd to escape. They thundered off, leaving behind their slain companions as a silent offering.
The two groups had been travelling together for seven days now, as their routes coincided. They had been following the course of a river upstream. Soon, however, the river would be flowing from the north. The plains nomads would follow it, accompanying the herds in their summer migration. Tonight would be the last night they would camp together.
Zamir rode up to them, pulling on the graylesh to bring it to a halt. Despite his portly frame, he seemed surprisingly agile as a rider. “Well done, everyone. Our teams work well together. Are you sure you wouldn’t consider a more permanent partnership?”
Lyall planted his staff and met the other man’s eyes. “I’m sorry; we must get as far away as we can from the Prophet’s men. We must continue heading east.”
Zamir nodded. “I understand. Very well, then, tonight we celebrate. And tomorrow, we part as friends.” Three more nomads arrived with a cart, and Zamir supervised the loading of the fresh meat. As far as Shann could see, the nomads seemed to spend most of their time celebrating. Zamir would seize any excuse to hold a feast. She had never been to so many parties in her life. A part of her secretly wished that she could just stay with them, and enjoy their carefree lifestyle. But at night she still lay awake, haunted by thoughts of Gallar, her home and the tributes at Gort. It felt like a great weight, as if everyone were dependent on her. I have to keep moving forward.
She turned to follow the others back to the nomads’ camp, and her last few hours of freedom.
~
By the time Shann arrived back at the camp with Lyall and Keris, it felt as if the celebrations were already in full swing. There was an air of excitement and preparation and good humour. Children ran around in circles yelping at one another, while gundir snapped at their heels playfully. From the direction of the covered wagons came the wonderful smells of cooking.
The wagon which sat at the rear of the caravan had been purchased by Lyall, along with four graylesh, freshly outfitted for travel. Shann walked over to one of the animals and stroked its striped flank. It turned towards her. Bright eyes regarded her from either side of a slender snout. They were indeed graceful and intelligent creatures.
Lyall had sat down and struck the deal with Zamir that first evening, during an animated conference in Zamir’s wagon. Shann had not been invited, and Alondo declined to sit in. “Money–that’s Lyall’s department,” he maintained, with a smile. Keris had not been invited either, but she insisted on attending, nevertheless.
Later, as she was by the fire, chatting with one of the nomad hunters, Shann spotted Lyall and Keris exit the wagon and cross to the rear of another wagon farther down the line. She could discern raised voices, and a sharp exchange of words between the two. Excusing herself, she got up from her position by the fire and walked over to their position. As she got near, the vocal sounds coalesced into words.
It was Keris’ voice. “You never give any thought to the consequences of your actions, do you?”
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Lyall was trying to pacify her. “After all, it was only money the Prophet had exacted from poor and honest people.”
“And that justifies theft?
“In this case, yes. That money was intended to be used to free the Kelanni from oppression. Now it is being used to save our entire race. And you are quibbling about a few silver astrias that the Prophet does not need and will never miss?”
“That is not true,” Keris remonstrated. “It was missed. And people suffered as a result: houses ransacked, on the spot searches, random arrests and since I’ve been gone, who knows what else?”
Shann was not comfortable with eavesdropping. She walked around the wagon to where the two of them were. Lyall was saying, “I think if we were to ask them–” They both caught sight of Shann and the conversation came to an abrupt halt.
“Is everything all right?” Shann asked. Keris shot a glare at her and stalked off. Shann looked up at Lyall.
“She doesn’t like the thought of being associated with a thief,” Lyall’s voice had a tinge of regret.
That woman seemed to be determined to do everything she could to criticize and undermine their efforts. Shann felt like going up to her and telling her to take her stupid machine and her stupid story about a message from the past, and go off on whatever stupid journey she wanted. What stopped her was Lyall. He clearly thought there was something to this wild tale, so she had no choice but to go along with it for now. Until she could convince him otherwise. Shann patted the graylesh and cooed to it in a soothing voice. At that moment, Alondo walked up to her. “Are you going to come hear me play?”
She beamed at him. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
~
Alondo was fast acquiring a bevy of devoted fans among the nomad community. One fair-haired girl in particular always seemed to claim the seat directly opposite him when he played, smiling enigmatically. Shann couldn’t help but notice that they had both been missing on certain occasions. Now Alondo was sitting on his customary stool away from the fire, tuning his custom-built sabada. The fair-haired girl was already sitting on the grass in front of him, legs tucked beneath her. A growing crowd of nomads were settling themselves in anticipation of what was to come. Boxx stood off to one side on its hind legs, eyeing the Kelanni with curiosity. Alondo was joined by three other nomad players, one with a smaller stringed instrument, one with pipes, and one with a set of percussive wood blocks. At a signal from Alondo, the music began. The assembled crowd applauded enthusiastically as Alondo broke into song.
“There was a merry, merry maid,
“Who danced o’er fair Kallar.
“She twisted through the Tragar hills,
“’cross vale near and far.”
Some of the audience were tapping; others were getting to their feet and pulling up others, ready for dancing. Shann looked up to see Lyall standing in front of her, proffering a hand. She took it joyfully and rose up. He put a hand lightly around her waist, and they joined the nomads who were already laughing and moving to the rhythm.
“She skipped along from morn to eve,
“And on into the night.
“Twirling round and round she went,
“By Ail-Mazzoth’s light.
“She spun her way towards Alvar,
“Beside its banks did hop.
“She capered as its waters grew;
“Her feet she could not stop.
“She tripped on down the western coast,
“Through the streets of Gan-Dathlie,
“Leaping now from wave to wave,
“Across the Borgoth Sea…”
Lyall was spinning Shann around. She was becoming breathless. “I never heard this song before. It’s like a tour of Kelanni. How long does it go on for?”
“I’m not sure,” Lyall shrugged. “Every time I hear it, he seems to have added more verses.”
The song did indeed last a while, with partners joining and leaving as they willed. As the final chords were sounded, Shann thanked Lyall and excused herself so she could seek out a cup of narrian wine, the light refreshing liquor brewed by the nomads. Shann had developed a real taste for it. She had a theory that the wine was a principal reason for the nomad’s perpetual good humour. It certainly seemed to have a comparable effect on her. She found a trestle on which a small barrel had been set up, and helped herself to a full cup. The light was starting to fade, making the bonfire a focal point of the celebration. She sipped her drink, looking round at the revellers and allowing the fresh sweet flavours to refresh and invigorate her. The music was already starting up again, and couples were forming. A naggin
g thought tugged at the back of her mind like a persistent gundir, threatening to shatter her growing bonhomie. She thrust it away, but it came back snapping at her, finally breaking through her consciousness. Keris. Where is she?
Shann heightened her perception as she scanned the gathering of nomads, trying to pick out the tall, dark-haired woman. She was nowhere to be seen. Leaving her cup on the table, she headed away from the circle of firelight, towards their newly acquired wagon at the rear of the train. She looked around it; then went to the back. Pulling aside the flap, she poked her head inside. She allowed her eyes to get accustomed to the dimness, and raked every corner with her eyes. Nothing.
She made her way back towards the fire where food and drink were being passed around and the party was once again in full swing. Lyall was chatting amiably to the rotund figure of Zamir and his partner, who was called Anka. Shann started towards them. Then from between two wagons, she saw a tall dark figure approaching the edge of the gathering. Keris glided forward and sat on the ground by herself, unnoticed by the others. Shann stopped in her tracks.
Her first instinct was to tell Lyall, and for them both to then go to the woman and confront her. However, Keris was far too clever for that. Shann was certain that she would be able to come up with a lying but perfectly plausible reason for her absence. Or she might deny it utterly, claiming it was nothing more than Shann’s fevered imagination. In any case, leaving a festive occasion was not a crime. She was up to something; Shann was convinced of that. But her gut feeling was not evidence and would only sound to Lyall like unfounded suspicion or petulance. Worse than that, she would have tipped her hand to the Keltar, letting her know she was being watched. Shann needed more information–more evidence–before she could approach Lyall.
Watch and wait. You are crafty. But sooner or later you will make a mistake.
Shann started forward once more, towards the music and laughter, forsaking deceitful shadows for the unalloyed probity of the light.
<><><><><>
Chapter 14
The covered wagon, flanked by three riders, swept across the Eastern Plains like a stone flung across a golden pond. Alondo drove the wagon, urging the graylesh on, so that the wagon’s wheels bounced and spun over the rough track. Keris rode on one side; Shann and Lyall on the other. Shann was dressed in a loose fitting brown tunic and trousers that Lyall had procured for her at the nomad’s camp. She had ditched the tribute’s coverall, as well as her old set of clothes that she had had with her since Corte. It felt satisfying, like dispensing with two unwanted personas, the kitchen hand and the slave. She was glad to see the backs of them both.
Other than during her flight from Corte, Shann had never ridden a graylesh before and was a little nervous of the skittish creatures at first. Alondo, who seemed to have assumed responsibility for the animals’ welfare, selected the one that seemed most placid and gave her a quick lesson. It had not taken her long to get the hang of it, and she found that she was able to keep pace with the others easily. She loved the feel of the wind caressing her hair, the steady loping rhythm of the animal’s stride and the constantly changing landscape.
Slow moving herds of raleketh crossed their path, heading north on their seasonal migration, juveniles who had yet to develop spots trotting beside their speckled parents. Mylar birds wheeled far overhead, as if tracking their progress. She spotted other creatures she could not name. A flock of birds with iridescent wings of green and blue rose as one from a nearby lake, their flapping like a round of applause. Cute creatures with large ears and pointed snouts scampered away into the long grass. “Jarka,” Lyall told her. “Good eating.” He smiled at her look of disgust.
The sight of the helpless creatures brought back to her mind the tributes at Gort, and she felt a pang of guilt. We will be back for you all. That was what she had promised them. Now she was headed farther and farther away. But the truth was she could not free them on her own. She had to have Lyall and Alondo’s help, which meant convincing them that this woman was a liar.
Keris pulled back to the wagon’s rear and crossed to Lyall and Shann’s side, catching up to Lyall’s mount and riding alongside. “There is a stream off to the left. I suggest we stop and rest the graylesh for a while. According to the map, we will soon be at the fork where the trail splits. One way continues east, the other south-east. Taking the south-east route will bring us close by the tower.”
“Very well… Alondo,” Lyall called out, raising a hand.
“Yes?”
“We’re taking a break.”
Alondo pulled firmly on the reins. “Whoa.” Slowly he brought the wagon to a halt. “My graylesh thanks you and my buttocks thank you.” He rubbed them, as if to illustrate the point. “Couldn’t someone put in proper roads? Or at least invent a cushioned buckboard?”
“If we run across a town or a trading post out here, I’ll buy one for you.” Lyall promised.
Alondo jumped down and bowed expansively. When he drew himself erect, there was a twinkle in his eye beneath his ever-present cap. “Why, thank you. That is why you are such a good leader. You always put the comfort of your troops first.”
Keris pulled her mount away, wordlessly. Lyall swung himself down from the graylesh, and Shann followed suit. She patted its striped sides, talking to it gently as she had gotten into the habit of doing. Then she addressed Lyall. “How far are we across the plains?”
“Why don’t you ask the one with the map?” he asked innocently. Without waiting for her reply he answered, “A little less than half way, I think. Why, are you getting aches and pains, too?”
She smiled at him. “Not me. I could ride the plains for the rest of my life.” They led the sleek animals in the direction of the stream that Keris had indicated. They had only got a short way, when they heard Keris’ voice behind them.
“It’s gone.”
They turned around. Keris was rifling through her saddle pack. She looked agitated. “What’s the matter?” Lyall called after her.
“My pack with my cloak and the other lodestone devices; it’s been taken.”
Lyall was frowning. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she snapped back impatiently. “They were there this morning, just before we…the nomads. They stole them.” Keris muttered a curse. “We have to turn back, now.”
Boxx was standing next to Alondo, who was quietly watching the exchange. Without warning Alondo bent over and reached into the wagon, producing something with a flourish. “Is this it?”
Keris’ eyes were wide and her nostrils flared. “What are you doing with my stuff?” She sounded dangerous.
“Well, I saw one of the nomads going to your pack and ‘acquiring’ some of your things, so I sort of ‘acquired’ them back… Oh, and you’re quite welcome.”
Keris walked up and took the pack he offered. “Thank you.”
Lyall and Shann were both trying to suppress a giggle. “Actually, I do seem to remember someone saying we should watch ourselves with those people,” Alondo recalled.
Keris grinned in spite of herself. Lyall and Shann turned and resumed their course to the stream, breaking out into paroxysms of laughter as they went. Keris shook her head. “You do know you’re nothing but a great big child, don’t you?”
“Guilty as charged,” Alondo replied happily.
~
Saccath drew his arm back and struck Zamir with the back of his hand. The force of the blow snapped the caravan chief’s head to the side. White blood and spittle flew from the side of his mouth, and the heavy man sagged to his knees. The dark-robed Keltar loomed over him like a presage of doom. Then he turned on his heel and strode over to where two more Keltar waited. A couple of soldiers moved in and picked Zamir up from under his arms, dragging him backwards. They deposited him in a heap beside one of the wagons, where Anka and three small children were cowering.
Saccath took a cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands with a look of distaste, as if he were cleaning off e
xcrement. The other two Keltar watched as he performed the small ceremony. One was young and thin, with straight fair hair, tied back. His mouth was angled wickedly and his eyes were set too close together. The other was shorter than both of them, slightly stooped, face hidden by a hood. “Well?” The hooded figure inquired.
Saccath tossed the cloth away. “The chief admits to aiding and abetting the fugitives who attacked the compound at Gort. He sold them fresh animals and supplies. He claims he didn’t know who they were, and that he wouldn’t have traded with them if he had known. Personally, I think his kind would do anything to line their pockets.”
“Are you certain it was them?” the one with the hood probed.
“There can be no doubt of it,” Saccath affirmed. “Two men and two women: the impostor and the girl who was his accomplice in Corte, the woman Keris and another man whose description I did not recognise; a musician, of all things. The first three bore the cloak and wielded the staff of Keltar. They even hunted with these people as Keltar.”
The thin young man’s expression turned to disgust. “They must be stopped.”
“Patience, Nikome,” Saccath soothed. “What I want to know is why would a genuine Keltar join up with the likes of them?”
“That is not your concern.” The mouth moved beneath the hood. “Did you learn which way they were headed?”
Saccath nodded once. “They parted company where the river Talar turns north. The fugitives continued due east from that point.”
“How long ago?”
“Just this morning,” Saccath reported. “It should be a simple matter to overtake them. Should we eliminate them or take them into custody?”
The hooded face remained half in gloom. “For now your orders are to track their progress but maintain a distance. Do not attempt to engage them.”
The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) Page 15
