“Free me,” Ehomba ordered him.
“Yes, yes, immediately!” With his own gold damascened sickle the noble cut the herdsman’s bonds. As he stepped back, his terrified, tapering face was drawn inexorably to the lunatic sky. “Now do something!”
“I will.” As mounting hysteria raged around him, Ehomba calmly walked over, stretched out one hand, and reached through the dark aurora to take hold of the radiant sword. The haft was cold, colder than he had ever felt it, but it seemed to warm a little at his touch. Or it might just have been the air itself, which was growing very warm indeed as the onrushing monolith approached the Earth.
Gripping the sword tightly in his fist, he turned around to face the shaken, fearful Agrath. The noble’s two companions had vanished back into the tent, as though the sheer magnificence of its decoration might somehow impress the fiery plunging immensity and save them from destruction. Putting his left hand below his right, the herdsman drew back the blade and brought it around in a single swift, sweeping arc.
The expression on Agrath’s face did not change even as his head was neatly severed from his shoulders and sent flying toward the entrance to the tent. It bounced a couple of times before coming to rest in the dirt. To their credit, a couple of the guards overcame their panic long enough to draw their weapons and rush toward Ehomba. Pirouetting as nimbly as if he were the lead dancer in a traditional Naumkib ceremony, the herdsman showed them the sword. That was enough. The pair promptly joined their comrades in hysterical flight.
Simna was hopping backwards toward his friend. “Cut me loose, bruther! We’ve got to get out of here.” Lowering the blade, Ehomba swiftly sliced through the swordsman’s restraints. “By Golontai’s gonads, that’s icy!” He rubbed at his emancipated wrists. “How do you hold on to it?”
Ehomba was running back into the tent. “In the winter, the nights in my country can get very cold. A man still has to stand watch over his herd.”
“Cold, is it? Hoy, but you’ve sure given these pinch-faced bastards a chill!” Grinning wolfishly, Simna followed him into the tent.
If not for the naked fear rampant on their faces, the demeanor of the two nobles huddled and trembling beneath one of the carved tables would have been comical. On the opposite side of the tent, the four elder Chlengguu sat with eyes closed, lips moving silently as they recited whatever personal mantras they felt would best prepare them for Death. Nearby, Ahlitah fought futilely against the steel net.
“Lie still!” Ehomba barked as he brought the sword down. Simna looked on respectfully as the blade sliced through segment after segment of the tough metal mesh.
Once his front paws were free, the great black predator was able to push hard enough to snap numerous links and lengths of chain and give the herdsman some help. With Ehomba working his way down to the cat’s hind legs, Ahlitah was soon free. He stretched magnificently, fighting to loosen cramped muscles.
“No time for that!” Simna yelled as he recovered the rest of their weapons from the table. The Chlengguu cowering beneath made no move to stop him. “We’ve got to get away from here. The sky is falling!”
“What is the hairless ape prattling about?” Ahlitah followed the herdsman as they hurried out of the tent.
“You will see,” Ehomba assured the litah. And as soon as they were outside, he did.
The piece of sky was close enough now for the scrambling travelers to see that only its nucleus was solid. The remainder of the globe was composed of gases and vapors that were boiling off its surface and streaming back behind to form the now immense but nebulous tail. Actually, the solid portion of the sphere was not very large at all. They did not have time to ascertain exactly how big it might be because it was very near and coming toward them very fast.
It shrieked over their heads, passing just behind them, and hit with a sound like a million banshees all sobbing at once.
“Get down!” Even as he was shouting the warning to his friends, Ehomba was diving into a cramped irrigation ditch. Simna and even Ahlitah imitated his headlong leap without question. He felt the overheated mass of the big cat slam up against him.
Then the sky erupted. Howling winds tore at his body and clothing but largely shrieked past overhead. Out of one eye he could see tents and Chlengguu caught up by the detonation being scattered like toys in every direction. Many of the invaders were screaming, though they could not be heard over the force of the concussion.
As rapidly as it struck, the great wind passed. Rising tentatively from their providential if muddy refuge, Ehomba looked back the way they had come. All around them was desolation. The Chlengguu bivouac, much of the assembled army itself, its murderous equipment and lodgings, trees and surrounding vegetation, had been blown away or in many instances humbled beyond recognition.
Rising from the ditch, the travelers gathered themselves as they gazed southward. An enormous hole had been blasted in the Wall where the falling piece of sky had struck. Thousands of moaning, whimpering Chlengguu soldiers still clung to the untouched portions of the Wall that stretched away unbroken to east and west. The barrier was quivering, trembling slightly from the force and extent of the great wound it had incurred.
Then, to the accompaniment of hundreds of hopeless screams from as many hoarse and hysterical throats, the mortally injured Wall toppled slowly forward and fell, perishing with a reverberant crash and ensuing upheaval of dust, dirt, and Death. Dozens upon dozens of gigantic, gleaming hooves protruded from its upturned underside, stationary and unmoving. Among the cloud of debris that was raised by its collapse was a cloud. Not a dark cloud, but a cloud of darkness. This quickly dissipated into the sky, the wind whisking it northward. A tight-lipped Ehomba followed it with his eyes until it was lost from view.
As the echo of the Wall’s fall faded, a new sound could be heard: the cries of thousands of displaced Queppa as they gathered themselves to swarm down upon the dazed and demoralized Chlengguu who had survived. Battle quickly became butchery. Ehomba turned away, disinterested in the outcome. As he had tried to tell representatives of both sides, theirs was not his fight. But no one had listened to him.
Taking a deep breath, carefully stepping over a pair of Chlengguu corpses that had been twisted out of all recognition, he accepted his spear and bone sword from Simna and prepared to resume the trek northward.
The swordsman paced him effortlessly while Ahlitah hung back slightly, pausing repeatedly to groom his ruffled and mussed black fur.
“Please now, bruther,” Simna queried respectfully, “tell me once more how much the sorcerer you are not.”
The herdsman looked down at his more than slightly skeptical companion. “Nothing has changed, my friend. I am the same man, boasting the same lack of skills beyond a knowledge of cattle and sheep, desert and ocean.” Reaching back over his shoulder, he touched the hilt of the sky-metal sword where it rested once more in its scabbard. “The blade did all this, not I. Another made the blade, and others presided over its final forging. If you must have an explanation, talk to Otjihanja the Smithy or the old women of the Naumkib. Not I.”
“But you knew what it could do.” Simna was nothing if not persistent. “You ran for cover as soon as you could.”
Ehomba nodded. “I knew, because I was told by those who know. Not because I carry with me any great store of necromantic knowledge. We were lucky.”
“Lucky.” Searching his friend’s face for hint of cool concealment or calculated mendacity, the swordsman found none. Could it be as the herdsman claimed?
“Well, whatever the explanation, we’re alive, and that’s what matters.” He put a little spring into his step. “Time enough later for clarifications.” Shading his eyes with one hand, he squinted at the rubble they were approaching. From a distance, it appeared to be the ruin of a substantial building, perhaps a modest Queppa fortress. Shreds of Chlengguu banners hung limp from its crushed battlements. Shielded by the outer walls, the inner keep appeared to be relatively intact. Nothing moved on the d
amaged parapet, on the wind-scoured ground outside, or within.
“Let’s have a look,” he urged his tall companion.
“Why?” Ehomba’s gaze narrowed slightly. “We still must reach the Aboqua and find passage north.”
Concentrating on the small fortress, Simna muttered distantly, “The Chlengguu had to have a headquarters safely distant from the field of battle. Even with the Wall to protect them, that would be just common military sense.” He nodded at the ruins. “Given the number of banners hanging from its stones, this looks like it might have been it.”
“So?” Ehomba commented disinterestedly.
Simna smiled up at him. “Please allow me a minute, my laconic master of new lambs. I just want to have a quick look around.”
The herdsman sighed tolerantly. “Very well. Otherwise I will hear about it for days.”
“Yes you will. Come on.” Increasing his pace, he raced on ahead.
Ahlitah watched him break into a sprint. “What ails the ape?”
“I do not know.” Ehomba lengthened his stride. It would not do to let Simna out of his sight. The overeager swordsman might stumble into a nest of surviving invaders ready and frustrated enough to take out their anger on the first non-Chlengg who came their way. “But I can guess.”
XXXI
THE SWORDSMAN WAS NOT TO BE FOUND IN THE VACANT courtyard of the fortress. Nor was he in the deserted stables, or the unpretentious, high-ceilinged entry hall. Everywhere was evidence of hasty departure on the part of the Chlengguu who had been stationed in the sturdy stone structure. With every uncontested breeze, scattered scrolls and abandoned papers scooted across the floor like whispering, bleached vermin. Goblets and cups of indeterminate liquid posed forlornly on tables and in alcoves, waiting for drinkers who would never come. Erratic spills stained the floor. Gaps in the rafters showed where a few banners had been ripped from their braces and carried off by the fleeing soldiers.
They found Simna in a back room lying on a bed of gold. The room was small and showed signs of having been partially looted, but enough riches remained to satisfy even the most avaricious. There was some silver extant, and platinum presentation disks, and several chests of jeweled pins and medals. The swordsman lay on his back atop the pile, arms spread wide to encompass as much of the hoard as possible. His eyes were closed and a look of bliss reposed on his face as snugly as a perfumed hot towel.
Ahlitah took one glance at the heaping knoll of inedible metal, sniffed, and padded off in search of something valuable. Ehomba stepped through the open doorway, noting as he did so the broken lock and seal, and knelt to examine a handful of the coins. They were six-sided and stamped with an assortment of profiles and adornments. All of the sharply minted faces were Chlengguu.
“What was that you’ve been trying to tell me about no treasure?” As he slid down the front of the flaxen gradient, gold bunched up beneath the swordsman’s undergarments. He did not find the sensation unpleasant.
Straightening, Ehomba surveyed the accumulation. “All Chlengguu coin and manufacture. This room in this fortress must have been used as the army’s treasury. The troops were paid directly from this stockpile.”
“And now there is no army.” Simna smiled beatifically. “So it’s ours.” Lifting a fistful of coins, he let the gold trickle out between his fingers and spill across his stomach.
“Yours.” Turning away, the herdsman prepared to head off in search of the litah.
“Hoy, bruther! Wait a moment.” As Simna sat up, gold tumbled from his arms and chest. Coins bounced musically off the hard floor or ran away and hid against the base of the thick stone walls. “What do you mean, it’s mine? Share and share alike, by Gloriskan!”
Pausing, Ehomba looked back at his friend. “I do not want any of it, Simna. It is all yours. I have all I can do to carry wood and water and weapons and a few essentials. Even a little gold is heavy when one has a long ways to walk.”
“Not to me it ain’t.” Hoisting a handful, the swordsman tossed it into the air for the sheer pleasure of watching it catch the light as it fell. “To me it weighs next to nothing. In fact, the more I have to carry, the lighter my step becomes.”
“If it makes you happy, you should enjoy it.” Ehomba smiled good-naturedly. “There is little enough happiness in the world. I am sure you will be able to find Queppa who will be delighted to help you take charge of your good fortune.” He eyed the pile appraisingly. “I do not know a great deal about gold or money, but I think there is enough there to keep you in comfort for the rest of your life. Not enough to buy a kingdom, perhaps, but nearly anything else.” He started through the door.
“Hoy, what’s your hurry?”
The herdsman smiled back at him. “I am on a journey that leads to a destination, remember? I hope to reach the shores of the Aboqua in a few days. Be well, my good friend, and have a long and contented life.” With that he strode out into the corridor and headed back in the direction of the main hall in search of the litah.
Simna ibn Sind sat contemplating more gold than he had ever believed could be found in one place. Lifting back the lid of one of the small metal-banded wooden chests that floated like carracks among the coins, he let his gaze linger on its contents: military decorations and awards wrought in the semibarbaric and florid style of the Chlengguu. There were formal lapel pins of fine filigreed gold inlaid with emeralds and sapphires, tsavorites and pearls; medals prominent with ivory and amber cameos of unknown nobles; satin ribbons from which hung intricate scenes etched into the faces of rare crystals by master engravers. Each worth a pocket fortune, and all his. The riches of a lifetime.
Rising abruptly, jaw set, he flung the chest aside, causing its contents to spill in an instant of sparkling evanescence across the pile’s front slope. He found his companions at the entrance to the main hall, preparing to depart.
“Oh no you don’t!” he shouted at Ehomba. Pausing in the act of adjusting the straps of his backpack, the herdsman looked back curiously.
The swordsman stomped up to the taller southerner and got right in his face. “Think you’re all too clever, don’t you?”
Expression innocent of guile, Ehomba regarded his friend. “Simna, I do not know what you mean.”
“Like Grestel’s choice you don’t!” He gestured angrily back the way he had come. “Thinking you can buy me off with a pittance like that!”
“Pittance? My friend, from what little I know about gold, I would think what you have here enough for any man.”
“Leave him to his counting.” Ahlitah growled impatiently. “We should make some distance before nightfall.”
Simna shot the big cat a look. “You keep out of this, masticator of minor mammals.” Not even deigning to respond, the litah sighed and settled down on his belly to wait out the rest of the confrontation. When humans were arguing, it was all one could do. “That’s what you want me to think, isn’t it?” the swordsman told Ehomba accusingly. “That this is enough. First you tried to convince me you weren’t after treasure, and now you’re doing your best to use this trifle to bribe me to stay behind. Well, it’s not going to work.”
Ehomba smiled and shook his head slowly. “My friend, nothing of the sort ever—”
Simna would not let him finish. Instead, he raised a hand and waved it in the herdsman’s face. “No, no—don’t try to deny it!” A broad grin on his face, he began walking toward the exit. “You may as well forget the whole idea, Etjole. You’re not rid of me that easily. I’m sticking to you like a father to his daughter in a naval port until we find the real treasure!” With that he marched imperiously through the portal, forcing himself not to look back in the direction of the storeroom and its glittering riches.
Lifting his mane, Ahlitah yawned conspicuously. “Can we go now?”
Shaking his head, the quietly exasperated herdsman followed in the swordsman’s wake. “Sometimes, my feline friend, I think I understand sheep better than humans.”
Unwinding itself from th
e floor, the great ebony cat padded along close beside him. “That’s because sheep are more sensible than humans. Now, for real intelligence and common sense, you need to talk to a cat.”
They emerged into the courtyard. No longer having to compete with a fiery, angry visitor from beyond, the sun shone placidly down on the ravaged expanse of the Queppa lands.
“So then tell me,” the herdsman inquired as they began to catch up to the boldly striding Simna, “how does sleeping nineteen or twenty hours a day really affect the quality of your life?”
Predator’s eyes swung around to meet his own. “You ask a lot of questions, Etjole Ehomba.”
The herdsman smiled agreeably. “It is my nature.”
* * * *
It was farther to the Aboqua than Ehomba had hoped, but not as far as he feared. Keeping to a major north-south trade route that followed a convenient canyon through the range of coastal mountains, they soon found themselves sharing the way with a people who called themselves Maliin. They had fine homes and were not much for farming, tending to concentrate in numerous bustling towns and villages. Reports of the invasion of the Queppa had suffused their daily lives with apprehension and dread, so they were much relieved to hear that the cold, cruel Chlengguu had once again been defeated.
As the bearers of such good tidings, Ehomba and his friends were received with good cheer wherever they stopped. Eager for the latest news from the interior and relieved that it was, for the most part, all good, enthusiastic townsfolk took pleasure in tending to the needs of the quaint trio of pilgrims. Anointed a herald by the grateful populace, Ahlitah had to suffer the attentions of giggling, delighted children. They pulled his tail and buried themselves in his mane. Ehomba was gratified to see the great cat handle it with dignity and forbearance, even if he did spend many moments grinding his teeth in exasperation at the attention.
“I know you would rather eat them,” he whispered to the litah during a private moment, “but a guest who devoured the offspring of his hosts would not continue to be regarded with favor. Restrain yourself a while longer, until we can find ourselves a ship.”
Carnivores of Darkness and Light: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 1 Page 32
