Ravenshade

by C S Marks

  “Another helpless northman? What forces keep driving your folk out here, into the southlands? You should curse them, my friend!” He laughed in an ill-natured way, rubbing his cold hands together. “The name is Radeef, humble purveyor of fine horse-flesh. How may I serve you?”

  Kotos sized him up in an instant, and smiled to himself. That smile was visible for just a moment on the face of Vartan, and it did not match the tormented look in his eyes.

  It made Radeef wonder whether this man had lost his reason. “How might I assist you, O obviously-lost-and-forlorn northman? Is it water you desire? If so, then take some now, before you pass from the world before my eyes.”

  Radeef, a superstitious man, would not refuse water to a dying man in the desert, for to do so would no doubt curse him forever, along with his equally disreputable family. “Drink your fill, northman,” he said. “Saving your life will keep the Wheel turning in my favor. One never knows what spirits lurk in these lands, lying in wait to trap unwary souls.”

  What spirits, indeed, thought Kotos.

  The northman accepted the water-skin and drank thankfully, taking slow, deliberate swallows of water, feeling some vitality flow back into his dried, sunburned flesh. “I…I need a horse,” he said at last to Radeef. “I will not survive without one. Please, might I trade for one of yours?”

  “Of course!” laughed Radeef, as he continued to rub his hands together. “But these animals were dearly bought, and have journeyed long. I will not part with them for nothing. What have you to trade?” He smiled as he remembered the result of his last trading encounter with northern folk. It had ended with ten gold pieces to the good, for an animal of no value. It had been one of the best trades he had ever made.

  “I have my sword, and it is of very fine make,” said the northman. He handed the blade hilt-first to Radeef, but first he made certain that the golden amulet was now visible from beneath his sweat-stained shirt. Radeef caught sight of it, and he lost his breath for a moment. He quickly hid this error through a small fit of coughing.

  “Gnats,” he said, waving his hand before his eyes. “Those accursed gnats. Sometimes they fly where they shouldn’t, eh?” He examined the sword, but then handed it back. “Sorry, I am not interested. I have enough weapons already. What else have you to trade?”

  “I have nothing else. Please…I am desperate. Would you truly condemn me to death for want of your most wretched animal? Please, if you are a good man, help me.” At this point suppressed laughter was heard from Radeef’s men, who had gathered nearby.

  “If you are truly desperate, Northman, then you do have something else. That golden thing around your neck, for example…might I see it? It will be of little value to your poor, dead self. If it pleases me, I will trade for it.”

  “You may see it,” was the reply, “but I will not give it into another man’s hand. You must stand before me and examine it, if you would take it.”

  Radeef commanded his dromadan to kneel before the northman, knowing that he would not be harmed. His men knew of no such thing—they clucked and shook their heads at their master’s foolishness, keeping weapons at the ready.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Radeef, “but of questionable worth. The stone is actually rather ordinary. I will trade for a horse of my own selection. What say you?”

  Tears actually welled in Vartan’s eyes, though they had been difficult for Kotos to muster. “This has been in my family for generations, and it is of Elven-make. It was passed to me by my father upon his death, and I had hoped to pass it to my sons,” he said.

  “Yet you will pass it only to the desert if you have passed yourself,” said Radeef. He had already decided that the amulet would be his, one way or another. It was the most beautiful object he had ever beheld.

  “You wound me to the heart,” said Vartan in a broken voice. “Yet you have already saved my life with the gift of water, and you are right. Beautiful things are of no use to a dead man. Take the amulet, then, and much joy may it bring you.” He bowed his head so that Radeef could take his prize.

  Kotos remained with Vartan long enough to receive Radeef’s selection, a raw-boned but relatively sound grey gelding, together with a full water-skin. “It’s not much water,” said Radeef. “You will need to make your way to an oasis quickly. Follow the Ravani Road to the Sandstone settlement. It is not too far away…you will soon see it on the horizon. Make for the great red rock! Farewell, and safe journey to you.”

  Radeef’s men laughed again, for they knew the truth. The Sandstone was still nearly a hundred difficult miles away. This hapless northman would never make it with only one skin of water, yet he seemed not to know, or care.

  “In my country, a man shakes hands when a bargain is made,” he said, “or there is no bargain. Men must trust one another that much. Will you shake my hand?”

  “If I must,” said a wary Radeef, spitting first into his own hand before extending it. Vartan did the same. When the two men clasped hands, Kotos occupied Radeef easily, as the dark spirit with which the merchant was endowed offered no resistance to the evil that now flowed into him; it seemed to fit his nature. At first, he was hardly even aware of it.

  Vartan, on the other hand, went pale as his strength left him. He sank down onto the sand and moaned, looking around as though he had just awakened from a nightmare.

  Radeef took notice, but he did not spend much time in wondering. He was unaccustomed to caring for the troubles of others. A good thing, thought Kotos, for otherwise my new host might have become suspicious. As it was, Radeef merely laughed.

  “Farewell, my hapless northern friend. You have served me well, but now I must leave you. Good luck with the desert, and remember, the Sandstone is very close now. You’ll make it!”

  He rode forth laughing, as did his fellows, for they had many miles to cover ere they reached water themselves. One of the men lingered, handing Vartan another water-skin in a manner that would not be seen by his fellows, for he was a good man, and he knew Radeef had condemned both man and horse to death otherwise.

  It would be several hours and quite a few miles before Radeef would realize that Vartan had gotten the best of the trade. It would seem that honest men were not the only ones who could easily be led astray.

  In the fair city of Dûn Arian, the recovery continued. Nelwyn ran her fingers through her long, silken hair as she stood beside Estle, who had become a close friend during this time of trial. Estle fluffed her own hair with the heels of both hands. She would not be able to run her fingers through it as Nelwyn had done, for it was almost wooly in texture and it tended to tangle severely in the damp coastal air. Never mind…Hallagond seems to like it, and that’s all that matters. Estle tied a bright silk scarf of green and blue around her head, squared her shoulders, and turned to Nelwyn.

  “Are you certain of this?” she asked.

  “No, I am not certain,” said Nelwyn. “I only know that Gaelen is desperately unhappy at the loss of Finan, and now she will not ride Siva. She is unmounted, and that cannot stand, for if she must journey forth she will need a reliable partner. She has convinced herself that there will be no replacing Finan, and she has not ridden since he left her. We must get her back on a horse, and soon.”

  They stood before the stables, awaiting the arrival of the Master of Horse, a short, barrel-chested man named Khandor. The product of a northern father and a mother descended of Khazi-folk, he had broad, rather eastern features, and his lively brown eyes sparkled with good humor. He reminded Estle of a tall, dark version of Fima, save that Khandor had only a thin, wispy beard and mustache. He was an exceptional rider, as were nearly all Khazi-folk, and he had ridden out with various members of the Company on occasion. He had fought beside them against the Scourge, riding with Ali, who had been his close friend. Now he favored Nelwyn and Estle with a broad smile, for he knew why they had come.

  “Well, my fine friends, shall we get to it? We haven’t much time before you will both be missed at breakfast. Let me
show you what I have available.”

  He led Nelwyn and Estle to his holding yards, where many new animals were gathered. These were the survivors of the battle; the Scourge’s horses had been collected and were now thriving in their new home. Still, the hardship of the desert crossing had marked them, and most were still healing from battle wounds.

  “Do you see any here that please you?”

  Nelwyn shook her head. “None that truly stand out. And I must say that Gaelen is very difficult to impress when it comes to the matter of horse-flesh. She would not choose any of them, alas.” She turned to Khandor. “If we are to convince her, this new mount must be fine indeed. And under no circumstances should it look anything like Finan.”

  Khandor nodded, his normally lighthearted demeanor now solemn. He knew the tale of Finan and his valiant final stand against the dragon. He had rarely known of a horse so loyal, or a rider so devoted. This would be a difficult bond to reestablish.

  “Let me show you something special,” he said at once, his face brightening. “We shall need the most special animal for your Gaelen.”

  He conducted his hopeful visitors round the back of the yards, past the cobbled courtyard and the neatly white-washed stone stables to a small enclosure with its own attached shed. Khandor whistled softly, and a most impressive young horse appeared in the doorway. Silver-grey in color, he had a proud, handsome head and a lovely soft eye. His legs were very correct and strong; he looked as though he could carry Rogond and Hallagond together. He resembled Eros in size and strength, but his coat was fine and silky like the Ravani-bred animals. He was magnificent.

  “Where have you been hiding this animal?” asked Nelwyn. “I surely would have noticed him…he is beautiful! Yet I cannot determine his breeding. He is much too large for a desert-bred. What is he?”

  “I honestly do not know,” Khandor replied. “He is branded on the left hip, but no one here seems to know the design. He came in from the desert one day, his teeth said that he was only two years old then, and he is now five. At least, his body is five…he seems to have the mind of a much younger animal. That’s why we don’t yet ride him in battle, though he can be ridden. He trained easily, but he cannot resist playing about, hence he is not yet suitable as a war-horse. I had planned to put him over a few mares this season, but there should be plenty of time for that. Do you think Gaelen would accept him?”

  “Gaelen?” said Estle with a slow shake of her head. “Our Gaelen, ride that huge animal? I very much doubt it.”

  “Is he swift?” asked Nelwyn. “There is no doubting his strength, but he will need to be both handy and swift for Gaelen to accept him. He must move very, very well.”

  “We don’t know how swift he is, for he is untested,” said Khandor, “but he moves like a dancer and he is incredibly light-footed. Watch him now and see.”

  He took a long whip and cracked it several times. The grey was not impressed at first, looking a little puzzled, but then he began to move about the enclosure in a very fluid, graceful manner that belied the power beneath. He seemed to float above the ground rather than tread upon it. He never took his eyes from Khandor, and as soon as the whip was lowered, he trotted right up to the Master of Horse and jostled him with his large head, nearly bowling him over. “You see how he moves, and you also see that he’s a friendly sort,” said Khandor, waving the animal off so that he would not be knocked down. “What do you think of him?”

  “Most impressive,” said Nelwyn. “I have rarely seen a better mover. I don’t know whether Gaelen will like him, but she will not deny his quality.” The grey now followed behind Khandor, grabbing playfully at his collar and snatching at his hair. Nelwyn smiled. “He seems personable enough, and he is certainly different from Finan. I say, what is the harm in asking her?”

  “I will place a wager right now,” said Estle. “Gaelen will want nothing whatever to do with this huge, silly animal, and the suggestion will no doubt make her angry. That is my prediction.”

  “Quite the optimistic view, may I say,” said Khandor. He had climbed out of the enclosure to escape the unwanted attentions of the grey, who was now nodding his long head up and down, beseeching Khandor to return and continue the game. “All she need do is say no. No one will force her to take him. He is a fine animal, and very special. He is young, and admittedly foolish, but is as good-hearted as they come. I do not give him up easily, but to Gaelen—and only to Gaelen—I will give him willingly.”

  “Fair enough, but might I suggest a different approach?” said Estle.

  They listened to her suggestion, and all agreed it was a good one. Nelwyn would bring Gaelen by later that morning, after breakfast.

  Khandor bowed before Gaelen, welcoming her. “I truly need your assistance,” he said. “I would have your view concerning the worth of this animal as a future herd sire. He is untested, and none of my riders can convince him to perform at his best. I believe he has speed as yet untapped, and I require an educated and perceptive opinion. Will you aid me?”

  Gaelen both liked and respected Khandor, and she would not refuse him. Yet she thought his request curious. “Why ask my opinion?” she said. “You are most perceptive and educated yourself. Why involve me?”

  Khandor spread his hands. “Because, to be honest, my assistant and I do not agree, and I was hoping you could settle our dispute. You see, my First Rider believes that the grey is simply lazy, and that he should be taken out and ridden to within an inch of exhaustion to teach him a good lesson. I, on the other hand, believe in a more conservative approach. My difficulty is that I do not have the time to ride him, and my First Rider obviously does not have the patience. We need to get this animal fit and tested before the next breeding season, and I fear he may break down if I allow my First Rider to take him over.”

  Khandor sighed dramatically, looking sidelong at Gaelen, who was now focused upon the grey. “If only you would ride him, and oversee his training, I would be most grateful. I would pay you handsomely, as well. Lord Salastor has authorized this himself, as he recognizes the value of the animal.”

  Gaelen could not deny the young stallion’s quality, even as Nelwyn had predicted. Yet a look of great sadness came over her, and she turned away. “I…I don’t know, Khandor. I’m flattered by your trust in me, and yet I don’t know whether I can do what you require. Ask Nelwyn. She is a wonderful rider with a gentle hand.”

  “I have asked her already,” Khandor replied, his voice both solemn and kind. “She tells me that you have the skills to bring the fire out of the animal, and she does not. He needs the Fire-heart to bring out the strength I know he possesses. Nelwyn will not do.”

  He moved to stand beside Gaelen, speaking so that only she would hear. “I know your heart and your spirit are diminished, and that you do not wish to ride again. Yet I need your help, and you must ride sooner or later. No one is trying to replace what you have lost, for we know that we cannot. Take my request for what it is.”

  Gaelen turned away from Khandor for a moment, and then turned back to face him. “I need some time to consider this,” she said. “When I have considered, I will find you.” She bowed and turned to leave, but he called after her.

  “Both this horse and I need your aid. Consider well, and return as you wish. Take him and try him. He is yours until you say he isn’t.”

  Gaelen did not reply, but walked slowly through the gate. Just before she moved from sight, however, she turned back for a last look at the beautiful grey, and Khandor smiled to himself. He had done a good job.

  Radeef had stolen away from his fellows as they slept, mounting his puzzled dromadan and urging it to its feet as the moon rose high above him. He would never have chosen this course—it had been chosen for him. He had provided well for himself, taking much of the remaining water, and had at first thought to ride the swiftest of the horses, for something told him that he needed to make for the Sandstone settlement with all speed. Yet none of the horses would suffer him.

  Kotos kn
ew it, for he was no friend of horses. Maddeningly perceptive beasts, they would not allow such an evil spirit to approach them. Dromadin, on the other hand, were not so particular, and neither man nor beast had any notion of the dark force that now drove them.

  Radeef’s men would awaken to find that their master had gone, taking much of their water, having bludgeoned the one keeping watch. They could not follow, for they did not have enough water; they would need to make their way to the nearest oasis. Radeef had taken only his own valuables, and this confused his men even more, as they would have expected him to rob them as they slept. Yet Radeef now had only one possession that he truly cared about—the golden amulet that now hung about his neck.

  He urged his laboring dromadan toward the south, a part of him wondering why in the world he should make for the Sandstone, while the rest of him knew, beyond a certainty, that he must.

  “Ehhya!”

  Gaelen had just about lost her patience with the grey, and that did not happen often. He is so unlike other horses…even the young ones have outgrown such irrepressible playfulness by the time they’re three, let alone five. This one reminds me more of a puppy than a horse.

  She had limited experience with dogs, although Ri-Aruin kept several kennels hunting-hounds. They were huge, leggy, shaggy creatures with little humor about them, but their pups were playful and winsome, as with all dogs. Wellyn had once taken Gaelen to visit the kennels so that she could play with a litter of ten half-grown pups. They had swarmed all over her and knocked her down, surrounding her with a forest of lolling pink tongues and frantic, whiplike tails, licking and pawing at her until she nearly panicked. They had pinned her to the ground with their large, hairy feet, and she struggled to escape, though she knew they meant no harm. She burst into nervous laughter as Wellyn waded in to rescue her. He was still very young, yet he was much taller than she, and had little difficulty. When the pups stood on their hind legs, they were taller than Gaelen, who was by then covered with hair, slobber, and lord-knew-what-else. She did not remember the experience as a pleasant one.