by Dave Smeds
As suddenly as it had come, it left. The magic, as he had feared, had its limit. His distant doctor had done what he could. He had a reprieve, but only the most severe damage had been dealt with. He might still die. The pain was still intense. For a time, he could only shake. He would have made a passive victim for a fourth assassin.
He looked at the lithe, dark-cloaked figures of the men he had killed. He recognized the insignia on their vests. The Claw. Worm's men.
They were good. The Dragon's best. They had almost been good enough.
Stumbling outside, he searched through the underbrush. Soon he saw the crumpled bodies.
Both had been stabbed from behind. Faces of men that he had shared the decks with on long sea voyages stared up empty, slack-jawed and puffy in death. But he had expected no better from the moment he had been attacked.
“Good wind and clear sky,” he murmured, and closed their eyes.
The brawling of oeikani disrupted his mourning. The noise came from the stables next to the tavern. Spurred with a final reserve of energy, he limped around the perimeter of the building, arriving at the stable doors just as they swung open.
Luo whipped his animal when he saw Keron, but the Elandri stepped aside, grasped an antler in his good hand, and yanked downward. The oeikani squealed and plunged into the dirt, flipping its rider to a landing so heavy as to dent the roadway. Luo emitted the sick wheeze of someone who has lost all the air his lungs have ever possessed.
“Going somewhere?” Keron asked.
“How?” the silk trader squeaked, when he could breathe.
“I'm strong,” Keron replied.
“It wasn't my doing! They forced me!” Luo whined.
“Who forced you? Give me names!"
“I don't know.” Luo managed to roll on his side, lifting one hand in supplication.
Keron walked unsteadily forward and picked up the sword that had broken free of Luo's belt on impact. Clothing soaked with blood, skin an unhealthy pallor, he advanced toward the merchant.
“Listen, Elandri! We can bargain!"
Keron chopped through Luo's neck like an executioner. He wiped the steel off on the fine quarn suit of the deceased.
“The best bargain we've ever struck,” Keron muttered. He paused only long enough to search the body. He found the pearls he had given Luo earlier, along with another small sack. It contained only five objects. Four were gems of the highest quality. The fifth was another amath pearl. Had the latter not contained a flaw, it would have been fit for a king. As it was, it was still extremely valuable. Keron had rarely seen a specimen this large.
Shouts came from the inn above. Keron glanced up and saw Ampet silhouetted in a window frame. He heard running feet. His ravaged body threatened to buckle, but he had to find safety, a place to heal. The neck of the beast he had downed was broken, so he seized another from the stables, not stopping to look for a saddle. He knocked an oil lamp into straw fodder on his way out and left Eruth blazing with two kinds of fire.
* * *
III
ALEMAR AND ELENYA SPENT THE HEAT of the day resting in one of the arroyos common to the region. The banks of the ancient streambed cut deeply and suddenly into the plain, invisible from only a short distance away, a trick characteristic of the land and one that had allowed the T'lil to appear so suddenly at the water hole. The desert riders used canopies to augment the natural shade. To the twins, it was a shock to be free of the burden of sunlight.
The group stretched out on either side of them in a long line. The oeikani were gathered together at a spot where the stream's course widened, where they could be easily guarded. The twins scooted into a shallow fissure, left to themselves, but not enough so that they couldn't be seen at all times. Elenya barely managed to smooth the sand beneath her before she fell asleep.
When she awoke, the sun occupied the opposite quarter of the sky. High above, a huge black bird circled, probably a vulture. For a moment, still half dreaming, she pictured it as a dragon, waiting to dive upon her, flame spouting from its throat. An unlikely fantasy—Gloroc, the Dragon of Elandris, was the only living example of his race within the civilized world, and he wasn't old enough to fly yet.
She heard the snores of napping Zyraii. Other members of the tribe were engaged in games of chance played with three twelve-sided dice. One or two honed their weapons. She uncurled herself, groaned, and noticed that Alemar was awake.
“Haven't you slept?"
“No. Couldn't."
“If you fall off your animal later, don't expect me to pick you up,” she said, noting his bloodshot eyes and the heaviness of his lids. She didn't need to ask how he felt; they had been through the eret-Zyraii together.
“Have some salt,” he said, handing her their precious supply. She sprinkled some on her tongue and followed it with several swallows of water.
“What now?” She spoke quietly and used the Low Speech of the Cilendri for extra measure, but none of the strangers gave any sign that they were interested in the twins’ conversation.
“They know where Setan is. We don't."
“That doesn't help us much if we're prisoners."
They both felt the alert eyes that pretended not to look at them and noted the smooth, feline gait of a warrior walking by. In their state of exhaustion, they couldn't even think to escape. The fight at the water hole had taken what scant reserves they had.
Not far away, a Zyraii relieved himself. Elenya felt no longings from her own bladder, despite the time since she'd last emptied it, but she began thinking.
“Do I look like a man?” she asked, gesturing down at her body. Like her brother, she was short and slender. Although fair-skinned, the sun had tanned them almost to the swarthiness of the Zyraii, and shoulder-length, jet-black hair occasionally peeked out of either of their cowls. The clothing hung so loosely as to completely conceal her small breasts unless she pressed the cloth against herself, and the veil hid the fact that she had no beard.
Alemar squinted at her, as if trying to place himself in an objective viewpoint. “No. But neither do you appear not to be. One would see what one expected to see."
“They made the mistake very easily."
“I know. That's why I didn't correct Lonal. Maybe there's a good reason why you should be a man."
“But they'll know I'm a woman before very long, one way or another."
He frowned. “Yes. You're right. I'd keep my voice down if I were you."
She checked herself. “What happens when they find out we've lied?"
“I don't know."
They rested a while longer. More and more of the party stirred as the heat began to wane. They felt caresses from the faithful afternoon breeze. A half dozen Zyraii began practicing knife throwing. Elenya had recognized the short daggers carried by all of the riders. They performed demonblade. The name was taken from the Demon Steppes, a label Zyraii territory was known by outside the Eastern Deserts. Legend had it that Zyraii boys learned to throw knives before they could hold the weapons with one hand. The twins carried knives of their own, weighted for throwing, and knew how to use them, but they had never before had the opportunity to watch the skill performed by its traditional masters.
The men aimed at a wooden shield, the same type that could be found strapped to each rider's nonthrowing hand. Like the demonblades, the shields were cherished articles, wood oiled for protection from the weather, leather straps sewn tight. Wood, not metal. Metal became too hot in the sun. Likewise, wood slowed a blade's momentum in cases where metal only deflected.
The target piece, however, was worn and cracked and covered with several layers of hide to protect the points of the knives that struck it. Though it was barely wider across than the span of an adult's thumb and middle finger, the throwers rarely missed.
“They're good,” Elenya said.
“Yes,” Alemar answered. “Better than we."
“Better than you,” Elenya said. Alemar didn't dispute her.
“The
good ones aren't practicing,” she continued. “Like the two on the left there. I can smell others. And isn't it funny how our view is seldom blocked?” Feigning disinterest, members of the tribe stole glances in the direction of the twins. Elenya stared them down.
Eventually she pointed to Lonal. “He is the best. He's not even on the same scale.” The war-leader scarcely watched the proceedings. Even at rest, he projected confidence. When he did move, each action had its place, nothing wasted.
“Better than you?” Alemar asked.
She paused. “I would like to spar with him someday."
* * * *
At dusk, they mounted their oeikani and proceeded swiftly toward the east. The terrain became more varied. Desert flowers, cacti, and sparse brush appeared. After so long in utter desert, Alemar smelled the increase of water in the air. He shrugged this off as delusion born of exhaustion and nurtured by the knowledge that as they travelled east, they approached the Ahloorm, Zyraii's only major river.
The sun's stifling brilliance gave way to the cool, muted light of Motherworld. The Sister had already climbed high in the sky, her glow no longer dwarfed by the day. Shadows diffused and broadened. Hints of life scurried next to the path. Occasionally a rider would swing out from the group, small bow in hand, to return with a sagecrawler or a small mammal. Tiny feral sounds increased as the darkness deepened. It wouldn't grow beyond twilight until near morning, as Motherworld was in a gibbous phase, bold with her bands of ochre and beige.
At last, the land seemed to live. In the west, the eret-Zyraii, the best that could be hoped for was the rare water hole such as the twins had found that morning. Nature was a bad enemy. It was better here, among human adversaries. People were vulnerable.
They reached the Zyraii camp during midevening. It was a substantial settlement—three concentric rings of goat-hide tents, the largest and best toward the center. A small ritual fire burned at the hub, an area that also contained a spacious, undecorated tent of actual cloth, as well as a smith's forge and the livestock corrals. The first thing Alemar noticed about the place was the scarcity of fire—only the central flame and a few scattered oil cooking braziers. He saw figures bustling to and fro. Sentries had alerted the inhabitants, and children rushed out to greet the incoming warriors. Women hurried in other directions to prepare the reception.
The group rode immediately to the oeikani corral, through a twisting aisle between the tents just wide enough to accommodate their double file. Alemar deduced at once the significance of placing the corrals in the center—the valuable oeikani, sheep, and goats stood less chance of being lost in a raid. Boys came forward to tend to the mounts, including one who trotted up without hesitation to take those of Alemar and Elenya. He stopped short as soon as he saw them closely. The twins read his surprise as they dismounted but, handicapped as they were by lack of language, could only stare back with equal perplexity.
"Rol, yil ta wakani!” Lonal told the boy, who blanched.
The oeikani shuffled impatiently, awaiting their feeding. The boy turned and quieted them by name, glanced back at the twins one more time, and hurried away with his charges.
Alemar felt the blood on his hands.
Lonal ignored the questioning glances and led them through the tents. As they passed, women and children stared at the twins in a manner that the warriors had not, open-mouthed and shrinking back, making ritual signs. They wore no veils. The women dressed mainly in loose, flowing skirts with multilayered wraparound tops, seldom exposing more than head, hands, ankles, and feet. A few wore leather sandals; most were barefoot. Infants and small children ran naked. Fabrics boasted many colors and patterns, some quite plain, others intricate in both the design and the weaving. Only grown men, and not all of these, displayed the white robes of the group that they had ridden with. Eventually, Alemar noticed that those who wore white were the only ones who bore weapons.
Lonal spoke to them as they ferreted their way through the walls of hide. “These are the tents of my clan, the T'krt, largest of all the T'lil. We journey to the Ahloorm Basin. For tonight, you will be shown your tent and introduced to the elders. We will decide what to do with you tomorrow. Your adoption must be recognized, and you will have to be educated in our ways."
Lonal seemed completely unperturbed that he was declaring the long-term fate of two people with a handful of words. He drew off his veil as he spoke and flipped back the cowl, revealing a handsome, hawk-nosed face, much younger than Alemar had expected. There was energy in that face.
He instructed them to wait where they were for a few moments and disappeared into a tent. Soon they could hear him conversing with another man in the Zyraii language. When he returned, a short, lame tribesman followed him.
“This is Fumlok,” Lonal said. Fumlok walked with a limp and stood slightly bent. He was thin and leathery, a gaunt face drawn with distinct contours along the bone. His eyes seldom lit on any one spot for long, and he smiled for no apparent reason at regular intervals. Unlike the warriors, he wore trousers and a loose shirt reminiscent of the city dwellers to the south, though his features were unmistakably native.
“Few of my tribe speak Calinin. Fumlok will be your mouth until you learn Zyraii. I will leave you in his hands for the moment. You are to stay near him at all times. He will show you your holdings, while I consult with the elders."
“Our holdings?"
Lonal nodded. “I told you that you were to replace Am and Roel, whom you killed today. They were cousins, the last adult males of their family. What was theirs is yours.” He gestured to Fumlok and said firmly, “He will answer your questions now.” He marched away, soon to be obscured behind the tents.
Alemar turned and found Fumlok smiling at him. When the twins failed to respond, the translator's happiness vanished.
“So you know the High Speech?” Alemar asked.
“I speak many tongues,” Fumlok said awkwardly. His eyes darted from Elenya to Alemar to the ground. “It's what I'm good for."
Alemar wasn't sure if Fumlok genuinely meant to judge himself that way or not; the man stressed his syllables oddly and clearly was no master of the language. But perhaps it was true. The nomads might not tolerate a cripple among them if he couldn't be of some use. Alemar didn't like the little man. Fumlok reminded him of fawning courtiers. But if keeping him near would allow them to communicate, they would put up with him. The sooner they gathered some knowledge, the better.
“Come, come,” Fumlok said, leading them toward a modest-sized tent in the second ring. As they walked, observers began to gather, including warriors who had not been on the excursion. Three or four well-armed, well-dressed men followed most closely of all, keeping a distance barely casual.
Five people came out of the tent as the twins approached. All of them prostrated themselves, touching noses to the ground, and waited on their knees with eyes downcast. Four were women; one was the boy who had taken their oeikani from them at the corral, and thereby drew their attention first. He was strong-featured, alert, just short of puberty. There had been members in the party with whom they had ridden who had been only slightly older. Alemar saw a little of himself seven or eight years gone.
The two plain, thirtyish women lifted hands, palms down and fingers limp, heads still tilted toward the earth. “These are your wives,” Fumlok said. “They are called Omi and Peyri."
“Wives?"
Fumlok nodded, smiling. “Lonal tell you about it already. Am and Roel are dead. Now Omi and Peyri are yours."
“You mean they're property?"
“What is property?” Fumlok asked.
Alemar wasn't sure whether Fumlok didn't know the word or didn't know the concept. “Like slaves?"
Fumlok recoiled. “No! Only foreign women are slaves! A man must look after the women of his own tribe. It is his duty to God."
Alemar looked at the strange women's faces, and at the home behind them, which they had shared with the men he and Elenya had killed. Peyri glanced up at him, m
et his eyes, and quickly looked back down, trembling at her own audacity. Alemar sickened—both at the sheer wretchedness of the women and at the guilt they inspired.
“What if we don't want them?” Alemar suggested.
Fumlok's small eyes went round. “Not want?” He stepped over to Omi and slapped her belly and made her open her mouth to show her teeth. She had most of them. “They both young. Healthy. Still bear good sons.” He continued on toward Peyri.
“I was raised by different customs,” Alemar explained. It was alarming enough to have been involuntarily adopted into the clan. To be suddenly burdened with a family compounded the disaster. “Ask them if they want us."
“It doesn't matter,” Fumlok said. “What they think not important."
“Ask it anyway."
Fumlok muttered a few words to the women. They, as well as the two younger girls behind them, suddenly cowered and prostrated themselves again. The boy scowled.
Alemar was confused. “What exactly did you tell them?"
“I say you don't want wives, maybe."
“Why are they afraid?"
Fumlok shuffled nervously away from the gradually increasing group of spectators. “Women who are not wives, not daughters, not mothers, not sisters—they are..."
He struggled to find the right word, as if the one he would have used were inappropriate. “They are what?” Alemar demanded.
“Available."
Fumlok shrugged, eyes darting meaningfully back at the men standing not far away. Absent of veils, too many of the faces betrayed the hard lives behind them. Alemar grimaced. Now he understood. The offer of wives was not a reward for victory in combat; it assured that Am and Roel's widows would continue to have a source of physical protection and provender.
“We'll keep them,” he told Fumlok.
“Are you crazy?” Elenya whispered.
“I won't let them be turned into whores,” he argued.
As soon as Fumlok translated Alemar's acceptance, the women tried to crawl forward and kiss the twins’ feet. Elenya danced away. “Ask them to go inside and prepare a meal,” Alemar said, merely to free himself of the embarrassment. He needed a moment to meditate on this state of affairs. The incident had shaken him more than the attack at the water hole. He could understand laws requiring death for stealing water. This custom was insidious.
