"I will not come up with you! Leave me!" This drew stares from others in the camp. They both glowered at each other for what seemed an eternity.
"Another time when your mood has lifted." Said Rapheth turning to leave.
"It will not lift. You are weak!" He shot. Rapheth stopped, ready to turn and pounce upon him for that insult but he gathered his anger and swallowed it and walked away. He suspected at this point that not only was Ephron influencing some of the mercenaries against him but that they were influencing him as well. He wondered what transpired between them. I will talk with Parso and Injol about it. But if this keeps up I will have to confront him and cast him off. And those that might be with him. They could not be allowed to follow him into Hybron which presented another problem. If he would not kill King Baldric even when he had the chance, would the same thing arise with Ephron and what would he do then?
. . .
The council of Ostrites and a few Ephthalites convened in the largest yurta by the waterfall. It was found that the king's warriors from Dyrland were meeting with an even greater host and that they meant to not only kidnap Omun but also Baudolino and Rapheth and to kill all of the others. Ephron gave him a malevolent look. Halin, a chieftain amongst his people and being no friend of the Dyrland king was determined to create mischief for them.
"What will happen now? I hate to bring trouble to innocent people who have nothing to do with my plight." Said Rapheth.
"The fact of the matter is this. He is beyond his own lands and kingdom. He has no authority here and we do not fear him." He said and the other tribal chieftains agreed with him
"Long has the king skirmished Icythian borders and made trouble for wild tribesmen. We will return the favor."
"Let the man himself tell his plight." Said one of the elder chieftains. "If we are to make mischief, I should like to know why." Omun stepped forward in front of those gathered.
"I am Omun. I am a Gold Alchemist of skill and I worked with the Dyrlanders of Grunhold. Uwain the Thane of Grunhold allowed my brother Ruz and I to stay under his roof for a time. These men were already skilled in the making of iron and other metals for weapons and tools but I taught them the secret metal within iron. The king heard of me and took me from Uwain's employ and put me in his dungeon forge to teach his own men and to work my craft. Uwain convinced him through cleverness, since the king gave his own word, to release me and let me come back to Hybron."
"You and yours will have our protection until you get to where you are going. The king goes back on his word as if it is nothing. Like he did when we once roamed the dark forests of Dyrland freely, bothering no one years ago. Baldric promised us no trouble and then he raided our camps and made off with our women. And they accuse us of being barbarians. The kings of Dyrland have always been an evil lot. Even their own people do not trust them." Said the elder chieftain.
"Men in Black are behind the trouble in that land. He may be in league with one." Said Rapheth.
"Even all the way out here?" Asked Luz.
"Oh yes. Black Alchemy has spread from the Middle Kingdoms to the whole world, Luz. There were some who studied and practiced the dark art in Egi, Hybron or Zapulia and took it back to their homelands. Now they have their own brotherhoods here, just like the other two disciplines." Said Baudolino.
"One terrible consequence is that many of our flame-haired people, women and girls especially, are sacrificed for evil purposes as they see red hair as bringing special powers to themselves." Said Halin.
"An evil everywhere one goes." Said Injol with disgust.
"They will not deceive us again," Halin turned to Rapheth. "We have a special force they do not expect."
Halin's long red hair was tied in braids and wound with tin and copper rings. In fact, many of the Ostrites had red hair and ice cold blue or gray eyes. Or blond hair. They wore their beards thick and long, wound in twists with tin rings. In case of the wealthier chieftains, gold and silver to separate each braid. Some rings were oblong and wide and engraved with tribal sigils. They ranged far across the northern plains and sometimes as far as the White Sea which was full of ice.
The Ephthalites were very different from any men Rapheth had ever seen. Not in skin color or stature. There something else strange about them. Nearly all of them had red hair or white hair and some of them had pitch black eyes or amber colored eyes. They seemed to Rapheth to be of another race altogether - a race out of folk tales, for their ears were slightly elongated and sharper and their eyes were almond-shaped, and they were tall like the Ostrites but slender, a fey-like people, distant. Rapheth noticed that the Ephthalites did not speak, only listened.
After the council convened it was resolved that they would enlist others to help confront them if the king's men caught up with them, which they were sure to do.
"I am ready for them. Even if it is a great host." Said Rapheth. Rhajit laughed.
"I asked for adventure, it was given. I am ready too. They look for steel? They will get it in their bellies!" He tapped his sword hilt. Injol patted all four of his which made them all laugh. The Ostrites were not disturbed by Injol and in fact welcomed him for among them were a few giants as well, friendly to the races of men and some had married tribal women. But they did marvel at his four arms and during supper while they feasted on deer and marrow bones a mead they listened to Injol's story. All were fascinated with how he came to be what he was and they watched as he demonstrated his consummate skill with his four swords.
"Let them come," said Rapheth to himself and to the night. His heart was lifting ever so slightly. "I will die here before they take me or any of my men."
But the greater battle would not be the king of Dyrland and his men. It would be the one whom he'd once called friend.
Chapter Sixteen
The caravan from Assert was waiting for this next load from the king of Jura. A few caravan leaders had entered into a very profitable arrangement with him to carry weapons to the Soudan mountains, secretly. To arm the slaves, some who were former warriors and fighting men from far-flung lands. Wagon loads of bows and arrows, machetes, swords, axes and a windlass together with special javelins made for it.
But this was unknown to all except the caravan leader. Along the Golden Road there were certain points where there was no one to guard travelers or caravans, to watch such exchanges and intercept them. Here the weapons were traded along with the ladre to keep the matter from eyes that would see and warn King Teraht.
. . .
Olatu played, sang and brought joy to the court of the king but he observed silently everything and listened and picked up on what was said and not said. Especially now that he was brought to Tarkal. Fifty silver ingots, pure silver along with the weapons. To go to the mountain rebels. He had overheard this some weeks ago. A fortune. To arm rebels.
To what end? he thought. How does arming slaves and setting them against their masters help the king? he worked this over and over in his mind one night as he looked out against the night. He could smell the sea and its elemental salt and fresh ether waft through the fortress, stinging his nostrils. His feet felt heavy and cold. He strummed his oud softly. Behind him the brazier burned low and threw up flickering flames in shadow against the walls. He heard snatches of the mummery of the king's astrologer. He was advising the king, in his inner sitting chamber with his skin bag of feathers, bones and other things. They were casting the bones of a chicken upon the fire so that the king might see the future and how his plans might be affected. He was a sinister looking painted man that Olatu could barely stand to look at. The astrologer reminded him of the men who took his love away.
The king would benefit from such an arrangement if it caused so much trouble in the land that it would create chaos. Chaos - that dark fury that no one could withstand, the evil wind that once it rises it must be ridden out to whatever end. He was fortunate in that it had been averted in his homeland by Kufun winning the war against his uncle. And yet, there was a little chaos. Kufun and h
is warriors felt entitled to carry off women from his homeland whenever they saw fit. The king's father even did the same in Hybron for a time. His mind wandered but came back full circle. Such men, the slaves, might be convenient to use against Egi, agents of chaos, but they would never be allowed to be a part of Egian society if Kufun's plans succeeded. He would destroy them. No, slaves who revolted against their betters might be useful for now but he would eventually kill them once he was king of Egi. How he hated King Kufun. He hated his family's humiliation at his hands and he hated being in his court. All he could do was nurse his grudge and smile. If only there was a way to topple Tarkal perhaps he could go home. Be free. If he could only have access to a falcon and if only he could find an ally outside of Tarkal. He strummed again. Collecting bits of information and mulling these over. It was only recently that he had thought seriously of a scheme of his own. The king would get to Egi through Hybron and he would defeat Egi using its own slaves. And then his guess was that Kufun, when he no longer found the rebels useful, would get rid of them. This darkened his mood. He once had fallen in love with a slave girl back home years ago, who was taken from him. Banned from seeing him first by his father, then later stolen by King Kufun. The king used her for a while then gave her to Nufim who promptly sold her, out of spite to him to the evil land beyond, to the bottom of the world. He remembered the merchant caravan. Vast it was and it had come at night. It's men were dressed in black upon black robes, so black they seemed like holes and shadows that moved against the night and the leader of the caravan that had come to take her wore a strange animal skull headdress and mask. His eyes were the only part of him one could see. He never saw her again. And he never forgave anyone, not even his father when he died. Hopes and dreams he had were always crushed; she the most poignant and promising, crushed as if she were nothing. But his nursed memories were all he had and they fueled him now. I am sure she is dead. Blessed death to end her suffering. He shook these away, for a serious line of reasoning, a scheme was taking shape. Concentrate! All he needed was an outside ally. He would keep his eyes and ears open. He saw Nufim had taken to visiting certain women in the city who lived just below the fortress. Perhaps if he could scare up enough coin he could pay a visit to one of them. Talk to her. Any opportunity to strengthen his hand. Olatu put his oud away. He rubbed his feet against the rugs to warm them. It was nice to have peace and quiet, to be alone and be full of hate and rage. The night took it and absorbed it. I will find a way. One day you will pay.
Chapter Seventeen
It was a month before they made it out of the Great Ridge, of which they had only touched the lands on the very edge. They were now on the plains of snow and snow was falling. The plains in the south were dotted with small, wooded areas. There was a thin layer of snow upon the ground already. In a few weeks the plains would be too dangerous to cross unless by mammoth.
And that is what they were riding upon, besides horses. They were now a great host, Rapheth and his men and the band of Ostrites. The mysterious elfin-like tribesmen with their stark white camels had gone their way back to the high northern plains while the rest traveled southeast. However, before they did this the Ephthalites did a marvelous thing for Rapheth. They called the mammoths. One of their chieftains brought out a great horn fashioned from a tusk as long as a small tree. He blew upon it and the sound was like a beast bellowing from out of the deep. The horses and camels jumped and had to be calmed. Rapheth and his band were perplexed as to what it meant. Hours later they understood. Great woolly mammoths appeared out of the Ridge and the woods, beasts out of legend. One was far bigger than all the others.
The yaryebu that most in Hybron had thought extinct.
At times, they saw glimpses of Petrite bands who originally came from the far east and migrated to the plains aeons ago. They were very fair like the Ostrites but with slanted eyes and some of them with red hair as well. None had any wish to go to war this season.
The Ostrites were related to the Sons of the Mountain - also known as Nacharites - in that the sons originally came from this tribe. They had similar tribal blood between them but Doman, called Domiah by the inhabitants of the village of Nachar, came with his family and relatives to live in the Middle World. They intermarried with the women of the village of Nachar and thus generations later became to look darker than their northern Ostrite brethren. Yet, some of them still retained in their bloodlines the red or blond hair and though the Nacharites were now darker than the high plains tribes they were lighter in complexion than most people in Hybron.
. . .
It walked in the middle, the largest and most regal of the cows. Her dark eyes were wide and sharp and within them were pinpoints of light. Halin and his men all shouted.
"She comes! She has heeded the call! Let them come at us! They shall find us ready!" These mammoths did something extraordinary. They all knelt and allowed the tribesmen to mound their baggage upon them and even ride them.
"I never thought I would see such a sight as this. I had thought them all dead." Said Injol.
All of the men began to sing a song of war. At times they traveled by night, when the sky was clear and the moons raced across the horizon. They lit torches sometimes to brighten the way. One morning when the camp had broken a scout hurried back with news.
"Dyrlanders! Coming this way! A great host of them!"
"How many?" Demanded Halin.
"It looked to me to be about a thousand men!"
"They come for us!" Cried Baudolino. Omun turned gray.
"Do not drop your complexion Omun." Said Rapheth. Ephron made a disgusted noise.
"Keep silent if you have nothing to say!" Shouted Rapheth.
"This is your doing! We could have solved this problem long ago!" Rapheth turned a cold look on him.
"And created a new one! What you proposed was cold-blooded regicide. I will have no part in that! It will be solved today, on the battlefield! Where honor is decided!" He turned and faced the north and went for his weapons. Everyone scrambled to ready themselves. Parso gave Ephron a baleful look.
When the Dyrlanders came archers rained down arrows of fire upon the first wave. Some fell but they kept advancing. Rapheth looked to Omun.
"Omun! Hide yourself, you and Baudolino-"
"What about you?"
"I will not hide!" Rapheth drew his sword. He heard a deep rumbling sound and all three turned. It was the Matriarch yaryebu.
"Climb atop my back." She said to the alchemists. Baudolino backed away.
"There is your safety, Omun and Baudolino! Quick, do as the beast says!" Said Rapheth. "They come quickly!"
"Do not fear! She is wise beyond years. Do as she says and you may yet be saved." Said a wise man of the tribe. There were rope ladders that led to a large litter on her back. Seeing their pursuers in the far distance spurred them to obey.
"Good! If the battle turns ill for us she will spirit you both away to a safe place." He glanced at the old sage who smiled. Rapheth jumped onto his horse and rode to meet the battle.
The sage drew out a long and twisted goat horn painted blue. More yaryebu answered and this time giants were riding atop this second wave, coming in from the far distance from farther north. When they rode forth they ambushed the Dyrlanders while the Ostrites hemmed them to the south. They were trapped and defeated utterly by evening, not a man of them left. The Ostrites stripped them of their armor, leathers, furs, cloaks and boots and swords, those that had not been shattered in the fight. However, during the battle the steel had made an impression on the Ostrites. After the battle quite a few were injured but none killed. Rapheth sat down in the hard packed snow, his nerves raw and ragged but his spirit soaring. Fat puffs of warm breath formed and dissipated in the freezing air. He prayed, unhindered, for the first time in months. He wondered at the change and was elated over it. Thank you. he said silently to the sky. Omun climbed down from the yaryebu.
"I have never seen the like of them." Said Halin.
"The
y are made of steel." Said Rapheth. "This is what Baldric sent his warriors after."
"What is steel?"
"It is made of coal and iron. A great work of alchemy that Omun here has expanded upon. He taught many smiths in Dyrland this work. This new metal is stronger than iron. Superior to it."
"Stronger than iron? How can that be?"
"It simply is, my friend. It is the secret of steel." Said Omun.
"Ah! That is why they come after you!" Asked another Ostrite warrior.
"Armies could be sundered, kingdoms could topple with this secret." Said Omun. Halin laughed.
"King Baldric's greed is now his folly. You will be a powerful king with an army of men with swords such as these. Where can these swords be bought? In Dyrland?"
"Possibly Grunhold and a few of the other southern towns." Said Omun. "That is where the men know the craft best." Halin and some of the other chieftains considered this.
"We may seek to trade with them if we can get swords like those."
"Take mine. It is a gift." Rapheth said suddenly. The others gawked in amazement.
"I do not give it in rashness, Halin. Omun is coming home with me and he will make more. But I give this to you because I am in your debt. Men and I. You have allowed us to travel with you, protected us from enemies at great cost to you and your people and allowed us to eat your food and drink your wine. It is the least I can do. Take it as a gift of gratitude." Rapheth held up the sword in its sheath balanced on both palms. Halin carefully took it as if handling a newborn child.
"A thing of great beauty," he muttered and unsheathed it. "So light and yet so deadly." He looked at Rapheth. "You have given me a soul-gift, my friend. This and the gift of killing long-standing enemies of the tribe. I shall never forget this!" He turned to all the others.
"This was our retribution and victory. Baldric's men dead on the plains where the wolves and bullbears will feed upon them and now this! We will celebrate!"
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