The River Wall

by Randall Garrett

  7

  We ate dinner with the family that evening, and served the Fa’aldu’s hunger for news with stories about the sha’um cubs. For a time, the crisis and the purpose were forgotten. They came back, full force, though, when we entered our apartment and I let the door tapestry fall into place behind us. “We have their help, now,” I said. “But to do what?” I sighed. “I still don’t know where to start.”

  Tarani came to me and hugged me, pressing the warmth and shape and strength of her body all along mine. It was inexpressibly comforting, and I held on and tried to return the comfort. After a moment, she pulled away.

  “I would share this burden if I could, Rikardon,” she said. “But though we are both committed to the need, only you have the knowledge to guide us.”

  “That’s part of the problem,” I said. “I know Raithskar because Markasset grew up there. I know something of the Ra’ira because of my contact with Zanek in the All-Mind. But Markasset didn’t know Ferrathyn, except as a presence that drifted in and out of his fathers house.” I grimaced. “I might have suspected something wrong with Ferrathyn right from the first, if I’d had full access to Markasset’s memories immediately. The Chief Supervisor came to Thanasset’s house and spent a good deal of time talking to Markasset. Before he became Chief Supervisor, I doubt he’d said a total of ten words to the boy.”

  “You have access to Markasset’s memories now,” Tarani said. “Did he know anything at all of Ferrathyn before he became a Supervisor?”

  I closed my eyes and tried to search the Gandalaran half of the blended individual I had become when Thanasset had given me Serkajon’s sword. After a few seconds, I opened them again, shaking my head.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Even as a Supervisor, Ferrathyn was only a name. Markasset never met the man until he had become Chief Supervisor. Damn!” I swore. “How I wish I could talk to Thanasset. He must have known Ferrathyn outside the Council.”

  “Why is that important?” Tarani asked. “We must deal with the man as he is now, not as he was then.”

  “True,” I agreed. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled grimly. “We have a goal, Tarani—to get the Ra’ira away from Ferrathyn—but no real plan. In the absence of anything more definite, I’m thinking along very basic strategy lines. What it comes down to is: ‘Know thine enemy.’”

  “Forgive me for saying it,” she said, a trifle sarcastically, “but given the situation in Raithskar, reaching Thanasset to discuss Ferrathyn’s history may be as difficult as reaching Ferrathyn, and rather too late to be of much help.”

  “Absolutely true,” I agreed. “Yet Markasset doesn’t know of anyone else who has long-term knowledge of Ferrathyn. No, wait, that’s wrong,” I said, frowning at an elusive memory that had just floated by. “Zaddorn? Talking to him would probably help, too—Ferrathyn and Zaddorn have been at odds for most of Zaddorn’s tenure as Chief of Peace and Security. But Zaddorn’s in Raithskar, too, and anyway, I think he’s too young—

  “Ligor!” I nearly shouted, whirling on Tarani with a fierceness that made her jump.

  “He was Chief of Peace and Security before Zaddorn. He left, in fact, because of conflict with Ferrathyn. And he is not in Thagorn; he’s in Krasa.”

  “To visit Krasa now,” Tarani said, pacing about and staring at the floor, “would cost us several days of precious time. We might shorten the time by crossing the desert, but I would prefer not to expose Koshah and Yoshah to that hardship, much less to the danger of the wild vineh that live along the Wall in that area.”

  I could tell when the logical solution hit her. She stopped pacing and displayed a sudden interest in a wall hanging—a yellow-brown weaving that conveyed the impression of a desert scene.

  I could tell when she accepted it. The outline of her body shifted, the stiff tension relaxing.

  “Will there ever be an end to these partings?” she asked quietly. “A time when we can share one another in peace, without the interference of duty and destiny?”

  I approached her and put my hands on her shoulders, not knowing what to say. But words came anyway, from that same odd sense that had often given me glimpses of truth in the puzzle that was Gandalara.

  “Maybe,” I said, “we can hope for a pleasant duty and a peaceful destiny.”

  8

  Tarani and I took our leave of Charol and the Iribos Fa’aldu early the next morning. Aware that we planned to split up at some point, they had packed the supplies they provided us in two lots and, although Tarani would be traveling with Yayshah and the cubs and therefore had more mouths to feed, I had the larger share of ready food and water.

  We stayed together as long as we could, going so far west that we were both taken slightly out of our way. We reached the foot of Rikalara, a huge island of stone that rose abruptly from the desert floor and disappeared into the cloud cover above us. From here, Tarani would turn south, and follow the dry, rocky southern trail around Rikalara and then continue west toward the Chizan passage. Hers was the route most frequently traveled by caravans, and it was studded with Refreshment Houses.

  Keeshah and I would turn north until I reached the northeastern side of the—I had to think of Rikalara as a mountain. Then I would head northwest, straight across the most uncomfortable desert I had yet seen in Gandalara. Most of the dry areas in Gandalara were held together by stubborn, scrubby bushes. They were given some contour and relief by an occasional rocky pattern. The Strofaan, however, was only fine, salty sand coating an up-and-down ground pattern that was totally monotonous and thoroughly tiring. Every step drove up a cloud of sand that stung the eyes and coated the lungs. Crossing the Strofaan was like walking across the bottom of a bowl filled with lumpy sugar.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the trip.

  When the ground around the base of Rikalara became too rocky and steep for comfort, we called the sha’um to a halt side by side. Tarani leaned over and stroked Keeshah’s neckfur. He made a soft sound, like a sigh, and shifted his weight, moving a little closer to Yayshah.

  *Sorry to leave,* he said to me. *Why?*

  The question echoed in the minds of the cubs. Yoshah came up beside Keeshah and rubbed her side along my leg.

  The question surprised me a little. Through our mindlink, Keeshah was usually more aware than I of my own motivations. Then I realized that he was still showing the same kind of insight. My consciousness had determined the need for this parting, but a large part of me hated it a whole lot.

  *When I called to you from the Well of Darkness, you left Yayshah to come to me,* I said to Keeshah. *Why?*

  *Needed me,* came Keeshah’s answer, without any hesitation.

  *As I do now, and always will,* I said, feeling the warm tightness that always came over me when I thought of the bond that Keeshah and I shared. *I have to make that same kind of choice here, Keeshah,* I said. *I want to stay with Tarani and Yayshah and the cubs, but there is something I have to do that is more important than what I want.*

  He was struggling to understand, even as he turned his head to nuzzle Yayshah’s jaw.

  *You want to stay,* he said at last. *You want to go?*

  *I think that lives may be saved by my leaving Tarani now,* I said. *It’s not the same kind of wanting, but—yes, I want to go.*

  He gave a kind of mental shrug and said: *We go.*

  Koshah was not linked directly to Keeshah, but he sensed his fathers assent from his link with me. *Go with!* he demanded, coming around his mother and jumping to the top of a rocky rise to face me nearly at eye level. His eyes were like Keeshah’s—green, flecked with gold—and the posture of his body would have expressed his determination, even without benefit of the mindlink.

  *You must stay with Yayshah and Yoshah,* I said firmly.

  *Why?* he asked.

  I started to answer him, but his mindvoice interrupted.

  *I will keep up,* he said defensively. Like his father, he was able to see some of my thoughts before I expressed them.

  *That
’s only part of the reason, Koshah,* I told the cub. *I need you to stay with Tarani and help protect her.*

  The cubs tail twitched, and he shifted position, the neckful of fur that had lifted settling down slightly as he considered that.

  *Truth?* he asked.

  *You know it’s true,* I said, scolding gently.

  *I stay,* he finally agreed, and he jumped down in front of Yayshah. He lifted his head, and they touched noses briefly.

  Tarani had been watching with interest. She did not have the benefit of the direct link I shared with the cubs, but she could see them from Yayshah’s perception as well as her own, and she seldom had trouble divining the content of any conversation I had with the cubs.

  “How did you convince him to stay with us?” she asked.

  “I told him that you need him more than I do,” I said. “And its true, darling. Of the two of us, you and your mindgift are the greater threat to Ferrathyn. If there is anything Ferrathyn can do between here and Raithskar to stop us, and he has to choose which one of us to stop, he’ll go after you. Be very careful, Tarani.”

  “I shall be cautious,” she agreed. “Guard yourself well, too, Rikardon—and be watchful. Danger can come from any direction, and not solely from Ferrathyn.”

  “Keeshah and I will be all right,” I assured her. “But we’ll miss you terribly.”

  I leaned over to kiss her. Her hand found and held my shoulder, so that the kiss lasted a moment longer than I had intended. When I pulled away, she smiled shakily.

  “You choose to travel alone for the sake of speed,” she said. “Prove your point by coming soon to Thagorn, my love.”

  “As soon as possible,” I promised. Keeshah nuzzled each of the cubs, and rubbed his cheek along Yayshah’s once, then turned northward and started running.

  The trip was relatively easy for a while; we stopped at the Refreshment House of Stomestad in the late afternoon, and rested there briefly, then set out northwest across the Strofaan, sent on our way with the good wishes and unsatisfied puzzlement of the Stomestad Fa’aldu.

  Travelers normally traveled directly north from Stomestad, heading for the hills that formed the beginning of the northern Wall on this end of Gandalara. There, the traveler would turn west or east, and follow the hills to the nearest town—to the west, Lorok, to the east, Prozia. I had never visited either town, but they were clearly marked on maps. It was a long haul to either town, but their locations marked the only sizable sources of water in the area and following the Wall was safer for most Gandalarans.

  I had already discovered that following the Wall to the west was not the safer choice for a man traveling with a sha’um. Beyond Lorok was Sulis, and beyond that, Grevor. Between Grevor and Sulis lay a section of green, hilly land that housed at least one colony of wild vineh. People could pass through that territory without molestation; the vineh had learned to coexist with the towns. On our previous trip through that area, however, the sha’um had triggered the aggression of the vineh. Thymas, Tarani, and I, with Keeshah and Ronar, had barely managed to escape their attack.

  Compared to the possibility of another such attack, the desert crossing seemed much more, attractive. It was made easier by the nature of this traveling party. With Thymas and Ronar, badly injured, we had been forced to travel slowly, people walking beside sha’um, and so had been trapped in the sandy clouds that puffed up around us. I was riding Keeshah this time, and he set himself to a steady, loping run. The pads of his paws were spread flat against the sand, the long claws extended for traction. He kicked up a storm of the fine-particled sand, but his speed kept us ahead of it most of the time.

  After all our experience together in deserts, we had developed an effective travel pattern, Keeshah ran until he felt slightly fatigued, then we both rested briefly before going on. Night was no deterrence to us; even when the moon did not share its silvering light, Keeshah had an unerring sense of direction, and sufficient night vision to guide him across the subtle hilliness of the flat-seeming ground.

  The journey was monotonous and tiring, but Keeshah and I had some comfort in it through my link with the cubs. I spoke to them frequently, and shared the progress of their journey with Keeshah. By the time Keeshah and I sighted the grayish bushes that marked the beginning of land with soil instead of dust, Tarani and the sha’um with her had left the Refreshment House at Haddat and were on the final leg of their approach to the Chizan passage. They would stop once more at the Refreshment House at Inid, then brave the harsh, high-altitude mountain crossing.

  I entered Krasa with my scarf wrapped around my face so that only my eyes were showing. I received curious glances from the merchants from whom I purchased water and meat (in several small portions) for Keeshah, but no one asked questions. It was not the fact that my face was covered that intrigued them. People often used that style as they crossed the desert, and I was still wearing enough Strofaan sand to make the scarf totally in character. Rather, it was rare for anyone to arrive at Krasa with recent desert experience so evident.

  I left them to their curiosity and returned to the grass-covered pocket Keeshah and I had found in the hills above the city. He had been lying on his side; he got up slowly when I arrived—hardly the same reaction someone he did not know might have expected.

  I removed the small meat pieces from their oiled paper, and set them out for him, then cleaned off the surface of a nearby rock and filled the shallow depression with water. He had followed me to the rock, and now waited for me to pour a swallow of water into my hand and offer it to him. He lapped at it lightly, and his raspy tongue took an extra swipe across the palm of my hand. Only then did he turn to the rock and drink to his satisfaction. I refilled the depression after he had begun to eat.

  *I have to go back to town,* I said. *When I come back, I’ll bring you more meat.*

  *No,* he said, his mind full of fatigue and the beginnings of new energy brought on by the taste of the meat. *I will rest, then hunt. When go?*

  *Probably not until tomorrow morning,* I answered, thinking that I could do with a full nights sleep myself. I wanted to touch him, but was reluctant to disturb his meal. *Thank you for carrying me across the desert, Keeshah. Rest well.*

  9

  When I reached town, I decided to have a meal before beginning my search for Ligor. It was midevening, and the little diner was nearly deserted. I had just sat down at a table when Ligor came into the room. I started to call out to him, but he looked my way, stopped at the serving bar for the mug of faen, which was poured for him the instant he appeared in the doorway, and walked over. He put his mug down on the tiled top of the small table, and lowered himself slowly into the chair without speaking, his eyes on me the entire time.

  “Boy,” he said at last, “you look like you just walked across the Strofaan.”

  “Not this time,” I said. “I rode.”

  His scarred face was unreadable as he took a long drink of faen. “‘Not this time?’” he quoted. “You make that a habit?”

  “I’ve done it once or twice,” I said. “And only when I had no choice.”

  He finished the faen and said quietly: “Well, son, that’s no more surprise to me than seeing you here at all, still breathing. I figured Worfit woulda collected that sword of yours a long time before now.”

  “He’s tried hard enough,” I said. “Thanks for the reminder; I had almost forgotten about him.”

  That finally shook the old man’s composure.

  “Almost forgotten—” he began, then interrupted himself to wave away the server who was bringing him a refill. “Son, you got problems bigger’n Worfit, we got no business discussing ’em in public.” He stood up. “My place ain’t no Supervisors house, but it’ll sleep two people, as long as they’re friends. C’mon.”

  Without waiting for me to agree, he started out of the diner. I took a little longer, and he was looking around impatiently when I finally stepped out into the street, a stoppered ceramic jug in one hand.

 
Ligor grinned widely enough to show that some of his back teeth were missing. “I like the way you think, son,” he said.

  I had thought Ligor to be joking about the size of his home, but it was tiny—little more than a sitting room with an attached sleeping area, which was barely big enough for one sleeping mat. If I stayed, the floor of the sitting room would be my bed. The small house was one of several surrounding a larger building that contained, according to Ligor, the best bathhouse and the worst food in Krasa.

  “So now you know why the folks at the diner know me so well,” he said. “I stay here because it’s clean and—ahem—Profa, the lady who owns the place, has other talents I value higher’n good cooking.”

  Ligor started rummaging on a littered shelf, and finally turned back to me with two chipped clay bowls in his hands. His face darkened when he saw me smiling. I put up my hands to forestall whatever he might say.

  “Ligor, I mean neither you nor the lady any disrespect, believe me. I’m only glad for you.”

  “Not amazed that somebody would find this ugly face attractive?” he asked, still embarrassed.

  “Not amazed at all,” I said sincerely. He waited a moment, and then nodded. He held out the drinking bowls; I pulled the wooden stopper out of the jug and poured faen into both bowls. We drank together, then sat down on the benches that jutted out from the wall in one corner. With two blocky chairs, they formed the seating accommodations for a dining-style table. It had once borne a smooth mosaic of small tiles, but now its surface was uneven and pocked where pieces had come loose. I noticed that although the room was understandably cluttered, it was clean. I set my bowl on the table and refilled it.

  “I want you to tell me everything you know about Ferrathyn,” I told Ligor. He nearly dropped the bowl he was offering for a refill.

  “Well now, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you? That’s probably the last thing I’d expect you to ask, son. ‘Where’s Worth?’ ‘I need money.’ ‘Send a message for me.’ Those I might expect. But Ferrathyn? What in Zanek’s name—”