The maidens of the Stone Lion Sept wore kid leather trousers, ankle length and close fitting or they wore shorts of the same material. Today Catharina wore short pants and leather chaps. The same tan coloured leather made up a sleeveless vest laced up the front, from waist to the collarless edge of a scoop across her breasts. The Maidens all wore a long sleeved blouse beneath the vest, with puffy sleeves. The whole outfit was topped by a wide belt looped over one shoulder, the belt used to hold a short bow and quiver. A narrow waist belt held a small pouch and a good hunting knife. Antonin loosened the top laces of Catharina’s vest. She still hadn’t stirred after a few minutes, although her breathing had steadied. Antonin moved her finally, lifting her head and placing it on the coolness of her own half full water bag. The horses had settled, grazing on the short grasses of the plain. The sun was slowly moving down the arch of the high dome of the sky. It would be night all too soon. Antonin paced back and forth beside the prostrate Catharina. He tried to ignore the thin wisps of smoke he could see from the direction of the Great North Road. It was only a few minutes he paced, but the worry made it seem like hours. Finally deciding that it may actually be hours before Catharina awoke by herself, Antonin bent to scoop her up in his arms and ride with her back to the farm. He was very strong. Years of hard work had seen to that, and with no effort he scooped her up and carefully edged alongside his horse. Clicking signals with his tongue, Antonin had the horse kneel and roll to its side. Carefully he lifted one leg and slid astride the saddle, and with gentle clicking of his tongue had the horse rise to its feet, carrying him and Catharina with it. Antonin was now firmly in the saddle, Catharina cradled in his strong arms, her head resting on his shoulder.
Antonin used his knees to guide the horse toward home. Catharina’s horse following along a few paces behind as if used to doing this every day.
As he approached the Great North Road Antonin could see the smoke tendrils issuing from cracks in the black surface. No one knew what the black material was. It had always been there. Badly cracked and worn along the edges and crazing all across its surface the black road surface had defied all weathering for as long as anyone could remember. It was a remnant of an age past, and a mystery.
“And now it has smoke coming from it!” muttered Antonin under his breath.
“You do a lot of muttering these days, farmer” said Catharina, nearly startling Antonin into dropping her.
“Do you intend carrying me all the way to The Four Ways?” she asked, “Or can I regain my own horse – please?”
Catharina was not at all upset to find herself in Antonin’s arms, and in truth still felt like she had been rolled over by a Trader’s wagon. She had to admit that she rather enjoyed the feel of Antonin’s strong arms around her as well. As if struck by lightning at that thought she struggled upright and leapt from the horse, landing unsteadily on her feet.
“Don’t you ever pick me up again!” She stammered, dusting herself off quite unnecessarily. “I’m quite capable of looking after myself. Why, you think I’d never taken a tumble before.” Catharina stopped with her mouth open, slowly flushing red up to the roots of her dark hair. She realized she was prattling like a village girl. Which only made her worse. Snapping her jaw shut, she swung up into her own saddle. “It's all your fault for calling on the Forbidden One.” She said. The note in her voice boded ill for any reply Antonin might be foolish enough to make.
Shaking his head, and making sure he said nothing aloud he wondered about the sanity of the female of the species.
“We should see what is happening over there?” He pointed to the black surfaced road, smoke drifting from cracks in its surface. Antonin was not that keen to go anywhere near it. The smoke looked too much like the smoke that issued from Sara Sara. Black oily tendrils that once risen above the road seemed to settle quickly back as though too heavy with its own foulness to rise further.
“We have to cross in order to make for home anyway.” Said Antonin. Catharina gave him a look that clearly said ‘stating the obvious again?’
Together they gently nudged their horses forward toward the black ribbon of the road. It was much too wide to jump the horses over, being a good four spans wide.
As they drew up to the edge it was plain the cracks were the result of the strange sound they had heard. The cracks weren’t wide in any place they could see and followed each other in either direction away along the road. It was as if the road had been pulled from either side by some giant force until it split in a crazy pattern. Where the smoke came from they could not even guess at. Neither wanted to even think about it.
The horses seemed unconcerned, if a little wary, and as they stepped out onto the road seemed less concerned about the smoke than their riders were.
Catharina led the way. Her horse Khrif was picking its way past and over the cracks. Antonin followed close behind on Asifa and soon they were on the homeward side. Antonin turned his horse to look back at the road. Catharina was alongside and silent.
“What’s that?” Antonin cried. As they watched, a huge wagon with a Trader at the reins came thundering into sight along the road. The team of six were foam flecked and wild eyed. The wagon banged and thundered over the cracks. How the horses kept their feet was a wonder. It was obvious the Trader was having trouble controlling the team, and although neither Antonin nor Catharina could imagine a Trader being terrified, the wild-eyed look on the face of the approaching man was not mirth. His team was out of control. There were pieces falling from the wagon, and it was apparent that it was breaking up. It would not last much longer at this rate, and that spelt disaster for the Trader.
The Traders roamed across the lands and when they came to a village they held people enthralled with their stories of places far away with strange people and even stranger customs.
Outsiders rarely came by the villages on the plain. Too far from the trade routes and even the Queens tax collectors seemed to have forgotten the existence of the villages.
As the Trader's wagon thundered along the road toward them, Antonin could see that unless the horses were halted, they would run all the way to the Great Sandy Blight far to the north.
“We should try and help, Catharina.” Said Antonin.
“Perhaps if we help, he will come to our village to trade!” Replied Catharina. “Although I think we will get little thanks from a Trader.”
“Well,” said Antonin “we can’t let the horses kill themselves with fear and we may learn more of this strange event if we stop him and ask.”
By now the team and wagon had drawn closer. The dust haze around it being added to by clouds of dust raised by the wagon’s passage.
“Ride to a position at their head.” Called Antonin as he quickly stepped his horse back over the road.
He turned Asifa and began a canter in the same direction as the wagon travelled, Catharina doing the same on her side. Just before the leaders of the wagon team drew level Antonin shouted “Now Catharina!” and urged Asifa into a full gallop. Steadily he and Catharina paced the leaders and drew in close alongside. Together they reached for the traces on the horses and as they hauled back to slow the team they began slowing their own mounts as well.
The team was well trained. Antonin noted that although the horses were terrified nearly out of their wits, the sight of other horses running with them and the steady pressure of the slowing pace began to calm them. Within moments the horses began to notice their surroundings and the terror left their eyes. Catharina and Antonin brought them to a halt. The horses stood now with legs splayed and chests heaving drawing in the cold air of the plains. The Trader sat on the high wagon seat, puffing and blowing nearly as loudly as the horses in his team. Wiping the sweat from his eyes and forehead with a large kerchief he kept a wary eye on the two riders. To his eye they were little more than savages, and he had come across their kind more than once in his long travels. The meetings had sometimes not been happy ones.
With the horses stopped now, puffing and blo
wing, Antonin rode back to a position a spear’s length from the wagon. Catharina stayed at the head of the team. She had an arrow nocked in her short bow now, although it rested casually on her brown knee.
Traders had a reputation for acting first and asking questions later. If the person being questioned was still alive to be asked! A Trader coming upon a Maiden of the Stone Lion sept would be especially wary. Even if she was in the company of someone who appeared to be a farmer.
Antonin’s clothes were of course farmers cloths. Simple serviceable breeches of linen, loose fitting for coolness. His shirt was the same material. The shirt was laced up the front with leather thong, and the only decoration was the family crest stitched into the shirt above his heart. Every male in Da Altai wore the family crest above his heart. In battle or raid a blow to the heart was struck at the family as well. This had ensured that clan feuds were often longstanding affairs. Such a death in battle was considered differently. To get close enough to a man to strike him through the heart required great skill and courage. Much honour accrued to the warriors who were able to accomplish such a feat and survive themselves. Storytellers had endless tales of heroes from past battles who had brought much honour to their respective houses and to themselves. The Spear Maidens would sing the praises of their fallen during festivals.
The Maidens of the Stone Lion Sept, of the Altai clan were known far and wide. The Trader had met them before. He had concluded long ago that they did not have a sense of humour at all. They were universally feared. Their reputations were well deserved. The Maidens were relentless enemies, giving no quarter and could – and would run down even mounted foe. A steady ground burning pace could put battle hardened septs into any part of the realm in a matter of days.
The Trader said nothing. The wagon was covered with a huge canvas canopy, tightly bound on front and sides. It was not possible to guess what was in the wagon.
“The Queens peace be with you Trader.” Antonin spoke his greeting quietly. His eyes closely watching the Trader’s grey eyes for tell tale signs of intention.
“The Queens peace be with you farmer – and with your friend.” The slight hesitation in adding the last did not go unnoticed. The Traders eyes flicked to Catharina and back to Antonin. The smoke issuing from the cracks in the road curled up around the wagon and horses. The horses were restive now, looking warily at the smoke.
“Best move your wagon off this road trader.” Antonin stepped his horse backwards, not taking his eyes off the Trader until Asifa was well away from the wagon.
The Trader looked at Catharina. There was uncertainty in his eyes. Catharina backed away. She was on the village side of the road.
"Swing this way Trader,” she called. “Perhaps you will have time to visit our village?”
It was more of a statement than a question and the Trader knew it. Gently he shook the reins and guided the team to the right, swinging team and wagon onto the dusty soil of the plain. Antonin appeared right alongside the Trader.
“Where are your guards Trader?” he asked.
Traders travelled without guards, and Antonin knew it.
“They will be with me in but a moment farmer.” The Trader was plainly nervous. He licked his lips and all the while mopping his forehead. Everyone knew Traders had no guards.
“When the earth shook and rumbled they went to investigate the source.” The Trader may even have hoped it was so.
“Ha!” exclaimed Antonin. “More likely they are still heading south Trader – if indeed there ever were any guards.” The Trader did not rise to the insult. Antonin noted this and wondered what it was that was keeping the normally fierce Trader quiet. Antonin trotted his horse out to Catharina standing some little distance away.
“Do you see any sign?” he asked her.
“Nothing Antonin. There is no one else close to us. The Trader however is greatly feared of something. I don’t think it is us. I would like to know what is in that wagon.” Catharina gave a little frown and added. “Or who.” Antonin looked from her to the wagon. The Maidens all possessed the gift of sensing others. It was necessary to have it to be accepted. Some even had greater abilities, but all could sense other humans even at great distance. The older women long retired from the warrior bands didn’t even need to concentrate. Their abilities grew with their age. Antonin had heard that these women were able to bring down lightning and cause objects – even enemy – to burst into flame! He doubted it himself though. The Story Tellers were very good at embellishing their tales to impress country folk and children alike. Antonin trotted his horse back to the Trader. “You will follow us to the village, Trader?” He said. “It is but a hand spans ride east of here.” Antonin held his hand up, palm outward toward the setting sun. Three hand spans – the width of his hand three times – would see the sun below the horizon. It would be dusk when they arrived at the village in any case.
“There you can rest and feed your horses. Yourself as well at The Dog and Girl.” Said Antonin.
Catharina rode in close. “You have nothing to fear from us Trader.” She said. “But perhaps we had all best be gone from here.” She looked about her, taking in the smoking road, the dusty haze hanging in the normally crystal air of the plain. Suddenly her eyes took in a vast billowing cloud on the far horizon. The cloud was very distinct, even though partially obscured by the dust haze and the setting sun. The cloud was as black as night and rose billowing straight into the sky. It must have been very high to be seen from here. There could be only one source. Sara Sara. Catharina stared into the distance. Her eyes were as big as saucers, straining her senses to find any trace of what the disturbance was. Just as Antonin rode up alongside to see what Catharina was doing, her gaze seemed to be transfixed on the far horizon. Suddenly she reeled back in the saddle with a shriek that made his hair stand on end.
Catharina flung her horse about and gave a wild yell. “The Dark Lord stirs.” In an instant she was racing toward the village. Antonin heeled his horse around with a last glance at the horizon where the smoke cloud was clearly visible now, towering into the sky.
“Move your team Trader.” He yelled as he sped by the wagon. “Move them for your life man.”
The Trader needed no urging. His horses were already restless and anything that would make a Maiden shriek and flee for her life was enough for him. He didn't even look back. He raised his long whip and the air crackled above the horses heads. The land was flat if slightly undulating and good ground for a wagon, even a damaged one. Within moments the trio were streaming across the wide plain toward the village and outlying farms. Antonin tried his best to catch Catharina. She was almost flat along her horse, her head low by the horses neck as she urged Khrif on. She was the picture of speed and Antonin knew he had no chance of catching her.
“What had she seen?” Antonin wondered. He too had seen the vast black cloud billowing up from Sara Sara, but Catharina’s reaction was that of someone who had faced the Dark Lord eye to eye. There were strange things happening this day. Thunder rolling through the earth. The great North Road cracking and smoking. Sara Sara billowing more smoke than had ever been seen from it. It was many days ride to the distant Dragon Spine Mountains that formed a barrier before the lands that held Sara Sara. The mountain itself lay deep in the Blasted Lands. “The creatures that inhabited that landscape would be in some turmoil now.” Thought Antonin. He sped across the plain in pursuit of Catharina.
The Trader and his wagon had fallen some way behind by now but he stayed true to the direction of the village by following the dust cloud raised by the horses of Catharina and Antonin. Whatever was happening he wanted no part of being out on the open plain alone in the gathering night. The Trader was a big man and as tough as any of his kind. The nomadic life the Traders led was not an easy one. They had passage rights in all lands. The only place they never went was the Blasted Lands. There was no trading to be had there. There was not a living soul there to trade with. Certainly none that could be called human.
> ●Chapter 2
The first of the outlying farms came into sight, and then the winding dusty road that served as a link between the farms and the village. Clearly the ground tremor had reached even here. People could be seen milling about on some of the farms. Horses being hitched or saddled, some people simply running toward the road. The sight of the two riders with a Trader’s wagon in hot pursuit was enough to cause a stir even if the ground rumbling hadn't. There were already some farmers on the road, heading into the village. Alarm was spreading like a grass fire as Catharina sped by them all, Antonin’s horse pounding the roadway not far behind. Both were low in the saddle and riding like the wind. No sooner had some people moved back onto the road after their passing than they were jumping for their lives as the huge wagon of the Trader thundered past in a cloud of dust. People and horses were scattered into the surrounding plain, men shouting and waving their arms. Children were screaming and dogs barking in excitement, and the goodwives tried desperately to keep their families from being tipped into the dust or trampled.
Finally Catharina’s horse drummed over the low wooden bridge that spanned The West Water, into the village. She swept on through heading directly to her Sept House on the far edge of the village. The Elders of the Clan were there and would know what it was she had faced. Surely they would know what it was that had assailed her with such ferocity and evil. She could still feel her skin prickling.
Antonin saw her direction, and knew he could not follow. No man was allowed in the Clan compound of the Maidens of the Mare Altan. He slid Asifa to a stop in front of the inn hoping that his father and mother would either be there already or soon arriving. The sun was almost below the horizon, and long shadows fell across the common. Only a blazing red crescent stained the horizon. The trader swept his wagon into the square in front of the inn, almost toppling it over as it went up on to two wheels as he hauled the team of six around in a tight circle to stop them.
The Dragons of Sara Sara Page 2
