by Dragon Lance
“I suffered as much as anyone at Zannian’s hands. His men slew my family and enslaved me. He tried to take me by force, but I escaped. It sounds vain to say so, but I think he came to Yala-tene as much to recapture me as to conquer your village.”
Beramun glanced at Harak, who smiled and gave her an encouraging nod.
“I would gladly see him dead,” she continued, “but I think the only one who can rightly pass judgment on him is Karada. He’s her kin. Let her do with him what she thinks best.” Beramun sat down.
Karada looked enormously pleased.
Factions aligned themselves in completely different ways from when they’d debated Mara’s fate. The younger people of Yala-tene favored sparing Zannian, while the elders wanted him put to death. Hulami suggested exile for Zannian as well, but in his sightless state, nobody felt comfortable with that idea.
Lyopi stood up to speak. The crowd slowly quieted to hear her words.
“Much as I respect Karada and Beramun, I have to disagree with them,” she said. “Zannian should remain in Yala-tene.”
Karada opened her mouth to object, but the stalwart Lyopi pressed on.
“I don’t believe, as Amero did, that Zannian can be changed. As a vine is trained to a wall, so does it grow, and this raider chief was trained by a hate-filled woman and a black-hearted dragon. He’ll never be as kind as his brother or as noble as his sister.
“So let Zannian stay here,” she declared. “Let him live out his life as a prisoner of the people he sought to enslave. Let him live on our charity! Our pity will be a more bitter punishment than swift death would be.”
Her words, forcefully delivered, carried the day. As the conclave broke up, Karada sought out Beramun and embraced her.
“You are the daughter I need,” said the nomad chief. “Will you have me as your mother?”
Beramun blushed. “I’m gaining a mate and a mother in backward order! What do you say, Harak?”
Scratching his chin, he said. “If Karada can live with me, I can live with Karada.”
“You’re too clever, Wanderer,” Karada told him. “But if my daughter loves you, you have my tolerance.”
“And your trust?”
“That you must earn.”
*
Wrists tied behind her, Mara was blindfolded and thrown over a horse. Six nomads and four villagers escorted her. They rode west out of Yala-tene at sundown. Samtu and Hekani led the group upriver, then onto the open plain. Night was well underway when they stopped.
Samtu dismounted, pulling Mara off the horse. She cut the girl’s bonds and removed her doeskin blindfold. Trembling, Mara fell at Samtu’s feet.
“Don’t kill me!” she begged. “I did it to save us all from the Silvanesti!” She looked around at the other riders, eyes roving desperately in search of a sympathetic face. She found none. “Where is Karada? Let me speak to her. If she hears me, she’ll understand!”
Samtu was disgusted. According to Pakito, Karada’s last words to the girl had been a vow to kill her.
“The day you see Karada again will be the day you die,” she said. She gave the girl a single goatskin bag of water, a flint knife, and a pouch of dried fruit and elk jerky.
“Here’s food and water for four days,” Samtu continued. “You are exiled, Mara, daughter of Seteth and Evanna. If you ever return to Arku-peli or Karada’s band, you’ll be killed on sight. Now go!”
Peering fearfully over her shoulder, the girl moved away. At first she walked slowly, then picked up speed, and finally broke into a run. The last they saw of Mara, she was racing through the widely spaced pines, the fading twilight making her appear ghostlike and insubstantial. She was heading for the great savanna.
Hekani turned his horse around. “How long will she last?” he wondered.
“No way to tell,” said Samtu. “If she’s resourceful – and lucky – she might live a long time.”
“Do you believe that?”
The stout nomad woman thumped her heels against her horse’s ribs, starting the animal for home. “It no longer matters,” she said bluntly.
*
On the cliffs overlooking the village, Karada stood with Duranix, now restored to dragon form.
“Can you find her?” Karada asked him, her eyes sweeping the dark, distant countryside.
“Yes. Are you at peace with your decision?”
She gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Peace? I’ve never known it and never will.”
Duranix thought this the truest thing she’d ever said. He’d never known a thinking creature less suited to tranquillity.
Rather than leaping into the air, Duranix fell forward off the cliff edge. Spreading his wings, he flew off to complete his final pact with the sister of his first and only human friend.
*
Zannian entered Yala-tene with a rope around his neck. This was as much to guide him as it was to restrain him. Bahco was leading him from horseback. The nomad was met by Lyopi and Beramun, and he handed the halter to Lyopi. Bidding the women good-bye, Bahco galloped away.
“So I’m in Arku-peli at last,” Zannian said. “I wish I could see it.”
Lyopi tugged on the braided rawhide rope to get his attention. “I’m Lyopi,” she said, “mate of Amero, your brother, once headman of the village.”
“Ah, yes. Mated for a day, weren’t you? Or was it less?”
Lyopi made a fist, but she only said, “Beramun is here, too.”
The name drove the smirk from Zannian’s face. He put out a hand. Beramun stepped aside to avoid it.
“I was hoping you would come,” he said, turning his head toward the crunch of her footstep.
“I leave with Karada tomorrow. Say what you want, then I’ll be going.”
“Out here? In broad daylight?”
“It’s night, and no one’s about,” Lyopi answered.
“Strange. When I heard Beramun’s voice, I thought it was a bright and sunny day.”
Lyopi gave the younger woman a sympathetic, inquiring look. Beramun shook her head, indicating his words held no pain for her. She held out a hand for the rope. Lyopi handed it to her, moved off a few paces, and sat down at the foot of one of the ramps leading up the inside of the wall.
“Lyopi is gone,” Beramun said. “Talk.”
“My guards tell me you’ve taken a mate, but they wouldn’t say who he was,” Zannian replied.
“Strange to say, he was one of your men. Harak.”
If she’d slapped him, she couldn’t have shaken the ex-raider chief more. His tanned face paled below the bandages around his eyes. His throat worked, but no sound came out. Finally, he forced a smile and said, “I can understand why he wants you, but how did he convince you to accept him? Did he use an amulet, as the nomad tried on Karada?”
She said nothing, refusing to be baited. Zannian took a step closer to her voice. She backed away, and he smiled unpleasantly.
“He’s known many women, you know. Cut quite a swath through the captives we took to Almurk. Had a taste for red hair, as I recall, so he’s changed just for you —”
She struck him open-handed across the jaw. No dainty girl, she rocked Zannian back on his heels. He laughed triumphantly.
“You must care if you hit me!”
Beramun backed away again, working to regain her composure. “Has anyone explained what’s to become of you?” she asked finally.
The odd lilt in her voice gave him pause, but he said jauntily, “With the Arkuden dead, I guess Karada will have my head on stick.”
“No.”
“What then?”
“You’re to live in Yala-tene, forever. The villagers will feed you and take care of you like a child. They’ll lead you where you need to go and keep you clean, but you’ll never be allowed outside the walls of the town.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s what the rest of your life will be like, great raider chief. Every day will be just the same, and you shall live and die in darkness.”
Zannian was s
haken by the time she finished. He let out a howl, then lunged at her. Lyopi stood to come to her aid, but Beramun waved the other woman off as she easily evaded him.
“I’ll escape!” he declared, head whipping left and right. “My eyes will heal, and I’ll escape!”
“Your sight will never return. You’ll dwell in this village until you’re old and feeble as well as blind. And since you’ve told us there is no more Menni, now there will also be no more Zannian. You’re to have a new name, one befitting your new life – Horiden, ‘the Sightless One.’”
“Amero wouldn’t let you do this!” he said, voice rising high.
“Amero is dead, and this is not my doing. I would gladly grant your wish and take the head from your shoulders, but it wasn’t my decision to make.”
She expected him to rage or even plead for a warrior’s death, but he did neither. He mastered himself, then smiled broadly. That smile unnerved Beramun more than naked rage.
“If you want me dead, then I’m happy,” he declared. “And make no mistake – I will see again, and I will escape this blighted valley. I shall forge an even greater band of raiders next time. You’ll see! My mistake was getting involved with Nacris and the green dragon. They were twisted by ancient hatreds. I’ll create a new brotherhood of true warriors, greater than Karada’s band, and sweep all before me....”
So consumed was he by his grand dream that he didn’t notice Beramun had left him. Lyopi came and took the rope from her. The women embraced.
“Farewell and be well,” Beramun whispered.
“Peace to you, and all your kin,” Lyopi murmured back. Behind them, Zannian ranted on. Lyopi squeezed Beramun’s arms and asked, “Do me one favor, will you?”
“What’s that?”
“Name your first son Amero, will you? He’d like that.”
Beramun felt tears start. She kept them in check and smiled.
“I will.”
She left the village by the west baffle and returned on foot to the nomad’s camp. She never set foot in Yala-tene again, nor met anyone who lived there for the rest of her long, long life.
*
Dawn was near, and still Karada kept her place atop the cliff. She did not sleep, for she did not want to dream. When she heard the rush of wings, she looked up and saw Duranix descending through the broken clouds.
He landed nearby. She saw he had something clutched in one foreclaw. When the dragon opened his talons, Mara’s limp form rolled out on the ground.
“I was beginning to think you’d lit out for good,” Karada said good-humoredly. She checked the girl. Mara had swooned from fear and the rush of traveling so high in the air, but she was very much alive. Karada quickly gagged her and tied her hands and feet.
Earlier, Duranix had carried Amero’s body to the cave they’d once shared. He swept aside the ashes from the old hearth and laid his friend there, piling loose stones over him. Then, with claws and fire, he sealed the outer openings – first the largest one behind the waterfall, then Amero’s smaller, personal entrance, where his hoist used to be. Lastly, the dragon closed the unfinished third entrance Amero had meant for Duranix to use when in human form. The cave was now secure, save for the vent holes. Duranix clung to the rocky ceiling with his claws and butted his homed head against the vents, breaking them open into a single hole large enough for him to crawl through.
Now, having returned with Mara, he and Karada would conduct their private justice.
With Karada in one foreclaw and the unconscious Mara in the other, Duranix stepped into the open hole and dropped back into the black cave. The fall into total darkness tested even Karada’s nerves. She gripped Duranix’s hard-scaled claw until she felt the rush of wind past her ears ease, signaling he’d opened his broad wings and was slowing their descent.
The dragon landed heavily. His massive hind legs took up the shock and spared his passengers. Setting Karada down, Duranix exhaled a small bolt of lightning into a pile of charred wood he’d scraped up earlier from around the cave. A smoky red fire flared.
Clomping across the rough stone floor, Duranix laid the unconscious Mara across the heap of stones that was Amero’s grave. Turning his huge, reptilian head suddenly, he said to Karada, “She’ll die slowly in here, of starvation.”
“Only if she chooses to.”
Karada went to the pile of stones. From her belt she drew a short bronze dagger – the same one Mara had used to kill Amero. She put the dagger in Mara’s slack hand.
The fire was already dwindling. Duranix picked Karada up in a hind claw and launched himself at the roof. When he reached the opening, he had to close his wings and grip the edge of the hole with his foreclaws. He worked himself through.
Putting the woman down, Duranix covered the opening with great slabs of gray slate and yellow sandstone. He was satisfied, but his companion wasn’t, not yet. Karada found a large stone and fitted it onto the pile, closing the last small gap.
They walked to the edge of the cliff. Below them the waterfall foamed and thundered.
“Where will you go?” she shouted over the water’s roar.
“I have a place in mind. A long way away, but the company promises to be congenial.”
“Human?”
His barbels twitched. “I said congenial. A dragon, if you must know, of my bronze race.”
“Female?” she asked. He nodded his horned head, human-fashion.
“I’m tired of humans,” Duranix replied. “Maybe in a hundred years or so I’ll be able to stand them again.”
She looked up at him. “Some of us won’t be around in a hundred years.”
He brought his huge face close, eyelids clashing like swords. “You’ll live longer than I,” he told her. “When my bones are dust and my scales gone to verdigris, plainsmen will sing of Karada, the Scarred One, the greatest hunter and warrior of them all. They already make up songs about you.”
“I don’t listen to such nonsense.”
“Sometimes there’s truth in nonsense.” He lifted his head and spread his wings.
“You’re leaving now?” she said. “The folk in Yala-tene will miss saying farewell.”
“It’s better I go now. Less trouble. Less fuss. Goodbye, Karada.”
She put out her hand, touching his massive flank. “Nianki.”
Duranix balanced on his rear claws, poised for flight. “Farewell then, Nianki. Be worthy of your honor in all things.”
He leaped from the precipice, flying through the cloud of mist perpetually suspended over the falls. For a while his bronze skin glistened in the first, faint light of dawn, then he was so far away all she could see of him was a black silhouette against the indigo sky.
Chapter 22
Nomads breaking camp was always a noisy affair. Amid much shouting and grunting, the rings of tents came down, each hide hut sending up a cloud of dust when it collapsed. As was traditional, the older children struck the tents, under the supervision of the elders. While this was going on, warrior-age nomads saw to their horses and movable gear.
In the center of this maelstrom, Karada sat on her horse, strangely quiescent. She watched the dusty, churning proceedings with a detachment she did not ordinarily feel. Those close to her attributed her reflective mood to Amero’s death, and they were right.
Beramun approached on foot, black hair coated with yellow dust. She hailed her chief and adopted mother. Karada smiled down at her and held out a leather-wrapped gourd of cool water.
Beramun rinsed her parched mouth and spat out the resulting mud. “I bring word from Harak and the former raiders,” she said. “They want to know where in the column they should travel.”
“At the rear,” Karada said, taking back the gourd. “We’ve no horses to spare for them, so they’ll walk at the rear, with the travois.”
“Harak too?”
Karada sipped cool lake water. She’d grown to like its mineral bite again. “Harak too. I can’t favor him over the others, Beramun. They’d hate him for it. If
the raiders prove themselves worthy, we’ll find mounts for them later on. And no, he can’t ride double with you. It’s too hard on the horse.” Seeing Beramun’s disappointment, she added, not unkindly, “Harak will not object, and his good behavior will make him all the more pleasing to his men.”
Beramun smiled. The excitement of leaving the Valley of the Falls more than compensated for a temporary separation from her mate.
Looking past Karada at the village, Beramun saw dust rising from the vicinity of the north baffle.
“Someone’s coming from Yala-tene,” she said.
Karada sighed. “More elders to talk us to death. I’ve never known folk who talk so much. Wasn’t ‘good-bye’ yesterday enough?”
Beramun frowned, shading her eyes. “There’s a lot of them – not just a party of elders.”
Karada turned her wheat-colored horse around to see for herself. Sure enough, a sizable troop of people was coming toward them from the village.
“Find Pakito,” she said tersely. “Send him to me. If you see Bahco first, send him too.”
“Why?”
“Probably nothing. Go on, do as I say.”
Beramun sprinted into the chaotic scene, darting to and fro around horses and collapsing tents. By the time Pakito and Bahco returned, the people from Yala-tene were clearly visible. There must have been two hundred of them, all heavily laden with bundles and packs.
Leading the marching villagers was the young hunter Hekani. When he reached the nomad chief, he signaled those behind him to stop. The burdened villagers gratefully set down their bags and rested in the morning heat.
“Greetings, great chief!” Hekani said. “We’ve come to join you.”
“What?” Bahco and Pakito exclaimed simultaneously.
“We want to join your band,” Hekani said, sweeping his arm back to encompass all the people behind him.
“What are you talking about?” said Karada. “You’re not nomads!”
“We shall be, if you’ll have us. Since the Arkuden’s death and the dragon’s departure, a lot of us felt it wasn’t worth going on here. Everyone you see this morning has chosen to leave Yala-tene and join with you.”
