I smiled at him and said, 'Do you fear your women, then?'
Sajagax laughed heartily and clapped me on my shoulder to acknowledge that I had scored a point in this verbal jousting that the Sarni relished. And he said to me, 'The Manslayers are warriors. They claim for themselves, out of strength, the right to kill. Thus they make others fear them. They fear death not. Thus they are twice feared. They escape from having to pick up dung by their willingness to die and to deal death. And in this, as with all warriors, they claim their freedom.'
In his rough, old voice I heard echoes of the words that Morjin had written to me. I said to him, 'Then is it only the strong who can be free?'
He took a long drink if wine from his goblet as he nodded his head. 'That too, is the beauty of the world, its terrible beauty The strong do as they will; the weak do as they must.'
For a few moments I thought about this as he waited to see what I would say. Finally I spoke, and the answer I gave him was what I might have told Morjin himself if he were sitting with us.
'It is the will of those who are truly strong,' I said, 'to protect the weak. They fear neither death nor other men. Only being unkind.'
But kindness among the Sarni, as I saw, was regarded less a virtue than a boon of the victor toward the vanquished. Their warriors were even more brutal with each other than with their women. Their continual verbal sparring often turned violent; twice during the feast, two of Sajagax's men came to blows, standing and smashing at each other's faces with their fists. Such unseemly displays would never occur in Valari society without swords being drawn in a duel to the death. I watched in amazement as these yellow-haired barbarians quickly spent their fury and then returned to their places, eyeing each other malevolently. They bore each other deep grudges in this testing of their manhood. They, and all who witnessed their combat, would remember who had bested whom. And so it went all their lives. The strongest of them became captains over warriors and chieftains over clan or tribe. In their bluffing and bullying of each other, I better understood a Sarni saying that Atara had told me earlier:
'Every tribe against every tribe; every clan against the tribe; every family against the clan; every man against his family. And all the tribes against the kradak.'
The Sarni's enmity for me and my men boiled barely beneath the surface like a geyser that might erupt at any moment Sajagax's warriors stared at the glittering armor of my knights as if counting the diamonds there and mentally adding these white gems to their treasure chests. So it had gone for ages. How many times had the Sarni invaded the Morning Mountains hoping to seize our vital mineral wealth? No other people had made war against the Valari so often or with such savagery. And now, here in Sajagax's tent, the Kurmak fired different kinds of arrows at us. Fell words flew from the lips of these wild warriors and stung my men like so many barbs. I overheard one warrior at a nearby circle taunting Sar Hannu of Anjo: 'You look familiar. Weren't you one of the knights who fled from my company at the Battle of the Crooked Field?'
This, I told myself, was only more testing; in anticipation of this, I had issued strict orders that my men should not trade insult for insult, nor under any circumstances draw their swords. Lord Raasharu and my other counselors feared that Sajagax might use such an inci-dent to provoke a battle — and then after I and ail the Guardians lay slaughtered on Sajagax's blood-drenched carpets, Sajagax would claim the Lightstone for himself.
When at last the time for singing and serious drinking was at hand, Sajagax called to see the Lightstone. Sar Elkald of Taron stood and came over to hand the golden cup to me. And then I gave it to Sajagax to hold.
'Beautiful,' Sajagax said as his eyes lit up. The cup seemed lost in his huge hand. 'But so small.'
His hot breath steamed out into the even hotter air of his tent. I could see his image, all fierce with longing, reflected from the numerous golden sheets hung from the tent's walls. Threads of gold showed in the tapestries also displayed there, and the tent's great poles likewise were sheathed with this most precious of metals. So rich were these furnishings, it made one wonder what was left to lock away in Sajagax's treasury.
'So this is the true gold,' he said to me as he gazed at the cup. 'Let us hear the story of how you gained it.'
Maram, his face flushed with wine, was only too happy to stand and give an account of the great Quest. He told Sajagax and the Kurmak warriors of all our battles, paying particular attention to his heroics at Khaisham and the arrow wounds he had received there. Our hosts struck their bows against their goblets in acknowledgment of these feats. They were less inclined to believe Maram's description of the invisible bridges that spanned the gorges of the Nagarshath and the great Ymanir who had built them, for it displeased them to imagine a people larger and stronger than themselves. And they would have dismissed the story of Flick altogether if this strange being hadn't suddenly appeared to amaze them with a brilliant display of lights. But they listened in wonder as Maram explained how he had used a firestone to burn an opening into Argattha and then later to wound the great dragon named Angraboda. And when Maram reached the climax of his tale, when the blinded Atara had stood upon Morjin's throne firing arrows into our enemies and felling them by the dozen, many of these grim-faced warriors burst into tears of pride and called out, 'Atara Manslayer! Atara for the Kurmak!'
'Great deeds!' Sajagax exclaimed as Maram sat back down. His hand still gripped the Lightstone, and a golden sheen fell upon his face. He turned to Atara and said, 'You are a glory to our people. The Kurmak have always fought Morjin. And we always will.'
Sajagax now stood to sing out the tale of how the Kurmak and other tribes of the Sarni had ridden to war against Morjin at the Sarburn two whole ages before. His voice blared out like a battle horn, and he needed no minstrel to recall the verses that extolled the deeds of great warriors six thousand years dead. According to his version of this story it was only through the heroics of his Kurmak ancestors that the Lightstone was wrested from Morjin's hand. That many of the Sarni tribes had fought on Morjin's side he neglected to tell. After he had sat back down, I said to him, 'We of the Morning Mountains still sing of the wonder of the Sarni riding with the Valari to battle. But it should be remembered that it was Aramesh who wounded Morjin and took the Lightstone from him.'
'True, Aramesh claimed the Lightstone according to the ancient right of guardianship.' Sajagax stared at the golden cup in his hand with all the passion he might have reserved for a new bride. 'The right you Valari have always claimed for yourselves. But are not all those willing to shed blood in the Lightstone's defense its rightful guardians?'
Everyone, I thought, knew the story of how the Valari tribe long ago had been riven when Aryu had slain his brother and had stolen the Lightstone. But I doubted if Sajagax and the Sarni also knew that Aryu's descendants had used a varistei to alter their forms and so become the Aryans: a strong and rugged people whose blue eyes and fair skin were better suited to Thalu's cold mists. And with the exile of Sarngin Marshan, the Aryans had become the Sarni, and how should these fierce warriors want to believe that they were therefore descended from a murderer and the greatest thief in all history save Morjin himself?
'It was Elahad who brought the Lightstone to earth,' I told Sajagax. 'And it is his descendants who must bear the burden of guarding it.'
'So you say,' he muttered as he gazed at the little curve of gold that he gripped so tightly. 'So you Valari have always claimed.'
Lansar Raasharu fingered the hilt of his sword as he huffed out, 'We claim this: that the Lightstone was meant for the hand of the Maitreya and no other.'
'So you say,' Sajagax muttered again as he looked at me. 'I say it was meant to be used to defeat the Red Dragon.'
I tried to smile at the quarrelsome old chieftain but I could not. I said to him, 'Truly, it was. But defeat how? With the blood of yet more battles? Or defeat in light?'
Sajagax looked at me strangely. 'I've also heard it said that Valashu Elahad claims to be this Maitreya
.'
'No, not yet,' I told him. 'We're hoping that the crystal we recovered from the Lake of Mists might tell if a claim should be made.'
'What is there tell, then? The Maitreya would be the greatest of warriors, the boldest and the strongest.'
His blue eyes bored into me, and his fierce gaze burned with blood-lust, pride and challenge.
The Sarni, it is said, covet gold as a drunkard does spirits, but they revere three things: the horse, the sky, and their given word. Sajagax had promised us safe passage through the Kurkmak's lands. This could not include despoiling us of our possessions. Atara had also once told me that her grandfather, though sometimes cruel, was always true. I had gambled everything upon this. Either one believes in men or not.
'My father,' I said to him, 'taught me that the greatest strength of all lies in following the will of the One.'
I looked at the Lightstone and held my hand out toward him.
Sajagax's hardened fingers only gripped it more tightly. His eyes narrowed with a terrible concentration; his jaws ground together as if trying to snap a bone. He seemed to fight a ferocious battle within himself. And then, with a sudden laughter that rumbled up from deep in his chest, he found his own immense will and slapped the little cup into my hand.
'Here, take it!' he roared out. 'Guard it with your life, if that's what you want! It matters not to me.'
I held the Lightstone for a moment before setting it down on the cushion in front of me. I said, 'It matters to me that you would help us in our purpose. It matters to all Ea.'
'Help you howl By having my men enlist as Guardians under your command? No Sarni warrior would have the stomach for that.'
'No,' I told him, 'we've Guardians enough already. But why don't you ride with us to Tria? As it was in the ancient days?'
He chewed at his mustache a few moments before saying, 'Kiritan has called a council of the kings of all the Free Lands. Kings, Valashu Elahad. Why would a Sarni chieftain wish to sit with such as these?'
A stew of emotions bubbled inside him, and I misinterpreted his sensibilities. I said to him, 'But surely King Kiritan has invited you to the conclave as well. Surely he would welcome you, even if you don't call yourself a king.'
'No, that I don't. That I never will,' he called out. 'Kings compel the service of their subjects as if they were women, and what satisfaction is there in that? I am a free man, and a leader of free men who follow me or not as they please. What business have I among kings?'
'The business of defeating Morjin,' I told him.
'Morjin,' he spat out as he might a piece of moldy bread. 'We Kurmak will fight him no matter what your kings decide.'
I looked around the circle at his captains. Yaggod and Braggod were like great, tawny lions trembling to rend and slay, and Tringax and the scarred Urtukar seemed no less eager for war. All the Kurmak warriors in Sajagax's tent, I thought, would gather to his standard and would die sooner than admit to a fear of the Red Dragon's armies.
'Yes, you will fight, and you are to be honored for that,' I said to Sajagax. 'But wouldn't the chance for victory be greater with others by your side?'
'What others, then? King Hanniban of Eanna? King Marshayk of Delu? They are weak.'
At the mention of his father's name, Maram bristled but said nothing. He took another sip of wine and glared at Sajagax.
'The Valari kings will fight,' I said to Sajagax. 'In the end, if it comes to war, they will have to fight.'
'Kings,' Sajagax spat out again. 'Valari.'
'Yes, Valari,' I said. 'You've fought us many times, but you've never understood us. None of our kings rules except through the will of warriors as valiant and free as your own.'
Sajagax looked at the circles of grave-faced Guardians who sat watchfully throughout his tent. Then he traded looks with Jaalii and Mansak. He said to me, 'And you've never understood my people, either.'
Maram saw his chance for vengeance over Sajagax's slight, and he said, 'We understand that Morjin is buying the service of other Sarni tribes with gold.'
'Gold,' Sajagax said sadly as he gazed at the Lightstone. 'We love it too much. Ever has it been our downfall. Even now the Zayak demand a tribute of Morjin and believe that they have thus gained dominion over him. But in the end, as in ancient days, it is he who will make slaves of them.'
'The Zayak we fought on our way home from Argattha,' I said. 'And now it seems that the Adirii have gone over to Morjin, too.'
'No,' Sajagax said. 'Only one of their clans. And they shall be punished.'
'And what of the Marituk, then? They are your enemies. Have they thus become Morjin's friends?'
Sajagax turned toward the west as if he could gaze through the silken walls of his tent and far out across the Poru river into the Marituk's lands. 'We've had word that Morjin has sent many treasure chests to the Marituk. Will they make alliance with him? That is hard to say. They hate the Beast — but perhaps less than they do Alonia and the Kurmak.'
He went on to say that, as always, the Janjii would follow the Marituk, for they were under their fist.
'And what of the other tribes?' I asked him.
'In the south, the Siofok and Danyak stand ready to ride with Morjin. And the Usark and Tukulak are inclined to join them.'
'That is bad,' I said. 'And what of the Mansurii?'
'They hate Morjin — almost as much as they love his gold.'
I looked off at the gold-shod pillars holding up the tent, but I said nothing.
'The southern tribes are weak,' Sajagax said. 'But most of the central tribes remain strong enough to oppose him.'
'The Niuriu? Their chieftain gave us shelter on our journey.'
'Yes, Vishakan is a good man and will never yield to Morjin. And neither will Artukan and the Danladi.'
'But what of the Urtuk?' I said, naming the Sarni's most numerous tribe and Mesh's ancient enemy.
'The western Urtuk remain undecided,' Sajagax said. 'And the main dans would carve the livers from any emissaries Morjin sends and despoil them of their gold. The eastern Urtuk hate the Valari enough that they might join Morjin just for the pleasure of carving out your livers — and your hearts, as well.'
'Then the Sarni tribes each go their own way, as always.'
'Not always, Valashu Elahad. Even in Mesh, they must sing of Tulumar the Great.'
Truly, we did sing of this bloodthirsty warlord, but none of our songs were happy ones. In the year 2073 of the Age of Swords, Tulumar Elek, having united all the Sarni and gone on to conquer more civilized lands, took the title of Emperor of the Wendrush, Delu and Alonia. It was said, if not sung, that Morjin had aided Tulumar in his bid for world dominion and then betrayed him to his death with poison.
'As it was in the ancient days, so it is now,' Sajagax told us. 'Morjin cannot win without the Sarni. And if my people ride with him, he cannot lose.'
'Then that is all the more reason that you must ride with us to Tria. If an alliance is made against Morjin, if you and the Kurmak take part in this and the other tribes behold this miracle- then might not the Sarni be persuaded to ride against Morjin?'
'That is possible,' he said. 'But if the alliance fails, it will go badly. Few of the tribes will want to fight on the losing side.'
'The alliance won't fail,' I said. 'How can it not? What could bring the Valari together with Valari — and with Alonians and Delians? The Maitreya?'
'Yes, he.'
Sajagax pulled at the golden wire binding his braided hair as he looked at me. 'You ask a great deal. For me to ride to Tria at this time with the Marituk raiding in the north and the Red Dragon to be watched — and all on the hope that some untested youth might be the Shining Warrior out of legends none know to be true. No, no, this is too much.'
Baltasar started to reply to this, but Maram laid his hand on his knee and spoke instead: 'Lord Valashu is not untested. Haven't you listened to what I've said? In Argattha, he slew as many as did Atara. And under his leadership, we vanquished the Adirii as we
ll. And only last month, he defeated all at the great tournament and became its champion.'
Sajagax nodded his head as he continued to regard me. And Braggod, a red-faced man with the longest and most impressive of mustaches, spoke for his chieftain: 'Sajagax has led us to victory in thirty-three battles. And as for your tournament, you didn't invite Sarni warriors, so what honor is there in claiming its championship?'
'Valari knights,' Maram said, glancing at the two diamonds of his ring, 'are matchless at arms.'
'With the sword, perhaps,' Braggod allowed. He lifted up his bow and shook it at Maram. 'But not with a truly noble weapon.'
'Our archers hit their targets, too,' Maram said.
'You say "our" as if you are truly a Valari. But no matter the diamonds you wear, you'll remain a fat prince of Delu.'
Maram's face flushed as red as Braggod's. He said to him, 'This Delian won a second in wrestling. And a third in archery.'
'In what you call archery. Shooting at targets that don't shoot back can hardly be counted as sport.'
'And what do you call sport then?'
'Why, shooting at each other from horseback, fat man.'
Now Sajagax and everyone in our circle looked at Maram, who seemed ready to choke on his bile and throttle the rude Braggod. I was afraid that despite himself, Maram was about to blunder his way into a duel. And so I gripped Maram's arm to steady him; to Braggod and the others, I said, 'Our Valari longbows weren't made for such work. And while in your lands, my knights may not engage in any sport that might draw Kurmak blood.'
If I had hoped to cool Maram's and Braggod's rising tempers, I hoped in vain. Braggod suddenly stood up, and the muscles along his ruddy neck and arms stood out like snakes swollen with blood. He shook his fist at Maram and said, 'We've other sports then, fat man. Why don't we see if you're as good at holding the horn as in blowing your own fat horn?'
'What do you mean?' Maram asked, now as puzzled as the rest of us.
'It's a test,' Braggod said. 'Each of us is given a horn of beer. We drink. The horns are refilled, once, twice — as many times as it takes. The one who holds his beer and remains standing is the better man.'
Lord of Lies ec-2 Page 37
