“Are you sure you want a broken, saddened man. Not fit to mix with others. Bent by the war and death. I’ll be a heavy burden for you to carry and I’d name you ‘Darla’ after my wife. This is your final chance to walk away from me, free spirit of the plains. I’ll not accept you without you knowing the truth of what you are getting.”
This was stupid, here she was bonded and the silly human didn’t even realise how momentous it was for .......‘Darla’? She would just have to take him in hand like those silly foals who needed looking after. She bent her head and gave him a hearty nudge which sent him sprawling and his jug tumbling, its contents spilling into the grass. Instant outrage flared in him at her action as he righted the jug but it quickly softened to mirth.
“Well, I take it you find me suitable to bond. Let’s try that again.”
He looked up wonderingly at her in the starlight. A straight-legged, fine looking, dark female horse. She felt his approval and glowed inside as she lowered her head to his up-reaching hand. Strong fingers gently stroked her muzzle, just the way she liked, before moving up to fondle her ears.
“I believe you are an exceptionally fine horse Darla. We had best go and see if I can afford you.”
No sooner said than done. The man rose to his feet a little unsteadily and walked back towards the tents to haggle a price for her.
Darla followed behind.
Bonded.
Reynaldo was well liked among the Tribes. Originally from the Snake River Tribe, he had fought long and bravely for Barsoom during the Dominion War, loosing his wife and bonded Barsoomi horse halfway through the long conflict. Since that time, on a borrowed mount, he had been an anathema to the enemy. Turning up in the most unexpected places with a handful of volunteers and creating havoc among the ranks of the Dominion before withdrawing again, Reynaldo used mounted guerrilla tactics to harry the enemy ceaselessly. The Empress Martine put a huge price on his head but to no avail, no one could capture him. He had even come to the notice of the King of Barsoom in one or two dispatches.
Unfortunately, the end of the war meant the end of the reason for Reynaldo to live, there was no one left to inflict vengeance on. The three years after the conflict had mostly been a blur, filled with faces full of pity. Darla changed that. Reynaldo found he had a reason to be alive again although he never remarried. Not because he couldn’t, he was a very popular man among the single ladies and never wanted for company when he desired but rather because the thought of marriage brought with it the image of his dead wife and child.
An incident he never wanted to repeat.
Hearing of his recovery, the King summoned him and made him a special emissary, in which position he remained until his death. His duties......
“Chalc.”
Arwhon’s soft call broke through the bond between horse and rider and Chalc sent a soft ‘later’ to Darla before turning to Arwhon.
“Yes Master.”
“Drop the ‘Master’, we’re alone now. You just seemed to be staring off into space. I was wondering if you were feeling alright?”
Arwhon’s concern for Chalc tinged his voice.
“Yes, I’m fine, just learning about some of Reynaldo’s exploits from Darla. I’ll refer to you as ‘Master’ all the time from now on. We have to be very careful. Last night was a lucky escape for us and Kroy may be in pursuit as we speak. Finding this trail running in the same direction as the main road was a stroke of luck for us. We’re fortunate the valley is now wide enough to accommodate more than one track but eventually we’ll have to rejoin the main thoroughfare when we draw closer to Crossroads, as there’s only the one road leading into the town from this side. That is, if things haven’t changed since the war.”
Chalc kept his eyes on Arwhon, thinking, before he spoke again.
“It may be better for us to travel at night from now on and trust the horses to find our way. They both know in what direction Barsoom lies and it’s beyond Crossroads. Right now it would be advisable for us to find somewhere to camp until nightfall, no point in tiring ourselves and the horses unnecessarily. Anyway, Rancid is feeling the pinch.”
Arwhon smiled a wan smile.
“As am I, Chalc.”
They watered the horses at the next stream they came to and by keeping their eyes peeled as they rode downstream, it wasn’t long before they discovered a small copse near the water’s edge growing a little grass for the horses. It offered concealment, tucked in behind a circle of mature trees covered with thick foliage. The ground was soft and there was a carpet of leaves under the trees, left from the previous autumn. Arwhon and Chalc unloaded and unsaddled the horses and Rancid and left them to their rolling. As the horses and mule enthusiastically grazed the lush grass in the centre of the clearing, they ate from their rations. No fire, only cold water to drink. Smoke would have given them away. Arwhon soon tucked into his sleeping roll, fully dressed and dropped off to sleep immediately, wearier than he had been for a long while.
As the sun slid slowly down the sky to the west, heading for its home behind Mehgrin’s Wall, Chalc took Reynaldo’s saddlebags from the spot he’d left them when he unsaddled Darla and sat down with the intention of looking through their contents. Gazing over to where Darla grazed hungrily alongside Duran, Chalc paused then sent a mental query, asking if she minded him looking through Reynaldo’s belongings. The answer sprang into his mind. She had no objection.
Chalc spread Reynaldo’s bedroll on the ground and emptied the contents of both saddlebags onto it. The man had travelled light. There was a small bag of grain for Darla and a few supplies for himself. Chalc put those to one side to distribute among their own rations. It all helped, especially now when they could not afford to be seen in any villages if they could help it. Kroy would be asking after them. Best to stay under cover and use their store of food, augmented by snared rabbits or whatever they could glean from the odd farm. There were other items on the blanket, some good quality spare clothing, a few pieces of which might fit Arwhon, while the rest could be discarded or traded for food. Chalc picked up a small knife to further inspect it followed by a few silver coins.
That was it.
Chalc was puzzled, somehow he had expected more. Picking up the saddlebags he examined them closely. There, in the back of one of them, he found a secret pocket. He opened it and withdrew the contents, two pieces of parchment, one folded around a small hard object. The first piece of parchment was a letter to the Governor of Cumbrisia from the King of the Barsoom asking that the bearer be allowed safe passage through the lands. A mere formality really, as Cumbrisia wasn’t patrolled very much, being mostly full of farmers and villages with their own local councils. Still, it could come in useful. Chalc transferred it to his own belt pouch.
The other piece of parchment he unwrapped to expose a small medallion made of silver. On one side was a prancing horse and on the other was stamped, ‘For Service to Barsoom’. Chalc turned it over in his hand, he had heard about these. Only a handful were ever made by appointment for the King of Barsoom. These medallions were awarded in recognition of extreme bravery and service to the country during the Dominion Wars, bestowed on those most deserving. Chalc sent to Darla and received a surprised reaction. She had not known of it. So, Reynaldo had been a truly modest man then, a rarity in this world. The parchment was faded but Chalc could make out the words. ‘From a grateful King and Country to one who gave everything and lost so much.’ He rewrapped the medallion and placed it carefully in the bottom of his own pouch. One day he may get a chance to return it to the King of Barsoom and tell the story of Reynaldo’s end.
Looking at the old, well used sleeping roll and the beautifully tooled and worked saddlebags before him, a part of Reynaldo’s history, Chalc made a difficult decision and bundled them up tightly before stepping over to a large hollow log and stuffing them inside. He sent a mental apology to Darla as he whispered under his breath.
“We have no need of these fine saddlebags and they may be recognised
. A pity, as they are of exceptional workmanship. Can you keep watch; I need some rest.”
At the affirmative from Darla he unrolled his own bedroll and dropped off to sleep almost immediately, the light sleep of one on guard, awareness stretched thin.
After all, he was a Swordmaster.
The evening was misty when Chalc woke, his internal clock rousing him after the sun had set. Arwhon was still snoring gently as Chalc put together a light meal of thinly-sliced cooked meat, cheese and more dark bread for both of them before eating his and saddling the horses and the mule. Best to let the lad get all the sleep he could as they may have to make another run for it at any time. Arwhon woke quickly when Chalc roused him, starting up in his bedroll before recognising his surroundings. As he ate his meal, he told Chalc of his dreams.
“I was in a fortress I think. Thick stone walls, damp and dirty. I followed a passage that wound around and descended into rock. There was an open area where a man and a woman sat talking. They did not look very well. Both were thin and unkempt. I recognised them as the children of the Barsoom King so I must have been in Debrishar, although how, I don’t know. While I watched from my place of concealment, the Gryffon stalked into the cave followed by a beautiful woman in her late twenties. She had long dark hair and wore a rich gown of ruby coloured velvet with a belt of gold links. There was a large blue jewel, a sapphire maybe, on a chain around her neck. I guess she must have been the Empress Martine although she belies her hundred years of age. Behind her there followed a sallow man with long unkempt hair, dressed in worn finery. He carried a plain black staff. It was he who directed the Gryffon on Martine’s command. I had the feeling he was a Mage of some sort.”
“Describe him closely to me before the memory fades.” Chalc directed. Arwhon closed his eyes and spoke slowly as if describing someone standing in front of him.
“He’s of medium height, taller than you but shorter than me, with dark hair about collar length shot through with grey. His face is a pale unhealthy colour, as if he has never been outside and his nose is long and sharp above a thin lipped mouth. He doesn’t smile at all. His eyes are deep set and glow slightly with an unearthly hue. His mode of dress is sombre and stained and he wears a black three quarter coat over all.”
Here Arwhon tapered of in his description but Chalc was impressed.
“Excellent, these visions may only seem to be dreams but I think you’re looking in onto reality. There must be some reason you’re having them. Was there anything else?”
“No, I woke up just as Martine began to speak. The rest you know.”
Arwhon ate his light meal quickly and following it, practiced a few moves with Chalc, gliding through the forms of the unarmed combat in near darkness. His desire to improve his abilities was bolstered by the confrontation of the previous day, when he had virtually frozen during the action, apart from drawing his sword. He resolved to act more positively the next time something threatening occurred, rather than acting passively and having to be protected by others.
They mounted and set off, allowing the horses to pick their way along the muddy tracks in the near dark. Scudding clouds alternately covered and uncovered the half moon riding high in the sky above. The second moon would also be rising soon but it was only quarter full presently. The cool northerly breeze soughed gently through branches, tugging at their cloaks. The ground was soft underfoot, muffling the sounds of the horses’ footfalls. Rancid followed along behind Darla, his long ears swivelling nervously back and forth, trying to pick up any unusual sounds in the dark. As they progressed along the floor of the ever widening valley, the river sounds never far away, horse and rider could sometimes make out low stone walls beside them, borders to fields of crops. Occasionally they passed the odd farmhouse with a candle or two burning within and the farm dogs would bark into the night.
Otherwise their passage went unnoticed.
Sometimes their route drew close to the main road as the track meandered back and forth on its way to Crossroads. On one of those occasions, after midnight, just as they stopped for a short rest and something to eat, Rancid’s ears began to swivel all the more furiously. The mule pulled on his lead rope and turned to face up the valley, his ears cocked forward. Chalc noticed him first and caught Arwhon’s attention.
“Can either you or Duran hear anything?” he enquired softly.
“No, how about you or Darla?” Arwhon replied.
Chalc shook his head.
“Keep perfectly still, tell Duran to also. I think someone’s coming.”
Rancid was definitely intently focused on something and as Chalc and Arwhon sat silently in their saddles under the trees, the cause of Rancid’s agitation gradually became audible. Drumming hooves, the sound of many horses running fast in the night. The hoofbeats grew still louder, now accompanied by the heavy breathing of hard worked horses and the jingle of metalwork on bridle and saddle. Before much longer a party of about ten mounted men swept past, heading down the main road, not more than half a bow shot uphill of their position.
“Kroy!” Chalc exclaimed, as he and Arwhon dismounted as the sound of hooves disappeared into the distance. “We’ll have to be especially vigilant now, that man will not give up until he has what he wants. Lucky for us we kept off the main road although now he’s in front of us, he will be able to set traps and offer rewards for information about us. There are many poor folk around these parts who’ll believe whatever tale he spins and run to him with news of us for the chance at a little extra coin. We had best be extremely careful. The Barsoomi’s and this most excellent mule will keep watch for us.”
Removing a handful of grain from one of the saddlebags, Chalc stepped over to Rancid and fed him while stroking between his ears.
“Good Rancid, you have excellent hearing. You are not just a pack mule, you are truly one of our brave company. Please continue using your most acute hearing to warn us of any coming danger.”
Chalc could have sworn that the mule winked at him.
They mounted up again and continued on with their journey in the dark. Arwhon was disappointed at being unable to see the landscape unfold before them as he had earlier in their travels but still rode alertly, keeping his mind tuned to Duran’s senses as well as his surroundings.
It was an otherwise uneventful night and as dawn’s first light began to streak the horizon before them they found a thicket in a patch of woods to camp awaiting nightfall again. Before dropping off to sleep, Arwhon considered the length of time elapsed since he first started dreaming of the Barsoomi heirs. Three weeks staying with Chalc at Cumbrisia’s End and nearly ten days on the road. If Reynaldo’s information was correct the captive Barsoomi heirs he dreamt about had less than two months left to live before the self styled Empress Martine despatched them both.
The following night was quiet; a fat half moon provided some welcome illumination of the uneven surface of the lanes they travelled before setting well ahead of the dawn, leaving the second moon to light their way with its pale white light. It made the tracks and occasional cart ruts easier for the horses to pick out. As they rode, Chalc went back to his interrupted conversion with Darla to learn a little more of Reynaldo.
Reynaldo became a Royal Courier at the behest of the King of Barsoom. His duties were to carry messages for the King or rather, his duties appeared to be carrying messages for the King but in reality, Reynaldo was a spy, and a good one. His manner was such that folk relaxed around him and often he would sit silently in a tavern or some noble’s court, tucked back out of immediate sight and just listen to the conversation ebbing and flowing around him. Reynaldo had a unique ability to pick out the little nuggets of useful truth from general conversation and hoard small pieces of disparate information away for months, waiting until another little piece of a puzzle fitted into it. He had known more than any man alive about the warp and weft of politics in the free lands and as he discussed everything with Darla, she too became very knowledgeable.
Not only about po
litics.
Darla also retained Reynaldo’s wealth of knowledge about other matters. Even about the M’Herindar. Unable to contain his excitement, Chalc thought a question to Darla, breaking into her story.
“Did Reynaldo know where Barsoomi horses came from originally?”
The answer he received was far more than he had ever hoped to discover. Darla was at first reticent about the topic but the bond between horse and rider was deeper than trust and although she still sorrowed for Reynaldo, Darla had managed to fully bond with Chalc in spite of it. She was impressed with her new rider, he had integrity, deeper than any she had ever known before and his core was a quiet, peaceful place, unruffled by whatever occurred outside of him. She found she was able to share that tranquil space inside Chalc and even her grief seemed possible to put aside. Darla delved into memories of what Reynaldo had discovered about Barsoomi horses, although how he had come by the information was unknown to her.
In the past, when Man came from the east to spread across all the lands, the M’Herindar had been everywhere, wandering throughout the country they had always lived in and been a part of but they were mostly sighted in the evenings rather than during the day. The M’Herindar had never seen horses before and found some connection with these noble animals. Among the members of the single Horse Clan, which would eventually grow into the Tribes of the Barsoom, the M’Herindar found friendship and many horses. The Horse Clan in return was comfortable with the M’Herindar and kept a look out for them, valuing the small healings and positive feelings which always accompanied a M’Herindar visit.
In those long past days, the Barsoomi horses which came into the lands with Man were just normal horses and the M’Herindar couldn’t understand why these animals had no ability to communicate. All the other large animals found in the M’Herindar’s lands before Man arrived were able to share their thoughts with the M’Herindar. Those prescient animals had since disappeared, replaced by the species, both wild and domestic, which followed in the steps of Man.
The Ring Of Truth Page 17
