Arwhon and Chalc dismounted so Chalc could use his knack to settle Rancid. Once calmed, Rancid fell in close behind Darla and tried to ignore the crowds. As Arwhon and Chalc led their horses, Kuiran strode out ahead clearing a path for them. People took one look at his size before they leapt out of his way unbidden. Soon they arrived at a stall selling meat pies and bought half a dozen, haggling for a better price. Arwhon ate two, Chalc had one and the other three disappeared rapidly inside Kuiran. Rancid was on his best behaviour after the quiet talk from Chalc and never even looked like kicking, even though people brushed past him continually in the congested square.
“The marketplace is too crowded. Best we find a good inn with a stable and leave the horses there. If we leave our saddles and gear in the stall with them, they should be safe. Until we know Kroy’s whereabouts, we need to be on guard.” Chalc mumbled around the last of his pie. Kuiran nodded in agreement and they moved on, passing out of the square into a more prosperous and quieter part of town, eventually arriving at ‘The Black Butt’, its sign a depiction of three barrels, one on two, hanging out the front.
The inn looked respectable enough and when Chalc ducked into the taproom he saw men playing chess and sitting around a small fire smoking pipes and clutching ale mugs while a lute player picked out a few quiet tunes. The landlord was clean; always a good sign, so Chalc made the arrangements. Soon they were leading their horses around the back to the stables. A groom directed them to their stalls where the straw was fresh and clean. They unloaded Rancid and Chalc rapidly rubbed him down before they turned their attention to the Barsoomi horses which were quickly unsaddled and made comfortable. There was no sign of a big black stallion so they left the horses some hay to munch on and their gear lying at the rear of the stalls before making their way over to the inn to check on their room. Kuiran had to bend his head down to get in the door and his hair nearly brushed the ceiling inside. The innkeeper’s face was a comical cross between amazement and alarm, his bushy eyebrows waggling up and down as he took in Kuiran’s size.
“We don’t have no bed big enough for ee’ but we can make up a pallet on the floor of yer room.”
He gestured toward one of the serving girls, pointing upward and she scurried up the stairs to get everything ready for their guests.
“I given ye one of the back rooms, it be bigger’n the three at the front. Pay in advance. How many nights you stayin’ and do you want dinner or breakfast?”
Chalc replied. “One night for now and yes to both dinner and breakfast. We’re going out for a walk before dinner. Do you serve the evening meal before or after dark?”
He fished in his pouch and drew out coins, piling the required amount on the bar as the innkeeper replied to his questions. Then Chalc added a few more coins of low denomination.
“This should cover any extra feeding our bodyguard requires.”
The innkeeper looked Kuiran up and down, finally fixing his gaze on the huge hand comfortably holding the great staff.
“Man would have to be a fool to attack the likes of him. Where you from big ‘un?”
“Up north,” was the succinct reply.
The innkeeper swallowed and left it at that.
In short order the three of them were back on the street and heading for the market again. The daylight was just starting to fade now and many of the stalls were closing as the stallholders sold off the last of their goods for bargain prices and packed up for the day to return home. Lamps were being lit above the specialty stalls which remained open and the bustling crowds were thinning. Arwhon had never been to a market anything like this one, his eyes were agog. Spying a fortune teller’s booth decked out in a dark blue canopy with stars and a moon embroidered on it, he turned to Chalc, eagerness lighting his face.
“Chalc, Chalc, is that a fortune teller? Do you think I can have my fortune read? Please. I’ve never had it done but I’ve heard about it. My father mentioned it once.”
The lines at the sides of Chalc’s almond eyes crinkled as he smiled at Arwhon’s eagerness.
“Go ahead but don’t believe all you hear. There are more bogus fortune tellers than real ones. She’ll probably tell you about the fortune you are going to make or the lovely woman you’ll marry. Don’t pay too much for the reading. Kuiran and I will poke around out here and keep an eye on things while we ask about Kroy. Have fun.”
Arwhon almost ran to the tent with its stars and moon and peered under the canopy into the dimly lit interior where he spied a black haired, middle aged woman unlike any he had seen before. She had a blue tattoo covering the left half her face which made her look very mysterious. Probably part of the mystique Arwhon assumed.
“Hello. How much to have my fortune read?”
She looked him up and down, assessing.
“Cross my palm with silver, lad and I will tell you some of the mysteries buried in the lines of your hands.”
He drew out a silver coin and she pointed to a small stool opposite her.
“Sit and give me your left hand, palm uppermost and I’ll read your Fate.”
Arwhon complied and made himself comfortable as she took his left palm and studied it intently, drawing it closer to the light of the small oil lamp. There was a sudden indrawn hiss of breath as she pointed to a line.
“Bad news. This is your lifeline.” The woman pointed to a discontinuous line on his palm. “It ends early on the hand of Fate. Let me see the other hand. Destiny.”
He duly held out his right hand for inspection and looked closely at his left. There at the end of the short line was a small scar running across it.
“I don’t understand,” she told him. “On this hand the same line is a lot longer.” She went back to his left hand then his right, eventually holding them side by side before explaining the lines. “This is the heart line. On the left it has a big gap in it but on the other hand there is but the faintest mark on it. Your Fate and Destiny are very different propositions.”
Catching sight of the patterned Ring growing into his flesh on the ring finger of his right hand, she looked up and gazed deeply into his eyes then sat back with a sigh.
“It is all mixed up. I cannot foretell what will happen in your life. You are an honest man and one whose Fate is woven into and around many others. There is magic involved, either in you or around you and more besides. Go carefully and trust in your companions. Time and again they will aid you. Here, take back your silver, I did not earn it.”
“No Mistress, you keep it. What you have told me agrees exactly with what is happening to me. I was just hoping to learn more.”
Arwhon rose to leave but felt his sleeve tugged. The fortune teller was holding out a small disk, coppery coloured in the dim light and imprinted with an unusual design.
“When you get to your Grandmother’s place, give this to the young girl there. She will understand. Now go with my blessing.”
Arwhon rose, placing the fortune teller’s disk in a hidden pocket in his jerkin and was walking away from the stall when he suddenly realised he hadn’t mentioned his Grandmother at all. He turned to go back but the light had been extinguished and the stall closed. All in that very short time. Arwhon rejoined Kuiran and Chalc who merrily asked about his future.
“You were right Chalc, although I believe she was genuine, she had a problem with reading me. Offered me my money back though but I refused her. She gave me this.”
He pulled the disk out of his concealed pocket and showed it to them. Kuiran’s eyebrows shot up.
“Put it away Arwhon and whatever she said to do with it. Do it.”
“Why? What do you know?”
“I will tell you when you have spent it as she told you to. If you don’t find out first,” was all the enigmatic reply Arwhon received from his Arm.
As most of the market was closed by now, they decided to head back to the inn for supper. Walking along a narrow street and in sight of the inn’s lit windows, there was a small movement in the alley beside them. Kuiran
whirled, his staff ready to strike but it was only an old woman in a cloak with the hood pulled up.
“Darla.” An old sounding voice whispered a name. Hairs on the back of Chalc’s neck prickled.
“What do you know of that name?” he asked quietly.
“You both ride Barsoomi horses. Were they honestly come by?”
“Doesn’t that show for itself? Come with us to the stables while we get our gear. You can talk to us in the light. Are you alone?”
“For now. Lead on.”
Inside the stables, the light from a hanging oil lamp revealed the handsome, enigmatically lined face of a spry, middle aged woman as she dropped the hood of her cloak. When she allowed the cloak to fall open they saw she was dressed in a similar fashion to Reynaldo, a robe belted at the waist with a long knife attached to the patterned belt. She took in the look of surprise written on the faces of Arwhon and Chalc before approaching the stall to stroke Darla’s muzzle. Darla whickered in recognition.
The woman turned to face them.
“I’m Lareeta of the Black River Tribe of Barsoom. I was there the day Darla bonded Reynaldo although I didn’t see it. The Black River Tribe was visiting with the Swift River Tribe at the time and celebrations continued well into the night. We met the next day and eventually became friends. Over the years I have been employed to carry out many unusual tasks for Reynaldo because I am good at what I do. Finding answers. We were sent on this undertaking together but he left me here to gather information while he went to Forbidden alone. I take it Reynaldo is dead and this young man is the one we were meant to assist.”
Chalc nodded sombrely.
“Did he die bravely?” she asked quietly.
Again Chalc nodded then reached into his pouch and pulled out Reynaldo’s letter of commendation and the medal wrapped in it, handing them to Lareeta.
“Those were among his few belongings. We had to leave the saddlebags and extra gear, as we were running from Kroy at the time and couldn’t burden the horses.”
Chalc reached into his pouch again and withdrew the amulet of concealment.
“You should have this too, he handed it to me but obviously it should be passed on to you.”
Lareeta shook her head.
“The object of the exercise was to get the amulet and possibly even Darla to your party. The brave fool! It all makes sense now. He must have known it could be a suicide mission but chose not to tell me. I thought the seeress was looking at him with pity but I presumed he was merely to be wounded again.”
“Would you like to come in for a bite to eat and a drink?” Chalc asked. “We could talk more comfortably over a meal.”
“No thank you, I don’t want to be seen in your company. I’m an information gatherer. Nobody notices an old woman. I make my hair look greyer than it is and walk with a stoop to avoid closer inspection. Just out of interest, a ruffian came tearing into town this afternoon with a lathered horse, closely followed by a well dressed man with one hand riding a black stallion. Any connection to you?”
Arwhon, whose Truth Ring had verified every word Lareeta uttered, spoke up for the first time.
“Lareeta, I am Arwhon, the person Reynaldo was sent to aid. In Forbidden and again later we were set upon by Kroy, leader of a company of Dominion soldiers and servant to Empress Martine. Today, when we were attacked yet again, I took Kroy’s hand from him with a lucky swordstroke but he rode away, following the man you saw. He is the last survivor of Kroy’s company who was responsible for killing Reynaldo in Forbidden. He may even have been the one who fired the crossbow. Do you know where Kroy is staying?”
The Barsoomi woman shook her head. “Kroy didn’t stay in Crossroads, just grabbed some food and rode out like Fate was chasing him.”
Chalc, Kuiran and Arwhon breathed a sigh of relief and Lareeta leaned closer to Arwhon to speak privately.
“Thank you for that information Arwhon. I will certainly keep my eyes open for you. Reynaldo will not go unavenged.”
Then she addressed them all.
“Now gentlemen, I must bid you goodnight. May the Spirit of the Plains protect you all.”
Before Chalc could ask another question she had glided to the stable yard door and vanished like smoke on a breeze.
They settled the horses and collected their gear before entering the inn. It was still relatively early, so after stowing their gear in the back room upstairs, they ate heartily of stew with fresh bread and ale. After, while Chalc and Kuiran talked tactics, Arwhon sat gazing at the palms of his hands, studying the Heart and Lifelines on both where the fortune teller had pointed out the differences to him. On the hand of Fate, the left, both lines ended in tiny red healing scars, beyond which the palm was unmarked. He had never noticed the scars or lack of lines before.
The day’s events finally caught up with Arwhon and the lines on his hand went out of focus as his head nodded, drooping to rest on his chest. Chalc motioned to Kuiran who roused Arwhon before they all climbed the stairs to a comfortable sleep.
On the other side of town, in a disreputable tavern, a tired thug drowned his sorrows. Kroy was good for a healthy pay but he had ridden off toward Goristoum without waiting for him. Keen to get back to the Empress no doubt. Damn that big man with the whirling staff, where had he come from?
After another few jugs of ale the man resolved to no longer be available for hire to the Dominion. He rose, drunkenly shambling toward the dirty stables where he had made himself a bed amongst the mouldy hay in the loft. As he turned left around the darkened corner of the inn, into the alley leading to the stable, a shadow detached itself from the wall as he passed and a long knife took him through the left kidney. He half turned as the knife was pulled out, reaching for his sword but the old woman was far too quick for him. The last thing he heard as the long knife thrust up under his lower jaw and into his brain was.
“That was for Reynaldo, you Dominion scum.”
10. Belvedere.
Early the next morning, just before he opened his eyes, Arwhon drifted between sleeping and waking in a place of lucid dreams. Once again he dreamt of the Barsoomi heirs. They were still in the same underground chamber but now looking much the worst for wear with their soiled, filthy clothing hanging loosely on thin, undernourished bodies. Both of them were dirty and ill kempt, with tangled, knotted hair and the start of a beard on the face of the young Prince. The two of them huddled together for warmth on the stone floor, their desperate appearance completely at odds with Arwhon’s imaginings of Princes and Princesses. He sighed and shook his head as his dream wafted him closer to the two prisoners.
“What can I do?” he asked himself softly.
Suddenly the Princess looked up, fear in her eyes.
“Who’s there?” she asked worriedly, gazing nervously about herself, looking for the source of the sound.
“Ssh, don’t be afraid,” Arwhon whispered. “I’m dreaming of you and seem to be here in the dream also. Can you see me?”
“No, I just hear your voice issuing out of the air in front of us. Is this real?”
“I believe it so. The King, your father has been granted three months to declare Barsoom part of the Dominion again under Empress Martine’s control or she threatens to kill you both. More than a month has already passed. We have less than two left now.”
The Prince looked up, his sallow, young-bearded face grave.
“Will it be enough time do you think or will we die here?”
“Not if I can help it.” Arwhon replied with conviction, suddenly feeling himself being shaken gently. The stone chamber vanished and he opened his eyes to see Chalc’s face looming above his, the morning’s bright sunlight filtering into the upstairs room of the inn. Kuiran stood off to one side with a look of concern on his face.
“Sorry Arwhon but you were thrashing and muttering in your sleep, I had to wake you. The Prince and Princess again?”
“Yes but I could talk with them this time. I told them they had less than two months le
ft to live but promised we would rescue them.”
Arwhon rose from his bed, now wide awake and proceeded to get dressed. Although he was improving, he was still clumsy at working his body into the padding and chainmail then belting the dagger on. His sword, in its sheath attached to the harness, was the last piece of equipment he donned.
It was too warm for a cloak.
“I guess we should breakfast and be on our way. We don’t have much time.”
“What do you mean, rescue them? Chalc asked sharply. “I’m taking you to see your Grandmother in Belvedere.”
“I know but that will just have to be a quick visit. We need to help the Barsoomi heirs.”
“You are the Master,” Chalc replied in a strange voice and said no more, glancing sideways at Kuiran who calmly studied Arwhon, his face unreadable.
In spite of Arwhon’s urgency, by the time they’d eaten breakfast, saddled the horses and packed their gear onto Rancid again, it was mid morning before the three of them set off, walking in front of the horses through the busy narrower streets of Crossroads toward the Great Southern Road. Suddenly, without warning, Chalc leaped sideways into the mouth of an alley and grabbed at something but all he was able to show, held firmly in his right hand, was a small black hooded cloak. Before their eyes it flashed and burnt to dust, blowing away in the breeze. Both Arwhon and Kuiran stood in awed silence, waiting for an explanation.
“Did you see him?” asked Chalc. “A very small man, with all black eyes. I keep catching glimpses of him out of the corner of my eye at odd times and places but he’s never there when I look directly. I was sure I had him then but he vanished from inside the cloak as I grabbed it.”
Arwhon nodded. “That’s probably the very same little person who I saw in ‘The Flying Pig’ at Cumbrisia’s End the very first night we went there. I asked the landlord about him but he didn’t see anything. Do you think its evil?”
The Ring Of Truth Page 21
