The Ring Of Truth

by B Cameron Lee

  “I don’t even know if he’s human,” replied Chalc. “And how he travels and keeps up with us is beyond me.”

  As the trio made their way south through Crossroads, leaving the narrow streets and moving into a poorer quarter of town, they took the opportunity to stop at a small market along the way, set up on a bare piece of ground. Although Belvedere was only around two week’s ride away, Chalc decided fresh supplies were needed, so they bought unleavened bread, sausage, cheese and a few hard boiled eggs, along with a little flour, oatmeal, dried mushrooms and carrots. A small bag of barley for the horses finished off the ration list. Not too much, as the route south was well travelled and they would be able to reprovision in some of the few smaller towns and villages straddling the Great South Road on their way to Southland.

  Nearing the edge of town Arwhon and Chalc mounted Duran and Darla and with Kuiran walking ahead, overtook some slower wagons moving south and continued on out of Crossroads. Soon the noise and hubbub of the settlement lay behind them and fresh air, warm sunshine and birdsong were the accompaniment to their ride. Arwhon marvelled at how far along the season had advanced down here, it almost felt like early summer.

  Kuiran strode along effortlessly, sometimes whistling back at the birds with their own songs to tease them. Suddenly, a horse and cloaked rider detached itself from the shadow of a small copse less than a stone’s throw away. Two swords whispered out of their sheaths and a staff stopped moving idly as the group halted.

  “Chalc! It’s I, Lareeta. I thought I would ride with you awhile. If you have no objection that is.”

  “The pleasure is ours Lareeta; we have much to learn from you.”

  As Chalc spoke he inclined his head in a mounted bow of respect with a pleased, unseen smile on his face.

  The swords returned to their sheaths and the small band moved forward until Lareeta joined them. The horses were bouncy and both Duran and Darla enthusiastically greeted Lareeta’s mount, a smallish dun horse.

  “Her name is ‘Binaway’. What she lacks in size she makes up for in endurance. Her mother died during the birthing and we had to rear her by hand. For all that, she has still produced some wonderful foals and we’ve become life partners.”

  Arwhon refocused, he had been feeling the excitement of the moment through his link with Duran.

  “Sorry, you said life partners, what does that mean?”

  “It means young fellow, that if either of us dies, so will the other. We have no desire to live without our life partner. Some from Barsoom do such.”

  Lareeta moved Binaway in between Chalc and Kuiran and listed the ways she could be useful to the party while she rode with them. Not the least finding the best camps, with clean water and grazing for the horses.

  Among other things.

  She then went on to tell them she would take her leave once they arrived at the gates of Belvedere, travelling back to her own country so she could report to the King of Barsoom and return Reynaldo’s medal.

  Looking back over her shoulder to observe Arwhon for a moment, Lareeta spoke the first part of her next sentence to Chalc and Kuiran.

  “I have need to see that young man get to Belvedere.”

  Then she turned to Arwhon and addressed him directly.

  “And I’ll be able to help you stay alive.”

  She dropped back and considered him for a moment, head cocked to one side.

  “Are you really the one our seeresses say will free the Barsoomi?”

  Arwhon was taken aback.

  “I’ve no idea Lareeta. I’m just a young man on his way to see his Grandmother. Things seem to be happening to and around me though. You’re welcome to accompany us if you wish but try not to get killed.”

  The Barsoomi rider laughed amusedly at the seriousness of his request.

  “I’ve no intention of getting killed young master. Look to your own protection.”

  Lareeta moved back up beside Chalc leaving Arwhon to ride on quietly behind digesting this new piece of information, listening while the rest of the group discussed their future travelling plans. The Great South Road boasted several small towns and villages along its length to Southland. They took advantage of the good grazing on the Barsoom plains to the east of the road and the fertile farmland in the partially cleared forests of Cumbrisia to the west. Between them, Kuiran and Chalc both agreed it would be best if they stayed out of the towns and villages along their way, riding around them, if at all possible.

  As they rode, Arwhon noticed small herds of cattle grazing out on the plains, watched over by herdboys. His curiosity was aroused and he called out to Lareeta.

  “Lareeta, I thought it was Barsoomi lands to the east of us but herders are running cattle on the plain. Don’t the Barsoomi mind?”

  The older lady dropped back to ride beside Arwhon before replying.

  “Whatever Barsoom Tribe the land belongs to makes an agreement with the graziers as to how many cattle they can run on the edge of the plains. The Tribe takes a number of beasts as tribute. The Barsoomi like to eat beef too young man, so it works out well for both parties.”

  Arwhon saw the sense in such cooperation and he nodded in agreement with Lareeta’s explanation.

  As the others were also listening in, Lareeta went on to mention her assassination of Kroy’s last remaining companion the previous evening. None of them were troubled by it although the bluntness of her manner in relating the matter took Arwhon a little by surprise.

  At the midday break, Arwhon received more combat training and learnt a couple of unarmed combat moves from Kuiran before continuing with his normal sword instruction from Chalc. Lareeta looked on quietly, observing the play of weapons and the slightly stilted stiffness with which Arwhon still moved, even though he was fit and lithe. His training needed to flow into his movement rather than be imposed upon it. After brief sustenance, it was back on the road until late evening. Skirting wide of the only village, the Barsoomi horses ate up the miles, matching Kuiran’s fast walking pace. They passed a few caravans heading north but merely swapped pleasantries with the drivers and the cautious guards, gaining a little news as they rode.

  “We need to hurry Chalc.” Arwhon told him on the second day’s midday break for training. “The lives of the Barsoomi Prince and Princess depend on us.”

  Chalc grinned, “More haste, less speed young Master. You are of little real use as a fighter at the moment although your training goes well. Think! If anything happens to us, you have to be able to protect not only yourself but perhaps others who are defenceless. Do you think you are capable at present?”

  “Yes Chalc, at the least I can defend myself.”

  Chalc raised his eyes skywards and turned to Lareeta with a shrug. As if to say ‘What can I do’. Lareeta smiled a mischievous smile and hailed Arwhon while Kuiran sat apparently unperturbed, yet his eyes constantly roved their surroundings.

  “Hey, hero, cutting off Kroy’s hand was just a lucky stroke,” she teased. “You’re quite stiff in your attack and couldn’t hurt a real fighter if you tried.”

  “Alright for you to say, you’re just a woman.” Arwhon threw back.

  Lareeta’s head came up slowly until she had him fixed with her penetrating steely gaze.

  “Just a woman, hey. Well, young man, let’s see how good you are against ‘just a woman’ of the Barsoom.”

  She moved toward him and he took a step back.

  “But you’re unarmed, I can’t fight you.”

  “What makes you think that? Defend yourself; I intend to bleed you for your insult.”

  Out of nowhere a longknife appeared in her right hand and she moved toward him, her eyes hard and deadly. Arwhon’s sword whisked out of its sheath and pointed toward her. She kept advancing as Arwhon reversed his grip so the blunt side of the blade was toward her and raised his weapon. He struck, as he had been taught, in a blow angled sideways from top left to bottom right. Lareeta was suddenly not there and he felt a painful prick in his side, the sharp p
oint of her blade poking through the chainmail. Lareeta was now right there beside him, tucked close, with her knife poised to take his kidney out. With an oath he leapt back swinging the sword again but in a blink of an eye he felt the point of her dagger prick his thigh over his femoral artery and looked down to find her crouched in front of him.

  “Seventeen seconds to bleed to death if I had severed that artery my cocksure young acquaintance. You have a lot to learn and a short time to do so. When we stop in the evenings, you will train with me until we reach Belvedere. If I can’t wake you up to all the dirty, cheating moves which can be used against you, any fight you are in will be short. That is if Master Chalc and your Arm both agree.”

  Kuiran’s head shot up at mention of his name and he studied her closely.

  “Yes Kuiran, I understand a little of the language of the M’Herindar. We of the Plains were once your strongest supporters and teach our children as much as we can remember of the M’Herindar. You however are not M’Herindar but act as one. A curious puzzle but you’re entitled to your secrets.”

  Kuiran nodded and after a moments thought, Chalc agreed to the plan. The lad needed taking down a peg or two and what better way than to have him learn another way to fight. Lareeta faced Arwhon.

  “Time to ride for now but if you really want to learn from me, we start tonight.”

  They mounted up and rode out from the clearing back on to the road south. To their left stretched the wide open plains of Barsoom with the waving spring grass turning darker green as the drier summer came, creating a carpet of emerald as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional small copse of trees and the odd groups of cattle watched over by youths. On their right, the land rose gradually, often with farms visible through the trees, until a small escarpment could be seen paralleling the road, creating a natural border at the back of the cleared areas. In the further distance, another escarpment, then behind that, another. Tier after tier, covered in forest, rose stepwise from the plains until far, far away in the bluish haze, the spine of Mehgrin’s Wall could just be made out, topped with snow covered jagged peaks thrusting into the clouds. From the coast well to the north of Myseline all the way down to the Turquoise Sea in the south, there was no way through the range other than Durhain’s Pass, that one cleft at the top of the Grand Valley, now well over two weeks behind them.

  “What is the Barsoom name for the mountains?” Arwhon asked in general.

  “Some call them ‘Mehgrin’s Wall’ while others call them ‘The Long Blade’.” Lareeta answered him.

  On the far side of those mountains lay Myseline and Arwhon wondered how his brother and sister were faring with their new business venture. Well, he hoped. Although they were glad to see him go he bore no grudge against them, his life had changed forever and now he could never go back to his old life in the small seaside town of Trugor.

  They passed a well worn road on the right, leading back up into the higher country and Arwhon, ever curious, asked Chalc what lay up there.

  Lareeta answered. “Cafke bean plantations. The beans make a drink popular in Belvedere. They grow on trees at higher altitude and when the beans are roasted and ground they produce a stimulating infusion. It’s mostly for the wealthy though. The beans are bagged and are brought down during the autumn. The Tribes of Barsoom also enjoy drinking cafke. When they can afford it.”

  Chalc added yet more information.

  “Although the people up there who grow cafke are technically Cumbrisian, they refer to themselves as Mehgrin’s Children and are very different from the folk down here. They tend to keep to themselves and discourage visitors. In appearance they are small and swarthy, brooking no interference from any man and are quick to anger but will be a life long friend if you are fortunate to be accepted by them. They also mine the ore that makes steel and supplies Southland with what iron it needs. It’s said they are Dwarf cousins.”

  Arwhon filed this information away in his ever expanding mental library but something was niggling him as they rode. Chalc had discussed Darla’s recollections of Reynaldo with him. An interesting tale which piqued Arwhon’s curiosity about his own horse but when he mentally requested Duran to discuss his previous owner, nothing was there. He dropped back until he was riding side by side with Lareeta and spoke in a quiet voice for the sake of privacy.

  “Lareeta, why is there nothing in Duran’s head from before we bonded?”

  Lareeta chuckled. “Obviously you were his first bonding.”

  “I don’t understand. He’s been trained for war and anticipates where to be. He’ll even strike with his hooves when necessary and only requires slight knee pressure to guide him.”

  Lareeta tipped her head to one side, thinking.

  “You said you first saw him in Myseline?”

  Arwhon nodded.

  “Then I believe he was stolen as a youngster and shipped to Myseline for some rich Lord or one of his sons. It happens sometimes. Mostly it’s the Golden River Tribe which suffers from the theft of horses as they are the closest Tribe to the Southland. I think Duran simply never found anyone to bond with in Myseline. Until bonding takes place, Barsoomi horses are just that, horses, and although they have the instinct to bond, it’s the Bonding which wakes their brains.”

  The simple explanation given by Lareeta clarified everything which had concerned Arwhon about his mount. He bowed to the Plainswoman from the saddle.

  “Many thanks my Lady. I have much to learn.”

  Then he nudged Duran gently with his knee and moved forward to join Chalc again.

  The group had avoided a small town in the afternoon, choosing to hasten on and sleep outdoors again that evening. Arwhon was relieved of camp duties so Lareeta could show him the mistakes he was making with his sword work. Although no longer youthful, Lareeta was exceedingly fast. Never where he expected her to be, she turned and weaved in response to Arwhon’s sword swings. She took a practice blade from Rancid’s pack for her own use and walked Arwhon through the movements he could use to get inside the guard of an opposing swordsman, while armed only with his dagger. Something inside of him thrilled at the knowledge he was acquiring and he kept at it until Lareeta called a halt.

  “Enough! You’ll wear me out at this pace. Tomorrow will be soon enough to continue with more. You’re a good student but don’t let it go to your head.”

  Chalc, comfortable beside the fire looked over at Kuiran, sitting out of the firelight with his back to a tree trunk and winked a lazy wink. Kuiran grinned back.

  As they rode the following day, Arwhon learnt more of the Barsoomi from Lareeta.

  Seven Tribes, broken into smaller Clans, wandered continuously, criss-crossing the Plains as they grazed their stock. Each Tribe mostly remained within their home range throughout the year apart from festival and holiday times when Clans and Tribes journeyed to celebrate and feast together. Each Tribe’s range centred on a large river and since time immemorial, each of the seven Tribes was known by the name of the river which centred their lands. Lareeta was Black River Tribe, the northernmost which bordered the Swift River Tribe’s territory. She also mentioned the Snake River and Green River Tribes.

  Only the King and Queen, along with their grown children and a small retinue, moved where they liked on the Plains as the Royal House belonged to all and none. Their younger children were farmed out to various Tribes to be reared as a Barsoomi should be, among tents and horses and tribal life.

  On the longest days of each year, in the middle of summer, all the Tribes of Barsoom came together for feasting, trading, horse bonding and marriage at the Horhenge in the geographical centre of the Barsoom Plains. The Barsoomi drank fermented mare’s milk at such festivities and it didn’t take much of an excuse for merrymaking. Arwhon began to form a picture in his mind of a people who loved life in all its simplicity, not to say the people were simple but rather they lived in harmony with nature and had a philosophy which encouraged a belief in the rightness of things.

 
A happy people, free from many of the cares of town dwellers.

  “Tell me of the seeresses please,” he asked Lareeta when she fell silent. He received a sharp, calculated look in return before Lareeta looked over toward Kuiran who nodded imperceptibly.

  Lareeta began.

  “The M’Herindar, before they retreated into the Darkwood, favoured the Barsoomi above all the races of Man. They loved horses and gave us a gift. Once, each third generation, to each Tribe, a female child is born who has the gift of foresight. When she reaches her seventh year of age, the old seeress apprentices her and teaches the knowledge of herbs and healing, charms and minor spells. When the apprentice turns fifteen, the old seeress allows her to take charge and assists her. Just before her own death, the old seeress wanders off into the plains by herself and is never seen again. It has always been so. If a seeress dies by accident, the Tribe has to wait until the next one is born. Then her training is carried out by a seeress from another Tribe. That is why we guard the seeresses so well and care for all their needs.”

  Lareeta looked about her, eyes travelling over every potential threat as they rode. Satisfied all was well, she continued.

  “The seeress of a Tribe always knows where the best grazing is and when the weather will turn, she can heal and also see into the future a short distance. At the last Gathering, all the seeresses together agreed that someone was about to arrive from the west who would change the face of all the lands and eventually bring peace. Reynaldo and I were sent to watch the Grand Valley Road for whoever came down from Durhain’s Pass as it is the only way to travel here from Myseline in the west. We were supposed to render aid to him or her. I don’t know if you are the one they talked of but Chalc seems to think so and you have one of the M’Herindar, who is not M’Herindar, as your Arm. Please don’t fail us by being handicapped with pride and conceit. We need that person. The whole world does.”

  Arwhon was shaken. All the information he’d gleaned up to now regarding his future were a number of small clues and his spiritual visit to the Wise Ones but the Ring on his finger told him every word Lareeta uttered was true, including the part about pride and conceit. The enormity of the task bestowed upon him made him feel small and insufficient for the challenges which lay ahead. It must have shown on his face because Kuiran dropped back beside his stirrup and looked deep into Arwhon’s eyes before speaking softly.