by C S Marks
Rogond was chagrined at having missed the deception. The Company had come upon it in the dark, and turned neatly onto the lesser path exactly as intended. “I was taken as easily as a lamb to the slaughter,” he said quietly. “It was fortunate that the bandits had given up their game, otherwise we would have been slain. I have not exactly distinguished myself as leader of our Company.”
Hamir nodded. “You are not prepared to lead them in these lands. I say once more—you need a guide. My folk will remain with you until tomorrow, but then we must continue on to the west. We do not begrudge you the provisions we have given, but it means we must reach the marketplace all the sooner. Otherwise, I would see you farther south.”
He looked to the east, and the rising sun. “My youngest son, Lamas, has asked if he might go with you as guide,” he said, “but I have forbidden him. He is not as adept in the deep desert as you will require, and he is barely into his young manhood. He has not yet taken a wife.” He shook his head. “I’m certain you’ve noticed his attentions to your Elven friends, particularly Gaelen. He is enamored of her, I believe. And she did not make things any easier when they sang together under the stars. I must separate him from her, and quickly, otherwise he may earn your wrath!” Hamir smiled as he said this, for he knew that Lamas was no threat to Rogond.
Rogond understood Lamas’ feelings quite well—it was Gaelen’s song that had doomed him to love her. “Indeed, you must separate him from her, lest his heart be broken. She and Nelwyn are very special, and it’s small wonder he admires them. Yet their hearts have been given, and his hopes are in vain.”
Hamir snorted. “As if anyone of my household would consider either of them as fit and proper wives for my son! I would have to disown him if he brought Gaelen into our tents. Such a proud, vain creature would be unthinkable. Make no mistake, my tall friend—I admire your companions and have enjoyed their company, but I would never consider either of them as suitable life-mates for a gentle soul such as Lamas. Why, they would be running his affairs in no time! Thank you, but I prefer my own wives, who exist to love and serve me and my children. Perhaps they are not as exotic, but neither are they of such high temperament. Keep your Gaelen, worthy northman.”
Rogond smiled back at him, though there was a slight edge to his voice as he spoke. “That I will, Hamir, until my last breath leaves me.”
“Fair enough. Let’s prepare to go ‘round and set your feet once more upon the right road. You have a long journey ahead.” He clapped Rogond on the shoulder before going forth to gather the caravan.
As Rogond prepared the Company for departure, he reflected on Hamir’s words. He watched his beloved Gaelen stroking Siva, speaking to her in a gentle voice, before swinging gracefully astride. She turned the mare to the south, the hot, dry wind fanning her hair back from her face, bright eyes looking out to the horizon, as Nelwyn rode up beside her. They stood together—two beautiful, spirited, and thoroughly dangerous creatures—and he and his good friend Galador owned their hearts.
“I’m sorry, Hamir,” he muttered, “but you truly do not know what you’re missing.”
They first heard the wailing cries drifting on the wind when they passed the barrier and found the Ravani Road once again. It was a sound of abandonment and despair, of a lost soul in fear of death, and it had a chilling effect on all in hearing.
Dona, in particular, was dismayed; she was no stranger to such cries of desperation. She wept and clung to Galador, her wide eyes glazed with terror. “Do not go there, Galdor! It is a place of torment…do not go there. They will take you, and hold you in darkness, and there will be no one to aid you. I could not bear it; I will die before I let them take me again. Do not go there!”
Hamir’s folk regarded Dona with a mixture of pity and curiosity, and they had given her a wide berth. They did not know quite what to make of her.
Galador shook his head. “She has been like this, or worse, since she was thrust upon our Company,” he said. “She is in need of healing, but I don’t know what healing we can provide. At any rate, I had best stay here with her while some of you investigate the source of that wailing. She may become unbalanced, and she can be dangerous at such times.” He turned back to Dona. “Hush, little one…I will protect you and keep you from torment. Do not fear.”
She did not stop weeping, though her eyes grew calmer and lost some of the panic behind them. Galador wondered what had befallen this poor creature, once a proud maiden of immortal race, to turn her onto such a course of madness and despair. He embraced her, genuinely overcome in that moment with the desire to make her whole again. She closed her eyes, and he sang to her so that she would not hear the pained, helpless cries upon the wind.
Nelwyn and Gaelen looked into the distant south, along the side of the road, and soon located the source of the wailing. “There is…a man. Actually, it is only the head of a man…but he is alive. He appears to have been buried up to his neck. He is making the sound, though he grows weaker by the moment,” said Gaelen.
“He must have heard the bells on Hamir’s harness, and is hoping for rescue. We must go quickly if we would aid him,” said Nelwyn.
Hamir’s eyes narrowed. “We must be cautious; someone left him there to be found. Most likely he is a villain, and this is his punishment. Perhaps harsh, but probably deserved. On the other hand, he may have been set there to lure the unwary. We must be cautious.”
“But there is no cover, father,” put in Lamas. “Where could enemies be hiding? There is no place of concealment. I agree with the Elves…we should be quick!”
Hamir cast a withering glance at his son, who flushed and looked submissively down at his feet. “Well, since my youngest son agrees with the Elves, then most certainly we should do as they suggest,” he said, with obvious sarcasm. He turned to Rogond. “You see why I would not allow him to go with you? He would certainly not make a suitable guide, as he forgets all I have taught him, seeking instead to impress you and your friends.”
Lamas appeared to want to sink into the ground, as his elder brother Hamad laughed ill-naturedly under his breath.
Gaelen tossed her hair from her eyes. “Fine, Hamir. I will take the risk, and approach this man, for I agree with Lamas—there is no place of concealment. I believe your first instinct is correct, and he has been left as an example, not as bait.” Without waiting for permission, she mounted her horse, and she and Nelwyn rode toward the dark speck in the distance.
Rogond looked at Hamir and shrugged. Then he mounted Eros and followed them. Lamas made as though to pursue Rogond, but Hamir shook his head, making a clucking sound with his tongue. Then he and his sons sat quietly down, and waited.
Gaelen and Nelwyn had dismounted, carefully approaching the man. He was in a bad way, having been buried up to his neck in the sand for a day and a half with no shade or water. His head was uncovered, his skin blistered from the unrelenting sun. His red-rimmed eyes peered through a filthy mask of sweat and grime. He stared at Gaelen and Nelwyn as they approached, not knowing whether they were real or merely products of his fevered imagination. His gaze was drawn especially to Nelwyn, whose golden hair and green eyes seemed to have come straight from a beautiful dream. He had seen an engraving of a creature very like her in one of the sacred books once—yes, he was dreaming, and soon he would be dead. The ravens had already begun to gather.
“Are you a spirit sent to conduct me to the Eternal Realm?” he asked Nelwyn in a croaking voice. She did not understand his speech, which was of his own tribe.
Gaelen then spoke to Nelwyn in the Elven-tongue: “He is near death. We must give him water, and free him, for the weight of the sand must make it nearly impossible to breathe.”
To the dying man’s ears, the speech of Elves was lilting and beautiful, especially when spoken in Gaelen’s voice. Here, surely, were the minions of heaven, sent to deliver him. I had never dreamed I would go to paradise…
Gaelen knelt beside him, offering him a swallow of water from her water-ski
n. He sucked greedily at it, but she pulled it away. “Not all at once,” she admonished him in the common-tongue. “I’m told giving too much water to a man dying of thirst will sicken him. This you can ill afford. Have patience.” She offered the water-skin again, but this time he grabbed the small end between his teeth, and before she could stay him he had taken several great gulps. His eyes rolled back into his head, and the color drained from his face, just before he brought up most of the water onto the sand in front of him. He moaned miserably and his head lolled over.
“We had best begin the task of trying to free him,” said Nelwyn, obviously alarmed. “Otherwise he will die very soon.” She looked over at Gaelen, who simply stood staring at the man, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “I know he is foul, but we cannot leave him to die. Someone has done this to him…for what reason I can’t imagine. He must have made some very cruel enemies. Help me, now!”
Rogond had come up from behind and now stood with them, taking note of the wet sand in front of the man’s mouth. “Gaelen…you know better than to give too much water to a man dying of thirst. You’ve made him ill, plus wasted the water. We must revive him in the hope that he will be able to take more…slowly this time.”
“I did not intend for him to take so much, but somehow he managed it,” Gaelen replied. “What’s done is done. Do we dig him out, or do we revive him with water? I leave his fate to you, who are so knowledgeable. Command me as you will.”
Rogond nodded in recognition of her sarcasm. “Very well, then make yourself useful. Ride back and tell Hamir what we have found, and ask him what should be done. Nelwyn and I will work to free him, but it will take time, for he is buried deep. Quickly, now!”
Gaelen bowed, mounted Siva, and galloped back to meet Hamir, who had become curious and was already approaching with Hamad and Lamas. When she described the man, Hamir became concerned.
“Do not dig him out yet; wait until I have examined and questioned him. It’s likely that he is a villain, and that this is a doom appointed as punishment for some vile deed. If so, then I‘ll know it. Ride back, and stay your friends from their labor.”
Rogond and Nelwyn had succeeded in uncovering the man’s neck and the top of his shoulders by the time Hamir approached. He stooped beside the man, pulling aside long, stringy hair to reveal an oddly-shaped burn mark on the side of his neck. Then his face hardened as he rose to his feet and nodded, his arms folded in front of him. “This man has been branded as a thief and a brigand,” he said. “He must have stolen from the wrong person. I’ll warrant his villainy is responsible for at least one death, or he would not have merited such severe punishment. Leave him for the ravens! We should not interfere.”
Rogond considered Hamir’s words. “He may be a thief, but he is also a man. We cannot leave him here to die. He is already in agony, and things will get worse before the end. In my world we do not leave even our enemies to suffer, we kill them quickly. Thieves are certainly not dealt with so harshly…we must release him.”
Hamir shook his head. “In doing so you will earn the wrath of whoever placed him here, and you will then be held responsible for his future misdeeds. Better to kill him quickly, if you would aid him. Even so, you will not gain the favor of those who deemed this fate appropriate for him. Best that you walk away.”
Rogond looked at Hamir as though seeing him for the first time. “You surprise me, my friend. I had not thought you capable of abandoning a soul in need…luckily you did not do so to us.”
“You are not criminals under the hand of justice. In our lands we do not interfere, for there are so many different people with different ways and laws that we simply cannot. The peace between us can only be kept if we allow others to mete out justice as they see fit.”
Rogond considered, taking Hamir’s point. “Let’s question him, at least,” he said, turning to Nelwyn. “Have you had any luck in reviving him?”
“Indeed,” answered Nelwyn, “he is stirring even now, but I am uncertain of his strength. If you want to question him, we should probably free him first.”
Nelwyn could not help but feel pity for the helpless man. He moaned in pain and misery, opening his dark brown eyes to gaze at her with desperate hope. She offered him the water-skin again, and he took a few slow, deliberate swallows of water, having learned from his earlier experience. His eyes were reasonably clear as Hamir knelt upon the sand in front of him.
“What is the reason that you are tormented, thief? Speak, if you would convince us to free you. What was your crime that warranted such a harsh sentence?”
The man immediately began to weep, his red-rimmed eyes gazing up at Nelwyn. Gaelen brought forth a spare cloak, draping it over the man’s head so that it blocked the sun. He muttered words of gratitude, still weeping, but could not look into her bright eyes. From that moment, Gaelen mistrusted him.
“I am here by ill fate, for I have done nothing to warrant such a terrible death,” he said.
Hamir scowled at him. “Oh, and I suppose that brand upon your neck simply appeared by mischance? Do not lie to us, or we will simply leave you to your judgment. I ask you again, what was your crime?”
The man seemed not to hear, and began to babble aimlessly, as though nearly hysterical. “What sort of crazed behavior is this?” said Hamir. “The heat and lack of water have deranged his mind.”
Gaelen watched the man’s eyes. He was far more aware than he would have them know, for though he appeared confused and addle-brained, she saw his sly eyes narrow and his expression change to suit the moment. She knelt before him and, as he continued babbling, slapped him hard across the face. “Save it,” she spat. “You had best start providing us with truthful answers. Your false derangement isn’t fooling anyone. Speak, and the truth this time. I grow weary of you already.”
The man’s eyes narrowed again, and he shot a vicious look at Gaelen, who had made a lifelong enemy in that moment. Then his expression changed as he began weeping and pleading for his life once more. “Please, fortunate ones, release me that I may tell my sad story. If you have any compassion at all, give me freedom and shade and water, and a few moments of peace. Then, if my tale does not convince you, please kill me quickly. I am too weak to try to escape or do harm to anyone. May the Almighty shrivel my tongue forever if I speak falsely! Please, my friends, help a soul in need. In return, I promise to serve you until the end of my days.”
A thought struck Rogond, and he addressed the weeping man. “Do you know these lands, and know them well?”
The hair on the back of Gaelen’s neck stood straight up—she knew what Rogond was thinking. “No…beloved, this is a snake,” she whispered. “You cannot trust him! I have seen it in his eyes.”
The man stopped weeping, and as he looked upon the pale-skinned, grey-eyed Ranger, he knew the truth. He is not of the Ravani…he needs a guide! My fortunes are changing—I can feel it in the wind. “Yes, Blessed Rescuer, I do. I was born and raised in the Sutherlands, and have wandered them all of my life. Why do you ask? Is there some way I may serve?”
His face twisted into a fawning expression that filled Rogond with disgust. He did not trust this man any more than his companions did, but the Company needed a guide. This man had promised to serve them. At least he could aid them for a time, until they found someone more trustworthy.
“Let’s release him, and hear his tale.”
They dug the man from the sand with difficulty, and discovered the secret to his survival. He should have suffocated from the weight of so much sand compressing his chest, but he had been fitted with a wine cask placed over his torso and bound arms, such that he could still breathe. Apparently, whoever had done this wanted him to remain alive and suffering.
The man muttered his thanks over and over as they cut his bonds and gave him fresh clothing to wear. He was given food and drink, and allowed to rest under a silken shade until he was strong enough to speak. He would give his name only as “Sajid,” and would tell nothing of his family history, for
he claimed not to know it. He did have a sad story to tell—of poverty and desperation.
“I admit to being a thief, but I stole only enough to survive. Any of you would have done the same when faced with the poor choices I was given. I am now so thankful for my life that I would serve you unconditionally, until my death. Please allow me to aid you in whatever small way that I may. Allow me to earn an honest living, for as I lay near death I was shown the folly of my dishonest ways. The Almighty sent you to save me, that I might prove my worth.”
“Indeed,” said Hamir frostily. “We shall meet and decide your fate. In the meantime, do not move from this spot. If you do…”
“If you do, you will take one more breath before you fall,” said Gaelen, who sat smiling coldly at him with her bow in her lap. She turned to Rogond. “We’ll await your decision,” she said. “He will not move from here, never fear.” You know what I think in the matter…
The debate over what to do about Sajid lasted over an hour, and at the end of it they still had not decided. Nelwyn and Lamas were in favor of releasing him; Hamir and Hamas were far less generous. Galador was not inclined to trust any thief of the Ravi, and Fima couldn’t make up his mind. It would fall to Rogond, as leader of the Company, to decide the fate of the wretch.
“I will not interfere,” said Hamir, “and your point is well taken…he probably could guide you, until he stabbed you in the dark, perhaps.”
