Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is)

by C S Marks

  He did not know that she cared so for him. He saw her as a friendly face, a worthy ally, and the half-sister of Azori and (probably) Azok. Hallagond would not have looked with longing upon her even had he known of her desire, for he would not have wished to earn the wrath of her two half-brothers, who tended to take any would-be suitors out in the desert and leave them there.

  Estle doubted that Azori would have killed them (although she was not as certain of Azok), but she held little doubt that they had been instructed to put their tails to the oasis and never return. She did not wish for Hallagond to be banished, so she kept her distance.

  She didn’t know of his whereabouts at present, for Azori’s band spent little time in the Chupa, in fact they had not seen the oasis in several months. By this time, word had spread of Rogond and his companions, and of their search for Hallagond. It had also been made known to the darker element in the oasis that Radeef and his associates, including Kamal, had been well paid to divert the Company toward Fómor, where Hallagond most certainly would not be found. Estle shook her head, and her cool grey eyes were sad. It would do Hallagond good to know that he still had family who cared about him. After all, she took comfort in knowing that her admittedly unsavory half-brothers cared for her, even though they were occasionally inconvenient.

  Estle did not care for Haifa; she took her leave of the choking, smoke-filled dwelling full of unwashed, drunken men and ventured out into the desert evening. The sunsets here were spectacular and she was treated to an especially brilliant one of fiery red and orange; the high, wispy clouds appeared as flames in the deepening sky. Estle knew that such brilliant sunsets were often the result of terrible windstorms raising so much sand and dust that to be caught in one unprotected would likely mean death. The people of the Chupa would now be on their guard, for this was the season in which such storms occurred.

  Where are you, Hallagond? Why have you not returned? Estle did not wish to think of him caught in such a storm alone. He was experienced in desert ways, but even experienced travelers could die, especially if they were caught alone on the open sands. Sometimes they simply disappeared without a trace, as though the desert had swallowed them whole. She gazed out at the sunset, the darkness at her back, her long, curly hair stirred by the wind. I pray you are well. Keep safe, and may no evil befall you. She noticed the first bright stars appearing, as the darkness slowly overcame the blazing sunset. She closed her eyes and spoke the words that Hallagond had taught her; words that came from fair, immortal beings who had walked in Alterra since the beginning of time. “Isa-i réaltae annachtim, Tréigam,” she said, delighting in the beauty of the Elvish words and the sentiment they so eloquently conveyed. “May the stars watch over you, Forsaken One.”

  Hallagond and Gaelen returned to their anxious friends with good news. They had learned where Al-Muniqui could be found, and that Nelwyn had indeed come to dwell there. Hallagond’s instincts had proven true.

  Galador had spent the past few hours sitting atop a tall stone, his eyes closed, chanting quietly. Now that he knew for certain that Nelwyn was at Al-Muniqui’s, he was anxious to mount a rescue, but Hallagond had set out food and drink, and would not be moved.

  “I have brought a feast from the Neela at great trouble and expense, and I intend to partake of it. You will not be strong enough to aid your beloved if you don’t eat,” said Hallagond through a mouthful of bread and meat. “Besides, we can’t afford to be in a hurry. This is going to take some planning.”

  Gaelen gave Galador’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Hallagond was right. They did need to care for themselves first if they would aid Nelwyn. Besides, the smell of the wonderful meal was so intriguing that even Galador could not help himself, especially when Hallagond brought forth the wine to go with it. Galador drank quite a quantity of it, and soon he was considerably more relaxed.

  Rogond was still uncomfortable around his brother, and spoke to him only when necessary. There were some difficult questions that he wasn’t quite ready to ask. Why had his brother so wanted to avoid him? Why had he been trading in slaves? Rangers were sworn to defend the Light…why had Hallagond forsaken his sacred duty? The answers to these questions would have to wait.

  “I trust your journey was uneventful?” he asked Gaelen, who was savoring a slab of fine flatbread soaked with honey. She lifted her bright gaze to his, nodding in response to his question, and he smiled at her unnaturally brown face surrounded by a windblown mop of ever-lightening hair. She was turning quite golden in the sun, the brown turning to silken copper strands that flashed and glinted as the wind stirred them. Hallagond had informed her that the nut-oil with which he had browned her face and hands would not wash off; it would need to wear away. Now her eyes glittered with suppressed mirth, and Rogond knew that she was not being entirely forthcoming.

  He glanced over at Hallagond, who smiled and shook his head. Something amusing had happened in the oasis, and Gaelen was at the heart of it, but she did not seem inclined to tell the tale. Rogond raised one eyebrow at her. Perhaps the honey would loosen her tongue.

  A few minutes later he invited her to share the joke with him. “Come, Gaelen—it’s obvious that you have an amusing tale to tell. Will you not share it?”

  Hallagond chuckled quietly as he finished his meal, rubbing sand between his hands to clean them. “Ah, yes. Gaelen Taldin, shameless breaker of hearts and raiser of false hopes!” he said, as Rogond lifted a curious eyebrow. Gaelen’s bright eyes and impish grin told him that the honey was having its usual effect, and soon his curiosity would be satisfied.

  Apparently, there had been an incident involving three young maidens. Gaelen had been left to watch the horses while Hallagond entered the local tavern to learn what he could of Nelwyn. The three maidens had been returning from the marketplace, and they did not recognize the slender “youth” standing outside the tavern entrance. They could not help but notice “him,” and the nearer they drew, the more intrigued they became.

  Gaelen was tall enough by their standards, appearing as a beardless, very beautiful young man of perhaps fifteen years. With the sinewy, well-muscled shoulders and arms of a life-long archer, she was lean and lithe and put forth an air of power and grace.

  The three maids had never beheld one such as Gaelen, and the light of her spirit was mesmerizing. They were neither frightened nor threatened, for Gaelen simply looked upon them with an impassive, mildly superior expression.

  They were of a people who were much less constrained in their behavior than many of the sutherlings of Gaelen’s acquaintance, and they began to blush and giggle as they whispered among themselves. It was plain to Gaelen that they were enamored of her. Despite her amusement she kept her expression dispassionate, pretending to take no notice.

  They approached her, bowing and extending their hands palms upward in a gesture of greeting, addressing Gaelen in their own tongue. She did not understand them, and decided that perhaps it would be best to discourage them, but her indifference to their questions only intrigued them further. Hallagond, meanwhile, had emerged from the tavern and now stood quietly in witness, his arms folded, obviously entertained. He could understand their speech, and he would later translate, to Gaelen’s amusement.

  Gaelen wanted the maidens to understand that they were wasting their time trying to speak with her; that she did not comprehend. So she spoke to them in the Elven-tongue, using a deep, melodic voice. “I do not understand your words, but I take your meaning. Your efforts will bear no fruit, for I am a maiden even as you are, and your charms are somewhat wasted on me.”

  Hallagond pretended to gag himself with his own finger at the maidens’ reaction to Gaelen’s beautiful speech. They were all blushing furiously, their dark eyes glowing. They spoke among themselves, approaching her and smiling. Gaelen knew that they were flirting shamelessly, and she returned the favor, bowing her head to them and closing her eyes for a moment in acknowledgment. Then she drew up her lithe frame and reached behind her back, drawing h
er long knives. The three maidens at first started back in alarm, but Gaelen simply twirled her blades expertly—she had over a thousand years of practice—tossing them from hand to hand as they glinted in the sunlight. She flung them aloft, executed a graceful turn, and caught them before re-sheathing them. The maidens stood open-mouthed as Gaelen once again folded her arms before her, looking down at them with an expression of mild disdain. They were surely unworthy of her magnificence!

  This, apparently, was too much for them, and they backed away from her before turning to leave. At the last moment, one lingered, turning back and running forward, removing her multicolored scarf and laying it at Gaelen’s feet. Gaelen bowed, picked up the scarf, and reached out to take the hand of the maiden, bowing again and touching the hand to her forehead as she had seen the Ravani-folk do. The maiden gasped, turned even brighter red than before, and nearly tripped over her garments in her haste to retreat after her companions.

  Hallagond was now laughing out loud. “You are truly shameless, to toy with them in such a manner!” he said. “She will dream about you tonight…they all will. If only they understood Elvish!”

  “If only I understood their tongue,” replied Gaelen. “I’ll warrant there were some highly entertaining things being said. Alas that I do not.”

  “Oh, no doubt of it,” said Hallagond. “Allow me to enlighten you. Let’s see…ahhh…they asked your name and where you came from, and whether you intended to remain in the Neela. They told you their names and that they were sisters. But it was when they realized you didn’t understand their speech that things got truly interesting. They began to comment upon the appealing nature of your shoulders, wondering whether your posterior was likewise alluring. They were quite smitten with your potential, although they did note that you are not yet grown to full manhood.”

  “My…my posterior? Oh, my!” said Gaelen, so amused that she could not speak for a minute or so. Her ears were as red as the deepest blush on the cheeks of the three hapless maidens, who had unwittingly fallen into a deep pit of foolishness.

  Rogond examined the silk scarf; it was beautiful and of very fine quality. “Ah, Gaelen…you are the breaker of hearts,” he said. “This is an admirable token; alas that it was given in vain.”

  Gaelen took the scarf and tied it around her head, binding her ears. She had removed her desert garb and stood now looking out at the beautiful, fiery sunset. “It was indeed given in vain, Thaylon, for you hold my heart. Yet I will keep it in remembrance of three maidens with spirits refreshingly free enough to court my affections. I am uplifted!”

  “You see, Gaelen,” said Hallagond, “not all women of the southlands are suppressed. Giving you that token was a rather serious gesture…you might have acquired three wives all at once!”

  Gaelen shook her head, for the concept of having more than one other living soul in possession of one’s heart was difficult for her to fathom.

  Rogond placed an arm about her shoulders. “Come, then, let us proceed to the house of Al-Muniqui. When we have seen the lay of things, we’ll make our plan to free Nelwyn.” The Company agreed, stowing their belongings and mounting their horses, and they were soon on their way.

  “Most High, your treasure has awakened.”

  Nelwyn could hear the voice of her guardian through the locked door of her chamber, and she knew her captor, Al-Muniqui, would soon appear. She caught sight of him as the door was opened; he paused before a looking-glass in the hallway, surveying the condition of his magnificent robes and impeccably-trimmed beard. Few Elven-lords could match the quality of his raiment. What a vain creature, thought Nelwyn. He probably thinks I’ll be impressed…

  He entered her chamber as she sat upon a pile of cushions, prevented from rising to her feet by the silken cords that bound her. She had decided to remain passive, and not struggle, as Bint Raed had warned her of the futility of it. Better to bide our time, and lull them into believing that I have accepted captivity. Then we’ll make a plan to escape.

  Nelwyn was a gentle-natured spirit, but her wrath had been aroused. The more Bint Raed told her of the ways of Al-Muniqui and his brothers, the angrier she became.

  Sajid had told her over and over of the deaths of Fima and Gaelen, and he had also told her that Galador and Rogond had been slain at his bidding. She had despaired in the midst of her bewilderment, thinking that no one would ever come for her, and she would never see her beloved again. Yet as her senses slowly returned she knew that this was not so, for she could sense Galador. She also could feel the presence of Gaelen, as she had done since they were young. Of the others she did not know, yet she sensed no grief in her cousin, and that was encouraging. Gaelen was drawing nearer—Nelwyn could feel it—and Galador was with her.

  Her eyes glittered as Al-Muniqui approached her, a haughty smile on his face that was intended to be endearing, but failed. Let him think himself worthy. Let him believe that he holds you in thrall. She looked into his eyes as he drew nearer. Soon he will learn otherwise, and then he will come to understand the folly in attempting to imprison the daughter of Turanen. She smiled a cold, faint smile, and Al-Muniqui paused in his approach, as though suddenly afraid of her.

  All right, you wretch…you haven’t tried to harm me. Let’s hear what you have to say. Her cold smile faded and he resumed his approach until he came close enough to touch her; he reached out and stroked her hair with a manicured hand. Are his nails…actually painted? Ugh! She held her breath and her body went stiff, but she bore it without complaint. This time…

  “Welcome to the house of Al-Muniqui,” he said. You belong to me now, and I shall provide for your every need. If you please me, you need not fear. Come now, and feast with your lord. My servants will prepare you.” He clapped his hands twice, and two serving-women appeared, bowing so that their foreheads nearly touched the ground. “Prepare her at once, and then bring her to me.” He turned back to Nelwyn. “You will please allow them to prepare you. If you comport yourself well, you will be unbound.”

  Her expression was impassive, concealing her dark thoughts. Yes, you bushy-faced, pathetic man, unbind me. Then I shall strangle the life from you. Touch me and see!

  He left her to the attentions of the serving-women, and her thoughts were turned elsewhere for the moment. She had already been bathed and combed, but now she was given beautiful robes of green brocade that matched her eyes. She was scented with fragrant oils and brought to Al-Muniqui’s chamber, her wrists still bound. A comely young maiden sat beside her, offering to feed her, but Nelwyn refused.

  Al-Muniqui, who had already begun his repast, lifted a disapproving eyebrow. “Come, come! You must be hungry, for you have not eaten in many days. It will do you no good to resist my hospitality, for there is no escape from this place. We are surrounded by deep desert; even if you could escape my realm, you would not survive. Why not make the best of it?”

  Nelwyn lifted her chin and looked levelly at him. “I will eat only what I can place in my own mouth. I will not be fed like a child.”

  “Fair enough,” said Al-Muniqui, “but I will not yet unbind you. You will need to make do with your hands as they are. Eat as you may.”

  Nelwyn could not deny that the feast set before her was nearly irresistible, as she had not truly eaten in a very long time. She had been kept in a sort of half-waking stupor, and as such had needed very little to sustain her. She was still in reasonable condition, but her hunger awakened as she regained her senses. Fresh fruits, soft breads, and tender meats were set before her, and despite indignation at having to try to feed herself with bound wrists, she suppressed her pride. Everything tasted wonderful, especially the fruits; she closed her eyes with pleasure as the sweet juices filled her mouth and throat. Al-Muniqui watched her with obvious fascination. He ate and drank, finishing his meal with a loud, resonant belch that, evidently, was the sign of approval among his folk.

  The serving-maid was obviously relieved. She dipped a cloth into a bowl filled with lemon-and-herb scented w
ater, wiping Nelwyn’s face and fingers, removing all traces of the meal. Then she took her leave, and Nelwyn was left with Al-Muniqui. His bodyguards stood watch by the door, but they were well trained to take no notice of what was said in their presence. If they reacted at all, they would be punished. It was as though they were made of wood.

  Al-Muniqui leaned forward, his dark eyes glowing as he met Nelwyn’s proud glance. “Though I do not speak the common-tongue as well as I would like, I believe I can provide you with a clear understanding of what your fate will be. You will tell me of your race, and how I may please you, and I will do all in my power to ensure that your needs are met beyond all expectations. In return, you will submit to my bidding, and if you are pleasing to me you shall bear my sons. It is my hope that they will then be immortal, even as you are.”

  Nelwyn’s eyes widened with incredulity at the notion that she would bear this man’s children. You have no idea what you’re suggesting…how impossible it is!

  “This is your destiny, fair one. It is folly to deny it, for your fate turns by my will alone. Best to simply accept it...you will be happier. I can be a generous host, or a bitter taskmaster. The choice is yours.”

  Nelwyn fixed him with cold eyes that matched the chill of her thoughts, every hair on her body standing erect. I will not speak to you, for I cannot defend myself from your wrath as yet. You are deluded, and know nothing of my race if you could even have such thoughts. She-elves cannot bear children of men. You don’t understand what you have done, what folly you are pursuing. You may overpower me, and violate me, but no children will ever be forthcoming. I fear you have spent a great deal of your wealth for nothing. She smiled the same cold smile she had given him earlier, and simply shook her head. If I were you, I might try to recover some of my investment. You have been sold useless goods.

  Al-Muniqui did not care for that cold smile at all. He was not used to being denied anything he wanted. “I see that you do not care for the notion, my proud golden bird. But I will have my chance—you will share my bed before all is ended.” He reached out to stroke her hair, but his hand was stilled by the look in her eyes.