“Maybe when I shower him with jewels for your dowry, you’ll change your mind, huh?” he snapped.
The thought of potential riches seemed to cow her anger. Aisha looked to Ole, who again shrugged.
“Likely as not he’ll take the wealth and split his head open,” said Aisha.
“Likely,” answered Ole.
They mounted their horses and prepared to ride.
“Hey!” shouted Catlo. “What about Diamanda? Where will she ride?”
“We don’t have enough horses,” said Aisha. “Besides you’re the one who wants her.”
“Maybe the two women should ride together, you’re the lightest.”
“Like hell, she rides with me,” snarled Aisha.
Diamanda stood pouting, watching the rising dust cloud.
“Leave her,” said Ole.
“No! I am coming with you,” she shouted.
“Then you carry her,” said Ole as he rode away, with Aisha and Musa following shortly behind.
Catlo frowned, he grunted with pain as he leaned over in the saddle and gave Diamanda a hand to climb up. She settled into the saddle in front of him and they galloped off after the others.
The steel grey sky slowly turned brown as the wind picked up. Pellets of rain slapped them in the face and turned the dust to mud, but they persevered.
They were a couple miles from the river on the top of a long sand dune. The Kathulian horsemen looked like ants crossing the river. Some of them topped to inspect the temple of the crocodile, but others moved on, following the bandits.
“They are coming after us. Now what?” asked Catlo.
Aisha looked about. “We should hurry into the mouth of the storm.”
“What storm?” asked Ole.
“That one.” Musa pointed to the southwest, where a massive brown cloud looking like a tidal wave headed for them.
“We race into it and then change course and seek shelter. They won’t be able to follow us and we will leave not a trace for them to find,” said Aisha.
Musa and Ole agreed, but Catlo struggled with Diamanda on his horse. “Do you really think it’s a good idea? Maybe we can just lose them when we cross over this rise? They won’t want to get separated from the river.”
“Lose the woman,” said Aisha. “She slows us down and seeks our deaths.”
“No,” said Diamanda. “I want to be with you.” She clutched at Catlo.
“She goes with me,” he said defiantly.
“We stay together,” said Ole.
“Then we ride into the storm.” Aisha galloped, not looking to see if they followed or not.
At the top of the ridge, they looked back at a long contingent of the Kathulian cavalry pursuing them. The grey and brown wall of the storm churned just a few hundred yards away. The wind blew and howled, the power of which nearly overwhelmed them.
“We should be tethered together,” said Ole.
Aisha nodded, and they quickly strung their ropes between all of the horses just as they had done on the trail of the Old Ones.
The storm hit them like a wall. It almost bowled them over. The sheer force of the wind rocked the horses on their feet. They had to point directly into the face of the gale to remain upright.
“We can’t stay here,” shouted Ole. “We must find shelter, even if it is just a short way.”
Aisha could hardly hear him and knew the others could not, but she directed them up and over the ridge. Down the others side they made their way into a dry slot canyon that, but as rain began to fall, she led them back out at the soonest opportunity.
“Why? That was a good place to wait this out,” cried Catlo.
Aisha shook her head and pointed back behind them. Already, water ran a foot deep where they had just been.
“Little wet never hurt anyone,” Catlo argued.
“I’m not going back in there. You and Diamanda can.”
He had to shield his face from the pelting rain to argue with her, but looking back, Catlo and the others saw that the canyon was now running at waist high and full of driftwood careening like a monstrous beast with limbs flailing end over end.
They stayed close to the top of the ridge, looking for shelter among the jumbled stones. Here and there they saw small nooks they could crawl under, but Aisha guessed that these were likely full of venomous serpents or spiders. She wanted something big enough to see these things coming and hopefully put more distance between herself and the Kathulians.
The rain gradually stopped but not until they were all soaking wet, the wind continued to howl and slap at them until nightfall. A halfmoon of boulders was the best shelter they could find so they took it, silent and miserable.
It was darkest before the dawn and therefore also the coldest. They were in the high desert now and despite it still being summertime, this place had weather that could drive a man mad. Their wet clothing and gear made them all have the chills and yet they dared not start a fire, even if they could have found any fuel. Nothing grew but thin yellow grass far too wet to light. Instead, the two couples clung to each other for warmth while Musa nestled between the horses and was likely the warmest for it.
The familiar sound of a horse’s hooves brought them fully awake from their miserable half-sleep. The deep blue-black of the sky still allowed them to perceive the silhouette of a horse, black as pitch, as it merged with the landscape but stood out starkly against the horizon.
Diamanda started to make a sound, but despite his curious infatuation, Catlo still slapped a hand over her mouth silencing anything she might have said.
The animal sensed them and the other horses. It snorted and came closer.
“No one is riding it,” said Aisha, breaking their relative silence.
“Are you sure? Its awful dark,” whispered Catlo.
Musa was the first to approach and take the animal’s reins. “There is no one,” he affirmed. “It is a Kathulian war horse.”
“Must have become separated in the storm then, eh? Good news for us. We needed a new mount for Diamanda,” said Catlo.
A collective groan from the others showed that this was not what any of them had in mind.
“There is a wineskin on the saddlebags,” said Musa.
“It might be poisoned. Let Catlo take the first pull,” said Aisha.
“Oh, ha. I think I will take a drink. No one would carry a poisoned wineskin, be reasonable,” said Catlo.
“Tie it up with the others, we’ll settle who rides what in the morning,” said Ole. “Until then, let’s try and sleep.”
“I’m glad to see you taking charge,” chided Aisha.
Ole smiled at her. “Come here.” He took her in his arms, blending their warmth.
The sun rose, and blinding heat covered their bodies like a golden blanket. The light revealed they were on the edge of a huge brown valley. Miles behind them lay the river and Kathulians leaving them only one way to go. Down the bowl-like lip of the valley and into what would be a sweltering hell hole.
“You keep taking us in these long curvatures when even I know Jokameno is due south,” snapped Catlo.
“I go where the map has bid we go. I don’t know the reasons why, but I suggest we trust the dead man, who had a good reason for these routes,” Aisha retorted.
Catlo cursed and waved his hands, but he had no other recourse. He knew Jokameno was south and near the Hermonthis river, yet also not directly in line with it.
The horses had some difficulty scrambling down the steep sides of the bowl. It was dangerous, and Aisha feared that one of the animals might very likely tumble and break a leg—or worse, but they all made it safely down.
It was too much to hope for that they wouldn’t leave tracks. The sign of their passage down the rim of the valley would be obvious to anyone, from even a few miles off, so badly had they dug into the darker hued red soil coming down. But with any luck, the Kathulians would not find their trail and never be sure which way they had gone toward Jokameno from the temple of the
crocodile. It was, of course, too much to hope for, but Aisha would keep that whispered prayer on her lips until proven false.
Ole openly prayed to Votan for guidance on several occasions and he did so again just as the last of them made it down the incline.
Riding over the bowl took most of the rest of the day. They rode many miles and yet, the never changing landscape made it difficult to gauge their progress. Their water ran out faster than anticipated and Catlo finished the wine, claiming he needed it for his wounded leg’s pain.
Aisha knew the effects of wine in the heat and had not partaken of any despite a desire to taste the fruit of the vine.
Catlo was miserable later that afternoon, once the full heat of the day baked them. He complained about water and rest and Ole had to remind him that there was nothing to do but keep moving. A sandstorm moved in and effectively blinded them. They clung to each other’s horse’s tails or single strands of rope to be sure and stay together.
By midday, Diamanda swooned in the saddle and fell over. Her horse jerked its head once in her direction then lay down beside her as if accepting its fate. Blood was flecked in the foam across its muzzle.
The Princess of Irem cried out and was herself overcome with shock and heat exhaustion. Aisha looked on coldly, but Catlo leapt from his saddle and fanned his hat over the princess.
“Get me water,” he said.
Musa brought him a skin, and the bandit chief showed the most compassion yet, by gingerly dribbling the water into Diamanda’s mouth.
The princess choked and sputtered but came to. “What happened?”
“You fell. It will be all right,” Catlo said.
“I’ll ride beside you, so it doesn’t happen again then,” she said absently as she caressed his cheek.
Aisha hid her face. She was taken aback at these two horrible people and their display of something new. She didn’t want to admit that there could be a source of goodness in people who were normally so reprehensible, but there it was. She swore to herself and trotted her horse on across the desert. The sandstorm died down and now only somewhat slapped them in the face.
Not far ahead, Ole dismounted. He was on the ground looking at tracks.
“What’s the matter?” asked Aisha.
“A couple things. We seem to be going near enough to circles in the sandstorm that we have retraced our own steps at least once. At least with the storm dying down, we can get back on track.”
“And what else? I know there is something else,” she said dejectedly.
“These tracks.” He pointed at a curious lopsided set that followed a short distance apace of their own.
It was the strange curious gait of a three-footed hyena.
“Damn,” she murmured. “He didn’t give up.”
“Nope,” Ole shook his head. “But he’s being more cautious now.”
Twilight brought them to the far edge of the bowl and with no sign of pursuit yet, they decided they could try and camp for the night. Again, the chill of night settled on them.
They awoke that morning to the curious sound of a mule’s braying, and the shuffled steps and sound of a bell, that the Leopard men had put upon it to keep evil spirits away.
“Bless the fathers, the sacred king is still journeying to the mountain!” said Musa excitedly.
“Don’t bring it over here, it must stink worse than ever now!” cried Catlo. But Musa ignored him and trotted over to the dehydrated mule. “We can’t spare any water for that filthy beast!” declared Catlo, but the Umoja wasn’t listening to him at all. “Damnit! We’re gonna die out here and you’re giving the last of our water to that traitorous piece of filth.”
“It must make it to the mountain. It must return the body of the sacred king to the holy mountain, so his spirit can rest.”
“I’d like to rest for once, this crazy journey and roundabout way of doing things is driving me mad!” continued Catlo.
Ole and Aisha were still rousing themselves and looked blankly at Catlo and his tirade. Diamanda was still trying to sleep, having covered her face with a sheepskin.
“I guess we better get up and get moving,” said Ole. “Can you tell where we are?”
Aisha stood and buckled her sword belt. She scanned the horizon for any landmark that might give her a clue. “There. That finger of rock might be the one from the map. If we get closer, I’ll know for sure and then find the next step.”
“Then let’s be on our way, before it gets any hotter,” said the Northman, who was already sweating as hard as any two of the others.
They refreshed themselves with the last of their rations and water.
“Is there going to be any good news?” asked Ole. “Is there water ahead?”
“There is,” said Aisha. “But it is probably more than a day away. This isn’t going to be easy. If I had my way, I’d be rid of all these extra mouths and their horses and mules.”
Ole smiled. “You don’t think Musa should have given the mule water?”
“I wouldn’t have. But I guess that’s what makes some of us heroes and some of us villains.”
“You’re no villain. Your heart is too good,” said Ole, good naturedly.
“You might be a hero, but not me” She swung into the saddle. “I still want revenge and treasure over good deeds.”
“Why not have all three?” He held his hands out appealingly.
“Good point,” she conceded. “That’s why I need you around, to bring me back down to earth.”
“How much farther now you do you reckon?” he asked, as he scanned the horizon.
“I know it will have to be in a deep canyon with many red cliffs. I can’t see that landscape but I’m sure its due south. Maybe that faint sawblade on the horizon is what we seek?”
“I hope we have enough water to reach it.”
“Gotta try, don’t we?”
20. War Party
The following day brought them to rolling hills with long yellow grasses bleached by the sun. “These are Umoja lands,” declared Musa. “We must be cautious.”
“They don’t approve of this venture, do they?” asked Aisha.
Musa’s grave look was enough of an answer. Aisha recalled their grandmother Neema saying that her grandsons made themselves outlaws to the tribe by being a party to this venture.
“I can tell you this, my people do not know of this watering hole you speak of, for if they did, I would know of it,” said Musa.
“All I know is that it was on the map, so your sacred king believed in it,” Aisha responded. “It’s called the Vault of Mirrors on the map.”
Musa nodded. “Then it must be the sacred waters I heard my grandmother refer to, and the sacred kings kept its location a secret from even my people for a good reason.”
“I suppose so,” she said. Aisha inwardly wondered to what end the route of the map was made. Perhaps to avoid dangerous foes? To lose any enemies that might be following? That seemed likely as anything since many folk knew roughly where the mountain itself was. Maybe the real knowledge was simply in the final features, the thousand steps, the secret door? She would find out when they got there, but right now the thought of the promised oasis took up the greater part of her expectations.
They reached the top of a long hill and started down. A few spots of greenery broke up the plain color pattern. Another ridgeline only a few hundred yards away hid what lay beyond. A series of gullies radiated outward and had the greenest foliage growing in the shadows that they had seen in some time.
“There might be water down in one of those gullies,” said Ole.
“There must be. I see cattle there too,” responded Aisha.
“Cattle?” asked Musa, with trepidation.
“Let’s kill one, then. I long for fresh meat,” said Catlo. “There are several down there, no one will miss one.”
Musa made a guttural noise as he turned about and started riding with all due haste back the way they had come.
“What’s gotten into him?
” asked Catlo. “All I see is a shepherd boy.”
A young boy of perhaps twelve years watched over the cattle from beneath the shade of one of the stunted trees. As he noticed the strangers, he blew a horn that was slung around his neck. The blast reverberated throughout the hill country and it was met with a return blast of horns and a thunderous reply of many voices.
“Who is he calling?” asked Aisha, looking about.
Diamanda laughed. “That is many men. Too many even for you dogs.”
Aisha resisted the temptation to backhand the sour Princess of Irem and rode after the fleeing Musa.
“Coward,” called Diamanda, after her.
“We better follow after Musa,” said Ole.
“Why?” asked Catlo. “Let’s see who it is.”
“The cattle are food on the hoof for a major war party that is traveling far, there will be a lot of men there,” said Ole.
Bringing instant truth to the Northman’s word swarmed dozens of Umoja warriors carrying their dark, leaf-shaped shields and spears. There were far too many to battle in the open savannah and they were running swift as eagles in flight.
They turned their horses about and sped after Aisha and Musa who was already a quarter mile ahead of them. Even the mule carrying Zahur’s body turned about braying and hurried after them.
The racing Umoja warriors raised their spears and shields up and down as they chanted their tribal name, “Umoja! Umoja! Umoja!” in a thunderous dirge.
Aisha, Catlo, Ole, and Diamanda followed Musa down the hillside and into a ravine. He was racing his horse back up the other side when it slipped on the loose shale of the exposed ravine and tumbled over sideways.
“So much for his lead,” laughed Catlo. “Serves him right.”
Aisha dared a glance behind. The yellow-brown hillside was blanketed with the dark ebon bodies of the Umoja war party. They chanted in gleeful unison, “Umoja! Umoja! Umoja!”
Musa saddled up just as the others reached him and he cautiously went down the ravine instead of up the slope again. The others followed him. Except for Diamanda and Zahur’s mule.
Diamanda raced her horse up the slope. The mule carrying Zahur’s corpse followed her. It was slow going and Aisha wondered if an Umoja archer would be able to shoot her in the back. She hoped not.
Sowing Dragon Teeth Page 20
