Savage

by James Alderdice

  He wondered at how such a sudden explosion could have stolen so much time.

  Looking to the bluffs, Gathelaus could almost see the fury in the bandit chieftain’s bearded face. Loping to catch the rest of the caravan, Gathelaus watched his back. The figures remained on the bluff a moment longer.

  18.

  Ruins of Maleun

  Within the shade of the deep canyon, Gathelaus felt a bit cooler and energized.

  The caravan had taken a left turn among the many slots available and ended in a box canyon.

  Situated among the sheer, red cliffs were several stone ruins and fallen monuments. Toppled pillars and weathered friezes caught the eye, as did guardian statues of lions with bearded human heads and eagles’ wings. What once must have been golden fountains now pooled naught but fine, red dust.

  Vareem was shouting at him but until Gathelaus stopped and read his lips, he could not understand what the caravan master was saying. “We should not be here!”

  “What is this place?” asked Gathelaus.

  Frowning, Vareem answered, “You still live? Are the rest—dead?”

  Gathelaus nodded.

  “Very well. We should continue. We cannot stay here.”

  “But it is almost dusk, and a storm approaches,” responded a merchant.

  “We must stay the night at least. The bandits are regrouping. They know we were as damaged as they, if not worse, in the explosion.”

  “We have no choice. We must travel at night. I only led us to this place in hopes that—”

  “This is no time for superstition,” argued Gathelaus.

  “Listen, outlander, we have no water. Those supply wagons were destroyed in the blast. I hoped there would be water in this canyon. Rancid water, even, to fuel the horses, but no. We must reach the Arcane Wells before we run out of the meager supplies we have left.”

  “So, you suggest that we blindly flee in the night to get water that is at least three days away?”

  “You were the one who said to wait out the raiders because of water, and now we have none.”

  “Neither do they. But surely there must be something amidst these ruins?”

  Vareem countered, “If the cursed valley outside is the grave city of Maleun, a home for the damned, then surely this ruin was its temple and we would be fools to remain. No debate. We go now.”

  “Then this is where we part ways.”

  “You were hired to guard the caravan.”

  “And the man I gave my word to is dead. Gave his life for mine—out there, and you haven’t said a word about the sacrifice of those that are gone.”

  Vareem spoke flatly. “Yanissaries are paid to die. They did their job. My job is to lead the rest to Dar-Al-Hambra as intact as I can. You wish to honor the fallen? Then get the rest of us safely to Dar-Al-Hambra.”

  Gathelaus’s neck tensed, but he admitted, “You’re right. We go tonight. But we may as well wait for full sundown to rest the horses and oxen; let me look to see if there is any water hidden among these ruins.”

  Vareem gave a curt nod and cried, “Sundown, we depart.”

  Gathelaus posted a pair of Yanissaries to guard the canyon’s mouth and keep a lookout for the bandits while he and most of the others searched the ruins.

  ***

  Gathelaus clambered over the decayed monuments and lifted what flagstones he could in hopes of finding a well or cistern. Such a desert complex must surely have had a cistern somewhere, he kept reminding himself. He looked for depressions or central areas that would belie such necessities, but these ruins were alien in any sense of useful function. The close canyon walls, perhaps only a few hundred paces across at the narrowest point, precluded the use of stargazing except for the narrow slot of heavens above, a veritable visored-helm’s view of a full sky. Useless, unless you only cared for certain constellations.

  A discolored pale marble tile caught his eye. He flexed his back and legs to the utmost, pulling up the wide square stone. Beneath lay nothing but sandy fill and annoyed centipedes. Gathelaus then noticed an olive-skinned woman standing a few paces away. “Hello?”

  “Now you pay attention?” She wore a deep V-necked gown with a golden girdle that amplified her womanly features. A flared tiara held back long, dark hair and accentuated her wide, cocoa eyes. Her pursed lips, while full and red, looked cruel in the half-light. Altogether she was one of the most beautiful women Gathelaus had ever seen.

  He stood and dusted himself off. “You were speaking?”

  “I was—but you were so intent on your work you didn’t hear me. I said that you will not find what you are looking for.”

  He smirked. “You must be the seeress. Why don’t you tell me where to look for a well, then?”

  She gave him a cool look. “I am Vashti, seeress of the Rose, and chief confidant to the Princess Esmeralda, may she reign in good time.”

  “Yeah, listen, about that well—”

  “There will not be one here. In ancient times water flowed freely and there was no need for such things.”

  “Here? In the desert?"‘

  “The land was not yet accursed. These days the name Maleun is synonymous with a cursing.”

  “You can understand if I have to try,” he said, turning over another stone.

  “And you can understand that some things are futile.”

  He stopped turning over flagstones and strode up to her. “No fate but what we make.”

  “A juvenile expression from a people only recently raised to the level of barbarian.”

  He gave a lopsided grin. “Is there something important you wish to say to me? Or are you just looking to taunt someone? I don’t have time for this.”

  She pointed at the rapidly darkening sky, hues of red and maroon graduated quickly to a bruising purple. “A storm is coming. We won’t leave tonight, or ever.”

  He laughed. “You are as beautiful as you are depressing.”

  She returned the half-smile, though with decidedly more sarcasm.

  Gathelaus asked, “If you can see all, why did you tell Vareem that we should move out of the valley and into danger. Whose side are you on? Why even come on this magic caravan?”

  She ran her hand across his shoulder and down his arm, feeling the muscle. “I don’t often throw myself at men, but your heroism and stupidity are intriguing.”

  “Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.” He would not admit her scent was intoxicating.

  “I asked you no question, outlander. But I did make an offer.”

  “My name is Khyte and I don’t have time for this.” He turned away.

  She grasped his hand. “Wait! No man has ever refused me.”

  Gathelaus laughed. “I’m not playing your game, precious.”

  “I can tell you what I see.” She waited for him to stop before continuing. “I offered myself this last evening so I might know the pleasure between a man and a woman before we meet our fate.”

  “You’re a virgin?”

  She nodded. “That is not important now. Death is coming for us all, if you do not stop the playing of the Pipe.”

  “Tell me what you see. What makes you so sure this is it? I’ve made it through a lot of rough scrapes before.”

  She swirled her gown and sat on a fallen pillar. “I see images of night, here in these ruins. Madness takes in thrall all those that hear the call of the Pipes; they are damned to eternal waking horror held close to the breast of the desert.”

  “What do you know of Pipes?” he asked, intrigued.

  “I know what you have.” She ran a hand over his thigh and gripped him.

  Haze from the coming storm swirled high in the atmosphere, creating a malevolent design in the sky like cloaked death.

  “You think we should just roll over and take it? Just let it happen and die?” he spat.

  His grimace seemed to take her by surprise. She curled about him and put her lips near his ear as she answered, “In our lands we know the gods have already set the board, p
layed the game, and moved the pieces where they lie. It only brings pain to go against such things. I am more merciful than the gods with my own cursed gift; at times I grant the mercy of ambivalent mystery to those whose doom is about to fall upon them. I sometimes tell only what people wish to hear, perhaps only what they can bear. I saw that we should die tonight, whether we stayed in the valley or came here. I saw that I must do great evil to bring about the greater good. It is a terrible burden.”

  “Maybe you only see glimpses of what will come to pass, but it doesn’t mean it’s always so. I believe in choice and chance both. I’ve escaped enough things that I never should have, lived through wounds that have killed bigger men, and drunk enough poison that you should watch your kisses; and yet I’m still standing. I’ll take on your ghosts and demons and leave this desolate place far behind.”

  “If such gives you peace of mind, then believe it.”

  Gathelaus gave her another lopsided grin. “Tell me, did you see Barzelai die on the valley floor with that explosion from the alchemist’s wagon?”

  Vashti turned away. “Yes.”

  “And me too?”

  She shook her head. “I—I don’t know.”

  “He gave his life for me at a moment’s notice. I don’t know if someone as selfish as you could have seen and understood that about him or not. Maybe all your mummery skill is just chance, too.”

  “Are you quite through humiliating me?”

  The wind whipped over the cliffs and gave them each a face full of biting sand.

  “I haven’t even started. Let’s get to cover. I’ve got a feeling we won’t be leaving in this storm.” Gathelaus pulled Vashti up to get her moving.

  “Leave me be, outlander. I spoke the truth that we will not leave this place alive, and you mocked me for it. Now you have the gall to act as if you had foreseen this tragedy.”

  He let go of her arm and she ran away with a shawl over her face. Whether beneath the moon in every dark continent or under the sun shining across all the bright lands, women made no sense.

  Gathelaus raced after Vashti and, catching her by the wrist, spun her about and gave her a deep passionate kiss. She embraced him, and together they entwined beneath a sheltered cove in the ruins and became as one.

  19.

  Blood and Sand

  The sky grew a murky yellow as clouds of sand obscured the sun and bit the face. The pair of Yanissaries huddled together against the storm. They wrapped their scarves about their faces and took turns peering up and out into the blasting weather. The whipping red sands made them half-invisible.

  A hundred paces away, in a cleft of rock hardly shielded from the sun and sand, Gathelaus watched the canyon’s entrance. He took another tear at his tough camel jerky as one of the Yanissaries jumped to his feet and ran as the other dropped to his knees.

  Gathelaus could not make out the man’s words, but the kneeling Yanissary fell over while the other waved his arms as if shouting against the storm before he sprouted a javelin full grown out of his back. Spitting out his jerky, Gathelaus put a hand on his sword pommel and dashed down the rocky path.

  Out of the blazing dust-cloud came two dozen or more of the bandits, using the swirling sands as concealment. Fine, red-brown dust caked the mummy-like banded rags wrapped around them, matching the color of the storm. Gathelaus might have thought them the legendary ghosts of Desolation had he not seen one trip and fall on his face. They were indeed just men—bastard killers, but still just men.

  Gathelaus drew his sword and ran down the path Vashti had taken moments earlier. He caught her by the wrist right before she entered her wagon. “Take cover in the ruins. The bandits are here.”

  “There is no fighting fate.”

  “Then it won’t matter if you hide yourself away while I slay these dogs!” he shouted, turning his head to watch the incoming tide of doom.

  Vashti looked as though she would argue again but furrowed her brow and pulled from his hard grasp. “I understand now. You weren’t ignoring me. You, the Pipe cannot touch.”

  “Just go!”

  She said something again as she disappeared into the haze, but Gathelaus could not hear her. All that mattered was that she ran into the ruins and away from the fight.

  Gathelaus pondered what she said about the Pipe and realized he could no longer feel the artifact on his belt. He reached and it was gone. He must have lost it when they made love. Glancing over the ground to find it was fruitless in the howling sands and with the screeching bandit marauders coming closer.

  It was too late to warn others. Already the bandits engaged the few remaining Yanissaries and cut them down.

  Vareem offered spangles of gold and a great ruby necklace, but he spat crimson into his white beard as he was met with a saber in his gullet. They took the valuables without need of his bargaining.

  A pair from the acting company valiantly tried to fend off a trio of bandits, but their fencing skills were no match for the bandits’ hard-won brutality.

  Striking with a serpent’s speed and a panther’s grace, Gathelaus cut down a bandit before the robber knew a superior foe had entered the fray. He slashed another across the back and head as he turned to face Gathelaus.

  Diving behind a carriage, Gathelaus avoided the gaze of several bandits sweeping in to see why their dog brother had cried out.

  They muttered and cursed at whoever had slain him but were quickly pulled away by their greed.

  A slim, goateed bandit stood above a bound maiden as he scrambled to unwrap the mummy-rags from around his groin. Gathelaus’s sharp edge slit his throat. He pulled the terrified girl to her feet and directed her to the tumbled morass of ruined cyclopean stone behind the caravan.

  She ran only a few paces before another pair of grim bearded faces leapt at her.

  Gathelaus aimed for the fourth raider’s neck, beheading him with one swipe of his sword. He turned to the fifth and sunk his bloody blade into the cur’s abdomen, disemboweling the raider who cried out to Libnah, god of thieves.

  The bandit chieftain spun around, the death-scream alerting him of Gathelaus’s ruthless counterattack.

  “Run, girl! That way!” Gathelaus shouted at the frozen girl.

  She remained still another moment until Gathelaus lunged toward her. She ran to the cover of the ruins with all the speed of invisible devils nipping at her naked heels.

  Too late for anything but vengeance for the others, the practical side of Gathelaus saw no reason to charge in and needlessly die. He hid beneath a wagon to await a devil’s chance to turn about his luck. He scanned for a horse, but most had already been spirited away.

  Bandits ran past in fruitless attempts to head off the last of the resistance. None looked down.

  The chieftain shouted, “Hold, wolf brothers! There is a lion among these sheep. Work together as a pack and we shall take him!”

  “What if he is a desert spirit sent to punish our wicked ways?”

  The chieftain struck the penitent bandit across the mouth, sending him reeling to the ground. “He is but a man that we can slay, the same as any other.”

  “And the others?”

  “Kill them all. We need no hostages nor slaves either!”

  The bandits regrouped against the sand and wind, glaring like frightened vultures while they moved in concert between the wagons, ignoring the whimpering of the slave girls and moans of the dying. Even the haunted wind was beyond heeding when such a dangerous opponent lurked.

  Gathelaus rolled out from under the wagon and vanished into the whipping sands.

  Reaching the final carriage without finding Gathelaus, a dozen of the bandits raced around it to find no one. They glanced at a low defile abreast of the wagons, but saw only the twisting, dancing sands of tuneless dust devils.

  The bandits inched outward from their demanding leader. They searched both above and below the wagons. They looted and tossed trunks of fine silks and expensive spices to the ground, but of their quarry they found nothin
g. Soon they had more wealth than they could possibly carry; enough to remove or at least blur the memory of their comrades’ slayer.

  The screams of those in the caravan being murdered were soon lost in the arms of the waiting wind.

  ***

  Clutching the girl across her chest and clasping a hand over her mouth, Gathelaus inched away from the bandits’ unseeing gazes. His slow stealth coupled with the blazing sands concealed both him and the struggling girl from the raiders as they tore apart the caravan looking for treasure.

  He rounded a colossal boulder and relaxed his hold on the girl.

  She spun about to face him. “Did you rescue me just to satisfy yourself? Take me then!” she declared, tearing the top from her girdle.

  He shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

  Sands swirled and threatened their eyes. She held a hand upward to shield her vision and glanced low around the side of the stone. Then facing Gathelaus, she said, “They can hear nothing in this storm.”

  He motioned to keep moving farther afield of the bandits. She nodded and they retreated over the chaotic landscape for several minutes, looking for shelter before climbing down into the sunken and tumbled ruins of an ancient temple. It was oval with light gray flagstones, sand couched into the crevices and blasted into heaps a foot deep upon the south side. Grotesque figures were carved into seemingly random effigy upon the wall, some resembling men, some far from it. Despite the heat, a chill washed over this place as if unseen forces blinked at their unwonted intrusion.

  Any rooftops had long since fallen in this wreck of a complex. A huge, dried and desiccated wooden doorway lay at the far end of the exposed temple foundation. A precarious Cyclopean archway protected the aperture from the ruin of a merciless sun.

  “Let us shelter there while I come up with a plan.”