The Fall of Belvedere

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The Fall of Belvedere Page 8

by B Cameron Lee


  Arwhon had not realised every Barsoomi of fighting age owned at least one short lance and occasionally two, as well as a short recurved horsebow plus a quiver full of arrows and a longknife. To look across the camps of bedrolls was to look at a bristling forest, as each owner stuck their lance into the ground beside their bedroll. The lances were painted with the owner’s own design in their Tribal colours. The sheer mass of mounted Barsoomi presented a vibrant but intimidating spectacle.

  It did not take much longer to get going in the morning than it had with far fewer riders. To the Barsoom, this form of travel was a way of life. Arwhon’s small party rode with the King and his heirs at the front of the Barsoom Tribes.

  Callun and Verita had talked among their friends and relatives and before long, Arwhon was recognised everywhere he went as the man who had led the rescue party to save the heirs. This took nothing away from Chalc, who was still the one who had returned them to the Barsoom. On the third day of their travel a Tribesman rode up and apologised to Arwhon for snapping at his suggestion to leave the desk behind. Arwhon felt gratified by this small display of contrition.

  Shiri simply insinuated herself in everywhere. The Barsoomi people were indulgent of children and Shiri in particular. She rode with all the Tribes at some time during the day, informing Arwhon and Chalc of her findings each evening.

  “These are good people. I haven’t met a bad one yet. They can be a bit brusque and a little hard but I sense no evil among them anywhere.”

  Arwhon liked the Barsoomi people and Duran was enjoying being among others of his kind. The smells of the Golden River horses seemed to be somewhat familiar to him, so Arwhon promised Duran, one day, when they had more time, that he could meet them all but for now, pressing needs had to be met.

  No new Tribe joined them the next day but the following morning the Green River Tribe appeared and fell in at the back of the line. Later, in the afternoon, they came across the Swift River Tribe waiting beside the Great South Road. The Nation of Barsoom was now nearly complete and their campsite that evening took up the area of a moderately sized township. Being nomadic, this exodus was no hardship as long as there was water available. There was plenty of extra game in the woods to the west of the road due to animals fleeing instinctively from the fire. The hunters never failed to bring something home, be it a deer or some furry creature or a couple of birds.

  Everyone seemed calm in spite of the smoke and the continual smell of fire. Arwhon stopped a Tribesman and introduced himself.

  “I have a question. How can everyone be so relaxed when they have had to move because of the fire?”

  The Tribesman considered for a moment before answering.

  “We Barsoom have a simple philosophy. ‘If you can correct a situation, do it. If you cannot correct it, don’t worry about it.’ Seems to work for us. What do you think?”

  Arwhon had to agree.

  They were about two days south of Crossroads when they saw two of the Barsoomi King’s messengers waiting at the side of the road, sitting quietly on their horses under the shade of a tree. When the leaders of the column of the Barsoom nation came into view one of the messengers straightened in the saddle and rode up to Baleeta. She conferred with him and trotted her horse back to the King.

  “The Black River Tribe refuses to join us. They don’t believe there is a problem.”

  “How far away are they?” the King replied.

  “About a days ride to the east,” replied Baleeta.

  Arwhon realised the smoke was not as dense here as it had been during the previous few days. Martine’s fire lighting parties must be moving more slowly than the Barsoomi, making sure everywhere along the border got burnt. He nudged Duran forward and came up beside the King.

  “I believe the Black River Tribe is Lareeta’s and that Reynaldo used to be in that Tribe also.”

  The King rapidly turned his head to regard Arwhon.

  “What do you know of Reynaldo?”

  “It’s a long story Sire. For another time. I believe I can influence the Black River Tribe enough to get them to change their decision. May I go?”

  The King thought for a moment.

  “The Black River Tribe has always been somewhat independent. I would rather settle this without any confrontation. Yes, you may go. Where shall we meet you?”

  “It’s probably a good idea if you turn off the road here and head northeast to bypass Crossroads. The Black River will provide water for the Tribes. Spies are everywhere and the Barsoomi nation on the move will get chins wagging. We’ve already passed Traders on the road and that will also start rumours but by heading northeast you can avoid the Darkwood too. We’ll meet you to the east of the Darkwood, on the southern border of the Broken Lands. Remember to tell your people to stay out of the wood, it’s forbidden for Man to enter.”

  “Yes, yes, so I’ve heard since I was a young lad. The M’Herindar are to be respected and I’ll pass the word along to remind the Tribes. How long do we wait there?”

  “Three days should be sufficient Sire.”

  Arwhon wheeled Duran around and rode back to where Shiri and Chalc waited.

  “Seems the Black River Tribe is being somewhat recalcitrant. I’ve volunteered us to go and talk to them. Shall we go?”

  While the rest of the Barsoom column struck off across the plains to the northeast to make camp beside the Black River, Arwhon, Shiri and Chalc rode due east to find the Black River Tribe. They ran out of daylight and camped out on the open plain. The air this far north was cleaner than it had been for the previous five or six days and stars were still visible in the sky. Shiri dropped the glamour and topped up her Power through Arwhon. Chalc could now see them as they really were. They made a fine couple and he was secretly pleased for Arwhon, although he felt a little lonely himself.

  Curiously, an image of Lareeta popped into his mind but he shook his head dismissively. She wouldn’t be interested in one such as he, she was a hard woman and her own mistress. Anyway, what did he have to offer her? Seventeen years alone in Cumbrisia’s End hadn’t bothered him so much but now he’d come to realise what had been missing from his life.

  It wasn’t too late; he didn’t look so old and he was still strong.

  One day.

  Next day, glamoured, they came across the Black River Tribe and Shiri recognised one of the riders who trotted out to meet them, lance held at the ready.

  “Hello Breeta, how are you?”

  “Why, little Shiri, back from the Darkwood. I’m well. What business do you have with the Black River Tribe? Lareeta isn’t here.”

  “I know, we left her in Belvedere as Cristal nasi Tsalkini’s personal bodyguard. Her life is changing but that’s a tale for later. We need to speak privately with your seeress.”

  Breeta’s face clouded.

  “She won’t just see anyone at any time you know. She may decide not see you at all.”

  “Just tell her the important person who lost his memory has found it and is here to see her.”

  Breeta stared at Arwhon closely.

  “I thought I recognised you. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me though, the state you were in when Shiri dragged you in here.” She studied Chalc. “Who are you?”

  “I am Chalc, Servant to Arwhon and the man who returned the Barsoomi heirs.”

  Breeta gave a little half bow in the saddle.

  “Follow me.”

  With that, she turned her horse around, nudging it forward.

  As they rode through the camp, Shiri greeted the other three riders of the group which had accompanied them to the Darkwood over two months ago. Conda was fixing a harness outside his tent, Randar was stirring a cookpot over a flame and Neta was standing guard outside the tent of the seeress. Breeta dismounted and was admitted immediately. Before long before she was back outside ushering the three of them in.

  As they entered the dimly lit tent followed by Breeta, an old, cracked voice requested the Rider to wait outside.


  “You can drop the glamour and let me look at you.” The same cracked voice suggested.

  Shiri did so to an accompanying sharp intake of breath from the seeress, although how she could see them through her cloudy eyes, Shiri had no idea.

  “Well, more than I’d expected and far more than I’d hoped for. Sit.”

  Arwhon, Shiri and Chalc sat, forming a circle around the small fire burning in the centre of the tent.

  “How is Lareeta getting on in Belvedere? She was one of my favourites, never complained, just got on with the task.”

  Shiri answered for them.

  “She is bodyguard and confidante to Cristal nasi Tsalkini, Arwhon’s Grandmother. She likes Cristal and they are good together.”

  “Excellent,” the old voice croaked. “Your armour is unusual and I see Arwhon now looks like a M’Herindar.”

  “Both a gift of the Darkwood, Learned One. Arwhon has also regained his memories but it’s not why we came.”

  “Yes, I know why you are here. The Black River Tribe will move tomorrow. I also know the Plains are being razed and soon the fire will pass through this very spot. What’s the point of being a seeress if I can’t see a few simple things like that? I stopped the Tribe from moving because I wanted to see you both before the other seeresses in the Tribes got their paws on you. I’m the best and they tend to cloud my visions with all their smoke and ceremonies.”

  She coughed harshly and took a sip from a container beside her. Shiri leaned toward her.

  “You’re not well, may I try something?”

  “Do what you like, M’Herindar never harm honest people.”

  Shiri placed her left hand on top of the seeresses head and her right hand over the old woman’s heart, concentrating. Arwhon could almost see the energy draining out of Shiri and charged himself up with Power, ready to give it to Shiri. After a few minutes Shiri leaned back wearily and placed her hand on Arwhon’s arm for support as she did. Her eyes lit with gratitude as the restorative surge of Power leapt into her through the bond between them.

  The seeress was sitting straighter now with her hair looking less wispy and darker in colour. Her demeanour had changed and when she spoke, her voice had lost some of its huskiness.

  “Thank you Shiri, for a gift the like of which I have not received in a long time. You have restored me twenty years. Now you two, the reason I brought you here.”

  She burrowed in the small bag hung around her neck and took out a round black pebble with a hole neatly drilled through the centre. It had a simple thong passed through it and looked to be a child’s bauble, hung around a neck for decoration. It would be classed as a worthless thing to an adult.

  “In some time to come Shiri, you will be threatened with torture and death. Arwhon will not be there and your Earthmagic will avail you naught. I’ve seen this as a possible future. It may or may not come to pass but this bauble is a way around the problem. Yes, this is a child’s bead, or so it appears. It is actually glass from a volcano, obsidian but ground to appear dull. It has been purified in the fires of the earth and is internally clean. To escape your fate, you must learn to put your life force into this pebble. If Arwhon can unite it and your body within a few hours of your apparent death, you will live again, otherwise you will be gone forever. You must appear dead to your tormentors or they will not stop the torture. Do you know how to pass your life essence into a crystal? The exercise is different from storing just spirit only.”

  Shiri looked frightened.

  “You have me worried Learned One, I don’t want to die, although I know I have my duty to do. No, I don’t know this exercise, nor do I know how to store my spirit either. The Mage Escarion knows it but he is in Belvedere. Is there anyone else who can teach me?”

  The seeress nodded knowingly.

  “The eldest of the Wise Ones knows how to do this thing. It’s the culmination of their lives. A secret you should not know. For that matter, neither should I but I see things. It may be difficult to get her to instruct you in the method. After we unite with the rest of the Barsoomi, I’m sure you can slip away for a couple of weeks into the Darkwood. I foresee no major problems in the Broken Lands, just a skirmish here and there, which will do our warriors good, as they’re getting soft. It’s time Arwhon revealed himself to the Barsoom Nation as he really is, healed by the Darkwood and gifted by the dwarves, although not many would recognise their work in chain and helm. Don’t look so surprised Arwhon, just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m senile. There is much I have seen.”

  Although worried by the prophecy of the seeress, Shiri grinned at the gentle chiding of Arwhon. The old woman continued.

  “I’m sure Chalc can guard Arwhon for you while you’re gone Shiri. Chalc, do you still have the amulet we sent you?” Chalc nodded in confirmation. “Excellent, it’s a very useful tool; keep it safe. Don’t worry Shiri, I’ll guarantee Arwhon will be fine until you get back. Now, take this bauble and slip it around your neck and all of you get out of here. I’ve a reputation as a crusty old termagant to upkeep. Oh, and make sure the Black River Leader is sent in. Now be off and don’t forget the glamour.”

  They exited the tent straight faced and informed Breeta, who had waited for them, that the seeress wished to see the Leader of the Tribe. They took the reins of their mounts and before Breeta walked over to the Leader’s tent, she pointed out another tent which had been vacated for their use. They thanked her and dropped off their gear before releasing the horses and Rancid.

  None of the mounts would stray out of earshot.

  It took two more days before the Black River Tribe arrived at the meeting place and all the Tribes of Barsoom were united as one group. Shortly thereafter, Shiri slipped away during the early evening, riding for the Darkwood. Now there was no one who could conceal Arwhon’s true appearance.

  Arwhon sent Chalc to the King to request a private interview. A short time later, Arwhon walked to the King’s tent in his new cloak, a gift from Vehrin’del, with the hood pulled up to cover his face. In the flickering firelight and the shadows between the tents he was difficult to see and drew no eye.

  The King was curious as to why Arwhon wanted a private meeting and also why he wore his cloak hooded. Arwhon sat on the indicated chair and explained.

  “Sire, when we rescued your heirs, I had to plunge into the Black River from high up on a cliff face. I was stunned from the impact and my chainmail dragged me down under the water. I almost died and if it had not been for Shiri, who dove in and found me quickly enough to give me the Breath of Life, I would have drowned. As it was, I lost my memory and my mind was damaged from the ordeal. Somehow, Shiri got me near enough to where the Black River Tribe was camped and Duran, my Barsoomi horse located us for Lareeta to find. I was taken to the Darkwood where the healing process began. Unfortunately, the magic of healing worked changes on me. Permanent changes.”

  He threw back his hood and the King’s eyes widened with surprise at what he saw.

  “You look just as in our tales of the M’Herindar,” the King choked out.

  “Yes, it is passing strange but I’m alive and my memory is excellent again. I think it’s time I went among the Tribes as I am. I came to ask your permission to do so.”

  “You don’t need it Arwhon but I am flattered you have asked it. Barsoom has a good relationship with the M’Herindar. Without them we would not have our companions, the horses which bond us. Although none have seen the M’Herindar in living memory, we keep them alive in our legends. You will find much curiosity but no ill will.”

  “Thank you Sire for the reassurance. Could you spread the word it is only an outward appearance, I don’t have the magic of the M’Herindar and would hate to disappoint a request for its use.”

  “I’ll do my best but the camp is very large now. It’ll take time for word to spread. Now, while you’re here, let’s discuss how we are to take the Broken Lands.”

  Later, when Arwhon eventually made it back to his tent, he found Chalc alrea
dy fast asleep, snoring gently.

  It felt strange bedding down without Shiri nearby.

  After breakfast, the older Riders from each Tribe were summoned and assembled in the large open space before the Royal tent. The King addressed them as they sat their horses, lances in hand and short bows slung across their backs.

  “Barsoomi Riders. We are not here to harm the people of the Broken Lands but to free them from the yoke of Dominion. We need their friendship and their grass to get through the coming winter before we can return to our life on the Plains. Even if some of the small people attack, do not retaliate. We’re after Dominion soldiers only. You can fight as many of those as you can find. We will begin by advancing along the southern border of the Broken Lands, clearing a path before us only as far as the next good camping place which will become the Golden River Tribe’s permanent camp. Eventually, each Tribe will hold a section of the border and be responsible for it. Messengers must be ready to ride at any time to pass information between the Tribes. The order of camps along the border will be our southernmost Tribe, Golden River, to the west and the northernmost Tribe, Black River, to the east, with the rest spaced out in between. Beside their usual neighbours.”

  The Barsoom King indicated the cloaked and hooded rider beside him.

  “Arwhon here, who you know as the man who rescued my heirs, would like to ride to the north of the cohorts working within the Broken Lands. He’ll try and talk with the small people and explain our position. I’ll let him tell you himself.”

  Arwhon nudged Duran, who stepped forward. He was a much admired stallion among those Barsoomi who had seen him. Arwhon threw back the hood of his cloak and waited. A buzz ran through the Riders as his strange eyes were recognised as M’Herindar but soon all was quiet again.

 

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