The chief animal of the Low Desert is the above named comite (en gamia ). Some, with too little knowledge of philology, claim the name is a corruption of the word “committee,” as the beasts are said to look like something designed by a committee. More likely, comite is a corruption of the Desert Men’s words kumi and tajiri, which, together, mean “ten rich,” as a Desert Man is considered rich if he has ownership of ten comites. The comite is capable of living for extended periods on the thick ridge of fat that grows along its back and makes it look as if it wears a long pack.
PEOPLE
Of the many strange and wondrous curiosities of the Low Desert, the strangest may be its nomadic Desert Men. No one knows their genesis. Although they claim to have origin myths, they refuse to tell them to Scholars. Neither does anyone know the source of their language, which is replete with sharp consonants and twice as many vowels (which are copiously used) as any other language.
The Desert Men are fierce, ready to fight and kill any persons they encounter in or adjacent to their desert. They sometimes prey on travelers along the coastal road that runs the length of the north side of Princedon Gulf, or in the easternmost stretches of the Eastern Waste. It appears that every Desert Man is constantly armed with a broad-bladed, curved sword, bow and arrows, and several knives. Some also bear a spear. It is well worth noting that should the traveler avoid being attacked while traveling the Low Desert and reach one of the Desert Men’s enlodgments, he is treated as an honored guest, is inviolate from assault, and is required to partake generously of their bread and pasties.
Desert Man garb consists of voluminous robing and scarfing in the colors of sand flecked with the greens of grass and bushes. It is said that they are masters of camouflage, able to hide totally invisible anywhere within their territories. A few geographers believe they accomplish this by using Lalla Mkouma; Scholars of demonology strongly disagree, insisting that there are not enough Lalla Mkouma in existence to accommodate all the Desert Men. Nothing is known about the garb of the Desert Men women, as they are kept carefully hidden from view of the infrequent guests. Even though women are never seen by guests, it is reasonable to surmise that the Desert Men do have women: no Desert Man has ever been observed cooking or laundering, and they must procreate somehow.
The housing of the Desert Men, such as it is, consists of low-lying tents carpeted with rugs crudely manufactured from the hair of comites. The tents, sand-colored and green-flecked in the same manner as their robes and scarfs, are difficult to see in the middle distance, and impossible to discern in the far distance. They encamp in one location until need for forage for their beasts compels them to move to new grass.
The Desert Men have no metallurgy, which forces them to occasionally descend from their plateau to the city state of Dartmutt, where they trade skins, meats, bread, and pasties for swords, knives, cooking utensils, and other metal objects they require. It is also said they trade gems discovered in the vastness of the Low Desert. If that is true, the trade in gems is done quietly and outside normal trading venues where taxes would be imposed. This is likely true, as the swords and knives they acquire are of the highest quality, and it would take far more skins and exotic foodstuffs to pay for them than the Desert Men are likely to have.
ROADS
Traces of ancient roads crisscross the Low Desert. Scholars are so uncertain as to who built the roads, or why, that there are numerous theories advanced about them. Indeed, there are so many theories about the origin of the roads, all acrimoniously attacked and defended, that describing any of them in this paper would serve no purpose other than to cause heated discussion in the “Letters” section of this journal. Alas, no cartographer has ever mapped the roads. That is not to say none have attempted to do so. Unfortunately, those cartographers who have journeyed into the Low Desert for the purpose of mapping the roads have never returned, so how much mapping they may have accomplished is moot.
(Coming soon: Part 2; The High Desert)
It’s a Geographical World! is pleased to present this first of two articles by Scholar Munch Mu’sk, the renowned professor of Far Western Studies at the University of the Great Rift.
III
THE ESCARPMENT
CHAPTER
TEN
The sun had long set by the time Silent and Wolf returned to the command group. A cocked eyebrow was the only remark Silent made at his first sight of the large tent with vertical walls and a peaked roof that had been set up for Spinner and Haft. Similar though somewhat smaller tents were erected around it. Wolf made a more emphatic comment on the tent—he circumnavigated it until he found a proper place and made his mark. Now no matter where the people moved the tent, he’d be able to find it again. He trotted into the tent behind Silent.
The giant didn’t even try to hold back the laughter that boomed out of him at what met his eyes inside. The interior of the tent was lit by glass-globed lamps hanging from the roof supports; the barely flickering light splashed the woven rugs that covered the ground with richly colored scenes. A cot complete with sheets and a thin mattress lay against each side of the tent. Against the back wall were two small field desks with folding camp stools. Spinner sat scowling on one camp stool; on the other, grinning, Haft lounged as easily as possible on a stool that didn’t have a back to lean against. Alyline, Fletcher, and Xundoe sat on other camp stools in front of the desks, Doli perched on the cot nearer Spinner. The sextet had obviously been in deep discussion.
Haft waved welcome at Silent and snapped his fingers at Wolf, who cocked his head and eyed him curiously, then came to him, sniffing for a treat. Spinner closed his eyes and looked embarrassed. Fletcher grinned and shook his head. Alyline snapped, “It’s about time you showed up.” Only Xundoe looked as though everything was exactly as it should be.
“Interesting things happen when I’m gone,” Silent said when he stopped laughing. “Tell me about this.” He waved a hand at the tent and its furnishings as he sat cross-legged in the space the others made for him. He was so tall that even seated on the rug-cushioned ground, his head was nearly level with the others.
Alyline was the first to answer. “We are no longer a small band,” she said. “We aren’t even a large band in flight from immediate danger like we were when we left Eikby. Our leaders need to look more like leaders than like a couple of self-important refugees.” Spinner looked embarrassed; Haft grinned more widely. “Now if only they’d do something about their uniforms, look like officers instead of just a couple of common soldiers—”
Looking deeply offended, Haft snapped erect. “Now just wait a min—”
“Dartmutt is only a few miles away,” Silent interrupted. “Many thousands of Jokapcul are there, with more pouring in hourly. We’re still in considerable danger.”
“But not in immediate danger,” Alyline said. “If we were, you would have come back much sooner and sped us on instead of this casual late arrival. But as I was saying, we now have the population of a large village, or even a small town. Our ’leaders,’ “ she nodded condescendingly at Spinner and Haft, “must show symbols of authority and power. These tents are such symbols. Fletcher and Zweepee have one, Xundoe has one, so do I. There’s even one for you.” She looked at him closely. “It was designed to accommodate a concubine with her handmaids sheltered under its surrounding awning. I think you’ll fit inside without too much trouble.”
Silent chuckled and looked about. “Me, live in a soft city man’s cloth tent? I’ll never again be able to show my face in the lands of the Tangonine people.”
“A soft city woman’s tent,” Haft said with a guffaw, that quickly overcame the offense he’d taken at Alyline’s “common soldiers” remark. Silent laughed with him.
Xundoe brushed his fingertips across the cabalistic markings on his robe. “Don’t laugh. Symbols are extremely important to people.” He gave Spinner a sidewise glance. “Most people. I fully agree with Alyline about the importance of the tents.” He gave a contented sigh. “And look f
orward to nights on a goose-down mattress, no matter how thin.” He looked dreamily into nowhere and murmured, “Imagine.” In the Zobran army, a mage as low ranking as he never slept in a tent or on a mattress in the field. In garrison they had cots, but their mattresses were stuffed with straw, not goose down.
“What did you find?” Spinner asked, anxious to get the conversation off the subject of the comfortable tents and bedding.
Silent grunted. “Anybody got some food? I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“I’ll apologize for all of us,” Doli said, jumping to her feet with embarrassment flushing her face. “We should have thought of that. I’ll get a meal for you. Wait here.” She was on her way out of the tent as she finished.
Silent smiled after her and cast a mildly disapproving glance at the others. They had the grace to look away—Doli was right, they should have thought of food for him.
Doli was back in moments bearing a bowl of stew on a trencher. Two women stopped in the entrance; one carried another bowl of stew, the other had two loaves of bread and a cup of rancid butter. Just outside, a man Silent didn’t recognize stood with a bowl of half-roasted meat still on the bone—there wasn’t room in the tent for all the food bearers. After placing Silent’s other trenchers on the cot she’d been sitting on, Doli set down the bowl with the meaty bones for Wolf. Wolf stood, walked stiff-legged to the bowl and chomped a nice chunk of venison.
Silent pulled a spoon from somewhere in his fur garments and dug in. “Did anything else interesting happen here today?” he asked between spoonfuls.
“More refugees joined us,” Spinner replied.
“ ’Ow ’any?” Silent asked with his mouth full.
“More than a thousand,” Alyline answered.
The giant’s eyebrows popped up and dropped back down. He nodded, but didn’t stop eating. The caravan had increased by more than a third, maybe close to half, during the day. He wondered if any of the new people had any experience in feeding a large number of people on the move. That was a skill few people had. He doubted the sea soldiers did either.
A slight, unhumorous smile crossed Alyline’s face. “The royal bed toys finally stopped crying and saved their energy for walking.” Her smile widened but became no more friendly. “One of them sat by the side of the road for a while; she expected someone to stop and give her a ride. Nobody did.”
“Zweepee tells me the concubine’s feet are too badly blistered for them to walk tomorrow,” Fletcher said quietly.
“We have to let them ride until their feet heal,” Spinner said.
“Let them suffer!” the Golden Girl snapped, glaring at him. “Their handmaids were as much as slaves, and they beat them. They left scars! When I was beaten, at least they knew enough not to leave marks.” She had been a slave, dancing for the entertainment of the clients of the Burnt Man Inn, a slaver’s inn, when Spinner and Haft found and freed her and the other slaves.
Doli had also been a slave at the Burnt Man Inn. She nodded almost imperceptibly at Alyline. She felt herself fortunate no one had left marks on her, other slaves at the Burnt Man had been scarred for life.
“I saw the blisters on bel Bra,” Haft said casually. “Don’t worry, she’ll be in pain tomorrow.” Then sotto voce, he said to Spinner, “Even if she doesn’t walk, blisters like those will hurt every time she moves her feet or something touches them.”
Silent had eaten rapidly and was wiping up the last of the rancid butter with the heel of his second loaf of bread when Haft spoke. He didn’t care to hear any more about making the concubines suffer—pain was part of war, but it didn’t have to be inflicted for casual punishment, which Alyline’s attitude toward the concubines seemed to be—so he resumed talking with his mouth full. When he had everyone’s attention, he paused to swallow and began again.
“In mid-morning, a large force of Jokaps headed south on the Eikby road. My guess is they’re looking for us or they expect to join up with the Jokap troops that were following us.” He grinned. “They’ll be disappointed either way.
“They didn’t send anybody west or southwest, and only a couple of troops headed north—I saw them head toward the north shore of the Gulf, though I’m not positive that’s where they went. Tomorrow we need more scouts ahead in case they went to interdict this road. All day long their cavalry rode in small groups through the farms, looking for refugees hiding in the corn. They found some and used them for sport before killing them.” He grimaced and shook his head at the memory. “Interestingly, they didn’t bother anyone who was fleeing. Those were the people who joined us.” He looked at the others questioningly. “But I saw far more than a thousand unmolested refugees headed west.”
“More than half of those who came on us kept going,” Fletcher explained.
Silent nodded. “There are still more people wandering lost in the forest between here and Dartmutt. Maybe tomorrow we should have flankers search for them and direct them to the road?”
They all looked at Spinner and Haft for a decision; the two Marines looked at each other.
“We’ll decide later,” they said simultaneously.
“Not too much later,” Doli said, one of the few times she made a contribution without being directly asked.
“She’s right,” Fletcher murmured.
Rather than getting mired down on that point, Silent asked one of the major questions he’d come up with during his day wandering the forest edge with Wolf. “Do we have anyone who speaks Jokap?” He watched the consternation on everyone’s faces, then said, “I would have brought back a prisoner if I’d had a chance, but no lone Jokap wandered into the forest. A prisoner will be easier to question if we have someone who speaks his language. We need to find out.” The others nodded and murmured agreement.
“Is there a Scholar anywhere in the caravan?” That question was met with blank expressions. Not only did none of them have any idea what they might need a Scholar for, they couldn’t imagine why a giant of the steppe nomads would even think of one. “Some of them speak Jokap,” Silent explained. “And all of them have arcane knowledge. There’s no telling when some arcane knowledge might be important.”
“That’s right!” Xundoe said excitedly. “Many Scholars even know about magic. If there is a Scholar with us, he might have knowledge I can use!”
Haft nodded at him, then looked at Fletcher and Doli. “Can you two and Zweepee find out?”
“Yes,” Fletcher answered. Doli nodded.
“Speaking of Zweepee,” Silent said to Fletcher, “where is your wife?” Zweepee was normally with the group when Silent returned from a day-long reconnaissance.
“She’s going through the caravan with her helpers, making an inventory of what the new people have and what they need.”
“Is she asking about their trades and skills?”
Fletcher barked a short laugh. “Knowing my wife, she probably is.”
“Now, there’s one more thing we need, or people will start dying.” Silent’s serious tone made everyone look intently at him. “We’ve got, how many, three and a half thousand people now? All those people on the move, and you know more will join us in the coming days. How are we going to feed them?” He held up a massive hand to block the questions and statements that immediately came at him. “I know, we’ve got enough food on hand to last several days, and game is still ready enough while we’re in this forest. Foraging is plentiful as well, so we aren’t going to run out any time soon. But there’s the problem of distribution so everybody gets a fair store of food, and we need a central store of food to make sure nobody’s hoarding more than their fair share.
“These are things the nomads know well. Among the Tangonine people, we have honored people who control the food supply. If they fail in their duty, there is fighting among the people. Eventually people begin to die from starvation, and some leave the horde to wander tribeless.”
“Can you . . . ?” Spinner asked hesitantly.
Silent shook his shaggy head. “I hu
nted for game, and when I was a youngster I foraged, but I wasn’t a provisioner. I know what they did and why, but not how they did it.”
Fletcher reached for a sheaf of parchment on Spinner’s desk and began paging through it. “We have butchers and sausage makers, millers and bakers, but do we have a food distributor?”
“Do we even have a complete roster of the Eikby people?” Spinner asked rhetorically.
Haft snorted. “Where’s Plotniko? He’d probably know.”
“The last time I saw him he said he was looking for other people who spoke Dartmutter,” Xundoe answered.
Silent again shook his head. “Distributing food in a town isn’t the same as provisioning people on the move. A town has warehouses and granaries, nomads don’t.”
“But nomads have wagons,” Fletcher said.
Silent opened his mouth to say the Tangonine people didn’t have wagons, then closed it without speaking; his people had pack animals, of which the caravan had some, and captured warriors from other hordes who they used as porters. They did the same job as the wagons in this caravan could. He nodded and asked, “Do we have enough wagons to use as food warehouses?”
Fletcher exchanged the sheaf of parchment for one on Haft’s desk and paged through it until he found the listing of wagons and their contents.
“This is yesterday’s,” he muttered, then louder, “Food is scattered with no order throughout the caravan. I imagine we could consolidate it, but that would take time, and I don’t think we have the time to stop right now.”
“So we do a little bit each night,” said Haft.
They agreed. More immediately important, Spinner and Haft insisted and nobody greatly disagreed, were soldiers.
“Twenty or thirty stragglers in uniform joined us during the day,” Spinner said. “I don’t have an exact count because I didn’t get to meet all of them. They are from almost as many armies and units.”
Demontech: Gulf Run Page 14