“Now we shall begin when Beren seeks the land of the Elves, a most wondrous yet stern and prideful people.”
“These elves—they are two-legs?”
“Yes, but please abide me, horse-brother. All will be answered as we proceed. Now, let’s see—again!” Jeff took a deep breath and let mind and emotion flow with the words.
“‘Terrible was Beren’s southward journey. Sheer were the precipices of Ered Gorgoroth, and beneath their feet were shadows that were laid before the rising of the Moon. Beyond lay the wilderness of Dungortheb, where the sorcery of Sauron and the power of Melian came together, and horror and madness walked. There spiders of the fell race of Ungoliant abode, spinning unseen webs in which all living things were snared; and monsters wandered there that were born in the long dark before the Sun, hunting silently with many eyes.’”
“Much like bears.”
“Oh, I fear these creatures were far worse, horse-brother.”
An apprehensive, or perhaps delicious, thrill rippled backwards from withers to hindquarters. Head down in contemplation of the story, Cynic’s eyes glazed over as the action moved south in Middle Earth. Soon, man and horse were lost in another age.
A day later they were still at it. The story of Luthien and Beren was complete and had been thoroughly discussed. In the process Cynic became a Tolkein devotee and Jeff agreed to relate the author’s complete ring cycle. He also had to stay more alert and make sure Cynic didn’t wander off the trail and hit his head on a tree, as had happened the day before.
When the last book was finished and Cynic had picked the series over with numerous pleas for clarification, his questions stopped. However, Jeff knew that wasn’t the end of it as he monitored an intense critique running around in Cynic’s mind. Jeff was impressed with the quality of reasoning.
After some time, Cynic commented, “Truly, Melkor and Sauron were creatures of evil.” Then, a few minutes later, “Shadowfax was the greatest of all horse sires. This one would have been proud to run with him, much as Arod.”
Jeff ran a hand up and down Cynic’s neck. “You must remember, my friend, that this tale springs from myth. Many would say only from the mind of the man who wrote it.”
The vehemence of Cynic’s reply startled Jeff.
“This is not so! My heart understands that such honor and love as you have described were given to this man, ‘Tolkien’, to share with us all. This tale springs from truth!”
A day later they encountered a wide creek. Jeff eyed the placid stream with some suspicion.
“Thank God there’s no boat moored over there. The similarity between this forest and Mirkwood is uncanny. Not nearly so ominous, but the power of it!”
Cynic cautiously forded the creek with water up to his belly and scrambled up the opposite bank. Jeff immediately reined him to a halt.
“Civilization, here we come!”
They were standing on a grass-covered road roofed by overlapping tree boughs. Touching Cynic with his heels, they cantered off.
“Now, horse-brother, this one still cannot understand how the king of Engmer became such a terrible creature, this ‘wraith’.”
“The king of Angmar. This is what I remember…”
Jeff dismounted when it was too dark to continue on and began untying the saddlebags. “…And thus the king of Angmar was destroyed by his lust for power and dominion. Having given his every moment to obtaining both, and having abandoned love and charity, in the end his very substance became as nothing and his will, Sauron’s.”
“Until the end of all things.”
“Yes.”
The road broadened day by day, changed from grass to dirt, and they began encountering traffic. Most people were on foot, traveling in company, and by and large also heading south. Jeff was relieved to discover that his appearance was not that unusual.
Most were on the short side of average height, brown-skinned and tended to dark hair. Clothing was a mixed bag of coarse linen and leather like his own. Quarter staffs and staves predominated as the weapons of choice, peppered with the occasional dirk or rusty short sword. When the forest finally stopped, it did so all at once.
Rounding a sharp curve in the road, Cynic cantered into bright sunlight. Jeff threw a hand over his eyes. It took awhile before he could look around without tears blurring his vision.
“Grassland, with only a few groves of trees. Yellow Brick Road country, for sure!”
Although Cynic wasn’t particularly impressed with the terrain, Jeff enjoyed the feeling of being out in the open again and able to feel the breeze.
“Looks a lot like eastern Kansas. Might be good farming country. Now what was the name of that city Gurthwin mentioned? Oh yeah—Rugen. Well, Rugen or whatever it’s called can’t be too far away.”
Excitement beginning to build, Jeff clucked to Cynic and he accelerated to a comfortable gallop. Shortly, the breeze brought smells that evoked wonderful memories: spring planting, the smell of earth newly turned with manure, the mustiness of hay and fodder.
Cynic crested a rise and Jeff pulled him to a quick halt. His face went blank with astonishment only to fill with wonder and boyish rapture.
“Oh, no. Not this, too. It can’t be real, it....”
Lost for words, he guided Cynic off the road and swung down from the saddle without taking his eyes from the large valley spread out below them.
“It has to be real,” Jeff breathed. “It just has to be.”
Walls soaring high and shining in the sun, pennants snapping in the breeze, a vast city rambled across hills and a sizable portion of the valley.
“Look at those walls,” he said in disbelief. “They must be 70 or 80 feet high!”
As if on cue, a tenor horn raised its voice followed closely by a distant clanking rumble from within the city. Jeff followed the wall with his eyes until its gap-toothed crenels and merlons curved out of sight.
“How it shines,” he whispered. “First Mirkwood, now this.” He began shaking his head. “If armored knights trot out of that gate, I’m going to lose it entirely.” He laughed delightedly. “What a city! If there was ever a Camelot, it must have looked like this.”
Resting an arm on the saddle, Jeff watched people stream in and out of the city. Okay, he reflected, so I was expecting a tree-trunk palisade or maybe earthworks. And why not? There is nothing around here to justify a wall of this size. If it was northern Italy in Barbarossa’s time, sure, but who do these folks need to keep out? Gurthwin surely would have mentioned it if there were other cities close by. Has to be connected with the last invasion.
Cynic shifted his weight. “The sun is warm, the day bright, but are we to so stand until night falls?”
Brought up with a start from his musing, Jeff gave his horse an affectionate slap on the rump and stepped into the saddle.
“Every man needs a horse like you to keep him straight, buddy.”
“Every man does not have such good fortune,” Cynic responded with good humor, and trotted down the hill.
“Easy does it, fellow,” Jeff chided, reining him down to a walk. “We need a good cover story or it’s possible I’ll wind up in a cell and you will be pulling a plow again.”
Cynic was appalled at such a thought. “What is this ‘cover story’ you speak of? Truly I do not again wish to pull a plow.”
It was a difficult subject to summarize. Jeff explained why humans often found it necessary or found excuses to build walls.
“…Thus we must gain entrance and discover if this city poses a threat to Valholm, yet must not rouse suspicion.”
“You have a sword, I am a war-horse. Should we not fight together?”
“Out of the mouth of babes,” Jeff laughed as Cynic halted at the back of the line of people waiting to enter the city. “Okay, mercenaries we have just become.”
The line moved so slowly that Jeff had plenty of time to work out the wrinkles in their cover story and examine the surrounding land. The river they had been following off
and on, the Vana, flowed into the city on his left or east through a low archway in the wall. The countryside was divided into neat, checkerboard fields set off by tall hedgerows. Teams of horses could be seen pulling plows, while groups of farmers or serfs appeared to be sowing ground already prepared. What looked like small villages were scattered throughout the part of the valley Jeff could see. A good distance to the west, he spied a cluster of substantial buildings in a park-like setting.
“Now that could be the residence of a duke or baron,” he said under his breath.
While absorbed in his analysis they had moved closer to the gate. Jeff was aroused from his musings by the jingle of harness, angry cries and growing agitation in the crowd that now surrounded them.
Looking over his shoulder, Jeff saw a troop of mounted soldiers forcing their way through the crowd. The troop was enveloped in a cloud of dust that had caught up with them as they slowed down, but Jeff could see they were lashing people in their way with short whips. As he watched, a man was bowled over and fell under the hooves of the lead horse.
The road had progressively risen above surrounding countryside as it approached Rugen. Those on foot, which included everyone except Jeff and the soldiers, scrambled to get out of the way. Some were pushed over the road’s verge and tumbled down the stony embankment.
Jeff had his hands full controlling Cynic, who was sidling nervously. He had never encountered such a press of humanity and wanted to get free, but there was nowhere to go.
“All right, big boy, settle down. Let’s get over to the side of the road so we can look these troopies in the eye.”
It was no more than ten yards to the edge of the road, but Jeff began to wonder if they could make it even that far. At one point a press of people became jammed against either flank. Jeff felt Cynic shift weight to his front feet.
“Cynic, no! Don’t kick these people. They can’t help being pushed around anymore than you.”
They eventually made it, and Jeff took a moment to mop sweat off as he watched the soldiers come on.
“No way am I going to put Cynic over that embankment. He’d break a leg for sure,” Jeff growled. He got a good look at one of the whips and pulled his saber. “Weighted ends. Those bastards!”
The lead horseman briefly slowed as he approached. Short, fat, ugly and stupid, Jeff decided. So much for armored knights.
“Off the road, scum.”
Jeff was surprised that he could understand the language. Before he could open his mouth to reply the trooper raised his whip to strike Cynic on the nose. No thought was necessary.
The saber flashed up and down in one easy motion. The blade snicked by only an inch or two above the soldier’s fist, severing the whip at its base. Startled by the saber whistling close, his horse reared high. The soldier cursed and drew his short sword.
Those on foot rushed north in an attempt to get clear of the fight. Troopers swung their whips in vicious arcs but the crowd flowed against them like a human riptide. Spooked by the press and panicked screaming, troopers’ horses began to buck and rear. Those who retained control forced their horses into the crowd in an effort to join the fight. The combined effect stirred up clouds of dust that obscured the road in a yellow fog.
Back in control, the soldier spurred his horse toward Cynic. “You dare challenge Morgat? Your guts will feed the birds this night.”
Their swords met with a bright clang as the horses’ shoulders thudded together. Cynic’s head shot out like a snake and his teeth clacked shut just short of the Morgat’s hand. He jerked his hand back with a startled curse.
“Gods and demons!”
What a bunch of crap, Jeff fumed. Just like up north. What good will trying to talk with this idiot do? Just get me killed. Screw it! He turned another blow while trying to find an opening, but Cynic’s head kept getting in the way.
Cursing sulfurously, his timing shot to hell, Jeff felt like a novice as he clumsily parried blow after blow. At some distance he heard the cry, “Guard! Guard!”
Gatekeepers had called for backup and passed the buck to higher authority. The rest of the troop had lost their battle with the mob and been swept north. Two of them lost control of their horses and went plunging over the embankment with cries of alarm.
For the first time in his life Cynic was in a real fight. Battle fever flamed hot and he gloried in the power that was his to command. This was living; this was what he had been born to do. Lunging ahead he struck Morgat’s horse, knocking it onto its haunches. Shrilling the stallion’s falsetto, Cynic savaged the animal’s neck with his teeth and reared to strike out at Morgat.
Cynic’s charge had Morgat grabbing leather and ducking to the side. His horse just wanted to get up and run for it.
Knee to knee with Morgat, Jeff bellowed, “Yee-ha, Cynic!” and attacked. He beat down Morgat’s guard and laid open the side of his face. On recovery he sliced Morgat’s ear and left it dangling by a thread.
“Got to finish this and get out of here!”
Morgat’s face was a mask of blood and he was reeling in the saddle. Jeff rammed the hilt of his sword against the soldier’s helmet and knocked him senseless to the ground. At the same moment the city gate swung open.
“Hold now by order of the guard captain. Hold, I say!”
The road was packed with people rushing back and forth like schools of terrified minnows. Morgat’s troop was organized and moving his way. Their escape route was blocked. Wrestling Cynic back to the side of the road, Jeff rested the saber across his lap and waited to see what would develop.
While the confused mass of humanity slowly sorted itself out, Jeff waved his hand about in a futile effort to see through the choking cloud of dust. As the dust thinned, he became aware of about twenty mounted troopers drawn up outside the gate with a plainly uniformed soldier at their head.
“The boss has arrived,” Jeff muttered. “I’m in deep shit if he’s an idiot like Morgat.”
Motioning his squad to stay put, the guard captain walked his horse forward sitting ramrod straight in the saddle. Tall and raw-boned, he radiated anger eyeing the pudgy form sprawled on the ground.
Shaking his head in profound disgust, the guard captain pulled his horse to a stop near Cynic. He rested gauntleted hands on the saddle horn and eyed Jeff speculatively.
“As you value your life, I am hopeful you will have a most convincing explanation for all of this.” Pointing at one of the soldiers in Morgat’s troop, he growled. “Retrieve that carrion on the ground. At once!”
The worthy singled out to take charge assisted Morgat to his feet and boosted him onto horseback. Shortly, the crestfallen troop was underway toward the city gate. The guard captain pointed again, this time at Jeff.
“Disarm this man and take him into custody.”
Without further comment, the guard captain trotted his horse to the head of the column. Two troopers moved in to flank Cynic and another positioned himself behind. Jeff and one of the troopers eyed each other for some moments before Jeff reluctantly handed over his saber. It was the first time in months that he had been more than an arm’s length from it, and he felt totally exposed.
On impulse, he said, “That is no ordinary sword. I am the only one who can wield it. If it does not come back to me I guarantee it will make you rue the day you were born.”
The trooper turned the saber over in his hands several times, the blade shooting mirror flashes as he did so. Jeff stared levelly at the man when he looked up. The trooper felt his skin prickle at the golden-green brilliance of the stranger’s eyes.
Holding the saber as if it might burn his hands, he said, “If I may have this weapon’s scabbard, I will see that it is quickly given to our captain.”
Jeff noted a spark of intelligence in the young man’s eyes and extracted the scabbard. As soon as the trooper had the scabbard in hand another swatted Cynic on the rump and they trotted into the city, hooves clattering on cobblestones.
Chapter Eight
Po
litics and Trust
They had no more than passed under the portcullis when Jeff’s attention was drawn so many ways at once that he was distracted from fears for his personal safety.
Two story buildings constructed of masonry at street level and wood above crowded the street, blocking the sun with protruding balconies. Roofs were thatched with straw that drooped over the eaves in moldy straggles. What whitewash remained was heavily splattered with dirt. Jostling people dressed in homespun crowded narrow, winding streets and only gave way to the troopers with muttered curses.
Jeff gagged when a putrid stench hit his nose. He traced the smell to a stream of raw sewage running down the center of the cobblestone street, and to piles of fly-infested garbage.
In spite of the smells, Jeff was delighted with everything. Head turning right and left as they moved along, he became absorbed in trying to place the architecture. While it wasn’t Medieval Earth, the similarities were tantalizing.
They emerged onto a broad, dirt-covered area that had parade ground written all over it. The guard captain gave his horse to a stable hand and strode into a building without looking back.
When Jeff dismounted his arms were pinioned and tied behind his back. Someone gave him a kick and he stumbled toward the building. Jeff sent a thought to Cynic as he was hustled through the door.
“We may be in serious trouble. I want you to go quietly with that dink holding the other horse. Keep your ears open and find out what these nags know.”
“I will do so, but am concerned for your safety.”
Pushed down a hallway, Jeff was thrust through a doorway into a simply furnished office. The guard captain was seated behind a dilapidated desk and dismissed the troopers.
Jeff heaved an internal sigh of relief when the young man who had taken his sword hurried into the room, saluted and laid it on the desk. Shaking his head ever so slightly, the trooper saluted again and marched from the room.
Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) Page 15