"Prove it," Azaran mumbled.
Two days later, both men were back on deck, watching the last rays of the sun dip below the horizon. "Why do you believe?" Azaran asked.
"Eh?" Segovac looked over.
"You follow Saerec. You know he is real. Why?"
"Well...I have always believed. My father believed, as did his father. Men should always honor the gods, or god in my case."
"So you believe because they believe? You just take it as given?"
"You've seen me call upon Saerec to divine the future."
"I've seen you use powers." Azaran shook his head. "But the Ghelenai had powers as well, from all those trinket and artifacts they carried. There was nothing sacred about them, they were tools, like a hoe in a farmers hand."
Segvac rubbed the back of his neck. "A reason why. Very well. Consider this problem. Imagine you are a man born deaf, dumb and blind, who has spent his entire life locked in a single room. Food is provided for you, as his drink and all the other necessities of life. From your point of view, such a situation would seem the normal way of things, yes?"
"I suppose."
"Now suppose that a man comes into this room and somehow figures out a way to communicate with you. And he tells you that outside your little room there is a entire world full of life and hanging above it all is a great ball of light providing heat and illumination, which he calls the sun. Now, would you believe him?"
"I...yes, I think would. If he was a man I trusted."
"Why?" Segovac asked. "After all, that little room is all that you know. You touched its walls, you slept on its floor, it is as real to you as your own body. Something like the sun is beyond your experience, you cannot conceive of its existence. Why would you believe a word he says?"
"But then I would ask him to prove it. He could take me outside, where I might feel the sun on my face."
"Yes, but why would that make any difference? He might be holding a candle close to your face. Or stand you close to a fire. There is no way you could be sure the sun is there, because you do not have the means to see it yourself. So then you have a choice...you can limit yourself to what you know to be true, to what you can feel and touch, the room and its walls and whatever else is in there. Anything beyond it does not exist and those who say otherwise are lying. Or you can tell the man 'I believe that there is a sun and it does all those things you tell me of, even though I cannot see it for myself.' Which would you choose?"
Azran pondered this. "I don't know."
"One choice limits you to what you can touch and taste and cast aside anything beyond this as untrue. The other accepts that there is something beyond what your limited senses can tell you."
"But that is nonsense. The sun is real. Just because I can't see it doesn't make it so..." Azaran paused a moment. Then he nodded. "Oh, very clever."
"Not bad, eh?"
"But there is a difference between saying the sun is real and saying the same about gods or spirits or higher powers. I can see the sun. But I do not see the gods."
"Then, like the blind man, maybe you merely lack the eyes." Segovac waved his hand towards the east. "The sun will rise and set regardless of the will of men and so it is with the workings of the One. But if a man limits himself to only what he can see and touch, then he is a man of limited vision, whose path through life will be mean and grasping. For if there is nothing beyond the material, then there is no reason to live rightly. Why should men follow the laws of the gods if denies their existence? For that matter, why should he follow any law, since they are nothing more than the words of other men who may be weaker? Why should he not take what he wants, kill who he wants, whenever he wants? Turn himself into a beast, a creature of appetite...except even beasts show some kind of restraint in that regard?"
"Well..." Azaran shook his head. "I do not know. Such questions are beyond me."
"But you are asking them," said Segovac. "That is good. It is the first step to wisdom."
Two weeks passed, just as Utar-pashti predicted. Soon a brown smudge appeared on the horizon, which in time resolved itself into a vision of rocky hills covered in stands of tall cedars. The sailors on all three ships raised a shout at the sight. Jugs of wine were brought up from the hold and the captains uttered prayers to various Hadaraji gods, spirits of wind and sea, pouring libations over the side as offerings of thanksgiving for a safe voyage free of storm or pirate attack. The rest of the day was spent peering at various landmarks in the distance and comparing them to various notes brought up from trunks and cabinets in the captain's quarters. When night fell measurements were taken against the stars, allowing the ships to discern with a fair degree of accuracy their position.
"Twenty miles south of where we should have been," was Utar-pashti's verdict. "It's a small matter. We anchor here for the night. This territory is friendly to us...at least it was a year ago."
"Could that have changed?" Azaran asked him.
In response, Utar-pashti placed an wooden board two feet across on a small table set on the back deck. At first Azaran thought it was some form of bizarre folk art, but he then realized it was actually a crudely painted map of the southern coastline. Small symbols planted along the bottom edge showed the locations of various cities and towns of note. But as Azaran studied the outline, he knew that the map was not as accurate as the captain seemed to think. He didn't say anything though, it would have been rude.
"We are here," said Utar-pashti, tapping at a point north of a large cluster dots that marked a particular conglomeration of towns. "South of us is Qujjagga, whose King married a daughter of Arqassa not three years past. I did not hear from my countrymen in Ambarec that the friendship has turned sour, but one should be cautious anyway. The men of Qujjagga are not without honor, but show any hint of weakness and they will turn on you like jackals after a lame goat."
He shifted his finger northeast, pointing to another city. "This is where we are bound. The fairest city in the world. A place of righteous men. But you are not going there. You are going here." He pointed at another dot, west of Arqassa and east of the current position. "Kedaj. Not a place for an upright man."
"You've said that before," said Azaran. "How is different from any other settlement on this side of the sea?"
"Make no mistake," Utar-pashti replied, with some feeling, "the men of Kedaj are a faithless lot. Cruel, intemperate, ruled by their lusts and base instincts. Their men lack any sense of restraint or honor, their women are whorish in the extreme and riddled with vile diseases that are the gods punishment for such behavior. All this is known across the world. My own father died in battle against those wretches, and should I pass one of their number lying on the ground dying of thirst, I would not take the time to piss in his mouth! But in the last ten years they have even further into degradation. All Hadaraj had suffered, mind you, but they have shown their true natures and it is an ugly one. You have heard of the corsairs of Tereg, and the man who once led them? Enkilash, once a Prince of Kedaj until he turned to villainy?"
"I have heard the name," Azaran replied, suppressing a smile.
"He is dead now," said Utar-pashti, pausing a moment to spit over the side of the ship. "May his soul suffer eternal torment. But while he lived, the Corsairs ruled the waves of this Great Green Sea, taking ships at will, exacting cruel tribute from every city and town of Hadaraj and attacking those that could not pay. But Kedaj was the particular object of his hate. Three times did his fleet descend on the city, burning the ships at anchor and looting it of gold, grain and women. In this they suffered no more than any of city of Hadaraj at the time...but the Kings of Kedaj did not suffer to the same extent as the rest of his people Indeed, whenever the Corsairs descended on their city, the palace remained untouched and inviolate. Those known to be friendly to the King did not suffer harm to their property, while those who had offended him had their houses burned, their goods stolen, their slaves abducted, their wives violated, their sons murdered and their daughters carried off into whored
om. In all cities of Hadaraj there is a balance between the King and his nobles, who rules by right of descent from the gods and the merchants who bring in the actual wealth. But in Kedaj the merchants have been crushed, and all nobles who might have stood against the King brought low as well. What the corsairs began the King completed and now he rules without restraint. The people he keeps pacified with games and public spectacle and with narcotics that the Kedaj consume as men of other cities drink wine. A vile place indeed."
"But Enkilash is dead," said Azaran. "The sea is clear of Corsair ships. The man who rules now in Tereg has no interest in piracy. Surely the merchants can now start to rebuild their wealth."
"One would think so, and the other cities of Hadaraj have indeed done so. But the men of Kedaj have been notable by their absence. Maybe their King has driven out the spirit of adventure. Maybe their wits are too fogged by debauchery." Utar-pashti spat over the side again. "Enough! I will not foul my tongue any further with talk of Kedaj. May the gods sink that vile place down to the deepest hell pit!"
They turned towards the east, the crews breaking out the oars and rowing along the sere coastline. From here he stood, Azaran looked out on a country that seemed rich with life and activity. Fishing villages of every size clustered along the show. The mountains in the distance had villages of their own clinging to the heights. Every so often boats would come out from the shore to trade with the ships. They brought fresh food and water for the casks, but most of all they brought news. Not a day went by without Utar-pashti and his fellow captains interrogating some sun-darkened fisherman about the happenings among the cities of the south.
Six days after they made landfall, the lookouts spotting a ship in the distance, headed westward and right towards them. Drums beat and men took battle positions on the deck, bows and swords at the ready. But then the lookout got a clear look at the banner flying from the mast. "The Green Fish! I see the Green Fish!"
"Praise to Pashtarah!" declared Utar-pashti. "They are of Arqassa!"
The crews on all ships stood down. An hour later the ships had come to a halt, the captains boarding boats to be ferried over to the newcomer, where they were given a warm greeting by their countrymen. Some hours passed. Azaran stood by the railing looking out at the Hadaraji coastline. Segovac went a spot by the bow, holding a line and a crude hook he'd fashioned from a discarded pin. He baited it with a pair of weevils plucked from his morning biscuit and cast out the line, eventually pulling in a silvery fish the size of his forearm.
The boats returned, bearing their captains back to their ships. Utar-pashti climbed back aboard, a troubled look on his face. "A thousand apologies," he told Azaran and Segovac. "But we cannot bring you to Kedaj."
"What have you heard?" Azaran asked.
"I have spoken with the captain of the Second Autumn Moon." He waved towards the ship from the east, which was already on its way. "He tells us that the King of Kedaj has ordered all foreign ships that dock there to be seized and their goods impounded. No explanation has been given, but already word is spreading. If we take you to that city, we will not be allowed to leave. I am sorry."
Azaran frowned. "I understand your concerns, but I must reach Kedaj."
Utar-pashti thought on this. "It no place for an upright man, and even less with this news..."
"Nevertheless, I must go there." Azaran thought on it for a moment. "Can you at least get us close to the city? We can travel the rest of the way by land."
Utar-pashti nodded. "Yes, that can be done. There is a village a day's sail from here, where you can obtain horses. From there it is a week's ride to the city. But closer than that I cannot bring you, it is too much of a risk."
"So be it," said Azaran "That will have to be enough."
Utar-pashti waved from the deck as the ship pulled away from the dock. "Good luck!" he called out. "May the gods being you fortune!"
Azaran turned away from the sea. Half a dozen small fishing boats bobbed along the dock. A narrow beach composed of shingles passed beneath his feet and then he was on hard packed ground, patches of brown grass clinging here and there. A cluster of brown houses made from pounded earth and roofed with palm thatch lay beyond. The people loving here were short and deeply tanned from the sun. The men wore kilts or breech clouts, the women simple dresses that ended below the knees, their hair wrapped in scarves to keep it out of the way. Children swarmed everywhere, peeking out from behind houses or their mothers skirts at the strangers, many staring at the large sword slung over Azaran's back. Muttering followed Azaran in his wake, the villagers looking at him suspiciously, though it did not go any further than that.
A small hostel stood at the east end of the village, a dozen yards from a narrow road leading northeast. A small pen stood off to one side, containing ten horses and twice as many sheep. Segovac stood beside it, observing the animals, and being observed in turn by a middle-aged fellow with a pot belly covered by a red apron.
"Useless," he observed, gesturing at the animals. "They look ready for the stew pot. Wouldn't hold a child, let alone a man."
Azaran could help but agree. Up close, the condition of the animals was pitiful. Knob-kneed, their ribs showing through their sides. The sheep wandering between them weren't much better. "Those two," he said, jutting his chin at two mares standing at the far end. "They might work."
"They look ready to drop!"
"Do you have a better idea?"
Segovac sighed. "Very well. I wonder how much these noble steeds will cost us?"
"I believe I can get a fair price."
Azaran approached the man in the apron. "These beasts are foul smelling and look fit to rot!" he declared in Eburrean. "You should be ashamed of yourself, leaving them in this hot sun!"
The hostel keeper looked confused, and said something in Hadaraji. Azaran had heard the language enough on the ships for the runes to teach it, but this appeared to be another dialect, different enough so that he only caught one word in three. The strange crawling sensation occurred on the inside of his skull, as it always did in such cases, followed by sudden comprehension.
"...understand what you are saying, what savage tongue is that! Be off, or I will set the dogs on you!"
"I said those are some fine horses you have here, fit for a king to ride!" Azaran replied in the same language. "I am sure your dogs are equally worthy of praise!"
"Oh...er, yes...right." The hostel keeper looked nonplussed. He clasped his hands and bowed clumsily. "Ten thousand apologies, honored guests, I did not recognize such an illustrious man on sight..."
"Perfectly all right, no harm done. My friend there," Azaran jerked a thumb at Segovac, "was particularly taken by two of your mares. Fine specimens of horseflesh."
"He was?" The hostel keeper looked even more confused, glancing at the horses. "He...has a keen eye."
"We would like to purchase them."
"Ah." Now the hostel keeper understood. He stroked his chin and tried to appear disinterested. "Ten thousand apologies, but they are not for sale."
"Why not?"
"The horses in that pen were once mighty steeds used for the purpose of drawing the chariots of the nobility. Now they are too old to perform their old role, so the King decreed that they should be granted a fine retirement as befits such honored servants."
His eyes drifted down as Azaran reached into a small pouch tucked against his belt. A strip of silver was drawn out. "Could not part with them," the hostel keeper said, as another strip was drawn out. "It would contravene the Kings wishes..."
"What the King does not know will not hurt him," said Azaran, removing a third strip. The metal was a gift from Gwindec - just one would have been enough to buy both horses, with enough left over for several sheep as well. "And greed is a curse and speaks ill of a man's character."
"Indeed." The hostel keeper held out his hand, almost shivering as the silver was pressed into his palm. "I think those mares would enjoy time away from the paddock."
A boy led both ho
rses out of the paddock. Blankets were tied atop the backs of both and both men mounted up, Azaran with confidence that suggested past experience, Segovac with a litany of winces and moans. "I hate horses," he growled. "Men were given two perfectly good feet, that should be enough for us all!"
"Too slow," Azaran replied. "Just grit your teeth. Your body will soon adjust."
"Not soon enough!" Segovac grunted as his horse suddenly jerked into a trot that seemed to shake every bone between his toes and his skull.
They rode out of the village, following the narrow dirt road east for perhaps a quarter of a mile, where it joined a much larger highway headed south. Long wagon ruts grooved into the surface from countless wagon wheels, horse hooves, oxen and tramping feet. The route ran parallel to the coastline, and most people they passed by were headed in the same direction as they, drawn towards the city that still lay beyond the horizon.
There was little conversation that first day, Segovac primarily concerned with staying on his horse and dealing with the aches and pains that inevitably cropped up. The horses themselves were not the swiftest of steeds and seemed content to move along at a pace best described as ambling.
Azaran watched the land instead, and the people on it. To the east rose low mountains sheathed with forests of cedar, though there was little green to be seen on their branches, as there was on those trees growing by the side of the road itself. Bare branches, thrusting out accusingly towards the indifferent sky, stunted leaves hanging on here and there as best they could. Brown dry grass clung to the ground, sending up clouds of dust when trod upon. The land was afflicted by drought, that much was clear, the blue sky clear of even the smallest scrap of cloud.
Farms and fields extended out on both sides of the road, divided into small plots whose boundaries were marked by stone hedges. In some places small rivers straggled down from the mountains, little more than trickles of water running through dry stream beds, marks on the side showing the original water level. Farmers working the fields had carved out channels from them for irrigation, but what came through was not enough even for those with the fortune to live upstream. Wheat, barley and other grains withered in their furrows, orchards reduced to bare branches devoid of fruit. In some places farmers still attempted to make a go of it in their ruined fields, watching travelers go by with stony faces, their hollow eyed children standing by them. But more often than not the fields were empty, the houses deserted. Many still bore scorch marks and broken walls from Corsair raids of years past. Some had signs of the damage being repaired before the inhabitants finally gave up and abandoned the land. Either way, they rode through a wasteland.
Fires of Mastery (The Tale of Azaran Book 3) Page 3