by Allan Cole
The land grew drier and drier: rolling grasslands interspersed with rare copses of trees around increasingly-muddy springs and then rivulets. For awhile we could use the tree groves to lead us to water, but then we saw more and more thorn trees with no moisture around them; their roots must have reached down into the underworld for moisture. We were not, however, in jeopardy or danger, and that was due to Janos' experience. He taught us to follow the antelope and to stake out their water holes at dawn, and make clean, swift kills. We ate the animals, and then turned their stomachs into waterskins: the hides are green, and smell - but they hold water. The patient asses brayed, but accepted the additional burdens. Our sandals and boots were wearing thin, so Janos announced it was time for us to learn to walk as the gods intended - barefoot. He said we must save the footwear for rougher terrain. Cassini whined so much at this we found it easier to make new soles for his boots from green skin every two or three days rather than force him to travel bareshod. The lessons continued as we went: there was game to be speared or, better yet, netted; arrowheads were removed and replaced with hand-carved blunt, fat tips of wood. These were for the fat flightless birds around us: the tip would stun a bird long enough for the hunter to wring his neck, yet the arrow would not travel through the quarry and be lost in the brush. We were taught that it is generally unwise to eat a new fruit or berry if the sap is like milk; and also that red berries and fruit are sometimes dangerous. If you think a plant or a fruit is edible, cut it and rub it on your arm; if your arm blisters, do not eat. Besides water holes, we found that some tall trees have reservoirs in their hearts, saved from the annual rains.
If what I have just written implies that my Finding had suddenly been turned into a bleak fight, that was not my intention. Despite the difficulties, we ate well; we had enough water; and we were healthy, if dirty.
As we traveled, the sun arced overhead and the air seemed to glow in dry silence. The world was mostly brown; but the occasional green leaped out to the eye as if it were in relief. There seemed to be nothing ahead of us but more and more of this prairie, a prairie I did not realize was turning to desert. There were animals besides antelope: packs of wild doglike creatures; hunting families of direwolves that would trail us for a space until they decided there were no stragglers who could be easily dragged down; and several species of large direcats: we saw them frequently lolling about, their cubs climbing out of their mothers' pouches to frolic. The cats offered us no threat, and we made sure to stay well clear of their dens and retreats. Once we saw, just at dawn, a great black-maned lion, atop a rearing crag. Suddenly, beside him, were two of the mounted Watchers. The lion seemed not to be aware of them. One of the Watchers stretched out a gauntleted hand, armor glittering in the rising son, and stroked the great cat's head. The lion preened like a pet... and the Watchers were gone.
Finally the baked summer-day dream came to an end. Now we were in real desert; the ground rolled up and around us, searing rocks and sand, broken by ravines filled with dry brush. Even though we had several compasses to keep us from trusting a single lodestone whose power might have vanished, and my mapmaking had continued as best it could, given the shortage of identifiable landmarks, we became unsure of our course. Janos said there was no help for it, but we must hold our current heading.
When we came to the next landmark on the talisman/map, a mountain range which appeared to be quite distant, we would locate ourselves exactly. We must not, he said, start doubting in our compasses or our common sense, else we could find ourselves wandering in tight circles about this desert and, ultimately, our own arseholes. We knew we were not the first men to traverse this desert, which was comforting, because of the caravan tracks we encountered. We followed them, which made our holding to our compass directions more difficult; but there was no other choice - not only did the tracks follow the easiest terrain, but they led us from water hole to solitary well to oases.
Then we saw the makers of the tracks. Far on the horizon we spotted a line of mounted riders. Nomads, Janos guessed. They appeared not to see us, although all of us thought that doubtful. His guess was confirmed when we crossed their track some hours later, and found not only horse, but goat droppings. Janos said he doubted that the Watchers traveled in such groups, or that they brought their own mutton along.
"It is a pity," I said, "these people aren't blood-kin to the Ifora, and we could renew old ties. I thought that woman... Tepon, it was, quite charming. Even if she did file her teeth."
Janos grinned. "When you come to do your memoirs, friend Amalric, and you describe this stage of our journey as arduous, perilous and filled with dangers at every step, you should not mention your last statement. It's hard to be dying of thirst and have your mind bedded in your groin at the same time. As for the Ifora, I should tell you that when I first made their acquaintance I had a mounted patrol of fifty Lycanthian cavalrymen at my beck, and there were but twenty of them. That was a ratio I tried hard to maintain. A commonality I have found among all desert folk I've encountered, is that they tend to be capricious at best and, if they feel you possess something of interest, capable of astonishing cruelties."
"So let us hope we went unseen," I said. Janos nodded, dropped back to Sergeant Maeen and gave him instructions for the men to be fully alert at all times.
The next day there were two riders on either side of our course. At first I thought them to be the ghost-like Watchers, but they maintained their course hour after hour, riding about a league to either side of our party. Cassini announced he sensed spells being cast, spells that did not "feel" like they emanated from any of the previous sorceries. Janos, too, said he felt something. The old traditional prickling of his thumbs, I asked? He shook his head: different; it was as if he felt someone looking over his shoulder.
At dawn we saw more riders behind us, and people on foot in addition to the two that flanked us. They also held their distance. We tried to keep our pace steady, both to conserve energy, and to avoid showing fear. About midday the party doubled... to twenty. Janos told us to be doubly wary.
The attack began as a blur. If I had not chanced to be looking in that direction, I would not have seen it. Movement... and then one of the asses reared, screaming, two arrows sticking out of its flank. Screaming, and a shout of agony, and a man staggered out of the column, a third arrow buried deep in his thigh. We were attacked - and the nearest bowman was half a league distant! The next few moments were a shout of orders... me ordering the men to flatten and to not let the asses bolt... Janos and Maeen bellowing for the soldiers to immediately put on chain mail... shouts from the wounded man...
I had Cassini by the arm. He was gaping at these arrows from nowhere. "Damn it," I was shouting, "A counterspell...and quickly!"
Cassini's mouth opened and closed like he was a beached fish. His eyes... and most likely his mind... were blank.
Janos heard my shout and understood. "Uncertainty," he ordered. "The wizard is suddenly unsure."
Cassini looked bewildered, then he got it. He stammered a phrase, his words growing more fluid as his memory brought the spell back to him. Another flight of arrows blurred out of nowhere, but this time buried themselves in the sand, short of us. There were six of them this time.
"Good," Janos said. "Again. The next flight should be still farther away." Then he bethought himself. He pulled one of the arrows from the sand and handed it to our Evocator. "A better spell: Brother speaks to brother."
I saw Cassini's sunburnt face redden still more. "How can you--"
"Do it, man, or we die here!"
Cassini took the arrow in both hands and put it to his lips. He whispered words I could not make out, but they became a chant. Then he snapped the arrow cleanly in half. Expecting what I should see, I glanced at the other arrows that had attacked us... they were broken, as well.
"Good," Janos approved. "Broadcast that spell now. And broadcast it wide."
Cassini obeyed. I do not know what effect it had, but there were no more flight
s of arrows. Janos started to say something else, then caught himself, and worded what might have been conceived as an order as a vague thought, the thought of a man who knows little of magick: "Now, Cassini, can you put something between us and them? Invisibility?"
Cassini had recovered enough to curl a lip. "That would require too much power, and be too much a drain on my senses. I can do something easier... and better."
He picked up a handful of sand, then allowed it to slip through his fingers; then he prostrated himself, muttering all the while. I looked back at the nomads and saw small dustdevils rising, swirling, just knee-high between us and them. Cassini, emboldened by promises of success, ran to the ass carrying his equipment and began sorting out gear, to build and bind his spell. Our soldiers were now in full mail, baking in the sunlight, but much safer from another attack. I remembered the wounded man and went to him; but he was dead. I beckoned to Janos, who walked over, looked down, and nodded, grim. He also noticed that one of our pack animals was dead, although it had suffered only a slight arrow wound.
"A spell on the arrows," I guessed.
"Probably not," Janos said. "More likely venom of some sort on the arrowhead. The desert breeds many killers from vipers to scorpions. There is no need to waste substance coming up with a bit of sorcery when nature provides an even swifter killer whose efficacy does not wane with distance."
Cassini had powders and potions out, and pentagrams and symbols drawn in the sand. The dust-devils were larger, lifting fifteen feet in the air.
"Good," Janos said. "The sandstorm will at least keep us safe from further attack. Although with those others out on the flanks, it will be hard to escape. Impossible, most likely, since I would think those men know where we are going... Now I must heal two wounds."
He turned to the soldiers, who knelt or sprawled in positions of defense. "Very good," he said. "You moved swiftly. I feel I chose well for my men." I, in turn, searched their faces, and was surprised to see none of the horror or borderline panic I had expected. Their expressions showed anger and traces of worry. Evidently this death, even thought it had been aided by sorcery, was not that much of a shock. Perhaps this was what was meant by the phrase "a soldier's lot."
"On your feet," Janos ordered. "We will be moving, and moving fast. Sergeant Maeen, detail two men to each ass to make certain they do not bolt if we are attacked again. And have the dead ass's pack broken up among the other animals. We will say the words for our comrade when our Evocator finishes his protective spell."
Cassini had evidently completed his work. Janos walked over to him as he repacked his gear. "My apologies, Evocator," he began. "I did not recognize you were already making your plans."
Cassini stared at him coldly. "You said once you had an interest in sorcery," he said. "Quite an interest indeed, to be familiar with a brother speaks to brother incantation. Such a familiarity in Orissa might require an explanation to the Council."
"Freely offered here," Janos said, trying to sound light. "I recollected that once, when I served Lycanth, such a spell was cast by my regiment's own sorcerer, when we were occupying a foreign city and being stalked by assassins from the rooftops."
I waited to see how much of a fool Cassini was. The Evocator eyed Janos. "Your memory," he said coldly, "works most expeditiously in moments of danger."
"So I have been told. May I give you a hand relashing your equipment? We must travel fast."
After the death ceremony over the dead soldier, I asked Janos what, exactly, were our plans. "Assuming," he said, "that this part of the route is like the others, we should strike a source of water, whether a well or an oasis, within two days at the most. I would propose if we have not been able to lose the nomads by then, we keep them from the water until they are forced by thirst to retreat."
"You do not think they'll have been discouraged by Cassini's magick and just give up?"
"Not a hope," Janos answered. "All that showed was we are travelers with power, which means that we have something worth taking. No. The battle has only begun." I prayed Janos was wrong.
We moved all night, following the stars and the track. At dawn I thought my prayers might have been answered, since there was no sign of our followers. Janos, however, looked even more worried, but refused to tell me why. Two hours later we saw, ahead of us on the horizon, a shimmering green that was not a mirage; it was an oasis. We reached it an hour before dusk. It was beautiful, blue ponds reflecting through low brush and shade-beckoning trees. Our eyes ached for this place, for color beyond the browns we were stumbling through.
We were only two spearcasts from entering it when the ululation began. The nomads had beaten us to the oasis. An arrow-shower, launched by muscle and not sorcery, arced out of the brush and landed a few yards from us.
Janos barked orders: "You men. Move the asses into that hollow. Sergeant Maeen, take charge of them. Cassini... Amalric... hold here with me. They will almost certainly be sending out an emissary."
I wondered how Janos could make such an assessment from a few arrows that buried themselves far short of our party. "Sheath your weapons, until I tell you otherwise," Greycloak went on, before I could ask. "When they come out, look proud, and defiant, not beaten. Our enemies want us alive."
Cassini asked how Janos could know this. "The arrow-launch was meant to intimidate, not harm. So those nomads wish us either for slaves or for sacrifice. Most likely the former, since no desert dweller wastes real substance on invisible gods unless forced."
Three men came out of the brush that ringed the oasis. They were dressed approximately the same: baggy kneebreeches and tunics, with flowing hooded cloaks. Curving swords were sheathed at their waists. Two of them carried reversed spears, with a white cloth tied between them. The other spread his hands out, palm open. They approached. I prepared to make the same symbol of peacefulness. Janos shook his head. "No."
He raised his voice: "Stop!" The three did. "How can you proclaim peace," he demanded, in trader's tongue, "when you have already killed one of us, and send arrows against us when we have shown you no enmity? Do you think us fools?"
The man in front laughed sharply, and answered in the same tongue, although brokenly as if he spoke it but seldom. "I do not see you as fools, no. I see you as... perhaps lambs. Lambs who have lost their flock, and are wandering through this wasteland, in danger from wolves and eagles. I... I am the shepherd, who offers safety and shelter."
"No doubt purely from the goodness of your soul," Janos said.
The man lifted his shoulders slightly. "No one does anything completely from benevolence," the man said. "Else he would be a god. The shepherd offers the lamb safety, and the lamb provides its wool and, in the end, its flesh so the shepherd may protect yet another generation. It is the way."
"How kind of you," Janos said. "But... perhaps there is something wrong with my vision. You speak of being a shepherd... and I see nothing but three cackling carrion crows, stinking of dung while they prate of honey." He pretended not to notice the hiss anger as he continued: "Nor are we lambs." Then his sword whipped out - and the slaver jumped back, his own hand going to his blade. "Lambs do not have fangs like this," Janos said. "Perhaps the desert sun has addled your senses, and you do not see you are challenging wolves." Janos turned to me. "Do you wish to accept this jackal's offer, and wear chains?" he asked, still in the trading tongue.
I did not need to think. "Nor I," Janos went on. "Never again." Cassini seemed to hesitate. "Evocator," Janos said, "you will not be included in his kind offer, but rather sacrificed to add to their shaman's power."
Cassini covered his hesitation. "I stand with you, of course."
"And I can speak for the soldiers," Janos finished. "You must take us with the sword, corpse-eater," he said to the slaver. "And in the taking you will bring sorrow to the tents of your people."
The nomad held up his hands in acceptance. "You have spoken bravely. Perhaps tomorrow... or the next day... you will croak differently when your water is
gone. Or perhaps my lions of the desert will not allow me to be merciful and wait until you have come to your senses." The three backed to the oasis, and disappeared.
"Cassini," Janos snapped, "a few words of the protective spell. Immediately!" Cassini had barely begun a mutter when an arrow shot from cover, aimed directly at Janos. I could see, as if we were all in amber, the arrow wobble as our Evocator's spell caught it. Then Janos stepped to one side and his free hand shot out, a blur and then he held the arrow. He broke it, cast it aside and turned, stalking back to the hollow. We followed.
Janos gathered the men and explained what had happened. One of two of the soldiers looked as if they might have reached a different decision if consulted, but hid their looks as quickly as Cassini had. Then the three of us withdrew to make plans.
Janos said: "They might wait until we all collapse before they make their move. But it is unlikely they would have that much patience. More probable is they will let us bake our brains for two or three days, and then attack. They certainly will not strike now, when we are fully alert. Warfare becomes more bloody the greater the number of soldiers on the field. When few fight, and many die, all lose in the long run. That is why nomads fight from ambush or with a sudden, unexpected raid."
Cassini furrowed his brow. "If that is true, Captain... then isn't it likely that when they do attack, if we can stand them off and hurt them, they might give up?"
"Exactly," Janos said. "Which is why we will pretend to be running out of water before dusk, and become increasingly feeble hour by hour. We shall drink only after dark, and all of us will husband our strength. If necessary, if they try to wait on us, we can kill the asses and drink their blood and stomach fluids."
It was not an idea, nor quite a vision that struck me then. But a certainty. "The slavers think," I began slowly, then more rapidly as my thoughts coalesced, "we are city dwellers or maybe farmers, correct? If they have sold us short, can't we use that arrogance against them? Sort of... sort of like no one takes a runner seriously if his oil is rancid or the robes he sheds at the line are tattered or dirty?" That particular example was one I'd been guilty of, and rued ever since.