Heritage of Fire

by Dave Luckett

  It was Rousset, with a man on her back, using the spurs. She was fighting the bit. They would not get Rousset or Hal! Gerd rolled upright again, and as the horse passed him, he leaped at its rider. He knocked him out of the saddle and clung to him, landing on top, driving the breath out of his lungs. The sword was too long to use, but it was a solid weight in Gerd's hand, and its pommel connected solidly with something. The man stopped writhing, and relaxed. At first Gerd thought he was dead, but his chest still rose and fell.

  Again he pulled himself upright, and caught at Rousset's bridle. She was snorting and dancing, but she knew him, and was quick to calm once she heard his voice. Other horses were strung behind, among them Hal. Out in the darkness beyond the firelight came a drumming of hooves - but only a few of them. No more than three or four horses were running away.

  And now here was the merchant. He was carrying a double-curved bow with an arrow on the string, as he emerged from the darkness. "I missed my man," he remarked, without heat. "I see that you did not."

  Gerd looked at him. He seemed remarkably composed, for a man who had been woken in the deep night to find himself beset by armed robbers. "They got some of the horses," Gerd said.

  "Not the best of them. Yours are here, I see." He nodded at Rousset. "But you saved most of mine, and my goods and life into the bargain."

  Gerd finished quieting Rousset. "You saw?"

  "I woke to your warning, and then I heard Wabi's voice as he warmed his feet in my fire. I think he'll smart from that for some time." He smiled. "Not half so much as he will smart when the Guild catches up with him and Marud, who was the other. Or as much as will Arhin here, as soon as he wakes up."

  Gerd looked at the figure at his feet. It was indeed Arhin, with blood on his head. His eyes were open, but they wandered aimlessly. "Do you think it would have come to murder?" Gerd asked.

  The merchant shrugged. "Wabi, at least, was creeping up on me with a knife. I very much doubt he was going to offer to trim my toenails with it." He nodded in the direction of the other fire, now no more than a faint glow. "The arrow came from over there. Marud shot it, I believe. If you doubt that he meant to kill you then, try looking at your bedroll. I don't think he was over there by chance."

  Gerd moved across to where he had slept. His blankets were lying in a tangle, but he picked them up. They had been thrown across the bundle he had been using as a pillow, and a single slit had been driven through all of them with a blade. If he had not woken, it would have been him with the hole.

  He straightened. "Keep away from the fire," warned the merchant. "They might take it into their heads to shoot, if they've stopped running."

  Gerd hurried back, keeping low. "You were right," he said. "All three. They tried to stab me as I slept."

  "All three," agreed the merchant. "The Guild shall hear of this. And the Order of the Western Knights, too. There will be no town nor village on the plains nor the islands, not even as far as Loriso itself, where they can show their faces." The merchant looked around and then up, checking the stars. "Geseret is near to setting. First light in an hour. We can reach Tagra today, if we push along, and there's a watch-post there. The Guild will furnish me replacement guards and fresh horses."

  "We should move now, and quietly, in case they return."

  "No. I'm not leaving my merchandise behind, and we need light to load up. Can you use a bow?" Gerd shook his head. "Small loss. As an archer, I would back myself against either of them. Not that I think they'll return. That leaves us an hour, and I know how I'd like to spend it." Hamil Nusta looked down at the prostrate Arhin, and smiled. He had been unstringing his bow as he spoke, but now a knife appeared in his hand. "They say these Jeremites are hard men, but I'll warrant I can get a whimper or two out of him."

  Gerd looked down at the man at his feet, who was starting to twitch. "He's safe enough now," he began, but the merchant ignored him.

  Nusta stooped, propped the prostrate Arhin against his knee, and bent his head back. "His ears first," he murmured. "That ought to wake him up." The knife gleamed in his hand.

  Gerd felt his own hand move, almost as though he had not willed it. It clamped on the merchant's wrist. He heard his own voice bark: "No!"

  Wide eyes gleamed up in the darkness, merchant's and traitor's alike. "What is this?" asked Nusta. "He'd have killed both of us. Should he not be punished?"

  Gerd shook his head. He couldn't have said why his stomach roiled. He'd helped to butcher hogs on occasion, and this was much the same. But his voice came, cold and sure. "I'll have no cutting up of a helpless man. This is for the law to decide."

  Nusta's lip curled. "Law? What law? This is the Dry Plains. There is no law here."

  The stars glittered coldly down, and the slow, cold night wind stirred, whispering in the scrub. The tall spires of the rocks loomed above them like guardians, as if leaning down to hear them. Gerd searched for words. "There is law everywhere," he managed at last, and then, as if he had heard a prompt, "We carry it inside ourselves. Where else can it be, if not there?"

  Nusta glared up at him, and then tried to pull his arm away, but Gerd was the stronger. He glared again, and then stood up, letting the bandit slump to the ground again. "Very well," he muttered after a minute. "I don't suppose I can complain if you have scruples. But that means we have to bring him with us. Bind him, then."

  Gerd had no objection to that. He rolled the man over, and tied his hands behind his back with the leather thongs that were used for securing bundles to packsaddles. Arhin was starting to groan and twitch. "Don't complain," muttered Gerd. "It's better than the other thing." Better than what Arhin had had in mind for him, too, and he couldn't say why that wasn't important.

  Late the following afternoon the dust-coloured walls of a village came into sight, near a group of wells. A few shabby trees of a sort Gerd did not know gave a little shade, but a column of white smoke arose from within the walls. It seemed thicker than what would be expected from a chimney, even a large one.

  The caravan halted outside the walls, and the horses were watered. The turret of a watch-house could be seen, and presently the gates opened to allow a rider to sally out and inspect the caravan. This was a man a little older than Hamil Nusta, but with the same colouring and short black beard.

  "Sharwei, my old friend," said the merchant. "Allow me to introduce you to Gerd, who appears to have scruples. Unlike Arhin, whom you see slung over the saddle of that horse. Arhin tried to murder us both, out by Tam's Rocks."

  The face of the other showed little surprise. He examined Arhin's face, which was as closed as a wall and remote as the sky. "Another Jeremite," he said, as though confirming something he knew already. "We've had trouble with them."

  "Ah," breathed Hamil Nusta. "I wondered why the gates were closed, at this time of day. It isn't sunset yet. And there's the smoke."

  "We had a raid yesterday. It was beaten off with little trouble, but they had some men inside as well. If they'd managed to open the gates, we'd all have had our throats slit. As it was, those inside got into the cloth warehouse and fired it." Sharwei glanced briefly over his shoulder. "A hundred bales of cotton and two hundred bolts of finished silk, not to mention the rest. All in ashes."

  "Ay-yih!" The merchant gave what appeared to be a cry of grief, and yet there was a brief flare in his eyes. "The northern caravan had come in, then."

  "Indeed. The raiders timed it deliberately. Now the prices will triple, and they have control of the supply."

  Hamil Nusta shook his head, his lips pursed in apparent regret and chagrin. "And here am I with only a few poor pieces of cloth left after trade at Geet and our adventure in the desert."

  The other cast a knowing eye over the loads on the remaining horses. "A few small pieces only," he murmured. "The trade at Geet must have been brisk indeed. My own information is that no easterners have appeared yet, for the season is too early. Those who come later will be devastated to hear of the increase in the prices."

 
; Hamil Nusta smiled brilliantly. "Of course I would not seek to make such profits from a fellow Guild member."

  "Naturally not. Still, no doubt some return is due to you, if such a fellow member were to wish to relieve you of your remaining stock. Shall we discuss the matter over tea?"

  "A moment. Gerd, here, insisted that we bring Arhin for a proper hanging. I told you he had scruples. And I need to hire new guards, because Gerd, as he will no doubt insist on telling you, is not my man. He was along for the travel only. Are there any reliable men to be found here?"

  "Certainly. The Haziris hate the Jeremites; the raid has only made them the more loyal. You will find plenty for your needs in the market place." Sharwei shrugged. "What with the loss of trade goods, there is the less traffic outbound, and the men will be glad to be hired for the journey back to the coast."

  "The thought had already occurred to me, colleague. If you will be so good as to signal the gate to open, we can pass through, I can hire my men, we can discuss our business, and Gerd can deliver Arhin to the law he loves so well."

  Gerd shook his head. Squire Penrose had been his master, but the Squire had never spoken of him as though he were not present at all, and did not matter. Since then, Gerd had been his own master, and he found he had grown to dislike being treated that way. "Wait," he said. "The law would hang Arhin?"

  Hamil Nusta had already begun to turn away. Sharwei was gesturing towards the gates. From behind them came the clatter of a bar being removed. "What else?" asked Nusta, dismissively. "But since you are so strong for it, I leave it to you."

  Gerd hesitated. "He didn’t actually commit any crime but the attempted theft of horses, and he failed at that."

  Nusta looked nonplussed. "Horsethieving alone is a hanging offence, whether he was successful at it or not. Further, any attack by a guard on his master, or on any Guild member, is also a hanging offence. That is Guild law."

  Gerd shook his head, confused. "What is this Guild you keep speaking of?"

  This time the merchant's voice was impatient. "The Merchant's Guild of the Coast, of course. I am a Guild member, and so is Sharwei."

  "But I am not, and neither is Arhin."

  Nusta shrugged. "It was you, was it not, who told me that we carry the law with us wherever we go? Each man to his own law, then. That is ours."

  "Your law," wheezed Arhin. His face was congested, but anger was beneath. "The law that says your profit is more than our lives. Two brothers I had, and now I have none. The merchant they served refused even to pay their blood-money to their widows. That was your law."

  But the merchants had already simply turned their backs and were strolling towards the opening gates, beginning to discuss the prices to be paid for the cloth. As the gates swung open, other men in mail could be seen within, manning the walls.

  "Haziris," whispered Arhin. It was a painful rasp. Gerd supposed that he would feel the same after a day slung over a pack saddle. He had given the man food and water twice during the ride, and Arhin had looked at him with wonder, as if never expecting it. "They are the enemies of my blood. Hang? I will never live to hang. Better I had been left to the mercies of the merchant."

  Gerd's knife was in his hand before he knew how it came to be there. Arhin stretched his head up, baring his throat. "A favour," he said. "Make it quick."

  Gerd shook his head. He cut the bonds on Arhin's feet and wrists with two quick strokes, then shoved him backwards off the horse. "The merchant left you to me. Very well, then. Go your way."

  The Jeremite crouched in the dust, rubbing his thighs and wrists, trying to restore circulation. He looked up in wonder. Gerd slung down a waterskin. "Make it fast," he said, glancing towards the gate. "Those two Guildsmen might recall themselves from their haggling soon enough to tell your foes that you're here."

  "Why are you doing this?" asked Arhin. The sun was setting. Its light was harsh on his face.

  Gerd hardly knew. He shook his head. "I've had enough of not being worth noticing," he said. It was the only answer he could think of.

  Arhin stood, shakily. He picked up the waterskin by its strap. "We Jeremites descend from prophets; it is said that all of us have some of the gift. It tells me that you will not need to worry about not being noticed for much longer."

  He nodded, turned and was gone into the gathering dusk, leaving Gerd holding the rein, and still wondering at himself.

  Lameth was no great city, but it was not so small that it made much of the arrival of a caravan. The caravan had among its guards a dusty, hard-faced young rider with a couple of good horses to sell. The horse-trader in the market tried to cheat him, of course, but found that the young man knew the value of his stock, and would not be gulled. Nor did he take the attempt amiss, as a surly peasant would have done. He seemed to know what to expect, and to attach no blame for it. And he spoke softly, with courtesy. The trader tagged him accordingly as a gentleman and was polite, despite the smallness of his profit on the trade. Anyway, the young man wore a businesslike blade.

  "Where can I buy passage westward?" asked the young man, pocketing the price.

  "At this season, sir? Few ships are outbound now. It's still too early in the year. Perhaps the harbour-master can tell you. That's his office there, hard by the quay."

  The young man nodded thanks and shouldered his way through the crowd, hand clamped on his purse in case of pickpockets. Though, thought the trader, I think it would be a bold thief who tried it on that one. He turned back to his horses.

  At the harbourmaster's office the clerk directed Gerd to the Nihona, a Lorisoan trading cog loading for the return voyage to Loriso and the western Isles. Everyone knew that Lorisoan seamen had no fear of the sea, not even in winter, for they were all weather-mages. "They say that you can get a ship at Loriso for Wizard's Isle," remarked the clerk. "Though you'll need to watch what you're about. Folk are queer, out there."

  Gerd passed over a small silver coin. "You sound like you know them well," he said.

  "Me, sir?" The clerk caused the coin to disappear. "Not me. I wouldn't go out there, not for anything. But I know their ship's masters, and the crews. Mind you, the seamen all right, I suppose. No worse than most. But I didn't mean them. No, I meant the people who actually live out there. Strange, they are. Put a hex on you soon as look at you."

  "And you know this because the seamen tell you these things, of course."

  "Aye," said the clerk, comfortably. "Why, it's common knowledge." And he smiled knowingly at the young man, and allowed himself to feel just a little pity for a fellow who knew so little of the world.

  Gerd nodded, left the office, turned right and walked down to the docks, wondering whether anything much of the world was known by anyone.

  6

  "Aye," the captain allowed. "We're bound for Loriso. Looks like a cargo of hides and tallow, though. Ye'll not mind a little stink?" He inspected Gerd doubtfully, taking in the new clothes that Gerd had bought in the town. They were simply cut, dark, without ruffles, but the cloth was good quality, and the lad wore them with assurance. Perhaps he wouldn't be the sort to …

  Gerd shrugged. It might be a week before the next trader sailed, and that one might be no better. "If I must," he said. "Naturally, you can't expect me to pay luxury rates."

  The captain's face creased. He had him tagged now. This was a prosperous merchant's apprentice, most likely, travelling on his master's business. "Now, lad. I'll not cheat yer. Best passenger's berth in the fleet, all meals in the mate's mess, say, a crown a day. Or we'll say twenty crowns for the whole voyage, no matter if it takes a month."

  Gerd smiled and shook his head. "No, no, I don't think you understand. I only want passage out to Loriso. I don't want to hire the whole ship, still less buy it …"

  The caravan-master had been the same, and the horse-trader. The journey had already taken a month or more, and Gerd was already aware that the world was different from home. Or perhaps he himself was becoming different. He was changing. He was learning
to cope.

  Well, he had to. There was only one way forward, really, and it led onward. He couldn't go back. Go back? What, to the inn and the village and Dan Miller and his friends? There had only been one road on from the pass, and he had taken it. The village of Geet was no place to stay, and the villagers there were as close and clannish as those behind. The caravan had been the only way on, and now he had to go on again. Lameth was larger, but there was no place for him here, either. And there was something else - a new hunger to see what was over the world's edge. Gerd wondered at it himself, but perhaps this was the life he really wanted. Perhaps he would meet his future self striding the deck, a venturer striking out into the unknown.

  But the grey-green immensity of the ocean took him by surprise as the ship nosed out of the harbour on the dawn tide. The regular marching order of the waves amazed him, and the swoop and twist of the ship's long corkscrew rolls at first delighted, then dismayed him. Did it never stop? Horrified, he watched the ever-changing angle between the rail and the horizon, and saw that the horizon itself rose and fell. He staggered. His head spun. A mighty qualm seized him, like a giant’s hand squeezing under his breastbone. To his utter confusion, his stomach heaved. He leaned over. By sheer chance it was to leeward, so that he didn’t get his last meal all over himself. His last several meals.