The Treasured One: Book Two of The Dreamers

by Eddings, Leigh;Eddings, David

  A towering Maag came up from the water’s edge to join them. “The country around here looks a lot flatter than it was off to the West, Narasan,” he said, “and there aren’t so many trees.”

  “That doesn’t hurt my feelings too much, Sorgan,” Narasan replied. “Fighting a war in the bushes irritates me. This is Omago. He’s sort of in charge here.”

  “The chief, you mean?”

  “We’re a little less formal here, Sorgan,” Veltan said. “Omago doesn’t give orders to the other farmers. He makes suggestions sometimes, but that’s about as far as it goes.”

  “Veltan thinks that we might want to leave our men on board the ships for now,” Narasan said. “We’ll be marching on up into the mountains in just a few days anyway, so there wouldn’t be much point in having them come ashore and set up a camp.”

  “I’ll go along with you there, Veltan,” Sorgan agreed.

  “I will want to take you and Narasan—and any others you might want to bring along—up to my house,” Veltan added. “I’ve put together a map that you’d better have a look at. The terrain where we’ll be fighting this time’s much steeper than the ravine above Lattash was.”

  Sorgan shrugged. “I’ll bring Ox and Ham-Hand,” he said. “When you get right down to it, though, this is Narasan’s war. I just came along for the ride.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it, Sorgan,” Narasan flared.

  “Maybe not,” Sorgan replied with a wicked grin, “but this time we’re going to do things your way. That means that I get to blame you when things go wrong.”

  “You’re all heart, Sorgan,” Narasan said sourly.

  “I thought you might have noticed that,” Sorgan replied, grinning even more broadly.

  Omago saw that the two widely different men had apparently developed a strong friendship during the course of the war in the West, and he believed that would probably be very useful when trouble arrived.

  “Just exactly how’s the church organized here in the Land of Dhrall?” the thin, leather-clad Trogite called Jalkan asked Omago curiously as they were all following the path from the beach through the wheat-fields to Veltan’s house.

  “I’m not sure I follow you,” Omago replied. “What exactly do you mean by ‘church’?”

  “Priests. The ones who lead the people in their prayers and make sure that they aren’t violating the articles of the faith.” Jalkan seemed very curious about this.

  “We don’t have anything like that here in Veltan’s Domain,” Omago replied. “I’ve heard that there’s something along those lines over in the Domain of his sister Aracia, but Veltan doesn’t seem to think we need anything like that here in the Southland. If someone wants to ask Veltan a question, he just goes up to his house and talks with him about it, but they usually go through me for some reason.”

  “Are you saying that you talk directly with your god?” Jalkan demanded in a shocked voice.

  “That’s why he’s there, isn’t it?”

  “But—” Jalkan floundered.

  “Different places have different customs, I guess,” Omago said. “We’re fairly relaxed here in the South.”

  “Where are all the gold mines located?” Jalkan quickly changed the subject. “That’s what this war’s all about, isn’t it? I mean, these invaders we’ll be fighting are coming here because they want your gold, don’t they?”

  “I doubt it. I don’t think the servants of the Vlagh are very interested in the yellow metal some people use for trinkets. The Vlagh wants our land and the food we grow.”

  Jalkan’s expression turned suspicious, and he abruptly stalked away.

  “I wouldn’t answer too many of that one’s questions, Omago,” the tall archer Longbow suggested quietly. “The other Trogites don’t like him very much. He’s very greedy, and he doesn’t treat his men too well.”

  “These outlanders are peculiar, aren’t they?”

  Longbow smiled faintly. “They seem to think that we’re the peculiar ones. Their lives are very complicated, but we try our best to keep everything simple. I’m not sure exactly why, but that seems to offend them for some reason.”

  “I’ll be glad when this is all over and they pack up and go home.”

  “You’re not alone there, friend Omago.”

  “That’s impossible!” The Trogite called Padan exclaimed, staring in awe at Veltan’s house. “It’s all one solid rock!”

  Veltan shrugged. “It keeps the bad weather out,” he said. “I noticed back in Kaldacin that most of the fancy buildings down there let in a lot of cold air.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “Are you sure that you really want to know, Padan?” Veltan asked with a sly little grin.

  Padan gave him a quick, slightly startled look. “I don’t think so,” he said after a moment. “I’m getting a strong notion that I won’t sleep too well if you tell me exactly how you made it.”

  “Let’s all go on inside, friends,” Veltan said to the outlanders. “I stole an idea from Rabbit and made a detailed map of the region where we’ll probably meet the enemy. I think you should all have a look at it so you’ll know what we’ll be coming up against.”

  Omago waited near the door until Ara joined him. “How’s Yaltar?” he asked his wife quietly.

  “Not all that well, dear,” Ara replied. “As I understand it, he had to do something fairly awful up there in Zelana’s Domain, and it’s really bothering him. Zelana’s doing what she can to calm him, but about the only thing that helps him is holding Eleria’s hand.”

  “Are you going to stay with them?” Omago asked her.

  “I think I’d better, dear. We’ll be in the kitchen. I’ll need to fix supper for these outlanders anyway, and the smell of cooking food usually makes Yaltar feel better.”

  Omago smiled. “The smell of your cooking makes everybody feel better, dear heart,” he said fondly.

  “It seems that way, doesn’t it? Run along, dear. Veltan might need some help explaining things to the strangers.”

  Omago rejoined the others, and they trailed along behind Veltan and entered a large room that so far as Omago could recall he’d never seen before. That wasn’t really unusual, though. Every now and then Veltan rearranged his house, switching the locations of various rooms for no particular reason.

  “This is my map-room,” Veltan announced with a certain pride. “It’s sort of based on your war-room back in Kaldacin, Commander Narasan, but there are a few variations.”

  “I noticed that,” the Trogite commander said with a kind of awe in his voice. The room was circular, and the doorway opened onto a sort of balcony that was perhaps ten feet above the floor. The map Veltan had constructed lay down below, and so far as Omago could determine, it was a perfect duplicate of the mountainous country around the Falls of Vash. Omago knew that Veltan was gifted, but this was astonishingly accurate.

  “Where’s all that water coming from?” Sorgan Hook-Beak asked. “I don’t see any little streams leading into that river that’s tumbling over the edge of the cliff.”

  “It comes up from beneath the ground,” Veltan explained. “It’s a bit quiet right now. Every now and then it gets sort of excited, and the water spurts about a hundred feet up into the air.”

  “Did you put that there, Veltan?” the young Trogite Keselo asked.

  Veltan shook his head. “I think an earthquake might have caused it. The ground’s a bit unstable under those mountains.”

  “The ground up there by that waterfall’s a whole lot steeper than what we encountered in the ravine above Lattash,” Sorgan observed. “That might give us a bit of trouble on down the line.”

  “Could you come up with a notion of just when we can expect the enemy to reach that area, Veltan?” Commander Narasan asked.

  “We’re encountering the same problem we came up against in the ravine above Lattash,” Veltan replied. “My brother’s Dreamer told him where, but he couldn’t be very specific about when.”

&nbs
p; “If they’ve been boring tunnels under the ground, they might be up there waiting for us already,” Padan suggested.

  “No,” the young Trogite Keselo disagreed. “It took them centuries to bore their way through the rock from the stairway to the caves leading to those ancient villages in the ravine. They haven’t had enough time to get to that waterfall yet.”

  “I think Keselo might be right, Padan,” Narasan said. “If the tunnels were already there, the enemies would probably have invaded both regions at the same time. I don’t think we’re going to encounter tunnels this time. It seems to me that this invasion is an act of desperation. The volcanos closed off that ravine permanently, and something’s driving the enemy to seize new land, and it doesn’t seem to matter which region the new land lies in. Does that sound about right to you, Sorgan?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it that much, but it does sort of make sense,” Hook-Beak conceded. “If that’s the way it really stands, we’d better hustle right along. As soon as we get up there, we’ll probably have to start building forts and such. We don’t want to come up against those snake-men on open ground if we can avoid it.”

  “I think you’re right, Sorgan,” Narasan said. “The rest of my army should be arriving fairly soon, but let’s get some advance forces up to the top of the falls as quickly as we can. I definitely don’t want those snake-men creeping up behind me like they did last time. I’m getting just a little too old for surprises.”

  5

  Ara came through the door of the round room about an hour later. “Supper’s ready,” she announced. “Come along and eat it before it gets cold.”

  “I think you’re in for a treat, gentlemen,” Veltan said with a note of pride. “Ara’s probably the best cook in the whole wide world.”

  “I’d say that she’s wasting her real talent, then,” Jalkan declared with an obscene leer. “A woman with a body like hers could make a fortune in Kaldacin.”

  A chill came over Omago. “I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at, Jalkan,” he said in a flat, unemotional tone.

  “Are you blind, man? This servant sets my blood to boiling. I’d pay good gold for the chance to get her in bed.”

  Without even thinking, Omago drove his fist into the scrawny Trogite’s mouth, knocking him flat on his back.

  Jalkan stumbled back up, spitting blood, teeth, and curses as he clawed at his knife hilt.

  Keselo’s sword, however, came out of its sheath more smoothly and rapidly. The young man put the point of his sword against the bone-thin Trogite’s throat. “Drop it, Jalkan,” he said quite firmly. “Drop the knife, or I’ll kill you right here on the spot.”

  “But this peasant just hit me!” Jalkan screamed. “That’s a hanging offense! I’m an officer!”

  “Not anymore, you aren’t,” Narasan declared in a flat tone of voice. “I’ve put up with you for much too long already, and you’ve just given me something that I’ve been waiting for. Your army career is finished, Jalkan, and good riddance.”

  “You can’t do that!” Jalkan screamed at Narasan. “I paid gold for my commission! Gold!”

  “You just forfeited the gold, Jalkan. You’re done.” Narasan turned. “Padan, chain this scoundrel and take him back to the beach. I’ll decide what to do with him later—after I get my temper under control.” He turned to Omago. “Did you want to deal with this yourself, or would you rather that I did it? I’m not too clear about the customs here in the Land of Dhrall. It was your wife he insulted, though, so I think it’s only proper that you should decide his fate.”

  “Just get him out of my sight, Commander,” Omago said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “I’ll take care of it, then.” Narasan looked at Padan. “Get this scummy lecher out of here,” he ordered.

  “My pleasure, Commander,” Padan said with a broad grin. “Did you want to go peacefully, scummy lecher? Or would you rather have me kick your behind every step of the way back to the beach?”

  “Nicely put, Padan,” Red-Beard said admiringly.

  “I’ve always had this way with words,” Padan replied modestly.

  There were several strangers in the round map-room with Veltan the next morning when Omago arrived.

  “Ah, there you are, Omago,” Veltan greeted him. “There are some people here I’d like you to meet.” He gestured at an imposing, grey-bearded man wearing clothes made of furry animal skins. “This is my older brother, Dahlaine of the North.”

  “Omago,” the bearded one said, briefly nodding.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Omago replied a bit uncertainly. There was something about Veltan’s brother that made Omago just a bit nervous.

  “You’ve already met my sister Zelana,” Veltan continued, “but this is my other sister, Aracia.”

  Aracia wore splendid clothes and a superior expression.

  “Ma’am,” Omago said politely.

  “Dahlaine and Aracia thought it might be wise to bring the leaders of the armies they’ve hired here so that they can observe,” Veltan said. “They’ll almost certainly be coming up against the creatures of the Wasteland before much longer, and it won’t hurt if they know what they’ll be facing.”

  “Let me take care of this, Veltan,” the bearded Dahlaine said. He turned back to Omago. “Veltan tells us that you’re the leader of his army,” he said.

  “I don’t know if I’d go quite so far as to call my people an army,” Omago said. “We aren’t really all that familiar with weapons, but Commander Narasan’s promised to see to it that we’ll get the training we’re going to need.”

  “Have you ever heard of horses?” Dahlaine asked.

  Omago frowned. “I don’t believe I have,” he admitted.

  “A horse is something like a cow—except that it doesn’t have horns, and it can run much faster than a cow,” Dahlaine explained. He reached out and put his hand on the shoulder of a lean man with a scarred face. “This is Prince Ekial, the leader of the horse people. Quite some time ago, Ekial’s people tamed the horses and taught them how to carry things. After a while, it occurred to some clever fellow that if a horse could carry heavy bags of grain or loads of firewood from one place to another, it could probably carry people just as well—and a horse can run much faster than a man can. The horse people did that for quite some time, and then a war came along. The horse people found that fighting from the back of a horse could be very effective. Since there aren’t any horses here in the Land of Dhrall, the servants of the Vlagh won’t have any idea of what they’re encountering. I’m fairly sure that they aren’t going to like horses and the men who’ll be riding them very much at all—that’s the ones who’ll survive, and I don’t think there’ll be very many survivors.”

  “Do you actually sit on an animal’s back when you want to go somewhere?” Omago asked the scar-faced Prince Ekial.

  Ekial shrugged. “It’s easier than doing the walking ourselves,” he replied, “and horses love to run. If you’ve got a good horse, you can go from here to there about five times faster than you could if you did the walking yourself.”

  “Can we get on with this?” Aracia said abruptly. “I have other things I need to attend to.” She turned to look at Omago. “Please don’t get all excited, Omago,” she said. She pointed at a tall woman who had a very long knife hanging from the leather belt encircling her waist. “This is Trenicia, the queen of the warrior women of the Isle of Akalla. Different places have different traditions and different customs. On the Isle of Akalla, the women rule, and the women do the fighting.”

  “What do the men do?” the horseman Ekial asked curiously.

  “As little as they possibly can,” the warrior woman said in a sardonic tone. “Over the years, they’ve foisted just about everything off on us. We have to grow the food, hunt the meat, and fight the wars. The men sit around getting fat and arguing with each other about something they call ‘philosophy’—most of which is pure nonsense.”

  “Isn’t your s
word just a little slender?” the horseman asked curiously. “I wouldn’t think it’s quite strong enough to cut through any kind of armor.”

  “Why would I want to waste my time banging on somebody’s armor?” Trenicia asked scornfully. “The important part of my sword is the point. It’s very sharp, and it slides through an enemy quite smoothly. There are all sorts of important things in an enemy’s belly or head. My enemy always seems to lose interest in a war after I’ve slid my sword through her a few times.”

  “Are you saying that you fight wars with other women?” Zelana asked with a certain surprise.

  “We almost have to,” Trenicia replied. “The men of Akalla don’t really know which end of a sword is which. There was an argument on the Isle a few years back about who was really the queen. We don’t have to argue anymore, though. Everybody who’s still alive wholeheartedly agrees that I am queen, and I give the orders.” She smiled a sunny sort of smile. “Isn’t that just lovely?” she asked them.