The Magic Mines of Asharim

by Pauline M. Ross

  “Not from you.”

  “We should talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you, and no desire to listen to anything you want to say to me.”

  He nodded, and without a word, turned and padded away again. That made me even angrier, of course. Demons, couldn’t he at least protest, make a fuss, show some passion where I was concerned? Yet his mind was calm. Subdued, perhaps, and not bubbling with fun any longer, but perfectly calm, except for a thread of excitement. And desire. My heart was heavy as I watched him leave.

  ~~~~~

  Five days we waited, perched uncomfortably amongst the rabble. During the day, the place was a riot of traders shouting their wares, bargainers arguing and workers crashing about with carts. At night it was drunken brawls, the whores calling for customers, and occasional screams in the distance. Twice my pavilion was breached by thieves, who fled, screeching, when flames burst from my fingers. Zak dispatched another more conventionally, with his fists.

  I barely slept, and ate little, my nerves shredded by the delay. Each night, I lay wakefully amidst the wild racket of the camp, jumping at every little scratching or rustling. The wait was tiresome, but what I faced afterwards was worse. I was giving myself voluntarily to a savage who cared nothing for me, who had the right to beat me if I displeased him, to kill me if the whim took him. And at night – the Hrandish had some strange customs. Sex was just another form of warfare to them. Well, I had weapons of my own, but did I have the self-control to let this man do what he wanted to me, without hitting back? He would be no use to me dead.

  We woke one day to noise and excitement around the city entrance.

  “They are coming for you,” The Third Protector said.

  The procession crawled through the densely packed camp to reach our pavilions. We had plenty of time to put on our ceremonial clothes and prepare ourselves. Zak looked magnificent in formal Mesanthian wear, and the Third Protector was rather splendid in his light mail. Xando and Renni looked much as usual.

  I was wearing a Hrandish outfit for the occasion. I wouldn’t be able to wear my own clothes once I was ensconced in the women’s quarters, so it was as well to get used to the idea. Instead of trousers, I had a narrow skirt, slit on one side to allow me to walk a little, a tight bodice with sleeves, covered by a flimsy tunic and over-skirt. Hrandish women covered their heads completely, so I was swathed in a heavy linen scarf. Silk was not allowed unless provided for me by a warrior. Then on top of all that, I wore my thrower’s coat.

  The procession drew nearer, with many shouts. The lead warrior stood, arms folded, on a throon, a flat platform with a small rail. Four men carried the throon, while his two krin haar ran in front with whips, encouraging the throngs of excited traders and customers to move aside. A second throon followed, this one fitted with a chair. I was to be carried to my wedding.

  The warrior standing so proudly on his throon was familiar. Prince Kru Hruart had come himself to fetch me, in his very best array of feathers and paint. That was unexpected, for usually a very junior warrior would be sent to greet an important guest. Not that there was any greeting made. No words of welcome, or polite enquiries as to the journey, or my state of health. It was not the Hrandish way.

  The two throona were lowered to the ground. I stepped onto mine and sat down, and the procession immediately set off again. The Protector, Zak, the two Tre’annatha and an honorary escort of ten Keeper’s Guards had to scramble along in our wake. Fortunately, the journey back to the city was even slower than the outward one, for the crowds had thickened to see the strange sight of a foreign woman in the company of a warrior prince.

  The entrance to the city was a simple archway made of three wooden poles, carved with a multitude of ugly faces, distorted with rage. The faces of battle. A clump of warriors barred the way, leaning casually against one of the uprights, or squatting in the dirt fighting for bones. They ignored the mass of ordinary folk, Hrandish and foreign alike, milling about the arch, shouting for attention, and shoving others aside to get closer. The krin haar had to wield their whips with ferocity to force a path for us. I was profoundly grateful for my newfound ability to shut out the tumult of so many minds.

  The warriors slouched aside to let us pass, and we entered the city.

  The Keeper’s Guard was left behind, for the Most Mighty Prince Kru Hrin permitted foreigners no weapons within his domain. The Protector abandoned his sword to continue with the procession, and Zak handed over a pair of daggers. Xando and Renni had no weapons to surrender.

  Beyond the arch, the path was paved, its Empire-built stone uncracked, not a weed protruding. To one side of it, the mountains threw up jagged peaks. On the other, the lake wall towered above our heads. Even now, at the end of summer, water still poured from several crevices around the summit, falling many hundreds of paces to thunder into the pools below, rushing into stone-carved channels and then to the river. The force filled the air with moisture, dampening my hair and misting my skin.

  So much water! I’d forgotten how wet this place was, with its great river and a thousand smaller streams pouring through it. Yet they grudged any of it to Mesanthia, thirsting at the edge of the desert. But that would change soon enough. I smiled inwardly.

  The path curved round the edge of the lake, rising with a smooth gradient. The warriors carrying the throona set a fast pace, rushing us up the path to the lakeside. Before long we reached the top, although the lake itself was still hidden by the rim, glimpsed now and then through crevices. Then a longer gap, and the full extent of it was visible, more than a mark across, its water a deep blue. At the far side, the tunnel disgorged a torrent of water from higher up the mountains, churning the lake to foam, constantly filling the crater so that it spilled over the edge.

  The tunnel. The only access to the upper reaches of the river, and the way I must take for my plan to succeed. But there were several steps to be taken first, and each one critical. I must not be distracted. I turned my gaze back to the lake shore, and the city coming into view ahead of us as we emerged from the crevice between mountain and lake.

  Despite having lived at Hurk Hranda for five years, I’d never seen the lake before. Foreigners normally entered the city only when it was dark, something shameful to be kept secret and hidden. It was brightmoon when my father and I had arrived, so we’d waited until well past midnight before it was dark enough. I was barely nine, exhausted by long days of travel. A servant had carried me, fast asleep, up this path and on to the foreign quarter. And there I’d stayed, venturing out rarely. When we left, escaping in great haste after the incident with Prince Kru Karn, it was again dark, with nothing to be seen of the famous waters.

  Now I was disappointed. It was smaller than I’d expected, and the city we were approaching looked little better than the ramshackle camp we’d left behind, despite the flags and banners fluttering. The colourful wooden buildings that I’d thought so exotic as a child, with their painted faces and carved finials, seemed shabby and insubstantial. Mesanthia’s solid stonework was imposing, with a permanence even war and subjugation could not destroy. Hurk Hranda called itself a city, but it was no more than a Hrandish nomadic camp, flimsy and vulnerable.

  As soon as we reached the fringes of the city, we were surrounded by crowds of curious onlookers. With the shouts of those wanting a view of us, and the angry yells and cracking whips of the krin haar, the noise made my ears ring. Thank the One I could shut out their minds, for the tumult would have been unbearable.

  We halted outside the meeting pavilion. This at least was a fine structure, the roof supported by beams many handspans wide, carved in restrained spiral patterns. Painted glass panels kept out the wind, without excluding interested onlookers.

  The prince leapt off his throon and marched with long strides up the steps to the meeting pavilion platform. The Protector offered an arm to me as I disembarked more carefully. Xando rushed forward to take my other side. With Zak and Renni behind, we made our stately way through the jos
tling mass into the pavilion.

  Somewhere nearby, I detected flickers. I was always aware of Xando’s and Renni’s, as well as my own, but these were different. Not large numbers, just a few here and there, but enough to make me curious. Many Hrandish trained a few flickers for their own use, but there was no law requiring them to wear a special coat, and it was impossible to tell whose clothing concealed a few secrets. Flickers were just another kind of weapon here, to be hidden away until needed.

  The pavilion was crowded and that immediately made me uneasy. I’d read enough of Hrandish customs to know who would be present to witness the ceremony to come. One or two of the prince’s brothers, perhaps, and a gaggle of the prince’s own warriors. Most importantly, for a foreigner, one of the army commanders. His role, since so few in the city were capable of writing, was to record the event and send official word back to Mesanthia.

  I noticed Most Noble Commander Birin, conspicuous in his linen uniform, carrying his golden helmet under one arm. Amongst the warriors in their silks and feathers, Birin’s drab garments looked out of place. Much of the Empire had been lost, but all the armies of the plains still wore some version of the Imperial uniform, the same practical tunic, trousers and boots.

  Birin looked me straight in the eye, not bothering to hide his contempt. I had last looked down on him from the wall at Twisted Rock, as he stood dripping in the rain amongst his soldiers. Most of them were dead now, I supposed, killed by the flickers in an attack so frenzied that my own flickers were aware of it, even from the other side of the mountain. Now he was to witness my marriage to one of his people.

  At least I had expected to see him. But so many others here – why? Several were princes, judging by their feathers, and they would all have their krin haar with them, and some of their favoured subordinates. And at the far end of the pavilion was the one man I had not expected to see – the Most Mighty Prince Kru Hrin, ruler of Hurk Hranda and leader of the largest of the Hrandish tribes.

  I lowered my eyes. It would not do to offend such a man. But even a quick glance had shown me the harsh features, the multitude of scars criss-crossing his body and the cruelty in his eyes. I had never met him, but I knew his reputation. Like all Hrandish leaders, he had attained his position by fighting his brothers, and killing all his rivals. He gloried in bloodshed, so it was said, and attended every execution and flogging. He couldn’t have been more than fifty, and his body still looked fit, but the face was much older. His mind was filled with anger, so that he almost shook with suppressed aggression. I shut it out. Such hatred was obscene. But they were all the same, these warriors – full of rage. It would take only a spark to set them on the rampage.

  We came to a stop a few paces from where the Most Mighty stood. My escort from the camp, Prince Kru Hruart, had blended into the throng, leaving me facing his father. He said nothing. Neither did I, that was protocol. I kept my head bowed submissively. That was the role of women here, and I was quite happy to play the part, at least for the short time I would be here.

  One of the warriors crept forward. The Most Mighty barked at him, and he jumped back. Another came towards me. Again the father called out, but the warrior said, “I see how ugly.” The older man cackled, and the warrior came forward again.

  He grabbed my chin, and hauled my face upwards so that I had trouble avoiding eye contact. “The outcomer has very ugly nose.”

  The warriors roared with laughter at that. One by one they came forward to poke and prod, pulling off my headscarf and feeling my breasts and hips for size. I was very ugly indeed, they all agreed. My face was too round, my nose too small, my lips too full. I would never produce strong sons with such tiny breasts and narrow hips. And my hair was too dreadful for words.

  I’d expected something of the sort. It was all part of the tradition, especially for an outcomer like me. Eventually, Prince Kru Hruart would step forward and say that, yes, I was indeed very ugly but he would put up with me. There would be jokes about him having to keep his eyes closed, and then the deal would be done. But he didn’t step forward, and the warriors continued to circle and prod and insult me.

  It was only when one of them said, “I could take her, despite that face,” that I began to suspect things were not going according to my plan. In no time, two more had jumped into contention, and they’d started pushing and shoving each other. At any moment, knives would be drawn. I hadn’t thought they would fight over me. But still, it was not so bad. Perhaps my husband wouldn’t be Prince Kru Hruart after all, but it made no difference to me. Any one of these would do.

  The Most Mighty yelled at them, and they scattered. Silence fell.

  “Come here, outcomer.”

  That was a surprise. I stepped forward a few paces, head still lowered, until he yelled at me again. “Closer!”

  I stopped no more than three paces away.

  “You have flickers?” He used the Hrandish expression, which means ‘lit-from-within slug’. That was as good a description as any.

  “I have, Most Mighty.”

  “Your flickers can kill?”

  “My flickers are not trained for such a purpose, Most Mighty.”

  He grunted. “You can get more, eh?” He cackled again. “We have a good flicker market here. You will get more, you teach them to kill. Then I take you to war.” Another chuckle. “An outcomer woman, going to war.”

  He moved closer to me, close enough for me to smell his sweat and the sourness of his breath. He grabbed my hair to pull my head back.

  “Hear me, warriors! This outcomer is ugly, too ugly for any of you. I shall take her myself.”

  A bolt of fear shot through me. This man was famous for his cruelty, and at least two wives were known to have died at his hands. This was not good.

  Then he hit me.

  That was something I’d expected, for it was part of the ceremony, but even so, the blast of pain to my jaw caught me unawares. I crumpled to the ground, all my flickers screaming in distress. The taste of blood filled my mouth, and the world spun round me as I lay, catching my breath.

  But I knew what I had to do. I pushed myself to my feet and faced him again. He hit me for a second time, on the other side of my face. I went down again, but this time I was ready for it, and not so shocked. I knelt at his feet as someone brought rope, and he bound my hands together. Then he jerked me roughly to my feet.

  That marked the end of the ceremony. I was married to this prince, his zarn azay. Strictly speaking, it was more of a betrothal, since I could still be retrieved by a father or brother prepared to fight for me. But this man could summon me to his bed, and do whatever he wished to me, and that made me more wife than not.

  He handed the ends of the rope to a warrior, and I was led away like a slave to begin my new life as a Hrandish wife.

  My last sight as I was dragged out of the pavilion was Xando’s distraught face.

  42: The Women's Quarter

  I was pulled through the streets at a fast pace. Four or five young warriors hauled on the rope in turns, the others slapping my back and pinching to encourage me, jeering the whole time. I jogged along as best I could, but their jostling slowed me. Then the leader would yank on the rope to get me moving again. Twice I slipped over and was unceremoniously hauled to my feet by my bound hands. I must have been bruised all over. My arms screamed in pain, and my jaw and cheek were on fire.

  Passers-by turned to stare, and some joined in the insults, or threw pebbles at me, but the women watched in silence, before turning away, heads lowered. I was too distracted to look into their minds, but I thought I read sympathy in their eyes.

  We arrived at the women’s quarters, a door was thrown open and I was pushed through so brusquely that I crashed to my knees. The door slammed shut behind me, and I was in darkness.

  For a moment, I knelt, shaking violently. My flickers were keening softly, as if they were crying. I felt like crying myself. What had I got myself into? How under the moon and stars was anyone supposed to cope
with this? Such a clever plan it had seemed, in the warmth of Twisted Rock, meeting my first flicker and realising how they could be harnessed. And facing Prince Kru Hruart at Brinmar, it had seemed easy enough. Marry the man, and he would get me through the tunnel.

  But first I had to survive.

  A rustling of silk. Soft arms reached for me. Gentle voices, filled with sympathy. I was helped to stand, to walk, then led towards a bright light and out into dazzling sunshine.

  A courtyard, half covered with linen sheets draped for shade. A fountain played nearby, naked children shrieking with glee in its pool. Another pool was filled with lilies, and a third had a bucket for drawing water. Women sat in gossipy groups with babes in their arms, or chased after older children. It was such a peaceful, homely scene after all that had happened that I burst into tears.

  They drew me to the lily pond, and sat me at the edge, clucking like chickens. One of them pressed long fingers against my face, making me wince, looking for broken bones. Someone brought cloths to clean my face, another a beaker of spiced wine, a third a pot of salve for my injuries. The salve was soothing, and the wine warmed me inside. I suspected some herbs had been added, for I became quite relaxed under their gentle touch.

  “The worst is over now,” one of them said, her Hrandish softly musical. “He will not hurt you again, not so much, anyway. Sometimes the men like to show their power, and of course if he has to punish you… but otherwise, you will be all right.”

  “So long as you keep him happy,” another one said.

  “Which of the princes did you get?”

  “Prince Kru Hrin,” I told them.

  “The Most Mighty?” I nodded. Silence.

  “That is not so good,” one of the older women said. “He rarely marries these days – well, his tastes run in different directions – but… he is not a kind man. Still, he will soon get bored with you, and pass you on to someone else.”

  That wasn’t much comfort to me. The worst of it was, my plan was now in tatters. I had expected to marry one of the sons, everything depended on that. But the Most Mighty could not do the one thing I needed; he could not get me through the tunnel to the upper river. It was too menial a chore for him. Still, with luck I could find another way, and for one part of my plan, this was perfect.