by J. W. Webb
“Some place, this,” Corin grumbled to Tamersane. “Melts you by day and freezes you at night!” Tamersane nodded, his mouth full of dried mutton. The Kelwynian wasn’t himself this evening. He crouched staring moody at the fire. Corin left him to it. Ulani seemed unaffected by the cold. He informed them cheerfully that it was always like this in the deep desert at night. You get used to it, he said. Or if you don’t then you die.
Following those cheerful words the king bade his companions goodnight. He tossed his robe on the floor and was snoring within minutes. Corin rolled his lean body in Thunder’s blanket and shut his eyes. He dozed.
Bleyne took the first watch and was succeeded by Tamersane. It seemed to Corin that he had only just managed to nod off when his young friend’s face appeared in front of him.
“What is it?” Corin grumbled. Wide awake, he shook himself free of the blanket and stood shivering beneath the stars. “I’m alright,” he said after a moment’s blinking. “Get some sleep, Tamersane.”
It was so quiet sitting there alone. Corin rubbed his tired eyes and warmed his hands on Yashan’s struggling fire. Now and then his companion’s snores pierced the silence. All else was deathly still.
Fidgety, Corin wrapped the desert robe tight about his shoulders and wandered over to check on the horses. He froze.
What’s that?
Something had caught his eye in the distant dark. A flash of light, a bright winking stabbing glare. It lasted about a second and then faded. Corin watched: seconds later it returned. Far to the south a golden aura, swelling, flickering bright, and then vanishing once more only to reappear further away before disappearing again.
Ghost lights. Corin bit his lip; the eerie lights were disturbing and further darkened his mood. And it was so bloody cold.
Someone is here. That familiar creepiness stole upon him. Someone giggled close by. Corin recognised that laugh.
Urdei—child of the past.
Turning, he saw the girl watching with that knowing smile. Her dress was still the same, as were her long blonde braids and scuffed knees. Before he could utter a word she had faded into the night, her laugher echoing around his head.
“Be careful, Corin,” she called out to him from the dark. “There are traps ahead. Trust no one…” Her voice trailed off, mingled with the night breeze.
Corin mouthed an expletive. Unwilling or not, he was becoming accustomed to these weird visitations and refused to dwell on them like he had before. He would take Urdei’s advice—that was easy and it would start with her.
Corin studied the night sky in silence for several moments but the strange lights did not return. He felt strangely calm. Resigned. There was no way out so why keep struggling? Move forward and confront what lay ahead. That way he’d see the girl again.
Corin thought of his other friends riding north to face Caswallon. He thought mostly of Shallan, wondered how she fared aboard Barin’s ship. That night in Vioyamis seemed an age ago.
A soft movement to his right announced that again he wasn’t alone. Wary, with hand on Biter’s hilt, Corin turned. It was Zallerak. The bard had arisen from his rest to join him in the dark. For once Corin wasn’t hostile. Any company was welcome right now.
“There were lights, away south,” Corin said.
Zallerak only nodded, as if such phenomena were to be expected in the desert.
The bard’s expression was lost. He looked tired, challenged, and Corin thought that he’d aged overnight.
“Something on your mind, wizard? It’s not like you to mope—that’s my province, remember.”
Corin watched Zallerak reach beneath his cloak and retrieve his harp. Thoughtfully the bard strummed a clear note before awarding Corin an elusive smile.
“We ride into peril, Corin an Fol,” said Zallerak as he strummed. Choice words those. Again Corin heard Scolde’s cackle by the River Fol. It seemed so long ago.
“What ails you, Zallerak?” The bard ignored the question. He continued to finger his harp whilst staring dreamily into the middle distance.
Suit yourself.
Corin took to his feet and left the bard to his reminiscing. Returning to the fire, Corin unsheathed his hunting knife and viciously swiped at a glowing faggot, pitching it high in the air.
It landed yards away on Tamersane’s cloak and began to smoulder. The Kelwynian awoke with a curse, rolled free and stamped on his robe. Tamersane glared at Corin, muttered something as he quenched the flames and then slunk back into a deep untroubled sleep.
“I wonder if she is right about you.” Zallerak had followed him over.
“What…?”
“You have strength inside you, but are driven by your own selfish desires…I wonder.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Corin slammed the knife in its sheath and glared at Zallerak.
“The days ahead will be challenging for all of us,” continued Zallerak, oblivious to Corin’s angry question. “Are you worthy of your destiny, Corin an Fol?”
“And what destiny is that? Pray tell me, great knowledgeable one.”
Zallerak shook his head. “I don’t comprehend near as much as you think,” he responded, waving a hand. “And again I ask that you stop challenging me all the time, Corin. It doesn’t help either of us. We are on the same side.”
“Are we?”
Zallerak shrugged. He glanced eastwards. The sky was pinking, it would soon be time to break camp. “We must reach those Crystal Mountains before the enemy anticipates our plan. Time is short; I can feel His malice in the chill wind. He wakens beneath that mountain—King Ulani is right.”
“Morak?” Corin’s steely eyes bored into Zallerak but the bard seemed not to notice.
“Morak is just another player, Corin. I speak of Old Night Himself. The Great Enemy whose real name is never spoken. The Shadowman, they used to call Him. I have felt His terrible presence of late.”
Corin was going to ask more but Zallerak quickly changed the subject as if he’d already said too much. “Tarin is the key. Our false gambit and bluff. Had I seized the shards for myself it could have proved our undoing. Morak would have been aware at once and used all his power to thwart me, instead of concentrating on aiding Caswallon. They will be watching Tarin when he enters the Crystal Mountains, they will be curious, excitable. Hopefully his sudden appearance will keep them occupied. Allow us to come to his aid unseen.”
“They?”
“The Urgolais, of course,” responded Zallerak with a curt wave of his arm. “They are stronger underground. It’s their natural habitat. The only way I can defeat them there is by first distracting them—hence the prince as bait.
“But be assured, Longswordsman, the dog-lords will be watching all roads south.”
Light filtered pinkish grey into the hollow of their camp, within minutes all shadows had fled far away. Corin noticed the others stirring as the glow reddened in the east.
Zallerak’s face looked bleak as he watched the companions shake themselves into movement. Hurriedly they all snatched a bite and a gulp of water, before breaking camp and saddling their mounts.
“I feel a challenge coming, Corin,” Zallerak said, watching the others get ready. “A trial awaiting me beneath those mountains. It’s going to be a close call.”
But Corin had already joined the others as they followed the dour-faced Yashan south for yet another parched punishing day. Zallerak watched them in silence for a while and then spurred his horse to follow. Mortals were difficult for him, always had been. They lacked his ability to think on several levels and had no concept how fragile the balance betwixt good and evil. But he wasn’t their enemy, not at the moment—though that could change should the game shift its pattern.
Zallerak hoped it wouldn’t change. It was hard being ageless and alone, his kin lost and scattered and his memory fading alongside his strength. Every now and then a kind word wouldn’t go amiss. He rode on, his thoughts hanging over him.
For three dreary days they
struggled beneath the torturous sun. Again Corin fretted about their diminishing water supply, especially since the horses needed more all the time. He questioned Yashan why they did not travel at night. Yashan answered that there were hidden quagmires in the sand that could suck horse and rider down to a choking death in seconds.
On the third day the heat was like a burning knife probing at their flesh and still there seemed no end to the ridges of sand. The High Dunes seemed to go on for ever. The riders spoke little, conserving their strength. Corin felt light-headed; his mind began to wander. Then the vision fell upon him.
…Shallan smiled as he helped her down from the saddle. She blew him a kiss and then plunged her knife into his belly. Trust no one…
Her cruel smile twisted into Rael’s. “My vengeance starts here, peasant,” the Assassin said whilst heating the hot knife inches from Corin’s face. Above, a mountainous island loomed black over ice laden seas. Shallan’s face burned with hatred. Beside her the Dog-Lord hoisted Golganak high. “They are mine, mortal, these friends of yours—all mine,” Morak told him.
Trust no one…
Corin came to with a jolt that nearly pitched him from his saddle. Beneath his thighs he felt the big horse battling with exhaustion. Steady, boy…Thunderhoof’s breath rattled noisily. Corin dismounted, let the animal drink more than he could spare. He felt giddy, sick.
Ahead someone yelled. Corin, squinting into the glare, witnessed Tamersane shouting and waving madly, spurring his horse cruelly on as though he had seen something that they had not. Corin yelled but the young rider was out of earshot. Worried, he heaved his shanks over Thunder’s back.
“Come on, brave lad—let’s go see what that idiot’s up to.”
Tamersane urged his weary mount forward. The beast was tiring fast but it wasn’t far. The Kelwynian could almost smell the clear water surrounding the golden palace. Just a mile or so ahead. Ride, beast—ride!
He could see the girl smiling at him, her dress translucent and her dark eyes flashing mischief beneath those cool swaying palms.
Gone was Tamersane’s weariness. He was fuelled with desire. She wanted him and he was on his way. Almost there!
Then the sand shimmered like boiling glass blinding him momentarily. Tamersane reined in, shielded his eyes, straining to see through the glare. Girl and palace had disappeared, as had that beautiful blue water. Instead Yashan’s hard face glowered at him from beneath the scarlet burnoose.
“Ware the desert!” Yashan shook Tamersane’s shoulder hard. “It will lure you to a lonely death!”
“I saw a palace,” stammered the Kelwynian. “And clear cool water!”
“A trick of the desert. You had best forget it!” answered the guide gruffly before making his way back towards the others who watched anxiously from behind.
“Is he unwell?” Ulani’s voice boomed the question.
“He saw a vision of beauty that lured him on,” responded Yashan. “Not an uncommon occurrence this far into the desert—caused by light, heat and wandering minds. We must stay alert!”
Minutes later Corin watched the embarrassed Tamersane rejoin their party. Another day like this and they’d all be howling at the moon.
“What did you see?” Corin asked, trying to placate his miserable friend.
“A golden palace. And lots of water. Blue water. Lots of it and…”
“And a girl?” enquired Bleyne who had joined them.
“Er… yes. And a girl,” admitted Tamersane. “A pretty girl: she wasn’t wearing much.”
“There’s a surprise,” smiled Corin. Beside him Ulani laughed and even Yashan grinned. Tamersane was undeterred.
“I’ll recognise her if I see her again,” he told them. “Dark flashing eyes and long black hair. She had a wicked smile.”
Corin exchanged a quizzical glance with Ulani and Bleyne. They shrugged.
“You’re hopeless, Tamersane,” Corin told him.
“I know,” moped the Kelwynian.
As the sun set like crimson pain on the sixth day since their leaving the banks of the Narion, the desert finally altered its mood.
The High Dunes dwindled to smaller mounds and eventually flattened to a shiny nothingness filling the horizon. As the sun sank low that level terrain blazed like polished metal—a deep dark reddish gold. They had reached the Copper Desert.
Chapter 25
The Copper Desert
They reined in, taking in the sight. All were exhausted from heat and toil. “Yashan will leave us in the morning,” announced Zallerak, throwing back his blue cloak and allowing the cool evening air to revitalise him. The others framed the question why.
Yashan shrugged. “I’ll not enter that,” he hinted at the shifting colours due south. “I urge you to shun it also.”
“It is our only way, Yashan. Have I not told you this?” Zallerak’s tone was peeved and impatient. The tribesman ignored Zallerak’s sharp glance.
“Down to you then.” He dismounted briskly and set about making a camp. The faggots were all gone and it would be cold tonight.
“Tell me of the Copper Desert,” Corin stared at Yashan, probing the man’s reaction. Yashan shrugged as if to answer was pointless.
“It is the home of the creature we do not speak of,” he responded. “No tribesman has entered that region since the fateful day Onami, Prince of the Golden Cloud, greatest warrior Permio has ever known, led an army hence to slay the monster.”
“Monster?”
Aye—that’s what you will meet down there.”
Corin didn’t believe in monsters really. Perhaps this Ty-Tander was a myth after all. If Yashan’s people never went there then how would they know?
“So what happened to this Prince of the Golden wotsit?” Corin enquired.
“Cloud. He never returned. Only fools or madmen venture beyond these dunes, Corin.” Yashan would not be swayed from his opinion. “Sir Zallerak is not without knowledge and power, I grant him that. I only hope he can ward you from the horror that surely awaits you down there.”
“I hope so too,” muttered Corin. Perhaps it was some giant elephant or something. He’d heard about those from Ulani. Bloody great things with long bendy snouts apparently. Perhaps a big one had broken loose and got all grumpy and horny in the heat. He couldn’t blame it. Still… Corin unsheathed Clouter and worked his whetstone along its five foot steel. Doubtless he’d need the blade soon. Ty-Tander or not.
“I shall keep a watchful eye,” continued Yashan. “Lest beyond all hope you return in one piece.”
“Where will you go after we’ve left?” Bleyne cut in. The archer had unslung his bow and was checking his arrows with a thoughtful eye.
“I will seek out Barakani,” replied Yashan. “With the Desert Wolf lies our only hope of finishing the sultan’s rule forever. My curved blade is his to command.”
Later that night Corin approached Zallerak where he sat tuning his instrument. Corin wanted answers this time, not innuendoes. “Yashan is no coward and he knows the desert better than you do, Zallerak. We cannot afford to lose him.”
“I realise that.”
“Can we not skirt this peril?”
Zallerak sighed in resignation. He rendered Corin a withering look. “When will you trust my judgment?”
“Maybe, if you explained things a bit more.”
The wizard wrapped his cloak tighter around his waist then tickled the strings of his harp. “We cannot go round about. West: that way is too far, our water would run out and we would perish from drought. If we fared in the opposite direction we’d be plagued by Crimson Guard, all spoiling for a fight.
“But more importantly time is pressing! We cannot leave Tarin in the trap alone.”
“What trap?” Corin had a nasty feeling.
“My trap. The snare we’ll spring on our foe—I told you Tarin was the bait. His price for the folly of his actions, Corin. While the Urgolais are waiting to trap me at Croagon’s forge they’ll pounce on Tarin instead, allo
wing me to sneak behind them and trap them in turn. Cat verses mouse—but who is who, haha?” Zallerak chuckled at his own wit. It was entirely lost on Corin.”
“But this thing… this monster as Yashan calls it?” Corin waved his arms in dismissal of the bard’s words. “Both Ulani and Yashan claim it cannot be slain.” Corin still hoped those two were just fuelling fireside weed-pipe stories, but he wanted to press Zallerak on the subject. “I mean, does this thing really exist?”
“It did once. Now…? I’m not certain.” responded Zallerak. “Hopefully we won’t find out. The Copper Desert is leagues wide, but only a score or so miles deep when crossing from north to south. We’ve just enough water left. With rest the night before we can cross in a single day. A hard one, granted. Once across there’ll be streams coming down from the Crystal Mountains. We’re nearly there, Corin.”
Corin wasn’t convinced. “What does this Ty-Tander look like?”
Zallerak shrugged as though bored with the subject. “Pray to your goddess you never find out!”
Corin gave up. Later he got from Ulani that the Ty-Tander of legend was a beast at least a hundred foot long. Its crystal hide armoured with thick, iron hard scales.
It had acute hearing and could outrun any horse on its huge cloven hooves. Three twisted horns sprouted from the head, Ulani explained, while the four eyes searched constantly back and forth in furious hunger, lidless like a lizard’s. It belched flame, Ulani added with a grin, and the ground rumbled at its approach.
Corin wished he hadn’t asked.
He saw the eerie lights in the sky again that night, as did his friends. Yashan said nothing but his expression left Corin in little doubt of their source.
Belches flame…
Dawn rose clear and sharp. High above, a wisp of rose-pink cloud glided north fading behind the High Dunes. They struck camp in silence and once mounted, made for the end of the dunes. That final motionless wave of sand towered over the level ground below. They dismounted and let their steeds down from the High Dunes for the last time. At the bottom Yashan halted his mare and turned to face them.