The other figure, more slight, but dressed dark like the first, sprinted away from the caravan straight in Zya's direction. The two guardsmen made chase, leaving the man to be bound by a still-startled Jani and a clearly shocked Ramaji. However, they could not close the gap on the rapidly growing figure from Zya's perspective. Zya tried to rein in her horse, but it clearly had the bit between its teeth, and was not prepared to stop its flat run. Even as she approached the figure, she pulled hard on the reins, getting only a minimal response. At some point the hounds had been let out of the lead wagon and were giving chase, barking eagerly as the dogs enjoyed the job for which they were trained so well. With the head start though, the figure had already outdistanced them as it raced toward Zya. The rapidly sprinting dark figure leapt towards her as it neared, and it was only chance that a sliver-like dagger missed her when she tugged again on the reins and the horse reared, knocking the figure to the ground.
Her heart still pounding with the sensation of wind in her hair, Zya looked for anything else unusual, as if this wasn't the end. It seemed in the distance that she could hear figures shouting, and the barking of a pack of hounds. It was only the contact of her father's hand upon her own, and the distant impression that he was somehow concerned, that brought her back into focus.
“Zya, what in the realm of the Gods were you doing? You could have been killed – thrown off your horse or worse!” Tarim did not usually show his emotions, but today, Zya had seen him twice lose himself to them.
“I…I do not know what happened. One moment I was panic stricken watching Jaden…is he all right?” Zya looked past her father to where the guards were tying up the unconscious pair.
“I am fine. I just do not like surprises like that,” Jaden replied without looking up.
“Don't fret girl,” Cahal added, “He will be fine in a day or so. It's not anything a few good cups of ale or wine can't sort out.” At this, Jaden grumbled something under his breath, but let the matter lie.
“You were saying?” her father continued.
“Yes… something just clicked inside my head and it suddenly seemed like the best thing to do at the time. I just had to be back near the caravan, whatever the consequences.”
Venla appeared from her wagon, first checking on the still-shaken Ramaji, giving her something in a cup – probably to calm her nerves. She then turned to Zya. “That was brave riding girl, but next time stay on the hill.” As Zya replied with the meekest of “Yes, Mother's” she could manage, the mistress had already turned to Gren, asking about the possibility of this place and its suitability for a stop and a meal. Gren nodded his agreement, and enlisted the help of Jani whilst a sullen Mavra and Erilee went about chopping various roots.
Zya picketed her horse, and joined her father in rubbing them down and seeing to fodder before taking the buckets down to the nearby river for fresh water. As they neared the river, glistening in the midday sun, a thought occurred to Zya.
“What will become of the two we captured, father? It's never happened this way before. Cahal alone is usually enough to scare off bandits.”
Her father turned and looked back at the caravan. “I do not know. The travellers refuse to take a person prisoner, but it wouldn't be prudent to let them go free. At the very least, Venla will insist on caring for their hurts, but even that may be too much. I think the decision will rest with Layric and the guards. They are the ones responsible for our well being.”
As he filled the water buckets Zya glanced at his face. She could read her father pretty well and she knew he did not agree with even that. Whilst not overprotective, Tarim would not stand for anything improper happening to her, and this morning's events were almost the definition of improper.
“What you mean is you would prefer it if they were left here to take their own chances,” Zya said, arching an eyebrow at her father.
“The Gods help me, yes,” Tarim agreed. “I know being with the travellers we must follow their rules and way of life, and I know that even Jaden and Cahal will follow those same rules to an extent. I just have a feeling that the less we have to do with these two, the better it will be for us.” Tarim shifted the weight of the buckets as they trudged slowly back to camp.
“They should have been killed; it would have been better if they had.” This shocked Zya somewhat. Even though her father did not hold by all the rules of the travellers, she had been brought up with them from a very early age. They were all she really knew, except what her father had taught her, which was not a great deal.
“How can you say that after all the time you have been with Venla?” Zya managed to say. “Does that mean nothing to you?” Tarim sighed a sigh of frustration.
“Like the guards, I do not like surprises. That is why Jaden is not himself. He was not expecting that attack, all be it a minor occurrence. And I just have a hunch that if things had turned out differently, it would have been better in the long run.”
Zya walked alongside her father in silence for the remainder of the way. Something inside told her that her father was right, and for that, the serenity of this gorgeous day seemed somewhat bitterer for it. For a moment the blue sky seemed somehow less clear, and the peaceful river sounded somewhat strained. The moment passed quickly, though it left Zya wondering what actually had happened. She put it down to still not having got over the charge on the horse.
They rounded a rocky outcrop that pierced the sub alpine terrain to see the camp in good order. Gwyn and Layric were talking to the pair who had unsuccessfully tried to attack them. Jaden and Cahal had bound their arms and legs and were watching the surrounding area from each end of the camp. Ramaji was talking with Anita while they chopped roots into a large cook pot and the girls were playing with one of the hounds, whilst the others were led in the shade of one of the wagons. Gren looked up from whatever he was doing as Tarim set the buckets down.
“Took you two long enough to find some water.”
“It was quite a search,” Tarim replied with a slight trace of mirth in his voice. “Water is rare in these parts, and getting any at all was a quest beyond the limits of endurance of lesser mortals” he added, making obvious signs that he was ignoring the glistening ribbon plainly in view behind them.
Layric approached from Jani's wagon, where the attackers were tied.
“They won't say much, except that it would be better for us to release them. The hooded one is pretty groggy still, after an encounter with our heroine here, but the man seems pretty alert considering the knock to the head he took.”
“Well while she is here, our heroine can be of more use.” Gren looked at Zya. “Zya, can you get me another pan from Jani's wagon?” Zya nodded, and strolled over to the largest wagon with the draft horses still attached. One nickered a greeting through its nosebag and Zya patted its flanks as she walked past. Climbing up into the wagon she found Anita and Ramaji in conversation whilst sewing.
“How are you my dear?” asked Ramaji in her accented Uporan accent. “We two seem to have had quite the shock today.”
“I am fine now,” replied Zya with a nod of reassurance. “I don't know what happened out there. It was as if I was possessed by another.” Ramaji stared deep into her eyes, the dark eyes seeming to flash as they caught the light. She stared briefly at Zya, and then leaned back, her black shoulder length hair seeming to ripple as she moved. “There could be something there, something behind your eyes. But if there is I do not know what it is. You are beyond me. Maybe someone else can tell.”
This did not worry Zya, as it had been Ramaji who had first shown Zya how to look at things on a different level. In the vast expanses of the Uporan Steppes, the nomadic tribes often practised arts that would seem mystic to the normal person, but were very intuitive in nature. Zya had found out that her and her father were not the only “outsiders” to join the caravan. In one of its initial journeys, the travellers had passed through the Southern limits of the steppes, and in doing so had helped a tribe. Unfortunately, the tribe had
paid with Ramaji. Honour dictated that she would serve in return for the service done to her tribe, but she had fallen for a young tinker not long after joining and had remained ever since. She could have left at any time to return to the steppes, but when she found herself with child, Ramaji was content to learn the way of the traveller. It was all for appearances that Ramaji had left the opinion that she could return whenever she wanted, but the truth was she would never leave Jani.
Zya had heard all this from Gren, who had ferreted the story out through careful observation. Gren often said that the best storytellers had the eyes of a hawk and the cunning of a fox. Remembering why she had come, Zya asked for the pan, and received it along with a “Please do not look at the people we encountered this morning – you would be safer to never, ever do so” from Anita.
Zya exited the wagon, pointedly walking as far from the captives as she could, gazing all the while at the pan to keep her concentration centred on something. She had always been amazed at how Jani could use the sap from a certain tree to produce the gleaming polished effect that made his work so popular. It tended to not lose the shine for a long while – long enough for the owner to wish the travellers were on a return journey anyway, she surmised. Now all was at peace, for the moment, the serenity of the day returned. The breeze caught in nearby trees and bushes, adding vibrancy to the distant heat waves caused by the sun at its zenith. The whole land seemed alive to Zya, full of the potential to surpass its current state of existence. It was as if she could almost feel the land. The feeling passed, as it had with the stream earlier in the morning, and Zya hastened to deliver the pan.
Zya was not the only one to feel uncomfortable at the presence of strangers who had tried to attack them. Mavra repeatedly cast sidelong glances in the direction of her wagon throughout the meal, which was eaten with a distinct lack of the gaiety that usually accompanied the meal stops. It wasn't the fact that everyone was quiet, but the morning's turn of events had everyone somewhat disturbed, and any laughter was forced if only for the sake of the girls. The conversation or the talk that Zya could hear centred on what should and should have been done with the captives. It was plain that Tarim, as well as the guards were not happy. After everyone had finished and the traces of fire had been cleared, Venla called everyone to her wagon, which was located farthest from the captives. Once all were gathered Layric cleared his throat. One of his hounds came to him and rested its head on his lap.
“Do not worry yourselves, they can do no harm to us for the now. The two are tied, gagged and secured to the back of Jani's wagon.”
“Layric, you know this is not our way,” interrupted Gwyn, who was normally the last to speak up at these meetings. He was content to carry on the simple way of the travellers' lives – travel and trade, repair and tell stories. The fact that he had spoken up at all meant that others felt more for this than he did.
“I know they have been tied to the wagon out of necessity, and I won't dispute that. They tried to harm us for some reason – only the Gods know why. But I am not happy that we are doing this at all.” He looked at his wife, and she returned his level gaze. “We are not meant to be captors,” he continued, looking back towards Layric and Venla, “We are meant to be travellers. This is our world,” Gwyn indicated the land by spreading his arms wide so everybody could see his point, “Not the world of the jailer.”
Zya saw this as her chance to add to the discussion. She stood up, Her lithe body making its own statement because of her height over the rest of them.
“You wish to speak child,” Venla asked after a pause. Zya took a breath to steady herself. She hoped the rest had as much faith in her instincts as she did.
“There is something about the two. When I was at the top of the hill, even then I could see that no good would arise from us having anything to do with them.” Venla considered this. Everybody was allowed their say in such a meeting, down to children old enough to understand what was happening.
“How do you know such things? It is good to trust your instincts, but they could be nothing more than a couple of hapless bandits lying in wait for travellers.” Tarim stood, taller than his daughter he drew the eyes of all the party as he moved beside her.
“If these were hapless bandits, where are their belongings, where is their camp? These two appeared as if out of thin air, and could have killed but for some skill with weapons and some luck.” His voice calm, but icy enough to stress the point, Zya thought as her father spoke.
“I agree with Zya, Mother. I just have a feeling that there is more to this than a couple of lucky, or unlucky bandits.”
Layric spoke up next. “I feel that we should be cautious around the pair. I would prefer it if the guards were the only people to go near them. However, I have never been one to refuse charity to anybody, and I will not leave these two out in the wilderness. At the very least we will leave them secure in the nearest village.”
Tarim frowned; frustrated that between them, he and his daughter could not sway the man. It was an accepted fact, that once Venla or Layric had made up their minds, the decision could rarely be swayed. That was not to say anybody could not try; the freedom of speech within small groups of travellers would be beyond the comprehension of many city dwellers who were used to watching their own backs all day. Finally, Tarim sighed, and answered.
“So be it Layric. Though I might not agree with your decision, it is yours to make. The gods send it was the right decision to make, and prove me wrong.”
“Are there any other points to be made before we move out?” Venla asked, clearly eager to be setting off.
“Mother, if it is not a problem, may I sleep in Anita's wagon until we are rid of them?” It was Mavra who had spoken. The fact that the two made her dreadfully uneasy was not hard to spot.
“Anita, how fare you with this?” Venla enquired.
“It is not a problem. We would welcome Erilee as well if she feels the same.” Erilee, do you want to join your sister? Erilee?”
Venla turned to where Erilee had been sitting until a moment before, and saw just an empty spot. Her sudden absence caused an instant unease amongst those gathered there, and several of them got up and went in search of her. Most unnerving was the fact that Erilee had managed to slip away with nobody noticing; there were not that many wagons and the spot they had picked for their meal was wide and open. As the men searched the wagons, Zya went straight to the opposite end of the camp. Something told her that trouble yet emanated from the two captives. She turned to see Tarim following her. Their gazes locked, and he nodded; he had suspected the same thing. They reached the end wagon, and sure enough, Erilee was there. She was not doing anything, just sat on the ground a couple of paces away from them, staring. Just staring – she had not tried to undo any bindings, or try to talk to them. She was just staring at the man. He was staring back. It was uncertain what the hooded figure was doing. They had not touched his clothing; it was bad enough that they had captured them, but Venla would not allow anybody to go as far as touching them. That job was for Jaden and Cahal, who even now approached and blocked Erilee's view of the two. As if the guards had broken a trance, as soon as her view was blocked, Erilee suddenly got to her feet, staring with a complete lack of comprehension at Zya.
“What was I doing, Zya? Has the gathering broken up already? Where is everybody?” It was Tarim who answered.
“Erilee, what do you remember? Where are you?”
“I was sitting listening to you all debating about what to do with the captives, and now everybody has gone.” Zya put her arm around the younger woman's' shoulder, and saying, “Let's get you something to drink,” led Erilee off to another wagon. Tarim stared at the man. The man stared back, his dark hair and flat unblinking gaze hiding whatever emotion he was capable of feeling. Weather beaten, this man had seen a lot of travel, and seemed totally unfazed by his predicament. His clothes were plain and dark, so not to give away any clue as to his origins. His boots were as travel-worn as his face,
but they were undamaged. This was a person who had come far, Tarim decided. He had the feeling the man would be travelling a lot further. Shaking his head as he walked away, he rued the fact that the pair was with them at all.
The captured man watched as the tall one called Tarim walked away after the tall girl who had to be his daughter. Both were dangerous, he had decided. The girl, even if she did not know it. He had heard of the travellers' bands. He knew he had nothing to fear from the rest. The guards were too well trained by the travellers to take anything personal out on him, but they also could be dangerous. He had not expected the second to get back so fast; and feigning stupidity had been the only alternative. In truth he could have finished off this entire group, though the girl and her father were a constant nag in his head. The run of his companion was a different matter. They were not trained the way they were to make hasty decisions. That rash error of judgement could have ended in serious injury. His companion had given no outward signs of injury, though he could tell from the brief glimpse of eyes that there was pain somewhere. He leaned back and tested his bonds. The rope was well made, probably by a skilled member of the group. Still, every link in a chain had its flaws, and every rope could certainly be unwound. There was no logic in escaping and abandoning his companion – they had come too far together. He decided to bide his time and work slowly on the rope. It would be a couple of weeks until they reached any village of a size that made escape possible, and he did not want to have to work alone. What one could accomplish with cunning, two could accomplish with ease.
The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1) Page 5