Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles)

by David Lundgren

  As if reading his mind, Bolyai muttered, ”How does it feel, boy? Knowing they work for you, now?” Raf shrugged. “Notorious iMahli deathguards watching over you… You’ve certainly come a long way from home.” Bolyai gave a brief dry chuckle, and then stared at the small flickering flames. “You’re not going to tell me what happened in there?”

  Raf fiddled with a fingernail. “It’s difficult to explain, El-”

  “Of course it is,” mumbled Bolyai. He looked back at the dark crevice. “I’ve no idea how you got past the deathguards, but you certainly made quite a racket once you got in there. Gave me a blinding headache and we almost lost one of the ostriches at one point, but Tiponi’s got some quick hands, fortunately.” He rubbed his hands together for warmth. “Whatever it was, it must have been impressive to have her fawning all over you like that. You’d think she’d have a little more dignity.”

  Raf squirmed on the cold stone and sipped from the mug again. “Elder…”

  “Hm?”

  “What she said about the disease being everywhere, about it being ‘all diseases’, what does that even mean?”

  Bolyai shook his head. “No idea. I still think she’s off her rocker. It doesn’t make sense in the slightest. Besides, she’s wrong as well.”

  “How?”

  “The disease in the Forest is something only affecting the banyans, as far as I can make out.”

  “Is that why it’s so dangerous?”

  “Of course. Banyans are crucial for our Forest villages; they help tie all the plants and trees together and make it a strong and stable platform.” He frowned. “Maybe there’s something in what she says, though. The disease we saw in the plains with the ant-plants is not the same thing. And what she was talking about in the mountains has to be a completely different disease as well. But it doesn’t make sense that there are so many diseases occurring at once. I’ve never heard of anything like it.” He gave the fire a sharp prod. “I was sure that she would be able to help; she’s ancient and highly respected.”

  Raf mumbled, “She said…” He paused and then looked down as Bolyai glanced at him curiously. “She said she thought that maybe… I would be able to do something.”

  “To cure it?”

  Raf nodded. “Maybe.”

  “How?”

  “She said we’ll talk about it tomorrow and she’ll try to help me. She didn’t understand how I didn’t know.” He gave a chuckle. “Sounded a bit like you, Elder.”

  The Elder grunted and looked over at the dark entrance to her lair. “Well, good luck to her. I’m glad she thinks she can help, because I’ll be skinned if I understand how you do it.”

  Raf looked at the Elder’s weather-worn face. “Elder, how old are you?”

  Bolyai looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Are you as old as the ishranga?”

  “Not likely. She is truly old.” Bolyai laughed out loud. “I know she was already a respected ishranga when I was only just a twinkle in my mother’s eye. She must have fifty years on me at least.”

  Raf thought about it and then said, “Doesn’t that make you almost a hundred?”

  “No need to rub it in.”

  Tiponi coughed and then quietly added, “Shima’sidu is not the oldest.” They looked at him. “In the city, there is tell of another. Much older.”

  “In Miern?” asked Bolyai. Tiponi nodded.

  “Miern? Odd place for an ishranga, don’t you think?”

  “Well, Miern was once renowned for its music, its Festival in particular. That’s where ours comes from, a long, long time ago. People used to come from all over the known world and it was a great meeting place, a cross-over for people to share cultures and knowledge. If we are to find answers, Miern is our best bet.”

  “Doesn’t it happen any more there? The Festival, I mean.”

  “Unfortunately, there are probably other priorities now.”

  “Like what?”

  “Gold.”

  “And stones,” added Tiponi.

  Bolyai saw Raf’s confused expression. “He means gems. Diamonds, emeralds and the like. There are mines sprouting up all over the Miernan countryside.”

  Raf tapped his head. “That’s what the slaves are for that the fetumu capture, right? I get it. They kidnap workers for these mines.”

  Tiponi shook his head. “Not only for this thing. The bhesanté live all over the plains, but not many in one place. It is our way. But we are more than the fetumu. Now, we are starting to fight. The fetumu are not happy, so they want to take the ishrangas.”

  “To punish you?”

  Tiponi shook his head. “They are our leaders. Without them…”

  “But then why don’t they just kill them? Why take them? And take them where, anyway?”

  Tiponi shook his head. “I do not know. I have heard stories. Bad things.” He stoked the fire, sending a small burst of sparks skywards. Then he moved over to lie on the ground under a blanket, his disinterest in continuing the conversation obvious.

  Bolyai yawned again loudly and then put his hand on Raf’s shoulder. “Come on then, young Eirdale ishranga, time to get some sleep.”

  . . . . . . .

  The wind picked up and Raf slept fitfully, tossing and turning on the stone floor, the blanket providing poor protection from both the lumpy ground and the biting temperatures. To add to his misery, the sunburn from the day’s travel was awful. It itched and stung from the icy dry air and from chafing against the rough blanket. Eventually, he gave up and lay on his back, staring up at the cloudless night sky. The breeze whistled over the sides of the pit constantly, but it wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out the sound of Bolyai’s thick snores.

  There was a soft rattling sound and Raf tilted his head backwards towards the cave opening behind.

  She’s up, he mused. At more rattling, Raf sat up and turned, leaning on an arm. Then he heard something that sounded metallic.

  Something’s not right.

  He turned back and his breath caught in his throat as he saw one of the deathguards staring at him. He seemed uneasy with Raf’s sudden interest in the door.

  He can’t have heard it from up there, though. I think I’ll just have a quick peek and make sure.

  He shrugged off the blanket and got to his feet. He moved quietly across the rocky floor towards the door, aware of the deathguard’s eyes on him. He reached the opening and tilted his head to listen inside. Beside him, he felt an odd draught and turned to see the guard suddenly standing right next to him, his blue eyes regarding him uncertainly. Raf swallowed nervously and touched his ear to explain his actions. Then he dipped his head and edged through the thin black opening in the rock-face, feeling a looming presence trailing him. The entrance led straight into Shima’sidu’s main room, and Raf walked cautiously up to the doorway and peered into the dark.

  There was a flurry of movement towards the back of the room and Raf saw a murky figure straighten up from a mound on the floor and shout something. He ducked back instinctively as a sharp explosion erupted and flashes of white blinded him completely. A sharp pain tore into his left shoulder and he fell back into the wall behind him. Only, it turned out to not be a wall at all; it was the deathguard. With a soft sigh, his giant frame slid down the wall to the floor where he lay, gurgling and twitching, a dark patch spreading over his chest.

  Raf winced at the throbbing in his shoulder and shouted for help. Noises from outside, muffled by the piercing ringing in his ears, grew louder and suddenly there were deathguards crowding the entrance. They stared at Raf and then down at the limp body on the floor, their faces wild with shock.

  Raf lifted a hand to point, feeling something warm running down his arm. “In there! The ishranga -”

  The deathguards flew past him, followed swiftly by the troop of iMahli archers who had made their way down too. Behind them, Tiponi and Bolyai staggered in groggily.

  “What’s happened, boy?” hissed Bolyai.

  “Someone’s
got the ishranga, Elder!” He grunted in pain. “I was hit. I think it was a pepperbox.”

  Bolyai knelt down quickly and felt around Raf’s shoulder. “It’s passed straight through… but it wasn’t close to the bone. Good.” He looped an arm under Raf’s armpit. “Help me, Tiponi.”

  But the iMahli didn’t hear him. His eyes were glued to the scene inside the room in shock, so Bolyai hoisted Raf up by himself and they made their way into the room.

  It was a mess, with the large carpet in the middle scrunched up to one side, and a bare patch on the opposite stone wall where the animal hides had been torn down. At the far end, the iMahlis were grouped around the tiny doorway at the top of the steps. They were frantic, and the drawn blades caught the remaining candle’s light, sending flashes around the room.

  Tiponi dashed over to seize a huge spear from a rack on the wall. The deathguards were speaking urgently in their language, staring intently into the darkness.

  Raf coughed in pain and then tried to lift his voice. “Go! Help her!”

  Tiponi turned. “They are trapped in the cave. We will find them. And kill them!”

  Raf felt a shudder of fear as a horrible realization dawned on him. “Tiponi, you must go now! Please hurry!”

  “There is no way out, ishranga -”

  “But there is! At the back, there is a tunnel,” urged Raf through clenched teeth. “Hurry!”

  Tiponi spun around. “What tunnel? The only way in is -”

  “There’s another entrance outside!” replied Raf. “It’s hidden. I found it; that’s how I g-”

  Tiponi barely considered what he was saying before he yelled out in the iMahli language and the deathguards rounded on him. As he relayed what Raf had said, their faces filled with dismay, and with howls, they charged through the doorway down the steps beyond.

  Raf held on to Bolyai grimly, listening to the echoes of the iMahlis descending into the great cavern. They hobbled along behind, Raf cradling his injured arm as they walked down the steep stone steps. Ahead of them, there were shouts as the iMahlis raced around the huge rocks in the cave, trying to find the tunnel, and both Raf and Bolyai jumped in fright as another blast ripped through the air and filled with cave with booming reverberations. There was a scream and then a roar from the iMahlis.

  Raf, holding his left arm bent against his chest, scrambled his way over the stony ground behind Bolyai and pulled up behind the Elder when he paused to peer down at a body on the ground.

  “Is it one of the iMahlis?” asked Raf.

  “No,” replied Bolyai. “It’s one of them.”

  With a grim look at the body he continued through the darkness towards the other side of the cave where the deathguards were. As the two of them made it around the stone mound that Raf had first encountered in the cavern, there was the body of an iMahli archer lying in a mangled heap on the floor. Beyond him, they were just in time to see the last archer disappear through the hole that Raf had made in the mud wall of the stone tunnel. Tiponi was the only one remaining and he had slung the bow from the fallen archer around his shoulders, his hands shaking as he tried to strap on the small quiver of bows around his waist.

  “Tiponi, -”

  “They have taken her! The tunnel…” he gibbered. “What have you done? My ishranga… taken!” Bolyai gripped Raf’s shoulder as Tiponi managed to finally tie the strap, after which he ducked down into the jagged hole. The bow stuck on the top and with an impatient hiss, he yanked it through.

  Raf watched him disappear into the tunnel, a rising panic setting in that made his breaths come short and quick.

  I must have led them straight to her…

  “Don’t worry, boy,” said Bolyai, “the deathguards will get them. Their sole purpose in life is to protect her and they are built perfectly for it. You should have told them about the tunnel sooner, perhaps.”

  Raf nodded and turned to say something, but a huge rumbling sound shook the ground, followed immediately by a deafening explosion of debris that suddenly burst out of the tunnel and knocked them backwards to the ground. They staggered to their knees coughing in thick, hot smoke. From the entrance to the tunnel right in front of them came a muffled howl.

  “Tiponi,” croaked Bolyai, rubbing ash out of his eyes. From out of the heap of sand and broken fragments of rock, protruded the iMahli’s flailing arm. Working together quickly, they took hold of it and heaved, kicking away the larger stones, until the iMahli’s torso slid into view. He was covered in dirt and bleeding from numerous cuts, and fell to the floor in a fit of coughing. Behind him, the solid stone roof of the entrance had collapsed, and sharp fragments of rock had filled the space beyond, completely blocking it up. The tunnel was no more.

  35. KASTIYYA

  “Tiponi!” The iMahli stopped in the gloom of the cave and looked back at Bolyai, his lacerated face distraught. “You can’t go chasing them in the dark.”

  Tiponi held his hands out imploringly, fingers curled into claws. “They have taken the ishranga! I must protect her! It is my Trust, my duty!”

  “Tiponi,” urged Bolyai, “they’ll shoot you at first sight. We don’t even know how many of them there are.”

  “But, we cannot just leave her!”

  “Of course we won’t,” replied Bolyai. “We’ll rest and follow at first light in the morning. These people are armed and we don’t want to walk into another trap like they did.” He gestured at the mess of rocks behind them.

  “But, we will lose them! In the morning, the tracks will be gone,” said Tiponi bitterly. He tried to rub dirt away from his face with equally dirty hands. “There should never have been this tunnel!”

  “They could be going to the mines, right?” said Raf desperately. “To make her a slave?”

  Bolyai shook his head. “The dead one over there is a Miernan soldier. I think they’re taking the ishranga to the Pass. They have garrisons there so they’ll probably head straight for the closest outpost.”

  “The Pass? We can’t go all the way back to get to the entrance - it’ll take too long!”

  “Of course it will,” replied Bolyai. Deep lines creased his forehead as he stared at the wall. “There are one or two other smaller entrances along the Pass that we’ll have to try to find. We don’t really have a choice. We‘ll have to head through the desert and try to cut them off further up.”

  Through the desert? Raf swallowed. The desert was supposed to be a death-trap. Hot, lifeless and waterless. It was the reason everyone travelled down the Pass.

  Bolyai nodded to himself as if coming to a decision. “Let’s head for Kastiyya. I know it’s out of the way and will make the journey longer, but we can get supplies there and then angle up to try to cut them off.”

  “Kastiyya?” asked Raf.

  “An oasis. One of the very few this side of the Pass. It’s half a day’s travel from here, though, so we’ll leave at first light to try and make it there before noon. We won’t be able to travel for a few hours after that.”

  “Why?”

  “If you think the plains were hot, boy, there’s a nasty surprise coming when the desert sun makes its presence known.”

  . . . . . . .

  If Raf thought the Elder was being dramatic, he was proved wrong within a few hours of wagon-travel the next morning. They had left the deserted hilltop as soon as the first subtle wave of violet washed over the sky, and made steady progress until the sky lightened. Then, with an almost tangible force, the sun peeked over the horizon and since that moment, the temperature, initially chilly enough for them to see their breath, rose with stunning speed.

  Raf smothered himself with shea butter almost as soon as the sun appeared, keen to protect his burnt skin as much as possible, but the heat seemed to scrape it away and make it itch unbearably. There was also the matter of his injured shoulder which, on inspection, revealed the bullet to have fortunately passed close to the outside of the top of his arm, leaving a scabby wound. As he was sitting sweating in the back of the jostling
wagon, an idea suddenly popped into his head.

  Humming gently, he closed his eyes tightly to cut out the sun and watched the colors sway faintly in front of him. Then, he tried to seek out his shoulder injury. It was impossible. As much as he tried to turn his attention around, he couldn’t focus inwards on himself - only outwards.

  “Don’t bother, boy,” said Bolyai. “Can’t use it on yourself. It doesn’t work like that.”

  The Elder closed his eyes and began to sing the same haelanayre that he had sung with Jan, and Raf suddenly felt an odd tingle that ran along his arm, and goose bumps covered him. After a while, Bolyai stopped, and although the pain was still mostly there, the wound seemed less swollen and Raf found he could move his arm a little more freely.

  “Thanks.”

  Lying listlessly against the side of the wagon, he stared out at the hostile landscape. The rolling rocky hills and acacias of the plains had disappeared to be completely replaced by a flatter, sandy terrain. It extended on and on into the wavering distance, almost too bright to look at, and the only life of any kind anywhere was the occasional thorny shrub that twisted up from the parched ground. He lay back with a shirt covering his face. It made it stuffy, but the direct light of the sun was too intense.

  Tiponi changed direction slightly and the wagon turned to a more northerly setting. Instantly, the shirt was blown off Raf’s face onto the floor of the wagon as a strong gust of wind flew through the wagon, no longer impeded by the sides.

  “So windy,” muttered Raf in irritation, pulling the shirt around his head and lying on the loose ends, careful not to bump his arm.

  Tiponi shook his head. “These winds, they are not strong, ishranga.”

  “Stronger than what I’m used to,” replied Raf. “And besides, I told you not to call me that. Especially aft-”