by Ryan Hughes
The Darkness Before the Dawn
Ryan Hughes
Ryan Hughes
The Darkness Before the Dawn
Dark Sun, Chronicles Of Athas, Book Two
For the Thursday night brainstorming gang with special thanks to Steve and Chris York for the piles of bones.
Chapter One
The fifty or so Jura-Dai elves who cavorted before the flaming wreckage of the enormous wooden merchant wagon didn't seem to care. Their brightly colored cloaks and shirts and loose, blousy pants flapped gaily as they spun and danced in the flickering light, and their voices rose in laughter and song. Of course, they were the victors. The losers-slave runners who had made the mistake of taking one of the tribe captive-were inside the caravan, the smoke of their flesh and bones adding to the wagon's in a single enormous funeral pyre. The few who hadn't died in battle had been driven along with the slaves the elves had freed out into the desert to fend for themselves.
Jedra, a half-elf who had been imprisoned along with the Jura-Dai tribesman, watched the party from partway up the flank of a nearby dune. He could feel the heat of the flames on his face even there, but he was out of the elves' way. That seemed safest, even though he and the human woman, Kayan, had been invited to travel through the desert with the tribe in repayment for their help in psionically guiding the rescue.
Kayan sat beside him on the dune, her elbows on her knees and her rounded chin resting in her hands. The ends of her brown hair shifted in the breeze, but after eight days in the hold of the slave wagon the shoulder-length strands were too sweaty and greasy to be lifted much by a mere air current. Her skin was smudged with dirt and soot as well, but Jedra didn't care. They shared a bond much deeper than the mere physical; he had only to close his eyes to see how beautiful she was.
"The elves certainly seem uninhibited," she said.
Below, some of the elven warriors stood only a few feet from the flames, their backs to the watchers on the dune, but from their stance it was obvious that they were urinating on the fire. Or trying to. The rest of the tribe- women and children as well-were cheering and heckling as first one man, then another, leaped back from the intense heat before he could accomplish the job. A few of the more inebriated managed weak trickles before they, too, were forced back, finally leaving a single warrior standing before the burning wagon. He was tall, and burly for an elf. His only clothing was a pair of bright red pants, and his glistening back rippled with muscle as he calmly went about his business, then buttoned his pants and turned around to receive riotous applause. Jedra noticed with chagrin that the elf had more hair on his chest than he himself did. Half-human ancestry evidently didn't give him the advantage even there.
"He's one of the ones who freed us," Jedra said. "He fought all the way through the caravan to the slave hold. I guess he's entitled to cut loose a little."
"Mmm-hmm."
The elves had appropriated a haunch of meat from the wagon before torching it. It looked like either a leg of mekillot or maybe a whole ink; whichever it was, they had tied it on a spit and were slowly roasting it beside the fire.
The champion elf was impatient, though. He swaggered over to the meat and carved off a fist-sized hunk of it with his sword, then skewered the flesh on the end of the blade and held it closer to the flame. Jedra winced. He could almost feel the heat curling the hair on the elf's arm.
Almost? Suddenly he realized that he was feeling it. His wild psionic talent had linked him empathically with the elf, and Jedra was feeling the other man's pain. He hastily broke contact. The elf suddenly jerked his hand back as his own mind bore the entire sensation again, and the other elves laughed. Fortunately nobody-not even the warrior-suspected Jedra's role in his embarrassment. Jedra vowed to keep a tighter rein on his talent, though. He had known for only a few days that he had any psionic ability at all, and he was still learning how to use it. He could get himself into trouble very easily if he wasn't careful.
The breeze shifted, and the aroma of cooking meat drifted across the dune. Kayan's stomach rumbled. She smiled and patted herself on the bare skin between her halter top and breechcloth. "I could certainly use a few bites of that," she said.
Jedra nodded. "Me, too. That slop they served us in the wagon was even less than I used to get on the streets in Urik."
"It was far less than what a templar's assistant eats," Kayan said, a note of sadness in her voice. Her former life had gone up in flames as surely as the caravan before her. Born into a noble's household, she had become a psionic healer for the templars, a position she'd held until she crossed someone in power. Overnight she'd found herself in the hold of a slave wagon bound for Tyr. The elves had rescued her from that fate, but even so she would no longer eat good meals every day, nor live in a spacious apartment near the sorcerer-king's palace, nor help control the resources of an entire city.
Standing, he said, "I think we should take the elves up on their offer before they decide to withdraw it."
Kayan held out a hand for him to help her to her feet. "Yes," she said, brushing the sand off her breechcloth, "I suppose even associating with boisterous elves is better than starving to death."
They descended the sandy slope hand-in-hand, using one another for support, obviously not accustomed to desert travel. The loose sand rubbed uncomfortably between their sandal straps and their feet, and Kayan kept stopping to shake it out. It wasn't so bad when they reached level ground.
They approached the party with caution. They had watched the elves chase away other survivors from the caravan when they drew too close. Even with their invitation, they weren't sure how they would be received. They were right to be cautious; the elves looked at them suspiciously and whispered among themselves in their own language, and three warriors-one with a sword and two with longbows held ready-moved to intercept them. Before the warriors reached them, however, Galar, the elf who had been enslaved with them, spotted them and held out his arms, saying in the common tongue, "Aha, my friends, you have decided to join our celebration!"
"We don't want to intrude," Jedra said diplomatically, "but the smell of food has overcome us."
"Intrude! Impossible!" Galar spoke loudly for all to hear. Shaking his head until his reddish-blond hair fell into his eyes and had to be shaken out again, he said, "It was you who led the tribe to us, and who fought the slave master with your minds. Without your psionic talent I would still be in the slave hold, another day closer to Tyr, and the Jura-Dai would still thirst for their revenge. You cannot intrude upon a celebration held in your honor." He reached down for Kayan's arm and led her into the midst of the elves, calling out, "Let's show our friends the hospitality of the Jura-Dai. A pint of mead for each of them, and the best cut from the roast. And if we don't hear a song about their exploits by the end of the feast, I'll have the bard's head on a pike!"
Galar's enthusiasm amused the other elves-save for the bard, whose eyes bulged as he realized he now had to come up with an amusing ditty or face the taunts of his drunken tribe. Jedra caught his eye and shrugged in silent apology for his inconvenience, but the bard didn't look mollified.
Jedra didn't have time to worry; within seconds a smiling elf maiden shoved a mug of mead into his hands, slopping a fourth of it over his forearm in the process, and Galar led him on toward the crowd gathered near the cooking spit. Jedra's mouth watered at the wonderful aroma that wafted from the dripping carcass. Inix, it looked like from his closer vantage.
The warrior who had been roasting his own meat had taken refuge behind a shield and edged up close to the burning wagon. The gobbet of steak impaled on his sword hissed and sputtered in the flame, and the warrior would occasionally pull it back to take a bite from it before thrust
ing it out into the fire again. He scowled when he noticed Jedra watching him, until Jedra raised his mug in toast to his benefactor. Then the elf nodded curtly and turned back to his show of bravado.
"That's Sahalik," Galar said softly as he led them onward. "He's our best warrior, and next in line to be chief."
Jedra glanced over at the current chief, a battle-scarred elf a foot shorter than Sahalik and thirty pounds lighter. He walked with a limp and his face bore a haunted look, as if he knew his time was almost up. "Ah," Jedra said, unwilling to gamble on a more informative reply.
What's Sahalik's problem? Kayan mindsent to Jedra.
Elves don't like half-elves, he sent back, trying not to speak aloud at the same time. He was still unused to their mental rapport. They think we're impure.
Oh, great, Kayan sent. Then she shrugged. Well, at least I don't have to worry about the men here, then.
Jedra laughed. Where do you think half-elves come from? Elves don't mind associating with human women, so long as the humans don't expect their children to be accepted by the tribe.
Oh.
"What do you find funny?" Galar asked, and Jedra realized he had laughed aloud.
Thinking fast, he said, "Oh, just the sudden reversal of fortune. A week ago I would never have guessed I'd be dining with elves by the wreckage of the slave caravan that was taking me to Tyr." A murmur of laughter spread among everyone within earshot, and Galar explained. "You city dwellers expect too much certainty in your lives. We nomads of the desert know that life is harsh and unpredictable. We have learned to deal with each day as it comes to us. We have a saying: 'Hope for the best, but expect the worst; that way all your surprises will be pleasant.' "
"Wise counsel," Jedra said. "I'll try to remember it while I travel the desert."
"Oh, that's nothing. I could teach you all sorts of things," she said, batting her eyelashes and thrusting her hips to the side. "I like 'em young and naive."
Jedra blushed while the elves laughed, and the woman said, "Come on, honey, let's get you and your friend here some food before you faint on us. There's plenty of night left for education."
I bet there is, Kayan sent sarcastically. If you touch her, I'll
Don't worry, Jedra told her. She's just playing with me. I'll get away before anything comes of it.
You'd better, Kayan warned.
Jedra felt a mixture of alarm and security at Kayan's obvious jealousy. They had known each other for only a week, and though they'd become close friends while chained side-by-side in the slave hold, even their mental communion couldn't guarantee commitment now that they were free.
Gratefully, Jedra let the elf woman carve a slice of roast for him from the spitted inix. Food would still many tongues, at least for a while. And the woman was right, there was plenty of night left. Anything could happen to distract her.
He watched her prepare the food for him. She laid the slice of meat on a slab of unleavened bread and smothered it in some kind of shredded, pickled vegetable, then folded the whole works over and handed it to him, both ends dripping fat and pickle juice. Jedra looked at it dubiously, but when he bit into it he nearly melted.
Wow! he sent to Kayan, then when he'd chewed and swallowed he echoed the sentiment aloud. "This is wonderful!"
"It should be," the elf woman said. "It was all headed for Kalak's table before we appropriated it from the wagon."
Jedra shuddered to think that he was robbing Tyr's powerful sorcerer-king of his dinner, but then the elven part of him evidently accepted the advice he'd been given and he closed his eyes and savored the moment. Yes, he enjoyed dining from a king's larder. With a beautiful ex-templar woman by his side, at that. Things didn't get much better than this.
He was wrong. True to his word, after the meal Jedra circulated among the elves, removing himself and Kayan from the woman who had propositioned him, and presently they heard another source of laughter and good spirits among the tents the elves had pitched a hundred feet or so from the burning caravan. When they went to investigate they found an incredible sight: the elves were taking baths. The caravan had reached an outpost only a day before it was attacked, so its storage tanks had been full, and since there was more water than the elves could carry with them they were using two barrels of it for the greatest of luxuries.
This group had a bit more modesty than the warriors. They had set the water barrels inside two tents, one for men and one for women. Jedra and Kay an braved the elves' good-natured jibes and joined the lines, and when their turns came they were each given a full minute to climb into their barrels and soak off the grime of captivity.
A water vendor had once let Jedra reach an arm all the way to the bottom of a full cask to retrieve a ceramic coin; until now that had been his only experience with immersion. When he untied his breechcloth and climbed into the barrel, the sensation of cool wetness sliding up his legs and chest was at once the most alarming and most sensuous thing he had ever felt. He took a few seconds to savor the experience, then quickly scrubbed himself with one of the cloths draped over the barrel's side, ducked his head under and swished his hair around, and climbed back out again.
He dripped dry while the next person bathed, all the while marveling at how strange and wonderful his life had become.
* * *
Kayan smelled of flower blossoms. The women had added perfume to their bathwater, and now every time Jedra drew close to her he noticed it. He worked up his courage and took her hand while they explored the rest of the elf camp.
Beyond the tents they found post-and-rope pens holding fifteen or twenty kanks, the long, beetlelike creatures the elves used for pack animals. Kanks also produced honey in melon-sized globules on their abdomens; when one of them brushed by the edge of the pen Jedra reached out and grabbed a small nectar sack.
"Oh!" she said in surprise. "This is good."
"Of course it is," Jedra said. "I wouldn't give you anything that wasn't."
"Of course not." She smiled and took his hand again, and they walked slowly back into camp, eagerly finishing off the rest of the honey like a couple of children.
As darkness fell and the flames died down the air began to grow colder. The elves all wore brightly colored cloaks that they wrapped around themselves when they began to feel the chill, but Jedra had only his slave-issue breechcloth and Kayan her breechcloth and halter so they found themselves drifting back closer to the fire as the night wore on.
That turned out to be a bad idea. Under the flickering firelight, Kayan's freshly cleaned and untanned temple-dweller's skin shone like a white beacon, and as the only uncovered woman there, her ample bosom drew every male's attention. Jedra put his arm around her for warmth, but also to let everyone know they were a couple. Even so, it seemed as if every pair of eyes were focused on them.
I think maybe we should try to find a place to settle down for the night, Jedra mindsent to her.
Someplace warm, Kayan sent back. She shivered within the circle of his arm.
I'll ask Galar where we can sleep. Jedra scanned the semicircle of faces for their friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. He cast his consciousness outward psionically, and eventually found the elf off in the direction of the tents set up near the slip face of a dune a few dozen paces from the caravan. He couldn't sense which tent the elf was in or what he was doing, but that didn't matter. Galar? he sent. Sorry to trouble you, but Kayan and I are cold and tired. Is there somewhere we can sleep?
He didn't expect a reply; his sending talent didn't include mind reading as well. He knew Galar had heard him, though, so he settled in to wait.
But the burly elf warrior, Sahalik, found them first. Jedra heard footsteps behind them, then a deep, hearty voice said, "Huddling close to the fire won't keep you warm for long. Fires burn out-even one as big as this."
Jedra turned to see Sahalik standing with his hands on his hips. He, too, had draped a cloak over his shoulders, but he wore it pulled back to expose his hairy chest. The hilt of his sword
stood forward at an angle that insured instant readiness, and the pommel glittered in the firelight.
"We're discovering that," Jedra said. "We've asked Galar for a place to-"
"Galar! Hah, you won't see him for the rest of the night. He's got some catching up to do, if you follow my meaning."
"Oh," Jedra said, suddenly embarrassed. Of course Galar had better things to do than look after Jedra and Kayan. He was a full member of the tribe; he probably had a lover or even a wife here, maybe even a whole family. He had been away longer than just the few days in the slave caravan, too; during their long hours of captivity he had described how he'd been forced into the gladiator games in Urik for at least a month, fighting for his life against wild animals and other gladiators, some willing, some not. If Jedra were in Galar's place, he probably wouldn't surface again for days.
"Well, then," Jedra said, "maybe we can ask the same thing of you that we asked of Galar."
Sahalik laughed. "Seems to me you turned down the best offer in the camp earlier tonight. You should've thought of that before it got cold; Rayna's already found another." He shifted his eyes to Kayan and grinned widely. Two of his teeth were missing, one upper and one lower on the right side. "As for you, pretty one, I might be able to find a warm spot for you tonight."
"I imagine you could," Kayan said sarcastically, "but I prefer to stay with Jedra."
The elf frowned. "Don't be so hasty. I've got a fine tent all to my own, and a soft-"
"I said no." Kayan's voice cut through the night like a thunderclap. All conversation stopped. In the sudden silence, a burning timber popped, sending a shower of sparks into the air.
Sahalik stood like a statue, completely taken aback. Evidently no one had ever refused him before, at least so publicly. He opened his mouth to speak, but could find no words to say.
Galar saved them all from further embarrassment. He skidded into the circle of firelight, his clothes in disarray and his hair sticking out in all directions, and took in the scene in a glance. Then he whirled around and shouted into the darkness, "Where's that lazy bard? The night's nearly gone. We'll hear your song now, bard!"