The Malmillard Codex

by K. G. McAbee

  "Father!" cried the boy. "Father?"

  Val could not tell if the boy cried out for his father—or to his father.

  He did not think he wanted to know that answer.

  ***

  A scream jolted through Val's ear.

  He sat up, sand showering away from him in tiny rivulets, scrabbling wildly for his sword.

  A vulture, the skin of its bare, crusty head gleaming pink in the feeble rays of dawn, watched Val with a black and considering eye. The bird was less that an arm's length from his tangle of blankets.

  "Get way!" Val snarled, batted at it with one hand while the other finally found his sword.

  Disappointed, the carrion eater hopped backward on scaly claws, then spread huge wings and flapped upward with another long, eerie scream.

  Not today, the scream promised Val. Perhaps not tomorrow. But soon…soon…

  Val looked blearily around, his normal confusion upon awakening from his uncanny dreams even greater than usual. He shook his head, trying to drive away the dim images that still cluttered it; his sense of urgency, his need to resume his quest, was already making his heart pound.

  The light from the sun just peaking over the distant horizon grew stronger with every heartbeat; it was already casting long shadows from the empty saddlebags that lay in a discarded heap, blankets and supplies piled beside them.

  But where was his horse?

  Val shook off his blankets and struggled to his feet, his muscles aching. He did not remember unsaddling his horse, but he remembered with the utmost clarity tying its reins to a peg driven in the sand, to prevent it from wandering off in the night. Where was it?

  "Good morning, Master Val," chirped a cheery voice.

  Garet, his scrawny figure casting a shadow a dozen feet tall and as thin as a post, slithered down the side of an adjacent sandy dune. The boy's arms were wrapped tight around a huge bundle.

  "Where are the horses?" Val snapped. "Have you seen them? And what's that you have?"

  "Yes, yes, and breakfast, sir," sang out the boy as he slid to a stop just in front of Val. "Dates, almonds, and fresh baked bread. And a jar of milk, of course."

  Val eyed the boy with concern. "Of course," he repeated, concerned that the previous harrowing day had unhinged the boy's mind.

  Val rubbed a hand over his gritty face and wondered if he dared splash a bit of their precious water on it before they went in search of their wandering mounts. For they had merely wandered off in the nighttime, he knew; he dared not allow himself to contemplate any other scenario.

  "And if you'd care to bathe," continued the boy as if he'd read Val's mind, "although I for one consider the custom unhealthy and overrated, there's hot water as well." Garet set his burden down with tender care.

  Val felt his mouth drop open in amazement as Garet opened his bundle, removing the cloth in which it was wrapped and spreading it out as if it were the finest of embroidered table linens.

  Dates, their sticky wrinkled skins as dark as burnished midnight, tumbled forth in a raucous mass. Almonds followed them more sedately, shaped like a beautiful woman's eyes. A thick round of brown bread, still steaming in the cool morning air, sent out succulent odors that filled Val's mouth with sweet, hot juices. A leather jug, plugged tight with a bit of twisted rag, sloshed in invitation.

  "I've gone mad at last," Val whispered.

  "Oh, do not worry your poor head on that matter, Master. Indeed, it happened years and years ago, if I may be so bold," said Garet tartly; he tore the loaf in chunks and began methodically stuffing his mouth full. He offered a hunk to Val with dirty fingers that were almost the same color as the loaf.

  "Tell me quickly, boy, where these riches came from. We have no time to dawdle; we must find our mounts and be on our way, before the trail grows any colder." Val—his mind chanting 'hurry, hurry' even as his belly growled—seized bread and took a bite, glaring down at the hungry boy.

  "Oh, the horses, Master? They're just over that dune, to be sure, sir. Where breakfast came from, don't you know?" said Garet as he pulled the rag stopper from the mouth of the jug. The boy gave an absent nod toward the sandy height down which he'd just slithered.

  Val twisted around to peer up the steep expanse, then turned back to Garet with a snarl of disbelief on his face.

  Garet eyed the jug and then Val, as if wondering whether his master deserved, in his present snappish condition, any of the contents. Reaching a decision at last, he reluctantly offered the first drink to Val.

  "What's there, an oasis or such?" Val snapped. He grabbed the jug and turned it up, guzzling fully half its contents. "Hurry, boy. We must find our horses, pack up and be away."

  Garet took the jug and sipped the contents delicately. "We've plenty of time, Master," he said airily as he examined the dates. "The sun is only just up, after all. And the horses are still having their breakfasts; I'm sure they'll travel much better on full stomachs too."

  His patience exhausted, Val shouted, "Have you forgotten why we're here, you little fool?"

  A hurt look spreading across his grimy features, Garet sat back on his haunches. "How little you know me if you think that, Master Val," he mumbled around a mouthful of dates. He chewed them methodically and spit the stones into a neat pile, before resuming, "I have forgotten nothing at all. When I was offered this booty in the small camp just over that dune, I thought it only right that they share it with me…and I with you, naturally. We have to eat, you know, to keep up our strength; we'll need it for our journey, won't we?"

  Val started towards the dune. "Camp," he said, his voice low. "The bandit camp?"

  "Oh, I hardly think so, indeed, Master," the boy shook his head. "Thieves and bandits they are, no doubt, but they're not our bandits, if you take my meaning, sir. These folk are really quite pleasant, I must say. Of course, they and I do have a great deal in common, so it's not surprising that we'd hit it off so well from…."

  Ignoring the boy's ceaseless chattering, Val raced up the hill, his sword free in one hand. Just before he reached the top, he fell to his knees and peeked a cautious head over the summit.

  A green oasis, as Val suspected, its small central water hole hardly bigger than one of the wagons in the caravan. The tiny pool shone like a jewel in the fresh morning light. A handful of palms clustered around the pool's ragged shore, their thirsty roots digging deep into the sandy soil.

  A small encampment circled the oasis, no more than half a dozen tents flapping in the breeze. Horses and camels, perhaps a score of them, were imprisoned in a small corral made of the briery bushes that tumbled across the sands with every wind.

  Val could pick out their own mounts, dark instead of sand colored, in the huddle of animals. A couple of cook fires sent up thin spirals of smoke, silver gray against the dun sand.

  "They're really quite friendly, sir," whispered a tiny voice in Val's ear. Garet had slithered down beside him, quiet as a mouse. "They gave me all this food and said they'd like to talk to us after we eat."

  "About what?" Val snapped.

  "Why, our quest, naturally," huffed Garet. He stuffed another date in his mouth from the handful he had thoughtfully brought with him.

  "I suppose you told them everything about why we're here and what we're looking for?" Val snarled.

  "Actually, they already know all about it," was the surprising reply.

  A man dressed in flowing tan robes stepped out of a tent and looked up toward the dune atop which Garet and Val lay. The man waved his hand in a beckoning motion, then stooped and disappeared back inside the tent.

  Val shook his head, his eyes glued on the scene below them. "This is madness," he said—his mind urging 'speed, speed'. "We must be on our way. The sun's up and we can't waste any more time. The bandits who have Madryn—if she's not here—are no doubt already on horseback, getting farther and farther ahead of us by the instant."

  "You'll never catch them on horseback," said a voice.

  But this was not Garet's squeak. Va
l turned at the sound of the deep, harsh tones, his heart pounding in surprise, his sword coming up in ready defense.

  A tall man stood behind them, just below the crest of the slippery dune. Draped in flowing robes the exact color of the sands, he cast a quick wary eye at Val's sword and then smiled down at him as if they were old acquaintances.

  "Not on horseback," said the man. "Horses can't survive where she's gone. But a man can, if he takes the proper precautions."

  ***

  "I don't understand," said Val. "Where have they taken her?"

  He looked around at the assembled bandit band, their sunburned faces dark against their pale robes.

  "They've gone through the portal," said Aanakun, his voice grim. "Few who enter the portal ever return to this world unchanged."

  Aanakun had led Val and Garet down the slope and into this tent. The other bandits, a dozen or so all told, squatted or reclined on piles of threadbare blankets and rugs, as they sipped fermented camel's milk from brass mugs.

  "What portal is in the middle of the desert?" Val scoffed. His frantic need to follow Madryn made his hands tremble. "My friend was kidnapped by a horde of bandits yesterday, a hundred or more. I helped fight off their attack."

  "So did I," said Garet indistinctly, his mouth full of dates and almonds.

  "We followed their trail until dark. We need to be after them now, before they disappear. We need our horses, and we'll go on our way."

  "You can't follow them on horseback, as I've already told you," Aanakun repeated, stroking his bearded chin. "And there was no horde of bandits."

  "I saw more than a hundred of them," Val said, in the slow and measured tone of a man who realized he was in the presence of madness. He took a deep breath and tried to still the trembling of his hands. His mind whispered 'hurry, hurry'. "I killed three of them myself, saw many others die, and saw their blood sink into the sands. We drove them away. They took Madryn with them. I can still catch them if you'll let me have my horse so I can be on my way."

  Hurry, hurry, Val's mind whispered.

  Aanakun sighed, but gave no sign that he could see his burly guest was shaking to be gone. "There is no horde," he repeated. "We are the only bandits in this stretch of desert, the only ones between Rinidia and Lakazsh."

  "But the caravan master said there were hundreds of bandits. He hired us to—" Val said helplessly.

  They're all mad, his mind said calmly. And so am I. He just managed to restrain a hysterical cackle of laughter.

  "We have an old agreement with Master Aubry," interrupted Aanakun, his pitying eyes locked onto Val. "We make sure that travelers believe in us enough to pay his exorbitant fees; we appear, make a bit of bother, then ride off with a few baubles. Aubry shares a portion of his fees with us at the end of every passage. It's a simple plan that provides for both our needs and his."

  "But we were attacked," Val insisted—though he remembered Master Aubry's surprise. "If you are the only bandits in this part of the desert, then who attacked the caravan?"

  "The horde was not from our world. They were conjured by a most powerful pair of mages, who reside on the other side of the portal," began Aanakun.

  Val recognized the pity in the man's eyes.

  "We were gathering together with our north camp brethren," Aanakun continued, using his hands to describe the two bands joining. "We'd arranged with Master Aubry to stage a mock attack just before the caravan reached Rinidia, then conveniently be driven off before any of our number could be hurt."

  "They are Llar Zhan," chirped Garet, as if that explained everything—which to his mind, Val realized, it did."

  "We are," agreed Aanakun, smiling at the boy.

  "But I thought Llar Zhan were children led by old teachers," said Val helplessly.

  "Yes, but we don't stay children forever, do we?" asked Garet, his hands on his bony hips. "We grow up, as all folk do, of course. Some of us farther than others, it seems." The boy eyed Val's bulk with a disapproving eye. "Then we are forced to go into other lines of business to keep ourselves fed. Some lucky few retire on their acquired wealth. Some study to become adepts, some hire out for mercenaries. Some even become politicians—although those of us who still retain our dignity never acknowledge them after that. And some…become bandits in the desert."

  "This is all very interesting," Val sighed, "but I really must be on my way after Madryn. If you'll give me my horse back, I'll be on my way."

  "But that's just what he's been telling you, Master Val," Garet said as if explaining a simple fact to a backward child. "Mistress Madryn has been taken through a magical portal by some demons conjured by powerful adepts. We can't ride our horses there. We must go on foot."

  "Listen," Val growled, his eyes full of uncanny light. "I have not had a very good journey thus far. Madryn is missing. I've got to find her. Are you going to help me, or must I kill all of you and then take my horse and go?"

  "Can you find the portal without our help, think you?" asked Aanakun, not appearing frightened by Val in the least.

  "I don't know anything about a portal!" Val shouted, springing to his feet and grabbing for his sword. "All I want to do is ride out and find Madryn!"

  "Why?" Aanakun asked, the pity clear on his bearded face. "So you can die with her?"

  ***

  A strange, monotonous hum filled the dry, dusty air, a sound almost palpable in its intensity. It emanated from an odd stone construct that sat at the bottom of the crevice, on the edge of which lay Garet, Aanakun and Val.

  The portal—if that indeed was what the thing was, thought Val—rested at the bottom of a deep arroyo in the deserts sands, no doubt the site of a long-vanished river. The ancient rushing waters had gnawed deep into the shifting sands and into the underlying bedrock before they had disappeared into the mists of the past. Their disappearance had left only a narrow ravine that could not be seen unless—or until—one fell into it, so well hidden was it from prying eyes.

  The trail that Val and Garet had followed all the previous day, as faint and unclear now as if it had been made months ago, ended at the very edge of the ravine.

  "What happened to the horses they rode, if horses cannot live on the other side of that thing?" whispered Val. He was not sure why he was whispering, but it seemed to be the proper thing to do when faced with the humming construct below. And he was far from sure that he believed Aanakun, even faced with this extraordinary bit of evidence.

  "They weren't riding horses at all, though they made them appear so to us," replied Aanakun in similarly hushed tones. "We've watched this portal for years, ever since it first appeared down there. The Malmillard pay very well for information on what goes in and out that thing, as well as when."

  "Malmillard?" Val had heard the odd name before, he knew. An image of Garet clinging behind him on his horse, chattering about some nonsense, rose up in his mind. "They're some sort of magic workers?"

  "They are," agreed Aanakun. The desert nomad seized Val's robe and dragged him away from the edge of the ravine and behind a sandy dune, out of sight of the strange construct—but not away from that eerie hum, which followed them and surrounded them.

  But the sound did lessen to some degree, save for a tiny irritating whimper of teeth-grating noise.

  "The Malmillard have been curious about that portal ever since it appeared, what, nearly thirty years ago. Some of the adepts believe that it has some similarity with the Great Rift that appeared in the northern wastes at about the same time," Aanakun explained.

  His words had little meaning for Val, until he remembered some fragments of the history of the Rift from his dreams.

  "That's the same Rift that Madryn was involved in destroying?" Val asked hesitantly.

  "The same. In all the time that the portal has been down there, we have watched it for Malmillard, taking careful note of what happens around it, what passes through it in either direction. Our watchers have seen some bizarre occurrences over the years, but none more uncanny that the cre
atures that came out…and became the horde of bandits that attacked your caravan." Aanakun rose and dusted the sand off his hands, motioned to the other two to rise. "It began as a whirling mist of mingled black and copper. I saw it myself, it being my turn on duty."

  Aanakun led them towards another segment of the snaking ravine. Against its side, a ladder made of rope and strips of metal led downward; the twists and turns of the ancient, long-departed river had wrapped the resulting crevice almost on top of itself in some spots. Here, so close to the alien portal that the hum could still be heard, it was still possible to hide a small encampment deep in the shadowy depths of the ravine.

  The ladder supports were cut into the rocky limestone walls; at certain sections, wide ledges made it possible to stand and walk before being forced back onto the ladder. Strong, protruding poles outstretched, making it possible to lower supplies into the ravine instead of carrying them down by hand.

  The poles also made convenient handholds for those without a head for heights; Val was pleased to discover. He made full use of them as he clambered down into the darkening pit. Descending before Val, Garet slithered down as if he used the ladder every day of his life.

  At the bottom of the arroyo was a shelter, a cave that penetrated into the side of the cliff and disappeared into darkness. Inside its gloom, Val and Garet sat down to learn all that Aanakun could tell them about the portal.

  It wasn't much. Val wondered if it would do them any good. He'd still not quite accepted that Madryn had been taken inside that thing that rested around a corner of rock from them, but he'd seen the tracks that disappeared before it.

  "The portal opens each day at sunrise and sunset," Aanakun said. "It remains open only the briefest of times, so you must be careful to enter it at precisely the proper moment, no sooner, no later, and to come out," he paused, then repeated with even greater emphasis, "and to come out at exactly the correct moment as well. We've never seen any horses go into it; that's why we believe that they cannot live inside there. It's not surprising, really, considering what it's like on the other side."