Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Less than a li later they found a jumble of nomad huts, most pulled over and torn apart, revealing the interiors of the structures, and the bodies of the inhabitants. A few carrion birds circled overhead, but not in the numbers that might have been expected a year ago. On the ground no herds of goats or ponies remained, only a few angry dogs that were circling a starving kid bleating for its mother. Zangi-Ragozh ran the dogs off and pulled in his horse, dismounting carefully, for Flying Cloud was sweating and tossing his head at the strong scent of blood and decay that hung over the place. “They wanted food; they killed everyone, even strong youngsters, and the women were not raped; they were hungry and in a hurry,” he said as he made his way through the ruin of the camp. “The goats and ponies were for cooking.”

  “Anything else gone?” Ro-shei asked as he pulled the wagon in.

  “I hardly know. I can find no barrels of grain or salt-meat, or butter, if they had any.” He walked toward the largest hut, the only one that showed signs of burning. “They intended to do this, to raid quickly and slaughter anyone who stood against them. They singled this group out. They knew what they wanted and that they would find it here.” He turned over a woven mat and found two beheaded children. “These people here were helpless, whoever they were.”

  “Do you know what group they belonged to? Is there a clan sign? I haven’t seen one.” Ro-shei stared about the destruction and pointed out a torn bit of cloth. “That flag is from the Land of Snows.”

  “So it is. And so is this embroidery, though these people were not, judging by their clothing and their faces. They must have traded with the people of the Land of Snows,” Zangi-Ragozh said, holding up a cap of shearling wool. “They may have come from Chanchi-lah Pass.”

  “Not this year.”

  “No, probably not, which may mean they traveled between the Land of Snows and the Silk Road regularly or had contact with those who did. I am not familiar with all the clans between here and Kashgar, though someone must know them: we’ll ask in An-Hsi,” Zangi-Ragozh conceded as he continued to look for some sign of who had attacked. “I do not recognize this arrow,” he said at last, lifting one from amid a tumble of kitchen pots. He went to give it to Ro-shei.

  “Nor do I,” said Ro-shei when he had examined it. “No, it’s not familiar.”

  “Is there a new band of thieves or a warlord coming into the region? Or is this something else?” He took the arrow back, tapping it on his hand meditatively. “They say the Turks are becoming restive again.”

  “The arrow is not Turkish,” said Ro-shei.

  “I know; but if the Turks are moving, they will drive others ahead of them.” He looked around again. “They are desperate, whoever they are.”

  “I surmise their numbers are small,” said Ro-shei, “or they would have taken much more.”

  “I agree. They took what they could carry, and what they needed most.” Zangi-Ragozh clenched his jaw. “The waste of it!”

  “Do you want to feed on the kid?” Ro-shei asked. “If he is not to be wasted, as well?”

  “I know it would be prudent to do so, and perhaps I can convince myself that such feeding is a kindness,” Zangi-Ragozh answered in a tone of self-condemnation. “I can make myself believe—almost—that it would do no good to spare the creature to live another day; those dogs or some other wild animals will return to devour it when we leave.”

  “Then I will catch it; he’s not far from us,” said Ro-shei, securing the reins of the wagon and climbing down from the box. “His life will do some good.”

  “That is hardly consolation,” said Zangi-Ragozh, approaching the center of the tumbled shelters, making a sweeping gesture at the devastation around them. “Most were felled where they stood. I doubt these people fought back, which may mean they were ill or starving or both. They certainly were not ready to defend themselves.” He considered what he saw around him more critically. “We have not time enough to bury them, and I would not like to burn this wreckage.” Slowly he paced away from Ro-shei, then came back again. “Well, have a last look, get the kid, and let us leave.”

  Accepting this decision, Ro-shei picked up a good-sized empty brass cauldron. “This is useful.”

  “So it is,” Zangi-Ragozh agreed, glad to have something else to hold his attention in place of slaughtered people.

  “Would you protest if I were to take it with us?” Ro-shei kept his question level.

  “Do we have need of it?” Zangi-Ragozh asked in some surprise. “We have no reason to cook.”

  “Who knows?” Ro-shei replied. “It may be useful. Occasionally you need hot water, and in time we may want to trade it.”

  Zangi-Ragozh considered. “Is there room in the wagon for it?”

  “I can make room,” said Ro-shei confidently, grabbing the arched handle of the cauldron and hefting it onto his shoulder to bear it up into the wagon. “I’ll get the kid shortly.”

  “He will not go far,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  As if to confirm this, the kid bleated and came trotting from around the broken poles of one of the dwellings.

  “It would seem he is willing,” said Ro-shei, watching the baby goat approaching.

  “It would seem he is lonely,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “But you are right. There is no kindness in leaving him here to be eaten by dogs or desert cats.”

  “And he would be,” said Ro-shei. “Tonight, tomorrow, but no later than that.”

  “Yes. He would,” Zangi-Ragozh said, holding his hand out and clicking his tongue to encourage the kid, petting the small head as the animal came up to him.

  “Have you got him?” Ro-shei asked over his shoulder.

  “Yes. I’ll be quick,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and picked up the young animal, calming it with a gentle pat and an expert touch.

  “It was a wise thing to do,” Ro-shei said as they pulled out of the ruined encampment, headed northwest. He had stored a haunch of the kid in a cloth sack under the driving-box; the horses and ponies had been watered and were willing to keep up a good, steady trot. “You needed the blood, and I the flesh.”

  “I know,” said Zangi-Ragozh distantly as he rode slightly ahead of the wagon. He shaded his eyes and looked eastward. “The travelers have not changed direction.”

  “Then the slaughter we found may have been what has been troubling you,” Ro-shei said.

  “Perhaps.” Zangi-Ragozh was unconvinced. “At An-Hsi, we will get what news we can.” He said nothing for a short awhile, then spoke in a calm voice. “We are going to find as bad, and worse, before this is over.”

  “Whatever this may be,” said Ro-shei.

  “Yes. Whatever it is that has taken place.” Zangi-Ragozh forced enthusiasm into his next words. “At least we will find warmth and plenty again in the West.”

  “So you hope,” said Ro-shei with unusual bleakness.

  “Do you doubt it?” Zangi-Ragozh asked.

  Ro-shei hitched up his shoulders. “I hope you may be right, my master, but—” He broke off, then went on, “In Holin-Gol, the men in the market called it the dark of the sun, and I am afraid that they had the right of it. The sun is in the sky, but it has no warmth, no strength, and the land suffers.”

  “Yes,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  “You have lived much longer than I have, and you say you have not seen anything to equal this,” Ro-shei continued.

  “That is true,” Zangi-Ragozh admitted.

  “Then it may be that the world is ending,” said Ro-shei.

  “It may be,” Zangi-Ragozh said quietly.

  “You say nothing more than that?” Ro-shei challenged.

  “What more can I say?” Zangi-Ragozh asked. “I hope we may find that this dark of the sun ends as we go west, but if it does not, then …” He faltered, unable to continue. “The Egyptians called the West the abode of death.”

  “Can you starve to death? To the True Death?” Ro-shei asked bluntly. “Can I?”

  “By all the forgotten gods, I hope so,” said Zangi-Rago
zh with quiet conviction.

  This sobering remark silenced Ro-shei until after a brilliant sunset, when they turned northward; he pointed to the evening star. “It is bluer than I remember it.”

  “All the sky has changed colors,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Dawn and sunset and the midheaven at noon. Nothing is as it was.”

  “Do you think it is the same in the West?” Ro-shei asked uneasily.

  “It is the same sky,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “If this is some manner of invisible cloud, then it may dissipate—we must hope that it will—between this place and my native earth.”

  “Is that where we are going?” Ro-shei was startled.

  “It lies between us and the farthest shores of Gaul, or Hispania,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “It may serve our purposes to go there.”

  “To die?”

  “If nothing else,” said Zangi-Ragozh quietly. “There may be other advantages to going there if this cloud remains in the sky: I hope that the cloud is gone long before we reach those mountains, but if it is not gone, I will be glad that we have a place to go.” Zangi-Ragozh peered into the deepening night. “The other travelers have made camp for the night. You can see their fires.” He pointed eastward.

  “So I can,” said Ro-shei, and did not say anything more about their destination as they continued on toward An-Hsi.

  It was nearing midnight by the time they saw the torches in the watchtowers of An-Hsi, and a short while later they could make out the fires of the travelers camped outside the brick walls of the town. The wind had come up, cold and cutting as knives, and the flames from the torches and campfires leaped and quivered under its invisible lash. As Zangi-Ragozh and Ro-shei drew nearer, they noticed that a mounted guard patrolled the limits of the camps, ready to fight off any attack that might come, so they made a point of making the kind of noise that meant little trouble as they approached, keeping to the center of the packed-earth roadway.

  In a response to their arrival, a guard in a blue-dyed shuba and heavy, Hunnic leggings rode up on a feisty pony to halt them with his short lance. “Who are you? Where are you coming from? Where are you going? What is your business? What do you carry?” He spoke in Chinese and repeated himself in the strange dialect of An-Hsi, then in badly pronounced Persian.

  “I am Zangi-Ragozh, a foreign merchant from Yang-Chau. I am bound for the Black Sea to trade in spices and dyes; at present I carry very little beyond dyes and feed for my ponies,” he answered in Chinese as he got off his horse. “We have come from an encampment, half a day from here, which had been attacked and sacked by unknown men about a day before we got there.”

  “A sacked encampment, you say?” The guard was distrustful. “You will have to make a report to the Merchants’ Council.”

  “I will. Others may be in danger from those who raided and killed,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  “Small groups are always in such danger,” said the guard with fatality. “Those who travel in the region know the risks they take. It is for them to prepare.”

  “And it is for you to warn them to be prepared,” said Zangi-Ragozh levelly.

  “So you may tell the Council,” the guard told him.

  “I certainly will. In the morning, if it is all the same to you, for I doubt the Council is sitting at this hour. just now, my traveling companion and I are in need of sleep.” Zangi-Ragozh made a sign of respect to the guard. “Post one of your men to watch us tonight, if you think that necessary.”

  The guard frowned, scrutinizing the two newcomers. “I will post a watch on you.”

  “Good,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  “How does it serve your purpose?” The guard was unused to such cooperation and found such acquiescence made him uneasy.

  “So our movements may be accurately reported to the Council,” said Zangi-Ragozh, tugging at Flying Cloud’s reins to lead him to the wagon.

  “Is there reason to do so?” the guard demanded. “Draw your wagon over there, to the base of the third watchtower. I will send two men to keep you secure for the night. In the morning, you will go to the Merchants’ Council to make your report and to be assessed a duty for entering An-Hsi.”

  “I am most grateful,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  The guard snorted in disbelief, but pulled his pony back so that Ro-shei could guide the wagon to the place he had indicated. “My men will be with you shortly,” he said, and rode off at a good clip.

  “Grateful?” Ro-shei echoed.

  “Yes,” said Zangi-Ragozh, leading his horse up behind the wagon. “I hope the Council is willing to trust what I tell them, and it is more likely they will if we’re guarded and prove safe.”

  Ro-shei drew in the wagon and secured the reins. “What do you want from the Council?”

  “I want as much of a safe passage as we may be given,” said Zangi-Ragozh, going toward the front of the wagon.

  “Do you think we will need safe passage?” Ro-shei asked as he got down from the driving-box.

  “Oh, yes.” Zangi-Ragozh secured Flying Cloud to the rear of the wagon and turned to loosen his girth. “So do you,” he added cannily.

  Text of a safe-conduct granted by the Merchants’ Council of An-Hsi to the foreign merchant Zangi-Ragozh, along with an inventory of all duty paid on goods being carried and a record of all animals held and purchased by Zangi-Ragozh.

  The Merchants’ Council of An-Hsi presents this safe-conduct to the foreign merchant Zangi-Ragozh of Yang-Chau, ensuring him safe passage from An-Hsi to Kumul, also known as Ha-Mi, without the pain of additional duties imposed upon the goods he carries in a single wagon and on three camels, which were purchased in the market here for six silver bars and the exchange of two Celestial horses. Any escort sought by Zangi-Ragozh, upon acceptance of terms of employment, is to be provided and honored.

  On the sixth day of the Fortnight of the Young Camels, at the Merchants’ Council House in An-Hsi.

  The Seal of the Council

  The Inventory of Articles carried by Zangi-Ragozh upon which duty has been paid:

  six ponies

  three camels

  necessary tack and saddlery for all animals

  ten leather nosebags, and ten of heavy cloth

  brushed, combs, picks, and grooming cloths

  nippers, rasps, an anvil, a dozen iron ingots, mallets, and hammers

  a single wagon, with three replacement wheels

  four crates, three containing earth, one containing fabric, clothing, bedding, and bolts of silk

  clothing needed for the trek to the West, including shubas, shaidans, boots, Persian robes, sen-gais and sen-hsiens, cloaks, and hats

  four bolts of uncut silk, and six lengths of woven wool

  nine felt saddle-pads, and two sets of felt harness-pads

  four barrels of mixed feed for the ponies, and four for the camels

  six sacks of chopped hay

  two sacks of dried fruit

  a sack of crimped oats

  three sacks of buckwheat

  two barrels of oil five barrels of water, and a small tub for washing and catching water

  three cooking pots

  four rice-bowls

  a tea service

  four alabaster cups

  three brass trays

  cooking and eating utensils, including a cleaver and a ladle

  two caravan tents

  a large crate of spices and dyes

  a create containing twenty-four jade figures, and nineteen small statues in precious woods

  a large box of paper, with inkpad and brushes

  a locked safe-box containing fifty-eight strings of copper cash, forty-six of silver and twenty bars each of silver and gold

  a box-chest of medicaments, bandages, salves, balsams, unguents, and healing instruments

  two mattresses

  six blanket

  three, oiled canvas roof-covers for the wagon

  a small chest of bracelets, brooches, and pectorals, designated for trade

  two crossbows and
one standard bow, with fifty quarrels and thirty arrows

  three axes, an awl, a mallet, a hammer, forty nails, and a wrench

  wood for torches and fires, and a sack of kindling

  flint-and-steel

  strips of bridle-leather and a dozen leather patches

  two dozen canvas patches, three dozen of cotton, and two dozen of silk

  four lengths of hempen rope, three spools of silken twine, and a spool of cotton string

  five needles and nine lengths of light thread, fifteen of heavy

  This is the, sum of the foreign merchant Zangi-Ragozh’s provisions.

  Authenticated by

  Noshun-Ya Jailan

  Clerk of the Merchants’ Council of An-Hsi

  (his chop)

  2

  Passage to Kumul was uneventful beyond the deepening cold as the sun moved southward in the sky and the days shortened. In slightly less than three fortnights, they went from An-Hsi to the easternmost rising of the Tien Shan range. During the first fortnight, Zangi-Ragozh elected to travel most of the night and into the morning, resting through the brightest part of the day, and then moving off again in late afternoon; it helped him stave off the worst of his hunger, for there were few opportunities for nourishment beyond the occasional blood of a goat or a wild ass, and that was barely sufficient to his needs. They encountered few other travelers on the road through that desolate waste, and those they did see were more small groups of horsemen, clans bound in search of flourishing pastures, not well-laden caravans from the West. The foothills of the Tien Shan range proved difficult to approach, for there had been a number of rock slides, and from time to time, Zangi-Ragozh had to dismount from his pony and clear the way for the wagon and the camels.

  The stone walls of Kumul were a welcome sight when at last they came around a massive outcropping of rock and caught their first glimpse of the five watchtowers on the flank of the mountain’s swell. On the floor of the narrow valley just at the town’s foot where there was usually a sea of caravan tents, this morning there were no more than twenty, less than a quarter of the usual number.