by Simon Brown
“We call these gods’ roots,” Gudon said, and bit off a mouthful. “We use it to spice our food.”
Lynan copied him. The flesh was softer than he thought it would be, but very fibrous. At first, he thought its taste seemed sweet, but then he felt the mild tingling along his tongue and down his throat that told him worse was to come. A moment later, he was spitting it out and gulping water from the brook.
“What do you use it to spice? Leather?” Lynan’s tongue and throat felt as if someone had stuck a burning branch down his gullet.
“The Chett use it widely in cooking. If you leave it in the sun for several days, then pound it into a dust and add water to it, you get haethu. If you add a handful of the dust to a pond or river, the fish come belly-up to the surface and are easy to catch. If you rub the juice into your skin, flies and mosquitoes stay away.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“It is the most wondrous of all plants.”
Lynan felt his stomach rumble. He hoped they would soon have more to eat than the occasional handful of nuts and berries.
The clouds disappeared during the afternoon and the heat became another burden for Lynan to bear. Although the slope became less treacherous, the ground was now made up of large rocks rounded by weathering. The horse became increasingly skittish and difficult to handle. Gudon sang to it, which calmed it for a while but also brought a warm wind blowing up and over the mountains from the Lesser Desert.
“One must be careful with the songs,” Gudon said. “There is always a price to pay for using any magic.”
“Apparently,” Lynan said wryly, blinking furiously to keep the sweat out of his eyes. He could feel the skin on his ears and nose starting to burn. “So why did your princess send you to the Barda?”
Gudon did not seem surprised by the question, and he answered without hesitation. “Because it was the mercenaries working out of Hume and Haxus who were the center of the cursed slave trade, and my people were its main victims. They used the Barda River to take us down to Daavis for selling.”
“But that was many years ago.”
“We have a long memory. We keep watch, we listen, we smell the air. We will not let the Slavers arise again and take us as they did before.”
“But the Chetts are famous warriors. Why didn’t you stop them back then?”
“For many centuries the Chetts lived in small tribes of a hundred or so. It doesn’t matter how brave you are if your enemy is three or four times your strength and you have children and cattle to protect. We finally started coming together to make larger tribes, but there were many arguments among the chiefs about who should be in charge. We fought each other as much as we fought the Slavers. In the end the father of my princess won a great battle against other Chetts near a waterhole called the High Sooq, and we started planning to hit back against the enemy.”
“Your army was big enough to take them on?”
“Not in one battle, little master. The Oceans of Grass are very wide and hold more people than any in the east suspect, but not so many to take on the rich lands of Hume or Haxus. But we could raid and harry. In the end, it never came to be.”
“Why?”
Gudon leaned over and tapped Lynan on the shoulder. “Because of your mother and because of your father. She ordered the destruction of the Slavers, and he carried out her command in a great war.”
Lynan blushed. For as long as he could remember, he had been proud of his father’s record as a general, but it had always been a private thing, without real understanding of what Elynd Chisal’s efforts had meant for other people. Lynan blinked with a sudden thought.
“Prado was one of the mercenary captains who worked for the Slavers?”
“Oh, yes. I have never seen him before, but all Chetts know what he looks like, and know his name. I hope the jaizru fed off him.”
“So do I,” Lynan said, touching the wound on his jaw. “So do I.”
“Here!” Ager cried. “Over here!”
Kumul and Jenrosa stopped their search of the ground and joined Ager at the edge of a gully. Ager held up a white misshapen lump.
“Congratulations,” Kumul said. “What is it and what are you going to do with it?”
Ager threw it to Kumul, who caught it and looked at it. “See the tooth marks?”
“They could be from anything—”
“And how the root is cut neatly at one end?”
Kumul looked more closely. “Yes, you’re right.”
“And here,” Ager said pointing to the ground. “They’re hard to see because the ground is so hard, but hoofprints, for sure.”
Jenrosa breathed a sigh of relief. “So Lynan did come this way.”
“Afraid your magic had failed you?” Kumul teased.
“I told you which direction they were traveling,” she said reproachfully.
“Well, now we can be sure where they’re heading,” Ager said quickly, throwing warning glances at them both. The two of them had become short-tempered since losing the tracks they had been following the previous night.
Kumul nodded. “The Algonka Pass.”
“It makes sense. We had always planned to make for the Oceans of Grass, and from here that’s the only route.”
“At least he’s not trying to cross the Lesser Desert.”
“He might have if the pilot he rescued did not know the way,” Ager said.
“Common sense would tell him not to go through the desert,” Kumul scoffed.
“But not how to move along the Ufero Mountains, and not which direction to travel.”
“How long ago were they here?” Jenrosa asked.
“Five hours ago, maybe more.”
“They are pulling ahead of us, despite the injured pilot.”
“That’s because we had to rediscover their trail. Now we know for sure that they are heading for the Algonka Pass, we can make for it directly. We should get there soon after they do.”
“Why not try and get there before them?” Kumul asked. “We could walk through the night.”
“Along this route? I don’t think so, at least not if you want to keep the horses. It’s bad enough in daylight.”
Kumul did not argue the point. “All right, but let’s get moving. The more ground we make up before the sun goes down, the less anxious I’ll be.”
Prado was beginning to wish the jaizru had eaten him. It took the last vestiges of his strength to remain seated on the horse Rendle had given him. The company rode for four hours until the first signs of dawn lit the sky, then rested for half an hour. Rendle sent a surgeon to look at Prado’s wounds and the man applied some foul-smelling ointment that took away some of the pain but none of his exhaustion. They rode all that morning, always keeping the Barda in sight, heading northwest toward the Ufero Mountains and the Algonka Pass. Farmers threatened them when they rode over their fields, and Eder would disdainfully throw each of them a handful of coins. Merchants leading long lines of pack horses and mules would swear at them as the passing column upset their animals and sent huge clouds of dust sweeping into their faces; these Eder ignored.
Rendle ordered a halt again before midday. They ate cold rations of dried-beef-and-yogurt strips. Rendle sent his fastest outriders ahead with orders to locate Lynan and if possible detain him until the main force caught up, or, if they encountered Chetts in any numbers, to ride back with a warning.
The company rode during the worst heat of the day. Eder asked him to ease up, but Rendle ignored him. When horses fell away—blown, lame, dropping from thirst—their riders were left behind to fend as best they could. When the road bent west and came right alongside the Barda, Rendle let the company rest for another half hour while the horses were watered. And then they were off again, the mountains slowly growing in size, their shadows stretching far across the land.
Prado twisted the reins around his hands and somehow hung on. There seemed to be dust everywhere and he wished he could breathe clear air. The reins started to cut into the skin around his fingers
, but the pain was nothing to that he was already suffering.
Rendle kept them going until it was too dark to ride. When he called a halt, men fell off their saddles and horses stood shaking and sweating. Rendle went around, not resting himself until he had spoken at least a single word to all his men, encouraging them, bribing them, warning them. When he had finished, campfires were already alight and the horses watered and brushed down. He then stood alone at the end of the camp, staring out toward the mountains as if by sheer will he could make them come to him. Eder joined him after a while with a mug of hot stew. Rendle gulped it down and handed back the mug.
“One more day,” he told Eder.
“They cannot ride like that again. The horses will drop dead.”
“We’ll take it easier tomorrow.” He turned when Eder sighed in relief. “But not too much easier. We must get there in time to find Prince Lynan.”
“Prado may be wrong. Lynan may be heading somewhere else.”
“Where else can he go? He is outlaw everywhere in the kingdom. Only in the Oceans of Grass can he hope to hide.”
“He could be going straight north, to Haxus,” Eder suggested.
“No. Not Elynd Chisal’s son. Haxus was the main base for the Slavers’ armies during the war.”
Eder spat on the ground. “You’re right. How sweet it will be to turn him over to King Salokan.” The thought made him smile.
Lynan stared at the night sky. The only star he knew was Leurtas, and he could see it just above the southern horizon. That way lies Kendra, he thought. He expected to experience a bout of homesickness, but instead all he felt was detachment. Maybe Kendra was no longer his home. He searched his feelings for anything about his previous life he did miss. Security came into his mind immediately, and the certainty of day-to-day life. He thought some more. What about relations and friends? He would have liked to see Olio again, and Pirem. But Olio was closest to his enemy, his sister Areava, and Pirem was dead. And all his other friends in the whole wide world were somewhere out there, either searching for him or trying to find a place to hide, or even dead. He would have given anything then to hear Kumul bark at him, or Ager suggest a bout with short swords, or be the victim of one of Jenrosa’s cutting remarks.
He shut his eyes to think about Jenrosa. He had fancied her once upon a time; now he did not know how he felt toward her; she was his friend, his companion, but nothing else stirred in him. That disappointed him. Maybe he should have followed her to her room that night in the inn; at least then Prado and his thugs would not have been able to steal him away.
Gudon stirred in his sleep and muttered something in a language Lynan could not understand. Here I am, in the middle of a mountain range, with a lame Chett and a tired horse for company. I should be hiding under a rock in despair. But instead he was feeling… he could not quite find the word, but was surprised to find that “content” came closest. It was not what he had expected. But even as he questioned it, he realized the reasons for it. He was still alive, he was within two days’ journey of at least some kind of refuge, and when his powerful enemies thought of him at all, they thought of him as a threat.
He found Leurtas again and glowered at it, as if it represented everything in the south that wanted him dead and gone and forgotten. Anger sparked a cold fire inside of him, and the contentment was sharpened by a new determination.
I will survive, he promised the star. And I will return to claim what is mine, no matter who tries to stop me. I am Prince Lynan Rosetheme, son of Queen Usharna and Elynd Chisal, and I hold a Key of Power.
Chapter 25
One moment Lynan and Gudon were surrounded by stunted trees and harsh saltbush, their feet and the hoofs of their horse slipping on the scree, and the next they half fell, half stumbled onto level ground. The flanks of the Ufero Mountains towered above them like stone giants, gray and grim. For the first time in two days Lynan saw flowering plants: mountain daisies and summer trees, shinbark and sharrok pines. And there were birds. He could not see them, but he could hear them. He could also hear water.
“Is this the Algonka Pass?”
“The south side. You can hear the Algonka River a few hundred paces from here, marked by that line of trees. Beyond that is the road.”
They did not set off immediately but rested briefly from their descent, and Lynan applied more haethu to Gudon’s knee and his jaw. Lynan had to admit the haethu was working; he could no longer see bone in Gudon’s wound, and the flesh and skin were starting to knit into an ugly scar. His own scar was smoother now, and there was no longer any pain.
“I think I will have a limp,” Gudon said almost cheerfully, patting his leg.
“No need to sound so happy about it.”
“Considering I almost lost the whole leg, it is a pleasant alternative. Besides, we Chett live in the saddle.” He rubbed his backside gingerly. “Well, most of us. My life on the river has spoiled me.”
The Algonka was indeed shallow, and although the water was incredibly cold, they had no trouble crossing. They passed through the opposite river gallery and stopped. There was a huge caravan making its way on the road, its start lost in the haze to the west, and its end lost somewhere in the east. Great wagons drawn by teams of ten or more horses trundled by, their huge wheels sounding like milling stones on the dirt road. Dust hung over the caravan like a brown shroud. Lynan saw men riding shaggy-looking ponies and mules, keeping an eye on their property and occasionally lashing the laboring horses to keep them moving. Lynan had never seen anything like it. Almost all goods coming into Kendra made it by boat.
“The Failing Sun Caravan,” Gudon said. “I was hoping we would run into it.”
“The Failing Sun?”
“The last great caravan before winter sets in and makes this road impassable. All the merchants from Hume and even Chandra who can contribute to it do so. They bring metals and wine, weapons and tools, and take back thousands of cattle and horses. It is easier going west than going east, believe me. You don’t want to journey accompanied by so many beasts. I have tried it.”
“What do we do? Just join it?”
“Truth. There are so many in the caravan, two more will make no difference. The merchants and their guards will ignore us as long as we ignore them.”
Lynan tugged on the horse’s reins, and they moved forward and merged with the great stream of traffic. Around them milled merchants on horseback or on foot, their servants scurrying behind or riding on the wagons; some children ran past playing a game of catch-me; one old man on a donkey was selling honey wine from a huge flask strapped to his back. They ended up following a wagon loaded with painted pottery, all packed in straw boats. Lynan spent most of the next hour avoiding horse droppings, but in the end gave up and just trudged on, oblivious of what he stepped in. After a while the dust thrown up by the caravan had coated his face and gotten in his mouth and ears. He suggested to Gudon they move away from the center of the caravan and closer to the river.
“I do not think that is a good idea, little master. Here we are lost among so many. No reason to make ourselves stand out.”
“I am dying of thirst, Gudon.”
“Well, then, I will see to that.” He hailed the vendor of honey wine and offered some of his haethu in exchange for two glasses; the vendor agreed willingly. Lynan hesitantly accepted the dirty glass, but the wine that poured down his throat was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted, and seemed to take all the dust on its way down to his gullet. They carried on, moving in the middle of the great beast. He noticed people munching on biscuits as they walked or rode. “Does no one stop for a meal?” he asked Gudon.
“The caravan only stops at night. It is too much effort otherwise, and there is protection in numbers.”
“Protection from whom?”
“There are bandits hereabouts who prey on merchants foolish enough to get separated from the caravan. Some from Hume, some Chett, some from distant lands who cannot make a living doing anything else except preyin
g on the weak and vulnerable.”
After climbing along the slopes of the mountains for two days, Lynan found it easy to keep pace with the large wagons. He watched all about him with great curiosity, and now and then Gudon offered a commentary. “That one has come all the way from Lurisia—see the timber in his wagon? The tribes will use that to make their bows and shelters. Over there, I do believe, are priests of the Lord of the Mountain from Aman, coming to make converts among my people; they have wasted their journey, I fear. The merchant with the tall hat is from Sharrock; it will take him nearly half a year to return home…”
And these are all from Theare, Lynan thought to himself. Indeed, most of them were from some part of Grenda Lear. For the first time in his life he had a notion of just how diverse was the kingdom’s makeup. The maps he had seen did not do it justice. He felt a surge of pride that he was a scion of the family that had united all of these peoples under one crown.
Gudon tapped him on the shoulder. “Do not turn around, but wait for him to pass. A tall man on a big horse.”
A moment later Lynan saw the man come into view. He was dressed in leather armor and was inspecting every one he passed. He threw Lynan and Gudon a lingering glance, but moved on.
“Mercenary,” Lynan said.
“Truth. Searching for us. Prado or one of his men must have survived, and their friends have come looking for us.”
“How do you know that? They could be looking for someone else…” The argument sounded hollow even to him. “Why didn’t he look us over more closely?”
“Think, little master. If you were searching for a prince and a pilot, who would you assume was on the horse?”
Lynan laughed. “Your injury may yet do us good.”
“This time, but perhaps not next time,” Gudon cautioned. “We must become even less conspicuous. Early in the morning, before the dust rises, we will be more obvious.”
The wagon in front of them hit a hole in the road. The load of fragile pottery shifted, and the straw boats at the back started to slip through a loosened knot. Lynan threw Gudon the reins and rushed forward. He tightened the rope across the back of the wagon and retied the knot. A short, bearded man appeared on a donkey. He raised a cane to strike at Lynan’s hands.