The Tears of Sisme

by Peter Hutchinson

  “Then we should judge her and drive her away,” Southwind said fiercely.

  “It is too late for that,” the Weathermaster whispered. “Whatever we do, Dawn-in-the-West will become a slave to the Forest-people.”

  “What is a slave?” they all asked.

  “If you give service to another because you are compelled to do so, not because you wish to, then you are a slave. You are no longer free.”

  And they all moved away from Dawn-in-the-West in horror.

  “Then let her go to them and we will be rid of this madness,” Southwind said.

  “She is only the first. We will all become their slaves. Not just this clan, all the Freefolk.”

  “I cannot believe such a thing,” Dawn-in-the-West said fearfully: and she too was trembling. “I will go back, if that is my fate. But you must all go far away.”

  “It is too late,” the Weathermaster replied sadly.

  Then his voice grew strong and he raised his head and spoke to them all. “Listen all of you. The Spirits showed me the future and they do not lie. One day all our kind will be slaves to the Forest-people. This is not Dawn-in-the-West’s doing, this is our fate. The Forest-people will bind us with grass and ride upon our backs and tell us where to go. That is certain.”

  None of them made a sound. Their whole lives had just been taken away.

  And the Weathermaster continued,” But because of what Dawn-in-the-West has done, we will be spared a far worse fate.”

  They looked at each other. What could be worse?

  “Because she helped the Forest-people of her own free will, from the kindness of her heart, the shadow which grows in them shall never touch the Freefolk. The burden which we carry on our backs will be as nothing to the burden of the shadow. Be glad, my children; learn to pity the Forest-people, as Dawn-in-the-West has done, and to help them willingly. However they bind us, they are the real slaves and the Freefolk will remain free.”

  The Fenkur Legend of Dawn-in-the-West

  Empire, Gorobi Plain

  Next morning they rode out from the last scatter of forest to find that the Gorobi might be a plain, but it was far from flat. Miles of boulder-strewn hummocks had them winding continuously to and fro before giving way to long stretches of smooth green grass, which in turn would bring them without warning to the lip of concealed gullies crowded with small trees.

  Rasscu was so eager to see the wonderful horses Idressin spoke of that his enthusiasm communicated itself to the boys and they all kept a sharp lookout. They were rewarded with droppings and hoofprints aplenty, but no sightings until late the next day their sturdy little ponies showed them the way. The travellers were riding at their ease across an area of flat grassland, searching in vain for a campsite which offered shelter from the keen north wind, when all at once their ponies stopped, heads raised and nostrils wide.

  "Shall we go and see what’s so interesting?” Rasscu suggested, pointing upwind. "They're not frightened, so it’s not a predator.”

  With one accord they turned and let the ponies have their heads. The pace increased from a walk to a trot and finally to a canter across the plain into the eye of the wind. They were beginning to have doubts about this aimless diversion, when they smelled something themselves. Woodsmoke. Curious, but more cautious now, they reined the ponies back to a walk and before long sighted a rider in the gloom ahead. The figure sat motionless, waiting for them to come up, then challenged them boldly.

  Caldar was startled. The man's guttural speech and flat swarthy features shouted Borogoi, and the boy felt himself tense in immediate reaction. Then he noted that the horseman's face held none of the raiders’ cruelty. It was kindly and broke into a delighted smile when Idressin replied in the same tongue. At once the lone rider turned his powerful horse to fall in alongside the tutor and led off into the gathering darkness.

  A couple of minutes brought them to the edge of a surprisingly deep drop-off. There was a large campfire below, and the flickering light accentuated the shadows, making the tricky little descent even more awkward. When they reached the camp, their welcome was immediate. Food and drink were pressed into their hands and a place was made for them near the fire among the dozen or so men gathered around it.

  It was clear that no one in the gathering spoke Shattun, so Idressin was kept busy at the start simply answering their questions. When he had time to ask some of his own, he translated the replies for his friends, adding personal comments.

  "They're Fenkurs, the people who raise horses on the Gorobi..... Most of the families and herds have gone south already over the Sellam Pass to the Bikkin Valley, where they winter the herds..... Their great annual trading fair is held down there in Posto in the spring. Buyers travel hundreds of miles to trade for the finest horseflesh in the Empire..... Just twenty of the men are still here."

  After the next exchange, the tutor looked uncertain. Instead of translating he went into a long conversation with their hosts, and it was only as they were settling into their blankets that his companions heard what he had learned.

  "This group are taking their horses north. None of the Fenkurs have ever done that before - they're proud of being the first and a little worried too. The Gorobi is no place to be trapped when the big winter storms come howling in after Winterturn. Anyway they've been offered a high price to deliver this herd to a place called Sinakti on the north coast. They don't know the buyer, he just appeared a couple of months ago, made a deal for two hundred of their best stock and paid them in advance. He seems to have plenty of money; they named a ridiculously high price and he didn’t even try to bargain: but they said there was something 'Shaggska' about him, which made them uneasy. 'Shaggska' is a difficult word to translate. It means when someone’s telling the literal truth, but lying at the same time, a kind of deliberate deceit."

  Idressin paused, staring into the fire.

  "You're uneasy too, aren't you?" Caldar spoke quietly into the silence.

  "More puzzled than uneasy, Caldar,” the tutor replied without turning his head. “They're not sure where this buyer came from. But from his speech and his dress they placed him as a northener, possibly even from Pekkerinits. I've never heard of Fenkur horses being used that far north; it's too cold for them. He was clearly very rich and it was the Fenkurs who limited the deal to two hundred head.."

  "But if his money’s real, what could he be lying about?” Berin asked.

  "The Fenkurs have one very strict rule. The horses they sell are not to be used in battle, so no cavalry buyers, no agents for government or mercenary forces, not even local militias. They can’t control what happens to future generations of course and you can see Fenkur breeding in horses all over the Empire, including cavalry mounts. But when they make the initial sale, they demand assurances that the buyer will honour their ruling. Anyone who violates the agreement will never buy another Fenkur horse. In this case they have taken this man’s word that the horses are only for peaceful use, yet they don’t altogether trust him and looking at it from the outside I agree with them. Paying a lot of money to take horses to Pekkerinits doesn’t make sense. Pity we’ll never know what’s behind it.”

  Some hours later in the misty half-light of early morning they watched two of the horsemen bring the herd down to the stream to drink and even the two youths were lost in admiration of the magnificent creatures, whose great eyes returned their regard with proud indifference.

  One bay mare, a little smaller and finer-boned than the others, paused as she passed the observers and then walked right up to Rasscu. She was nuzzling at his shoulder when the tutor, who had been talking to one of the Fenkurs, turned to his companions with a laugh and said, " That sounds more like the people I know. Have you noticed the herd's all mares, not a stallion amongst them? Well, they've chosen them carefully to make sure these northerners can't breed from Fenkur stock. They're all barren."

  "Not this one," the Tesserit remarked matter-of-factly.

  "You sure, Rass?" Idressin asked in
evident surprise.

  "Yes, she's pregnant," came the immediate reply.

  When this was translated to the horsemen, several of them gathered round at once to examine the mare and a fierce argument ensued. After a few minutes they appealed to the tutor to relay their question, while they stood in a semi-circle glowering at Rasscu.

  "They want to know what makes you think she's pregnant."

  "I don't think, Idressin. I know. But I can't tell you how. I'd say she's probably been this way for about three weeks now."

  The tutor regarded him for a moment longer; when nothing else was forthcoming, he shrugged and delivered the translation. Another round of argument erupted, terminated by the dispersion of all the Fenkurs save one, who came to stand at Idressin's side as he told his friends the outcome.

  "They're most put out, Rass," the tutor began with a slight smile," that a stranger might have noticed something about one of their horses before they did. But Emmiki here thinks he saw this mare running with a stallion just before the last of the main herds headed south for Posto. He believes you, and he says the others do too, though they won't admit it. They've all agreed; this horse won't go."

  The young Fenkur broke in at this point to exchange a few guttural words with Idressin, then shook Rasscu formally by the hand, flashed a broad smile at them all, and strode away.

  "Emmiki thinks you should stay with them, Rass. He says it's clear you're a Howt Poroth, a horse-magician, though there's never been one who wasn't a Fenkur before. I'm afraid I had to decline on your behalf. Come on, let's get some breakfast. They'll be leaving soon to drive on north."

  They parted from the hospitable herdsmen an hour later with full bellies and a good description of the easiest route to the west coast, though not before Emmiki had made another unsuccessful attempt to persuade the Tesserit to stay with them. The other Fenkurs seemed almost wary of him and twice Caldar saw them making strange surreptitious hand signs in Rasscu's direction.

  "Those were signs against magic," Idressin explained as they rode away. "No need to worry though, Rass; they weren't putting a spell on you, they were just afraid of you. A Howt Poroth rates high above the Emperor to them. Perhaps you really should come back some day."

  Several days of steady riding with no problems greater than the biting wind brought them in sight of the range of low mountains that marked the limit of the Gorobi. These were capped with snow, but the Fenkurs' advice proved accurate and they found easy passage down a steep river valley for three days, with the air growing progressively warmer as they left the chill of the high plains behind.

  When they came in sight of the sea, the first that three of them had ever seen, it was a disappointment. Steel grey water merged in the murky distance with steel-grey clouds and there was no horizon. Closer to, when they descended to the shoreline, it was more impressive. Even on this relatively calm day the waves marched in with the full reach of the Western Ocean behind them. In unending succession they reared up and came crashing down on the steep shingle beaches, a thunderous display of power which bore little relation to the bad-tempered tossing of the Lake waters. The sight and sound of the waves captivated the boys and they would happily have sat watching them for hours, if the tutor had not pointedly remarked that there was a good inn in the next village down the coast and that he for one was intending to have a tankard of beer and a hot meal that night. Reluctantly they left the beach and followed the others onto the wide track which ran south over the next headland.

  The welcome at the remote village was warm and whole-hearted. These simple folk won a hard living from the sea and tomorrow's weather was much more important to them than affairs in Razimir or Karkor. Beyond voicing their natural curiosity about the time of year the visitors were choosing for travel, no one showed any undue interest in them or their business. And so it remained, as they made their way down the coast, staying at fishermen's cottages when there was no inn. Until they came to Far Sentor.

  Empire: West Coast

  Tall black cliffs had confronted the waves for many miles now and the track ran a short way inland in desolate scrubby country, where stunted trees leaned away from the sea wind. Over the swell of a low ridge, the largest settlement they had encountered since leaving Samna Koro awaited them. A line of forbidding grey buildings hunched at the cliff top, while more grim constructions crouched below, ringing a small harbour which thrust its breakwaters into the violent seas.

  "What a place!" Caldar said gloomily. "It looks like a prison. Do we have to stop here?"

  "Idressin says it's the best place to get passage to Razimir," Berin replied.

  They stared with no great confidence at the two ships moored below. They were bigger than anything they had seen on the Lake; but to contend with the seas which raged against the breakwaters, they looked puny.

  Idressin did not head for any of the buildings on the cliff top, leading them instead down a wide roadway, gouged out of the sheer drop, which wound tortuously down to the quayside. The inn, when they found it, was an ugly blocky structure with almost no windows, just like its neighbours.

  The interior was a welcome surprise. A warm fire glowed at one end of a crowded room, and food and drink were quickly on the table. The men around them turned out to be sailors, dockers, miners, wagon drivers, all of them drawn to Far Sentor from other parts of the Empire by the promise of money and most of them disgruntled with what they had found.

  "And I'm telling you, them lead mines isn't safe," a small wiry miner was saying at the next table. "You drivers have it nice and cushy. Must be a couple o' year since a team went over the cliff. We get an accident near every week."

  "You try bringing a Company wagon through a blizzard or miles of mud a yard deep. Never maintained proper, get a wheel off or a broken axle every other trip. In winter it's fix it quick or you'll freeze. Old Gemp lost two fingers to frostbite last year and one of his thumbs was ripped right off when his wagon shifted while he was repairing it."

  "Ay, heard about that."

  "Company says there's no money for new wagons or regular repairs. No money, I ask you. Who they trying to fool? All that lead and copper we ship out is making someone a fortune. Twice as much ore as three years ago and they say prices have gone sky-high down south."

  "So what do they do?" This was a third man, large and burly, but with a pale miner's face. "Do they pay us a decent wage?"

  "No" chorused the half dozen round the table. Heads turned in time to catch his next question, voiced loudly as the miner sensed his growing audience.

  "Do they improve our conditions to be even half way safe or reasonable?"

  "No" the response was swelled by twenty new voices.

  "Do they give us a bounty for extra production?"

  "No" This time the roar shook the inn.

  "Are we any better off than the slaves in Belugor? How many of you are still here beyond the end of your contracts, because they say they can't find space to ship you out?"

  Men responded from all round the room. It was clearly a common grievance.

  "And if we ask for women or entertainment in this hell-hole, what do they send us? A squad of Special bloody bully boys. Not to protect us. To stop us complaining. They don't like criticism in Karkor. We'll give 'em bleedin' criticism, won't we lads?"

  The men roared their thunderous approval. The orator was getting into his stride. A sudden commotion began near the doorway and swirled into the centre of the room, where it resolved itself into half a dozen newcomers in black uniforms, wielding short clubs. Their leader, a sergeant by his stripes, pushed his way across to the miner's table and stared coldly down at the seated man.

  "You've gone too far this time, Jikko. On your feet. A little correction seems to be required."

  He imbued the words with a sinister pleasure which sparked fear, then swift anger in Caldar, who immediately began to think of unlikely ways of rescuing the prisoner as he was led away by two of the black clad troopers.

  "Any more complaints
?" Men looked away or shrank back as the sergeant’s baleful eye swept round the room. "We like to get problems out in the open. Then we'll act on them straight away. Yes, I can promise you that."

  This bully was clearly looking for opportunities to indulge in his favourite sport of dominating the people around him. Inevitably his gaze came to settle on the travellers, who were conspicuously the only outsiders among this crowd of workmen.

  "And what have we here?" he began loudly, then came to an abrupt stop and gawped irresolutely at Idressin. The tutor beckoned him forward, whispered in his ear, then rose and accompanied him out of the room. The three friends sat and waited, puzzled, yet confident that Idressin would extract them from the situation. The three remaining troopers looked increasingly ill at ease, having no function but to wait in a room full of tough men who hated them.

  Conversation restarted and the hubbub was slowly rising to its normal level, when a sudden hush announced the return of Idressin and the sergeant. The latter stopped just inside the door and jerked his head to summon his relieved minions outside, while the tutor calmly rejoined his companions. A small space established itself around the outsiders, as the normal life of the tavern reasserted itself and serious drinking resumed.

  "A most helpful fellow," remarked Idressin in an exaggeratedly cultured voice. "Only too happy to assist when I said we needed passage to Razimir. He's arranging it right now and we'll be embarking at first light."

  "Come on, Idressin; the story." Berin demanded.

  "You remember the letter I used in For Dendak? It’s signed by Colonel Theyn, the head of Special Forces, this man’s boss. Almost wet himself when he saw it, as eager to please as a puppy. This prime specimen was posted here from Karkor as punishment for some mistake and can't wait to get back. When I said I knew the Colonel personally, he begged me to put a word in for him."

  "You make it sound so simple," Berin said, half exasperated. "I thought we'd run into trouble."