by C S Marks
“Gambling is a very poor way to provide for your family,” said Hallagond, who had no family to provide for. He had found himself in the same position on at least one occasion, having lost nearly everything, including his sword, at the tables. He knew how easily this could happen.
“Do not cast yourself from the rocks just yet,” he said, after conducting the man to an empty stall in the nearby bazaar, giving him his cloak to ward off the chill of the desert night. “I’ll see what I can manage.” Hallagond loved games, and now he had an excellent excuse to join in this one, if they would have him. If not, he would find another way.
“Take care, stranger,” the man whispered as Hallagond turned to leave him. “They are treacherous, and your own wealth may be taken. It was so easy for them…so easy!” The man shook his head as though he still couldn’t believe he had lost everything with no effort at all. Hallagond smiled a grim smile. Truthfully, he had been looking for a diversion from the tedium of the past few days. Here was a challenge to which he could rise, while telling himself that he was only doing it to increase his own wealth, and because he enjoyed the gambling tables. He would not admit to any loftier motive.
He entered the tent, hands empty, palms outstretched before him to show that he held no weapon. The men at the gambling-table looked up as though expecting no one of consequence, and their eyes widened when they beheld a tall northman standing before them. Hallagond spoke quickly. “I came to play, and would join the game. I have gold,” was all that he said.
They regarded him for a moment, then smiled at the thought of acquiring Hallagond’s wealth, becoming very solicitous. One rose and offered him a seat beside him at the table. “Forgive our lack of warmth,” he said. “We half expected the last wretch to return with a weapon, for he was…unbalanced. We had no idea that one of your obvious stature would grace our tables. Please, by all means, join the game.”
They would prove to be adversaries of average skill, playing as dishonestly as most in Hallagond’s experience, but he would more than match them. He had learned much from his many disastrous defeats, and it was difficult for them to read his northern features. When all was ended, Hallagond was a great deal richer.
He had needed to draw his blade upon finally rising from the table, as they were reluctant to allow him to leave with his newfound wealth, but he cautioned them: “Be thankful I leave you with anything. You are outmatched! If I stay here any longer, you will all be in the same condition as that poor wretch you cast out earlier. Be thankful.”
He somehow managed to make it to the doorway alive, and once outside he disappeared utterly. Disappearing was something else Hallagond was good at, and his pursuers had little hope of finding him. Muttering to themselves, they returned to their den. The sun was rising anyway, and all were weary. They looked forward to finding the northman upon another time.
Hallagond returned to find the small man still in the empty stall in the bazaar, which was now coming to life with the rising of the sun. Trading would begin and continue until late morning, then resume in early evening and extend until dark.
The man rejoiced to see Hallagond still alive. “Thank the sun-and-stars you have not been killed,” he said. “Were you successful?”
“How much did you lose at their hands?” asked Hallagond, who would keep his successes hidden for the moment. When the man told him, he was surprised. It didn’t sound like very much at all, and if that was all this man had, with a family to raise, it was small wonder he had tried such a foolish plan.
“What number are your children?”
“Six, my lord, but only two are sons.”
Hallagond shook his head. “Then take what you lost, plus some for each of them,” he said, giving the man a purse more than three times as heavy as the one he had lost. “Buy yourself some clothes, and stay away from the tables henceforth. You have not the skill. The rest I will keep, for I need provisions.” He remembered the murderous looks he had left behind in the gambling-tent. “I believe I shall be moving on before long.” The man was speechless, and offered Hallagond’s cloak back to him with reverence.
“Keep it. I will buy another,” said Hallagond, smiling.
“Why did you do this? Were you sent from heaven?” asked the man.
Hallagond laughed. “Most assuredly not! I enjoy the games, and excess wealth makes one a larger target, so I kept only enough to share with my companions. The wine will flow with abandon tonight.”
“You were sent from heaven, whether you know it or not,” called the man, drawing Hallagond’s cloak about him. He turned and went in search of new garments, as well as food and a few small gifts for his wife, his sons, and, most especially, his four beautiful little girls.
“By the Beards of my Fathers, Gaelen, can you not move that animal any faster?” Fima, obviously irritable, had not endured the sort of deprivation the Company was now experiencing.
Gaelen was unruffled. “Don’t blame Finan for the heat and the lack of water. Those things are not of his doing. It’s not Finan’s fault that we have found no shelter, and so must travel under the sun until we do. The faster you travel, the hotter you will get, and the more water you will need.”
They were still traveling what they thought was the Ravani Road. Rogond hoped there would be many wayfarers and merchants coming and going, for they might bring news of Hallagond. But as he looked at the vast and barren lands that seemed to stretch forever before him, he wondered whether finding his brother would even be possible. He had known from Fima’s maps that the Ravi-shan was a vast, largely uncharted and inhospitable place, but now, when faced with the reality of it, he knew he had underestimated his task.
He looked back toward his companions, doubting yet again the wisdom of his choice to lead them here. The Elves, save for Dona, seemed to be faring well enough. But the mortal contingent, including Fima, the horses, and himself, were less resistant to the heat and lack of water. Rogond marveled at Gaelen, who walked in the full sun wearing her sleeveless green jerkin, yet showed no effect other than a slight browning of her shoulders. Fima, who was of ruddy complexion, bore little sign even after he had removed his helmet (his hair was a bit thin on the top of his head). After so many generations working in forges of fire, the skin of dwarves would not burn easily. Still, the heat taxed him, more likely due to his advanced age, and he had learned to wear his hood to shade his head and face.
Rogond had worn his hood from the first day that he traveled under the desert sun, and he sweated profusely in his dark garments. He was getting weaker by the day, for the water supply was dangerously low and they had been rationing it. This road took them through lands where there was no shelter of any kind, nor was there much sign of other travelers having passed this way in recent memory. The dust and sand made it difficult to even find the road sometimes, though it was wide, and had been marked with stones on both sides. Rogond was worried, and rightly so.
Dona could not keep up with the Company unless mounted, so Galador led her on Réalta. Nelwyn walked beside him leading Gryffa and Malvorn, who was now carrying most of their gear. Rogond smiled—this pleased Nelwyn, as she could converse quietly with Galador and, for the moment, forget that Dona existed. He looked back over his shoulder at Gaelen, who walked behind him leading Siva with Fima in the saddle, the dwarf staring glumly at the never-changing horizon. She had already turned Finan loose to follow along as he could, knowing he would not leave her.
Rogond led Eros, striding along with a confidence he did not feel. At least the sun would be going down soon, and some relief would come. Then they would shiver through the cold desert night, and in the morning the sun would find them again. Surely there will be water along the road...
Darkness found the Company wondering how much longer they could continue on this path. The Elves sat together, looking at the stars, as Fima and Rogond rested for the moment. They would need to continue on, making as much distance as they could while the blessed darkness held.
Rogond noti
ced that the water had been diminishing more slowly these past days, and he asked Gaelen about it, bidding her to come and sit beside him. “Have you and your friends been foregoing your share of water? If so, you must not continue. You may be immortal, but you still need water. Fima and I will manage, and we’re sure to find water soon. I simply cannot imagine that the Ravani Road would stretch for too many days without passing a water source.”
Gaelen drew Rogond’s hood back and looked into his worried grey eyes. “I cannot offer comfort, Thaylon, for my imagination has already reached its limit with respect to this place. Yet I have been thinking…are you certain that we are still on the Ravani Road? There has been no sign of other travelers. Perhaps this is a lesser road that was abandoned for lack of water? We have found neither water nor shade for days now. How certain are you that we have not missed the path?”
Rogond shook his head—he was not certain at all. He had learned to navigate by the stars, and he had kept his sense of direction, but he did not know the lay of these southern lands, and he could not trust himself. Fima was a lore-master, not a navigator. It was quite possible that they had somehow diverted from the main road, and were now on a path long abandoned. Rogond could not bear to think of that now.
“The marking-stones are still there,” he said, “though they are smaller and farther apart than before. Regardless, we must find shelter and water, and soon.” He looked hard at Gaelen. “What would the hunter-scout suggest?”
Gaelen pondered for a moment. “I could ride back the way we came, and see whether I can find the Ravani Road again,” she said. “But first we must find shelter, as you suggest...find it, or make our own. Perhaps our cloaks might be fashioned together to provide shade. Then we might rest under the sun, though that still does not address our lack of water. As to that, the hunter-scout has no suggestions. I have not caught even the slightest scent of water, though I have been vigilant.” She sighed, drawing against his side to warm him.
Rogond considered. “What of Nelwyn? She can sometimes provide insight from examining the things that grow. Has she any ideas?”
“As you can see, Thaylon, there is almost nothing growing here,” said Gaelen. “And Nelwyn has seen no green thing indicating the presence of water nearby; I have asked her.” She squeezed his upper arm affectionately. “Sorry to bring only ill news. Perhaps we’ll find water tomorrow. Rest now, my love.”
Rogond drifted into sleep, the beautiful words “my love” fading slowly from his hearing. If he died of heat and thirst tomorrow, at least he would have lived long enough to hear those words, and he would not say that he had gone to his death an entirely unhappy man.
Gaelen added her cloak to his, covering him gently against the cold. Then she stood, stretched, and shook the dust from her breeches. She breathed the dry air in all directions, taking in a few scents wafting upon the wind. There were none of real interest—a faint hint of old carrion, and a sort of musky scent common in the desert air—but not even a hint of water. Gaelen sighed. Rogond was right; she and her companions needed water, no matter the cost.
The horses suffered as well, especially Malvorn, whose burden had not been lessened and who was black in color. He was not desert-bred, and, like Eros, he had a thick coat. It wrenched Gaelen’s heart to see him so deprived. He followed without complaint, for he trusted her, and that pained her heart all the more.
She felt eyes upon her, and turned to regard the little bay horse, Finan. He was still very thin, as they had nothing to feed him, and he was also lame—the rocks and sand were not his friend. His presence had slowed them, for Gaelen had insisted that they allow him to catch up when he fell behind. Though they would not have admitted to it for her sake, she knew that some in the Company resented Finan, and she felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps they would have found water by now had she not slowed their progress to wait for him. Yet, as she looked into his fine, intelligent face, she knew that somehow his fate would be tied with hers. She had known it from the first time she had laid hands on him.
He took a step toward her and nickered, dipping his proud head, his long forelock blowing back from large, bright eyes. There was a sort of expectation evident in him, as though he wanted her to do something, but she did not know what it could be. “I’m sorry, Finan, I have neither food nor water to share with you tonight. Tomorrow will be better.” In truth, she had been giving half her own water-ration to Finan and Siva, saving the rest for Fima and Rogond. Gaelen had not had any water in two days.
She tried to stroke Finan, but he stepped back from her. This puzzled her, and she tried again. Again, the horse stepped back.
“What do you want of me?”
Finan did not answer her, but turned and limped off toward the east, making his way slowly away from the Company as Gaelen called after him. “Finan! Come back, do not go so far astray…I cannot waste energy finding you in the morning. Come back!” In answer, he turned his head back over his shoulder, calling softly, then continued painfully to the east. Gaelen did not know what to do; she was beginning to weaken from lack of water and she was confused. “I can’t leave my friends for you, Finan, come back...please come back!”
Her cries alerted Nelwyn, who was at her side in moments. “You dare not risk the energy to pursue him, Gaelen. Perhaps he has gone because he has lost his sensibilities due to thirst and starvation. You can’t risk yourself any further for him. He will either return or not, but you must not pursue him. Come now, and sit with us. Fima has promised to tell us a tale before we move on.” There was sadness in Nelwyn’s eyes as she looked upon Gaelen; her cousin was conflicted, in despair, and most probably dying of thirst before her eyes.
“Fima needs to save his breath and his strength, as do we all,” Gaelen replied. Then, as she looked back toward her distant, wayward horse, a thought struck her. Finan wanted her to follow him. He was possessed of some knowledge that she lacked, and he would lead her; all she had to do was listen to him. She embraced Nelwyn, and when she drew back her eyes were bright and full of hope.
“Finan would not leave me without cause—he wants me to follow him, I just know it. Don’t tell the others, but I am going after him. Do not fear…I’ll find you again before the sun rises.”
Nelwyn knew better than to try to dissuade her, though she thought the idea bordered on suicide. To leave the Company and set off alone following a lame, starving horse seemed less than sensible. “You should not go alone…I’ll go with you,” she said.
Gaelen quirked a half-smile at her. “Do you actually think you will escape the vigilance of Galador? We would all be going if that happened, for he would try to leave Dona, and her cries would awaken Rogond, and we would all take the risk. Either that, or Rogond would throw a sack over my head and sit on me until morning to keep me from leaving. He will not understand. You, on the other hand, know I’m right.”
Nelwyn nodded, though she didn’t like the idea of Gaelen leaving without her. “Take the water-skin with you. At least do that much to safeguard yourself,” she said. After taking the nearly-empty vessel, Gaelen bowed, turned to follow Finan, and rapidly disappeared from sight. Nelwyn returned to Galador and Dona, settling against her beloved, sharing in his warmth.
“You astound me, Nelwyn,” said Galador. “I heard much of what was said. Gaelen truly intends to follow that worthless animal into the desert in the dark of night? I have been watching her; she has been giving her water-ration to the horses for two days. She is probably confused from thirst, and her judgment is poor. How could you let her go?”
But Nelwyn only sighed and shook her head. “I did not try to prevent her because I believe she’s right. She has some special insight with respect to that animal. My love, if someone doesn’t find water, we’ll all die in a few days. Gaelen knows it, and she took the risk to prevent it. I trust her. How could I stay her?”
Galador shook his head. “I trust her less, Nelwyn, and I do not look forward to telling Rogond that his beloved has left us. Yet I will trust you a
nd hold hope in my heart, though my own sensibilities would deny it. We must rest and save our strength, for tomorrow I suppose we’ll need to go after her. Let’s hope it won’t mean the death of us all.”
“Trust her, beloved. She will not fail her friends. Her instincts are seldom wrong, and neither are mine. Trust us both, and rest well.”
Galador would trust Nelwyn until his last breath left him. As for Gaelen, well, that might take a bit more doing, but as long as Nelwyn held such faith, he would try not to doubt her.
Hallagond’s companions were pleased when he revealed his winnings. They immediately ordered several casks of decent wine, knowing the word would soon spread that a night of merriment was forthcoming. Sure enough, the visitors began arriving as evening fell, bringing with them food of various kinds, and Hallagond soon found himself in the middle of a lively gathering which, as with many in the tent city, soon turned to widespread drunkenness and debauchery.
He had hired musicians and dancers for the evening; they would work for nearly nothing so long as they were given food and drink. Several of the “guests” had brought weed with them, and the smoke filled the tent with a choking sweetness. This, combined with the influence of the wine, put Hallagond into such a relaxed state that when one of the dancers, who fancied him, asked him to attend to her alone, he agreed. This was not typical of Hallagond, who was more in the habit of disappointing those who would lie with him, rarely assenting to any but the most superficial display of affection. Tonight his defenses were weak, and he followed the dark, lithe dancer into the alleyway behind the tent.
In a moment he realized his folly, for two men leaped upon him as the dancer ran off into the shadows. He knocked one cold, then drew his curved dagger, just managing to fend off a killing thrust from the other before burying it in the man’s belly. Hallagond recognized him as one of the men from the gambling-den. Apparently he could not wait long to try to reclaim his wealth, even though Hallagond had won it in a fair game. Hallagond had considered it a fair game because all the participants were cheating at the same time.