by C S Marks
Gaelen described the horse-dealer and his men in great detail, whereupon Sajid smiled and shook his head. “That would be Radeef, from the sound of it. I hope you did not give too great a price, because if Radeef owned him, he will be lame. I’m afraid you will find he is not of much worth, my friend.”
Gaelen’s eyes glittered. “First, Cuidag, I am not your friend. Second, I knew Finan was lame from the first. Third, it’s none of your affair what was given for him, and fourth, he has proven his worth a hundredfold, even if I never put a leg over him.”
Sajid bowed and smiled a cold smile at her. “Most assuredly, my sharp-eared vixen. He must be worthy, if one as perceptive as yourself has chosen him, yet Radeef is not known for the quality of his livestock. That is all I was saying, and I meant nothing by it. Please, in the hope of a tranquil journey may we not try to get along? I have sworn to serve Master Rogond, and I will do so. Truly, I meant no offense, and my name is Sajid, not Cuidag.”
Gaelen read the chill in his eyes rather than the smile on his face. She returned both the smile and the cold gaze, saying: “Of course. We certainly would wish for a tranquil journey. By all means, let’s pretend to get along. That will be easiest if you refrain from speaking to this vixen, for she sees what is in your heart. I will have a great deal of difficulty trusting you, and I shall be ever-watchful.” With that, she turned and left him to his own thoughts.
They were three days into the journey when Galador first sighted a plume of dust on the horizon. He called it to the attention of Nelwyn, and the two of them stood upon a small ridge of rock, training their sharp eyes to the east, from whence rode a group of nearly fifty brown-clad horsemen. They rode at a ground-covering trot, occasionally breaking into an easy lope, leading many pack horses. Galador and Nelwyn called to Rogond and Sajid, and the four of them were soon looking intently at the horsemen, who appeared to be heading straight for the Company.
“They have broad, brown faces and dark eyes,” observed Nelwyn. “They wear little ornament, and they ride well. The horses are small, even for desert-bred. Sajid…what sort of folk are they?”
Their guide marveled at Nelwyn’s keen sight. “Your eyes are as sharp as they are comely,” he said. Rogond felt Galador stiffen beside him, but he said nothing. After all, he could not disagree with Sajid, who was now squinting into the distance.
“I cannot see them well enough to tell as yet, but they sound like Kazhi, and if so, then fortune smiles on us. They are friendly folk so long as one does not offend them.”
“Try this,” said Rogond, handing Thorndil’s glass to Sajid, who looked through it with wonder.
“Ah! They are indeed Kazhi, from the great Stone Lands to the east. They travel westward sometimes, but since the Plague they rarely venture here. I do hope nothing has happened to drive them forth.” Sajid lowered the glass, knowing that he and Rogond held the same thoughts, for the threat of pestilence was still very much in their minds. Not so long ago, the Plague had decimated the Ravi. It was not beyond possibility that these men now fled their homeland, hoping to escape some doom.
Gaelen climbed the ridge to stand beside Rogond, training her own sharp eyes on the approaching horsemen. “They do not appear anxious or beleaguered, and they seem to be in full vigor. Do not fear, Thaylon. I sense no darkness at their backs.” She turned to Sajid. “What sort of folk are they?”
Sajid sniffed. “They are barbarians...unlearned, with crude and uncivilized ways; heathens that are not inclined to mingle with sutherling folk.”
“Must we conceal ourselves, or do we risk an encounter?” asked Rogond. “Speak quickly, as they are approaching fast and will soon come within sight of us.”
Sajid considered. “With me as your guide you need not hide, though it’s wise for the Elves to conceal themselves. I would not fear the Kazhi, though I do not know how they will react to such strange folk as you. Galador should disguise himself until we know more. The dwarf truly cannot conceal his nature, but he appears harmless enough. The women-folk should shroud themselves, at least in the beginning. We may obtain news from the Kazhi, and though they are barbarians, they are not known as wicked folk. I would risk an encounter.”
Gaelen, Nelwyn, and Elraen were instructed to remain concealed among the rocks as Rogond, Fima, Galador, and Sajid arranged to attract the attention of the approaching Kazhi. Sajid took a mirror-bright silver medallion, holding it so that it caught the sunlight. He flashed it over and over, sending a bright beam that would be easily noticed.
The lead horsemen swerved toward them—the signal had been seen. The riders soon surrounded the Company, their weapons clearly visible but not yet drawn. Rogond and his companions stood in the open, their empty hands held out before them. They bowed their heads in deference to the Kazhi, who reined their horses to a halt, effectively walling them in.
These men were unlike any Rogond had beheld. Short and stocky with brown, sun-weathered faces, their bright, dark eyes peered curiously at him. Some had long mustachios into which were plaited tiny beads of amber and gold. Their almond-shaped eyes held some distrust, but no malice. They seemed more inquisitive than anything.
They wore brown felted wool that turned the sun aside, over light under-layers that could be seen at the sleeves and collar. Their round hats were of the same brown felted wool, and a few had a band of black-and-white fur running around the edge. One of the men, who appeared to be of great importance considering the size of his hat and the length of his moustache, approached and held up his right hand in greeting while speaking in a strange tongue. Sajid bowed and replied, eliciting chuckles from the horsemen; apparently his mastery of their tongue was rudimentary at best.
“What brings you to this place?” asked the leader in common-tongue that was so thickly accented Rogond could barely understand him. “Who among you leads, and to what end?” He was trying to appear stern, but they all saw the good humor behind his eyes.
Rogond stepped forward. “I lead the Company,” he said, bowing low. “I am called Rogond, this is my friend Galador, my friend Fima, and our guide, Sajid. Our purpose is to find one of my family who is lost, and was said to be somewhere in these lands. Would you care to linger awhile? We would be glad of your company, and of any news you might bring. We will be pleased to share what we have with you.”
The leader looked back over his shoulder, spoke a few words to his companions, and then turned back to Rogond. “We will not linger here, northman. Instead, why not come with us to the next oasis, where water and shade may be found? I am Makita, chieftain of the black-tail tribe, and I would hear your stories, for we have rarely encountered northern folk. If you are mounted, why not ride with us?”
Rogond bowed again. “Hail, Makita of the black-tail tribe. We shall be most pleased and honored to join you. Shall I summon the remainder of our Company?”
Makita assented, inclining his head, and the horsemen parted so that Rogond could go and fetch the three She-elves, all of whom were shrouded in black silk. When all were united, they left with the Kazhi, riding southward along the Ravani Road for a time before turning west. Soon they came upon the oasis, a small but inviting pond fed from an underground spring. It was surrounded by strange trees bearing foliage only on the tops; the trunks were smooth, with transverse ridges. They displayed huge, multi-veined leaves that were tough and waxy to turn back the sun. The sight of them thrilled Gaelen and Nelwyn, for though they were not as tall or grand as the trees of the northern forests, they were still trees.
“They look like giant cane,” Nelwyn observed.
Small, shrubby cedars surrounded the pond, their soft, green foliage exuding fragrance nearly intoxicating to the Elves, who had not had a whiff of anything green in a long reckoning.
The Khazi dismounted from their small mounts, who looked like ponies next to those of the Company, and turned them loose. The horses went immediately to the water with much squealing and ear-pinning as they jockeyed for position. Eventually they all drank deeply and wer
e content. They had, however, stirred up the pond. Sajid was disgusted, and he said so.
“We will allow this to settle again before we fill our water-skins,” said the Kazhi. “Our lives depend on our mounts, so we allow them to drink before satisfying our own thirst. We have learned that this is wiser, as the horses lack our patience and may be difficult to control should we deny them. They have done far more labor than we this day.”
Gaelen liked this viewpoint. In fact, she liked everything about these apparently pragmatic people. They didn’t seem haughty or pretentious, being plain-spoken and dressed for simple practicality. It was obvious that they didn’t just depend on their horses—they actually cared for them. She noticed that they did not seem to like Sajid, and she smiled, remembering his description of them as “unlearned barbarians.”
The Kazhi unpacked their mounts, explaining that they would remain at the oasis for a few days, resting and sharing tales. They quickly set up camp, unrolling large cylinders of brown felt that they erected into shelters. Despite their resemblance to huge mounds of dragon-dung, the shelters were quite practical, turning aside sun, wind, and rain. The largest one was set in the center of the oasis for Makita’s family and their guests, which now included the Company.
When the sun had set, and the chill of the desert night returned, Makita’s folk sat in the shelter, which they called a “yurut.” They soon had a fire going, using dried dung-patties as fuel. Once one became accustomed to the smell, their usefulness became clear. The dung would burn for a long while, was very light to carry, and generated considerable heat. On the other hand, it gave off quite a lot of smoke that smelled of burning dung.
Gaelen was further impressed with the Kazhi when several of the “men” removed their round felt hats to reveal long, elaborately plaited hair and broad but very feminine features. The women of the Kazhi rode as the men, carried weapons, and apparently enjoyed the same liberties for the most part. At this juncture, Gaelen removed her black shroud, for she sensed that she need not conceal herself from these pleasant, relaxed people. Nelwyn and Elraen did likewise.
Their Elvish nature was not yet fully apparent, as Nelwyn and Elraen wore silken scarves tied around their heads, and Gaelen had taken a strip of linen and fashioned it into a headband that effectively concealed the shape of her ears. Still, the Kazhi regarded them with wonder, for they had not seen the like of them before.
Food that has been cooked over smoke from burning dung-cakes is apt to pick up a unique flavor, but the Company did not wish to offend their hosts, so they ate and drank with them to their mutual delight. The Kazhi introduced them to kumri, a beverage made from fermented mare’s milk. Nelwyn struggled to control her facial expression as she forced herself to swallow it. It would definitely take getting used to.
Then she beheld a sight to bring tears to the eyes of a Wood-elf. The Kazhi possessed a large supply of dark, wild honey, and they were not at all shy about sharing it. “This more than makes up for the kumri,” said Gaelen, dipping into her share with three fingers.
It would be a night to remember. The Kazhi-folk danced, sang, and told tales, which one of the older men translated. Fima, ever the lore-master, did his best to record the tales on scraps of parchment.
Finally, after many entertaining hours, Makita rose to his feet, stretched, and yawned. “It is late, my friends, and we have ridden long and hard today,” he said. “Tomorrow it will be your turn to favor us with stories. Until then, please rest well in our hospitality.” Then the Kazhi lay down on the floor of the yurut, some alone, others in pairs or small groups, and were soon asleep. Sajid and Elraen slept along with them, for both were weary.
Rogond and Galador stood together beneath the moon and stars, looking to the treetops where their beloved Gaelen and Nelwyn were happily keeping the watch. They felt at home for the first time since entering the desert, and were talking and laughing. Apparently, the honey had not yet relinquished its hold on them. Rogond reflected that such moments of friendship were meant to be savored, for they were sweeter than any honey could make them.
The next few days were among the most enjoyable of times. The Kazhi way of life depended and centered upon their horses. They used their hair, their dung, their milk, and sometimes even their flesh, bone, and sinew. They did not make permanent settlements, but roamed about their lands, thus they were superb riders.
The Company entertained their hosts with tales and songs. The Kazhi were especially amazed at the lithe grace of Nelwyn as she danced before them.
Sajid had coveted Nelwyn since he first beheld her, and now, as he watched her rather provocative dance, his eyes lingered too long upon her. This earned him a stony glare from Galador that said all that was needed. Look on her again in that manner, and it will be the last sight you see, I warn you! Sajid took the message and looked away, but he smiled and licked his lips. Galador could threaten all he liked; the Company needed Sajid’s services, and he could bide his time.
No doubt the most enjoyable experiences for the Company were the mounted games, which lasted two days. At the end of it, they were in awe of the skill of the Kazhi-folk and their mounts. The little, plain-headed ponies were incredibly maneuverable, and the larger horses had no chance. Siva fared about the best, being smallish and finely made.
Not even Nelwyn could best the Kazhi at mounted archery—though they could not vie with her when she stood upon her own feet—and few could rival Rogond’s skill with the javelin as he skewered target after target from an incredible distance, whether mounted or not.
Gaelen was allowed to try one of the Kazhi-horses, and she managed to pick up a tiny copper ring from the ground while galloping at full speed. Ah! So that’s why these horses are made so close to the ground, she thought. In truth, their environment had made them so, for in the eastern Stone-desert food and water were scarce. Small horses kept far more easily than large ones.
The Kazhi-folk played their games, laughing and smiling whether they won or lost. These games were actually quite hazardous, and injuries occurred, but they served the purpose of sharpening skills needed both in peace and in war. Gaelen would have wished for these fifty Kazhi at her side when she and her folk had faced Gorgon’s army in the Barrens of the Greatwood!
Rogond questioned Makita and his family at length, but alas, they could offer no enlightenment concerning Hallagond.
After a few pleasant days, the Kazhi made ready to depart, for they were continuing west, and the Sandstone lay to the south. The Company bade farewell to their new friends, promising to be at their service should the need arise. Gaelen and Nelwyn were thankful to know of the existence of such a people, who respected the capabilities of others regardless of size or gender.
Makita had given one of the little brown ponies to the Company to bear their gear, and the other horses were now burdened much less. Parting with a horse was the height of Kazhi generosity.
“Will this fellow be able to keep up with us, do you think?” asked Galador, eyeing the raw-boned little animal with doubt.
Gaelen smiled. “Small things may be mighty, Galador. He will outlast Réalta, and he should have no trouble with the pace we’ve been setting. Have no fear.”
“Indeed,” said Galador, eyeing Gaelen’s own slight frame. She was a shining example of just such a point. Even though the Kazhi had not directly aided in the quest for Hallagond, it was a very glad thing to have met them.
The Sandstone, a permanent settlement carved into tall stone cliffs and ridges, rose abruptly from the floor of the desert as a major landmark that could be seen for miles. Sajid had explained that they need not be wary in approaching, as wayfarers were always welcome, especially if they brought goods to trade or tales to tell. They could replenish their supplies, and hopefully gain some word of Hallagond, for the Sandstone was an excellent location for news.
Sajid spoke to Rogond as they approached the outer boundary of the settlement. “There is one problem that you will face very soon if we do not find a remed
y—you have nothing to barter or trade for supplies. You must find a way to earn wealth to pay for what you will need. Once the word gets out that you are seeking information, you will only get it if you can pay for it. That is the Ravani way, especially in a settlement like the Sandstone. If you cannot pay, you are sent away.”
Rogond smiled, for he had noticed Sajid’s tendency to rhyme, usually when he was trying to sound especially wise. Gaelen, in particular, found this annoying.
In truth, Sajid’s words worried Rogond—what skills did the Company have that would be valued here? He told himself to wait and see; he would know what to do when the time came. He remained worried, in spite of having given himself such excellent advice. It was all very well to wait for an opportunity, but Rogond preferred having a well-laid plan, with advance knowledge of how he would direct his fortunes. He had not had this comfort in a long while now. So he worried, thoughts turning in his mind, as he led his friends into the thriving center of activity that was the Sandstone Settlement.
There were literally hundreds of dwellings carved into the cliff-faces. Inside it was cool, though dark, and the people were well protected. There were three very deep wells in the settlement; how they had come to be was uncertain, as they had been there since before the first records were written. The market on the central plateau was the place of gathering, and wayfarers pitched their tents in an area near one of the three wells there. The Kazhi had given a small yurut to the Company and had taught them the method of erecting it, so they soon had a comfortable, if crowded, shelter. On Sajid’s advice, Gaelen, Nelwyn, and Elraen had donned their black garb, and they saw many women attired in similar fashion.
Gaelen wandered alone through the market, marveling at the variety of goods and people. The myriad of strange scents fascinated her; some were fair, others foul, but all were interesting. There were strange beasts as well, including what appeared to be very wooly cattle with oddly-shaped horns. Colorful birds abounded, many in cages but some flying free, filling the air with their cries. She saw mostly sutherling folk, the men wearing loose-fitting garments of white with white head-wrappings. Some sported colorful vests or trousers.