Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is)

by C S Marks

  Hallagond looked up through the choking cloud of smoke that filled the tent, as the man addressed him. “I came to speak with Al-Amand,” he said, “for I have news of great importance.” It was then that Azori beheld four others standing behind him, obviously there for protection. Their eyes darted around the tent, and they were well armed. Azori and his brother Azok cast meaningful glances at their other companions, and those who were still relatively sober were now watchful of the strangers, though they feigned nonchalance.

  “If I see Al-Amand, I will inform him,” said Hallagond, his grey eyes cool. “Perhaps you will tell me the nature of your message so that he may decide whether it’s worth making the effort to hear it.”

  The man smiled a knowing smile and bowed again. “Most assuredly,” he said. “You may inform Al-Amand that my news will be quite meaningful to a man wishing to remain hidden from his past life. There is one seeking him now, and we know his name, his nature, and his last known whereabouts. We would also offer our services to Al-Amand, should he wish to avoid being discovered by said person, for we have ways of laying a false trail so that Al-Amand will not be found. But we must speak with him, and our services will not come without cost.”

  Hallagond looked over at Azori, who was making a subtle gesture indicating that he could cut the man’s throat quickly if Hallagond wished it. He considered for a moment. “And what is your price for the information, and for the deception thereafter?” he asked, his voice soft and menacing.

  The man leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear, an act that caused Azori’s hand to tense upon his weapon. Hallagond’s eyes widened as he heard the proposed cost, and he chuckled, nodding to Azori. “That seems a bit steep, yet the information will be of importance as you guessed, and I don’t mind paying. What say you agree to half that amount, and my associates allow you and your friends to leave with your lives?”

  The man knew that Azori and his bandits were more than capable of making good on this threat. “Perhaps when Al-Amand learns of my news, the value of our service will be clearer,” he said. “I will accept one-fourth of my fee for the news—the other three-fourths will ensure that this news has no impact on the future. For a greater fee we could make the problem disappear entirely, if Al-Amand wishes it.”

  “I grow tired of this game,” growled Azok, whose temper was quicker than his brother’s. “Tell us the name of the one seeking Al-Amand, and he will then decide what that news is worth. Otherwise, prepare to explore the Hereafter.” In an instant, all four of the stranger’s companions were struggling with Azori’s men, and now stood with eyes wide, bright daggers at their throats. Azori himself was looking down the shaft of his crossbow at the stranger, who was fighting to maintain his look of confidence. He would have to reveal the name to Al-Amand, or be killed.

  “I trust you will honor your agreement once the news is given,” he said, trying to control the fear in his voice. “We have ridden long and through hardship to deliver this message, and should not be turned away without payment. I agree to one half of my proposed fee, though that is a bargain, and you wound me to the heart.”

  “Don’t tempt me!” said Azori, sending a bolt whistling under the man’s very nose, barely missing one of his companions to rip through the canvas wall, eliciting a few frightened squawks from outside. The man went very pale and began to tremble; his thoughts now turned to escaping with his life. “Speak!” said Azori. “We will not bargain until we know the name. Then Al-Amand will decide. Speak now, for you are trying my patience.”

  The frightened man turned back to Hallagond. “Am I addressing the Forsaken One?”

  “You are.”

  “Then hear my news, Al-Amand. The one seeking you is your brother. He travels from the northlands with several companions—a dwarf and four Avinashi. He has sworn to find you and return you to the northlands. His name is Rogond.”

  Hallagond felt the blood drain from his face as he heard the stranger’s words. Somewhere, buried in his thoughts, he had known of this. He did not yet remember the vision in which his father and brother had appeared before him, but he knew it nonetheless.

  “Where did you encounter him? How came you by the knowledge that he is searching for me?”

  “He makes no secret of his quest. The horse-trader Radeef had dealings with him along the Ravani Road. He was most forthcoming about his desire to find you and bring you back among your folk. Radeef has many associates, and they can keep a watchful eye for him. He will never find you if you do not wish it. I see in your face that my news is of considerable worth, even as I promised.”

  Azori growled at the man. “How do we know that you speak true? Radeef is not trustworthy… perhaps he has invented this to enhance his own wealth. I certainly would not put it past him.”

  The stranger considered. “Radeef noticed a golden ring upon your brother’s right hand, with a black stone. He wears another ring of gold upon his left, with a multicolored stone. Does this aid you?”

  Hallagond nodded. His mother had owned a golden ring with a black stone that was given her by the dwarves of Cós-domhain. She would never have parted with it, save upon her death, and then who else would have gained it if not her son?

  “It does,” he said solemnly, turning to Azori. “He speaks true. Lower your weapons and release them.”

  Azori’s men did so, earning several black looks from the strangers. Hallagond then drew forth his purse, saying: “Here is your promised reward for the information. I will give my remaining assets to compensate you for throwing my brother off the trail. It is my last wish in this world to be found by him. Do what you must short of harming him. Do you understand?”

  The strange man emptied Hallagond’s purse into his hand. “This is not much payment for such a service,” he said, sniffing at the gold. “It would be easier to just kill him.”

  “Yet surely your lives are worth something,” said Hallagond, indicating Azori, who was now grinning wickedly at the stranger. “If not, I will take back my gold, for you will certainly not have the opportunity to spend it. And do not fear—I have one other asset that I will give to make certain my brother’s quest is in vain.”

  He reached down into a hidden pocket of his leather vest, revealing a precious keepsake that not even Azori knew he possessed. It was a single bright stone of adamant set in hard silver, meant to be worn on a chain around the neck. It had been given to him long ago, and it was of Elven make. The one who had given it was long dead, and Hallagond had grieved for her, but his heart had hardened with time in the Ravi-shan. This was the only reminder left to him; he had not been able to part with it until now. It would buy his continued freedom from the past, ensuring that he would never need face his brother and reveal what he had become. He handed it to the stranger, who nodded in approval. Hallagond was now quite safe. The one who had given the stone to him would have wept, but she was far away, beyond the reach of sorrow.

  The festival of Ujaala marked the longest day of the year, at the end of seven days of celebration. Among many folk of the Sandstone it was a time for merrymaking, but for the Ballali it was a time of fasting and contemplation, and numbered among their High Holy Days. Long ago, Elves and men had discovered the nature of the seasons, where daylight waxed and waned in summer and winter. Although the seasons were much less variable in the southlands, still the days grew shorter after midsummer. Among primitive men, this had been a source of concern…would the light continue to wane?

  According to the Ballali tradition, Ujaala was a time of foreboding, for the sins of every man were noticed and counted, and the light would now diminish until the Day of Undaala, the Day of Darkness, when the sun rose for the briefest time. Until then, the people would spend part of each day reciting the prayer of forgiveness, and only if they achieved it would the light slowly return.

  Those of the Sandstone who were not of the Ballali had been busily preparing for the festival; there would be feasting and games as the people celebrated the turning o
f the sun. The Elves held a very different view of the events in the heavens, but they, too, rejoiced at midsummer, which they called Ri-solas.

  The dwarves were less concerned with celestial happenings, but Fima never missed a good celebration when he could help it.

  “Do you think Elraen is strong enough to join us in the marketplace?” Nelwyn inquired of Gaelen, who was in the process of stitching her boot. “She has remained inside for many days now…should we not encourage her to enjoy herself among these good-hearted folk? Sajid tells me that the Ballali will be inside, praying for themselves and meditating. It might be a good time to risk it.”

  Gaelen considered, but she remembered too well the actions of Elraen when she had taken fright, and was less inclined to take the risk. She could think only of the screaming, raving Dona with a blade in her hand. “I know the festival would be enjoyable for her, so long as she is not fearful. Yet if she takes fright she can be dangerous, and may harm others, thus bringing harm upon herself. I sense that these folk will not take kindly to her if she loses her composure. Better she should remain here with one of us. We can take turns in safeguarding her.”

  “She is perfectly capable of following our instructions,” said Nelwyn. “We have left her alone many times. It’s unlikely that she will venture outside the shelter…we need not worry. I only wanted to get her out among folk of good will, that she might see happiness and joy. It would benefit her after so much time in sorrow and darkness. Yet you’re right; if she takes fright she may become unmanageable, and any benefit will be lost.”

  After promising to bring back goods from the festival, they reluctantly left Elraen in the shelter, though she was not unhappy about it. She sat alone on her woolen mat with her hood drawn around her face, rocking and humming to herself as though trying to ward off some dark memory. At times she seemed almost normal, but then there were times, like this one, when she appeared to draw into herself. Gaelen had hoped that she would heal quickly upon remembering her name and her history, but it was not so. This hurt would take far longer to heal, assuming it ever would.

  The festival and the games were enjoyable as well as profitable for the Company. Nelwyn and Galador competed at archery, and Nelwyn bested all others, though there was one in addition to Galador who came close. For her effort she was given a beautiful prize of a golden arrow with a point and fletching of silver; it appeared to be of great age and its make was unknown. Fima expressed the opinion that such an example of craftsmanship could only have come from the hands of dwarves.

  Nelwyn did not desire to keep the golden arrow, and she traded it to a dealer of antiquities in the marketplace for thirty gold pieces. She managed this with Sajid’s help, as he was adept at bargaining and he spoke the local tongue fluently. Nelwyn decided to share her newfound wealth with Gaelen, so they each pocketed six of the shiny medallions, giving the remainder to Fima and Rogond for safekeeping.

  The marketplace was calling to Gaelen and Nelwyn, and their gold was simply crying out to be spent, so they headed for the bazaar in high spirits. A marketplace is ever so much more wonderful when one has money to spend, and they spent several pleasant hours taking everything in. Because of the midsummer festival there were even more vendors than usual, and Gaelen and Nelwyn marveled at the variety of goods offered for sale by the colorful people of the southlands.

  There was music, song, and dancing in the marketplace, and wonderful smells drifted from the stalls. The Elves sampled many foods and various sorts of drink from vendors of many races, even one or two who appeared to be Kazhi. They were selling beautiful garments of felted wool, dyed in many bright colors, with tiny beads woven into intricate patterns and embroidered upon them. “These would keep the rain off, that is certain,” said Gaelen as she examined them, for they were thick and filled with natural wool-fat that would turn aside all but the heaviest downpour. Gaelen and Nelwyn each purchased a plain, unadorned hooded cape made from the wool in the hope that they would someday return to a land where hard rains fell.

  The most attractive vendor to Nelwyn was also a wool-seller, a representative of a tribe of folk that hailed from some faraway mountains, and he was selling the finest wool the Elves had ever seen. Gleaned from very special goats, it was the softest in the world. Nelwyn sighed as she held it next to her skin, but alas, it was very costly, and she could not reconcile parting with such a large amount of gold. The vendor was no stranger to his art, and he saw the longing in her eyes as she replaced the creamy cloud of spun wool, her hand lingering upon the softness of it.

  “There has never been one so fair that has ever worn such a garment,” he said. “How it would become you! The chill of the desert night would vanish, for it is warmer than wool of three times the weight. I know you do not wish to leave it here, and so I will part with it for only five gold pieces.”

  Nelwyn smiled at him. “My thanks for your unwarranted praise, good wool-seller, but five gold pieces is still too dear. Since my other purchase I have only four pieces of gold and five of silver.” She bowed briefly before turning to leave.

  “Wait, wait, good maiden, for I would show you a wondrous sight! Only look at what I have to offer,” said the vendor. Nelwyn turned back to him as he called over his shoulder to a young man, no doubt a son or an apprentice. The young man disappeared into the tent, and in a moment he brought out a bundle wrapped in gauze, handing it to the vendor, who revealed it with reverence. Nelwyn could understand when she beheld it, for it was a singlet made of the same creamy wool, only double layered. The outside was covered with fine golden embroidery in an intricate pattern of leaves and intertwining vines, but the wearer would feel only the soft wool under-layer next to the skin. It was a piece of artwork, and Nelwyn greatly desired it.

  “What is the cost?” she murmured in a small voice, her eyes round and wide, long fingers straying to the beautiful singlet.

  “For this, worked by hand by my own wives and daughters, I should have no fewer than twelve gold pieces,” replied the vendor. “Yet I have been saving it for one worthy to wear it. Now I believe I have found her…see, how the fine gold thread matches your hair? How it catches the light in much the same fashion? To you, and only to you, the price is ten. If you would buy it, I will save it until you can afford it. I would honestly like to see my family’s finest work adorn such a beautiful buyer.” Nelwyn looked sharply up into the man’s face, for she thought he was trying to flatter her into spending beyond her means, yet her gaze softened, for she saw only sincerity in his eyes.

  Just then Gaelen came up from behind her, happy and excited. “Nelwyn! Wait until you see what I have found. It’s the most wondrous…” Her voice trailed off as she beheld the beautiful singlet. “How beautiful! I didn’t notice it earlier…this wool is softer than the finest velvet.” She looked to the vendor. “It must be very costly.”

  “It is,” sighed Nelwyn. “Ten gold pieces.”

  “For a singlet?” Even to Gaelen, who was unlearned and inexperienced in such matters, the price seemed high. “Still,” she said, examining the fine embroidery, “it is of very fine quality. The color suits you.”

  “You’re a fine lot of help, Gaelen,” said Nelwyn, who was sorely tempted. Yet she still could not bring herself to spend so frivolously. She bowed to the vendor, noting the disappointment in his eyes as she politely declined.

  “Are you sure?” said Gaelen as they turned to walk away. “You’re going to regret this, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, but it’s my choice. We will have need of the gold, and besides, it’s too warm here for such things.” She sighed. “It would have been oh-so-nice in the Greatwood, though.”

  “Never mind,” said Gaelen. Come and see the other wonders of this place. We’ll return home one day, and our folk will hardly believe what we tell them!” Gaelen led Nelwyn away from the wool-seller, but not before she looked back over her shoulder, speaking to him with her eyes. She would be back, and Nelwyn would own the singlet ‘ere the day was out. The seller sm
iled and nodded, wrapping the beautiful garment carefully so that it would be ready when Galador came to claim it.

  They found Rogond and Fima a short while later, and displayed their purchases. Gaelen had found a wondrous wax made from boiling the outer skin of one of the varieties of thorny desert plants. She had treated her old boots with it, and now showed how a very thin layer would turn water aside, reputedly for weeks. Gaelen was quite excited about it, and rightly so, for her old brown boots now looked almost new, glowing with mellow softness. The leaf-tracings upon them had been nearly worn away, but they were now visible again, for the wax had revealed them. “You can wax anything with it, including bowstrings!” she said.

  Nelwyn had bought a container of the wondrous wax, a new flint, and her woolen cape. She could not bear to part with any more of her gold for anything other than the fabulous singlet.

  Fima took note of the wistful longing in her eyes and wondered. “Well, my beautiful Nelwyn, have you had your fill of the marketplace?”

  “Yes, Fima, I suppose I have,” she replied. “I will go now and see to Elraen. Gaelen, why don’t you go and tend the horses? They will be in need of water by now.”

  “That was my plan,” Gaelen replied, but then she was distracted by a commotion coming from the north end of the market, where quite a large crowd was gathering.

  “I wonder what the excitement is about,” said Rogond, as the four of them made their way to investigate. When they arrived they learned that the games had resumed, and there would be a particularly difficult test beginning at any moment.

  Apparently it was a sort of race, with the participants running as fast as they could to the base of the rocks, then climbing to the top where a tall pole had been mounted. The pole had been covered in thick, black grease, and the men would need to climb it and gain the top to win. It would take skill, speed, and agility, plus a hardy constitution. The competitors would not hesitate to thwart each other, even to the point of injury. The greased pole was a challenge in itself; most of the men had formed alliances, for it would almost require a team effort to scale it.