by C S Marks
“I will go and fetch Galador, for he might want to watch this contest,” said Gaelen. In truth, she wanted to tell him of the wonderful singlet, adding her three remaining gold pieces to the effort so that Galador could make a present of it to Nelwyn.
Rogond, Nelwyn, and Fima watched the men lining up for the test, clad only in cloths wrapped about their heads and their loins. They noticed Sajid standing in the front of the crowd; he no doubt wanted to wager on the outcome. In truth, their guide was planning to work his way among the preoccupied spectators once the contest began, for he would pick several pockets and increase his own wealth. Then he beheld Nelwyn and his plans changed, for there was a greater treasure to be gained.
“Look…that is Sajid, and it appears that he is entering the contest,” said Nelwyn. Sajid had approached the entry table, paid his modest fee, and taken off his robes. He went to stand beside the other competitors, his head held high. He did not appear to take notice of the Company, yet he occasionally shot a furtive look at Nelwyn to make certain she was watching. He threw out his slight, rather bony chest and stretched his arms and legs, warming to the task before him.
At that moment, Gaelen reappeared beside Rogond. “Galador has some brief business to attend to, and then he has promised to join us.” The field of contestants caught her eye, and she drew back in surprise. “What is Sajid doing? Has he entered the game? Well, that would make sense, for he is certainly adept at slithering. Half a moment…I would actually place a wager on him.”
“Gaelen…you will do no such thing,” said Fima. “She who admonishes others to forego the gambling-tables had best stay away from them herself!”
Gaelen did not seem to hear him, as she disappeared into the crowd, seeking out men who would wager on the games. Fima waited for another moment, looking anxious, then he started after her, calling: “Wait for me! I would join you in that wager.” Rogond and Nelwyn simply shook their heads.
The men lined up for the start of the race, crouching like cats ready to spring. There were some fine, fit young men among them; sutherlings, Anori-men, even a few dark-skinned folk of the southern coast. There was one unsavory looking pale-skinned fellow, red and peeling from the hard Ravani sun, with hair the bright copper characteristic of some of the men of the north. He was scarred and fierce-looking, a veteran of many battles, with only one remaining eye. The others gave him a wide berth at the line as he dropped onto one knee, snarling and flexing his enormous, powerful shoulders. Other than the use of weapons being forbidden, there were no rules in this contest. Sajid would have his work cut out for him.
The starter held a white silken banner in his upraised hand, and then dropped it abruptly. All the men leaped forward, running as fast as they could toward the rocks. The long-strided, lithe ones reached them first and began to climb, but Sajid, who was small and wiry, was not too far behind them; his desire to impress Nelwyn gave wings to his feet. He scrambled up the rocks as though born to the task, and Gaelen and Rogond shared the same thought. He truly did resemble a spider as he scuttled unerringly up the difficult cliff-face.
There were those who did not make the climb successfully, especially when the other competitors had their way. The red-haired fellow managed to throw three of them off as he climbed slowly and deliberately toward the summit. There were no deaths, but there were several broken bones and bruises both to the body and to the pride. As the Company heard the unpleasant and painful sound of the unlucky ones striking the rocky bottom, they hoped that the prize would be worth the effort.
Sajid, meanwhile, had managed to gain the top. There were eight men ahead of him, but they were struggling unsuccessfully with the greased pole, unable to climb more than a few yards before sliding back down upon those below. The red-haired fellow charged up from behind, and Sajid leaped back out of the way, for he knew better than to stand before this roaring mass of muscle and sinew. The northerner, whose name, apparently, was “Olaf the Unfortunate,” began to climb the pole by grabbing onto the other competitors. They were clinging for dear life, as he gained purchase by treading on their heads or their shoulders. He struggled briefly with one of the dark-skinned southerners, kicking him hard in the side of the head before climbing over the top of him.
Olaf was now only a few feet from the top of the pole, and Sajid saw his chance. He scrambled up the living chain of grease-covered men, several of whom tried unsuccessfully to grab him. When he reached Olaf he clawed his way up, balancing precariously on the shoulders of the man below, and then leaped like a cat onto Olaf’s broad, muscular back. He was rewarded with a bellow of rage, but Olaf could not let go of the pole, and was momentarily helpless. Sajid took advantage, his eyes alight with savagery, his tight, sallow face twisted into a grimace as he whipped his head around on Olaf’s blind side, grasping one scarred ear in his strong teeth. Olaf bellowed again, but with pain this time as well as fury, and let go of the pole with one arm, trying to strike Sajid. The smaller man then dug three fingers into Olaf’s remaining eye.
Meanwhile, one of the easterners had grabbed one of Olaf’s legs and one of Sajid’s. He intended to use them to gain the top; Sajid in particular was still relatively clean, for he had only contacted the other men, not the pole. Olaf kicked the easterner in the face hard enough to rattle his teeth; he cried out in pain and let go of Sajid, but not Olaf. Sajid placed one foot on top of the easterner’s bald head, springing with all his might toward the small banner at the top of the pole. He grabbed for it, snagging it with clever fingers. Olaf, however, would not be denied.
Sajid was now within his reach, and was grabbed from behind before he knew what was happening. He wriggled free of Olaf’s greasy arm, the banner still in his hand, battling to keep hold of it as the beleaguered pole swayed under the weight of the chain of men clinging to it. Olaf swung wildly, trying to knock his rival from his perch, but this proved to be a mistake. The pole could not withstand the great unbalanced mass of Olaf lurching about on the top of it, and suddenly it tottered and gave way. As it fell, Sajid swung around onto the topside of it, leaping off just before it hit the ground. Most of the men let go, but not Olaf, whose name “The Unfortunate” was well earned as the stout pole crashed down on top of him. Sajid was victorious.
The Company had observed all this from their place among the spectators, Fima and Rogond making good use of Thorndil’s glass. What they saw did not really surprise them, but the savage behavior of their guide was unsettling nonetheless. As Fima left to go and collect their winnings, Gaelen spoke grimly to Rogond. “Another guide, Thaylon, as quickly as may be found.”
She turned to Galador. “He is capable of anything when he decides he wants something badly enough. I have seen the way he looks at Nelwyn. I fear we shall need to cut his throat some dark night.”
Nelwyn had overheard this comment and started to suggest that her cousin’s humor was in poor taste, but then she realized that Gaelen was serious. “You are as bad as Galador,” she said. “He also thinks that Sajid is enamored of me. Believe me, if that were so, I should think I would know it. I have merely shown him courtesy, and he appreciates it...nothing more.”
“I would keep away from him if I were you,” Gaelen whispered. “You don’t want to encourage him. I tell you, I have seen the look in his eyes. You always want to believe the best of people, but one day you will be disappointed. He is a viper…beware of him!” She stood silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then she spoke again to Nelwyn. “Observe him closely when he comes forward to claim his prize. He will look to you for approval. See if I am not right! He has done this only to impress you.”
“Surely not,” said Nelwyn, who was beginning to be unsettled by Gaelen’s admonition.
When Sajid came forward to collect his winnings, he stood proudly, searching the crowd. When his eyes found Nelwyn he stood tall, smiling at her, lifting his chin. He brought his right hand to touch his forehead, bowing slightly, his eyes never leaving hers.
Galador stepped forward, looming besid
e Nelwyn, his eyes like black ice, and Sajid looked away. Galador and Gaelen were definitely in agreement—if Sajid did not turn his attentions elsewhere they would indeed have to cut his throat some dark night. It could not come soon enough for Galador, who looked over at Nelwyn and saw confusion in her eyes. To Nelwyn, the thought of Sajid being enamored of her was so preposterous and unseemly that it did not even warrant consideration, yet he had done exactly as Gaelen had predicted.
Gaelen looked over at her. “I told you so.”
Nelwyn shook her head. “Must you always think the worst of people? Rogond and I are the only ones among the Company that have been even the least bit courteous to Sajid, and he has simply responded to it. You and Galador have made no attempt to hide your contempt for him—is it any wonder he shuns you? Now if you don’t mind, Galador and I are going to take our goods back to the shelter and see to Elraen. Are you going to look after the horses, or not?”
Gaelen nodded and headed off in the direction of Hari’s yards, after handing her goods to Nelwyn and Galador. Poor Nelwyn had been dismayed by the savagery she had just witnessed, and even more by Sajid’s attention, but Gaelen did not know whether she truly grasped the seriousness of it. It was true that Nelwyn always wanted to believe the best of people, and that was a wonderful quality, but in this case it might have been a mistake. Gaelen loved Nelwyn, and would not change anything about her; she only hoped that Nelwyn’s optimism and kind heart would not be her undoing. Gaelen would keep a very watchful eye on her cousin, just in case.
She waved to Hari as she arrived at the horse-yards, greeted warmly by Eros, Siva, and Finan, and her thoughts were soon diverted as she set herself to the task of caring for them.
“That animal has certainly seen his share of hardship, for the scars on his body tell the tale,” said Hari, referring to Finan, who stood placidly in the corner of one of the holding-yards. He was not sociable with other horses, and thus had been placed in a small pen by himself. Hari, who usually housed several horses in such an enclosure, gave this as a courtesy to Gaelen. She had returned several times to ride the grey colt, the first that she had tamed, and it appeared as though Hari’s fortunes were turning in his favor. The colt was swift and sure, and very powerful. He was tireless even in the heat of the day, and there was nothing he would not do with Gaelen astride him. There were many watchful eyes appraising him from afar, and Hari knew it.
Hari turned to her now. “I should make a present of him to you in exchange for that scarred war-horse, but I need to keep possession of him, for there are those who will pay dearly for his offspring. He is destined to sire my next foal crop and will serve well for many years. It would take a mountain of gold to buy him.”
Gaelen smiled and bowed. “Your thought is indeed generous, Hari, Provider of Horses. Yet I could not part with Finan. He saved all of our lives, you see. One day, he will be whole again. Who knows...he may even see a battlefield, though I would not wish it.”
She drew a deep breath. It was still too early to tell whether Finan would be truly sound again; his injuries had been very serious. He still favored one foreleg occasionally, though it was difficult to see, and he was reluctant to move in deep sand at speed, which was just as well.
“Ah, Gaelen my friend, I believe you’ve got it wrong. You saved his life, from the look of things. Your friend Fima told me the tale.”
“Did he, indeed?” said Gaelen, smiling. “I am surprised...I’ll wager that he left certain details out of his accounting.”
“Details such as what? And I thought you did not approve of wagering,” said a deep, growling voice. Fima was blustering up from behind, moving with surprising speed. He drew Gaelen aside. “I have been sent to collect you, for Rogond will not sit down to a meal without you, and both he and I are hungry! Come along, won’t you? There’s a good Elf.”
Gaelen laughed. “Your stomach can speak to you for a bit longer, Fima. I must see to the other horses first.”
Fima growled into his beard, knowing it was pointless to argue. He was so obviously crestfallen that Gaelen took pity on him, turning back to Hari. “Will you please check and make certain that the others are well, and that they are watered?”
“Of course,” Hari replied. “And you will be happy to know that the wretched dun fellow has finally stopped trying to dismantle the fencing. I have never known a horse to set himself so to a task…I shall be glad to see the back of him.”
Gaelen nodded in sympathy. Because of the terrain, which was both rocky and sandy, it was not possible to put up permanent fencing. Posts were set in a very clever pattern on top of the ground, with interlacing rails that defied all but the most determined animals. Woven ropes were also used, and Eros had managed to meet every challenge; he had set himself loose four times already. Finally, Rogond had suggested that Hari tie Eros on a short tether overnight, a nearly unbearable indignity.
Réalta had taken advantage, floating majestically back and forth as if to say: “How wonderful to be free to move about, so sorry you cannot.”
Eros was often too intelligent for his own good, but after his night of confinement he seemed to have learned his lesson. He was still shunning Rogond, as though he understood that the intolerable tethering had come at his suggestion.
“Come Gaelen, before I shrink away to nothing,” said Fima. Gaelen bowed to Hari, and then turned and followed her friend back to the festival so that they all might partake of some of the bazaar’s exotic and excellent fare.
As Gaelen and Fima made their way back from the horse-yards, Sajid was deeply engaged in blunting all his senses with the most powerful drink he could find. He sat in the shade of stones, nursing a few bruises but still elated from his victory, smoking a small quantity of weed while drinking strong liquor made from grain and flavored with blackroot, which gave it a pleasant, musky aroma and taste.
His thoughts had turned dark in these past days, darker even than usual, as his unwholesome desire for Nelwyn had grown in his heart. He was uncertain now whether he drank to try to blunt his desires, or to bolster his courage to act upon them. He only knew that whenever she appeared before him, his thoughts turned to forbidden paths.
He shook his head, overcome with self-pity for a moment. What chance would he have of ever achieving his desire when Galador stood in his way? And why should he not have that chance? He was not tall, or especially strong, or particularly handsome, but he was certainly clever. He could be most winsome when he wished. Nelwyn, of all the Company, had been kind and considerate of him. He had desired her from the moment he first beheld her angelic face as he lay helpless, dying of heat and thirst.
He continued drinking, and the more he drank, the clearer his argument became. He swallowed another gulp of liquor, wincing as it burned his throat and made his eyes water. Perhaps now was the time to tell Nelwyn of his desires, and see whether her heart could be turned in his favor. Of course, he could always see to the death of Galador, but he was afraid to try. He had killed many times before to gain something he wanted…the first when he was only nine years old. But he did not wish to earn the wrath of Rogond, Fima, or Gaelen, and he did not want Nelwyn to lose her lightness of heart in grief for Galador—better she should forsake him.
At last, Sajid came to a decision. He knew that Nelwyn had gone back to see to Elraen. He would make himself clean and polished, and go to her, and ask her to meet him by dark of night under the stars. Then he would declare his love for her, and see what the fate of his desire would be.
He drank the rest of the liquor; it was just enough to bolster his courage. If Nelwyn assented to his wishes, he would take her into the desert, vowing that he would spend the rest of his life in trying to make her happy. If not…if she spurned him, then he would take her into the desert for a different purpose. When the sun rose tomorrow, he would be gone; no one in the Company would ever find him again.
Nelwyn sat quietly inside the yurut with Elraen, sharing some honey-cakes with her and telling her of the sights she
had seen at the festival. “There was a very large bird with brilliant red and gold feathers--red, gold, and green...even blue! It actually spoke. It answered questions. I would never have believed it. Perhaps I will ask the man to bring it here that you might see it for yourself.”
Sajid could not understand Elvish speech, but he knew that Nelwyn spoke with tenderness and concern for her friend, and his heart ached with desire for her. He had rarely held such feelings; normally his attractions were of the baser sort. He cleared his throat, announcing his presence to Nelwyn, who looked at him with an open heart. When Elraen or Gaelen beheld him, their eyes held nothing but distrust and disdain. Even now, Elraen’s eyes glittered as she drew back against the brown felt wall.
Nelwyn soothed her, and then turned to Sajid. “Is there something you need?” She was pleasant enough, though she could probably tell that he had been drinking and it disquieted her. He knew she did not like being around drunken men.
“I would speak with you, fair flower,” he replied, his words thick in his mouth. “Please, will you hear me? It concerns a matter of importance, and I shall never find this courage again.”
Nelwyn was puzzled, wondering what Sajid could say to her that would require courage. “Of course I will hear you,” she replied. “What do you have to say?”
Sajid looked over at Elraen, his dark eyes half-lidded. “I would rather speak with you alone. It is an important matter that should not be shared. It might unsettle your excitable friend.”