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

by C S Marks

  Hallagond drew a deep breath. “We know that Nelwyn was withdrawn from the general auction last night—you effectively disrupted things before bidding could even begin. But I overheard a couple of very wealthy buyers discussing what they would give for her…they were representatives of a local Chieftain named Al-Muniqui. Nelwyn will command a price that few can pay, but Al-Muniqui is one of them. That’s where I would look for her.”

  “Did you see this Al-Muniqui at the auction?” asked Rogond.

  “No, only his agents. They were the ones in scarlet robes, extremely fine brocaded robes. Al-Muniqui and his family made their fortunes as providers of fine cloth, and his wares are highly sought after. I’ll warrant even the Elven-realms have traded for some of it—none can match the quality of his silks. The weavers use pigments found only in the southlands to dye their fabrics. If she has gone to Al-Muniqui, then we are fortunate. His tribe lives near the Neela oasis.”

  Gaelen scowled. “Isn’t that the place Sajid warned us away from? The one with the supposedly bad water?”

  “That’s the one,” said Rogond.

  “Who is Sajid?” asked Hallagond. “What ‘bad water?’”

  “Oh, never mind!” said Galador. “That is not so far away. I saw it on Fima’s map!”

  “Indeed, it isn’t far,” said Hallagond. “Yet Al-Muniqui will fight to keep his prize, and he’s known to be a hard, ruthless man. You will need to make your plans carefully, or you will not prevail.”

  “You mean we will need to make careful plans, or we will not prevail,” said Gaelen. “You are included in our Company now, Hallagond. We will depend on you to guide us.” She chuckled at the brief look of dismay that came over his face. “Don’t worry...once Nelwyn regains her senses, they might not fight so hard to keep her! There is a reason that Castor kept her bewildered. I would not want to be the man who first tries to lay hands on her.”

  Galador’s eyes flared with rage at the thought of it. “No, I would not want to be that man either.”

  Gaelen nodded in agreement. “I don’t yet know how we will rescue Nelwyn, but at least we now have some idea as to where to look for her.”

  They all hoped that Hallagond’s guess was right—none more so than Hallagond himself. Rescuing Nelwyn was the only way to be free of the life-debt that bound him to all that was left of his old life.

  Al-Muniqui stood before his new acquisition, his eyes half-lidded, as his agents prepared to reveal her. She had been placed amid cushions of multicolored brocade and covered with a veil of golden silk. Most men would have been tantalized at the sight of her lithe, graceful form, but Al-Muniqui was well accustomed to having the most beautiful women provided to him. He stood with his arms folded, daring the agents to impress him.

  When they removed the silk, Al-Muniqui’s reaction was quite satisfactory. His entire body tensed and he drew in a sharp breath. His eyes grew bright and warm as he gazed now upon a creature of such ethereal beauty that he was rendered speechless. He took a tentative step toward her, stretching out one hand toward the silken hair that lay like a river of precious gold on the pillow beneath her head. Her eyes were closed, her features relaxed and peaceful, but cold. She was an impossibly fair, wild creature from the far northern forest, and Al-Muniqui was pleased.

  He touched her face, so smooth and clear, the color of cream and roses. He traced one of her strange ears, knowing that his agents had indeed acquired something of great worth.

  Neither Al-Muniqui nor his agents truly understood the nature of Elves, or they would have left Nelwyn in the tent of Castor the slave-dealer. She would never submit to the attentions of Al-Muniqui—or of any man—for her heart was given, and there would never be another who would claim her. She would see to her own death first. Al-Muniqui would come to know this in time, but for now he expected this lovely, immortal bird he had trapped in a cage would agree to be his consort, and would one day provide him with many sons. He looked with approval at his agents.

  “You have done well, and I am pleased. Take now your reward.” He brought forth a silken bag of gold coins and handed it to one of the agents, who bowed respectfully before taking his leave.

  Al-Muniqui was now alone with Nelwyn, save for the bodyguards who never left his side. He stood over her, a dark desire growing in his heart. She was his property now, and he would have her. “Sleep, little bird,” he muttered. “Soon you will awaken, and then we shall come to know one another. I shall care for you if you please me…you will want for nothing.” He leaned down toward her, taken with a sudden desire to caress her, but something stayed his hand. Somehow he could not bring himself to touch her again—it was as though he had been warned to stay away.

  He decided to leave her in peace for the moment, his thoughts just a little unsettled, draping her once again in golden silk before turning to leave. When he stepped out into the gathering twilight his feeling of foreboding faded, and he thought no more of it.

  After he had gone, two women crept quietly into Nelwyn’s chamber, approaching to look upon her with wonder. One of the women was the youngest of Al-Muniqui’s wives. The other was his most talented weaver, and though she was a slave, she was held in very high regard. The guards set at the doorway to the chamber allowed the women to enter, for they would surely do no harm. They stared at Nelwyn in silence.

  “What sort of being is she?” asked the younger woman, whose name was Sari.

  The weaver, a middle-aged woman named Bint Raed, shook her head slowly. An enlightened woman, she could read and write. She knew of the existence of Elves, for she hailed from a land where lore and learning were of value. “This is one of the Immortal Ones, whom the Sutherlings call Avinashi, unless I am mistaken,” she said. “If that is so, then Al-Muniqui has indeed found himself a prize. Yet I wonder how she will fare…Avinashi are not known to submit to the desires of men. There will be trouble before all is ended.” She stepped forward, still shaking her head. “I expect your exalted husband does not know what he has acquired.”

  Sari was very respectful of Bint Raed, for she was known to be both learned and wise. “Tell me of the Avinashi,” she asked, for she had never even heard of such things before. “Are they truly immortal?”

  “They may be slain, but they will not die naturally or suffer pestilence,” said Bint Raed. “This one may be very, very old.”

  “She doesn’t look old. Why have we not seen one until now? I’ve never even heard of such beings.” Sari wasn’t certain whether to believe in Nelwyn or not.

  “They do not usually venture into these lands. How has she come to be so far from her home, I wonder?” Bint Raed felt a pang of sadness as she spoke, for, like Nelwyn, she was far from home. She had been captured and sold into bondage many years before, and had given up all hope of ever seeing her own lands again. She was always under watch, and there was nowhere to escape to. Al-Muniqui would have her killed rather than allow her to leave.

  She looked into Sari’s large, soft brown eyes, so wide with wonder. Sari had been born in the Neela and promised to Al-Muniqui at only nine years of age. He came for her when she was twelve. It was hoped that she now bore a son in her womb; she would give birth very soon now. This would be her first child, but if it was a daughter, it might well be her last.

  Bint Raed looked down upon Nelwyn with sadness, but there was a small spark of anger growing as well. She had seen the manner in which Al-Muniqui broke the spirits of those who displeased him. This beautiful Avinasha would not survive long in this place, for she would never submit to captivity. One such as Sari had known of little else.

  Bint Raed was among the most talented weavers ever born. She had come from a fair, white city that stood poised on the far southern coast, with its back to the desert and its face turned to the sea. The people of the city were educated and diverse; there were many races there, and they often intermingled. Bint Raed was the product of a sutherling father, who served in the city as a builder and maker of stone carvings, and a mother who was a fine
weaver and carried the blood of the original city founders. These were men of the lost realm of Tuathas, and Bint Raed was proud of her heritage. Her mother’s name was Raenien, hence her father named her “Bint Raenien” (daughter of Raenien), shortened to Bint Raed.

  She remembered well the great City, with its gleaming white spires topped with silver, and the high sea-cliffs on which it stood. She remembered the clear, cold water springing from beneath the earth on which the city was founded, and the tall trees growing everywhere within its walls. But mostly she remembered the people, who prized learning and knowledge above all else. They were all free people, yet they did not often leave their enlightened realm. They feared that, should outsiders discover the City, their way of life would be lost. Bint Raed had longed to escape and see the wide world for herself, and this longing had made her feel trapped within her beautiful home. Thus, she left the Silver City when she was five and fifty, traveling for a time with a caravan of merchants, later taken by bandits and sold to Al-Muniqui. When her weaving abilities were discovered, she gained favor in his household, but no liberty. He would never release her. It was ironic that she left her home seeking freedom, only to have it taken from her utterly.

  She sat down beside Nelwyn, who stirred and moaned as though in the grip of an unhappy dream. She does not yet know how unhappy she can be, thought Bint Raed, taking Nelwyn’s hand in her own. There would be no freedom for Nelwyn, or for herself, in this place.

  Sari sensed the hopelessness welling in Bint Raed, and it frightened her. She knew the fate that awaited her should she displease her husband with a girl-child. She had always taken comfort in the strength of Bint Raed, who had seemed almost as a mother to her, and to see such resigned melancholy in the older woman’s eyes was disquieting. She squeezed Bint Raed’s shoulder, hoping to comfort her.

  Nelwyn, still restive, moaned softly, then her eyelids fluttered open. Sari had never seen such a beautiful, clear green.

  “Can you hear me?” whispered Bint Raed. Nelwyn closed her eyes again, for her head swam and her vision blurred, but she nodded slightly.

  “Rest and be still, and hear my words. You are in the house of Al-Muniqui, and we will not harm you. Yet there are things you should know. Do you understand me?” Nelwyn’s eyes opened wide, for this stranger had spoken in Elven-speech!

  Bint Raed turned to Sari. “You should leave us now, little one. There are things that I must tell her that you should not hear. If you have not heard them, then your husband cannot force you to reveal them. Better you should leave now...return to your own chamber and rest for a while. I will come to you later.”

  “But…what was that strange tongue you were speaking?”

  “Never mind. I learned it long ago, and I’m thinking Al-Muniqui will soon want to make use of it. Go on, now!”

  Sari’s eyes grew wide with confusion, but she agreed, embracing Bint Raed briefly before leaving her alone with Nelwyn.

  Bint Raed explained many things, for Nelwyn would need to know of them. Though Nelwyn was disheartened upon learning that she had been sold into bondage, Bint Raed reassured her. Their hearts surged in the midst of their hopelessness, for each knew that she had found an ally, and neither would rest until both were free.

  Hallagond called the Company to a halt just as they drew within distant sight of the Neela oasis. It was much larger than the Chupa, for the water was plentiful and of better quality. There were growing things here, and Gaelen’s heart was glad, for she missed the cool, green tranquility of her woodland home. Her eyes were weary of the desert tans, greys, and browns.

  Galador seemed less edgy as he looked out upon the oasis; at least Nelwyn was not being held in some terrible place. Her comforts could be attended to here, and Hallagond had assured him that, should Al-Muniqui have acquired her, she would want for nothing.

  “If I know Castor, he will have demanded a small fortune, and Al-Muniqui takes good care of his possessions, for he values them. He has many wives, I expect, but none will have required such an investment.”

  Galador looked away, his voice cold as he spoke: “If he touches her, he will die for it. Should I ever encounter Castor or Sajid again, they will fall before me as well. I don’t care what we have to do.”

  Hallagond, who was uncomfortable with strong emotion, was chilled by the murderous resolve in Galador’s voice, knowing it could mean trouble for the Company. When Galador turned back toward him, his gaze was softer. “Thank you for your aid and reassurance. It has been of great help to me.”

  Gaelen, who had lately become protective and watchful of Galador, approached silently from behind Hallagond, startling him. Apparently, she had overheard. “We will first need to learn that Nelwyn is truly here,” she said. “I have always had some awareness of her, and I sense she is not far away.”

  Hallagond considered. “I doubt that she is actually in the oasis, but the house of Al-Muniqui is not far from it—it draws from the same system of wells. I have never been there, and so we must learn where it may be found.”

  “I will go at once,” said Galador, who was understandably anxious.

  “I think not,” said Hallagond, who would have been amused at the absurdity of such a suggestion had he not seen the menacing gleam in Galador’s eyes. “You do not understand the sutherling speech, and you cannot be relied upon to hold your composure should you learn things that unsettle you. You’re too bound up in this web, my friend. Not to mention the fact that you do not exactly blend in.”

  Gaelen smiled at this, for it was true that Galador’s tall frame and beardless, ageless face made it difficult for him to escape notice. “Hallagond is right. You should not go among these folk in your present state of temperament,” she said. “We need someone well versed in the ways and speech of these lands, and that would be Hallagond. I will go with him, for we shall need his skills and my stealth. I will disguise myself as a youth of the Ravani. At least then I may carry weapons openly, though I trust we won’t need them…not yet.”

  Rogond, who had been tending the horses, approached in time to hear the plan. “I’m uncomfortable with your venturing alone into such a place,” he said. “It will not be easy to pass their scrutiny, and your disguise must be very convincing.”

  “I won’t be alone, I’ll be with Hallagond. His task will be the harder one. I will act only at his bidding—it will be up to him to actually learn where Nelwyn is. I go only because of the possible need for stealth.”

  Hallagond was not concerned, either. “It will not be that difficult to disguise her. Your difficulties have come from attempting to put her in female garb; her proud bearing and attitude make her much more believable as an impetuous, prideful youth. Leave it to me.”

  That same afternoon, Hallagond and Gaelen rode together to the Neela. Hallagond was not well known among these folk, and his sun-browned face and full beard would serve to conceal him. Gaelen wore a loose-fitting robe of off-white with a head covering made of the same material, such that neither her hair nor her ears were visible. They had bound her chest with linen, and browned her face and hands with nut-oil. Hallagond had instructed her to look as few people directly in the eye as possible. She resembled a fit, willowy youth, and she took great comfort from the short sword hanging at her belt. Her long knives and throwing-daggers were hidden, but she could easily reach them. She rode happily beside Hallagond, as Finan lifted his tail in the air and literally ran circles around Malvorn.

  “Stop playing about and pay attention,” said Hallagond. “This is a serious task, and here you are showing off. It’s enough of an indignity for me to have to ride the pack horse without your pointing out his inadequacies.”

  Gaelen laughed musically at him. “First, O Expert Concealer of Elves, I do not see Malvorn as inadequate—he is an excellent pack horse. Second, I am supposed to be impersonating an impetuous youth, and I’m simply getting into character.”

  Hallagond scowled at her. “You can’t allow yourself to be impetuous…this is serious. If
you are discovered, there will be dire consequences. You must try to make yourself as small and beneath notice as possible. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” she said. “My apologies. I follow wherever you direct me.” She reined in Finan, to his displeasure, and trotted sensibly behind Hallagond into the heart of the oasis.

  Azori and his brother Azok sat with their unsavory comrades, drinking kumri and shaking the desert sand from their boots. By now, the whole of the Chupa knew of Haifa’s encounter with the strange northman, and though his broken finger would heal, it would be some time before he was comfortable. The worst of it was that he had needed to hire and pay someone to manage the bar for him, as he found handling heavy jugs and pouring drinks to be difficult with a clumsily-bandaged right hand.

  Hallagond’s companions were becoming concerned for him. Usually he returned promptly from the auction at Bezaltor, yet he still had not appeared. Azori’s half-sister, Estle, was especially dismayed, for she was fond of Hallagond and would know what had befallen him. She asked Azori about it, but he could not enlighten her.

  A comely woman, she had the same dark hair as Azori, but her complexion was very pale, like ivory, and her face freckled in the sun. Her eyes were grey, like Hallagond’s, indicating her own northern heritage. She was a hard-bitten woman who had only been made stronger by deprivation and disregard.

  Estle had lived in the Ravani for all of her life, the daughter of the same Corsair who had sired Azori and (reputedly) Azok. She had known her mother only briefly, as she had died when Estle was young, yet when she was alone and tranquil she often recalled her mother’s face and gentle words.

  Estle knew that Hallagond was not as he appeared, and that the cynical words he so often spoke were not from his heart. She hoped that he would one day come back to himself, for she loved him, and watched over him when she could.