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

by C S Marks

  “There is the remedy,” said Gaelen. “Look upon your enemy and be glad. He is vanquished. The ravens have taken his eyes, so I cannot read them, but I know he suffered greatly. His evil is ended. That should gladden your heart.”

  “Suffering should not gladden the heart, Gaelen, no matter how we might wish it,” said Nelwyn. She was having some difficulty coming to grips with her dark feelings. “This is like…like eating something rich and sweet, but poisonous. The taste is irresistible, but the poison sickens your soul.”

  “There is only one remedy for such poison, and that is the sight of your vanquished enemy, that you know will bring no more evil among good-hearted folk. You are no better than the rest of us, Nelwyn…even the most lofty desire vengeance. No one is above such feelings. You are fortunate to have lived so long without tasting of this fruit.”

  Nelwyn looked at Gaelen, her eyes filled with tears. “I weep not for my enemy, but for the end of my innocence,” she said. “How do you deal with such feelings? They twist like a knife in my heart.”

  Gaelen nodded, her expression cold. Her innocence had fallen long ago. “Here is how I deal with them,” she said, mounting Finan and galloping some distance from Sajid’s head. She charged it, drawing her bow, yelling a war-cry, releasing the arrow as she passed. The shaft disappeared into the sand just behind the oily tangle of Sajid’s hair. She wheeled around and galloped back to stand before Nelwyn.

  “I told him once that I would place a shaft between his worthless ribs, and I have now done so. I know he can never hurt me or my friends again, and I will pay no more heed to him than if he were a squashed spider beneath my feet. Try it and see.”

  Nelwyn did so, but she aimed for his throat, and the shaft struck with such power that the skull came partially away from his neck, lolling sideways onto the sand. She rode up to Gaelen, breathless with spent effort.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t feel better. The spider is dead, and my arrows are pointless.” She drew a long breath. “Nothing but a waste of good arrows.”

  “I intend to retrieve the arrows. Tell me what troubles you.”

  Nelwyn considered for a moment. “I just wish that…ah, it is nothing. It’s not important.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” said Gaelen. “You can keep nothing from me, and you know it.”

  Nelwyn’s eyes glittered. “Very well, then. See the true nature of your reputedly gentle, forgiving cousin! This wretch brought more humiliation to me than I thought I could bear, he does grievous harm to my friends—my family—and yet he dies alone, with no one to bear witness to his final loss of dignity. I didn’t just want him dead; I wanted him shamed beyond words, even as I was. I wanted him to pay, and…and I wanted to watch him pay!”

  “Bint Raed has said that you are a water-spirit,” Gaelen answered. “Water may be just as destructive as fire when it is aroused to wrath. Your feelings are understandable, but ask yourself how you would have felt witnessing his end. I’m sure he babbled and pleaded with the ravens even as they plucked out his eyes. They do not wait for death to come to the helpless. What would you have done then?”

  Without another word, she vaulted down from Finan’s back and approached Sajid, pulling her arrow from the sand. “Leave mine,” said Nelwyn. “I will never touch it again.”

  Gaelen nodded, swinging back aboard Finan, turning him back the way they had come. “We must tell the others what we have found. They will want to know.”

  Nelwyn did not answer, but stood for a moment, pondering Gaelen’s question. What would I have done? I would have put him out of his pain…no matter how much I hated him. She turned and followed Gaelen back to rejoin her friends.

  It was no surprise that Galador, Rogond, and Fima all wanted to bear witness to Sajid’s remains. Rogond told the tale, and the entire Company loathed Sajid by the time they drew nigh what was left of him.

  Rogond was first to approach. “A sad and undignified ending, to be sure. I’m certain he wishes that he had yet been alive when Nelwyn’s shaft struck him; it would have taken him from his pain.” He turned to regard Galador standing alone, his finely chiseled, strong face stony, his grey eyes expressionless. “Do you not wish to look upon your enemy, who is vanquished?”

  “No, I do not,” said Galador, “for I regret that he is dead by someone else’s hand. Farewell, Cuidag. May you enjoy carrying your foul, deceitful head as you scuttle through whatever eternal torment awaits.”

  Galador had said all that was needed. Sajid’s name was never spoken again by any of them. Rogond’s final thought as he mounted Eros was that, in spite of the terrible trials put upon the Company, Sajid had unwittingly aided them. Without his treachery they would not have been led to Hallagond, and might have come to even more terrible trials in a fruitless search for him. Rogond inclined his head slightly to Sajid’s remains in acknowledgment of this unwitting aid, but as he rode away he doubted it would be enough to save his enemy’s wretched soul from darkness.

  They approached the city of Mumari at dawn of the following day. It was a welcoming sight, with red dwellings built from stone carved from nearby ridges, the ever-present, odd trees that told of water, the streets just coming alive with colorful people. “I am looking forward to a bath and a good meal,” said Estle as she rode beside Hallagond.

  “I would agree,” put in Gaelen. “It will feel so good to wash the dust from my face.”

  Estle gasped in mock horror, peering at her. “Oh, no, Gaelen…you mean to say that our desert dust has actually clung to your Elven face? How very mortal of you! I cannot see evidence of it, but surely you would be able to feel each and every grain of dust, unaccustomed as you are to its presence. We must find you some wash-water at once!”

  Gaelen laughed. “Yes, and when I have finished with it, I will give it to you. It will do to strip the first layer of dirt from your poor, mortal self. After that you will need more...a lot more.” She rode ahead as Estle grumbled, for her chestnut was not swift and could not vie with Finan, therefore she was left to mull over a thousand clever retorts. No matter; she would keep them for future use.

  The people of Mumari were a varied and interesting lot. They seemed to be accepting of strangers, especially those with wealth to spend. Over the next few days the Company spent everything they had, selling all they could spare to buy what they needed. Only those things most precious to them would be kept. Yet when all was ended, it still would not be enough.

  “We’ll need more than this to provision ourselves,” said Bint Raed. “Is there nothing more that we may use?” She had already sold the remainder of the fabric she had brought from the weaving-shed. Though it had brought a good price, she had been mildly disappointed that it wasn’t more.

  “We still need to purchase a horse, for Bint Raed must ride on her own. Malvorn will need to be traded, for he will not make the crossing. I worry also about Eros,” said Gaelen.

  “You’re probably right about Malvorn, but you needn’t worry about Eros,” said Rogond. “Bint Raed says that our pace will be slower and less taxing to the horses because of the dromadin. She also said that one of the advantages of using dromadin is that they provide large areas of shade, especially when they are draped and laden. Eros can ride beside them in the heat. He’ll be all right.”

  That still left the question of acquiring another horse for Bint Raed. Gaelen and Nelwyn went to the only horse-provider in the city; his prices were high and his stock unimpressive. “I do have one new animal, just acquired from some travelers who passed this way recently,” he said, hoping to tempt them. “She is in rather poor condition, so I did not show her to you earlier, but she is improving and I think she may be to your liking. Come and have a look.”

  If the Elves had any hope of acquiring this animal for less money because of her poor condition, that hope vanished the moment Gaelen beheld her. “Siva!” she cried. “I have found you, my friend, my beautiful lady. Come here to me!” The sad, rather boney grey mare lif
ted her proud head, knowing Gaelen at once. She gave a soft whinny and trotted squarely up to stand before Gaelen, who stroked her face and rubbed her ears, to her delight. She appeared to be a different horse, a fact that was not lost on the horse-provider.

  “As you can see, she is a fine animal. It appears that you two are already acquainted.” The smile died on his lips when he saw the look in Gaelen’s eye as she turned to face him.

  “How did you acquire her? She was stolen from me, and not purchased, thus you have no right of ownership. We found the thief dead in the desert. This animal must be restored to her rightful owner.”

  “You are obviously not from these lands,” said the merchant, “or you would know that what is found in the desert becomes the property of the finder. I paid good money for this mare, and I will not give her away.”

  “I will give you what you paid, plus some for your trouble, but no more,” said Gaelen, as though that should settle the matter. “You should take it, and be done. Either that, or you will give her to me willingly. If you do not believe it, wait and see.”

  “What are you doing, Gaelen?” whispered Nelwyn. “We dare not make enemies of these folk...you must not raise your hand to them.”

  “I will not need to. He won’t want to keep Siva once I have finished with him. Let’s see if he will be reasonable.”

  The horse-merchant looked sidelong at Gaelen. He decided to try to bluff her. “I’m sorry, but this horse is rightfully mine. You want her, I own her. If you want her, you must pay. Ten gold pieces and she is yours.”

  Gaelen had lived among the Ravani-folk long enough to know that this was exorbitant. “Very well, I see you will take me for a fool, and will not be reasonable. Now you force my hand.”

  She turned to the grey mare standing placidly beside her, and spoke to her in Elvish. “Siva! That man is my enemy! He is our enemy!” Siva did not hesitate, flying at the merchant with her teeth bared. He vaulted over the rail just in time, as she aimed a deadly kick in his direction. She turned to face him, pacing back and forth, her head high, her ears flattened, her silky grey nose pulled into several fierce-looking wrinkles.

  “She will do the same to any others who try to purchase her; I will make certain of it,” said Gaelen calmly. “Now let’s be reasonable, and begin again. You bought an animal that was stolen, and should not have come to you in the first place. I will compensate you for your loss, but that’s all I will do. Do you agree?” She spat into her right hand, as she had seen the Ravani-folk do, and then extended it. The merchant drew a deep sigh, but another menacing look from Siva decided him. He spat into his own right hand, and slapped his palm down upon Gaelen’s. This sealed their agreement and he would not break it.

  Gaelen turned then to Siva. “Stand down, and come to me.” Siva’s ears came forward and she returned to stand beside Gaelen, who drew forth what few coins she still possessed and gave them to the merchant.

  After counting them, he actually returned one. “I paid very little for the mare,” he said, “and when I make a bargain, I honor it.”

  Gaelen bowed before him. “Then perhaps my cousin and I will do you a favor. We have talents in the taming and training of horses that may be of use to you. I offer my skills as a token of good will.”

  “A female horse-breaker? Never mind…I accept,” said the merchant. “There is always a need for a horse-breaker. Come back at sundown and I will have a task for you.”

  Gaelen and Nelwyn left with Siva; Bint Raed would have a worthy mount indeed. They would make a friend of the horse merchant before all was ended, and when Hallagond heard their tale he nodded in approval.

  “Well done, Gaelen,” said Fima. “You are learning. You’re far from being a shrewd bargainer, but you are learning.”

  Nelwyn laughed. “No, her bargaining was done more, ah…directly, I would say.” She could not forget the sight of the startled horse-merchant vaulting over the rail just in front of Siva’s teeth.

  “Of a choice between shrewd and direct, I suppose I must choose direct, for I doubt that I shall ever be shrewd,” said Gaelen, to which all would agree.

  Gaelen and Nelwyn returned to the horse merchant at sunset, whereupon they spent several useful hours lending their skills as they could. They tended lame legs and bruised feet, as well as difficult temperaments. They brought Malvorn with them, requesting that the merchant, whose name was Makkbah, trade for a desert-bred animal that Hallagond could ride.

  “His coloring is unfortunate,” said Makkbah, eyeing Malvorn and spreading his hands. “There are many who believe that animals colored black have been marked as unworthy. He will be difficult to sell, as I will need to find a buyer who does not hold this belief.”

  Nelwyn was examining the only likely candidate in the yards, a chestnut with very high white legs and a glaring white face that was blistered by the sun. “What about this one? With those awful white legs he will not bring much. Is it not also your belief that such an animal is of little worth?”

  They all knew this—white markings would burn and peel in the sun, and white legs were especially disastrous. They would become so irritated from dust and sweat that the horse might become lame. Nelwyn thought she could cope with this; the gelding was strong and looked as though he could carry Hallagond with no trouble. She turned to Makkbah. “What say you? Our worthless black horse traded for your worthless white-legged one?”

  Makkbah considered, looking Malvorn up and down. The horse was travel-worn, but he was strong. And there were buyers who would accept him regardless of color, for aside from a bit less heat-resistance it would not affect his ability to work. The white legs, on the other hand, might well make the other horse very lame...already he was showing the signs. “Very well,” he said. “But I will have you and your companion working for me until dawn, in addition. Do you agree?”

  Gaelen looked over at Nelwyn in approval. This was a good trade.

  In the morning they led their new horse back to their encampment, and presented him to Hallagond. “I think you should call him Talba, for his white feet,” said Gaelen, or perhaps Derrin, the red?”

  “I like Derrin,” said Hallagond. “But how will I keep his poor skin from cracking and blistering in the sun? He already has scars on the back of his ankles, with more coming.”

  “Bint Raed can weave a shield for his face, and we can use Shiva’s salve,” said Gaelen. “I can purchase ointment to aid him; he will stay sound as long as we use it. Nelwyn has made a fine trade, don’t you agree?”

  Hallagond swung onto the red horse’s back and rode him for a short distance to try him out. “He seems stiff, Gaelen,” he said as he dismounted.

  “Not to worry. The salve will soon put him right. He’ll run swiftly and well in a few days, you’ll see. Now at least our band of horses is in order.”

  Even with Nelwyn’s good trading and the return of Siva, the Company would need more provisions than they could afford. Folk in this place were more frugal than in the Sandstone. Gaelen favored them each night with beautiful singing, but she received very little for it other than enthusiastic applause. They would need to find another way.

  Hallagond drew forth his last few coins, asking that Gaelen, Nelwyn, Fima, and Estle give theirs as well.

  “I’m going to try to grow this at the gaming tables,” he said. “I know some of you don’t approve, my prudish brother Rogond in particular, but this is a skill I may lend to the greater good.”

  “Sounds like a good excuse to me,” said Estle. She would enjoy an afternoon of watching Hallagond test his ability, and she followed him to the gambling-house.

  It was typical of such establishments, thick with smoke and the smell of drink, ringing with voices that were both cheerful and ill-natured, yet neither Estle nor Hallagond expected to find what awaited them. They stood frozen in their tracks as a familiar voice greeted them from behind, followed by the equally familiar laughter of a dozen rough men.

  “I was wondering how long it would be before y
ou found your way in here!”

  Hallagond turned to see Azori and Azok, the bandit brothers, lifting their tankards to him and smiling sinister smiles.

  Estle, who had not expected to see either of her half-brothers again, was astonished and not a little alarmed. What were they doing here? What would this mean to the Company? Even as she smiled and moved to embrace Azori, she wondered. They would all find out soon enough.

  “Ah, Al-amand, I see your taste in traveling companions has improved,” said Azori good-naturedly, drawing Estle into his lap over her mild protestations. “What in the name of heaven happened to your beard?”

  “What are you doing here?” asked Hallagond.

  “We followed you, of course. A man has only one sister, after all,” said Azori, placing a full tankard in Estle’s hand. “You really think I would allow you to run off into the barren wastes with her, and not pursue you? What an absurd notion.”

  I had forgotten how devoted he is to her, thought Hallagond. Azori may have been unscrupulous, pitiless, and thoroughly dangerous, but he was fiercely loyal to his family.

  “Do you know the tale of how we came to be driven here?” asked Hallagond.

  “Something about Hassan the Giant, and your insulting his sister, I believe,” replied Azori. “Most unlike you, Al-amand. Whatever could you have been thinking? It must have taken quite a lot of drink to allow you to be so foolish. At any rate, I have come to inform you that I have fixed things with Hassan’s family. You may return to the Chupa if you wish.”

  “How did you fix them?” asked Estle, afraid of what she might hear.

  Azori grinned at her. “My teeth are bigger than theirs.”

  “No doubt,” said Hallagond, glad that he did not number among Hassan’s relatives. Azori was a force to be reckoned with—he was worth three ordinary men in a fight. And Azok, his brother, was even more formidable, though less intelligent. It was small wonder that Estle handled herself as well as she did, with these two instructing her.