by C S Marks
“So, that’s settled then,” said Azori jovially, refilling his cup. “We’ll return home as soon as we are ready to make the journey. I’d like to remain here for a few days and regain my strength, not to mention avail myself of the wonders of this fair city.”
Estle knew what that meant; Azori and his men would stay long enough to pick as many pockets and gamble for as much gold as they could before moving on. She looked over at Hallagond, whose expression indicated that he wasn’t happy with this unexpected complication of his life.
“Nothing is settled,” she said, pulling herself free of Azori’s possessive grip. “Do you hear me? Nothing. You want to go back? Do it, then—the sooner, the better!” She walked briskly through the doorway, wondering what in the world she would do if Azori decided to take her with him whether she liked it or not.
Hallagond took the bridge of his nose hard between his thumb and forefinger, trying to quell the headache forming behind it. Azori loves his sister, but it’s more than that. He’s up to something—he’s always up to something.
Chapter 17: THE CROSSING BEGINS
It fell to Estle to break the news of Azori’s presence to the Company. Her friends reacted with varying degrees of dismay, wondering how this sudden appearance of a group of criminals would affect their plans.
“Well, he is my brother, and I love him,” said Estle. “He usually behaves himself where I am concerned.”
“I’m sure,” said Rogond. “But what about the rest of them?”
“They respect Azori, and they fear him,” said Estle. “I wouldn’t worry about them.”
“Your eyes tell a different story,” said Gaelen. “You seem lighthearted and unconcerned, yet you are holding back. Tell us what we need to know, not what you think we want to hear.”
Estle sighed. “Very well, since you insist. My brother is a bad enemy, and he has no sense of humor where I’m concerned. If he decides to take me back with him, he will. Should he decide to follow our Company, believe me, you will not prevent him. That’s the hard truth.”
“He will stand to gain nothing from following us,” said Galador. “We travel a hard road.”
“He would gain access to the Silver City!” cried Bint Raed. “That must not happen.”
Estle looked hard at Bint Raed. “Forgive me, but my brother’s band of thieves will have little impact compared with the Scourge. I’m thinking your well-kept secret City will be secret no longer in any case. Here is something else to consider—Azori is very wealthy, and good to have as an ally should there be trouble along the way. We might actually turn this event to our advantage. Can we agree to at least keep an open mind for now?”
“We can,” said Gaelen, “but we don’t have to be happy about it.”
Hallagond spent the next several days at the gaming-tables on the pretext of increasing the Company’s wealth so they could acquire provisions for the journey. It was helpful to have Azori around. He would stand behind Hallagond’s opponents and intimidate them, for he let it be known that neither he nor his brother Azok would tolerate any underhandedness. “While I am of a moderate temperament, my brother is not,” he said. “I would surely hate to be caught cheating and have Azok learn of it... truly, he is a humorless fellow!” This strategy ensured that Hallagond was the only one cheating with any regularity, except for Azori himself.
Estle convinced her friends that the best way to allay their fears concerning Azori’s men was to get to know them. “They’re really not all that bad,” she said. “Some of them are quite intriguing, hailing from various faraway lands. They have asked to be introduced to you, and I have promised you will let them come to your evening fire…tonight.”
“I just love it when people promise that I will do things,” Gaelen muttered. “Perhaps you should speak only for yourself the next time.”
“My apologies. You said you’d keep an open mind. I would have thought you willing to try to make this bad situation better,” said Estle.
Rogond put a hand on Gaelen’s shoulder. “They will be welcome.”
The bandits were an interesting, if unsavory, lot representing several races, including four Anori easterners, five sutherlings, one northlander, and, of course, Azori and Azok. It was an interesting demonstration of tolerance—most sutherlings did not get on well with easterners, and so on—these men were united under the purpose of taking from others while doing as little real labor as possible.
The evening circle grew from eight to twenty, with the bandits sitting around one side of the fire and the Company around the other. Introductions were made and tales were shared, as they would be for several nights to come. Those who did not tell tales entertained the assembly with feats of strength, agility, and skill at arms.
Although they showed proper appreciation for the attributes of Azori’s men, the Elves remained politely passive and silent. They did not wish to gain the attention of such less-than-honorable fellows, especially when the wine and ale began to flow.
As the men drank they grew loud and discourteous, making comments in various tongues that neither the Elves nor Rogond would understand. The shadowy looks and gestures directed at Gaelen and Nelwyn said all that was needed. Estle was not made the object of such comment for fear of the wrath of her half-brothers, but even she felt uncomfortable at such times.
The Elves, who did not enjoy the company of drunken men, would take their leave, preferring to sit alone beneath the stars. Rogond would bid goodnight as well, for though he knew that she could look after herself, he did not wish to leave Gaelen alone.
Hallagond spoke with Azori one evening, when the wine had flowed very freely and the bandits had gotten quite out of hand. “Can you not control them? My companions are refined, courteous folk, and it pains me that they cannot suffer your company. They have interesting tales to tell, and they have become my friends, in a way. Can you not at least suggest that your men remain civil?”
Azori looked curiously at Hallagond as though he had recently sprouted a third eye in the center of his face. “My, my…aren’t we in possession of delicate sensibilities these days! Not so long ago you would have been one of those most in need of civility. Tell me, Tall One, what is it that has changed you? Is it the association with the Elves? I’m surprised they tolerate you at all. Perhaps it’s the influence of your brother, for he is about as true-hearted and idealistic as anyone I have met. What a deluded dunce! I’m surprised you haven’t managed to teach him how real men behave.”
Hallagond felt a surprising, momentary twinge of outrage in Rogond’s behalf, but it passed quickly. He smiled at Azori. “My brother was raised among Elves, and it will take a while to undo what they have done. Give me a little more time. I’ll bring him around.”
Azori was amused. “There’ll be no bringing that one around, Al-amand. Save your breath.”
Hallagond smiled wryly back at him. “You underestimate me. Why, only last week I nearly had him convinced to enter the gaming-house...he almost set foot inside the door! But then he remembered that he had not washed himself in nearly a day, so he rushed back to rectify it. After all, his little She-elf must not think him unclean!”
“Waste of water, if you ask me,” said Azori, stretching his powerful arms and yawning, releasing quite an impressive quantity of unwashed man-stench. “I’m very glad that I don’t need to impress anyone but myself, since I’m quite favorably impressed with myself already!”
Hallagond reflected that Azori was likeable under three conditions: if you were not his enemy, if you had nothing he wanted, or if you had something he wanted but he considered you to be more formidable than he cared to cope with, which was rare.
Azori’s expression grew serious. “You are returning with us, of course…along with Estle? I’m afraid she has taken a fancy to you, and if you do not return, then she may not. That would displease me greatly, not to mention Azok would not take it well at all. I think you need to come back to your real friends before these folk exert too great an influenc
e.” He clapped Hallagond on the shoulder. “Just think on it, is all. You’re free to do as you choose, as always.”
Hallagond understood Azori’s meaning clearly, and it wasn’t making his choice any easier. Is he threatening me? Of course he is. He says I am free to choose, but if Estle stays with me, and I go with Rogond, what will he do then? He decided it was better not to think about it.
On the following evening, one of the easterners stood forth to tell a tale. His name was Ikari, and he was of undetermined age, for he had the smooth features typical of his folk. His eyes were black and difficult to read, and there was an air of mystery about him that he tried always to perpetuate. He dressed entirely in black, and was often accompanied by a glossy black crow that sat perched on one shoulder. Named Karatsu, it was clever and raucous with an unusual fondness for shiny objects. Ikari had taught it to steal such objects and return with them, whereupon they would be traded for a favorite treat. He had gained a few very valuable trinkets that way.
This night he shared his people’s view of the creation of the world, a story involving four dragons: Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water. They spawned the Elves, who were named Ashahi, or Beings of Light, and the Demons of Darkness, named Osha, presumably Ulcas. The Osha sometimes assumed other forms, including those of Ashahi, thus it was difficult to tell which were truly good and which were only pretending.
Men were created last, with the intention that they should hold dominion over the world. They were given special abilities by the four dragons. Those who received enlightenment from the dragons of wind and water were especially perceptive; they could see through disguises and expose the demons. Ikari looked meaningfully at the Elves. “I am such a man. I can see through any veil of deceit.” Then he turned to the remainder of the circle. “Can any of you know for certain that these are truly Beings of Light?”
“Do you dare suggest that we are anything else?” asked Galador, rising to his feet. He had heard quite enough of this nonsense. “Your tale would be far more impressive if the dragons conferred the ability to see into the hearts of men, and tell which were true and which were given over to darkness. One certainly cannot tell it from their smiling faces.”
Ikari’s hand strayed to his waist, toward a hidden dagger, and this did not escape Gaelen’s sharp eyes. “Stay your hand, Anori-man!” she said in a loud, clear voice. She already had a blade in her hand.
“No one will cast a blade at anyone this night,” said Azori in a commanding tone. “Not in front of my sister. This will remain a friendly gathering…or else! I have promised Estle that we will all behave ourselves, and therefore, Ikari, you must apologize for insulting the Elves. Galador should acknowledge his quick temper, and apologize to Ikari for interrupting him. Go on now, both of you.”
Nelwyn laid a soft hand on Galador’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. “Go on, my love, and make peace with him. I know why you are so dismayed, but you must make peace for the sake of the Company. Your friends will not think less of you. When you have finished, we will take our leave and roam the starlit sands together.”
Galador rose and reluctantly approached Ikari. They stood like a pair of large cats—each appeared to be ready to spring upon the other. “My apologies for offending you,” said Ikari, his black eyes devoid of expression. “Surely you can understand why I find it difficult to trust one such as you.”
The Elves had long warred with Anori-men, some of whom had been known to ally themselves with Lord Wrothgar. Galador had not forgotten it. “I regret interrupting your tale,” he replied in a tone that was most unconvincing. “Pray continue, so that others may enjoy its conclusion.” Ikari bowed stiffly, and resumed his telling, but Galador would not stay to hear it.
The following morning the Company breakfasted together, all save Hallagond. Estle had gone looking for him, returning to report that he was ill, and not in the mood for breakfast. The past night’s tale-telling had gone on well into early morning, but by then the only ears still sober enough to hear were those of Gaelen, Rogond, and Estle.
Fortunately, Fima had fallen asleep while he was still only lightly intoxicated, snoring softly beside Gaelen, from whom he had extracted the promise to record any tale that he missed. “I don’t think you will find much of worth there,” she told him as he passed her a plate of sausage and a tasty little cake made with honey and nuts.
He perused her notes with some interest. “I don’t know which is more entertaining…your outlining of the tales or your commentary on the ones telling them.” He turned the page. “Nice renderings. I would suggest we keep these to ourselves, as they are somewhat unflattering.”
He handed the parchment to Rogond, who smiled at the wonderful sketches Gaelen had made of Azori’s men. One was depicted with the ears of a jackass, and another with a pig-snout. Apparently, the story being told at the time had not held her interest sufficiently.
Estle looked over Rogond’s shoulder, smiling at the drawings. She had to agree with Gaelen once in a while. Estle was a rough woman, but she rarely drank to excess; it took her wits and made her vulnerable. She didn’t like it when Hallagond drank so much. He had managed to remain sober for a long while, until last night. Her thoughts were troubled—was he reverting to his old ways? Does this mean he will return to his old life among the bandits, and not make the crossing to the Citadel? If that is his choice, could I leave him behind?
Estle knew that Hallagond was torn by shame, that he harbored a dark thorn of guilt in his heart for something he had done in the past. He would not speak of it, but she could see it sometimes. She heard it in the false bravado he cloaked himself with—saw the pain in his eyes when she asked him about his life in the north. The arrival of his overly-honorable brother and his “perfect” companions hadn’t helped…they had made things worse.
She knew that he had come to the desert to hide—to lose himself. Now Rogond had forced him to try to “find” himself. It wouldn’t surprise her if Hallagond ran away again, and following Azori would be the perfect way to do it. What will I do then? He has drowned himself in a drunken stupor…this does not bode well.
Unfortunately, Gaelen chose that particular moment to comment on Hallagond’s “illness.”
“I would suggest that he needs medicine, but I suspect he has had too much of it already,” she said, winking at Fima.
“There is no denying that, Elf,” said Estle in a chilly voice. “Yet you do not know what drives him…you do not understand the battle he fights. I am fighting now, too—I fight for his life. You will have to help me fight for him if you want him. There is no humor in this situation.”
“He drinks far too much,” said Gaelen. “There is a remedy for that.”
“Not an easy one,” retorted Estle. “Words from the mouth of a Wood-elf, who could drink a whole cask of wine and not feel it, no doubt. Tell me, Gaelen, have you ever been drunk in your life?”
“You should see her after she has been at the honey-jar,” said Fima helpfully.
“I’m serious,” Estle snapped. “Have you ever felt real sorrow, or genuine shame, or profound regret? Until you have, you cannot understand the need to drown them with drink.”
You cannot possibly fathom the sorrow and regret I have felt, thought Gaelen, placing her breakfast-plate calmly on the ground. “This is not about me, or the nature of drink. You are fearful of losing the one you love. You do not wish to abandon your quest, nor would you leave Hallagond, for you genuinely fear for him should he turn from this path. I understand—I have observed men long enough to know that there are many reasons to drink, with different results that are hoped for. You’re right…this is a moment of crisis for him. Yet have faith, for he has been called to a higher purpose. He will not turn.” Even as she spoke the words, she prayed that they were true, for should Hallagond turn from the quest he would force a nearly impossible choice upon Rogond.
“And who is this Elf, who concerns herself with my choices?” came a bleary voice from behind. Hallagond had joined t
heir circle after all, and now he sat down beside Fima with some effort. He picked up Gaelen’s breakfast plate, eyeing it with interest.
“So, you were not as ill as we supposed,” said Fima in a jovial voice that was far too loud.
“Please, my good dwarf,” whispered Hallagond, wincing. “My ears will be somewhat sensitive for a while this morning.” He paused in his perusal of Gaelen’s breakfast. “What are you all staring at?”
His eyes were red, his face filthy and covered with stubbly dark whiskers, his hair uncombed and matted. Actually, you look terrible, but it is very, very good to see you, thought Gaelen. She wanted the matter settled then and there, addressing him with her customary directness. “What is your choice, then? Will you return with your bandit friends, or will you come with us to the aid of the Silver City?”
Hallagond took a mouthful of sausage and cake. “I said I would go with you…do you doubt my word? I told you before, I very much desire to see this place of comfort, where people have such an easy life that they can afford to spend each day in endless studying. Sounds like the perfect place for a lazy sod like me.” He looked sidelong at Rogond. “Besides, I can’t let my innocent little brother face such hardships without me, not when he is so woefully unprepared to deal with them.” He took another great mouthful of food, as though what he had just said was of no consequence.
Estle knew better. “What will you tell Azori?”
“I would sooner ask that question of you, for he expects you to return with him as well,” said Hallagond. “Truly, I’m surprised he went to all this trouble, though I know that he and Azok love you and would die to protect you. I expect you are the only thing they would die to protect, other than themselves.”