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

by C S Marks

  The group that set forth in the early morning light comprised twenty people, fifteen dromadin, and twenty-one horses. Nine of the dromadin carried nothing but water, and four carried nothing but food for people and animals. The other two carried everything else. The water was contained in skins and in light casks that were very, very well sealed.

  Before they left, Gaelen and Nelwyn had given all the animals a ration of salt to encourage them to drink their fill before departure. They had filled up on hay and water all night; now that hay would act as a sponge, holding water in their guts for as long as possible.

  Azori was in quite a congenial mood as he mounted his dark bay mare; she was adorned with scarlet and gold tassels, and Azori cut quite the figure with his dark beard and piercing gaze. He rode up to the Company as if to cheer them, flashing a white-toothed grin. “Why so somber, my fine friends? You will be happy to know that my men all washed themselves and combed their hair and beards last night. That’s the good news—the bad is that it will be our last opportunity for many weeks. Ha! Might as well enjoy life, my friends, for it might end tomorrow. Let us be away!”

  Azori’s men were in the mood for adventure, for they answered to no higher cause. They had been told of the Silver City, and it sounded like a rich fruit ripe for plucking. The Company was of a far more sober mind, having been cursed with a group of bandits as traveling companions.

  “Since only Bint Raed knows the way, you would think they would allow her to ride ahead,” said Nelwyn as she made her way calmly beside Galador.

  “That would assume they are capable of allowing clear thinking to rule their actions,” said Gaelen, as she rode past.

  “Slow down! You are not thinking clearly yourself, or you would save your mount,” called Nelwyn as her cousin drew farther ahead. Gaelen turned Finan about and cantered back to her.

  “I need to let him out for a while; he’s excited. He will expend more energy in arguing with me. He senses a battle on the wind.”

  Finan had energy to spare. He was compact, but mighty, and he maintained on very little. Gaelen knew what she was doing. She allowed her little horse to run ahead and enjoy his freedom for the moment. She knew he would outlast all the others, except perhaps for Faladinn, the Kazhi-horse.

  Bint Raed was not an accomplished rider, but Siva bore her well and without complaint. She had received one small surprise the day before, as Gaelen instructed her: “Whatever you do, don’t take hold of her mane unless you wish to ride swiftly.” Regrettably, Bint Raed lost her balance and gave in to the natural impulse to grab Siva’s mane. The horse shot out from beneath her like a flaming silver arrow, leaving Bint Raed to sit in the sand and wonder what had just happened.

  Nelwyn and Gaelen ran to her aid. When they saw she was unhurt, Nelwyn began to chuckle. “You should have seen the look on your face,” she said.

  Gaelen brushed the sand from their friend’s posterior. “I told you not to grab her mane. Let’s see if we can provide an alternative.”

  From that day on, Siva was fitted with a strap that ran across the front of the saddle. “Grab that, if you have the need,” said Gaelen. In addition, Gaelen plaited Siva’s mane so that it would be out of the way of Bint Raed’s hands.

  On the evening before departure, Bint Raed spread out their makeshift map and explained the path that would be taken. “First we will travel straight south, to the northern edge of the Mountains of Dread. We will skirt around the mountains to the west, crossing the salt wastes, which are vast and deadly—we’ll need to save as much water as we can for that. We’ll take this route here…where it is not as wide. The fire-sands and the pit-traps must be avoided if possible, but I fear we cannot miss them entirely. Let’s hope that luck is with us. We are likely to encounter fierce lightning and wind-storms in this area, but there is no way to avoid them. If we are caught in the open, it will likely be the death of us. Finally, we must cross the Fire-mountains and the Plains of Thirst. Our survival there will depend on the amount of water we have been able to find and conserve. Once we gain the Salt Wastes, we may not find any wholesome water until we reach the Brown Hills.”

  She looked at the pale faces around her. They had not actually realized how daunting this challenge would be—one minor mishap could lead to a catastrophe. If they lost even one of the dromadin, they would most certainly not all survive.

  Azori looked at Hallagond. “Are you certain you will go on this fool’s errand, and not return with me to the nice, comfortable Chupa? You could change your mind, you know.”

  “Estle and I are going to the Citadel, Azori. I’ll take good care of her. Why don’t you and your men go back to the Chupa?”

  Azori laughed. “Because I would never see my sister again. She is our only family, Al-amand. Having recently found your brother, I should think you would understand.”

  “At one time I would have willingly given you my brother, Azori. In fact, I would have paid you handsomely to take him off my hands, but no more,” said Hallagond. “I do understand, but I can’t help but question the wisdom of throwing your lot in with ours. Is there no other way?”

  Azori looked wryly at him. “You used to consider yourself part of my lot.”

  “I know,” said Hallagond, “but my brother is part of their Company. And, like it or not, so now am I.”

  “And so is Estle,” said Azori. “She thinks I’m just meddlesome and domineering, but she doesn’t know that my efforts have prevented some bad things from happening to her over the course of her life.” He shook his head. “She has no idea.”

  Hallagond smiled. “She has every idea. And you have saved my neck on more than one occasion. You can be a staunch ally when it suits you.” He gave Azori a worried look. “I’m just not sure about the rest of them.”

  “None will dare to defy me...or Azok. They will find their manners before long, or I will deal harshly with them, and they know it. Now, stop worrying. Just adapt as you always have. That is the desert way.”

  Now it looked as though they would all need to do a great deal of adapting. Fima sat perched upon one of the dromadin, and he was uncertain whether he felt better or worse about it. At least he had been able to talk to Rogond while riding behind on Eros, although admittedly his comments had been limited to “Arrgh! Slow down! Oh, my poor backside, are we there yet?” and so on. Rogond might have questioned whether such an exchange constituted a conversation, but he still missed Fima’s presence behind him.

  Now the dwarf struggled to become accustomed to the motion of the dromadan, which was very different from that of a horse. At first it had made him rather ill, and for a moment he imagined he must have gone nearly as green as Hallagond. Those feelings passed once he learned to keep his eyes fixed on the horizon.

  The dromadin were not at all like horses; they made strange noises and had rather temperamental natures. When they were truly angry they ejected a stream of fluid that was among the foulest-smelling substances imaginable. This they did mostly at each other, but an unwary person might still find himself in the way of it. Once in the open desert they stopped this foolish behavior, knowing perhaps that wasting precious fluid was ill-advised.

  The caravan moved steadily forward, stopping to rest whenever shade could be found. They traveled with greater speed in the cool, starlit darkness, and at such times the Elves would sing together as they rode. They took turns leading the string of dromadin, a task they proved very good at, for they befriended the strange animals quickly. Gaelen and Nelwyn insisted on naming them all.

  Bint Raed told stories of the Citadel as they rode, frustrating Fima, who was too far away to hear. He insisted that she repeat the tales when they stopped to rest. They learned many things from her. The Citadel had never been overtaken by any invading force, either by land or by sea. The Corsairs had attempted it, only to have their ships destroyed by fierce seas and terrible rocks guarding the harbor. They had not tried again since. Only the lost would approach from the east, across such a terrible, barren wast
e with no water for weeks in any direction. The occasional souls who found their way would never leave…why would they? Most who tried probably died in the attempt, unless they knew the way.

  “If there is a way out, why do we not use it as the way in?” asked Gaelen. It seemed a sensible question.

  “Because any way in from the north would take too much time, months that we do not have,” said Bint Raed. “And it is not an easy passage in any case—the north is guarded by nearly impenetrable forest. There are sicknesses and dreadful beasts that lurk there. The way we are going is the right way.”

  “The Citadel is the gift of Aontar to Lore-master Salasin, as his reward for safeguarding the beautiful works that men had created in praise of the Light. Now it is the responsibility of the people not only to preserve what had been created before, but to create new works of greater beauty, and to explore and learn new things to enrich the mind. We have received enlightenment, and it must not be quenched. The Citadel must not fall.”

  The Company traveled for many days, and at first they were lighthearted, as is the tendency at the beginning of a journey when thoughts are of adventure and far horizons. But soon they settled into the business of survival, and the tales grew less, though the Elves still sang beneath the stars. Azori’s men kept apart from the Company, as Azori had promised.

  The Mountains of Dread had been visible for some time, and as they drew nearer it became possible for the Elves to see the whitish tops of the peaks. “There—on that tall one…is that snow?” asked Nelwyn hopefully.

  “It certainly looks like it,” said Gaelen in an excited tone that was immediately flattened by Bint Raed.

  “It’s not snow. To make snow, there must be water. The Mountains of Dread are capped with white ash...they sometimes throw great plumes of it into the sky. We must pray this doesn’t happen while we are too close.”

  “That I will most certainly do,” said Nelwyn, the disappointment heavy in her voice. The journey to the Citadel has truly begun…and we will see neither snow, nor rain, nor tall green tree until it had ended. I wonder whether any of us will survive to behold the towers of Dûn Arian, with their gleaming spires of silver.

  Chapter 18: A SAVAGE LAND

  As the Company drew nearer to the Mountains of Dread, they beheld a barren, disheartening landscape that put all thoughts of a pleasant journey aside. Not that they had actually held any such thoughts, but the sight of those tall, white-capped mountains had called familiar images to mind, with perils that were known and understood. Here the mountains were stark and lifeless; they had blanketed all the lands about in a layer of fine, white ash and rock. There was no sign that anything grew, or had ever grown, near them. A pool of fetid water bubbled ominously as the Company passed—the foul smell coming from it stung their eyes and noses. A sort of yellow crust surrounded it, and the brownish-yellow film over the water was broken by bubbles of vapor rising through it.

  “Sulfur!” yelled Fima, as his unhappy dromadan snorted in distaste. “Alas that we cannot collect some. It’s a very useful substance in the right hands.”

  “We dare not get that close to the edge, for the approach may give way beneath our feet. We don’t know the extent of solid ground surrounding the water, and one who fell into that pool would never come out again,” said Bint Raed.

  Nelwyn looked over at the horrid, evil-smelling mire and shuddered. “That would be the worst ending imaginable,” she said. “I cannot think of the foul creatures that must live here.”

  “Nothing lives here,” said Galador.

  There were no further words from anyone in the Company, yet Azori and his men were not dismayed as they rode past the pool. “Ah, my friends! Here is water in which you may wash yourselves. My men have decided to forego the pleasure,” bellowed Azori, as his companions laughed. The relative cleanliness of certain members of the Company had become a source of amusement, and many had hoped to see even the Elves unwashed and filthy by journey’s end.

  All at once, the Elves lifted their heads. They felt dread from an unknown source—a very deep and primal fear. The very earth seemed charged with dark energy. The horses and dromadin appeared to feel it, too. Gaelen looked at Nelwyn’s wide eyes and pale face, calling out to all in hearing: “Mind your beasts and yourselves! Keep alert, and hold fast!” No sooner had these words been uttered than the ground began trembling, and a low rumble, almost too low to be heard, pressed upon their ears. The horses were frightened and struggled with their riders, as the dromadin bellowed in dismay, planted their feet, and refused to move. An acrid plume issued from the mountaintop, together with a quantity of ash. It drifted down like evil snow upon the surrounding land.

  A moment later, an upheaval of steam and foul water issued from the pool. The travelers were thankful to be upwind of it, or they would have felt the caustic yellow spray burning their skin and eyes. In a moment the danger had passed, and the earth was still again, but the bravado had cooled for many in those few moments.

  “Let’s put as much distance between ourselves and those mountains as we may,” said Bint Raed. “From what I’ve heard, that was only a small sample of their displeasure.”

  “Ah, what a pity that we must leave…I was so hoping to make this my permanent home,” said Fima, urging his dromadan to walk as quickly as it would.

  “Yes,” Rogond shouted back. “Such a wondrous place, where you can pick up all the sulfur you need from the very ground…a pity indeed.” He looked over at Gaelen. “You will let us know if you feel anything else, won’t you, my love?”

  “I will if I am able,” Gaelen replied grimly, “not that it will make the slightest bit of difference.”

  They kept their beasts moving for many hours, until the dromadin decided that it was time to rest. They were practical beasts, seldom finding urgency in anything. When they felt the need to rest they simply stopped and folded their legs beneath them, lying upon the ground. Fima dismounted thankfully, even though the sight of the occasional wisps of steam issuing from the still-far-too-nearby mountains concerned him. Yet the earth seemed to have quieted, at least for the moment. “Don’t worry, Fima,” said Rogond. “The dromadin would not take rest if they felt anything amiss.”

  “Besides, we will go no farther until they decide the time is right,” said Estle. “They cannot be moved once they have elected to stop.” She had observed this behavior many times when merchants tried to persuade their animals that the open desert was calling to them. The dromadin had decided that they preferred the oasis, and neither whips nor angry shouts nor pleading could move them until they were ready. Dromadin were wonderful builders of patience among men.

  Now their own beasts lay placidly upon the ash-covered ground, chewing slowly and thoughtfully with their dark eyes half-closed. They had the longest lashes of any beast in the world, no doubt to serve as sunshades. Finan moved alongside one of them, his small body shaded by the larger animal, and dropped onto his belly to lie beside it. He dozed as Gaelen went to procure water for him and herself; thirst would be the normal condition of everyone during this journey.

  The dromadin used very little water considering their size, and the horses had learned that they would rarely be allowed to drink their fill, but enough water had been carried that none would face terrible hardship so long as nothing unforeseen happened.

  Gaelen carefully refilled her water-skin from one of the larger vessels; she spilled not a drop of it, ensuring that the vessel was tightly sealed again. Then she moved to lie beside Finan, sharing the water with him. Finan took the end of the vessel in his mouth, curled his pink tongue around the narrow spout, and sucked the precious water down in measured swallows. Gaelen allowed him to have ten of these before attending to her own thirst.

  “The dromadin will rest until it is fully dark,” said Bint Raed. “We might as well sleep until then.”

  “Interesting that they moved through the heat of the day and stopped as the sun began to wane,” said Hallagond. “I would think they wou
ld rather rest while the sun is high, to conserve strength and water.”

  “They know what they’re doing,” replied Bint Raed, “for the ash takes in the heat of the sun, such that it is uncomfortable to lie upon during the full heat of the day, but cools quickly when the sunlight fades.”

  “I know one thing,” said Hallagond, “The glare from this ash has nearly blinded me. It’s almost like traveling on snow. How much farther does it extend?”

  “Probably at least another day’s journey,” said Bint Raed. “And we must devise some way to deal with it, because it will be the same when we cross the Great Salt. The animals have built-in sunshades for their eyes, but we do not.”

  “I have a remedy,” said Azori, who had approached them and overheard. “Here is a gift from me to your Company.” He drew forth a pot of black ointment and demonstrated its use by smearing broad swatches underneath both eyes. “The black will absorb the light,” he said. “It will be of some help, but you should keep your faces veiled as much as you can to shield your eyes further.”

  They all availed themselves of Azori’s gift, bowing before him in gratitude. He smiled at the Elves, who were unused to smearing things upon their faces and were somewhat inexpert at it. Gaelen sniffed curiously at the little pot. “What is this?” she asked Azori. “I cannot place the scent, though it is not a foul one.”

  “It’s made from the blackened remains of inquisitive Wood-elves who ask questions about the nature of gifts,” replied Azori with a smile. “If I told you, you might not make use of its benefits. Just accept your gift and enjoy it.” Gaelen bowed before him; the point had been taken. She smeared two black marks on her cheekbones, to Azori’s delight.

  “Now we are all a fine group of blackened travelers,” he said. “We are united by our dark marks. Ha!”

  He turned and went to rejoin his men, who were sitting down to a light meal. Rogond followed their example, and began passing out flatbread and dried, salted meat to the Company. “I believe you may have brightened Azori’s day,” he said to Galador as he chewed his dry bread and meat. “He has been wanting to see something black on the skin of an Elf for many days now. I have often wondered how it is that your folk never seem to get truly dirty...I’ve seen Elves emerge from the heat of a battle without so much as a smudge on their faces. Do you have some magic that prevents it?”