Crystal Gorge

by David Eddings

  “Good,” Longbow said. “Why don’t you have a word with them, Rabbit?” he added.

  “My pleasure, Longbow,” the little fellow said. Then he walked over to the two that Ox was holding. “I seem to be all mixed up, friends,” he said with feigned confusion. “Could you tell me just exactly what part of Lord Dahlaine’s country this is?”

  “I don’t understand,” one of them said.

  “I’m sure that it has a name, friend,” Rabbit said. “I’m sure that I’ve heard it but I just can’t seem to remember what it is.”

  “I don’t know either,” the captive replied sullenly.

  “You know perfectly well that this is the Tonthakan Nation,” Chief Kadlar declared.

  “Oh, that’s right,” the captive replied. “It must have just slipped my mind.”

  “Why don’t you say it a few times, friend?” Rabbit suggested. “That might help you to remember.”

  “I don’t take orders from strangers,” the fellow said.

  Ox raised his broad-bladed axe. “This tells you that Rabbit’s not a stranger,” he growled. “It says that you’re going to do exactly what he tells you to if you want to keep your health. Now say ‘Tonthakan,’ or you’ll make my axe very grouchy.”

  The fellow glowered at Ox and mumbled something.

  “I can’t hear you!” Ox said.

  “Tonthakan!” The fellow sort of spit it out, and Athlan definitely heard the click-sound Keselo had described, and he caught a peculiar sort of odor that somehow removed what they were supposed to be listening for from his memory.

  “Very nice,” Ox said, patting the fellow’s shoulder with his free hand. Then he turned to the second man. “Now it’s your turn,” he said.

  “Tonthakan,” the second one said, sounding a bit relieved.

  “I didn’t hear anything all that peculiar, did you, Longbow,” Athlan said.

  Then, without any warning whatsoever, Ox brained the two with his axe, splashing blood all over everybody standing nearby.

  The strange odor was suddenly gone, and Athlan vividly remembered the loud click he’d heard when the two had said the word “Tonthakan.”

  “What’s going on here?” Chief Kadlar demanded. He looked down at the two bleeding bodies. “I thought that I knew these two, but I’ve never even seen them before.”

  “These two are—were—servants of the Vlagh, Kadlar,” Dahlaine told him, “and they tricked you into believing them.”

  “How?”

  “They were emitting a peculiar smell that convinced you that they were telling you the truth. The smell also persuaded you you’d been insulted, when nothing had been done—or said—by any member of the Deer Hunter Tribes. There’s a war coming this way, and these two are—were—enemies. They were trying their best to trick you into going to war with the Deer Hunter Tribes so that there wouldn’t be any archers to hold off their friends when they invaded.” Dahlaine frowned and looked at Ox. “How did you manage to avoid being tricked by that odor they were putting out?”

  “I didn’t smell a thing, Lord Dahlaine,” Ox replied. “I never do when I’m ashore at this time of the year. I sneeze a lot, and my eyes start running, and I can’t smell anything at all. When I’m out at sea, I don’t have any problems, but just the sight of land at this time of the year makes me start sneezing.”

  Dahlaine suddenly laughed. “I think we owe you for every sneeze, Ox,” he said with a broad grin.

  “I’ll start keeping count, then,” Ox said with a chuckle.

  “I must go down to Statha and apologize to Chief Kathlak,” Kadlar declared. “I just hope that he’ll forgive me.”

  “You can do that later, Kadlar,” Dahlaine said. “What you really need to do now is to go tell all the other chiefs of Reindeer Land that we’ve got an enemy that’s trying to trick them into going to war with the Deer Hunter Tribes.” He reached inside his furry jacket and took out a white object that looked very much like a piece of rock-salt. “Wave this under their noses. It’ll erase that scent the servants of the Vlagh use to deceive your people. Tell them to kill the smelly ones and then gather up all their warriors and archers and go on down to the village of Statha. We’re just about to go to war with the creatures of the Wasteland, and we want to be ready when they attack.”

  “I shall do as you have commanded, Lord Dahlaine,” Kadlar promised.

  “Good boy,” Dahlaine replied.

  4

  They returned to Statha the following morning, and the people of the tribe all seemed to view the seasonal malady which had made it impossible for Ox to catch even a hint of the strange scent the creatures of the Wasteland had used as a gift from Dahlaine.

  “Actually, I didn’t have a thing to do with that,” Dahlaine confessed to his sister. “Ox told us that he sneezes and coughs every autumn if he happens to be on dry land. Once he’s out at sea, it goes away. It was definitely useful up in Reindeer country, though. It turned out to be almost as valuable as gold.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of golden sneezes before, dear brother,” Zelana replied, smiling.

  “Now that we’ve broken the grip the servants of the Vlagh had on the Reindeer Tribes I think we’d better advise all the tribes that it’s time to prepare for war. Just the fact that there were servants of the Vlagh tampering with the Reindeer Tribes is a fairly strong indication that the Vlagh will come north before long.”

  “You could be right, Dahlaine,” Zelana agreed.

  “I’d say that it’s just about time for you to set up your arrow factory again, Rabbit,” Red-Beard suggested. “Would you rather set it up on the beach or here in Statha?”

  “All of our equipment is on the ships,” Rabbit replied. “I think it’d be better to do it there—unless it starts to rain.”

  “How long is it likely to take?” Dahlaine asked.

  Rabbit squinted at the roof of the lodge. “The casting won’t take all that long,” he said. “I’ve got all those baked clay molds we used back in Lattash stored in the hold of the Seagull, so all we’ll have to do is melt the bronze we brought up here and pour it into the molds. I’d say that we’ll have barrels full of arrowheads in about a week or so. Then Longbow and Red-Beard can show Athlan and his friends how to replace their stone arrowheads with the bronze ones and we’ll be ready to fight another war.”

  “I’ll send runners to all the tribes in Tonthakan,” Kathlak said. “We should let them know that we’re just about to go to war and let them see these new arrowheads. This might take a while, but I’m sure that we’ll have about fifty thousand archers available when the invasion begins.”

  “How long would you say it’s likely to take before you’re ready?” Dahlaine asked.

  Kathlak scratched his cheek, squinting at the floor. “If the weather holds, it’ll probably take a month or so. I’m sure that a lot of them are out in the forest hunting winter meat, and hunters are sometimes hard to find when they’re busy.”

  Dahlaine considered it. “I think we should all home in on Mount Shrak,” he decided. “It’s centrally located, so we can go from there to any likely invasion route. I’ll get word to the Matans, and they’ll be there in a week or so.”

  “What about the Atazakans?” Kathlak asked.

  “I don’t think they’d be very useful. Gather as many archers as you can chase out of the forest and then come to Mount Shrak.” Then Dahlaine smoothed his beard. “I think we’d better leave somebody who’s familiar with Gunda and Veltan here to guide the Malavi horsemen when they arrive up here,” he said.

  “I can take care of that,” Red-Beard said, “but I’ll need somebody to show me the way to Mount Shrak.”

  “I know the way,” Athlan volunteered.

  Kathlak shook his head. “I want you and Longbow to come with us. He’s familiar with the outlanders, and he can advise you when I make any mistakes, and then you can warn me.”

  “Zathal knows the way to Mount Shrak, My Chief,” Athlan suggested. “He can show Re
d-Beard and the horse-soldiers how to get there.”

  Kathlak nodded. “I think that just about covers everything, Dahlaine,” he said.

  “Let’s get started, then,” Dahlaine said.

  They went off toward the southeast through the deep forest Athlan had hunted since he’d been very young. He knew all of the trees, of course, and he knew the shortest route they should take. There was a slight breeze blowing in from the west, and, as always, the breeze set the eternally green trees to sighing almost as if the approach of winter made them sad and regretful.

  “Mournful, aren’t they?” Longbow said quietly.

  “Probably not,” Athlan replied. “It’s just the wind. Now the wind might be feeling sort of down, but I wouldn’t make any wagers on that. Weather goes through here all the time, and the trees sing to it as it goes by. For all I know, they’re trying to sing it to sleep.”

  “If you happen to come across a song that puts the weather to sleep, you might want to remember how it goes. That could be very useful.” Longbow paused. “Deer,” he said quietly, pointing ahead of them with his chin.

  “Not too big,” Athlan noted. “I don’t think I’d take that one. Let him grow up a bit.”

  “Good idea,” Longbow agreed as the deer flicked his ears and ran off into the forest.

  The burly outlander called “Sorgan” or sometimes “Captain” joined them. “I thought the trees down in Lady Zelana’s country were about as big as a tree could get,” he said, “but the ones around here are so tall that they probably tickle the moon’s tummy when she goes by.”

  “Now that’s something I’d like to see,” Longbow said. “Do you think she might giggle if a tree happened to tickle her tummy?”

  “I wouldn’t want to put any bets on it, Longbow,” Sorgan replied. “Around here, almost anything can happen—and sooner or later, it probably does.” He turned to Athlan. “Just how far would you say it is from here to Lord Dahlaine’s mountain?” he asked.

  “Six days,” Athlan replied. “Maybe a week. It sort of depends on how steep the mountains between here and Matakan are. I’ve never been up in those mountains, so I’m not familiar with them.”

  “Haven’t you ever hunted up there?”

  Athlan shook his head. “The mountains are the country of the Bear Hunter Tribes. It wouldn’t be proper for me to go roaming around up there.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bear,” the farmer Omago said.

  “You’ve been lucky, then, Omago,” Athlan said. “Bears aren’t the nicest animals in the world. They’ve got big, sharp teeth, and their claws are longer than a man’s fingers. The mountains between here and Matakan are safe in the wintertime, because the bears aren’t awake then. Come spring, though, things start getting dangerous in bear country. When a bear wakes up from his winter nap, he’ll eat anything that moves—or so I’ve been told.”

  “How big would you say that they are?” Omago asked.

  “I saw a bearskin that was twelve feet long once,” Athlan replied. “The bear was probably about that tall.”

  “Twelve feet?” Omago exclaimed.

  “About that, yes. A full-grown bear isn’t the sort of animal that anybody with good sense wants to play with.”

  “I can see why,” Omago said in an awed tone of voice. “Do those mountain tribes actually hunt monsters like that?”

  “I’m told that they hunt in groups,” Athlan said. “If there are eight or ten men shooting arrows at a bear, they’ll probably be able to take him down. I wouldn’t really want to try it with only three or four, though.”

  They came to another marshy area the following day, and this one was also on fire with flickering blue swamp-fire dancing across the stagnant water.

  “Are all of these swamps on fire like this?” Sorgan asked.

  “Most of them I’ve seen, yes,” Athlan replied.

  “What sets them off?”

  Athlan shrugged. “A spark of some kind, I’d guess. We get thunderstorms fairly often around here, and Dahlaine rides that pet thunderbolt of his when he’s in a hurry. Then, too, when the forest gets dry, it catches fire fairly often.” He looked around to get some idea of their exact location, then he smiled wryly. “Actually, though, this particular one was my fault. I was just a little too close to the marsh when I was setting up my camp one evening a few years ago, and when I tried to start my campfire, I suddenly had a lot more fire than I really wanted. I left in a hurry about then.”

  “I wonder why,” Sorgan said.

  They skirted around the north side of the marsh and crossed the indeterminate border into the rugged Bear Hunter territory late that afternoon.

  They’d gone about a mile or so up a steep slope when they saw a burly fellow wearing a shaggy fur cloak sitting beside a small campfire. He stood up when Dahlaine approached him. “What took you so long?” he asked.

  “There was some trouble along the border between Deer Hunter territory and Reindeer Land, Agath,” Dahlaine replied. “It took a while to get it straightened out. Is there a problem of some kind?”

  “Not that I know about. There’s a young Matan over on the other side of our mountains who wants to talk with you, but he’s afraid of bears, so he won’t come into the mountains.”

  “Are the Matans having problems of some sort?”

  “I think maybe they are. The young one said a few very ugly things about the Atazaks. Of course everybody dislikes the Atazaks, so there wasn’t anything in what he said that I haven’t heard before.”

  The young Matan was named Tlingar, and it was fairly obvious that Dahlaine’s young Dreamer, Ashad, knew him very well. They spoke with each other at some length, but Athlan wasn’t really listening. He looked rather closely at the young Matan’s “spear-thrower” instead. So far as he could tell, it was just a long stick with a slightly hollowed-out cup at one end. He couldn’t exactly see how it worked. He’d frequently heard about the Matan spear-throwers, but this was the first time he’d ever seen one.

  “Tlantar thought that you should know that the Atazaks have been raiding across our border, Dahlaine,” Tlingar reported. “They haven’t caused us too much trouble yet, but Tlantar says that they’ve got a huge army, and if they really wanted to, they could send more men than we could handle. What’s the matter with their chief, anyway?”

  “He’s crazy, Tlingar,” Dahlaine replied bluntly. “He thinks that he’s a god. He goes out of his palace every morning and orders the sun to rise. Then, when evening comes along, he goes out again and tells her that it’s all right for her to set.”

  “That does sound sort of crazy, all right,” Tlingar said. Then he grinned. “You could turn your thunderbolt loose on him, couldn’t you?”

  “I’m not allowed to kill people—or things—Tlingar,” Dahlaine replied. “You know that.”

  “You wouldn’t really have to kill him, Dahlaine. If your tame thunderbolt started to bounce around on the ground near his feet when he was commanding the sun to rise, he’d probably give up the idea that he’s a god, don’t you think?”

  Dahlaine’s answering grin covered the front of his face.

  “I think you might get in trouble if you tried that, big brother,” Zelana said.

  “I wouldn’t hurt him, little sister. It would frighten him, though, don’t you think?”

  “Probably, yes, but if your thunderbolt happened to miss even just a little bit, she’d burn him down to ashes right there on the spot.” She frowned. “I think I’m catching a faint smell of more tampering, aren’t you? First we have bug-people telling Kadlar of the Reindeer Tribe that he’s been insulted, and now we’ve got somebody who should know better thinking that he’s a god. A little squabble between two tribes in the Tonthakan Nation is one thing, but a religious war between the Atazak Nation and the Matans could be disastrous.”

  Dahlaine frowned. “I think we’d better move right along, Zelana,” he said. “Let’s get our friends settled down at Mount Shrak. Then I’ll go out and see i
f I can find out what’s going on around here.”

  Athlan was more than a little awed by the sheer size of Mount Shrak. Of course the fact that Dahlaine’s mountain rose up alone out of the plains of Matakan made it appear even larger. He was fairly certain that there were mountains almost as tall in the coastal range of Tonthakan, but the surrounding peaks sort of concealed their size.

  “Impressive,” Longbow said, “but it looks just a little bare to me. Not very many trees on its sides. I don’t think the hunting would be very good, do you, Athlan?”

  “As I understand it, the Matans don’t hunt deer the way we do. They hunt bison instead. I’ve heard that bison meat tastes very good, and an animal that large would feed a lot of people.” He turned to speak with the young Matan, Tlingar. “I’ve heard tell that the bison here in Matan are herd animals,” he said. “How many of them would you say would it take to make up a herd?”

  Tlingar shrugged. “It sort of depends on what part of Matan you’re talking about. The herds around Mount Shrak aren’t usually very large—four, maybe five hundred. Chief Tlantar told me that he saw a herd up in central Matan once that took three days to run past the hill where he’d set up his camp. I can’t come up with a word for that many bison. A thousand is about as far as I can count, and the herd Chief Tlantar saw that time went quite a bit past a thousand, I’d imagine.”

  “That would be a lot of meat,” Athlan said.

  “They aren’t meat until after you kill them, Athlan, and it usually takes three or four spears to kill one bison. It’s worth the trouble, though. The meat tastes very good, and we make our winter robes out of their hides. A good bison robe will keep a man warm no matter how cold the winter is.”

  “We might want to look into that, Athlan,” Longbow said. “There aren’t any trees here to hold back the cold, and we might be here for quite a while.”

  Dahlaine led them around the base of Mount Shrak, and they reached the mouth of his cave in the late afternoon of a chilly day.