The Shaman

by Christopher Stasheff

  The frenzy parted for a minute, and he saw Grakhinox and the Klaja back-to-back, each striped with blood but still fighting valiantly. Then the churning melee hid them from view again; all about him nomad robes whirled as they stabbed and slashed at Kuruite cross belts and kilts. Ohaern stared in amazement, for each of the Biharu stood in a loose ring of bodies, three or four to a man. Even as he watched, several of the nomads dispatched the last soldiers who faced them and turned to help their tribesman. In minutes the battle was done, and not a single Kuruite was left standing. The Klaja and the dwerg emerged from the melee, blood-marked but walking, and the Biharu spoke to them with respect and friendship.

  Dariad came up, breathing hard, his teeth still set in a feral grin. “They are good fighters, these Kuruites. Three of my tribesmen are dead, and a dozen more are wounded too sorely to ride. Indeed, we shall have to stay at this oasis a week longer than we had intended.”

  “I do not think that is wise.” Manalo appeared out of the darkness. “The Kuruites know where you are now and may send more against you. It is time for your people to disappear into the sands.”

  Dariad frowned. “Will the judge say so?”

  “I shall confer with him.” Manalo went off to find the tribal leader.

  But Ohaern’s brow knit as he looked out over the battlefield at the robed Biharu who prowled among the bodies, suddenly stabbing down, then pulling the sword loose and prowling again. “What do they do?”

  “They are finishing the wounded,” Dariad answered sadly. “It is hard, I know, but we live too close to the bone to be able to feed and water a score or more of wounded enemies.”

  “It is hard.” Ohaern was appalled.

  “It would be more cruel to leave them to a slow death under the baking sun,” Dariad countered. “Besides, remember that they came in treachery and deception, and would have slain us to a man if they could have.”

  Ohaern remembered how the five mutes had fallen upon Dariad, and held his peace.

  “Those who can walk, may—they may even take their camels—but if they seek to turn and come back at us, we shall slay them in their tracks.”

  A shout went up from the soldiers’ camp. Dariad snapped, “Hajpheth, Zera, Haba! Guard our wounded!”

  “Who appointed you chief?” one man demanded, annoyed.

  Dariad shrugged. “If you doubt me, do as you please!” He turned to run toward the source of the shout. Ohaern followed close, with Lucoyo behind him—but he glanced back and noticed that the three men stayed to do as Dariad had bid. There was something about the young nomad that induced compliance.

  They came to a halt amid the Kuruite tents, to find five traders huddled together in fright. Ohaern recognized the men who had done the actual bargaining.

  “Beneath their robes are only loincloths,” one of the nomads was telling the judge, “no Kuruite harness—and they bear no weapons.”

  “The soldiers would not allow them to us,” one of the traders explained.

  “So these are the real traders.” Ohaern stepped up. “And the only traders, I doubt not. Why did you lead the soldiers here?”

  “We did not lead them—they brought us,” the trader explained.

  “They said there would be rich trading,” another said, “and that we would risk no goods of our own—they would provide all.”

  “But you knew they were soldiers.” Dariad frowned. “Did you not think you should warn us? We bargained in good faith, we gave you bread and salt!”

  “As we neared your camp,” the first trader explained, “they set swords to our throats and said they would slay us if we told.”

  “And you had no great reason to protect us,” Dariad said with disgust. He looked up at the judge. “What shall we do with them?”

  The traders stared up in fear.

  “This is my judgment,” the leader answered. “They shall go free with one camel each, and swords to protect them from robbers—but no more.”

  “Thirty camels at least!” Another nomad looked about him. “A score of tents, and a dozen bags of trade goods! We shall gain something by this, at least.”

  “But we have lost kinsmen’s lives,” Dariad said, frowning.

  “Death comes to us all,” the judge reminded him, “and our kinsmen died in glory. Their deaths were not the fault of these deceived traders. They should have told the truth, yes, but they have not enough guilt to be slain.”

  “That is generous,” Lucoyo said with a scowl, “but also foolish. Will they not bring the soldiers of Kuru down upon you?”

  The nomads glanced at one another and grinned. “They will,” Dariad said, “if they can find us.”

  “Can you discover the trail of the blown sand?” another nomad asked. “Can you track the sirocco?”

  “Where the Biharu have passed, no one can tell,” the judge explained. “We leave no traces, and when we choose to hide, none shall find us—unless we wish it,”

  “But these soldiers found you once!” Lucoyo objected.

  “That is true,” said the judge, “but we were not in hiding. Indeed, we wished to be found—if the finder was a traders’ caravan.”

  Lucoyo subsided, baffled and angry, but Ohaern said, “These soldiers knew where to find you, and I doubt they were seeking any desert tribe at random.”

  “Perhaps they followed you,” a nomad suggested.

  The Biharu stirred, muttering, with uneasy glances at Lucoyo and Ohaern—and Manalo, who came striding up. “They may have—or they may have sought someone who, they knew, was here among you.”

  “Dariad!” Ohaern’s head snapped up; he stared at the young nomad. “It must be Dariad, for they came in disguise, to win your trust and lull you into lowering your guard!”

  “Aye.” Lucoyo glared angrily. “What need for stealth if they only sought us? They could have come openly as soldiers, and only waited until we had left your camp and gone on alone, then leaped upon us from hiding.”

  “There is sense in what they say,” the judge said heavily.

  “But ... Dariad?” one of the older nomads protested. “Little Dariad?”

  The other Biharu turned to look at their comrade, puzzled, but Manalo confirmed it. “It is Dariad indeed. There is a quality of uniqueness about you, young man—a sense of great power within. Any of Ulahane’s sorcerers could find and follow that aura of destiny in an instant.”

  “There was a priest of Ulahane with them,” a trader said.

  The judge frowned. “Where is he now?”

  The trader looked about, at a loss. “He stayed here near us, where the guards were.”

  “I saw him disappear,” another trader said, his voice shaking, “fade to nothing and disappear!”

  “It is Dariad.” The judge frowned. “We must hide, indeed, and arm ourselves to protect our kinsman.”

  “I will not imperil you!” Dariad exclaimed. “I will lose myself in the desert!”

  Even before the judge could object, Manalo said, “Lose yourself with us instead. We must go into the Sand Sea. You can lead us to its edge, at least, and wait for us to come back—and I shall weave a spell that will cloak you from even the best of Ulahane’s sorcerers.”

  The Biharu stared and pulled away, muttering fearfully, and the judge demanded, “Are you a sorcerer, too, then?”

  “A wizard,” Manalo corrected, “and one equal in power to any of Ulahane’s priests.”

  Lucoyo frowned. “How is it the chains of Byleo could hold you, then? ... Oh.”

  Manalo turned to him and nodded. “They were forged by a sorcerer equal to me in power. It was Ohaern’s strength that broke that deadlock, not mine.” He turned back to Dariad. “Will you come with us, then?”

  “If my going will preserve my people from the danger of the soldiers? Of course.”

  But the Biharu muttered angrily, and the judge said, “We do not leave our own to face peril! If you go to the Sand Sea, Dariad, we all go!”

  The young nomad stared, alarmed and touched
at the same time.

  “Fold your tents and flee like your windblown sand,” Manalo advised, “for when these soldiers fail to return, more will be sent to finish what they have begun.”

  The judge spat in contempt. “We fear no soldiers—and we will not abandon our kinsman! If you go to the Sand Sea, Dariad, we will go with you!”

  Dariad gazed about at them all with gratitude and love that faded to concern. “I would not be the cause of the deaths of any more of my kinsmen!”

  “And we will not leave you to the soldiers,” said another nomad, and they all called out in loud and angry agreement.

  “It is well that you do follow him,” Manalo told them, “for Ulahane is abroad in the land and draws in his minions to strike down all that is good and brave in humankind, that he may enslave the weak and wicked to abuse for his own corrupted pleasures. Foremost among these are the soldiers of Kuru, for Kuru is a city that is wholely and completely dedicated to Ulahane, aye, worshiping him as a god and having no other gods but the Scarlet One!” He turned to Dariad, and his voice rang out. “I tell you as one who knows, for I am a sage, devoted to Lomallin! I tell you that the Green One has work for you to do, for the glory of the Star-Maker! Aye, you, and all who will follow you!”

  Dariad stared at him in awe. Then he recognized the truth of Manalo’s words and straightened with inner certainty. Indeed, the young nomad seemed to grow right there before their eyes. “Yes, I can feel the lightness of what you say, and see that fighting for Lomallin is the only way to save my tribe!” He turned to his tribesmen, calling, “The sage speaks truth! Lomallin requires service of us, service for our god and all that is good! Kinsmen, I would not ask you to die for my own vain glory—but the glory of the Star-Maker, and the survival and freedom of all humankind, is a cause worth every drop of blood in our veins!”

  The Biharu answered him with a shout, swords waving on high, and the judge said, “If these soldiers come from Kuru, and if Ulahane shall wreak such destruction that no one will be safe from Kuru’s soldiers, then Kuru must be destroyed!”

  “Aye,” Ohaern shouted, with the memory of Ryl’s dying face before him, “Kuru must be destroyed, and Ulahane with it!”

  The Biharu answered with another shout of acclaim. Any other people would have shrunk in fear at the thought of seeking to destroy a god, but these Biharu did not believe the Ulin were gods. Admittedly, they were beings much more powerful than themselves—but the camels were more powerful than humans, and were tamed to the will of the Biharu—so why should not one Ulin be slain?

  When the companions left the oasis an hour later, Dariad rode with them, and his whole tribe followed with grim resolve, the Klaja and Grakhinox among them, and the only ones who shied away from them now were the camels.

  But Dariad seemed to have shrunk back to an ordinary and rather uncertain mortal as he glanced behind to stare at his tribe, then turned to Ohaern. “How can I possibly be worthy of their trust?”

  “Because you are,” Ohaern answered, and he watched the young nomad square his shoulders, straightening his back and riding with his eyes fixed ahead. The big smith reflected wryly that leadership of the Biharu seemed to have passed from the judge to this young seeming-simpleton, and no one felt need to comment on the fact!

  When they came to the edge of the Sand Sea, though, Manalo turned to Dariad and bade him, “Hide among the sands, as only the desert-born can. There is a meeting I must attend deep within the Sand Sea, and I wish that none of humankind had need to witness it.”

  “If there is need, I shall go!” Dariad said instantly.

  Manalo’s smile showed that his heart was warmed, and he clasped the young nomad’s shoulder. “I know that you would, and I thank you—but I need to know that you are here, to guard and protect those who come out. Only Ohaern may come with me—and Lucoyo with him.”

  The half-elf looked up, incipient panic in his eyes, but the judge scowled and said, “There is nothing within the Sand Sea, O Sage, nothing at all—save an accursed ruin which even the Biharu shun! I beg you, do not go, for you shall die of thirst before you so much as come near that evil place!”

  The tribesmen clamored their agreement, imploring the teacher not to go, but Manalo said inexorably, “Nonetheless, I must go,” and apprehension shadowed his face. “There may be nothing amidst those sands yet, but the one I must meet shall be there at the appointed hour. I must go.” He turned to Ohaern and Lucoyo. “You need not come with me if you do not wish it.”

  “I wish it,” Ohaern said instantly, catching Lucoyo with his mouth open.

  The half-elf closed his lips and scowled up at the big smith. Who was Ohaern to humiliate him and make him look like a coward? He had been about to say that he did not wish it, indeed—but with Ohaern being so stupidly courageous again, Lucoyo knew he could not stay behind without loss of face— and that, Lucoyo could not tolerate at all! After all, what woman would look at a man who had virtually admitted he was a coward? “Oh, I will go, too,” he grumbled. “Take camels at least, though, Teacher!”

  “Camels you shall have, and all the water we can spare,” the judge said, and minutes later their camels waded into the Sand Sea, burdened with water skins and ridden by fools—or so Lucoyo reflected sourly as his mount followed Ohaern’s and the sun sank slowly behind them.

  Chapter 26

  As they rode, Manalo summoned Ohaern up beside him and said, “I have seen the signs of the drought spreading, Ohaern, as I have gone the length and the breadth of the steppe, warning the tribes and giving each a sign, that they may know when to march. The high plains themselves are dry enough, but they do at least support much grass. Still, the farther south I came, the more sparse the growth became, until it was all waste, as you saw in the Biharu’s land.”

  “They tell me the desert is spreading,” Ohaern replied. Inwardly, he was still recovering from his shock at the idea that the sage had traveled so far in only the few months it had taken himself and Lucoyo to travel from the land of the Biriae to the land of the Biharu.

  “It is indeed spreading,” Manalo told him, “and will engulf all these southern lands if it is not ended.”

  “It is Ulahane’s doing, then?”

  “It is,” Manalo confirmed.

  A flicker of movement at the corner of Ohaern’s eye caught his attention. He turned to look, but it was gone. “Perhaps it is my vision that falters, O Sage—but I keep seeing something move, and when I turn to look, it is gone.”

  “It is not your vision,” Manalo returned. Again Ohaern felt concern, for that usually gentle face was pale and grim.

  “No, it is not,” Lucoyo said. “I kept watch, and I saw it this time. It is a lion with the head of a man—if a man had double mouths filled with four rows of pointed teeth.”

  Manalo nodded. “The beast is called a ‘manticore.’ It is a creature of the open plains.”

  Ohaern glanced apprehensively off to his left; again, something flickered at the edge of sight and was gone. “What are they doing here, in the desert?”

  “Ulahane has sent them after us, of course!” Lucoyo snapped. His face was filled with dread as he glanced to left and right about him.

  “You have sharp eyes, Lucoyo,” Manalo said, “sharp and quick. But do not fear—the manticores will not attack us until we have come to our destination.”

  “How do you know?” the half-elf demanded, but Manalo only answered “I know.”

  “What is our destination?” Ohaern asked.

  “The ruin that stands at the heart of this sea,” Manalo said.

  “The accursed ruin?” Lucoyo demanded, staring in fright. “It will kill us!”

  “It will not, and it is not accursed,” Manalo answered. “It is there we must go. You may go back if you wish, Lucoyo. I will not force you to come—no, not in any way.”

  Lucoyo was on the verge of turning his camel right then, but Ohaern caught his eye and he subsided, muttering. The big smith and he had saved one another’s lives too o
ften for him to leave now—at least, not if Ohaern stayed.

  The journey was only three days, but the heat became so intense that even the camels began to falter. Ohaern suggested night travel, but Manalo warned them against the dark, telling them that the creatures of Ulahane could come upon them more easily when the sky was black. He saw to it that they rode only in the hours between first light and mid-morning, and between sunset and darkness. When they lit their campfire, he sprinkled strange powders into it, reciting words they could not understand—but as always, Ohaern memorized the sounds, even though he could not comprehend them. Whatever they were, whatever powders the sage used, they kept the manticores at bay and fended off whatever else sheltered in that waste—Ohaern heard the ominous padding all about them and saw the glitter of eyes reflecting the firelight, but none dared come within its circle.

  “Sleep, Ohaern,” Manalo bade. “Sleep, Lucoyo. None can come near this fire now.” And, miraculously, they did sleep.

  But as the fourth sunset faded to twilight and their weary camels plodded protesting over the sand, a glittering column rose up to their left, hissing like a hundred serpents—and well it might, for a serpent it was, though with a woman’s head and breasts. The face was beautiful, with huge long-lashed eyes and full, wide, bloodred lips—but those great eyes were staring mad, and the perfect lips opened to reveal fangs. A forked tongue flicked out to sample the air, tasted men, and the monster slithered toward them over the sand.

  The camels bawled and bolted. Ohaern rocked, almost thrown from his saddle, and Lucoyo was thrown, but caught an arm about the camel’s neck as he fell, and managed to scramble back on. Manalo’s camel fought and curvetted, braying terror, but the sage held on and channeled its fear into flight, after Ohaern’s.

  The smith’s camel was running faster, though, and would have run itself into the ground had not another maddened female face lifted itself out of the sand straight before them. The camel bawled again and whirled about to run back—but it saw strange leonine beasts with multiple jaws coming up in the distance, and it stalled.