The opposed armies stood spellbound, staring up unbelieving into the night—until the Green One, looking down, smiled, raised a hand in blessing, and disappeared.
Then, even before his armies could shake off the spell of awe that held them, the Ulharls screamed and fled, kicking their own warriors aside in their haste to escape.
Ohaern came alive. “Stop them! Slay them! Do not close, but hurl spears, shoot arrows! If they escape, evil and misery shall pursue humankind down through the ages!”
All the hunters and nomads came to themselves with a roar of alarm and ran to head off the Ulharls, hurling spears and shooting arrows, even slinging stones. The giants roared in rage and panic, kicking and hurling the humans aside—but they were mortal, after all, and vastly outnumbered, for the monsters were fleeing, too, and the soldiers of Kuru were running back to the safety of their city walls.
It was a night of hunting, a night of slaughter, a night of blood—but when it was over, all but a few of the Ulharls lay dead. Ohaern told off bands of men to seek them out and armies to follow, to hunt them down, but only two were ever found—and neither of them was Kadura, eldest of the Ulharls, and their chief.
Without him, without the Ulharls and the monsters, and having seen their god slain, the people of Kuru had no more heart to fight. When Ohaern swore a solemn oath to leave them in peace if they laid down their weapons outside the city and turned to the worship of Lomallin and the Star-Maker, doing what they could to right the wrongs they had done in obedience to Ulahane—if they did all that, Ohaern and his armies would go away and leave them in peace. The city accepted, and the armies drew back to leave the Kuruites a wide place to pile their weapons. The heaps grew high, but when the Kuruites had gone back inside their city and closed the gates behind them, Ohaern’s armies quickly carried away every pike, every spear, every sword, every shield.
“They will have kept some within, Ohaern,” Lucoyo warned him.
“Some, yes,” Ohaern agreed, “but not enough to cause anyone else real grief.”
“Especially since you have appointed scouts to haunt these hills that ring the city?”
“And given them spells to call up the Biharu and the African nations. Yes.” Ohaern nodded. “I think they will abide by the peace, Lucoyo. Perhaps not at once, but after a few defeats. Yes.”
And they did—but sooner than Ohaern had expected, for the clan leaders within the city came out and asked him to tear down Ulahane’s temple. Dariad feared treachery, so the clan leaders invited him to escort Ohaern with all his Biharu. Reluctantly, he agreed—and the African shaman and all his warriors held themselves ready to charge the gate on the instant, should Ohaern call or the great portals begin to close. They stayed open, though, and Ohaern rode down a broad boulevard between buildings that towered four and five times a man’s height, lavish buildings inlaid with enameled tiles and semiprecious stones in designs sacred to Ulahane—but those designs had already been defaced. Even so, the hair at the nape of Ohaern’s neck bristled with the feeling that every one of those hidden weapons was trained on him from the many eyes that watched in secret from windows and rooftops, or even among the throngs of people who lined the boulevard, crying out their thanks for mercy. It was hard for the Biharu to remain stern and glowering under so much gratitude and, yes, flattery, but they held their ranks, looking down from their camels with their swords in hand. Never a missile flew, though, nor any soldier leaped to bar their way, and they rode straight to the wide, wide stairs that led up the giant steps of the pyramid to Ulahane’s temple on top. There, an old woman stood waiting for them, and as they came up, she fell on her knees, bowing and crying out, “Thrice welcome, noble shaman! Thrice welcome, valiant warriors! I am Nilo, an unworthy priestess of Rahani! I have lived in secret these thirty years, ever fearing discovery by the priests of Ulahane! Thrice thanks for my life!”
The shaman in Ohaern recognized her words as true. “Where are the priests who kept this temple, O Nilo?”
“Crept away in the night, those who could. Come! I shall show you to those who could not!”
It was to Nilo’s credit that she did not gloat over the broken remnants of what had been Ulahane’s priests. “When the soldiers streamed back into the city last night,” she told Ohaern, “they came first to this temple to tear the priests apart in revenge for their betrayal in turning the city to the worship of the weaker god.”
Dariad frowned. “That is not the best reason for abandoning a false god. It is not even a good one.”
“It shall serve as a beginning, though.” Ohaern turned away to keep his gorge from rising. “If they come to the worship of Lomallin, perhaps they will discover good reasons for their faith—or to worship the Star-Maker.”
Dariad shook his head with certainty. “He would not want them to come to Him only in order to gain a victory.”
“No,” Ohaern said judiciously, “but if He loves all His creations, as you have told me, He will not turn them away, either. Off this pyramid now, all of you! And you, O Nilo! For I must brew a fearful magic!”
He danced then, around a fire that he lit himself, and in which he put certain herbs that Nilo fetched him. The smoke spiraled upward with a sweet aroma as the shaman turned and leaped about the blaze, singing and chanting until, with a tiny grating that grew into a huge rumble and a thundering, the temple of the scarlet god collapsed, falling in on itself till it was nothing but a huge pile of sand. The Kuruites drew back, moaning and weeping in terror—but Ohaern turned away from the sight with grim satisfaction. “I do not think they shall seek to attack their neighbors now, Dariad.”
“No.” The nomad chieftain stared at the rubble, his eyes huge. “No, I think not.”
“Rule us, O Shaman!” Nilo fell to her knees, hands uplifted, imploring. “Rule us, O Dariad! For this people no longer knows the ways of peace!”
Ohaern stared in surprise, then sadly shook his head. “I have a home to visit, and a son to care for—if Lomallin leaves me time for it, and has no other tasks.”
Nilo glanced up at him keenly. “Or Rahani—for I see it is her you truly serve.”
Ohaern frowned. “You see too much for my comfort.” Then, quickly, “Let Dariad rule, for he is worthy.”
“I am not,” the nomad said flatly, “neither worthy nor fit. What know I of a city?”
“Surely you can learn!”
“But I have no wish to,” Dariad said simply. “I wish only to go back to my desert and watch it come alive with moisture, now that Ulahane is dead.”
“But what shall we do?” Nilo cried, and the clan leaders came up to drop to their knees and join her, imploring, “How shall we fare, who were raised to war and cruelty, but are now beaten, aye, and have seen our god fall?”
Dariad spread his hands. “What can I say to those who have grown all their lives in cities? I know only the nomads’ law, the herders’ morality! I could only advise you to return to those truths, that simple code of life and living! I can counsel you to nothing but that, for I know nothing more.”
The clan leaders stared, then turned to talk to one another with agitation and excitement.
Dariad stared in return. “What have I said?”
“Perhaps more than you know,” Nilo told him. “If your law is simple and stark, it is so much the fundament of life that it will hold true in the city as well as in the desert. Oh, we will need other laws than that, it is true, and soldiers to enforce them all—but you have given us a beginning. Teach us your law, O Nomad!”
“Come out to meet our judge, and he shall tell you,” Dariad said slowly.
The judge did. He told Nilo and the clan leaders the Law of the Star-Maker; he told them of government by council, with no king or ruler but God, and only a judge over men in times of peace and a war chief in times of war, both chosen by acclamation of all who were grown. But when the Biharu left Kuru, a stream of slaves followed them out to reclaim their freedom and to return to the desert and steppe from which they had been
captured. Kuru lost a third of its population that day and was no longer crowded. There was time to consider, and room for virtue.
Dariad shook his head as they rode away. “They would do best to all leave that moldering pile of stone and mud and come out into the cleanliness of the countryside.”
“They would,” Ohaern agreed, remembering Cashalo, “but they will not. Cities will always arise where men need to trade, Dariad, so that the surplus of a land rich in grain can feed the starving mouths of another land lean in foodstuffs, but rich in amber and tin—and where folk meet to trade, cities will grow. They can even become a force for good.”
“I hope it shall be so,” Dariad sighed, “but I shall leave it to you to guide them, Ohaern. For myself, I could not abide to live so hemmed in.”
Neither could Ohaern. He suspected that Lucoyo could, and would, gladly—but he was not about to give him the chance.
Chapter 32
The land was already beginning to show more life as Ohaern and Lucoyo rode with the Biharu back to their homeland. “Has the drought ended so quickly?” asked Dariad, looking about him in amazement.
“It has,” said Ohaern, “for he who caused it and maintained it is dead. The waters he penned up now flow, and infuse the land with life.”
They found the truth of that as they came to the summer grazing ground where they were to meet the women, children, and elders—and found a broad river where there had only been a long dry gully. The Biharu halted their camels and sat, staring in amazement.
“How can it be?” the judge whispered. “This is a desert!”
“No longer.” Lucoyo grinned. “If you are not wary, O Judge, you shall have hunters encroaching on your land.”
Dariad shook his head with certainty. “Not while I live.”
“He speaks more than he knows,” Ohaern said to the judge, “as usual.” He turned to Dariad. “You are the hero who slew an Ulharl. None will dare come near the lands that the people of Dariad claim as their own.”
The young nomad looked up at him in astonishment, but the judge said, “Come. Even I, old as I am, long to see my wife again—and the younger men must be frantic.”
The camels moved as the men rode for the tents of their families, Dariad musing, trying to adjust to the notion that he was no longer a simple member of the tribe—but the other young men were eager for the welcome due to heroes.
Playing children saw them approaching and ran to tell their mothers. The women and elders came streaming out from their tents, and grinning Biharu slipped down off their camels to fold their wives in their arms as the elders cheered their return and children came running to tug at their robes. Ohaern stood back, watching with pleasure, and a little sadness that deepened to a pang.
Lucoyo saw and gave him a punch. “Ho, Watcher and Waiter! Do not stand and envy! Surely these Biharu can find a woman obliging enough to fill your cravings!”
Ohaern turned to him, puzzled, then smiled, amused. “You know as well as I do, Lucoyo, that if there is one people who would not abuse a woman so, it is the Biharu.”
“Yes, I do know,” Lucoyo said sourly, “so there is nothing here for us, O Hunter Bold. Come! Let us seek out wild game for their victory banquet!”
“Wild game?” Ohaern stared. “In a desert?”
“It is a desert that is greening,” Lucoyo reminded him, “and if the plants are coming alive, why not the animals that feed on them? There will be fish in that river, at least, and I doubt the Biharu have ever tasted them!”
They had not, as it transpired, and they exclaimed with surprise and delight as each Biharu tasted a fish of his or her own that night. The women were avid to learn how to cook them, and all were eager to learn how to catch them. But when the meal was done and they reclined about the great fire in the central area between the tents, the judge stepped up and called, “Hear, my friends!”
Everyone instantly fell silent,’ sat up straight and paid close attention to their leader.
“I grow old,” the judge said, “and the care of this tribe weighs heavily upon me. I would pass the days of my old age in ease and tranquility. The time has come to give over the judging of the Biharu to a man younger than myself—and Dariad has proved himself in valor, in might of arms, and most of all, in keenness and fairness of judgment!”
A massed shout of approval answered him.
“The choice is yours!” the judge cried. “But it is for me to tell you for whom my voice will cry, and I will cry for Dariad!”
“Dariad! Dariad!” Men and women alike shouted.
The young nomad rose, bemused, shaking his head. “But my friends, I am only a simple herdsman like yourselves! I know only battle, the care of the herd, and the Star-Maker’s Law!”
“What more does a judge need?” the judge countered. “What more, save the ability to see the truth of an argument, and to see into people’s hearts? You know the Law, and your eyes are keen!”
“But I am simple!”
“You are very intelligent,” Ohaern countered, rising, “and your simplicity is that of a heart that is at peace with itself, drawing its tranquility from its bond to your Star-Maker. Who could be more fit to judge quarrels by the Star-Maker’s Law?”
The Biharu shouted their approval.
“It is the service we require of you,” the judge said gently.
“I shall do whatever my tribe needs of me,” Dariad said instantly, then stared, surprised at the logic of his own words.
“You yourself have said it,” the judge cried, and the Biharu cheered.
So the next morning it was Dariad, not the old judge, who saw that Lucoyo and Ohaern bore packs heavy with provisions as they mounted the camels the tribe had given them. “You are certain that you shall not stay?” Dariad said, face pinched with anxiety.
“We must not,” Ohaern said, and gave him a gentle smile. “There is much yet to do—and we would see our own homeland.”
Dariad nodded, remembering what Lucoyo had told him in private—that Ohaern’s heart was wrung with longing as he watched the simple life about him, the closeness of neighbors, the bond between husband and wife and their joy in their children. That was all he had ever wanted—and that, it seemed, would be denied him. Dariad understood instantly the pain of Ohaern’s guesting and did not truly try to press him to stay.
“If you must go,” he said now, “a score of Biharu shall accompany you until you have passed the lands where Ulahane’s influence moved people.” He expected Ohaern to refuse and was ready to persuade—but the shaman only nodded with pleased acceptance. “I will be grateful for the might of their arms, O Dariad. But bid them bring their swords, for there may yet be fighting to do.”
The young men answered with shouts of approval and mounted their camels.
Thus they rode away from the Biharu camp, with the people assembled to wave farewell—but as they rode up toward the northwest, more Biharu from other villages joined them, until Ohaern rode once again at the head of an army. He turned none away, but was grateful for their aid, and Lucoyo began to become nervous. What battle was the shaman still awaiting?
Then, as they came in sight of the walls of Cashalo, a hundred dwergs rose out of the rocks and came to their sides. “What would you of us, Ohaern?” their leader asked.
“Hail, Grakhinox!” Ohaern greeted him. “I would ask you to be ready to bring down the wall of Cashalo and my thanks, O Dwergs.”
So Lucoyo was not surprised when another army of Klaja appeared from a defile. Their leader demanded, “Command us, Ohaern!”
“The sight of your face brings joy to my heart, O Shieldmate,” Ohaern answered, smiling. “Do you bring your people around to the north and west of the city.”
“We shall!” The Klaja smiled, tongue lolling out, and led his half-men away at a trot.
So when Ohaern stood in the rubble that had been the wall before the city and told the people of Cashalo that he was Ohaern, come back to destroy Ulahane’s temple and give them words of
advice to guide them through the years, the city folk made no demur, but opened the way to the hundred Biharu who he promised would be the only invaders. In they rode, destroyed the temple of Ulahane, and installed the priest of Ranol in honor. Ohaern bade the people of Cashalo to refurbish his temple and hearken to his advice, bade them all turn to the homage of Ranol and listen to the Biharu leaders as they explained the worship of the Star-Maker. The people of Cashalo listened with quiet attentiveness, then cheered them as they rode out of the city.
“Do they cheer us,” Lucoyo asked, “or our leaving?”
“Let us give them reason to cheer indeed,” Ohaern replied, and to the armies, “Ride on and away! Give these people the chance to discover a True Way by themselves!”
So they rode homeward, stopping to destroy any temple or shrine to Ulahane as they went, to chastise the rover bands that had broken off from Ulahane’s armies to prey upon the weak—and finally they came to the land of the Vanyar.
Word had run ahead of them, and they found a Vanyar army drawn up and waiting for them—but Ohaern called up the dwergs and the Klaja again, and the Biharu proved to be better fighters than the Vanyar, even as the back of a camel proved to be an excellent place from which to strike down at racing chariot drivers. When the battle was done and the Vanyar fled, Ohaern looked upon his Biharu and Klaja, and grieved at the loss of a tenth of their number—but when his armies followed the fugitives home, he found them more than ready to sue for a truce. He left them with a stern injunction to live in peace with their neighbors and steal no more. Then he bade Lucoyo tell them the tale of the battle between Ulahane and Lomallin, and when he was done, advised the Vanyar to abandon the worship of Ulahane, of whom not even a ghost remained, and to turn to Lomallin.
When they left the chastised invaders behind, the word of Ohaern’s band of vengeance spread throughout the land, so that the wicked turned away from their cruelties in fear that the shaman or his Biharu might find them.
The Shaman Page 37