by Martin Ash
Sildemund stared long and hard at him. His voice, when it came, shook. ‘You- you mean…’
‘Prince Enlos, and I would imagine the Haruspices, are above reproach. The same may go for the loyal Palace Guards, though some may yet be deemed less than dependable. They will die. The Under-Assistants may well have met summary execution already.’
‘Then-- what of us?’
‘This is what I’ve been trying to drum into you, Sil. We’ve witnessed what we cannot possibly ever witness. The choice is between us and Darch’s Queen. That’s to say, there is no choice. We will never leave this Palace. Go to the door and see for yourself. There will be guards outside. For what we have been witness to we are condemned to death.’
XIII
Meglan squatted at the river’s edge, refilling her water-flask. The clear water over her hand was cool and refreshing. She capped the flask then took a rectangle of cloth, soaked it, and dabbed her face. She gazed out across the Tigrant’s shining surface, deep in thought, seeing nothing. Close by, her filly, Swift Cloud, sank her muzzle into the water, taking long, deep draughts.
Meglan glanced back up the bank. Her remaining companion, Jans, was silhouetted against the harsh yellow sky, staring into the far distance. He stood with his hands on his hips, one leg before him. The stance was stiff and unnatural.
‘Come down and get water, Jans.’
These were the first words she had spoken to him in almost an hour.
Jans shifted his position slightly but did not look at her. ‘Aye, I will.’
He was embarrassed, Meglan knew. And affronted. She had been angry with him and had said things she now regretted. Jans had only being doing his job, this she accepted now. His words and actions had been wise in the circumstances. But it seemed so long that they had been stuck here, unable to move on. Jans refused to advance any further. Meglan could barely keep still, so great was her frustration at the situation she found herself in.
She stood, putting her hand to her neck. The flesh was too tender for all but the lightest touch. Her throat was swollen and sore, her shoulders and back stiff. It hurt to swallow. Earlier, Jans had told her that the bruises left by Skalatin had blossomed into myriad hues.
She climbed the bank to the roadside, stood for a moment, then put a hand on Jans’s arm. ‘I’m sorry. I lost my temper and I shouldn’t have. You were right. I just… Oh, everything seems to be going wrong!’
Jans looked at her, his craggy face begrimed with sweat and dust, then looked down at his boots. ‘I wouldn’t have stopped you if there was another way, Mistress. But it’s too dangerous to go on alone.’
Meglan nodded resignedly. ‘I know it.’
She turned away so that he would not see that her eyes had filled with tears.
They were on the western edge of Dazdun’s Despair. They had occupied this spot since meeting earlier with a caravan of three wagons travelling west. The caravan was driven by a Hunvutian silk merchant accompanied by mounted guards. They had seemed only half-conscious and bore bloodstains and the marks of battle.
The merchant pulled the first wagon to a halt as Meglan and Jans rode up.
‘Greetings!’ Jans said.
The Hunvutian nodded wearily and spoke listlessly. ‘Greetings. Where are you bound?’
‘Dharsoul.’
The man shook his head. ‘You’d be well advised to revise your plans. Dharsoul was my destination too, but the road is held by brigands led by Fagmar the Angelic. I’ve been forced to turn back.’
‘Brigands? On the Dharsoul Road?’ Jans gave a low whistle. ‘How is that?’
The merchant shrugged. ‘Fagmar’s operations are well known further north, around the Tulmua frontier. The Tulmu military have been active in force around Garsh and the border, driving the brigand south. Now he harries the road here. Look! I had fifteen good fighting men. We were attacked today, at noon, and now only eight are fit for their saddles. Three others lie severely wounded in my wagon. Four are dead. And I’ve lost a wagon to the bandit.’
‘Dharsoul will not tolerate this for long,’ said Jans. ‘There will be soldiers on their way even now, I would bet, to arrest or eliminate this Fagmar and his gang.’
‘Word is that Fagmar’s men were put to flight only yesterday by a company under the command of Prince Enlos himself,’ replied the Hunvutian. ‘They were operating further east then, closer to Dharsoul. It seems that the Prince has achieved nothing more than to drive them this way.’
‘How close are they?’ asked Meglan.
‘Two or three hours distant, in the heart of the Despair.’
‘It’s possible that they harry only merchants carrying valuable goods. Perhaps a pair of travellers with nothing to offer might pass unmolested.’
‘That’s a foolish and dangerous thought, young woman,’ the merchant said sternly. ‘One as appealing to the eye as you would be a rare prize for men such as these. Take my advice and go no further. I’ve said as much to a pair of wayfarers we met some distance back. They, if they’ve any sense, are now returning somewhere in our wake. Until the road is made safe by troops it will not offer passage for anyone unaccompanied by a strong military guard.’
He clicked his tongue and urged his horses forward. The wagons rumbled on. The guards, exhausted, had hardly glanced at Meglan. Now they rode slowly past, eyes low, men whose spirits had abandoned them.
Meglan and Jans had sat for a few moments in their saddles, gazing into the hot void before them.
‘I must go on,’ declared Meglan. ‘I have to, for my father.’
‘No, you must not. You heard what the merchant said. It’s too dangerous.’
‘I must!’ She dug her heels sharply into Swift Cloud’s flanks and gave him rein. But Jans threw out a hand and seized her wrist, holding her back so that Swift Cloud snorted and pranced but advanced only a few short steps.
Meglan had screamed. ‘Let me go! Jans! How dare you!’
‘I will not.’ Jans kept his grasp on her wrist.
‘You needn’t come! I’ll carry on without you!’
‘No! It’s not safe.’
‘You are disobedient! How dare you lay hands on me! Let me go!’ Furiously, Meglan lashed out at him. The horses nickered and shifted in alarm.
‘I’m sorry, Mistress.’ Jans had leaned across, slipped an arm around her waist and hauled her from the saddle. He let her slide to the road, then leapt down from his own mount. He grabbed Meglan as she ran again for Swift Cloud.
‘Mistress, I won’t let you!’
Meglan struggled as if possessed, her anger intensified by the pain of her injuries. ‘You’re dismissed! Leave me now! Immediately!
‘Mistress Meglan, you hired me to protect you, and that’s what I’ll do to the best of my ability. I can’t let you go on. We’ll wait here and hope that others come along this way, then we can travel with them, in strength.’
‘No! I have to go. If you’re such a coward, stay behind! I don’t need you! Go! You’re no longer in my service!’
‘Mistress, I’m bound to protect you. Equally, my duty is to your father, who has been a good and generous employer over many years.’ Jans released her, sensing that she would not run again for her horse. ‘If I let you go on now, knowing the danger, I’ll be failing in my duty both to him and to you. So we’ll wait – or return to Volm if you wish.’
She had glowered at him, seething, but her first impetuousness had passed. She felt herself caving in. Her thoughts went to Sildemund. What had been her brother’s fate? Had he reached the safety of Dharsoul, or might he have fallen into the hands of the brigand, Fagmar? Whatever the case, she had no hope now of bringing the red stone back early.
She thought of her father, Master Atturio, waiting, wondering – so she believed – about her welfare, worried about both his children, fearful of Skalatin’s return.
Had Skalatin returned yet? Almost certainly. How would Master Atturio have fared? There were guards in the house this time, Meglan reassured hersel
f. Skalatin wouldn’t have resorted so readily to violence.
She looked back down the road. What should she do? Such misfortune, to be standing here, unable to advance. She felt that the gods were against her. But should she go back?
She shook her head. Her entire effort would have been for nothing. The stone was the focus. That was what she had come for, that it might be returned to Skalatin. Somehow she had to go forward, and find Sildemund. And if – she swallowed – if something had happened to Sil on the road… If he had become parted from the stone… If that had happened then she, Meglan, would have no choice but to continue the search until she found it.
But how? It could be anywhere! And by then it would be too late in any case.
What should she do?
Her heart hammered painfully. She felt herself about to be overwhelmed by emotion in her breast. She reminded herself that she did not know what had become of Sildemund, and that she was allowing herself to imagine the worst. She was aware that Jans stood before her, watching her, and she was suddenly both angry and ashamed at her behaviour.
Meglan went to the side of the road and sat down on a rock, her head in her hands. There was nothing for it, Jans was right. She could only wait. But stubbornness and pride precluded her doing the right thing now, which was to apologize.
Time had passed. Neither of them spoke. Both were embarrassed by their fight. No one came along the road. Jans let his horse wander down to the riverside to drink.
Soon it would be evening. Meglan fretted that they would be obliged to spend the night here. What if no one came at all? Was word already out that the road was unsafe? It could be days before troops arrived. Meglan had begun a desperate train of thought again. But she calmed herself as she went down to the river and filled her flask, then climbed the bank and made her peace with Jans. And Jans pointed along the road into Dazdun’s Despair. ‘A cart comes. Two people, I think. This must be the pair the merchant spoke of.’
In the heat-haze Meglan made out a dark blot, a single horse plodding towards them, hauling a cart.
‘Watch them, Mistress Meglan, while I get water.’
Long before the cart reached them Jans was back at Meglan’s side. The cart’s two passengers were wrapped in hooded burnouses to ward off the sun’s blaze. Meglan and Jans mounted their steeds to afford them a better advantage.
The cart drew close and halted. The passengers were a man and woman, both of quite advanced years. He was small of build, pinched, almost emaciated, with a thin pasty face, protuberant brown eyes, a dark fringe of hair beneath his hood, and a dark, greying frizz of a beard. His female companion was equally thin, with a long body and limbs. She wore a ragged brown skirt beneath her burnous. She seemed deformed about the head, which was broad and compacted. The lower half of her face pushed forward and gave the resemblance of a short blunt snout. Her eyes were bright and round, set well back and far apart. The mouth was wide and thin, the nose so flat as to be hardly more than two flaring nostrils at the fore of the face. There was a vaguely ophidian quality in her look.
‘Hail, fellow wayfarers,’ said the man. ‘We wish you a very good afternoon. Are you travelling to Dharsoul?’
‘That was our intention,’ Meglan said.
‘I would caution against it. There’s trouble on the road ahead.’
‘We’ve heard as much. Thieves and bandits, so we’re told.’
‘That’s so.’
‘Were you molested? You appear untouched.’
‘We were fortunate,’ the man replied, his eyes darting over Meglan. ‘We met a Hunvutian merchant. He told us he had come under fierce attack. He’d barely survived, and lost men and goods before managing to turn back and escape. We then debated our best course, as we have goods to sell in the souk at Dharsoul. We go there every couple of months; it’s our main source of income and we will suffer hardship by missing it. But plainly it was foolhardy to continue, so we’re returning home. But what of you?’
‘We’ve met the same merchant. On his advice we’ve advanced no further. We waited in the hope of meeting others with whom we might band together for safety, but no one has passed.’
‘It’s unlikely that any will, at least today. If you consider, anyone already on this road will also have met that merchant. Your wait is futile.’
Meglan nodded, feeling suddenly foolish. Neither she nor Jans had thought of this. She silently berated herself.
The couple on the wagon conferred in muted tones, then the man spoke again. ‘Our home is no great distance from here. Will you join us? The day’s almost done, and we can provide you with a meal and accommodation for the night. Tomorrow, who knows? You may fare better in your travels.’
Meglan glanced about her briefly in a moment of indecision, then replied, ‘You are very kind. Thank you. We accept – on condition that you let me pay you for your hospitality.’
‘Such things can be discussed at the proper time. Now, let me make introductions. I am Gaskid. This is Dame Inonna.’
‘And we are Meglan and Jans.’
‘It is a pleasure. Let’s be on our way.’
They moved on, and after about half a mile Gaskid turned the cart from the road onto a barely visible track that led off into the wild. Progress was slow, as the ground, baked hard by the sun, was rutted and untrodden. They were obliged to make long detours – or so it seemed to Meglan – around rocky outcrops or to avoid deep pits and gullies. The cart groaned and rumbled as though it ached, and seemed ready to fall apart at every next bump, but somehow it held together.
Meglan grew concerned at the extent to which they were penetrating into the arid waste of Dazdun’s Despair. The sun was low, the sky a haze of colour. She glanced over her shoulders, trying to determine the way back to the road, but no way was apparent and their tracks left barely any impression on the ground.
They entered a narrow gulch overshadowed by high, vertical rock walls. Meglan became aware of a strange sound: a voice, female, eerie, chanting in a low, uneven pitch. The voice seemed to intone words in an unfamiliar tongue. It was some moments before she identified the source of the sound. It came from the cart.
Meglan edged Swift Cloud closer alongside the cart. Dame Inonna’s eyes were closed and she was making slow, fluid motions with one hand held before her as, from somewhere in throat and nose, the unusual chant issued.
Gaskid noticed Meglan’s proximity, and smiled. ‘Don’t be worried. Dame Inonna is gifted. Her song wards off the malevolent spirits that inhabit this place.’
Dame Inonna grew silent. The cart rolled creakingly on. The emerged from the gulch and rounded a small, rocky spur. Before them, at the fringe of a grove of dark cypress, stood a low cottage of whitewashed stone, bounded by a stone wall and makeshift picket fence. A couple of stone outbuildings were set against the wall.
Dame Inonna turned in her seat and spoke to Meglan for the first time, her wide, thin lips stretching into a smile. ‘There. All is well.’
At the back of the cottage, in the fading light, Meglan saw a garden planted with corn, sunflowers and a few short ranks of vines. Closer by were eggplants, tomatoes, oranges and other vegetables and fruits. Chickens scratched in the dust and from somewhere came the bleating of goats.
Jans and Gaskid stabled the horses, Gaskid providing water and hay, and Meglan and Dame Innona went indoors.
The interior of the cottage was rudely furnished, though kept spick and span. It seemed the couple lived as peasants, with sparse belongings. One corner was dominated by a large wood carving of a serpent, and Meglan noticed serpent motifs decorating several bowls and pots.
Dame Innona lit lamps then busied herself preparing mint tea. Meglan went to a window and looked out. The sun had almost gone. She saw fruit trees in a small orchard close beside the dwelling, and beyond, the cypresses cast long shadows onto the barrenness of the Despair.
‘This is an unusual spot,’ Meglan observed. ‘Lush and fertile, it seems, in a region that bears no growth elsewhere.’
>
‘We were lucky to find it. It affords us a modest but fair living.’
‘You live entirely off the land?’
‘More or less. We even make a small profit from surplus produce. There are rare herbs and flora thriving here that aren’t known to survive elsewhere in Darch. Minerals are here, too. Dharsoul’s shamans, apothecaries and alchemists are pleased to buy these from us in such quantities as we can provide.’
‘You’d be wise to keep that information to yourselves,’ said Jans, who had just entered with Gaskid. ‘You’ve given us your confidence, knowing nothing of us. Aren’t you concerned that we could be villains who’d think little of murdering you to take control of your harvest?’
Dame Inonna gave a throaty chuckle. ‘The income derived is modest, and involves a lot of hard work. It wouldn’t tempt anyone intent upon wealth. My plants also require specialist attention. Only someone with an innate affinity, schooled over a lifetime or more – as I have been – could hope to rear and harvest such plants successfully. As for the minerals, they are hidden, and to the untrained eye, unrecognizable.’
‘Yet someone might still leave here intending to return with such a specialist.’
‘Few visit. None have ever returned,’ said Gaskid. ‘This place is not known, nor is it easy to find.’
As the darkness gathered they sat down to a supper of rice and vine leaves stuffed with spiced, minced goatsmeat, with pimentos and green salad, followed by fruit and goats’ cheese, all washed down with strong beer brewed by Gaskid. When they had finished and the table had been cleared, Dame Inonna remarked, ‘Now, child, I note the bruising about your neck. It looks sore, and such a sad blight upon one as pretty as you. Will you let me examine it? I can ease it for you.’
Gaskid leaned forward with a wink. ‘Inonna has the gift. Put yourself in her hands and you will be made well.’
Meglan was in some pain and readily agreed. At Dame Inonna’s word she seated herself on a stool near the window, within the light of a pair of lamps, and loosened her tunic at the neck. Dame Inonna placed herself beside her and applied light fingertips to her bruised skin, stroking it in relaxing, soothing motions.