Power Conspiracy

by Pedro Urvi

  Egil nodded. “Good price?”

  “Better than last year, so I’m happy. You can’t always get a good price, but as I always say, if it’s better than last year, we’ve gained something.”

  “Very true.”

  “You’re not from around here,” the trader asked, eyeing the four of them, and especially Gerd. “From the East?”

  “No, from the West, Rogdonians,” Egil lied.

  “Well, you’re a long way from home. What brings you to our realm?”

  “Business. We’re horse-dealers.”

  The trader looked slightly dubious. “Horse-dealers?”

  “Well, and steel goods …”

  “Oh, I see! Weapons.”

  Egil nodded. “We have an appointment in Asofi.”

  “You’d better have the fee for the Guild …”

  “The Guild?”

  The trader looked around to make sure they were alone and that nobody would hear what he was about to say. He lowered his voice. “You can’t do business in the city without paying them their tax. Well, maybe you can, but I wouldn’t recommend it. They have the nasty habit of cutting off the hands of the ones who don’t pay.”

  Egil nodded. He had leaned over toward the trader to hear him better. “I see. Where can we pay? We don’t want any trouble.”

  “When you’re in the city, head downtown. Ask for the One-Eyed Crow Inn and tell the innkeeper you’re there on business. You’ll be accosted straight away by a couple of the Guild’s collectors.”

  “How much will it cost us?”

  “Well … you being foreigners, they’ll squeeze you a little. About ten Zangrian gold coins.”

  “That’s expensive.”

  “Those of us who are from the area and pay regularly don’t get squeezed so much. You’re on your way through and you might never come back, so they’ll ask for a higher rate.”

  “And suppose we go to the authorities? There must be a detachment in the city, right?”

  The trader shook his head. “Bad idea. The army doesn’t interfere with them.”

  “Are they in their pay?”

  “Worse … they’re afraid of them. The officers have accidents … unexplained accidents … they die in very strange circumstances.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  The trader looked around once again. “In any case, you can’t trust the soldiers. You’d probably end up in the dungeons of the fort. And you’d lose all your money.”

  “The army …”

  He spat to one side. “Yes. It neither helps nor protects.”

  Egil nodded respectfully. “Thanks for the information.”

  “Not at all. Don’t let it be said that we Zangrians are unpleasant and ill-mannered. I’m aware that’s the reputation we have outside the kingdom.”

  “I appreciate it. Have a good day!”

  “The same to you.”

  Egil joined his friends, and the trader went on to the village. The group set off again without a word until the trader was out of sight, then turned their horses to Egil.

  “Since when do you speak Zangrian?” Nilsa asked him in surprise.

  “I don’t speak it. I understand it and I have a smattering of it.”

  “That was not smattering,” Val said. “You spoke it perfectly.”

  Egil brushed this aside with a gesture. “Well … we didn’t arouse suspicions, and that’s the important thing.”

  “When did you learn to speak Zangrian?” Nilsa insisted.

  “As a child in my father’s castle. Nobles have certain advantages … one of them is access to instructors and books. I’ve always loved the different languages of Tremia, they’re fantastic.”

  Gerd was looking at him with admiration and incredulity. “Yeah, fantastic … Is there any kind of studying you don’t like?”

  “Well … some things …”

  Nilsa shook her head. “I’d rather ask whether there’s anything he doesn’t know,” she said with a mocking smile.

  “Of course there’s an infinite number of things I don’t know,” Egil said. He made it sound as if there were still a lot left for him to learn.

  “If you try to learn everything, that little head of yours will burst,” Val said.

  Gerd guffawed. “Very good! I even pictured that in my mind.”

  “I don’t think it’s physically possible,” Egil said with a smile.

  Nilsa indicated her own head. “If I were you I’d be careful not to reach the limit, just in case.”

  “You’re terrible, both of you” Egil said, shaking his head.

  “That’s why you like us so much,” Val replied, pushing back her hood and spreading her long hair on to one shoulder coquettishly. Then she put her hood back on.

  Egil sighed. “Hopeless,” he said, and urged his mount on.

  Nilsa and Val rode on either side of him and tortured him with questions and comments for a good while. Gerd, who was ahead of them, laughed at the girls’ chatter.

  No sooner had they passed another village than they met a shepherd leading a huge flock of sheep in the middle of the road, blocking their way.

  “I suppose he’s going to move the flock off the road,” Gerd said. He was looking in amazement at the shepherd with his two dogs behind his flock as if all Zangria belonged to him.

  Nilsa shook her head. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” The shepherd’s attitude showed her that he had not made the slightest move to do this.

  “Who knows,” Val joked, “maybe shepherds have the right of way on royal roads in this country.”

  “Egil should know that,” Nilsa said. She turned to him, and her red mane of hair fluttered around her head.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know about this specific instance of Zangrian culture, but judging by this shepherd’s self-assurance, he seems to be expecting us to move out of his way.”

  Gerd frowned. “I think he’s a bad-tempered ape.”

  As Egil had feared, the shepherd continued on his way, leading his flock toward them. There were hundreds of the animals, and when they saw the four riders they began to bleat. At the same time the two sheepdogs barked orders at them.

  Egil shrugged. “I suggest we move out of their way and let them by.”

  “I don’t think this shepherd’s attitude is acceptable at all,” Gerd said. It did not look as though he was prepared to move.

  “We’d better not attract attention,” Nilsa said.

  “I agree,” said Val.” It would be better to move. They’re raising a terrible cloud of dust, and they stink of the country.”

  Nilsa covered her ears “And their bleating’s making such a din!”

  Gerd allowed his arm to be twisted. “All right. Though I’d like to have a word with this obliging shepherd.”

  “Best not start a quarrel, even a minor one,” Egil advised him. He was moving his own horse out of the way of the sheep, and the other three followed him.

  At that moment, behind them, they heard riders approaching at a gallop. A dozen Zangrian soldiers were approaching. Their way would take them straight toward the flock, which covered the whole road and the space between two woods.

  “Out of their way, quickly!” Egil called.

  “Into the forest!” Gerd shouted.

  They hastened off the road and into the forest, and as they did so the horsemen arrived. When they met the sheep, instead of stopping, they charged at them as if they were a regiment of enemy infantry.

  The Rangers went on deep into the forest, to get as far away as they could from what was about to happen. They heard shouts from the Zangrian soldiers as they charged at the sheep. The bleating turned to braying when several sheep that had not been able to move away were run over by the galloping horses. As they made their way through the flock the soldiers began to use their spears against the poor animals, but were unable to because they were packed so tightly together. The shepherd meanwhile was screaming at the soldiers, wielding his staff with yells and curses whose meaning was very
clear even though the four friends did not understand the words. The dogs were barking at the soldiers, who had split the flock in two as if they were separating the waters of the sea to make a way through.

  Nilsa was looking at the shepherd in horror. “They’re not going to …”

  “Surely they won’t be as savage as that,” said Val.

  One of the soldiers hit the yelling shepherd with his spear and caught him on the head, so that he fell unconscious. Another soldier almost skewered one of the dogs, which had attacked his horse.

  “What savages!” Nilsa cried in outrage.

  “They deserve their reputation as thugs,” Val agreed.

  “I feel like teaching them a lesson,” Gerd said. “The shepherd may be pigheaded, but there was no need for them to have done that.”

  “We can’t step in,” Egil warned him. “They’re soldiers. We’d be in trouble.”

  “I know but it makes me mad …”

  “Injustices tend to do that,” Nilsa said to support him.

  “Thank goodness we didn’t start an argument with the shepherd,” Val said.

  “Yup, and there was me wanting to,” Gerd admitted.

  “You have to understand that the people here are rather different from what we’re used to in Norghana,” Egil explained, “and that we can’t put ourselves at risk. Not only for us, but because of what’s at stake.”

  “You’re right,” Gerd said, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

  Nilsa smiled at him. “Don’t worry, big guy, you’ll have the chance to teach those bad-tempered apes a lesson or two.”

  Gerd smiled back. “I certainly hope so.”

  “I’d almost bet you will,” Val said. The smile she gave Egil was confident.

  “We’ll see what happens,” was all Egil said.

  “The soldiers have already gone,” Nilsa pointed out, eagerly but unsurely. “Shall we go and help the shepherd?”

  “We ought to,” Gerd agreed. “He’s just a poor man,”

  “With a very bad temper,” Val added.

  Egil looked at both sides of the road, but could see nobody. “All right, let’s help him and then be on our way.”

  It did not take them long to dress the cut in the head the shepherd had received. A few stitches and a little disinfectant ointment were enough. He was so furious at first that he had been on the brink of attacking them when he came to, but luckily when he saw the blood running down his face he allowed them to help him.

  At nightfall they reached the outskirts of Asofi. They stopped on a hill and watched the citizens begin to go back into their homes, as a faint illumination spread over the city.

  “It’s bigger than I was expecting,” Valeria observed.

  “What’s the plan?” Nilsa asked Egil.

  “Very simple.” He smiled, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “We find an important member of the Guild and ask him to be so kind as to help us.”

  “It sounds really simple,” Val joked.

  “It won’t be, but we’ll manage,” Egil said confidently.

  Chapter 19

  Ingrid, Lasgol and Viggo watched the countless leagues of steppes in front of them. An endless plain which welcomed them with the yellow-green shades of the Masig prairie vegetation. They could only make out a few low undulations further ahead, and in the distance, almost on the horizon, some gently-rolling hills.

  “It looks like a real prairie ocean,” Lasgol said as he breathed the warm, untamed air of the steppes. He was pleasantly surprised by the beauty of the endless plain.

  Prairie pretty, said Camu, who was playing hide-and-seek with Ona among the tall grass nearby.

  I can see you like it.

  Ona likes much.

  I’m glad, seeing as she doesn’t take to boats…

  Ona moaned, gave a huge leap and vanished into the tall grass.

  “Which way do we have to go now?” Viggo asked.

  Ingrid was studying the map. “West, toward the great pass.”

  “Let’s hope it’ll be a bit more restful than the boat trip,” said Viggo with heavy irony.

  Ingrid smiled. “I hope so too, at least more so than that landing we had.”

  Viggo was perplexed. “Did you just make a joke?”

  “Me? No, no way,” she said immediately. But her expression showed that she had just realized she had.

  Viggo looked at Lasgol and he nodded. They both smiled.

  The sun was shining in a clear sky and the breeze was hot, at least compared with what they were used to. Sun and good weather were in short supply in their native land. It was not far to the pass from the point where they had come ashore, so they set a brisk pace in order to arrive as soon as possible. They were in the southern part of Masig territory, though it was an area where they were not usually found because the three hundred tribes were scattered across the endless steppes further north. Despite this, it was not rare to see hunting parties, or even groups of warriors.

  They went as fast as Trotter allowed them to, since he was the slowest of the three horses. Lasgol had considered not bringing him on this journey, but it pained him to leave his faithful friend behind. He loved the good pony, and although Trotter was not as fast as the other horses, he was as tough as them, or even more so. What was more, Trotter understood his mental messages, and this was something which came in handy in dangerous situations. Teaching an ordinary horse would take too much time. His Animal Communication skill did not work instantaneously. It was one thing to establish a link with the animal’s mind, a very different one for the animal to understand the messages as Trotter, Ona and Camu did.

  He was thinking about these things when Camu’s warning message reached him.

  Danger! Riders!

  Lasgol looked around and saw the danger to the north.

  “Uh-oh!” Viggo muttered. He had seen it too.

  Six hundred paces or so away were thirty Masig riders on their beautiful pinto horses. They had a wild look, with their armor of skins stiffened with resins and wood over their reddish bodies. They were armed with bows and arrows.

  “I don’t like the look of these,” Ingrid said, frowning.

  “At the moment it looks as though they’re only watching us,” said Lasgol, who was trying to guess their intentions.

  “They’re really picturesque,” Ingrid commented, “with those feathers on their heads and their red skins. Their pinto horses are beautiful.”

  “Both they and the pinto horses are native to these steppes,” Lasgol explained. “They don’t exist in any other part of Tremia. My father told me about them. He had a great respect for them.”

  “Well, in Norghana they’re definitely looked down on,” Viggo said.

  “We treat them like savages because they’re nomadic people who live by hunting, sleep in tents and don’t have great cities or advanced sciences. But they’re a great people.”

  “I’m worried about those spears and short bows they’re carrying,” said Ingrid.

  “Me too,” Viggo agreed. “They’re following us – at a distance, but still following us.”

  “As long as they’re just following us, there’s no problem,” Lasgol said. He was hoping they did not have hostile intentions.

  “D’you think they’ll attack?” Ingrid asked.

  “It depends on whether it’s a group of hunters or a group of warriors,” said Lasgol. “The first one would have more important things to do than attack us. The second wouldn’t.”

  “And which of the two is this?” Viggo asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Didn’t your father teach you how to tell them apart?”

  “Well … no …”

  “Oh dear.”

  “He told me a lot of general things about them, and I don’t remember everything he said.”

  “And suppose they want to parley?” Ingrid asked.

  “I don’t speak a word of Masig,” Lasgol admitted.

  “And me even less,” said V
iggo.

  “Ufff, then they’d better just be watching us …”

  “And there’s another problem as well,” Lasgol added.

  “Another one?” Viggo asked.

  “Well, yes … according to my father, and this is something I remember perfectly well, the Masig are excellent riders. They ride their horses bareback, with no saddle, and they’re far faster and better horsemen than most of the ones in Tremia.”

  “In other words,” Viggo summed up, “if they decide to attack us, we won’t be able to escape from them.”

  “I’m afraid not. Particularly with Trotter …”

  “Well then, I’d suggest you look as though you’re just passing through and not looking for trouble.”

  “And how do we do that?” Ingrid asked him.

  “Oh, pretending, of course, like me. Look straight ahead and whistle cheerfully.” He began to whistle the refrain of a Norghanian song.

  Ingrid gave a snort. “That’s really going to work. You get dumber every passing day.”

  Lasgol smiled. Viggo’s comment relaxed him a little. They went on easily, without forcing the pace or breaking into a gallop, which would probably attract the riders. They acted as Viggo had suggested, but without whistling.

  For a while it seemed that everything was going well. The group of Masig was still only following them, although they were coming closer all the time. They were four hundred paces away by now. Lasgol used his Hawk’s Eye skill and passed on some bad news.

  “They’re a warrior party.”

  “How do you know?” Ingrid asked.

  “I can see their faces, and they’re painted. When I saw their faces I remembered. My father told me the ones who paint their faces are warriors.”

  “That’s all we needed,” Viggo said.

  Ingrid did her best to reassure them. “We’re just three riders passing through. They’ve got no reason to attack us.”

  “You forget one small detail,” Viggo pointed out. “We’re Norghanians. They hate our guts.”

  “Oh … well, that …”

  Masig attack! came Camu’s warning. He had camouflaged himself and gone close to the warriors to get a better view of them, driven by his insatiable curiosity.