Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (37 page)

To Raf, it seemed as if time slowed as one of the men standing to the side suddenly lifted a crossbow he was holding and rammed the end of it into Bolyai’s face. Without a sound, the Elder crumpled to the ground and lay still.

“I look forward to hearing from you in the future,” said the man calmly, as if nothing had happened. “Sell these two and you can keep the money.”

“I get nothing for them, Johin,” said Edokko. He pointed at the Elder. “Too old.”

“Well, get rid of them, then. I don’t care. We leave in two hours. Captain Djennik will be
most
happy to see us with our latest catch.” He tapped his head in farewell. “Till the next time, little chief.”

Raf stared at Bolyai’s face, unable to drag his eyes away from the old man’s cheek which was already being disfigured by dark purple swelling. He felt his eyes well up and didn’t even try to resist when rough hands trussed him up and dragged him away.

R
af tried to wriggle his wrists loose, but the coarse rope bound his hands tightly, so he pulled a leg underneath himself and tried to change positions to relieve the numbness. Twisting his head around, he looked awkwardly back at the supine form of Bolyai who was sprawled in the sand a few feet away. Over the course of the night, the right side of the Elder’s face had swollen horribly, pulling the corner of his mouth up into a disturbing half-grin.

“Bolyai?” he whispered.

He glanced back up at the doorway of the room they were being kept in. The guard on duty at the door yawned loudly and adjusted his leather chest-armor. A small table next to him held the remains of some fruit and an empty mug.

“You must help him,” came a voice from behind Raf.

“But what can I do, Tiponi?” he muttered in reply. “They w-”

The guard at the door looked up and snapped, “Quiet, you two.”

Raf leaned back against the stake he and Tiponi were tied to and sighed. It had been a long night and he’d hardly slept; it was too uncomfortable sitting with his arms above his head and the shoulder he had been shot in was aching. The temperature had also dropped right down once the sun had set so that in the early hours of the morning, he found himself huddling up as best he could, knees to chest, his breaths visible as puffs of pale smoke.

There was a noise at the entrance and the guard stepped aside to let in an iMahli girl carrying a tray. She was short and had a necklace of wooden beads and carved ivory pieces that hung from her neck. Dipping her head to the guard, she carefully placed a tray down so as not to spill the full mug and food laid out on top.

“That’s all I get?” muttered the guard. “Warm camel-milk and some hard bread?”

The iMahli girl dipped her head again and made to leave with the dirty tray but stopped as, to Raf’s surprise, Tiponi suddenly addressed her loudly in iMahli.

“Shhh!” he urged, trying to tilt his head behind to see Tiponi. “What are you doing?”

“Oy!” yelled the guard, pointing angrily at him. “None of that, now! You hear me, iMahli? Shut up unless you want a beating.”

Tiponi took no notice and spat out a flurry of sentences at the girl who paused and listened. The guard seized a wooden bludgeon leaning against his chair and came storming towards them. The iMahli girl looked straight at Raf as Tiponi said the word ‘
ishranga’
, before the guard dealt him a vicious blow on his upper arm with the wooden club.

“You listen to me, slave!” he snarled. “If I tell you to stop, you stop right away! You hear me?” Tiponi flinched, hunching up his shoulder to protect his face. “I hear,” he replied quickly.

The guard lowered his arm. “You do that again and I’ll make sure you can’t speak again. You don’t need your tongue in the mines, iMahli.” He walked back to sit down at the small table as the girl disappeared through the door without a backwards glance.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

The guard ate his breakfast noisily and looked up when Raf’s stomach suddenly made a grumbling sound. He held up a small piece of crust towards Raf.

“Hungry?” He dropped it onto the sand and laughed. Standing up from the table, he belched loudly and then stomped on the bread as he left the room.

The second he had gone, Tiponi whispered, “Now! Your Elder.”

Raf knew what he meant and quickly closed his eyes. Humming softly, he tried to ignore the pain in his arms, the pain in his shoulder, the numbness in his legs and backside, and the empty gurgling of his stomach. It wasn’t easy – and neither was it easy to remove the memory of Bolyai being knocked to the floor the day before. He persisted though, and by forcing himself to close his mind to everything but the tune he was humming, a small wave of blue quavered into view out of the corner of his eye.

Quickly, he tried to seize it and urge it towards Bolyai; but it wouldn’t work. It seemed thick and unyielding and moved around him sluggishly. The harder he tried, the more it seemed to turn syrupy, so he sang a bit louder.

“Oy! Now
you
as well?”

Raf was startled and jerked back, hitting his head against the post behind him, the colors disappearing in a flash of pain. The guard stood at the door staring at him.

“Do you want the same treatment as your iMahli friend there, singer-boy?” Raf shook his head. “Good,” replied the guard. He stepped into the room and turned to let two other men enter.

Edokko casually stepped into view and looked down at Raf and then behind him at the Elder. He gestured to the man who had accompanied him. “Take.”

The second man was overweight and had a flat nose that had obviously been broken many times. He turned a set of cold, blue eyes on Raf and snorted. “Young and small.” He turned to peer down at Bolyai on the ground. “And that one looks dead.”

Raf looked at Bolyai and saw, with a sinking feeling, that there was no improvement with his injured face.

“He’s still alive, sir. I checked this morning,” said the guard uncertainly.

The Miernan grunted and then gave a short whistle. Through the door stepped three armed men. “Take these two to the wagon.”

“You’re taking them?” said the guard. “I thought they were staying here?”

“I just bought them from our friend here,” replied the man. “They’re going to join the staff at my mine.”

Raf’s bonds were untied and his arms dropped to his sides, heavy and weak. He struggled to his feet under the watchful eye of one of the armed men while the other two pulled Bolyai up and, taking an arm each, dragged him out of the room.

He looked back when Edokko addressed Tiponi who had a fierce expression on his face. “Where are the other
ishrangas?”

“I don’t know,” snarled Tiponi, pushing himself up against the post behind him. “I only know mine.”

“Where are the other go-betweens?”

Tiponi let forth a ferocious tirade in iMahli to which Edokko merely smiled, reaching behind him to pick up the bludgeon from the table. Raf was pushed roughly and he stumbled out of the room, hearing a muffled thud and a grunt of pain behind him.

He was marched through another room piled high with crates, and then out into the morning sun. He squinted in the bright light as they were lead to a small party of armed men waiting around two hefty, wagons. Harnessed at the front were two huge animals that Raf assumed were camels. Some iMahlis were loading small crates and sacks on to the back as another man watched them, a pepperbox cradled under his arm.

He looked up as the group approached and, seeing Raf and Bolyai, scoffed, “That’s all you could find, Ullet?”

“A pair of foresters, I’m guessing. Better than nothing,” replied the man leading them. “Johin
already took all the iMahlis he could get his hands on.”

“Johin? We should’ve done him in an’ taken the iMahli leader to Captain Djennik for the reward ourselves.”

Ullet grunted sourly. He looked over the wagons with a careful eye. “Where’re the water sacks? And where’s the meat? We can’t be travelling across the bleeding desert without them! I leave you with one simple job…”

“I sent the boys over there to get them ages ago! Maybe things’re just taking longer now. Them iMahlis don’t seem best pleased we taken over.”

“Well, tough. ‘Bout time we took control of the oasis and ran it properly. iMahlis don’t understand business.” Ullet swung his pepperbox to rest on his shoulder. “I’ll go help them negotiate.”

Raf stood and watched him walk off, his mind spinning. So the
ishranga
was being taken to this Captain Djennik? A Miernan soldier? What did he want with her? And what foul luck that the kidnappers had come this way! Raf found himself staring at the back of the huge wagon in front, and in particular, at the sets of heavy metal hoops that were attached along the inside. He had a horrible suspicion that he’d found where he and the Elder would be sitting for their journey. A journey to be slaves in a mine… The thought gave him shivers and he looked down at the Elder who had been dumped unceremoniously on the ground. He felt his throat tighten as the realization of what was happening dawned on him.

This is real. This is actually happening; it isn’t a dream. The Elder’s probably going to die, and I’m about to be taken to a mine somewhere far away. And I’ll never see my family or the Forest again. Ever.

He felt his eyes well up. A picture of how his mother would take the news pushed itself into his thoughts and a burning sensation suddenly bubbled up from inside him and he found himself weeping. And then sobbing. He flopped down next to Bolyai and hung his head between his knees as grief overcame him.

I’m sorry, Elder… It’s all my fault!

A scuffling behind them made him jump and looked up to see Ullet standing behind him.

“Awh, don’t cry, little forester boy. Things could be worse.”

Raf scowled at him and Ullet laughed, tossing a large sack to one of the other men. “Better improve that attitude before we get to the mine, boy.”

“Please,” begged Raf, “just let us go!”

Ullet snorted loudly. “You probably wouldn’t want that, boy. You’ll be better off with me. You’ll work hard, but at least in the mine you’ll be fed and nobody will be shooting at you.”

Raf wiped his eyes and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Word is, the Gerent’s sent an army to your forest to take control of it.”

“What?”

“My guess is that there are far too many resources there going to waste.” Ullet clicked his fingers and gestured to the men to get the wagons ready, and then turned back to Raf. “So, while your villages will probably be wrapped up in some ugly fighting, you’ll be safely working for me. And if you work hard, life will be good.”

“Come on, then,” said Ullet. “Might as well get going now. We got a hefty trip in front of us.” He nodded to the other men and climbed up to take a seat on the bench.

Two men hoisted Bolyai onto the back of the wagon, and they were both then tied firmly to the rings on the sides. The two wagons set off and trundled their way towards the steep, rocky path that led up out of the basin to the desert.

Raf stared numbly at the supplies around them in the wagon. From the amount of water, they seemed to be prepared for a very long trip. One which would be brutal if the last day’s travel was anything to go by. Too brutal for the Elder who was in a very bad way, although still alive from the
tiny movements of his ribs.

If he dies, I’ll never forgive myself,
thought Raf.
Even if we die in the mines that would be better, just not now, not here. Not when I can do something about it.

He looked around at the men walking around the wagon and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He could feel his hands shaking.

No time for nerves now. I’m the only one who can help.

He took a deep breath and then dropped his head to stare at the wagon floor. And he began singing. The
haelenayre
was the first song that came to mind and he focused on the tune, closing himself from everything around him. He knew people were watching, knew they could hear him. But it wasn’t important. He sang louder and lifted his head up, closing his eyes. In the darkness, colors came to life.

The second he brought to mind the idea of healing the Elder, a deep azure wave swept into view. He let himself embrace it and become part of it, soaking up the invigorating awareness, and then directed it all at the Elder. He flowed towards him, delved into his head, pooled the color into the dark mess of his injured face, filling it completely. He was relentless, pouring more and more of himself into the song, into the colors and into the healing.

“How…!”

Raf’s eyes snapped open at the voice and he saw Ullet staring at him in bewilderment from the bench. “You just… How did you
do
that?”

Raf looked over to the Elder and saw that his cheek had changed from a swollen purple-black mound, to a healthy pink. No sign of the swelling could be seen at all. His delight was quickly stifled though when Ullet stepped slowly off the bench and climbed down into the wagon next to him, an intense and hungry look on his face.