Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (49 page)

For a change, I had a ready answer. “There’s not a chance that would happen,” I said briskly.

“And why not?”

“I could offer many reasons, but will give you only one. Magic shall never be a subject like history or the music of the past taught by bone-dead tutors for one reason — there’s too great a profit for rogues in it.

“Be honest, Janela. If you could have learned everything just by dancing close attendance on some wizened stick of a man prattling lessons, would you now be a thaumaturge? Don’t you and all the others who aspire to this wisdom beyond the seen
want
to be climbing the steps of dark towers and making great stinks with alembics and incense?”

Janela grinned.

“Besides,” I finished in triumph, “I doubt wizardry could
ever
be learned in a classroom, even if Janela Greycloak’s Warranted System of Thaumaturgy could be written. Why, that would be as absurd as... as believing you could teach trade and the art of being a merchant in a lycee!”

The second matter I had to deal with was most unpleasant — giving rest to the ghosts of our dead. We may have had to abandon the bodies of our friends in the pass but we could hopefully guarantee their spirits wouldn’t wander this wasteland for all eternity. I sought around for any scrap, any momento they might have left or given another of our men, and all of them had.

Even though no one said anything to me, I gathered this was a precaution most had taken in the not unlikely event their bodies would not be available for the correct ceremonies.

Janela made a small ritual over the mementoes, burnt incense and prayed, sending their spirits on to Te-Date. I said a few words after that, meaningless to the dead, intended for the living as to how these men had served not just me but all of us and Orissa and all of man to boot. I could only hope I was correct.

While I spoke I noted the expressions on the three surviving Cyralian brothers. They looked solemn, but hardly as if they’d lost one of their own. Actually I thought they were forcing sobriety out of respect for the friends of the others we’d lost.

After the ceremony I asked them to accompany me on a walk and we went to the far side of one of the ponds and I inquired as gently as I knew what was wrong.

The elder brother smiled and said, “There’s naught wrong, my Lord. But th’ four of us went t’ a seer ere we left Orissa, payin’ good coppers f’r a spring lamb t’ sacrifice an’ th’ ol’ hag said one of us’d die out here but th’ other three’d return safe wi’ riches.

“It’s nae we didn’t love Daf,” another one put in, “but like all men our own lives’re loved best.”

I thanked them, apologized for intruding and had something else to talk to Janela about.

She grimaced. “If, and that is a very big if, the damned seer had any of the Talent and saw anything resembling the truth, there’s no harm. But if she was wrong or merely taking their money and another of them dies... you’ll have two shattered young men to deal with. Don’t set this aside, Amalric, because very few sorcerers are given any true glimpse of the Dark Seeker’s intent, even though all of them prattle on about being able to give you the day you’ll meet your loved one, the day you’ll marry, your children and their fates and the death-hour of all you wish to ask about.

“This is one of the few things that make me think maybe gods do exist. If you were a deity wouldn’t you want your subjects to live in blessed ignorance instead of having that awful knowledge of just when the candle will be snuffed out?”

I thought about it and nodded. As I readied my pack to travel on I realized in many ways Janela was wiser than her great-grandfather, even though she would have laughed if I’d suggested it. Janos Greycloak had knowledge in many areas but all too often his erudition fell short in real life, in spite of his years of wandering and time spent as an officer in the military. I suppose some people are gifted at being able to understand their fellow men and others, in spite of their boastings, are as thick-eared as any tone-deaf bumpkin sneering at a lyre-player.

* * * *

It is very hard for those who have never traveled across great plains to envision them. The hardest thing to picture is how they go on forever. People who have grown up in normal lands shrink down when they walk out on these endless sweeps where it appears there is nothing but flat land and wind swept grasses that sprawl to a distant horizon.

The sky stretches huge around them and at night when the stars appear it as if the gods are just overhead, almost visible, and all thoughts, dreams and sins are very tiny indeed.

Some find these lands depressing, swearing such a land with no life to be seen anywhere is soul-destroying.

I am no bred-to-the-tent nomad so I admit to some of these feelings, wanting to hunch down a little in my soul when I come out on these steppes. But I know a bit about them from having traveled on high lands when I went a-trading above Luangu, looking for new cattlemen to do business with.

These are lands to traverse with caution since they are far from the table-like flatness most think. Instead they’re riven with clefts such as the one we’d hidden in, valleys that can support an entire tribe and gullies perfect for raiders to lurk in and spring out in ambush on a caravan.

They appear waterless but are not completely arid. There are springs to be found that sometimes produce oases such as the one we’d hidden in or wets to be dug out that’ll give enough water for a man and his horse. Sometimes there are rivers or creeks to follow.

Also, they aren’t desolate — the skilled and experienced traveler can generally find water within a day or two’s travel. As for life — the high plains are well-populated with animals from ground-burrowing owls to small predatory cats to antelope and other grass eaters. There are predators as well, two-legged and four.

We traveled cautiously. In case you encounter any troubles crossing in this land, nephew Hermias, I’ll add a bit about how best to move away from the road. It is relatively infallible, requiring only a complete faith in your compass and in an ability to count and keep track of your paces.

We’d moved away from the road on a ninety degree course until we found the oasis. We’d kept track of our paces. Three men were responsible for this, each counting independently, and each time they reached a hundred paces they tied a knot in a small length of twine they kept in a pocket. At a hundred hundreds they tied another knot in a second piece of woven cord, woven so it would feel different at night to the fingers. That gave us the distance traveled.

When we left the cleft we set our course by compass in the same azimuth as the road had gone. Once more we kept count of our distance in paces. When we would decide it was safe to return to the road or when it became too difficult to travel it would be simple to turn another ninety degrees and, when we’d made the same number of steps we had going out, would be back on the road to Tyrenia.

We traveled in spread-out order, keeping flankers distant, barely within visibility, ringing us to the front, sides and back. We moved as quickly as we could but no longer forced the pace. When people travel too quickly they become tired and easily stumble into danger. Also we wished to raise no dust to signal our presence.

The weather continued cold and windy, the gusts coming from the chill mountains we were traveling toward, making the endless miles of grass wave like ocean waves. Our sailors saw the similarity and were cheered.

We encountered herds of antelope and the Cyralian brothers brought down three. Maha butchered them and cooked them over low, smokeless fires.

While we were gathering wood for these fires we spotted a herd of animals I’d never seen before. There were perhaps twenty of them and they looked like oxen but with longer and sharper horns that jutted forward like lances and long shaggy coats. They showed no fear of us whatsoever, and so we approached them curiously.

As we grew near they showed signs of alarm, the bulls snorting and signaling. Then, marvelously, they formed a closed square, putting the nearly-grown calves in the center of the formation, the bulls facing out, horns lowered. Now the snorts became threatening. I thought they might charge us but these wise beasts would not be drawn out of their self-made fortress.

As we returned to the camp Janela saw a strand of hair dangling from a prickly bush, hair that’d been pulled off one of these oxen. She gathered it up.

“An’ what’s your intent wi’ that, my Lady?” Pip wondered. “You’ll be startin’ a sweater, p’raps?”

“Or a winding sheet,” she said. “For a
very
short man.”

Pip snorted as if unconcerned. But he looked worried and I chuckled that Janela had come out best in the exchange. She tucked the hair into her purse, made no explanations and I thought no more about it.

A day later, we saw motion along the horizon. It came closer and we made out a pair of direwolves, moving parallel with us as if tracking our journey. They were enormous, larger than any of the others had ever seen. I said nothing about the giant beasts I had once been unfortunate enough to witness. They had been Prince Raveline’s estate guards, standing almost eight feet at the shoulder, dark intelligence in their eyes and death in their every move. I told Quatervals to move the flankers in closer and pair them up. Direwolves are among the cleverest of man’s enemies and except in unusual circumstances aren’t known to attack a man if he is alert and well-armed.

The problem we had is that no one knows what unusual circumstances are to a direwolf.

We saw several mirages as we went on. Once there was a lake that reached from horizon to horizon, a lake with boats, islands and running water. It moved steadily away from us and when we came to where it had first appeared we saw the boats — more of the longhaired oxen, placidly grazing.

Twice we saw the mountains that were our destination hanging inverted in the sky.

The third illusion was different. About midday we saw a city to the north. It was beautiful, golden, spired. We were concerned, wondering if it was real and haze had obscured it previously. But then we noticed it was traveling with us and began admiring its illusory detail. Strangely enough it lasted all through that day. I expected to see it vanish at dusk but it didn’t. I forgot about it as we cooked our supper and then put out our fires before full dark.

When the night’s blackness was complete I happened to glance out. There, appearing not more than ten or twenty miles distant, was the city, all gleaming lights and shining minarets. I had never known an illusion to last so long, let alone illuminate itself and when the others noticed it they became upset, talking in low murmurs. About midnight it suddenly vanished and was seen no more.

Four days later, we saw our first men. It was by the grace of Te-Date that they did not see us first.

* * * *

The terrain became more broken, cut with gullies and ravines and made up of small rolling hills. Because of this we moved more slowly and cautiously than before. One of the flankers signaled and we took up covered positions while Quatervals went out to see what he’d found. He came back and reported finding a trail, a trail that most likely led to the road which we were paralleling that lay to our south.

“More’n just a trail,” he said. “Almost a roadway. Hard packed dirt, grass beaten down and chewed short to either side of the track. Caravan route, most likely. I saw some old dung, dried, been there a spell. No hoof prints, though. I’d guess the last travelers would’ve been through a few weeks ago or longer. Hard tellin’ for sure since I don’t know the last time it rained.”

We went on, crossing the track and keeping our heading of almost due east. The trail changed direction to our north and for a time ran in the same direction we were moving.

Then came another warning from the flanker, a shrill double whistle that meant danger. We found cover, dips in the ground we could fight from, before sending someone out to learn what the problem was. I saw what had brought the alert before Quatervals came back to report.

A caravan was moving down the trail toward us. It wasn’t very big, no more than two or three dozen horses and was still in the distance. Quatervals sent us back, moving in short dashes, keeping low to the ground, to a dry watercourse we’d crossed a few minutes earlier. This would serve to keep us hidden from the travelers. In these lands no one but a fool would wander into an unknown encounter unless forced.

They came closer and I scanned them with an experienced eye. As I’d thought, it was a very small caravan and I guessed trading prospects in these lands were poor. Or else they carried goods of inestimable worth but little bulk, such as jewels or spices. There were half a dozen outriders, heavily armed, and behind them the main group. There were four important folk, or so I guessed from the richly-colored clothing they wore. Beyond them were packhorses and the rear guard.

I frowned — this was not the most secure way to move in dangerous lands — there should have been more outriders and at least two squads of foot soldiers accompanying them. But perhaps I was wrong — just because we had enemies in this wasteland didn’t mean it wasn’t perfectly safe for the natives.

That thought had but touched my mind when I saw other movement — this near a deep gully but a hundred feet or so from the trail. It was a man hiding behind a bush. He lifted himself up, his back to us, and scanned the approaching travelers. He was wearing armor. Quatervals had been intent on the caravan and hadn’t noticed — I felt a flash of pride that once, and I knew it would be one time only, I’d out-scouted the mountaineer. I pointed out the bush that hid the soldier and Quatervals swept the area with his experienced eyes.