Slow Turns The World (11 page)

 Torrin remained impassive while His Lordship continued.

“Do this, serve me well and freedom will come sooner that it otherwise might.  And you will have a better life than within this hulk.  You will have something more too, beyond all price, the Grace of God.  The most sacred blessing of being His servant.”

“You say freedom will come sooner, but how soon is that?”

“When you have earned it.”

“I will not leave my friend Valhad upon the ship.”

“No, Vasagi, I did not think that you would.  If you serve me, he shall be bought also into my ownership.  Fail me, Vasagi, or betray me and I shall still own his life, but it will be a short life.  Is this understood?”

“Aye.  Well understood.”

“And is it agreed?”

“Will the Captain allow this?”

“The price for both of you has already been paid.”

“Does your God approve the buying and selling of men?” asked Torrin with some distaste.

“Actually no,” said His Lordship, “Slavery is expressly forbidden in the Text, but in foreign lands we charge others to provide us with labour according to local custom and if they choose to use slaves that is not our concern.  You will not be slaves, you will be bonded servants.”

“Bonded servants?”

“Pledged to my service and bound by my command until I release you.  I should caution you that the punishments for bonded servants who disobey or abscond are prescribed in the Text.  They are most severe.”

“And yet we shall not be slaves?  What an art you have,” said Torrin sourly, “to bend and twist the world with words.  I will serve you if I must.  But I will do no evil deeds, not to save any life, be it yours, mine, or Valhad's.”

“The work of God cannot be evil, Vasagi.”

His Lordship reverently set aside the Text of God and turned the other book back to face him again.  He traced the page down with his finger until he found a passage of writing, which he read aloud.

“Heathen as these people are, they did treat me with kindness and shared all that was theirs.  The Vasagi are most brave in hunting and greatly skilled in the use of bow and spears.  They are honourable, for a Godless people, and have a special oath or pledge that binds them, which they say can never be betrayed.   Such a pledge is made when the a Vasagi swears by the life of all in the tribe.”

He pushed the book away and looked expectantly at Torrin.  

“You would have me swear service to you on the lives of all the Vasagi?”

“It would usually be done upon the Holy Text, but since you are an unbeliever the most solemn oath of the Vasagi must suffice.”

Torrin stared back at him deep in troubled thought.  Then, as was the way of the Vasagi, he listened for the quietest voice within to give him guidance, and he saw the path that he must follow.

“Very well,” he said, “I swear on the lives of all the Vasagi two oaths; that I shall be your servant and protector until you release me, and, I swear also that I shall do no evil in your service.”   

His Lordship nodded slowly, seeming to accept the terms.

“Then from this moment,” he said, “you are in my service.  You will call me Lord.  And you had better have these.”

He laid upon the table Kalor's sword in its curved scabbard, a vest of mail and a pendant bearing the emblem of Etoradom; the triangle in the circle.

“You will wear these.”  His Lordship saw the pendant already hanging on Torrin’s breast.  “What does the trinket around your neck signify?” he asked.

“It marks another oath that I once took, that I pledged to my wife when we were married, and one I made again to her on our last meeting; that we would be together until death separates us.”

“No other emblem is permitted to hang by that of Etoradom.” His Lordship seemed about to order its removal, but then a flicker crossed his face, the slightest tinge of sadness and regret.

“Hide it next to your breast, Vasagi,” he said. “Hide it well, and perhaps you will fulfill that promise yet.”

Torrin's first impression of his new role was of boredom and frustration.  He moved from the crew's quarters to a dark cabin hardly bigger than a cupboard next to his masters.  This had been Kalor's berth and what possessions he had were still within.    There were many weapons, crossbows, daggers and swords of various designs, each lovingly oiled and sharpened.   There was nothing that revealed the human side of the man, no old letters from family or friend, no lock of hair given by some loved one.  There were only the weapons, a few helmets, shirts of cloth and mail.  Only one curious thing revealed the inner thoughts of the dead man; there was a copy of the Text of God, thrown into one corner of the room, and when Torrin picked it from the floor he found the pages had been stabbed through angrily many times.

Wearing Kalor’s mail shirt and bearing his sword, he wandered idly around the ship.  Although Valhad now belonged to His Lordship, he was loaned back to the ship for the voyage, spending his time in labour, and they seldom had the opportunity to talk together.   The crew regarded him even more strangely now and Torrin began to feel that he was caught in a trap of isolation, that it was the start of some process that had made Kalor the man he was.  The ship ploughed on and the horizon eclipsed the sun.  With every turn it became a smaller segment until only a thin sliver of fire remained.  Then it was gone, and they sailed on into the world of dusk, where even the red-flecked clouds became dim and lost their lustre.  All Torrin's life had been spent in pursuit of the setting sun, and in fear of the cold darkness that followed.  Now, against all instinct, he was journeying in the wrong direction and he could not dispel the troubled feelings within.

Land loomed to the north as a dark brooding mass.   Its vague outline was divided from the sea by the beating waves, which were a ghostly silver line amongst the gloom.  The sky became strange.  The great moon Azex, riding high in the north, glowed brightly on a deep purple canvas, and eastwards, where the heavens were darkest, another tiny point of brightness had appeared.   Torrin gazed in wonder at the first star he had ever seen.  

“What is that?” he asked Trabbir.

“A jewel of heaven.  Journey further into darkness and more can be seen; or so the tales tell.  We of the sea take them as a warning that we have sailed too far from the light of the sun.  It is bad luck to see this, and most ships turn quickly when they glitter in the sky.”

Torrin and His Lordship joined the Captain on the upper deck where some time was spent in close examination of a map of the coastline.   The Captain steadied a telescope, scanning the twilight shore, and then the instrument was passed to His Lordship who peered through the eyepiece seeking some landmark from the chart.

“We are close enough now, Captain,” he said,  “I suggest you light the beacon.”

A metal cradle on the bows was filled with tinder and then, by some art that Torrin had never seen, was ignited into fire.    A while later, another fire flared in answer on the dark shore.  The sails were lowered, and, driven by the churning paddle wheel, the ship slid between the sentinel rocks of an enclosed bay.   They dropped anchor.  In the twilight they could see a jetty and a cluster of buildings.  An open boat was approaching, driven by three pairs of oars.  Soon the occupants had scrambled up a rope and wooden ladder to stand before them.  It seemed to Torrin that they were much like the Asgal had been; a tribe of hunters that were given suits of mail and fine weapons.  But it was much more than that with these people, there was another 'gift' bestowed them.  They sank to their knees before His Lordship and their leader spoke.

“Holy Lord, who has shown us truth and taught us the wisdom of God's Text, we thank God that you have come safely at last, delivered from the perils of the sea by the Grace of his Mercy.”

“You may arise,” said His Lordship. “How has the work has progressed since I was last amongst you?”

“Holy Lord, we have much cargo for you.  We began a second working as you advised and came upon great bounty.  Many of the heathen slaves were lost when a gallery collapsed, but enough remained to do the work.  Then, two moons ago, another tribe came upon us with spears and arrows.  Some of our number were slain.  We fought them off but they wait still in the forest around the compound and have driven us from the workings.  Soon they will make one last attack. Time is short.”

“We shall go ashore at once.  Vasagi?”

“Lord?”

“Your duty begins.”

They climbed down to the open boat and rowed to the jetty.  Scrambling ashore Torrin felt solid ground beneath his feet for the first time in two moons.  They hurried to a stone building with the emblem of Etoradom carved above the door.  Within, by the light of many candles, more men waited, some sank to their knees as His Lordship entered, but others stood impassively.  His Lordship gave the kneelers blessings in the name of God, but with a flicker of impatience.

“Where is the cargo?” he asked, with faintly concealed urgency.

“Stored in the furnace room, Lord, and well guarded.”

“Take us there.”

They trudged along a muddy path to another building.  Guards with crossbows stood at the doorway but moved aside to let them enter.  Within, Torrin recognised the fumes and smells of that other building on the distant mountain.  There were the same vats, stone hearth and bed of sand.  Boxes, like those already stowed in the hold of the ship, were stacked high.  His Lordship selected one and it was levered open.  Within, tablets of golden metal glistened.

“Have it taken onboard the ship.  We will leave as soon as it is done.  How many are you?”

“Only fifteen, Lord.  Not enough to guard both the compound and the slaves carrying the cargo.”

“How many slaves remain?  Where are they held?”

“It was over fifty at the last count.  They are held within the other storeroom.  The doors are well bolted.  They know the work has finished here and with the darkness upon us, and the other tribe waiting to attack, they are in a dangerous mood.”

“Then let them stay there.  You will carry the cargo.”

Each box needed a pair of men to lift it, and even then with some effort.  They struggled down the muddy road toward the jetty, only His Lordship walking unburdened.   The boxes were so heavy that only two could be carried in the open boat, which began to shuttle back and forth to the waiting ship.  Several journeys along the muddy path were made before all the cases stood stacked upon the jetty.  Torrin stood beside the pile and scanned around the tree-covered slopes that encircled the bay.  The darkness seemed to have drained all the colour from the world and now there were only shades of grey and shadow.    His keen hunter's ear heard the faint sound of a twig breaking under a cautious footfall, he spun and stared into the gloom, and saw that there were shadows within the shadows, that moved and crept beneath the trees.   

“Lord,” he whispered. “Take the next boat to the ship.”

“The cargo must be loaded first, Vasagi.”

Torrin turned to one of the others.

“Are any men left guarding the compound?”

“No.  All have joined us here.”

There was another faint sound of softly treading feet, but nearer now.

“Move behind the cargo,” said Torrin to those around him, “Quickly.”

A harsh cry sounded and the air was full of arrows.  They fell in a jagged rain, flint tips burying into the timber and water around them.  One man fell at Torrin's feet, a wooden shaft impaling his eye.   Running feet thundered on wood as their attackers came upon the jetty and a wave of dark-bearded men bearing spears, closed upon them.  Then the crossbows spat their bolts, a savage storm of retribution that brought the line of warriors tumbling like a breaking wave.  A few token spears were thrown, and then the surviving attackers turned and were gone.   Torrin and His Lordship rose from behind the boxes.  It seemed suddenly unnaturally quiet.  They walked cautiously to the nearest fallen enemy and looked down at the dark beard, pale skin and owl eyes.

“Ummakil,” Torrin muttered.

“I do not think so, Vasagi.” His Lordship mused for a moment as if mentally leafing through his great leather bound volume.  “Ummakil are a tribe of the far south.  I believe these are Jidsat.  Very similar in culture and tradition.”

“And in their choice of meat?  Are we to leave the slaves for them to feast on?”  

“That is in the hands of God.  We must complete the loading.”

His Lordship went on the next boat, leaving them to complete the work.  Only a few cases remained when fires appeared at several points around them.   Torrin looked uneasily at the flames and tried to guess their purpose.  The answer came quickly as the sky became streaked with fire.  Burning arrows, cunningly contrived with fat and plaited sheaves of animal hair, fell all around them.  Fire took hold upon the jetty, and upon the rigging of the ship.

“Leave the cargo,” Torrin shouted, “get to the ship!”  He looked to the compound where the arrows fell upon the timber roofs.  

“Are there weapons left ashore?” he demanded, “tell me!  Are there weapons?”

“Yes, some remain,” came the answer. “In the armoury; the stone building.”

“If I do not return tell His Lord this, that the Vasagi do not leave what must be done in the hand of God.”

Torrin drew the curved sword and ran along the burning jetty to the shore.  He came quickly to the storeroom where the slaves were held.   The roof was ablaze and from within came a chorus of shouts, some angry, some pleading.   The doors were already straining under the weight of many shoulders.  He pulled back one bolt and was struggling with the second when he sensed movement behind him.  He spun round, ducking as he turned, and a spear point split the timber where his head had been.   He had no special skill with the sword, only the desperation of a frightened man.  

He cut a wild slice through the air and felt the blade bite flesh.  A warrior fell at his feet with a belly slashed open.  There were gasps of pain and anguish from the mutilated dying man.   Torrin blanked the sounds from his mind as he pulled the spear from the timber.  Another Jidsat charged towards him, and fell, skewered through by the spear in Torrin's hands.   He turned back to the bolt, pulled it free, and the doors burst open.  Ragged figures came stumbling from the smoke filled room, blinded and retching.  They stumbled to a halt, seeing before them a tall warrior bearing the symbol of their overseers with a bloodied blade in his hand.