Slow Turns The World (4 page)

“Turnal!  Leave him!”  ordered Torrin.

“There is a lesson in manners to be taught first.”

“Let him go.  We do not come to fight but to seek the passage which is our right.”  Torrin sensed that more menace and danger lurked around them than the others had realised.  Turnal gave him a bitter look but released the man, who rose again to face them.

“Now we shall teach a lesson…” the Asgal said, picking his crossbow from the ground.

“Enough of this!”  said Torrin. “I ask that you take us to your chieftain.”

The man Turnal had released looked Torrin up and down.

“The chieftain here does not waste time with such as you.  It is we who deal with thieves, beggars and savages…”

It was then that Nagul pushed forward and raised his spear.

“I have never killed a beast that walks on two legs but if you do not move aside…”

Beside him the hunter called Gresad also raised his spear and stepped forward.  There were two clicks, then a hiss as the air cleaved apart, and a sound that hunters know well; an arrowhead burying deep into sinew.    Gresad fell back without knowing what had slain him, a dart buried deep in his chest.  Nagul slumped, clutching the shaft in his shoulder.   Then there was another sound, of steel drawn from leather, as a dozen sword blades were unsheathed.  

The sword tip hovered at Torrin's throat.  He had seen a metal blade before but never such as this, never such honed, glinting sharpness.  There were finely crafted patterns engraved upon the steel, snaking and interlacing towards the hilt.  The hand clasping the weapon gripped a carved ivory handle of intricate design.   Torrin looked slowly upwards, past the fine tiny stitches of the leather waistcoat and its delicately scrolled metal clasps, past the silver emblem that hung upon the chest, a triangle within a circle, and upwards to two hazel eyes so cold that he felt death within them.  He waited for the single thrust that would push the blade effortlessly between his ribs, not doubting that it would come.

There was a sound of hooves.  The hazel eyes and the sword tip backed away a pace as a rider approached astride a cantering horse.   The man dismounted, passing the reins to the nearest Asgal who took them dutifully.  He was a heavy man; strong, broad of body and of some tribe Torrin did not know.  He wore the same leather tunics as the Asgal but had a domed metal helmet, which bore the emblem of the triangle within the circle.  From his waist hung two scabbards, one short and straight, the other much longer and curved.  There were three features of the man Torrin would not forget; the close-cropped beard, the pattern of scars upon his face and the harsh angry voice.

“What's this scum doing here?  You know your orders.”

“It is just some beasts from the plain who lost their way,” said one of the Asgal, “a few stragglers from a sickly herd.  Poor sport, but enough to test our blades…”

“I need necks thicker than these to practice on,” scowled the newcomer, “but a man must find what he can in this place.”

He drew a long curved sword and closely eyed its keen blade before looking to Torrin and the other hunters.  He regarded each in turn with a cold smile as if deciding where the best pleasure might lie, but then the sound of hooves came again and one of the Asgal spoke.

 “We had best hold for a while. His Lordship comes.”

A second rider joined them, but he wore no leather and bore no weapons.  His tunic and leggings were simple, but finely woven.  Around his neck hung a delicate metal chain holding upon his breast the same emblem of circle and triangle, but fashioned from some glinting precious metal.  A lean, beardless face of middle life looked down upon Torrin and his band.

“Does your tribe’s path come this way?” he asked.

“It does,” Torrin answered

“Then you must find another.”

“This is our path.”

“Do you see these men?  They are charged to let no one cross this land and they have weapons to prevent it, which you have seen they are impatient to use.  If you go now it will be under my protection.  Return to your tribe and find another path.  If you come again this way they will certainly kill you.  Go now.”

Torrin scanned the many eyes that watched him and took a pace back.  His foot found a warm sticky pool and he looked down to see a puddle of dark blood, which trickled from the body of Gresad.  The slumped figure of Nagul lay beside the corpse, clutching at the crossbow bolt in his shoulder and catching gasping breaths.  Turnal helped Torrin to raise the wounded Nagul to his feet then looked to the Asgal and spoke angrily.

“What did it cost you?  The leather you wear, the shiny new swords, the little bow that kills with a fingers touch?  What have they taken from you?”

Some of the Asgal lowered their eyes but no answer came.

It was some time later that they crouched in council with Perrith.   Beneath them, on the great plain, the smoke from the fires of the Ummakil had crept closer.   They could hear the sobs of Gresad's widow and children intermingled with the soothing words of comfort being were offered by the gathered women.    Rasgan laid the maps before them.

“There are but two choices,” he said, “follow the path of the barak to the south or go quickly north into unknown lands and hope another way over the mountains can be found.”

“There is a third way,” said Turnal.  “Fight the Asgal.   That would be my choice.”

Perrith turned to Valhad.

“My son, which of these would you choose?”

Valhad looked to his father, and at the others around him, who saw in this a test of the chieftain’s heir.

“I would go back to the Asgal,” he said, “without weapon or threat.  I would go alone and seek passage for the tribe.  If this failed I would bid you follow the barak.”

“You would not fight?”

“To fight is not my way. And even if it were, they have the high ground.  With the weapon that struck Gresad and Nagul they would need but a few men to hold the way.”

Torrin had listened silently to much of the discussion, but now he spoke.

“There is maybe a deeper problem here.  Do we know of this emblem?”   He scratched the sign of the triangle within the circle in the dirt.   All who looked upon it shook their heads or murmured that they did not.

“Then there is a new tribe in these lands, unlike any we have known.  A tribe with weapons we have not seen before, and a tribe bearing something perhaps more dangerous still, for what did the Asgal say?  That the valley was theirs. Theirs, as if it were a spear or a tent.   But still there are more questions; why would they claim the high valley?  For the sun sinks, the darkness comes and all men must walk. Why linger there, of all places, why there?  What is their purpose?  There was a sound of much labour and many fires were smoking…”

There was no answer, then Perrith broke the silence.

“We will follow the barak.   Tell the tribe we walk at once.”

“ What of Nagul?”  asked Valhad.

“Casan has removed the arrow and dressed the wound.  She has asked that we seek the fungus called imbas which cures all poisoning of wounds or blood.  It is rare and precious medicine.  Without this no more can be done.”

So the tribe walked down from the mountain and followed the tracks of the barak herd into the forest.  There were berries on the trees and a few snuffling pig-like creatures that provided a fatty meat.  They came across a single barak; an old female, lame and abandoned by the herd that gave another good meal.  They were following a deep valley with a twisting tumbling stream cutting ever deeper into bedrock.  Nagul had seemed to be recovering but now his wound oozed and stank.  Casan cleaned it with herbs and fresh water but knew that it did not bode well for him.  

She searched every tree they passed for the healing fungus and asked all the others to do likewise, but none was found.  Throughout this time they walked in shadow with only the distant highest ridges still brightly lit by the ever-sinking sun.   And so it was that after walking and sleeping a dozen times that they came to the sea and walked out into sunlight again.  The sun hung between the distant mountain peaks of the far shore and sent forth a single shaft of red light casting huge shadows behind them as they walked towards the pulsing waves.   There it was that they found the torn bodies of the barak.

Chapter 2

And we too must be hunters, and loose our arrows into the heart of the unbeliever.

The book of Tarcen. Ch. 6 V. 7

Perrith summoned Torrin and they walked together where the waves washed in slow rhythm onto the sand.

“This is what will happen,” said Perrith.  “You shall take with you a small band of your choosing.  Return to the mountain to see if the Asgal remain there.  We shall make rafts but will await your return, unless the Ummakil come near, then we shall cross the water.  This we must do whatever lurks there.  There is one more thing; I want Valhad to go with you.”

“I had thought to take Turnal,” said Torrin

“One only can go, for the risk is great and both must not be lost.  He is no hunter and many fathers would take no pride in him, yet there is some special quality he has.  When you meet the Asgal let him try the way of words, for he has a gift that may serve the tribe greater than arrows or spears.  He is precious to me Torrin, let him do this thing, but do all you can to bring him back to us.”

“Perrith, I swear the greatest oath that any of us can make; I promise to you, on the lives of all the Vasagi, that I will do everything that can be done to bring him safely home.”

“Torrin, no promise can be stronger than this you have made to me.  No oath is greater than that which you have pledged and I thank you for it.”

They returned to the forest's edge where the domed tents were clustered and a fire smouldered.  Nagul lay close by, pale and sweating, while Casan propped his head and offered him water.  Torrin crouched down and took Nagul's hand.

“Hunter…” he said softly.  Nagul's eyes opened a little.

“Hunter, I have seen you kill the bull barak with a single spear thrust…”

Nagul flickered a smile and nodded.  Torrin spoke again.

“Will you let the sickness take you where the horns of the barak could not?”

Nagul's eyes closed and there was no reply amongst his laboured breathing.

“I am to go back to the mountain,” Torrin told Casan.

Then Casan spoke softly, lest the dying man could hear her.

“Seek for the imbas as you go, Torrin.  It grows on the shaded side of the rianna, like a clenched fist coloured as honey; perhaps if you are swift it will be in time for him.”

“I will look at every tree we pass.  There is Varna too; her time draws near. Will you give her the herbs that soothe?”

“Torrin, I will tend her, but she will take no potion that might dull her mind.  That is not the way of her.  Do you see?”  She motioned towards the trees of the forest and Torrin saw Varna carrying a burden of fruit she had collected.  He hurried to her but she would not pass the bundle to him.

“I am neither weak nor sickly,” Varna told him, and she rested the load upon her belly as she walked.

“Varna, I am to go back to the mountain.”

She stopped and did not resist now when he took the burden from her and placed it on the ground.

“If I was Perrith,” she said,  “then I too would send you.  For there is none better for the task, this we all know. But...”

 She looked where Nagul lay and bowed her head for a moment before summoning strength to continue.

“But I fear that you will not return before the tribe crosses the water.  The Vasagi does not wait, we cannot wait, for those left behind.   When a hunter does not return we never know his fate and the wife must ask, to the end of her days, am I truly widowed?”

“Varna,” he said, gently lifting her face to meet his gaze.  “As long as there is breath within me I shall seek my one true place, and that is with you and our child.  Only death can part us.  That is the oath I swore to you on the lives of all the Vasagi when you became my wife.”  He fingered the pendant that hung around his neck; it was finely carved from the rib of the barak that lies closest to the creature’s heart.

“Here is the gift you made me to mark our promises,” he said, “and I shall wear it always.”  

He held her as close as the unborn child allowed and then went, without looking back, to lead the band back to the mountain.

Torrin chose Valhad, the young hunters Dirg, Nasdal and Grelle and two others of greater age, Dresse and Queet.   Queet was the oldest in the band and although he had barely a tooth in his mouth he was as tough as the gnarled bark of the rianna trees.  They left the camp and journeyed swiftly; only resting when their weary legs could trudge no more.  They spoke in whispers and trod lightly through the forest paths until, after walking and sleeping twice, they climbed and scrambled high on the valley side to the ragged edge of the forest.  They could feel the beginnings of a dry cold wind from the dark lands beyond the horizon as they looked down at the world spread before them.  Ahead, and to the north, they saw the faint zig-zag course of the ancient path up the mountain’s side, while below, where the forest met the plain, the smoke of fires angled upwards in the growing breeze.  The Ummakil were close, but were not yet in their path.  They hurried, jogged and scrambled through the forest, snatching uneasy sleep when tiredness overcame them, until the mountain path was met.   The land was darker and in deeper shadow but the high cliff tops above still stood erect in the golden light of sunset.  They climbed up, bodies hot and sweating but with hands and feet deadened by the cruel chill wind.

They reached the cleft and scrambled up silently lest any ears above should hear them approach.  The moist walls were frozen and the climb was made more treacherous still by their numb fingers and toes but they reached the final terrace safely, where sun-lit rock rose above them.  Huddling against the cliff they sheltered themselves from the bitter wind and hid from any watchful eyes above.   Torrin sent Queet to scout the way ahead.  His weathered face curved into a toothless smile and he loped off nimbly with silent footfalls.  They waited with arrows ready on their bows until a soft call sounded and they saw Queet beckoning to them from the cliff top.  Scrambling up to join him, they emerged into the sunlight and found at once that the wind blew more gently in the sheltered glen.  Before them the valley stretched away but there was no sign of man or beast, only a single plume of smoke that rose in the distance.