The Hammer of Fire (19 page)

“And you are in the Sands to find five
volcanoes?” asked Manetho.

“Yes,” said Dol suddenly perking up and
paying attention. “Five volcanoes right next to one another along
the sea.”

“I will take you back with us to our
encampment,” said Manetho, “and our tradesmen might be able to help
you locate this place. However, there are many rumors about Das’von
here in the south and about a man named Corancil. Do you know
anything about this?”

Dol nodded his head, as did Brogus, although
Milli and Petra kept silent. The four nomads finished packing away
the material of the camp and then simply lay down on the hard earth
and seemed to nap.

“We do know a little,” finally ventured Milli
with a small smile.

“You will tell me?” said Manetho and it
seemed a question rather than a statement although the good humor
of their recent dining experience seemed but a distant memory in
the suddenly highly charged atmosphere.

“He is a powerful conqueror. We’ve been told
he is assembling an army to invade the southern lands,” but that is
really about all we know,” said Milli with a shrug of her
shoulders. “We were only in Das’von for a little while.”

“And now you are in the Sands. I believe the
distance between these two locations is beyond calculation. When
were you in Das’von?”

The four looked at one another before Milli
finally answered, “Five days ago.”

The nomad blinked slowly and said nothing for
a long time.

“It was magic,” said Brogus.

“So I would imagine,” said Manetho.

“We used some portal thingy,” continued
Brogus.

“You did this on your own?”

“No,” said Brogus. “A mage helped us. We
promised to reward him once we completed our mission.”

Milli sat silently.

“I see,” said Manetho. “Well, it is much for
me to think about. We are currently on patrol. The main encampment
is too far for you to reach on foot. I will send a rider back for
horses once the heat of the day passes us. We might have to wait
several days. In the meantime you can regal me with stories of the
northern realm and perhaps all you know of this Corancil and his
armies.”

“We never met him,” said Brogus with a shrug
although Milli remained silent. “Helmhigh keeps mostly to itself.
We don’t know much about the rest of the world.”

Petra spoke next, “I probably know the most
about Corancil but even that is not much. I’m a witch woman and
I’ve traveled about the area more than a bit. Das’von is the oldest
city in the northern realms and was ruled by a dwarf warlord since
I was a little girl. Rumors started about three of four years ago
about some armies from the middle-lands. There are supposedly some
tall mountains and wide lakes in the middle of the northern states
but I do not know if that is true. Corancil came from those with
his armies. He conquered Das’von and Stav’rol in great battles. He
supposedly has trading treatises with the cities on the eastern
shore, especially Sea’cra. They are traders on the ocean, sea-going
men.”

“We know these Sea’cra traders,” said
Manetho. “Their vessels reach the City by the Sea, Tanta, and from
there goods reach us nomads. They are weaklings in the city, living
in their brick homes, away from the stars, the sun, the sand. These
are things that make a man strong. If this Corancil thinks to
invade the southlands then he must deal with the Black Horsemen,
the strongest of the nomad tribes. He will not be able to defeat
us. Have no fear. You are safe.”

“The armies of Corancil number in the tens of
thousands,” said Milli with a gesture of spreading arms. “We stayed
in a camp outside of Das’von.”

“These matters bear much thought,” said
Manetho. “I am not the one who can make important decisions. Rest
now, it is the peak of Ras, we will send the patrol on without us
and wait. Then I will take you to the Black Horseman and he will
decide what is to be done. Rest now.”

Two hundred tents covered the scrub plains
around the shallow lake. The greatest density clustered along the
eastern shore although small groups and isolated tents of all
shapes and sizes popped up along the shoreline like little bunches
of flowers. Their awnings displayed all the colors of the rainbow
and thousands of people, horses, camels, and other strange beasts
meandered between them as the shouts of street hawkers and the
screams of children echoed back and forth. A weather beaten nomad
wearing riding gear and walking his horse carefully through the
throng looked neither to the left or right but made a direct line
towards the center of the tent city. The scarf that partially
covered his face hung loosely and his deep brown eyes stared out
above a hawk-like nose. As he neared the center of the tents a
young boy, not yet in his teens, dashed out and took the reins of
his horse from the man and then led the great steed off to the
north.

The boy took the horse out past the tent city
and towards an open field in the distance where hundreds of the
powerful beasts frolicked with one another. Meanwhile the man
continued his journey towards the center of the encampment and
towards a large black tent that seemed to suck in the colors from
those around it. He approached the entrance a few moments later and
two tall nomads, both faces pock-marked from the blister disease
that took the lives of so many nomads, wearing long scimitars at
their sides and unsmiling mouths on their faces greeted him with a
nod of their head. They made no move to impede his entrance. He
ducked into the tent without a word and made his way to a low table
where a tall darkling with purple eyes sat behind a wooden desk on
a chair of the same material. He barely glanced up as the
weather-beaten nomad entered the room, peeled the mask from his
face, and stood before the table.

The darkling took a few more notes with a
feather quill, scratching strange symbols on a piece of parchment,
set it down, and after a final pause looked up at the nomad,
“Report.”

“I am from Manetho’s patrol of the Farrider
border. We encountered a group of northmen hiding in a cave. They
slew a Farriders patrol and stole their equipment and a horse,”
said the nomad in a steady voice as he looked directly into the
dancing purple eyes of the man behind the desk.

“Northerners, you say?” said the darkling as
he reached over and picked up the quill for long enough to dip it
in an inkpot, and then he leaned back in his chair. “In The Sands?”
The darkling pursed his lips of a deep brownish red color and was
again silent for a second as his eyes moved back and forth. “You
were right to come directly to me. What is your name?”

“I am Mejhem the White Fox,” said the man
with a slight nod of his head. “Manetho was able to communicate
with the northerners although I do not know of what they
spoke.”

The darkling propped his elbows on the table
and stared off into the distance without saying anything for a long
time, although the nomad showed no signs of impatience and merely
stood silently waiting. “You will want food, water, a fresh horse?”
said the darkling his eyes once again fixed on Mejhem.

“A kind courtesy but unnecessary, Sheikh
Ming. It was not a long journey and I am prepared to lead a group
of warriors back to the site immediately so that they might be
brought to you with all speed,” said the man with a shake of his
head. “They do not have horses or even camels and cannot return
easily.”

“In that part of the desert with no horses,
no camels,” said Ming and his eyes flashed at the nomad for a
moment, “Possibly you have been duped?”

“I do not think so,” said the man with
another shake of his head. “They were badly burned by the sun,
northerners most certainly, unfamiliar with the desert, short on
food and water. I do not understand how they found themselves in
such a place but I do not think I was fooled. I do not think this a
game of the Farriders.”

Ming nodded his head. “Return to them with as
many extra horses as you need. Bring them back here as quickly as
possible. I will want to speak with them immediately.”

The nomad bowed, “I will do as you command,
great Sheikh. I should return in four days unless the desert
swallows their spirit.” With this he turned and left the tent.

Ming lowered his head and stared at the
parchment on the desk without really seeing it until a squat little
man with a large belly waddled out from one of the folds far in the
back of the the tent. He wore an emerald green turban with a red,
spiral pattern and his voluminous robes were of the same colors.
Even with such garish and billowy clothes the layers of fat were
visible beneath them and seemed to jiggle with his every move. His
face, with three chins and cheeks like a pudgy baby, was round and
somewhat red but he did not wear the smile of a jolly clown. “Black
Rider,” he said as he approached the table.

Ming said nothing.

“This is most important news, grave news
even. Northerners in The Sands? They must be interrogated as
quickly as possible.”

“I ordered them brought here, Tahnoon” said
the Black Rider. “What else would you have me do?”

“Ming,” said the man and held up his fat
hands, palms forward. “Are you still angry that I ate all of the
almonds? You merely had to tell me they were your special order and
I would not have liberated them from the trader.”

The Black Rider put down his quill and tried
to give the fat man a stern look but the inkling of a smile crept
into the corner of his lips and he finally shook his head, “What is
it that makes it impossible to stay angry at a fat, jolly man?”

“Our generous nature?” suggested Tahnoon with
a smile as he hands came to his belly and gave it a little rub.

“No, certainly not that,” said Ming with a
shake of his head. “Seeing as that particular quality is not in
evidence, nor has it ever been to my knowledge.”

“My friendly face, perhaps?” offered the fat
man as a second suggestion.

Ming shook his head and chuckled again, “That
must be it. Now, you’ve come here to discuss Corancil and the
northern armies again I suppose?”

“Our spies send ominous messages,” said
Tahnoon as he sat down with a thump on a large cushion near the
table. “How do you accustom your backside to those wooden torture
devices? You darklings have strange customs indeed.”

“The northern armies of Corancil are gathered
around Das’von which is more than eight thousand miles as the
dragon flies and much further than that for marching. He is a
danger, I admit, but not at present. We must focus on uniting the
tribes and let the northerner do as he will. Then, if he ever
manages to march a significant force into the southlands we can
easily defeat him with the combined cavalry force of the nomads.
Nothing can stand against ten thousand mounted warriors.”

“We cannot unite the tribes of the Sands
during only nighttime hours,” said Tahnoon as he looked up at the
heavy black tent cover that separated them from the rays of the
sun. Ras is the most important deity in all the world and you
cannot participate in His worship. This is the obstacle to your
plan and it must be overcome. However, if these strangers are from
the north and arrive in the Sands so ill prepared for its
difficulties it is possible that Corancil has found a means to
travel great distances without a march.”

“You’ve waxed on poetically about these
portals he is creating on numerous occasions but even if they
worked how to get an entire army through them with supplies, beasts
of burdens, camp followers, and all the other necessary items of an
army? The water alone would be impossible.”

“We cannot underestimate the danger this man
represents,” said Tahnoon as he helped himself to a bowl of dates
that sat on a little plate nearby. He popped one entirely into his
mouth with a smooth, and well-practiced motion, and spat the seed
into a bronze spittoon not far away. “It is true we must unite the
nomads, but that cannot be achieved until you find a way to travel
in the daylight hours. They will never give you respect if you
cannot attend to the ceremonies of Ras. Even the blasphemous Golden
Worm nomads give Him ceremony.”

“It is a dilemma,” said Ming leaning back in
his chair and yawning pointedly. “One we have discussed many times
before.”

Tahnoon shook his head, “Yes, you know my
opinion on the subject. The darkling queen is our answer. You hate
her, yes, but she has a means to resolve this issue.”

“Until Corancil stands at the Rocks of the
Three Knives with an army of fifty-thousand warriors I will not go
to her and beg,” said the Black Rider suddenly getting to his feet
and staring down at the fat man. His hands clenched at his side and
his jaw was tight and tense.

“And I know your opinion,” said Tahnoon
popping another date in his mouth. “That being the case, perhaps we
can talk about these northerners who will arrive in four days.”

“Unless the desert swallows their souls,”
said Ming unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“You must learn to keep disdain of our ways
to yourself,” said Tahnoon and with a sharp ting, spat a seed into
the spittoon with perfect accuracy. “There are many among us of
strong religious beliefs and your own lack of faith might be
disturbing to that … majority.”

“It bothers you not,” said the Black Rider,
resumed his seat, and stared at the parchments on the table.

“I am more concerned with earthly rather than
spiritual matters,” replied Tahnoon. “But you cannot underestimate
the fervor or faith. Those that believe are willing to make
sacrifices that others will not. It was our manipulation of those
of faith which propelled you to the lofty position within the Tribe
of the Black Horsemen where you currently reside.”

“I grow weary of the prattling of priests,”
said Ming with a sigh. “Those damned Farriders are all that stand
between me and total control of the desert. Once that is achieved
we can easily capture Temin of the Dwarves, Dnubcia of the insect
men, and even Tanta of the Sea.”