Fire And Ice (Book 1) (45 page)

“The M’Shai,” Neheya stated simply.  The words froze everyone within earshot.  Dozens of sets of eyes stared at the Midian lying on the ground with a mix of awe, fear, and hope.  “Pick him up.”  The two obeyed without question.  The older Healer followed the procession towards the square.

              The words that Shirri herself had spoken only in her mind had now been said out loud for all to hear.  She had heard the whispers among her people when they visited the camps, but no one dared to say it openly.  M’Shai.  One of the few words still known of the ancient language of the Karands.  It meant ‘death’, or maybe ‘death walking’, or ‘death among us’.  Being so old, any exact translation was impossible.  Those words didn’t need any other meaning though.  The M’Shai would be the one who led them in the final fight to decide the fate of all Karands.  Was he really the one though?  Neheya saying it out loud would be confirmation enough for most. 

             
Shirri forced herself to get up and follow after her teacher.  There was much to do before the night was over.

              The green and white striped tent was set up not far from the pools of water at the center of the oasis.  The largest of the pools was at least a hundred yards across.  Palm shaped leaves decorated the surrounding trees to provide shade for a unit of Calvary watering their mounts.

             
Elthzidor let the tent flap fall closed, then turned around to face the woman who stood next to a four legged table being used as a temporary desk.  The latest message from Summerhall was still in his hand.  He raised his hand with the paper on his upturned palm.  The letter was suddenly consumed by flames.  After it had burned completely, he let the ashes drop to the sandy ground.               Selisk watched his actions, unconcerned by the news. Her dark red robe was open to reveal the smooth, and tight fitting, white dress beneath.   

             
“It seems that my jubilation over his death was premature.”  Elthzidor said in his vibrant voice.  “Something must be done about that boy.”

             
“I agree, but what?  He has already bested Jeshon and one of the Orgog.”  She said the last with a grimace.  No one felt easy having the Orgog around.  “And Haltherin.”

             
“Jeshon proved himself a fool, as well as Haltherin.  Send two of the Orgog this time.”

             
“Where would you have them start looking?” she asked innocently.  A little too innocently.  Selisk was never innocent. 

“Do not play games with me Selisk.  You are capable of making decisions on your own.  Why is it that you can no longer have a horse saddled without my approval?”

              “I only want to be sure of your wishes,” she replied calmly.

             
He could tell that she was up to something, but what?  It could be that she wanted to show how obedient she could be to the Ra Majin.  That thought almost made him laugh out loud.  Could she be laying plans in case he should fail?  He had no doubt of that.  “Have them start in Crecy.  Either he is still there or on his way to Summerhall.”

             
Selisk bowed her head as she backed her way out of the tent.

             
Elthzidor paced the short distance that the tent allowed.  Another thought came to mind.  If the boy, Coran, had been alive the whole time and in Crecy there had to be a reason.  He knew that the boy had been sent to Daes Shael to spy on him.  What if he had been successful?  What if the man Z’Arize had seen was not a Northman but a Midian?  The man was fool enough for it.  That would mean that Coran Tyelin was responsible for the loss of his fleet.  It also meant that he definitely had help in Lornth.  There is no way he could have done it alone.  The people of Lornth had already been dealt with. 

             
What was important right now was Naras and Torvilin.  If it wasn’t for him needing the Voltian he would have seen the girl dead as well.  The problem was that Torvilin demanded her as part of his payment.  He would be free to deal with her when the Prince was no longer useful.  Still, he couldn’t take the chance of leaving her alive for too long.  The boy was a different matter.  Coran’s only use was to die.       

Chapter 25

Passage Home

              Treska was watching, along with everyone else, the tall man by the fountain.  His clothes were a riot of colors.  His shirt alone contained stripes of blue, green, yellow and too many others to name.  He was juggling colored balls and just added a fourth, sending them high into the air.  Krista clapped her hands in appreciation.  His sons watched in admiration.  They were at the front of a small crowd in one of the city’s many squares where performances often occurred, or speeches might be given.  Tall buildings of white stone lined the sides of the square and a circular pool of water was at the center, it was fed by a fountain in the middle of the pool. 

             
The juggler snatched the balls out of the air one at a time.  After he had them all he bowed grandly to the audience.  Treska joined them in their clapping.  The man bowed again and flourished the red cape he wore to signify that the show was over for now.  People began returning to their daily chores.  Treska started to turn too, but was bumped by a man in blue livery which meant he had to be from the palace.  A few bystanders glanced curiously at him.  The servant inclined his head briefly and handed over a small, leather pouch and a sealed letter.  He didn’t say a word, and left immediately, slipping through the crowd with ease. 

             
Treska shook his head at the strange affair.  He noticed the seal on the letter and his hands started to sweat.  Indented into the round wax was a shining sun and a rose.  It was the personal sigil of the Princess Katelyn.

             
“What is it Father?” asked his daughter.  She tried to look over his shoulder as he broke the seal carefully, unfolded the paper and read.  “Is it from somebody important?  A lord?” she continued excitedly after seeing the seal.

             
He reread the message to make sure he understood it, then tucked the paper into his coat pocket quickly.  “You could say that.”

             
“Who is it from?” she pressed.              

He looked into her eyes and forced a smile.  “We should get home.  I need to speak with your mother.”  The children didn’t protest too much at being herded away.  Treska ignored the curious stares of his neighbors as he ushered his youngest along with a hand to his back.  He hefted the pouch in his other hand and was surprised by the weight.  Using a finger to pry at the opening he took a glance inside and he swallowed hard.  It was all gold. 

             
Coran woke to the sight of a brown spider as big as his thumb clinging to a web spun in the corner of a wooden frame a few feet above his head.  He realized it was the bottom of another bed he was looking up at.  Glancing around he saw he was in a long hall full of bunks, one on top of the other.  They were almost all filled with dark skinned men covered by unbleached blankets.  Women went purposely from patient to patient bringing water to drink and wet cloths to wash.  He was in a barracks.  Light streamed in through dirt streaked windows to illuminate the dust filled air. 

             
He pushed his own blanket down and saw the scratches and cuts on his arms and chest.  A bandage was wrapped tightly around his stomach as well.  Memory crashed in on him.  Fighting in the night.  A searing pain in his back.  He rolled onto his side and gently probed his lower back.  There was little pain from the movement as he felt the bandage where the wound should be.  He also noticed the fact that he wore only a single cloth around his waist. 

             
Looking around he spotted the Anagassi clothes tucked under the bed by his feet.  Struggling, he rolled the rest of the way out of the hard bed.  Sitting up he waited for his eyes to focus and his head to stop spinning before gathering his clothes together.  Wrinkling his nose he realized how badly the robes needed washing.  There was not much in the way of alternatives though, so he quickly put on the trousers and short robe. 
Arieg
, he amended.  The shorter robe that was belted closed was called an
arieg.
  

             
He felt better after donning the garb and standing with aid from one of the bunk’s corner posts.  A young woman with her hair braided offered him a metal cup filled with water.  She had the look that he had seen before on these people’s faces.  It was awe mixed with fear.  He took the cup and thanked her before drinking.  She smiled as he handed it back to her.  She went to the next bed and filled the cup from the bucket in her other hand, then offered it to the man lying there. 

             
Coran left her to the task and walked to the open door at the end of the barracks.  He didn’t wear the head cloth or the red sash, those he just tucked behind his belt.  He also couldn’t find his sword.  It felt funny not to have the comforting weight at his hip after wearing it for so long. 

             
Before even reaching the doors he could smell the stench of death from the other side.  Outside was a scene of sadness.  He didn’t notice any bodies belonging to Novelah, but men who probably escaped injury in the fight were relegated to lifting the corpses of the Shiomi onto the backs of wagons.  They would most likely be burned somewhere outside the city.  He spotted a familiar portly face in his loose, brown robes watching the grisly project.  Coran stepped around two men hefting a body and walked to his friend’s side.

             
“You look like you made it okay,” Coran started.  “No wounds?”

             
“I was luckier than you,” Miko replied.  He studied Coran with a sideways glance.  “All better?  From what I heard you should be dead many times over.”

             
“I am fine.  And I think the events must have been overstated.”              

Miko laughed off his modesty.  “Let’s see.  You were outnumbered a few hundred to one with no way to escape.  So you did what?  You charged them?  Yes, it must have been overstated,” he finished sarcastically.

              Coran noticed that the men working were watching them as well out of the corner of their eyes.  Or more likely they were watching him.  He didn’t want to offend anybody, but it was getting on his nerves.  “Miko, why do they all look at me that way?  And no evasions this time, I want the truth.”  He gave his friend a look as unwavering as steel to get his point across and waited for the trader to explain.

 
              “You will find out soon enough.  I suppose you deserve an explanation.”  Miko cleared his throat.  “I told you that the center of our lives as a people is our division.  It is not just between She’al and Sha’elt, but between the tribes as well.  In all our time no one has come to unite us to fight the followers of Sha’elt.  No one has been trusted enough by all the different peoples.  She’al has stated that the day would come when the war would finally be fought that would decide the fate of our people.  Afterwards, only one god would be left to guide us all.”

             
“What does that have to do with me?  I am not a Karand.”

             
“That is exactly the point,” Miko informed him with a waggle of his finger.  “In She’al’s wisdom she has said that one would come to unite us.  Since we have proven that it cannot be done by one of us, an outsider must be the one to do it.”  He paused to let the information seep in, then he indicated the men working.  “It is written that those who follow him will know him as their chosen leader, their champion.  Those who fight him will know him as M’Shai.”  He cleared his throat again and Coran held his stare to await the translation.  “Death.”

             
The word sent a chill through his body.  It was too close to what he had been feeling during the fight.  He had felt like he was dancing with death, or bringing it.  “Well it should be easy enough to set them strait.  I am not who they think I am,” he protested.  He was no prophecy come to life.  He was definitely not about to be any people’s leader in some ancient war.  Miko did not answer right away and Coran knew what the man was thinking.  “You believe it.”  The accusation in his voice was clear.  “You think I am this leader of yours.”

             
The trader shrugged uncomfortably.  “I can only base my opinion on what I have seen, and what others have seen.”  The last was said more quietly. 

             
“Do you believe it?” Coran asked insistently.

             
Miko replied reluctantly while staring at the stones at his feet.  “I do.”

             
In all the time they had spent together he knew Miko to be a man not taken by fancies.   Maybe he had been wrong all along.  Maybe the religious aspect was too strong an influence even for a practical man. 

             
The idea was absurd.  “I am done with what I promised to do Miko.  I am going home as soon as I can.”  Could he leave?  How was he going to get there?  In all the planning he had forgotten one important detail.  An enemy fleet still held the narrows, and no friendly ships have docked here since Treska’s two months ago.  It didn’t matter.  He would walk if he had to.  “I am leaving,” he reiterated to make sure the point was understood.

             
“No one will try to stop you,” Miko assured him.  “If you are truly the one then you will return when we need you.  Nothing can change that.”

             
Coran would like to place a bet on that.  Not trusting himself to respond, he left Miko to watch his departing back.  His first assessment seemed to be the correct one.  Karands were a strange people.  Maybe insane was a better word for it.

             
He tried to find Shirri, but was politely told that she was too exhausted to be disturbed.  Apparently, she was being given shelter in someone’s home in the city.  The two story residence that had belonged to Tammaz was unsuitable for habitation.  In their frenzy the men had set fire to the structure, burning part of it out. 

             
On his return to the barracks Coran was stopped by Ruan and two young men he knew to be Ruan’s friends.  Between them they half dragged a large, naked man.  Rolls of fat bounced as he was jostled about. 

             
“Coran,” Ruan began excitedly, “I have brought Tammaz before you for judgment.”

             
“Judgment?  Why me?”

             
“You led the attack,” Ruan stated in a way that said it should be obvious to anyone.  “It must be done and only you can be considered qualified.”  He leaned closer to speak in Coran’s ear.  “She’al believes in fairness and justice.  If anyone else were to decide, the result would be tainted by revenge.”

             
Coran considered the words.  Actually, he was impressed by Ruan’s understanding of the situation.  Even more so, that the man did not condone acts of vengeance.  “Very well, I will judge him.”  The man Tammaz appeared relieved that his fate was not in the hands of those who had the most reason to want him dead.  A hopeful grin spread across his fat face.  “Tell me his crimes.”

             
Ruan tried to put some formality into his tone.  “He has forced women into his bed, including young girls.  He has contributed to and encouraged the act of slavery.  He has also ordered the murders of innocent people.”  As he talked, a small crowd gathered around to listen.

             
It seemed that Tammaz deserved death.  He didn’t doubt the validity of Ruan’s claims, and his sense of justice left little choice in the matter.  The question was how it should be done.  Excessive cruelty in taking his life would serve nothing but to increase the bloodlust in the populace.              

“Behead him.  Then put it on a pole where the fleet out there can see it.”  Maybe that would scare them off.  Some of those gathered cheered his decision
; he forced himself to ignore it.  The death of anyone should not be applauded.  “Ruan, men like Tammaz do not respect life enough to take it themselves.  If you will not execute him yourself than I will do it.”  Ruan needed to understand that he had taken some responsibility for the fate of Tammaz by bringing the man foreword, and even more so, by asking men to come here and fight.  “Killing should not be passed off to others.  Leaders have to take responsibility or we end up like him.”

             
Ruan nodded reluctantly.  “I will do it.” 

             
Coran clapped him on the shoulder.  “Good man,” he said and watched the condemned babble and bawl as he was dragged away.

             
From what he could find out it was the second day since the attack.  He had slept through the first.  Since he had nothing else to do, sleep seemed a good idea after his little walk. 

             
It took a while for the thoughts Miko had put there to go away.  His main concern right now was getting home.  His earlier determination to walk if necessary was faulted unless he was prepared to swim a great distance since two seas stood between him and home.  He wanted to strike out in frustration, but once again he could only wait and hope.

              Shirri stood by the window that overlooked the square.  She watched as men led horse drawn carts full of stacked bodies out of the compound’s gates and down the street where they disappeared from sight.  She did not remember collapsing from fatigue and being carried up here to this room to sleep.  Neheya had been by to check on her and informed her how she had gotten here.  It was a simple room with a narrow cot, and an old wardrobe for clothes.  A thin mattress covered the cot.  Thin white curtains framed the cracked window out of which she looked.