Scabbard's Song (18 page)

you, he will not deliver. I know him better than you. OmmullummO? Oh . . . Riddelstem seemed lost for words. He wrung his hands. The younger of the two shepherds was looking thoroughly frightened. Oh, no. I have no truck with him. Then why this charade? What is it all for? growled Uthellen, certain she was being fooled. Quickly, an answer. The older of the two shepherds broke down in tears, and sobbed the reply for the pale and trembling Riddelstem. Weme done kurtled our gruntle-wizard, for he were a cossen to un us. Riddelstem bestack the place on him, to couch othern come by. Uthellen was stunned. What are you saying? Riddelstem, you tell me the story, Im having trouble with that mans dialect. What does kurtled mean? We we did for him, said Riddelstem. We dropped a rock on his head and killed him dead as a nail. He became defensive then. Well, he ruined our crops, the lambs came out all dark and withered, the children would not laugh, the women had trouble with their births. He didnt like us much, he told us so, and his only pleasure was seeing us in pain. This was a miserable region, gloomy as a vipers pit. Neighbour was against neighbour he set it up that way and we had a hell on earth for a life. So you killed him. A rash and illegal act, which I do not condone, but why then take his place? To stop another coming. Any wandering wizards would hear that this region already had a powerful sorcerer, by the name of AmmA, and would pass on by without calling in. When any comelings strangers - enter the region I rush to this cave, put on the robe, and pretend to be what I am not. Other villagers, such as these two, arrive later to reinforce my pretence. He paused in his speech and looked a little troubled. Of course, if a real wizard came, I would be exposed in an instant, but wizards do not like to confront one another, so we really only have to worry about ordinary people, such as you. If they leave our territory believing there is a great sorcerer here, they tell others and no new wizard comes. He hung his head again. We are malefactors and must be punished. Uthellen said, Well, I am not the one to do it. She could see that those held in the thrall of a local wizard would have difficulty in ridding themselves of the creature lawfully. No local baron was going to send in an army to get rid of a rogue wizard in such a small region. It would not be worth the lives or the effort. Better to seal off that region and keep the rot contained. It would be down to the people themselves, in the end, and what could one do with a magician? If you stuck him in the local jail he would be out in an instant, breathing fire and seeking revenge. If you tried to banish him he would laugh in your face and turn you into a newt. How was it done? From up there, said Riddelstem, pointing to the cliff above the cave. We waited until he came out one morning and let fall a boulder. It squashed him flat, giving him no time to use his magic. What are you going to do? Will you call in the itinerant judges, to bring us to trial? No, I have no time for such things. And I do see what a quandary you were in. But how do you expect to get away with it? Riddelstem looked smug. We have until now. That was all twenty years ago, when we got rid of AmmA. This works for us. It keeps away the wizards and we live a happy life. Wizards are boils on the backs of mankind, he spat with some venom. They should drown them all at birth then throw the remains on a bonfire. Ill have you remember my son is a wizard. Riddelstems eyes went round. He is? I mean, he really is? You werent telling a story? No, he is IxonnoxI, the rightful King Magus. Oh, lordy, youll tell him and well be visited with fire and earthquakes and eruptions and all that sort of thing. She smiled at this. I will tell him nothing, and even if I did he would not be interested in a small enclave such as this. You go on living in your peaceful way. It is not good to take life, even that of a foul wizard, but I understand you had but little choice. The following day Uthellen left the cave and went on into a Dark Region, travelling below the earth. This was a journey which she hoped would save her some hundreds of miles, for it cut through a range of high snow-covered mountains which would have taken an age to cross. Uthellen was aware that there were some strange and savage creatures below ground, but she took it anyway. Come down off there! Musket was perched on a low branch, just as if he were still a raven with claws for feet. The boy blinked. He felt comfortable where he was. Why, it was the way he had sat for many years now. Musket was having great difficulty in changing his habits. The bird brain still commanded him at times. Instinctively he pecked at food. Automatically he skipped when he heard a noise behind him, his brain thinking it was a rival blackbird or crow. Life was not easy for a boy who had recently been a bird. Gome on off, lad. Down here, ordered Soldier. You must garner hay for the mare. Let her gather her own harvest! She cannot shes a horse. She relies on me and I rely on you. Down from that tree and gather the grass while its dry. I have to groom her. Shes not used to the rough hands of an urchin, otherwise I could let you do it. Shes a very sensitive and noble beast, quite out of your class. Finally the boy did as he was told, grumbling the whole while about the fact that as a bird he had not needed to do chores. I was much better off then. Being a youth stinks. You have to jump every time someone a year or two older tells you to. Its not fair. People should do their own work. I only get to ride the rump of the mare, so thats the bit I should take care of. You dont have to feed a rump. Soldier should feed the head while I groom the rump. I dont mind grooming. Groomings all right. Groomings . . . Are you going to be quiet or do I have to sew your lips together? It was while they were thus engaged in feeding and grooming the mare that the maker of the white road appeared in the hushed twilight that had spread across the land once the songbirds were roosted. Soldier saw it first: an enormous white dragon with a wingspan a hundred yards wide. His jaw fell open as he watched the beast glide through the valley below, dramatically but silently. Its immense shadow covered a wide expanse of ground. And where this moving shade of darkness fell, ice and snow formed. Thus as the albino creature glided swiftly across the valley, a road of frost, ice and snow formed below and behind it. The closer she drifted to the ground, the more powerful her shadow seemed to become. This white but opaque dragon was the bringer of intense coldness: an arctic creature with a freezing aura. Trees, grass, wild flowers: all were frosted as with icing for a cake. Rivers and streams froze into glittering strips, some with drinking deer stuck to their surfaces, others with trapped ducks and geese. Larger animals like bears stopped in their tracks, looked upwards, shivered and trembled in the darkness of the shade. Smaller mammals froze to chunks of ice, their hearts shrivelled to frozen droplets in their breasts. They remained scattered in the grass like small statues awaiting the thaw. Icewings! cried the boy excitedly, and then, as if quoting from a book, Icewings, the white she-dragon! Daughter of the thirteen moon dragons. Snow queen of the northern climes. See how she glides like a white kite formed of mountain snow. How beautiful. Her breath is a blast of frost, her form cuts between sun and earth, leaving her shadow to freeze the countryside below. They say her heart is a berg, her soul an arctic wind. Hailstones fly from her nostrils! Her eyes are hard-water crystals! I thought you said you didnt know what made that snowy road, said Soldier, accusingly. Did I? That must have been as a raven. Of course I have heard of Icewings. Every child has. She is the subject of many fairy stones, told to infants. You werent a boy here, were you? You came as a grown-up. This is true, muttered the knight. Yet she turns and heads this way look. We must find shelter quickly. Even as they spoke the dragon swooped and scooped up a large red stag in her open jaws. She swallowed the creature whole as she stood on an outcrop of rock. Then, a short while later, she seemed to cough and choke, and Soldier thought, she has overstretched herself this time. But it was not that her eyes were bigger than her belly, for she gave one mighty hacking cough, and something flew from her mouth and landed on the turf. It was one of those steaming plugs, or owl pellets, as Musket called them. A wadding of red stag hide, antlers, hooves and bones. All the stuff the dragon could not digest, packed into a boat-shaped quid, and ejected with force. The dragon then made a sound like a satisfied cow after giving birth: a sort of mooning note that went echoing down the valley. Soldier took the reins of his mare and led her into the shelter of some trees. He and Musket found some thick bushes. They crawled underneath just before the great dragon passed overhead. Something fell from beneath the monsters right wing as she went over, then the icy blast which came from the dragons shadow took Soldiers breath away. He gasped at the shock. The boy, too, was taken unaware by the severity of the cold. Muskets teeth began chattering so violently he was in danger of chipping them. Then the white reptile of the skies was gone, sliding on a downdraught into a secondary valley, leaving the trail to follow as clear as any road. Did she come looking for us, do you think? mused Soldier. I mean, not to harm us, but to show us the way? Then he turned to Musket. How do you know about Icewings? Were you born or raised here, in the Unknown Region? I dont think so. The child was unsure. I think Icewings is just a fairy tale outside this kingdom. I remember someone maybe it was my mother they told me about the white dragon. I cant remember whether they believed it themselves. But I dont ever remember being here, on the other side of the wide marshes. As they were talking, something scuttled by Soldiers foot. It was a strange-looking monitor lizard, a sort of translucent white, of a variety Soldier had never seen before. He jerked back his leg in alarm as the creature snaked by, a full yard in length. This was the thing which had dropped from the passing dragon. It was obviously one of its creatures, having the same frosty appearance. It left a trail of ice-crystals in its wake. What was that? said Musket. One of her babies? More like a parasite, replied Soldier. Just like those you carry on your head, only larger. The lizard streaked off, along the white road, seemingly anxious to get back to its host as quickly as possible. Soldier had the idea that perhaps the creature had not fallen from Icewings by accident: after all, it spent its life clinging to the dragon, so why fall now? He called to the monitor and asked it to stop and wait. Sure enough, the creature halted and turned, its throat pulsating in impatience. It remained there, perched on all fours, looking desperately back at the two humans and the horse, willing them, it seemed, to get a move on. Yet Soldier knew the creature would be able to track its host far better than Musket or himself. The white road would disappear soon, under the heat of the sun, and Soldier hoped the monitor lizard would continue along the right track, leading the two humans. Thank you, said Soldier, when they caught up to their guide. Lead on, if you please. The monitor duly trotted on, with Soldier and Musket on the horse, keeping close behind. It was a glorious day and the sun soon dismissed the snow trail left by Icewings. Birds were quick to fall in the wet grasses and take advantage of the moisture. In the distance were dark red hills which looked to be fashioned of sandstone. The light fell on these natural domes, forcing them to gleam with a rich ochre rust. Subject to spalling, or shedding their outer layers as a snake sloughs its skin, the hills looked like huge red eggs, with eggshell pieces scattered around them. Soldier and Musket passed between them on the mare, staring at their beauty with quiet minds. They seemed to be natural monuments, like mesas standing above canyons, attesting to the potency of the earth as a moving, almost living creature. Beyond the red egg hills was a desert. The dragons parasite started out over this rocky, gritty landscape, looking back occasionally to make sure her charges were in full pursuit. Indeed, Soldier was keeping the lizard in good view, knowing that even if Icewings passed over the desert, her white road would not last long under a sun that beat down like a hammer. The knight paused only long enough to fill their waterskins, before catching up with the inexhaustible reptile, who scuttled ever onwards. When night came, Soldier ordered the lizard to halt. When the creature took off in the morning it would not be obligated to wait for the two humans. It had served its time. Soldier therefore determined to wake at first light. He knew that cold-blooded creatures like the monitor had to lie in the sun a while to gain some energy after a cold night. Once the lizard had imbibed enough warm sunshine, it would be off, and Soldier and Musket had to be ready to go with it. Once the darkness fell, Musket wondered at the heavens. Look at the stars, Soldier! They are like diamonds. As a raven the boy would have been attentive to jewels, but would have ignored the distant suns which were the stars. Many people have made the same observation. Have they? cried the boy. I thought I was the first to say such a thing. No, more like the millionth. Well, I dont care. Ive never heard it before, so I invented it. Oh, see, theres one flying in an arc across the sky. I shall call that a shooting star. I suppose youve heard that before, too. Soldier smiled and said nothing. And the moon is like a cradle tonight. A cradle for a baby. Soldier? I think I shall be a poet when I am grown. I have a natural talent for fresh fantastical images, dont I? Look, a cloud like an elephant is crossing over the moon, so now the moon is a howdah, fit for a rajah or a sultan. I can see a turbaned prince sitting in it. I really can. Oh, no, that too is part of the cloud, but it looked real, didnt it, Soldier? Ahhhh, there is another star shooting like a bolt from a crossbow, leaving its silvery trail like a slithery snail. Oh yes, I am a poet all right, Soldier. Soldier sighed. We must rejoice. The moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas Soldiers head came up. Hark, he said, that is poetical and so far as I can recall, very original. You could be a poet, Musket, once you learn to shed your cliches. Young rhymer, I salute you. A ghostly galleon, eh? On cloudy seas? Oh very well said, my boy, very well said . . .

Chapter Six

They came to a great chasm which was impossible to cross without a bridge. The monitor lizard had stopped at its edge and now looked up at Soldiers face. Musket, who had been eating worms again and was feeling sick, also stared at his master. It was obviously now up to the knight to decide what must be done for the party. He stepped forward and looked over the precipice, into the depths of the dark crack in the earth. It was dizzying. Soldiers head swam with the length of the drop. He stepped back again, quickly, experiencing that horrible feeling which overcomes many of us when we stare down from a great height: a sort of urge to jump. I must pause here, to think, he told the boy. He looked around. Are there no trees with which we can fashion a crossing? There were none. The landscape had been bare for some time now: just rock and dust, with the occasional alpine flower poking from a crevice. They had passed a cataract a short while back, where they had filled their waterskins, but even this tumbling waterfall had not managed to produce trees from the barren ground over which it flew. There seemed to be nothing malleable with which to fashion any kind of bridge. Stuck, are we? said Musket, his skinny arms akimbo. Cant think of what to do? Just a temporary setback, replied Soldier, testily. No need for your sarcasm. That wasnt sarcasm, it was just a remark. The boy could be too clever by half sometimes. Soldier sat on a rock and stared at the landscape around him. Granite mountains. Why was it that whenever one went on a quest granite mountains always appeared out of the mist and challenged one? Sunlight shimmered mockingly from the hard walls of the fastness he was attempting to conquer. The mica in the rock glinted with wicked glee. The mountains knew he was in a good deal of trouble here and they were the cause. He stared up into the hard blue sky. Not a cloud to be seen. What we need is a giant roc to descend and carry us over this gaping maw, he muttered. But there were only one or two small birds darting from rock to rock. Birds. Why would birds be up here, where there were no seeds? Not even fir cones. He watched them dipping and diving below an azure ceiling. Then he realised they were insect eaters. There were indeed insects. They drank the perspiration on his brow. They bothered Thunder so much her tail swished constantly. Even the boy was forever slapping at some part of exposed skin. And on the ground, there were beetles. Beetles of all kinds, , scuttling from the shelter of one stone to the shade of the next. They fed on mites, of course, which bred anywhere, , even in the most arid and unwholesome places. Soldier watched as a shiny-backed blue-black coach beetle scurried past his foot, clearly in a great hurry to reach a boulders shadow. Where are you off to in such a rush? muttered the knight. You have no timetable, Im sure. The beetle stopped and looked up at him. Soldier was startled by the suddenness of it. Had the insect heard what he had said? Then he remembered. The snake he had saved from the heron had asked the divine Theg to give him dominion over the insects and birds, as well as the reptiles. Birds? He looked up again. There were too few of them to assist him here. But there must have been millions of insects in the air, on the ground. Their hosts were omnipresent yet hardly visible anywhere in the world. Apart from the mosquito and the ubiquitous fly, they were on the whole fairly quiet neighbours. He stood up and stared at the gap in the earth. Uh, uh, something dramatic happening, said Musket, also standing up. Something wily this way comes. Be quiet, boy. Soldier paused again, then cried out, his voice ringing through the passes as if in a cathedral close, Insects of the earth and sky, I command you to make me a bridge of yourselves, over this chasm. I command you to to knit together as did the reptiles in the swamp, and fashion me a crossing. Do it now! For a moment nothing happened. Then they began flying in, or appearing from under stones: millions of glimmering jewels on legs, gems with wings. As word spread they began to come up, from lower down the mountain: cockroaches by the ten thousand, bees, hundreds of varieties of beetle, flies, gnats, midges, mosquitoes, dragonflies, damselflies, crane flies, mayflies, yellow-and-black-striped wasps, orange-and-black-striped hornets. Lacewings came in, bristle-tails, ants, thrips, springtails and - oh ye gods - scorpions. Of course there were moths and butterflies, and lice, and snakeflies and tics and centipedes, some not true insects, but either because they did not know it, or did not care to trifle about I the difference, they answered the call anyway. Several harvestmen came in on stalk legs, and woodlice and crickets. A whole regiment of leaping grasshoppers. A brigade of earwigs. A squadron of caddis flies. The air was full of humming, hissing, murmuring sounds which fell melliflu-ously upon the ear. Soon the crossing began to take shape: a vibrant bridge of small and tiny creatures. It was all waving legs and crisp fluttering wings. Beetle locked into flea, and sawfly into cockchafer. Even a single snail - caught up in the excitement and despite its different status in the chain of being was wedging itself into a mass of dung beetles. Gradually the bridge thickened as more and more insects came from their holes, their fissures in the rock, their alpine plant abodes, to fit like small jigsaw pieces into the great arch which now spanned the cavity separating Soldier from his continuing path. Finally the living viaduct was complete and awaited the weight of the passengers for which it had formed itself. Im not going over there! cried the boy, staring with horror at the squirming crossing. You can leave me behind. Soldier did not reply. Instead he grasped the boy by the collar and heaved him up into the saddle on Thunders back. The obedient mount was then urged forward by her master, who stroked her nose and kept her far more comforted than the agitated stripling she was carrying. The lizard ran on ahead, snatching a meal on the way. Soldier watched as the ungrateful monitor crunched a cockroach in its hard jaws, not caring that he was eating all that stood between himself and a drop to death. There was nothing the knight could do to stop it, however, and soon the lizard was over and on the other side. When the rest of the party was about a third of the way across, danger came in on feathered wings. The birds flocked and descended to make a feast of their favourite food. Here was a banquet, all humped and ready to pick at. They fell in their dozens on the hapless insects, still trying to maintain their status as a bridge. The birds swooped and dived, snatching a stag beetle here, a moon moth there, until the bridge began to lose its stability and wavered in its purpose. Insects fell into the chasm, drifting down past ledges and jutting shoulders to the dark depths below. Quickly! cried Soldier. We must cross swiftly now! Use your last command, cried the terrified Musket, looking down at the rock jaws which waited for his small body to drop inside them. Tell the birds to stop. I might need that command yet, said Soldier, his footing unsteady, his weight suddenly quite important. I cannot waste it. The bridge bowed in the middle, sagging dangerously as the insects lost key bodies in their locked mass. Were going! Were falling! cried Musket. Oh why did I become a boy again? If I were a raven . . . Youd be pecking away at our support like the rest of these pests of the air, growled Soldier. Up, up. Come on, stripling. Dont give up on me now. See, Thunder has a hoof on the edge. Just a few more steps now . . . The bridge collapsed. Thunder scrambled on to solid ground, the boy clinging precariously to her mane. She was safe. He was safe. Soldier leapt for the far side as the bridge shattered into a million clicking, humming, whirring pieces. He managed to clutch at Thunders ankle, hanging there, over the edge, dangling from a hind leg. The mare, feeling the weight, instinctively stepped forward a few paces, away from the drop, and dragged Soldier with her to safety. Wow! cried a now excited Musket. Look at that, will you? The bridge was falling into the void. It became a swarm, a multitude of black and coloured dots, some of which flew back up on desperately whirring wings, while others floated gently on the warm updraught of air coming from the volcanic gaseous depths. Thousands upon thousands of them flew out into the sunlight again, glittering, to find safety on both sides of the chasm. Others found homes along the walls of their descent. Some would reach the floor of that deep drop to make new homes in a world of warm toasted rocks and yellow stones. They were resilient creatures, insects, and few would perish outright. We did it, Musket said, his voice now full of confidence. We cheated death. He shook his fist at the birds, still gathering the harvest of cockchafers and midges. If I was a raven still Id come up there and give you a hiding, he cried. Destroyers of bridges! Greedy interferers! Have you no shame? Have you no respect for creation? Oh how I wish the eagles would come and give you a taste of your own foul gluttony. Soldier was stroking his mare, telling her quietly what a fine beast she was, what a treasure she was to him. She listened to the sounds, the words, not understanding them, but knowing what they meant. She knew she had done well and was quite happy to imbibe the praise. At that moment an eerie darkness came in, sweeping across the landscape, to envelop them. It appeared to have texture: black satin it seemed. This strange darkness fell over the travellers, wrapped its silken folds about them, brought with it a kind of drowsiness, a soporific state which had them dropping to the ground to slide into a deep sleep. How long they slept, neither of them knew, but when they woke the monitor was gone. It was light again, with the same scenery around them, but the lizard was nowhere to be found. Thunder was there, but no other. Soldier tried calling the lizard, to see if it had moved further down the track, but it did not appear. He and the boy searched for some time, but there was no monitor. Something unnatural has happened, said Soldier, staring about him. Although these look to be the same mountains, the same rocks, they feel different. There is a sharper clarity to the light, dont you think? Objects like those boulders over there have a more definite edge to them. When they had gathered themselves again, and were calm and ready for the onward journey, Soldier led Thunder forward along the narrow trail they had to follow. They had no real need of the monitor here. They could not get lost for there was only one path. With a sheer drop down one side and a sheer face on the other, there was nowhere else to go but on or back. Musket grasped Thunders tail and used her to steady himself on the uneven trail. Despite all his years as a raven he found he did not like heights. It was a strange thing. Without his feathered wings he felt naked and vulnerable up here in the peaks. One slip and he could plunge into open space, plummet to his death. It was best to keep his eyes on the horses rump, keep a firm grip on her tail, and simply put one foot in front of the other. When they reached the snow line, they did not pause for rest, hoping to cross it in one go. A rather unruly glacier blocked their way at one point, but Soldier chipped steps in it with Kutrama, and they crossed gingerly. This ice slide went down thousands of feet to some misty valley below but after the insect bridge earlier in the day the glacier was at least solid, if slippery. There were no mishaps. They all reached the far side. Then it was a case of going down, out of the colder regions of the mountains, towards flatness and warmth again. Once down from the mountains the next obstacle they encountered was a raging river. This mighty torrent cascaded from a high force and rushed madly between its banks towards the coast. Its main volume came from melting snows up in the peaks, while rainfall on the western slopes swelled its waistline further. Here the monitor lizard reappeared from behind a boulder. It plunged straight into the flood, managed to swim just a few yards, and was then swept downstream and cast upon the same bank from which it had dived. Clearly, said Soldier, we are not going to be able to ford this by wading. And swimming, too, is out of the question. We must try to figure a way to cross without going a hundred miles out of our way. The boy was unimpressed. Why dont you use that command the one over the birds. You could get them to take us across. Soldier shook his head. No, those commands were to be used as a last resort. We must think our way across this time, keeping the last wish in reserve. We have not even started our homeward journey yet. There will be other dangers to be encountered then . . . While he was speaking, seven maidens arrived at the bank of the river bearing large jars on their shoulders. They paused at the waters edge and regarded the swift current with frowns and whispers. One or two of them shot a shy glance at Soldier, but they did not attempt to speak to him. They were all of a piece: that is to say, they were similar in looks, and appearance, wearing the same bright-red-coloured loose clothing and having dark hair, dark eyes and countenances of great beauty. Though a kind of curtain fell from their red turbans partly hiding their features, Soldier could see they had flawless complexions. He was almost as shy about approaching them as they were about coming forward to him. However he did now go across and attempt to engage them in conversation. Ladies? They burst out in a fit of giggles. Forgive me for accosting you in this manner . . . More laughter and turning away to cover their mouths with their hands. . . . but my companions and I wish to cross this river. Do you know of any bridge near here? Or a place where the torrent can be forded? One of the women appeared a little older than the others, who could not have been more than seventeen summers. She turned her dark eyes on Soldier. Sire, she said, we are the daughters of the seven chieftains of the three plains tribes and four hill tribes. Who are you? I? I am Soldier, consort to Queen Layana of the city of Zamerkand in the country of Guthrum. I am also a knight in my own right and Commander-in-Chief of the Carthagan Red Pavilions, a mercenary force of warriors-at-arms. She smiled with the corners of her mouth. My, that is a long title. I am Fianda, daughter of the chief of the Ismilate tribe. I learned your language from a traveller in our antique land. He passed through two years ago, when I was their age. Language? said Soldier, frowning. For some reason that disturbs me, but for the moment I cant think why. He stared at the seven women. Have you no
escorts? Are you not afraid of bandits? Or wild beasts? Many women have the skills of warriors, but forgive me, you do not look any of you - as if you have ever held a sword in your hand. You have not developed the muscle to wield a spear or bear a shield. There are no wild beasts here and no man in this region would dare abuse the seven oldest daughters of the seven chieftains of the seven tribes. Perhaps not, but strangers like myself have no knowledge of your fathers - and why are you out together, if from different clans? Our fathers, her sweeping arm took in her female companions, who were now staring wide-eyed at their sister as she spoke with this man, raise their sons and daughters together, as a group, so that when we are grown especially the boys who become the leaders we know each other as friends. This helps to prevent hostilities between us, since it is more difficult to go to war against childhood companions. A very sensible arrangement. Now, my original question . . . You have plenty of time for the answer. I beg pardon, my lady, but I dont understand. We too are waiting to cross the river. When the eventide comes around, the waters will grow calmer and shallower. It you can be patient you will be able to cross the river as the sun goes down. What causes this phenomenon? He who made the rivers. He caught the tone of her last words and somehow knew she was speaking of a monotheistic creator. So far in this world he had encountered only religions which served several gods or were animistic in practice. You believe the Creator calms the water with his voice? She looked amused. I know he does. It happens every evening. Then we will wait with you. Soldier motioned for Musket to bring the horse nearer to the women. The boy did so but eyed the females with suspicion. He sat with his back to them, staring along the route by which they had come to this place. Whats in the vessels? asked Soldier. What are you carrying? Olive oil, replied the woman. And wine, and vinegar. Oh is this the wealth of your tribes? No, my tribe lives by raiding. Siska shes that one there with the largest urn her tribe are fishermen, and Jesss tribe own the largest flocks of sheep in the region, while Harriams father . . . The list went on. Soldier nodded, listening with only half an ear. He was still uneasy. Something was not right here. The knowledge that they worshipped one god only had awakened his suspicions that all was not as it should be. And the woman had spoken of language. At sundown a tidal bore came sweeping up the river against the flow. This wave, or wall of water, must have come from the sea where the tide was higher than the river water and thus produced a wave which forced its way upstream against the current. It served to flatten the surface as it sucked up water on its journey away from its source. Immediately after the bore had passed by, the three women crossed the river, thigh deep. Soldier and Musket followed suit, taking the compliant Thunder with them. Once the bore had run its course, it met with a greater force upriver where the snows were thawing This ensured it swept back again, creating a flash flood that rushed right back down the rivers channel to the sea. Anyone crossing at that time would have met with certain drowning. Now that they were all safely across, the girls went separate ways, some heading west, some south and others north. Fianda began to step out on her own, heading south-west, her oil-filled pot on her right shoulder, steadied by a slim hand. Soldier called after her. Wait! Is your home nearby? She turned. My fathers tents are close to that oasis you can see the date palms, over in that direction . . . You would be welcome to come and meet with him, take tea. We are famed for our hospitality. Please do not feel any fear, for you would be welcome. I shall go in first and inform my father of your presence. He will then come out to greet you like a brother. I would be happy to meet him. Musket had said very little since they had emerged from that strange blanket of darkness which had descended upon them in the mountains. He had turned morose and withdrawn. Soldier wondered whether the journey was telling on the boy. They were now in regions far beyond the knowledge of any Guthrumite. No man or woman, if the records were to be believed, had ever come this far north-west of Zamerkand. Perhaps the boy was out of sorts because he realised he was far from home and in a place where the name of their city, their country even, was not recognised. It was understandable. Soldier himself was not comfortable. At any moment he expected a twist or a turn to go against them, put them once more in a hazardous position. The tents came into view. They were animal-hide yurts, not at all splendid to look at and not of the same design as the red pavilions of the Carthagans, being smaller and having several poles projecting on the corners as well as in the centre. They were not uniform in appearance, being almost arachnid in their shape, as though preparing to walk off on their own. There was smoke coming from a central hole in the roof, but the entrance flaps were thrown wide open as if expecting guests at any moment. Round about the tents were camels, and a pen full of goats, and some sheep grazing on the oasis grasses, and chickens, and dogs and cats slinking between. It was a domestic scene with an understated fierce nomadic touch: weapons ready by the exits and some of the horses already saddled. The owners of those tents could be shepherds or warriors, or both. A man emerged from the yurt into which Fianda had gone and beckoned to Soldier and Musket to approach. They did, Soldier leading the horse. The man, a large fellow with a barrel chest and a beard which was like a bib covering half his rib cage, threw his arms around Soldier and hugged him. He smelled of goats cheese and lard, mixed with horse sweat and a few other unidentifiable odours. Musket ducked behind the mare in case he was going to get the same treatment. You come in, sir, said the man. You are welcome to my tent. We have sweetmeats and tea. I am Bakbar. My daughter has told you of me? Good. Good. It is not often we get a Christian knight at our table . . . A chill went through Soldier. What did you say. . . . ? he began, but was ushered into the dim interior of the yurt before he could finish his sentence. There were cushions scattered on carpets on the floor. Tapestries hung on the walls. A brass kettle was boiling on a brick-surrounded hearth, tended by an old woman. She smiled at Soldier with black teeth. Her face had more creases than a many-folded map, but was full of animation and warmth. In any other circumstances Soldier would have smiled back, but he was too shocked by Bakbars last words. Who are you? he asked the chieftain when it was polite to do so. Who are your people? What country is this? Bakbar laughed. Lost, are we? Wandering knights, lost on the way home from Jerusalem? This is Maroc and we are Berbers. What, did you think we were Arabs? No. We are of the same faith, of course, but we are not of the same blood. In fact, sad to say, the Arabs and the Berbers do not like each other a great deal. Soldiers heart was racing fast. He knew it now. The best had happened at the worst possible time. Not now, he thought. Later, when all is settled and done, but not now. Why? How? He was back in his own world. I I am no crusading knight, sir, said Soldier. I am no Templar or Hospitaller, nor did I follow the standard of knights who went to the Holy Land. To my own way of thinking there were far too many domestic squabbles to settle before starting some with foreigners. I - I am a seafarer, lost on the wrong shore. My squire and I, he indicated the nervous and clearly bemused Musket, and my horse have wandered far from the sandy cove on which we were stranded by a nefarious captain, one who stole my ship from me and set himself on a course of piracy. Bakbar stared at Soldier through narrowed eyes. He was clearly having trouble believing him. But then he took in Soldiers armour and weapons, the mode of his dress, and nodded. You do not have the look of a Christian knight, that is certain. Your armour is of a strange design. How far have you travelled? To the Indus? Or beyond? I have heard of a strange country, vast and expansive, called Far Cathay. Is that where you found your armour? They say that if you take a caravan east you will come to this land, a region of great wealth with silk and satin hanging from the trees, and men wearing golden robes. Soldier nodded, to save having to lie with his mouth. Lions I have seen, sir, and dragons. Lions we have here, but dragonsl Those I would like to observe, being a scholar as well as a warrior. Bakbar was impressed. Travellers through his land had spoken of dragons. Sailors had told him stories of sea dragons. Explorers had remarked on land dragons. Yes, Far Cathay was a wondrous place where sightings of these creatures were common, so he had been told. Tell me about these dragons . . . Soldier began to tuck into the sweetmeats and the wine, which was served by Bakbars daughter Fianda, who kept glancing at their guest and smiling with white teeth. After a while there was no mistaking her message and this was cause for concern. Soldier did not want an entanglement with a female, especially the daughter of the chief of a savage tribe of Berbers. He smiled back at her, weakly, as if he did not understand the signals and took them to be friendly gestures, the sort of smiles which might be given to any guest to her fathers tent. Then he began to satisfy Bakbars curiosity by telling him tales of dragons. He began with the story of his own dragon, one of the smaller variety from Falyum, which he had watched break from its egg. This particular dragon now recognised Soldier as its parent and called him Kerroww, the male dragon word for mother. Bakbar was fascinated by this narrative, but asked for more. Soldier had a fund of anecdotes regarding dragons with which he regaled his host, ending with the story of Icewings, his latest encounter. A pure white dragon, breathed Bakbar, chewing on a dried stick of goats meat. Its shadow leaving a road of ice! Why this is surely the sultan of all dragons, is it not? And you have seen this creature. We both have, interrupted Musket, suddenly, peeved at being left out of the tale-telling. It was me who saw it first. I knew of this dragon from the fairy tales told me as a child. As a child? laughed Bakbar. And what are you now? I have been a bird, a raven, sir, with black wings, claws and beak. He spoke intently as he stared at Bakbar. Soldier was suddenly wary. What if their host took them for sorcerers? He had no idea what Berbers did to magicians or witches. Back in his own land they were burned, or drowned. But he need not have worried. It soon became apparent that Bakbar took the tale at face value and believed, as was the truth, that the boy had been bewitched by an evil marabout. He asked Musket what it had been like, to be a bird, and was fascinated by the urchins descriptions of soaring through the air, eating grubs and maggots, and nesting in chimneys. Such a pair of guests I have tonight! cried Bakbar. In the morning I shall take my quill and parchment, my red, green and black inks, and set this down. These tellings are invaluable to a scholar such as myself, whose writings will one day astound the world. They will bring great glory to the name of Bakbar the Berber and will resound from Alexandria in Egypt to the Indus and beyond. Musket whispered to Soldier, I do not know these names he keeps speaking about. Where is Egypt? What is the Indus? No matter, I will explain later, Musket for the moment leave the talking to me. Have you eaten well? asked Bakbar, his attention taken momentarily by his daughter. May I ask you a personal question? How many wives do you have? Oh, I was forgetting. Christians are only allowed one, are they not? Such paucity! But never mind. Do you own a wife? I do not so much own her, sir, for she is the ruler of me. My wife is the queen of a small distant kingdom, as I explained to your daughter. Ah, ah, but distant you say? He leaned forward, his mouth next to Soldiers ear. I will tell you something, stranger. My daughter has taken a shine to you. Yes she has. If this country which contains your queenly wife is so distant, perhaps you might never return to it? In such a case you are short of one wife. She is comely, is she not, my Fianda? A lovely girl with such a sweet nature. Of course you are an infidel and unworthy, but I imagine for such a beauty you might be prepared to renounce your God for ours? Think about it. Soldier had to think quickly. He said, But sir, you know nothing of me. I might be the worst tyrant in the world. I might be a rogue who lies through his teeth with every word. A murderer or a thief. How can you trust me? This is true, murmured Bakbar with a frown. I am a trusting man. Some say too trusting. But you seem to me to be a man of honour. You have the countenance of one who holds truth to be dear to him. Oh, he is an honourable knight, of that you can be sure, said Musket with fervour. Why, he is the most trusted man in Guthrum. Be quiet, boy, said Soldier through gritted teeth. Do not interrupt your elders. No, no, the boy speaks the truth, Bakbar said. Sir, sighed Soldier, he is my squire, my instrument. This did not sound convincing enough, so Soldier lied outright. He he is my own adopted son. Of course he believes his father to be the most distinguished and respectable man in the world. What son does not? Bakbar frowned again. This is also true. My own son . . . well, I am confused. We will leave the subject alone for the moment. Perhaps during the night my dreams will reveal to me what course to take in the matter. For the moment, we shall simply leave it to one side. My daughter will have to be disappointed, for tonight at least. Soldier heaved a sigh of relief. He glanced at Fianda, who did indeed look a little disappointed. But no doubt she was thinking that she could persuade her father, before the morning came, that she had found the man of her choice. Soldier had merely worked himself a stay of execution. Not that marrying Fianda seemed a monstrous fate. She was a lovely woman, and as her father had said, she did not seem shrewish or bad-tempered in any way. Had Soldier not already been married he might not have fought against this generous offer with any vigour, but he already had a wife he loved to distraction, and this woman Fianda deserved better than he. It was said that a sailor had a wife in every port, and here was the chance for Soldier to have a wife in every world! Soldier then went into a reverie. Bakbar was talking with Musket, who was regaling their host with stories about Guthrum and the other kingdoms of his own world. The Berber, despite the names that were