The Dragons of Sara Sara (10 page)

“My good lady wife has gone to the house of the Stone Lions, Annan. You will need their company. I best serve by staying here with my village. I fear we will not have gone unnoticed now. I only hope some of the Mare Altan will stay with us here.”

It was too much to hope that any of the Asha Altan, the secretive and feared men of the warrior clans, would stay to protect the village. There were most likely none in the district now anyway. All certain that trouble would be following Mei'An and the others in their quest for the Key To The Wheel, they would have long since followed them. Jolin had reached the sept house of the Stone Lions and was deep in conversation with Riadia, and much to her surprise Jardine of the Asha Altan. Jolin recounted the events of the evening. She was only interrupted here and there as the listeners tried to take in what she said.

Jardine was as impassive as stone. No sign of surprise on his face at anything said. His black eyes glittered like glass in the flickering firelight from the hearth. The company sat on cushions on the floor. There were no chairs in the meeting house. On cushions all were equal. Behind Jardine and Riadia were others from their group. Anyone could listen to discussions it seemed to Jolin. She had no idea of protocols in the sept houses. She was here to enlist the aid of the warriors in protecting the Trader, and the village. Finally Jolin stopped and folded her hands in her lap. Riadia knew what was needed.

“I think, Jardine, that we see the change of an age upon us. The loosing of the Great Wheel. The loss of the key. The awakening of that which was made by The Creator to guard Time itself. The prophesies of the ancients come to pass in the name of the Trader. He is now linked to the Wind Readers and the Seal both. Because this place was chosen Jardine, we too are now bound to the prophesies as well.”

Jardine, the chief of the Asha Altan of the Stone Lion sept relaxed slightly. If you could call a slight easing of back muscles relaxing. He turned his head to Riadia.

“The time has come Light of my Life, for the Asha Altan to run with the Mare Altan.”

There were hisses of indrawn breath from the watchers. Not only at that statement but because the man had used terms of endearment where all could hear. Was this to shame them all in the eyes of an outsider? Asha Altan never showed emotion in anything, and using terms of endearment where all could hear had never been done in living memory.

The only indication from Jardine that he recognised this was a blink and a slight frown that was so fleeting that Jolin wondered if she had actually witnessed it at all.

“Yes,” growled Jardine. “You hear me well. I make strong emphasis that much will now change. The men and the maidens have never run to battle together before. Now, unless we stand united against the Dark Lord, all will perish in the fires of his triumph. Know you all now that the last great battle is coming.”

The men and women who had been quietly watching were on their feet as Jardine stopped speaking. Crashing short spears against hide bucklers, and giving voice to ululating war cries the noise spread outside the walls as warriors crowded inside eager to see what had caused the commotion, and as eager to join in a battle if somehow one had started within the walls of the meeting house.

Asha Altan and Mare Altan both pressing forward to join in whatever was taking place.

Riadia eased to her feet, helping Jolin up with an outstretched hand. Jolin was no longer built for sitting on floors. Her life as the chief cook of the village inn gave her too easy access to all types of foods that needed tasting. There was little room around them now in the press of warriors. Raising her hand for silence, Riadia's words fell into an instant silence that seemed to ripple outwards.

“All proceed to the village common please. We must make sure that everyone knows what we now face, and that change is surely upon us.”

Jardine merely raised his hand. A flicker of fingers saw the men quietly slipping away from the crowd. Riadia gave him a fleeting smile as the warrior maidens began to move out and make for the village common.

Soon only Jardine, Riadia and Jolin were left in the room.

“Jardine,” said Riadia “you would speak honey words to me for all to hear! Bah, have you lost all your wits as well as your years? We will be the talk of every warrior before we reach the common.”
Jardine made no reply. He knew that although Riadia presented a stern front she was not all that displeased. The self conscious flick of the hair away from her shoulders and the unconscious smoothing of her skirts told him much. They had been married for as long as anyone could remember and could read each other's moods and expressions without a second thought. The common was packed. Warriors and farmers, villagers and a motley collection of dogs crowded across the green swath of grassland between the village square and the White River. The only raised point was the stone cairn near to the river, erected in a past age to honour some long forgotten king. Now almost reduced to rubble, it still served as a suitable speaking platform for fairs and festivals.

Jardine and Riadia climbed up to the top of the large cairn. There was room enough for a dozen large men there, but no one wanted to follow them up. The Trader, Annan pushed his way through the throng and climbed to the top, standing beside Jardine and Riadia. Slowly quiet descended upon the crowd. Everyone was there. Torch light flickered on upturned faces. The villagers had never seen so many people gathered together at one time. Men from the Asha Altan. Women from the Mare Altan. Jardine quickly scanned the gathering from his vantage point.

“Riadia,” he spoke. “Do you see our strength? The villagers, the warriors and farmers. Never have we seen such a gathering.”

Jardine raised his arms, his copper tipped spear in his right hand and glistening hide buckler in the left. The yellow of the torch light flickered along the polished copper spear point giving it a life of its own.

A hush fell over the crowd as they waited for Jardine to speak. For just a second a ripple spread through the Mare Altan when Riadia used flickering hand talk to tell the Maidens that they would listen to Jardine and obey. Riadia's word was law.
Turning slowly so he could be assured he had the entire gathering in his focus, Jardine spoke in quiet tones that yet reached the furthest ears as though he stood beside them. He was well trained in the use of Voice it seemed. A skill most thought only the Wind Readers knew of. Jardine had lived a long time and knew much. No one really knew, apart from Riadia, just how old he really was. Both he and Riadia seemed to have been the leaders of the clans for as long as anyone could remember. Even the other elders could remember having to face either Riadia or Jardine as they sought admission to the septs. Long years of training and finally accepted as warriors, then grudging retirement as younger warriors moved into the groups who carried the battles to the enemies of the peoples of the Star Field Plain. Yet still Riadia and Jardine were there at the head. The pair showed their age, no doubt of that, but not in physical debilitation. Grey haired and wiry with boundless knowledge they were never ill, never frail, and seemingly tireless even on the longest run. They were revered as semi gods by warrior, farmer and villager alike. It was said by some in whispers that they were actually gods, or at the very least protected by the Creator to act in His place for the people of the plain. They had both faced the Tharsians of the remote Forests many times, and always walked away unscathed leaving the battle fields littered with the dead.

Wandering bands of Tharsians from the Great Forest to the east often made raids out across the plains and those monstrous beasts took no prisoners. Slaves often, but never prisoners. Their one delight was killing and destroying. They were known to turn on each other when there was no other sport to be had. Occasionally wandering bandit groups from distant countries would attack outlying farms taking women and girls into slavery to be sold in distant lands. The men and boys always killed. What they could not take with them was destroyed and fields put to the torch or trampled. Bandits were few however and usually desperate. They would raid and flee from the plains as quickly as possible. Any caught by the warriors lived only long enough to become aware of their folly, and few had ever escaped. The warriors would occasionally let one or two witness the horror fallen upon their comrades then contrive to let them escape, carrying the tales of the warriors of the Star Field Plains far and wide. It was brutal and effective. The plains were rarely troubled by bandits.

It was usual to have small bands of warriors from the Mare Altan scattered across the plains, each group within about a day's run of the other. These loose knit groups changed location constantly of course, and were always on the move, and circulated over a period of time so that eventually each ended up back at the village of Xu Gui for a period of time. This formed a net that spread over the entire plain so that few strangers escaped notice for long.

Farmer and villager alike gladly contributed to the upkeep of the warriors because they knew that except under exceptional circumstances they were safe in their beds at night.

The Tharsians from the Great Forest were another matter however. They mad e no attempt to avoid the Mare Altan warriors. If they wanted to raid into the plains they would meet any group head on. Utterly fearless and without honour they would slash and hack their way into a warrior band. Their strategy was to overwhelm by sheer brute force alone. If they could not win forward they stood their ground until every last one was fallen. Although their raids were few over the course of a year they became most active in the autumn months, and their raids were too often successful.

The Tharsian raiding parties were large, and often while half would engage the Mare Altan the other half would skirt wide and continue on to their target. Usually an outlying farm or small village. Everything edible that could be carried was taken. They did not discriminate between animals and humans, and either was killed outright. Everything else was destroyed or eaten on the spot. Their cooking pots were carried with them and night time camps were scenes of horror.

If the Mare Altan were on the trail of raiding Tharsians, they had only to follow the circling carrion eaters that dotted the sky all the way back to the Great Forest. It was impossible to follow them into the forest. Any who did never returned. Only Jardine had been known to enter, and emerge again alive. The Mare Altan were the front line against raiding parties, but the Asha Altan took up the chase and harried the Tharsians all the way back to the Great Forest. Their raids were very expensive. No matter the size of the party, very few ever managed to get back to the safety of the forest.

The villagers and farmers alike knew all this. Jardine was sure in his support from the warriors. He had no need to raise his voice now, yet his tones were enough to make the hair bristle on the nape of neck of many in the crowd.

“We are in the midst of battle.” He said with a slight pause between each word. A sigh went up from the crowd. “The Dark Lord seeks freedom from his prison.” Jardine paused. “You all know that some from this village have gone seeking the Key to The Wheel.” Again he paused. “What I tell you now will bring unimaginable danger to this village when it becomes known to the Dark Lord.”

As Jardine paused again, he was choosing his word carefully, a village woman somewhere back in the crowd wailed like a lost soul, causing many around her to jump and look about as if the Dark Lord himself had suddenly appeared in their midst. The woman clutched her small children to her skirts and buried herself against her husband's broad chest. He wrapped protective arms around his family and stood staring defiance into the night. His huge arm guard against any foe he could imagine.

Village men though, even a wagon wright like this one, shaped by a lifetime of hard work knew they were no match for the evil of the Dark Lord and his minions. The Dark Lord would not win easily though. The wagon wright would see to that, as would any man in the village.

Into the silence following the woman's wail Jardine pointed to Annan the Trader and said.

“You would meet Annan Hamar and know him for what he is.”

A hiss of indrawn breath through clenched teeth told Jardine that all knew what he meant. It sounded like a giant serpent drawing breath before striking. Every adult in the crowd knew the old tales. A Trader with a name was the Trader who had found the Seal of The Creator. The tales told of its powers and they also told of its value to the Dark Lord. For if he could but take hold of the Seal in his own hands he would instantly cease to exist in his physical form and be transformed into an all encompassing spirit that permeated all life, all time, forever. He would be victorious and evil would rule mens lives for eternity.

The gap between the crowd and the cairn where the Trader stood with Jardine and Riadia became noticeably wider as people unconsciously moved back away from the Trader.

“Hold!” boomed the voice of Riadia into the night. The shuffling stopped.
“You will hear what is to be done, and not quake in your boots like children. If you would see your children live past this night then attend to Annan Hamar, for we will see to his safety and thus that of the Seal.” Riadia stopped short of giving it it's full title but the mention of Annan Hamar's name had caused the golden medallion to pulse into life. It hummed against the Traders chest and seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Jardine stepped away one pace and turned to Annan. Raising his arm he pointed directly at the Trader and called, “Hold aloft the Seal.”

Annan drew out the Seal and in the palm of his hand held it up for all to see. Jardine pointed up at the Seal, turning as he did so to face the crowd.

“Behold the Seal of The Creator,” he called. “In the care of Annan Hamar.” With his words the Seal flashed into a blinding light that banished the dark in an instant. No one could look at such a light. People shaded their eyes, even those on the outskirts of the crowd. The Seal pulsed, the hum of its life force penetrating every bone of the Trader, every molecule of his body. He felt himself possessed of abilities as never before. He looked out at the people on the common. With amazement he realized he could count the hairs on a baby's head though someway distant in the gathering. He could see a line of black ravens perched on the gable of the now empty inn. He blinked and twin lances of white fire turned the ravens to ash in an instant. Annan was dazed. Had he done that? Crows – ravens, what of rats? Messengers of the Dark Lord abounded in a country village. His left hand dropped to his side with his fingers splayed out and pointing to the ground. From each finger tip a stream of lightning blue lightning crackled down and out across the ground, ever spreading, flashing into burrows and barns, houses and roof spaces. Ever widening until it suddenly blinked out after what seemed only to have been a moment, but to those in the crowd had been an eternity as they stood transfixed by the sight. Not a rat lived in the village, nor within a radius around the district as far out as the furthest farm some days ride away. Not a single rat, not even a crow survived in the district.