The Gandalara Cycle I (58 page)

When I dragged myself through the door of the two-story house attached to Volitar's workshop, Thymas and Tarani both stared at me in amazement. I looked down at my clothes. Blue tunic and tan trousers, even my leather boots, carried ground-in green and brown stains. I felt an itch behind my ear, slapped an unbeautiful insectish creature to the floor and stepped on it.

"Keeshah was bored” I said.

I wasn't expecting a roar of laughter, but I had hoped for a smile or two. Tarani tried to oblige, but the shape of humor didn't rest well in her tense face. I glanced at Thymas, sitting sullenly on his pallet, pretending to mend a cargo net that was perfectly whole, and I understood how she felt. She had been alone with Thymas most of the day, and the boy's self-loathing was a tangible, oppressive burden to anyone around him.

"I saw Ronar moving around," I said. "How is he feeling, Thymas?"

"He is nearly healed," the boy said. He threw down the net and stood up with nearly his old grace. If I hadn't been watching for it, I never would have seen the flash of pain in his eyes as he stretched the muscles around the still-mending wound in his side. "We are ready to travel."

Now, everybody in the room knew that was an out-and-out lie. Ronar had lain low for days after his fight with Keeshah, before he came forward to offer my sha'um his undefended throat. That gesture of surrender was partially Thymas's idea - a reflection of the boy's guilt feelings - but it could never have happened if Ronar hadn't been badly injured and demoralized, himself. Tarani had used her hypnotic/psychic skills to help him, but Thymas's sha'um had slept only one night under her spell. The body healed itself faster in that restful sleep, but it still needed a minimum of time to do the job. Ronar was hardly "ready to travel" - at least, not at the grueling pace we had kept since leaving Thagorn.

But I said: “Good. We'll leave in the morning, then."

I walked over to the dining table, unfolded the map which I had, fortunately, lost during Keeshah's first assault, and later retrieved. I ignored Tarani's questioning look, and spread the parchment out on the table.

"The Walls of the World." I had wondered about that term, while I was still only Ricardo. When I had acquired Markasset's memories, I had also, inevitably, acquired his viewpoints. At every opportunity, I made a conscious effort to step aside from them, but lately there hadn't been much opportunity. I'd been worrying too hard about staying alive to think much about Markasset's complacent acceptance of the limits of his world.

Now, in a two-dimensional image of Gandalara, the edges of the "world" were clearly marked.

As in the fragmented maps I
had
seen, a thick, dark line winding its way across one long edge of the map represented the Great Wall. Gandalaran charting conventions placed the Great Wall at the top of the map. Though I was sure the Wall didn't run truly east-west, it did mark the northern edge of Gandalara, so Ricardo was fairly comfortable with using such a map.

The southern border was marked off into sections. At the left edge of the map was a feature with the intriguing name of Valley of Mists. From it, the Wall of Mist ran eastward below the Kapiral Desert toward the Morkadahl Mountains, where it merged into the unnamed mountain range which butted up against the Korchis to form the Chizan Passage. East of the Zantro Pass, one of the two high crossings that enclosed Chizan, the southern wall was divided into three sections. The Rising Wall began at Inid, the Refreshment House at the foot of the slope leading down from the Zantro. It approached a plateau isolated from the walls, and became the Desert Wall. Further east, it was known as the River Wall.

I put the index finger of my right hand on a spot marked in the middle of the River Wall. "This is Eddarta," I explained to Thymas and Tarani, who were looking over my shoulders. I hooked a chair out with my foot, and sat down to give them a clearer view.

"And Dyskornis is here." Tarani touched the map.

Thymas studied the area between our markings. "Gharlas will take the quickest route," he said. "Tarani - which way?”

Without hesitation, Tarani said: "South." She moved her finger as she talked. "The main caravan route to Eddarta follows the line of refreshment houses. Inid. Habbat. Kanlyr Iribos. You have said that Gharlas was a caravan master – that is the way he must have traveled before.

The shortest way home is the way you know best,
I thought.
She’s probably right.

Thymas was peering at the map closely, muttering to himself. “Five days to Inid, another five to Haddat. He’s four days ahead, but with a Sha’um . . .” He titled his head. “We should catch up with him midway between Haddat and Kanlyr”

“Correction” I said “We
would
catch up with him –
if
he went that way, which I think is likely, and
if
we followed him, which we aren’t going to do.”

“Not follow -”

I held up a hand to cut off Thomas's explosion. "Use your head. There's nothing in that direction but Refreshment Houses. Tarani, you tell us - what is the southern route like?"

"The way from Inid to Kanlyr lies in a trench between dry hills. I have gone no further, but that far, at least, it is a miserable trip." She smiled a little wistfully. "That's why my troupe did so well through there; the caravans were desperate for some distraction from the journey."

I nodded, thinking that Gharlas had traveled the main caravan route regularly between Eddarta and Raithskar, yet had never seen Tarani, who had entertained caravans with her dancing and illusions. The odds against his missing her had to be enormous.

But there's no doubting it - he was astonished when he finally put it together that Volitar's phantom
"niece"
was the illusionist he had heard so much about.

Call it destiny
, I thought.
Call it fate. Call it scrambled eggs, if you like. But Gharlas wasn't meant to know about Tarani until we all met here in Dyskornis.

"Right," I said. "So we're going to follow the Great Wall -” I traced the northern route with my finger.”- past all these little towns.

"The reasons we are going to do it this way," I said, forestalling something else Thymas started to say, "are threefold.

"First, there are towns and rivers north of us, which means that the countryside is more hospitable, and it's likely the sha'um can hunt for their meals along the way.

"Second, Gharlas is crazy, but not foolish. He'll expect us to follow him. There's no telling what sort of traps he'll leave along the way.

"Third, I hope he won't expect us to be waiting for him in Eddarta when he gets there.'

"You mean you’re going to let him reach his home territory?" Thymas demanded.

I sighed.
Why is it that the only time he sounds like himself, is when he's arguing with me?

It was Tarani who answered the boy. "You're forgetting that Gharlas is more than just an Eddartan, Thymas. He's a caravan master. He probably knows every vlek-handler from here to Eddarta. If they do not already owe him service, he can buy them. And those he cannot buy, he can.... command.”

I glanced at Thymas, but he wouldn't meet my eyes.

He's remembering that he nearly killed me, while Gharlas controlled him.

"We're already in his home territory," Tarani continued, in the vibrant voice that contained its own kind of command. She sat down and leaned over the map. "I agree with Rikardon's plan, but that has little weight." She placed her hands flat on the map and lifted her head to look directly at the pale-haired boy. "It does not matter that you
disagree,
Thymas. We will
both
do whatever Rikardon suggests."

Uh-oh.

I waited for the explosion, but it never came - at least, not from Thymas. He squared his shoulders, stared at his boots, and said: "Yes, I see what you mean. I've done enough damage." I slammed my hand on the table - Tarani snatched her fingers out of the way just in time - and stood up.

"I've had all I can take of your simpering self-importance, Thymas."

Thymas gasped. "But I -"

"You
think
you keep apologizing, but you know what you're really doing? You're trying to take credit, all by yourself, for letting Gharlas get away.
Your
mistakes were the serious ones.
Your
mistakes were the avoidable ones. If
you
had done things right....

"You want to talk about stupid mistakes? What idiot, who knew there was a price on, his head, went to the rogueworld and flashed Serkajon's sword, so that every thief and assassin in Dyskornis knew who he was?” I stabbed my thumb at my chest. "This one, that's who,
you
didn't let Gharlas get away, Thymas.
We
did. Even Tarani. She could have sent Lonna after Gharlas, but instead she chose to send the bird to help me. If the only important thing is to stop Gharlas, she made the wrong choice.

"She did succeed in saving my life. Maybe you think that
was
the wrong choice!"

“Rikardon!” Tarani's shout cut me off in mid-harangue. I was leaning across the corner of the table, forcing Thymas to back away from me. I straightened up.

"You once told me," she said more gently, "that it is easy for you to say insincere things."

Ouch,
I thought.
Touchè.

Thymas tried to read the silent message that passed from Tarani to me and he was beginning to look angry.

Is that what I'm trying to do?
I asked myself.
Provoke him into being as nasty as he used to be? God forbid.

"Sorry," I said. I rubbed my hand over the short, dark blond fur on my head, searching for the right words - and sending a small shower of dirt onto the map. "I'm only trying to say that we're a team, and that none of us can take credit or blame alone, from here on out.

"Tarani is right about this - a team needs a leader. For reasons that mystify me, I'm it.

"You're right about something else - there is nothing more important than getting the Ra'ira away from Gharlas.

"Trust is the key to teamwork. Thymas. You and Tarani have to trust me to give the right orders, and I have to trust you to follow them. Not because you promised your father to obey me."

Which is yet to happen,
I thought.
Wups, "Captain" - could be you need some lessons in trust, yourself.

"Especially not because," I continued, "you feel you've proved yourself unworthy of command.- He flinched a little at that, and I knew I had touched a nerve. "We can't afford your self-pity.

"I'm the first to admit that you and I aren't the best of friends, Thymas, but we
have
fought the same enemy. And we've ridden together."

A muscle along Thymas's jaw tensed and relaxed.

This 'boy' is going to be the next Lieutenant of the Sharith,
I thought.
He takes that duty very seriously. It's time I showed him that I take HIM seriously.

"Tarani's power and your sword, Thymas. If I'd had a choice, I couldn't have selected two stronger weapons to use against Gharlas. But an unwilling weapon is more hazard than help. Convince me that I'll have your cooperation - not obedience mind you, but
cooperation
- or stay behind."

I stopped, wondering if I'd said enough, or too much. The boy was thinking about it; that was a good sign. He leaned heavily on the back of the chair in front of him, looking at me, considering. When he spoke, the meek, whining tone was absent from his voice for the first time since the fight with Gharlas. If I'd done nothing else, I'd taken his mind off his guilt.

“‘Trust.' 'Cooperation.' 'Sincerity.' " He quoted the words sceptically. "Here's some sincerity, Rikardon. I don't like you. I don't trust you. And I
still
don't understand why Dharak made you Captain."

Your resentment is showing, Thymas,
I thought,
but this isn't like your usual fit of temper. It is possible - barely possible - that we're finally beginning to communicate with one another?

"Dharak was worried that you were going to lead the young Riders after Gharlas," I said. "He thought that if he made me Captain, and
I
told them to stay put, they'd listen. He does believe that I'm
supposed
to be the Captain. But what he really wanted was to avoid the split-up of the Sharith." I let that sink in, and then I said: "Dharak still leads the Riders. So will you, when your time arrives."

Thymas was quiet for a moment. "Convince
me
of something," he said at last. "Convince me that you're the one who is supposed to lead this 'team.' And while you're at it, tell me what the filth you've been hiding all this time. Show me the same kind of trust you say you want from me."

I heard Tarani's intake of breath, but I didn't give her a chance to say anything.

"That's fair, Thymas, and I wish I could give you clear, objective reasons for it. I can't. It's just something I feel. There is something which I
have
been concealing - not for lack of trust, but because I didn't think your knowing it would be useful to either one of us. I'm a . . ,Visitor. Markasset was killed by one of Gharlas's accomplices. I arrived a few hours later.”

I saw a look of revelation cross Thymas's face and I was sure that I was about to be accused once more of being a reincarnation of Serkajon. Because Markasset was descended from the man who had destroyed the corrupt Kingdom and because I had been given his unique steel sword, that seemed to be the standard conclusion people jumped to when they found out I was a Gandalaran personality returned from the All-Mind.

Of course, that's not what I was, but I had let the few who knew about me believe it, because the concept was acceptable to them. No one in Gandalara knew the truth about where this "Visitor" had come from.

Ricardo had been cruising the Mediterranean Oceana concept in itself unacceptable to the desert-familiar Gandalarans - in the company of the lovely young Antonia Alderuccio when the fireball had somehow transported Ricardo to the Kapiral Desert, Markasset and Keeshah. That star-covered night, and Antonia, was secret memories that came often to my dreams.