The Glass of Dyskornis (15 page)

“No!” she yelled. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes were gleaming slits of black. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth, exposing the canine tusks.

“Put that travel bag on,” I said. I kept my voice soft, but I was in no mood to accept interference, and I tried to make that clear to her.

“There is nothing
you
can do to force me,” she said. “Without me, you’ll never get close to Molik. That’s not a threat—it’s the truth.”

Molik has her uncle
, I thought.
And Thymas has her affection, or trust, or maybe even love. But I don’t have any hold on her, is that it? I’ve already wasted the only thing that might have worked—the chance of telling Thymas about Molik.

There’s always physical force
, I considered briefly.
But look at the way she’s standing—like she expects something like that.

First, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of being predictable.

Second, she’s got her strength back, and she’s mad as hell, besides. It wouldn’t be easy.

Third, neither Ricardo nor Markasset was the sort of man to bully people. Rikardon, Captain of the Sharith, isn’t about to start.

“You want us tromping all over Chizan, looking for Molik?” I asked. “Maybe we won’t find him. But he’ll know we’re there. He’ll have plenty of time to give orders about Volitar.”

“You are
despicable!
” she hissed. “You’d throw away the life of a good man like Volitar—”

“I don’t even know Volitar,” I said. “My interest is in finding Gharlas.”

“And I don’t give a fleabite about this Gharlas!” she shouted.

“What about Gharlas?” Thymas cried, as he slid off his sha’um’s back.

I turned on him so fast that he flinched back.

“You have a positive talent for popping up at a critical moment,” I snarled. “Now stay out of this.”

To Tarani, I said: “Are you coming with us, or not?”

She thought for a moment, visibly calming down. “On condition that you’ll see Volitar safe, before you chase this Gharlas,” she said. “In return, I will do all I can to help you find him. Who is Gharlas, anyway?”

“A thief,” I said. “He has—” I caught a look of warning from Thymas. His message was clear: the Ra’ira was Sharith business. Tarani didn’t need the information, and I didn’t need to antagonize Thymas any further. I recovered as best I could. “—tried to kill either Dharak or me. I have a condition, too. A dead Molik can’t give us any answers about Gharlas.”

“Molik will tell you what you want to know, before he dies. But Volitar’s freedom is to be our first priority. Agreed?”

I sighed. “All right, Tarani, it’s a deal. Now get ready to go.”

She started to strap on her pack.

“Wait,” I interrupted her. “Can your bird take a written message to Dharak?”

She nodded, dropped the bag again, and started digging in it. She brought out some thin strips of leather and a small glass bottle of ink wrapped in padded fabric. The cork stopper of the bottle had the three-inch handle of a brush pushed through it, and she used the brush to take down the few words I had to say to Dharak.

“Gharlas hired assassins. Going to Chizan in pursuit.”

I signed the message, having less trouble than I expected with the many-lined Gandalaran characters. She tied the strip to Lonna’s leg, then tossed her up into the air with one word of instruction. “Dharak.”

He’s going to read that and say, “I told you so.” Why am I doing this? The trail will be two weeks old before we get there. It was the suddenness, I guess, the surprise. It’s almost as though I were meant to …

I’m sounding like Dharak. I know why I’m doing this. Because I believe Tarani. Gharlas gave me an excuse to change my mind, and try to help her.

I called Keeshah, and looked around the camp to see if anything had been left. That was when I noticed that Thymas had untied his pack. He was shaking out a rope net, and laying it down on the ground. As I watched, he pulled a tightly rolled pad from the open pack, and began to spread it across the net.

The first time I had seen one of those things, Zaddorn had been rolled up in it like a rag doll. The nets were designed to carry supplies when the Riders wanted to move fast. They opened flat to a size of about six feet by four, and the short ends were tied off onto a series of bronze rings. Such nets would be loaded, the ropes at each corner threaded through the rings, then the ropes looped around a Rider’s hips and fastened in a sliding-ring catch. Two Riders hauled one net, dividing the extra weight between their sha’um.

I remembered how Zaddorn had looked when he rolled out of that Sharith cargo net. His clothes had been worn through in places, and his skin abraded by the thick, rough rope.

“At least you’re padding it for her,” I said sarcastically. Tarani’s worried gaze left the net to rest on me, but Thymas missed the point.

“I knew we would have to carry her back to Thagorn,” he answered steadily, still unrolling the pad. “I planned to make her as comfortable as possible.”

“You don’t really propose to cart her all the way to Chizan in that thing, do you?” I asked him. “If she doesn’t suffocate in the padding, she’ll be too stiff to move!”

“She has to come with us,” he said, looking puzzled.

“Of course, she has to come with us,” I repeated impatiently, thinking:
We aren’t communicating. Either he’s missing something, or I am.
“But not like that. Let her ride.”

Very slowly, his lips formed a single, silent question.
Ride?

“No female sha’um has ever come out of the Valley,” he said, looking around behind him, as though I had suddenly seen one appear.

“Ride with
you
,” I said. I looked at his sha’um, a little smaller and a darker gray than Keeshah, who had settled down at the edge of the clearing. “Ronar can carry you both.”

“Ronar will not carry a woman,” he said flatly.

Well, I wanted to get outside of Markasset’s experience
, I thought.
And here I am. Standing on the sensitive toes of an ancient Sharith custom. Maybe I should just let it go … no, I can’t see making Tarani flop around in that contraption, if there is any other way.

“Have you asked Ronar?” I said.

“Why don’t you ask Tarani?” he suggested. “She knows that it is unseemly for a woman to—”

He was looking at Tarani.

“We discussed it only once, Thymas,” she said hurriedly. “You were so positive that it couldn’t be done, that I haven’t mentioned it since. But a hundred times, I have wanted to ask—has any woman ever
tried?
”

“No Sharith woman would even think it!” he said.

“I may never be Sharith, if we don’t get to Chizan,” Tarani answered.

“The net will take you there,” he said coldly. He took out another pad, began unrolling it. “You will be comfortable.”

It’s possible that male sha’um really won’t accept female riders
, I speculated.
Then, too, it’s possible that, because the King’s Guard was all male originally, it has simply “always been” this way.

“Thymas.” I tried to imitate Dharak’s command tone.

The boy stopped his work and waited, his cheeks red with anger.

“Try, Thymas,” I said. “It can cost us only a few minutes now, and it might save us from fooling with that net all the way.”

Thymas threw down the pad, and walked over to Ronar. He mounted the sha’um and brought him over near Tarani. The cat settled down into a crouch, but his head was turned toward the girl, and his lips twitched back from his teeth.

“Sit behind me,” Thymas ordered gruffly. “Be very still.” His body and face were tense. He was fighting to control the sha’um.

Something tells me this may not have been a good idea …

Tarani approached the sha’um slowly. She put her hand on Thymas’s arm, and was preparing to swing her leg over the cat’s hips. I doubt she was even breathing. I wasn’t.

With a headache-quality roar, Ronar surged up, scraped Thymas off against a tree, and started to advance on Tarani. Thymas was up instantly, panic in his eyes. It would do no good to try to control the sha’um physically. He had to do it with his will, and he was failing.

Tarani backed away from the creeping, snarling sha’um. She looked less frightened than Thymas did, and I guessed she was trying to calm Ronar with her power.

It wasn’t working.

The cat charged.

It had happened so fast that I had not had time to absorb it. Now it was too late to do anything. I thought, with horror, that it would all be over in a matter of seconds.

A tan shape hurtled into the clearing and knocked aside the charging sha’um. A tangle of fur and claws and teeth wrestled back and forth on the ground in front of Tarani, making ear-splitting and terrifying sounds.

*
Keeshah! Enough!
* I ordered, when I came out of that shocked paralysis. To Thymas, I yelled: “Call Ronar, and
control him.
”

We both ran over to the free-for-all, but stayed clear of the snarling cats. We struggled to separate them through their habit of obedience to us. It was Keeshah who rolled to his feet and backed off, his ears tight to his skull, the fur on his neck bristled into a mane, and his tail twice its normal size.

Ronar had gotten the worst of it. He was bleeding from deep scratches along his flank, and a hunk of flesh and fur had been scraped away behind one ear. But he wasn’t ready to quit, yet. He feinted at Keeshah, and got a claws-out slap across the nose for his pains. He fell back, then, and Thymas regained control. I wasn’t sure how long he could hold it.

“Tarani, take off that pack,” I said. She obeyed me without question.

*
You saved her, Keeshah,
* I said, as I transferred some of the food from my saddlebags into Tarani’s pack. *
Will you carry her?
*

He was panting heavily, watching the other sha’um.

*
You want her. I will carry her.
*

*
Thanks.
*

I strapped on the pack and, pulling it high on my shoulders, tightened the fasteners.

“You’ll have to ride first position, Tarani,” I said. “You saw where Thymas was sitting. Sit there and lie forward, tucking up your knees and holding Keeshah’s shoulders.”

Still watching Ronar, Keeshah crouched down. Even after a sha’um had nearly killed her, Tarani went up to Keeshah with no trace of fear. She lay on his back with her eyes closed. Keeshah waited calmly while I checked her position on both sides.

I settled on Keeshah’s hindquarters and leaned forward across Tarani’s back. Keeshah stood up, lifting both of us easily, and I asked him to turn so that I could see Thymas.

The boy was spluttering with outrage.

“We need to keep the sha’um apart for a few hours,” I said, “so I’m going to ride ahead. How far is Relenor?” I asked Tarani. I could see one side of her face. Her eyes opened, but her expression reminded me of the way she had looked when she was dancing.

“A day and a half, walking,” she answered.

“We’ll meet you at the Refreshment House tonight, then,” I told Thymas. “Bring my packs, too, after you get Ronar calmed down. And repack that cargo net.

“We may need it for something else.”

“Two are here who request shelter and water,” I called, as Tarani and I stood in front of Relenor’s gateway, about an hour before nightfall.

Relenor sat in the middle of a wide valley that would narrow and climb until it became the Zantil Pass. The Refreshment House looked just like the one at Yafnaar, with the entire compound surrounded by a man-high wall made of whitish blocks of rock salt.

The only opening in that wall was covered by a strip of yellow cloth, to remind travelers that staying here meant obeying the laws of the Fa’aldu. The desert-dwellers were called by that word as a single group; it meant “bringers of water.” The Refreshment Houses took individual names based on the first person to settle in each location.

“I am Lussim, Elder of Relenor,” said the man who appeared in the gateway, when the cloth barrier was dropped. He was wearing the traditional long white robe. He was younger than Balgokh, but he carried the same air of authority the Yafnaar elder possessed. “No quarrel shall enter here,” he said. “Put aside your weapons, and be welcome to any service we can provide.”

He stood aside, and Tarani moved through the gateway, removing her baldric and placing the sheathed sword in the Elder’s out-stretched hands. He turned and handed it to one of the two boys who had lowered the barrier cloth. While he was doing that, Tarani was speaking her own formula.

“I have a weapon which cannot be surrendered,” she said. “I give you my oath that it shall not be used while Relenor shelters me.”

“Your oath is accepted,” Lussim replied, with a smile. “As always, it is a pleasure to see you, Tarani.”

She stopped aside, and I moved in, holding out Serkajon’s sword. “I am Rikardon, Respected Elder, and I must ask for food and water for my sha’um, as well as for myself.”

He had been in the act of handing the sword to the kid when he heard my name. He pulled it back, held it gently before him as he spoke to me.

“I know the value of this sword, Rikardon, and I will guard it, myself, while you shelter here. In the name of my cousin Balgokh, you may enter Relenor only as the guest of the Fa’aldu.”

I bowed slightly. “I am honored, Respected Elder. If you please, I will see to my sha’um before I enter.”

Lussim signaled to the boys, who went running off, staring at me over their shoulders. One bounced against a wall before he found a door and disappeared.

There has been time, since I left Yafnaar, for a letter to get here
, I was thinking,
even if it came with a caravan, instead of a bird. I wonder what Balgokh said about me.

I untied Tarani’s pack, slipped it off, and handed it to her. She looked tired. She had been running from us, and following us, for two days without sleep. “I’ll wait for the supplies,” I said. “Go ahead and get settled.”

Lussim led Tarani off toward the line of cubicles on one side of the crowded courtyard. There was an enormous stack of goods in one corner of the yard, and twenty or thirty vleks were stamping around nervously, their low-slung bellies nearly dusting the floor of the courtyard.