The Hammer of Fire (20 page)

“There are other tribes beside the Farriders
who stand opposed to your rule,” said Tahnoon with an idle look at
the steadily emptying bowl of dates.

“None of consequence, as you well know,”
replied Ming with a sneer. “Once the Farriders fall under my sway
the rest will come along, even the Golden Worm.”

“The Worms are of no military significance
although their magical power is beyond compare. They will submit to
whoever pays the most and will work diligently enough after that.
But it is your disdain of religious matters that causes us the most
distress with the Farriders. Perhaps, when taking the omens before
battle you might consider actually glancing at the lamb
entrails?”

“Witches, superstitious,” said Ming with a
wave of his hand. “Why do people believe in such nonsense?”

“The mind wants reason,” said Tahnoon. “When
it looks at a cloud it sees a dragon or a horse where no such beast
exists.”

“Is it not reason enough that I, with my
military experience, believe that it is a good day for battle? What
more reason could there be? The entrails of a goat? That is
nonsense and I find it wearisome and hypocritical nonsense at
that.”

“Men are strange creatures,” said Tahnoon.
“Without a reason they will balk at even the simplest of commands.
But, if properly motivated, indoctrinated with religious fervor,
they will do as commanded without a second’s hesitation.”

“I do not want such simpletons around me,”
said Ming. “I want men who see the world as it is. Men who see an
enemy so that we might slay him.”

“I agree, those are good men with which to
surround yourself,” said Tahnoon. “But, most men cannot live up to
such lofty expectations. Most men are simpletons and they must be
treated with care for even though simple, they can prove invaluable
in many ways. You know that I am correct, Ming. Ever since you
crawled out of that hole of yours, nearly dead, and found your way
into my tent, you’ve known that I possess the wisdom you need to
become the conqueror you never were below.”

“There were a few setbacks below,” said Ming
with a snort and a nonchalant wave of his left hand. “I will admit
as much.”

“It was because of your lack of religious
piety. You must learn that the vast majority of people can never
hope to achieve our level of rationality. They live in a dream
world, a foggy facsimile of the real world, where reality is a
dream and their own fantasies reality.”

“As a boy I hoped to teach people
differently,” said Ming with a sigh. “To lead a revolution against
the darkling queens and eventually conquer all below.”

“The dreams of a child,” said Tahnoon and ate
yet another of the sweet dates. “In this grownup world we must not
try to educate people but use their ignorance for our own benefit.
If they believe drinking the sand will quench their thirst then we
must somehow use that to our advantage. You can save a person from
a wild lion but you cannot save him from himself. Have I taught you
nothing over the years?”

“You have taught me,” said Ming and slowly
nodded his head, “and taught me well. I hear your words. Now, what
shall we do with these northerners when they arrive? Torture?
Gentle kindness?”

“I think kindness,” said the fat man as he
reached into the bowl but found it empty. He looked over and shook
his head sadly. “Your austerity is most unwelcome. You must learn
to treat your guests with hospitality. It is the way of the
nomad.”

“Kindness it will be,” said Ming to Tahnoon
and then turned to face the back of the tent and called out to the
folds, “More dates!” Then he turned back to Tahnoon, “or I will be
accused of being a bad host and, as I recall, there are few things
worse to be called than that.”

“You learn, you learn. Still, we must garner
as much information from these northerners as possible. It is clear
they are spies of Corancil here to seek out as much information
about us and our status with the other nomads as possible. They
will most certainly have some well-fabricated and elaborate lie
prepared for us. We should pretend to believe this nonsense while
pouring sweet wine for them in the comfort of your tent. Now, do
you think we should convince them that we are weak or that we are
strong so that they will report as much to the warrior of the
north?”

“That is a reasonable question, Tahnoon,”
said Ming and closed his eyes while he took several breaths. Then
he opened them and nodded his head with a quick, short motion, “We
should pretend that we are strong if we hope to dissuade Corancil
from his invasion plans or at least cause a delay. We should do the
opposite if we want him to invade before he is ready in the hopes
of catching his armies in a weakened condition.”

The fat man nodded his head, “Well stated,
the final decision is yours to make.”

“I will consider further on the subject. We
have four days to wait and we do not know the nature of these
spies. It might prove necessary simply to kill them,” said the
Black Rider as he watched a pretty girl with flimsy yellow robes
that covered her completely from cheek to foot but somehow hinted
of flesh enter into the room and set down a tray in front of
Tahnoon. “Now, you will enjoy my hospitality so that my reputation
will not be sullied? You don’t mind if I drink my dark wine?” he
said as a girl brought him a small goblet filled with a deep red
liquid that had the aroma almost of chocolate.

“You darklings and your strange tastes; no
please, go right ahead but if you could refrain from bringing in
those cheeses, they reek,” said Tahnoon and wrinkled his nose.

“As you wish, you are my guest. Now, do you
think we can determine how they will communicate their espionage
back to Corancil. Some magical device no doubt but one that perhaps
we can detect and even eavesdrop upon?” said Ming as he inhaled
deeply from the glass. “Mmm, delicious. One more thing,
Tahnoon.”

“Yes, oh mighty one?” replied the large man
with a smile.

“That rider, find out who he is and give him
his own patrol. We need more like him in the ranks of
captains.”

“It will be done,” said Tanhoon. “He is from
a good family and they will be pleased with his promotion. You have
angered some of the families with your decisions of late.”

“If war is coming to the Sands then we need
our best leaders in front not those whose family hold a dear place
in the history of the Black Horsemen,” said Ming. “I will not make
useless political appointments. It saps the entire army from
within.”

“I understand your philosophy, oh great
master of the desert,” said Tanhoon with an indulgent smile on his
face. “But sometimes the best warriors do not come from the
families with the finest breeding stock nor the most wealth. An
army is made of soldiers certainly but they must have proper
equipment and mounts or they cannot defend the nation.”

“Pragmatism over idealism, then?” said Ming
with a rueful smile. “That is a language I’m beginning to
understand all too well.”

“This is a horse!” said Milli as they
cantered across the desert floor. Her hair flew out behind her like
an invading army’s golden banner and now, after a few nervous days
at being so far elevated from the ground, she even had the nerve to
throw out her arms as the wind rushed past her face. “Wheeeee!”

Not far back Petra sat hunched over her own
horse, holding on for dear life as the animal gobbled up the ground
at a speed that defied her understanding. The horses of the nomads
bore no resemblance to the steeds she dealt with in the northlands.
It wasn’t that they looked all that different but they were … more
horse. They cantered at a pace that no horse she knew could hope to
match even in a full gallop, and these steeds seemed capable of
churning out mile after mile without any sort of rest. She
suspected they had covered more territory in the last two days than
she had traveled in a year with her wagon. The dwarves and the
halfling girl probably couldn’t even begin to comprehend the
vastness of the desert and astonishing power of the horses. They
simply didn’t know any better.

Brogus appeared of the same mind as Petra
about the powerful horses as he sat low in the saddle and clung to
the reins with white-knuckled ferocity. Dol rode more like Milli as
he sat high with his eyes ablaze with a strange fire and a small
smile on his mouth. He was tall for a dwarf and his legs fit
comfortably around the sides of the animal that bore him. The loose
fitting nomadic gear was quite comfortable in the saddle and the
ride was surprising in its smoothness. The canter, as explained by
Manetho, was a good speed for long distance travel. The gallop,
which only Milli had so far dared, was for shorter distances at a
great speed, but the worst of all was the bone jarring trot that
the nomads seemed to enjoy but that, so far, had sent Brogus to the
ground on two separate occasions. Luckily the big dwarf was thick
skinned and emerged from the incidents without serious harm
although he insisted on further support in the saddle in the way of
a tether. The nomads laughed at this and tried to dissuade him, but
when he proved intractable ended up tying him to the saddle.

Manetho steered his horse to where Petra rode
and smiled at her with a nod of his head, “It gets easier with
practice. It is said that we nomads were born in the saddle and
although it is not true, it is far from completely inaccurate. We
have only a few more hours before we arrive at the camp.”

“I’ll be glad to trade in my horse,” she
yelled back over the howling wind that stole the words from her
mouth. “I’ve never ridden at a speed like this. It’s astonishing!
It’s frightening.”

“These are not even the finest stallions,”
yelled Manetho with a shrug of his shoulders. “The Black Rider, the
chieftains, they all ride horses swifter yet.” The chubby nomad sat
easily in the saddle and barely moved with the motion of the horse.
He looked at perfect ease as they cantered along, hour after hour,
through the scrub desert.

“That doesn’t seem possible,” yelled Petra
with eyes squinted against the sudden blasts of sand that came now
and again. The face masks of the nomads made more sense now that
she understood the power and speed of their horses and she was
grateful for the one she wore. It had not fit properly the first
day but a few adjustments by her experienced companions and she
found riding no less terrifying but certainly more comfortable.
Now, with near two days of riding under her belt, Petra managed to
take in the world that flew by rather than simply hang on in terror
as she had the first day of travel. She noted that the desert
seemed to be blossoming with life as they continued towards the
encampment. She suspected there might be a river or lake nearby and
this would provide a good place for many nomads to gather and share
their stories. Fresh water sounded good; she and the others
subsided on the stale leftovers in their skin and that which the
nomads carried for two days while they waited for the return of the
horses and the journey to the encampment.

“How many miles can a horse run in a day?”
shouted Petra and for a moment she thought the nomad didn’t hear
her for he carried a puzzled expression on his face. She started to
ask the question again but he interrupted her.

“I heard you well enough. I’m just curious as
to the magic of the stone,” giving a tap to the translating device
around his neck, “and how it can interpret a concept like a unit of
distance.”

Petra cocked her head at an angle and thought
for a moment, “That is an interesting question. What do you
consider a mile, how does it translate the word, does it convert
the number you give me from your unit to mine?” She paused for a
moment, “I guess it doesn’t really matter. We have traveled far.
How do you judge a distance?”

“We judge in what we call leagues and
furlongs. They are distances a horse of good breeding should be
able to travel in a certain amount of time. A league is about the
distance a horse can canter in twelve minutes and a furlong is the
distance a horse can gallop in fifteen seconds. Now, these numbers
will vary depending on the horse but in this way we can express the
distance between two points accurately enough.”

Petra looked down at the pounding hooves, but
the sight made her instantly dizzy and she looked back up again. As
they approached the encampment the desert began to burst with trees
and flowers and the witchy woman was able to pick out a few
landmarks. She spotted a yellowish bush coming up quickly and began
to count as they flashed past it. Fifteen seconds later she dared
turn slightly in the saddle to see how far behind them the bush lay
and nodded her head. “I suppose it’s as good as any other system of
measurements,” she shouted.

Manetho watched this entire episode with a
narrow frown on his face and nodded his head when she completed her
experiment. The woman was intelligent although he found that
witches often were. Local tribesmen ostracized those who took up
the magical arts and he wondered if it might be the same in the
north. Therefore they often disguised their quick minds with witchy
ceremony in order to further their work. A good witch made her
money selling potions and herbal remedies to the average
superstitious lout and airs of superior intelligence did not go a
long way towards endearing a practitioner to her best customers.
Amongst the nomads there were many who believed in the
superstitious nonsense of the witches and there seemed to be no end
to their gullibility. “It would prove an interesting experiment,”
he shouted over the thundering of the hooves and the howling of the
wind.

Petra looked at him with a small smile on her
face but did not reply, and so they rode on into the day. It took
them another two hours, as Manetho had suggested earlier, to arrive
near the outskirts of the nomadic camp, but they spotted the smoke
from its many campfires long before that. The horses seemed to
sense the proximity to the tents and keeping them limited to the
pace of a canter proved too much for all of the inexperienced
riders. The horses leaned into their reins and first Milli’s, then
Brogus’s, and finally Petra’s broke into a heart-pounding gallop
that numbed the senses. Only Dol, his thick muscles straining,
managed to keep his horse under control. The fierce nomad who came
back with the extra horses sent his horse into a gallop after the
other three while Manetho kept pace with the sturdy dwarf.