The Shaman (40 page)

“And
you had no great reason to protect us,” Dariad said with disgust. He looked up
at the judge. “What shall we do with them?”

The
traders stared up in fear.

“This
is my judgment,” the leader answered. “They shall go free with one camel each,
and swords to protect them from robbers—but no more.”

“Thirty
camels at least!” Another nomad looked about him. “A score of tents, and a
dozen bags of trade goods! We shall gain something by this, at least.”

“But
we have lost kinsmen’s lives,” Dariad said, frowning.

“Death
comes to us all,” the judge reminded him, “and our kinsmen died in glory. Their
deaths were not the fault of these deceived traders. They should have told the
truth, yes, but they have not enough guilt to be slain.”

“That
is generous,” Lucoyo said with a scowl, “but also foolish. Will they not bring
the soldiers of Kuru down upon you?”

The
nomads glanced at one another and grinned. “They will,” Dariad said, “if they
can find us.”

“Can
you discover the trail of the blown sand?” another nomad asked. “Can you track
the sirocco?”

“Where
the Biharu have passed, no one can tell,” the judge explained. “We leave no
traces, and when we choose to hide, none shall find us—unless we wish it,”

“But
these soldiers found you once!” Lucoyo objected.

“That
is true,” said the judge, “but we were not in hiding. Indeed, we wished to be
found—if the finder was a traders’ caravan.”

Lucoyo
subsided, baffled and angry, but Ohaern said, “These soldiers knew where to
find you, and I doubt they were seeking any desert tribe at random.”

“Perhaps
they followed you,” a nomad suggested.

The
Biharu stirred, muttering, with uneasy glances at Lucoyo and Ohaern—and Manalo,
who came striding up. “They may have—or they may have sought someone who, they
knew, was here among you.”

“Dariad!”
Ohaern’s head snapped up; he stared at the young nomad. “It must be Dariad, for
they came in disguise, to win your trust and lull you into lowering your guard!”

“Aye.”
Lucoyo glared angrily. “What need for stealth if they only sought us? They
could have come openly as soldiers, and only waited until we had left your camp
and gone on alone, then leaped upon us from hiding.”

“There
is sense in what they say,” the judge said heavily.

“But
... Dariad?” one of the older nomads protested. “Little
Dariad?”

The
other Biharu turned to look at their comrade, puzzled, but Manalo confirmed it.
“It is Dariad indeed. There is a quality of uniqueness about you, young man—a
sense of great power within. Any of Ulahane’s sorcerers could find and follow
that aura of destiny in an instant.”

“There
was a priest of Ulahane with them,” a trader said.

The
judge frowned. “Where is he now?”

The
trader looked about, at a loss. “He stayed here near us, where the guards were.”

“I
saw him disappear,” another trader said, his voice shaking, “fade to nothing
and disappear!”

“It
is Dariad.” The judge frowned. “We must hide, indeed, and arm ourselves to
protect our kinsman.”

“I
will not imperil you!” Dariad exclaimed. “I will lose myself in the desert!”

Even
before the judge could object, Manalo said, “Lose yourself with us instead. We
must go into the Sand Sea. You can lead us to its edge, at least, and wait for
us to come back—and I shall weave a spell that will cloak you from even the
best of Ulahane’s sorcerers.”

The
Biharu stared and pulled away, muttering fearfully, and the judge demanded, “Are
you a sorcerer, too, then?”

“A
wizard,” Manalo corrected, “and one equal in power to any of Ulahane’s priests.”

Lucoyo
frowned. “How is it the chains of Byleo could hold you, then? ... Oh.”

Manalo
turned to him and nodded. “They were forged by a sorcerer equal to me in power.
It was Ohaern’s strength that broke that deadlock, not mine.” He turned back to
Dariad. “Will you come with us, then?”

“If
my going will preserve my people from the danger of the soldiers? Of course.”

But
the Biharu muttered angrily, and the judge said, “We do not leave our own to
face peril! If you go to the Sand Sea, Dariad, we all go!”

The
young nomad stared, alarmed and touched at the same time.

“Fold
your tents and flee like your windblown sand,” Manalo advised, “for when these
soldiers fail to return, more will be sent to finish what they have begun.”

The
judge spat in contempt. “We fear no soldiers—and we will not abandon our
kinsman! If you go to the Sand Sea, Dariad, we will go with you!”

Dariad
gazed about at them all with gratitude and love that faded to concern. “I would
not be the cause of the deaths of any more of my kinsmen!”

“And
we will not leave you to the soldiers,” said another nomad, and they all called
out in loud and angry agreement.

“It
is well that you do follow him,” Manalo told them, “for Ulahane is abroad in
the land and draws in his minions to strike down all that is good and brave in
humankind, that he may enslave the weak and wicked to abuse for his own
corrupted pleasures. Foremost among these are the soldiers of Kuru, for Kuru is
a city that is wholely and completely dedicated to Ulahane, aye, worshiping him
as a god and having no other gods but the Scarlet One!” He turned to Dariad,
and his voice rang out. “I tell you as one who knows, for I am a sage, devoted
to Lomallin! I tell you that the Green One has work for you to do, for the
glory of the Star-Maker! Aye, you, and all who will follow you!”

Dariad
stared at him in awe. Then he recognized the truth of Manalo’s words and
straightened with inner certainty. Indeed, the young nomad seemed to grow right
there before their eyes. “Yes, I can feel the lightness of what you say, and
see that fighting for Lomallin is the only way to save my tribe!” He turned to
his tribesmen, calling, “The sage speaks truth! Lomallin requires service of
us, service for our god and all that is good! Kinsmen, I would not ask you to
die for my own vain glory—but the glory of the Star-Maker, and the survival and
freedom of all humankind, is a cause worth every drop of blood in our veins!”

The
Biharu answered him with a shout, swords waving on high, and the judge said, “If
these soldiers come from Kuru, and if Ulahane shall wreak such destruction that
no one will be safe from Kuru’s soldiers, then Kuru must be destroyed!”

“Aye,”
Ohaern shouted, with the memory of Ryl’s dying face before him, “Kuru must be
destroyed, and Ulahane with it!”

The
Biharu answered with another shout of acclaim. Any other people would have
shrunk in fear at the thought of seeking to destroy a god, but these Biharu did
not believe the Ulin
were
gods. Admittedly, they were beings much more
powerful than themselves—but the camels were more powerful than humans, and
were tamed to the will of the Biharu—so why should not one Ulin be slain?

When
the companions left the oasis an hour later, Dariad rode with them, and his
whole tribe followed with grim resolve, the Klaja and Grakhinox among them, and
the only ones who shied away from them now were the camels.

But
Dariad seemed to have shrunk back to an ordinary and rather uncertain mortal as
he glanced behind to stare at his tribe, then turned to Ohaern. “How can I
possibly be worthy of their trust?”

“Because
you are,” Ohaern answered, and he watched the young nomad square his shoulders,
straightening his back and riding with his eyes fixed ahead. The big smith
reflected wryly that leadership of the Biharu seemed to have passed from the
judge to this young seeming-simpleton, and no one felt need to comment on the
fact!

When
they came to the edge of the Sand Sea, though, Manalo turned to Dariad and bade
him, “Hide among the sands, as only the desert-born can. There is a meeting I
must attend deep within the Sand Sea, and I wish that none of humankind had
need to witness it.”

“If
there is need, I shall go!” Dariad said instantly.

Manalo’s
smile showed that his heart was warmed, and he clasped the young nomad’s
shoulder. “I know that you would, and I thank you—but I need to know that you
are here, to guard and protect those who come out. Only Ohaern may come with
me—and Lucoyo with him.”

The
half-elf looked up, incipient panic in his eyes, but the judge scowled and
said, “There is nothing within the Sand Sea, O Sage, nothing at all—save an
accursed ruin which even the Biharu shun! I beg you, do not go, for you shall
die of thirst before you so much as come near that evil place!”

The
tribesmen clamored their agreement, imploring the teacher not to go, but Manalo
said inexorably, “Nonetheless, I must go,” and apprehension shadowed his face. “There
may be nothing amidst those sands yet, but the one I must meet shall be there
at the appointed hour. I must go.” He turned to Ohaern and Lucoyo. “You need
not come with me if you do not wish it.”

“I
wish it,” Ohaern said instantly, catching Lucoyo with his mouth open.

The
half-elf closed his lips and scowled up at the big smith. Who was Ohaern to
humiliate him and make him look like a coward? He had been about to say that he
did not wish it, indeed—but with Ohaern being so stupidly courageous again,
Lucoyo knew he could not stay behind without loss of face— and that, Lucoyo
could not tolerate at all! After all, what woman would look at a man who had
virtually admitted he was a coward? “Oh, I will go, too,” he grumbled. “Take
camels at least, though, Teacher!”

“Camels
you shall have, and all the water we can spare,” the judge said, and minutes
later their camels waded into the Sand Sea, burdened with water skins and
ridden by fools—or so Lucoyo reflected sourly as his mount followed Ohaern’s
and the sun sank slowly behind them.

A
s
they rode, Manalo summoned Ohaern up beside him and said, “I have seen the
signs of the drought spreading, Ohaern, as I have gone the length and the
breadth of the steppe, warning the tribes and giving each a sign, that they may
know when to march. The high plains themselves are dry enough, but they do at
least support much grass. Still, the farther south I came, the more sparse the
growth became, until it was all waste, as you saw in the Biharu’s land.”

“They
tell me the desert is spreading,” Ohaern replied. Inwardly, he was still
recovering from his shock at the idea that the sage had traveled so far in only
the few months it had taken himself and Lucoyo to travel from the land of the
Biriae to the land of the Biharu.

“It
is indeed spreading,” Manalo told him, “and will engulf all these southern
lands if it is not ended.”

“It
is Ulahane’s doing, then?”

“It
is,” Manalo confirmed.

A
flicker of movement at the corner of Ohaern’s eye caught his attention. He
turned to look, but it was gone. “Perhaps it is my vision that falters, O
Sage—but I keep seeing something move, and when I turn to look, it is gone.”

“It
is not your vision,” Manalo returned. Again Ohaern felt concern, for that
usually gentle face was pale and grim.

“No,
it is not,” Lucoyo said. “I kept watch, and I saw it this time. It is a lion
with the head of a man—if a man had double mouths filled with four rows of
pointed teeth.”

Manalo
nodded. “The beast is called a ‘manticore.’ It is a creature of the open
plains.”

Ohaern
glanced apprehensively off to his left; again, something flickered at the edge
of sight and was gone. “What are they doing here, in the desert?”

“Ulahane
has sent them after us, of course!” Lucoyo snapped. His face was filled with
dread as he glanced to left and right about him.

“You
have sharp eyes, Lucoyo,” Manalo said, “sharp and quick. But do not fear—the
manticores will not attack us until we have come to our destination.”

“How
do you know?” the half-elf demanded, but Manalo only answered “I know.”

“What
is
our destination?” Ohaern asked.

“The
ruin that stands at the heart of this sea,” Manalo said.

“The
accursed
ruin?” Lucoyo demanded, staring in fright. “It will kill us!”

“It
will not, and it is not accursed,” Manalo answered. “It is there we must go.
You may go back if you wish, Lucoyo. I will not force you to come—no, not in
any way.”

Lucoyo
was on the verge of turning his camel right then, but Ohaern caught his eye and
he subsided, muttering. The big smith and he had saved one another’s lives too
often for him to leave now—at least, not if Ohaern stayed.

The
journey was only three days, but the heat became so intense that even the
camels began to falter. Ohaern suggested night travel, but Manalo warned them
against the dark, telling them that the creatures of Ulahane could come upon
them more easily when the sky was black. He saw to it that they rode only in
the hours between first light and mid-morning, and between sunset and darkness.
When they lit their campfire, he sprinkled strange powders into it, reciting words
they could not understand—but as always, Ohaern memorized the sounds, even
though he could not comprehend them. Whatever they were, whatever powders the
sage used, they kept the manticores at bay and fended off whatever else
sheltered in that waste—Ohaern heard the ominous padding all about them and saw
the glitter of eyes reflecting the firelight, but none dared come within its
circle.

“Sleep,
Ohaern,” Manalo bade. “Sleep, Lucoyo. None can come near this fire now.” And,
miraculously, they did sleep.

But
as the fourth sunset faded to twilight and their weary camels plodded
protesting over the sand, a glittering column rose up to their left, hissing
like a hundred serpents—and well it might, for a serpent it was, though with a
woman’s head and breasts. The face was beautiful, with huge long-lashed eyes
and full, wide, bloodred lips—but those great eyes were staring mad, and the
perfect lips opened to reveal fangs. A forked tongue flicked out to sample the
air, tasted men, and the monster slithered toward them over the sand.