D & D - Red Sands (32 page)

She skipped from the rock to the sandy bank and slashed off into the high grass. Marix scrambled up the bank after her.

"Let her go," advised Tamakh. "Let her expend her fury on the uncomplaining air."

"No, Holy One," said Marix. "Jadira is mine, as I am hers. If she has bile to vent, let it be on me." He disappeared on the trail she had crushed in the grass.

"Love," snorted Nabul. He threw another pebble in the water.

The Unseen Hand

"Jadira!" Marix cuppcd his hands around his mouth and shouted again: "Jadira! Where are you?" He could hear her stomping somewhere ahead. It was easy enough to follow her, but she set such a pace he had to run to catch up. He found her flat on her face, for she had tripped on the soft webbing of roots.

"Let me help you," said Marix, taking her arm.

"Leave me alone!"

"Why should I?"

She shrugged off his helping hand and got up. "Maybe I don't want soothing, from you or anyone else. Did you consider that, my lord?"

He frowned. All sympathy left his face. "Don't call me that," he said.

'"&u are a noble, aren't you? And I am a nomad, a landless, tribeless woman without a name or place to claim as home."

"Not that again! I love you!"

"Do you? I wonder. If Tamakh were a comely female with milk-white skin, would you care so much for me? If

Uramettu were nearer your height, would I stand so high in your estimation?"

Marix made a fist and raised it to his chest. Jadira watched impassively. He struggled with himself and lost. He struck himself smartly on the forehead.

"I don't understand," he said. "In the crater—I thought you loved me in return."

Her dark eyes searched over him, and her countenance lost its harsh lines. "I do," she said. "That's the curse of it. And the nearer we get to Tantuffa, the more frightened I grow."

He took her in his arms. "What frightens you?"

"The knowledge that you have a place and position to return to, a place that has no room for me."

"I will make room."

"No!" she said, drawing away. "Can't you see? Even among the Sudiin, I was not willing to take what was
given
to me, no matter how much love was in the giving." Jadira clutched the front of her robe. "I can't explain this feeling except to say that I would rather die than be any man's servant."

"Shall I renounce my name, then? Is that what you want?"

Jadira stopped resisting and returned his fervent grip. "I am not to be won, Marix. Join me; be my equal, not my lord or my slave."

"A strange doctrine, this. I'm not sure the world could spin in its proper course if every man and woman were each other's equal."

"Just begin with me," she replied, "and let the world follow its own course."

They walked back to the stream hand in hand. Marix called out to Tamakh and the others, but heard no answer. He and Jadira had been gone half a notch, and when they emerged on the creek bank, there was no sign of their companions. The cart was gone. So were the tethered ox and three donkeys.

"What the—?" Jadira splashed out to the middle of the stream. From tbere, she could see a long way up and down both banks, yet not another human being was in sight. No gap in the wall of grass betrayed where their friends might have gone. They seemed to have vanished completely.

"Perplexing, isn't it?"

Jadira and Marix whirled. Standing behind them, where no one had been an instant earlier, was a man on horseback. He wore a three-quarter suit of mail and a banded surcoat of black and white. His horse was similarly trapped in quilted cloth. He spoke in lightly accented Faziri.

"Who are you?" demanded Jadira. "What has become of our friends?"

"I am Frolder, son of Narken, captain in the legion of my Lord Tedwin of Maridanta." He mockingly touched his chest and saluted them. "Your friends are on their way to Barrow Vitgis, our military camp in this province."

"But why? We've done nothing wrong," said Marix.

"You entered the domain of Count Tedwin surreptitiously, trampled his valuable grazing land, drank water from his river. . . need I go on? As his lordship's sheriff, it is my responsibility to uphold the law. I can't allow bands of vagabonds to despoil his lordship's property with impunity."

"Vagabonds! Do you know who—" Marix began.

Jadira cut him off. "How may we make restitution to Count Tedwin?" she asked quickly.

"If you will come with me to Barrow Vitgis, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement," said Frolder. He brought his horse's head around. "Follow the watercourse northward eight
vanzi
and the barrow will be on the west bank."

"Uh, how far is eight
vanzi?"
said Marix.

Frolder considered a moment. "One and a half Faziri leagues."

Jadira saw Marix's hand stray to his sword hilt. No, no, not yet, she thought. Frolder saw his movement, too. He smiled behind his elegant red moustache and reached for the small silver disc that hung from a chain around his neck. He put the disc to his lips and disappeared.

Out came the scimitar. Marix charged forward, kicking up spray. He splashed through the spot where horse and rider had iust been.

"Where did he go?" he sputtered.

—and there was Frolder behind him. He lifted his broadsword. Jadira had no time to cry a warning before Frolder brought the flat of the heavy blade down on top of Marix's head. Marix's knees crumpled, and he collapsed backward into the shallow water.

Frolder smiled benignly at Jadira. "Let no one say the son of Narken is not a kindly fellow," he said. He sheathed his weapon. "The Barrow Vitgis; if you care for your companions, you will come."

The magic amulet—for that is what it surely was— went back in Frolder's mouth, and he vanished, this time for good. Jadira rolled the stunned Marix over and picked waterweed from his hair.

"Ow," he groaned. "What hit me?"

"Our friend Frolder. He has an amulet that confers invisibility."

"Is he gone?"

She blotted his face with her sleeve. "How can I tell? I

don't see him, if that means anything."

She found his sword and handed it back to him. "What sort of place would this Barrow Vitgis be?" she asked.

Marix touched the top of his head and winced. "An earthen hill, natural or man-built, topped with a stockade. The provincial sheriff dwells within, with his armed retainers."

"How many retainers?"

"Who knows? Count Tedwin is the richest vassal of Prince Lydon of Narsia. A hundred men-at-arms? Two hundred?" He wrung water from his robe and adjusted his sword belt. "Does it matter?"

She admitted it did not. Jadira and Marix put the afternoon sun on their left and set out for the hilltop fortress where their friends were being held.

Barrow Vitgis was no rude stockade perched on a pile of dirt. It was an entire village, spread out around the base of a conical mound capped by a log-walled citadel. The banner of Maridanta flipped lazily from a mast at the top of the hill. Smoke hung low in the moist evening air.

A soldier in a black brigandine jacket barred Jadira and Marix's way with his halberd. "What do you want here?" he demanded.

"Sheriff Frolder is holding some friends of ours," said Jadira. "We've come to get them out."

The guard smiled unpleasantly. "O' course. Pass," he said, snapping the pole arm to the vertical. As they walked by him, the guard chuckled under his breath.

The long palisade around the village had no gate, only a baffle to defeat a cavalry charge. Inside, Barrow Vitgis was astir with activity. Pigs and chickens ran free in the muddy lanes; peasant farmers carried bunches of turnips or onions tied to long poles over their shoulders. Here and there were other black-garbed soldiers, men of the army of Count Tedwin.

"I hope this is not some game of deceit," muttered Jadira as they walked.

"So do I." Marix sidestepped a trundle cart bearing a beer barrel. "We're not far from where I buried the seal." She queried him with a sharp look. He nodded to the east. "No more than half a league that way, in a star-shaped olive grove."

At the base of the citadel mound, a spiral road began, leading to the summit. The road was corduroyed with logs to provide a steadier surface for the steep ascent. Marix and Jadira circled the hill four times. At the top they passed through another baffle of rough-dressed logs into the sheriff's military keep. An elderly man in civilian clothes accosted them. He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck, from which hung a miniature human leg wrought in gold.

"Who are you? What is your business here?" said the man haughtily.

"We are travelers, bidden here by your sheriff. He arrested four of our companions and brought them to the barrow," said Jadira.

He looked down his beaky nose at them and sniffed. "You will have to wait until Sir Frolder can sec you," he said. "Come with me."

He led them through a wide doorway into the dark interior of the wooden citadel. Skylights relieved the gloom in spots, but the whole aspect of the place was so austere Jadira found it depressing. Bad enough to live

inside walls and a roof, but this!

The old man stopped in a large octagonal hall. "You will wait here," he said. To Marix, he held out a hand. "I must ask you to give up your sword—for the time being." Marix slowly reached for the scimitar. "It is the law," the old man insisted.

Marix drew the blade out of its wooden scabbard and handed it pommel-first to their guide. The old man regarded the Faziri weapon with distaste, but carried it away without another word.

"Westerners are strange people," Jadira said when they were alone. "And this Frolder, he's the strangest of them all—appearing and disappearing like my grand-sire's ghost! He means us no good, I know it."

"Count Tedwin is a shrewd leader," said Marix. "He's been lame since birth, so he surrounds himself with bold, vigorous lieutenants."

Jadira walked the perimeter of the hall. The walls were decorated with carpets and heraldic shield covers. The floor was covered with fine white river sand. In the center was an octagonal table, finely made from some dark northern wood. Heavy cubic chairs faced the table. As Jadira swung around the last face of the eight-sided room, Frolder blinked into sight in the tallest and grandest of the chairs.

"Good of you to come," he said.

"May we settle accounts and go?" said Marix. "We have duties elsewhere."

"Sit," said Frolder with a regal wave of his hand. When neither Jadira nor Marix moved, he repeated himself with more force: "Sit!"

Marix and Jadira sat side by side. She placed her hands atop his and twined their fingers together.

"I will tell you a story," began Frolder. "A fascinating story, but one that doesn't have an ending yet. It seems there was this band of travelers. A very select group of men and women. One had the shaven poll of a holy man; another was scraped off a filthy street in Fazir. There was a woman with skin like midnight, tall and handsome to see, who moved silently and watched everything. The next was not a man at all, but a gargoyle with wings, cat's eyes, and pointed ears to boot." Frolder leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Then came the young man. His coloring and carriage were foreign to this region. There's no mistaking noble blood, you know; no ignoring the fellow who's never bent his knee to a higher power save the gods. And the last was a woman, a nomad woman, fierce of eye and strong of will. Who were these travelers, and where did they come from?"

"Are you asking us?" saidjadira.

"No, I'm telling you a story. Don't interrupt; it's not polite." He turned the blood-colored velvet mantle back from his shoulders and stood up. A ruby-hilted dagger gleamed at his waist. The sheriff was enjoying his advantage.

"As I said, not the usual sort of vagabonds one might expect to drift into one's domain now and then. These were people with a purpose, a mission. Now, what might that mission be?" Frolder planted his fists on his hips. "That is the question. What would keep such a disparate band together, do you think?"

"Good comrades need no reason," said Marix. "May we see our friends, Sir Sheriff?"

Jadira expected Frolder to resist and demand answers. Instead, he smiled and relaxed his belligerent stance. "Why not?" he said.

Frolder swept aside one of the wall hangings, revealing an open door. He held the tapestry aside for Jadira and Marix. They ducked through. The corridor beyond was dank and hot. Clumps of lichen grew on the squared-off logs that formed the walls and ceilings.

They preceded Frolder along the hall to a left turn. From there, they emerged outdoors again; in this case, a courtyard surrounded by a high fence. A number of posts were placed around the yard, and Marix and Jadira's friends were tied, one per post. Only Uramettu looked up when they entered.

"As you see, I provided your comrades with accommodations similar to what they were accustomed to," said Frolder. "Warm sun and open air; how healthful! How unlike the grim life of settled habitation!"

Jadira rushed to the nearest post. Tamakh was roped to it. His head hung listlessly, jadira lifted it and spoke to him. "Holy One, can you hear me?" His eyes were misted, unseeing. Marix went to Nabul and found him likewise befuddled. The two of them converged on Uramettu, as she seemed to be more aware.