Fool's Errand (16 page)

Goldain quickly rose and headed for the cook’s wagon. The raving of the cook had drawn a crowd, including Xyer Garan shaking his head in disbelief. Apparently, word had not reached the front wagon yet as Tropham and Gideon were not part of the throng around the supply wagon.

“Of all the imbecilic, moronic, confounded stupidity it has ever been my displeasure to stumble upon,” Cookie ranted, “this one takes the cake. No water! Can’t cook, can’t clean up, and can’t continue. I’m telling you this mission is cursed. Cursed, I say!”

“Shut your pie-hole, kitchen rat,” snapped Goldain, who had heard enough of the rotund cook’s complaining. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, but without your useless hysterics.”

Goldain cut through the crowd and inspected the barrels himself.

“Trooper,” he said to the soldier that had made the initial report, “go tell your captain and Captain Gideon what is going on and ask them to come to the supply wagon right away.”

With a quick salute, the trooper was off in the direction of the lead wagon. Melizar stepped out of the crowd of onlookers and asked if he might examine the scene. Goldain nodded, and the small-framed mage moved nimbly about the supply wagon. He came down from the wagon.

He pulled Goldain aside and whispered, “This was no oversight. The insides of the taps are wet, so these were not forgotten or dry kegs. They have had water in them within the bounds of this day.”

This dashed Goldain’s hopes that the mage might offer some useful insight. He himself had inspected the barrels and filled his canteen from one of them before they departed Aton-Ri. If there was water when they left, where did it go? Someone among the company was a saboteur! Goldain asked Thatcher to use his observation skills to check the barrels for leaks or for anywhere in the wagon that might indicate a problem.

“Sorry, Goldain, the barrels are sealed, fit and water-tight.”

“As I expected. Then folks, we have a traitor in our midst.”

As the crowd let the significance of those words sink in, Gideon and Tropham approached. Xyer Garan sprang to life at the Parynlander’s approach as if waiting for his cue to add his own perspective.

“Obviously someone wishes this mission to fail. Either the blue mage the Durgak warned of knows we are coming and is working
kashaph
powers against us, or as Goldain said, we have a spy in our midst.” At this last comment, he turned his gaze fully upon Gideon before continuing. “At any rate we can turn south for a day and a half to reach the Aton River, or we can turn around and return to Aton-Ri with our tails between our legs like kicked dogs and refill our supplies there. Either way, we lose at least two days.”

Gideon, ignoring Garan’s visual insinuation about the possible identity of the spy, shook his head and turned to the Durgak priest.

“It may not be necessary to turn any direction just yet.”

“Are you mad?” erupted Garan.

“Priest Duncan, do not the Scriptures record instances of
oth,
divinely granted miracles, which might just help in a situation like this? Perhaps if we inquire of the One Lord, He may allow your patron Malakim, Hadaram, to assist us.”

“True enough,” Duncan warbled his apprehensive response. “There are records in the Great Book of Writings telling of great
oth
bringing water where there was none. However, Captain Gideon,” he added, shooting Gideon a look halfway between consternation and pleading, “I am no prophet of old nor high priest. I am but a humble healer, and that is where the
oth
gifts given to me reside—in the area of healing and curing, not creating.”

“While I agree you are no prophet or high priest,” Gideon replied, “the One Lord is still the same Lord of all, even of those who choose not to acknowledge Him. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever, so why not ask anyway and let Him decide if He chooses to grant you this
oth
or not? You have not because you ask not.”

Duncan winced at the reminder of the words he himself knew all too well. The priest nodded and pulled his blue and white
talith,
his prayer shawl, used by holy men of the servant races of the Malakim, over his head, and went off a distance away to pray in solitude. Xyer Garan was not mollified in the least.

“So, paladin, that is your answer? To send the digger off to mumble entreaties to a mystical spirit in hopes that water might fall from the sky? We would do just as well to dance around the wagons and chant to the wind. Our hope lies in a forced march back to Aton-Ri or south to the Aton River. Anything else is wishful fancy and foolishness.”

Arreya, who had bounded up from her last evening scouting foray just in time to hear Xyer’s objection voiced her own thoughts.

“Warrior Garan, you err. My people, during times of great drought in the Djarmangara, have often had the prayers of the nature priests answered with rain. We honor the One Lord and His messenger, Elisheva, mistress of the hunt. Few are the times our prayers have gone unanswered.”

Garan, was apparently unconvinced by Arreya’s words. With a condescending tone in his voice, he snapped his reply to the primitive huntress.

“Your people are superstitious and foolish if they believe rain comes from prayers. It comes from cloud-filled skies, and every drought must end sometime. If one continues to pray for rain every day, those prayers will eventually be answered, even if one prays to a toad or a rock. If we felt like camping here and dying of thirst, we could pray until the summer rains come and our prayers too would be answered. Unfortunately, we will all be long dead before then.”

Garan’s ability to draw a fight out of others succeeded wildly in this case. Arreya was not one of Gideon’s companions and thus under no instructions to maintain self-control. Before the last words from Garan’s mouth died on the breeze, Arreya had drawn her dagger and leapt at the giant warrior, slashing for his throat.

His eyes grew wide in surprise at the suddenness and fierceness of the attack, and only his years of battle experience turned a killing strike into a glancing blow. He ducked and dodged quickly to his right as the blade, originally aimed at his throat, instead slashed a long gash in Garan’s left cheek. By the time he regained his footing, and spun to face Arreya, she had raised her spear and was about to plunge it full into his chest. Suddenly they both froze, hearing a forceful command issuing from Gideon.

“Enough! We are already shorthanded without killing each other before even reaching any bandit ambush. Captain Garan, whatever your issues with me or with Parynland, you bury them until this mission is over if you plan to remain a part of it. If you cannot do that, then you are welcome to take your leave and choose the river or Aton-Ri as your place to refill your water as suits your fancy.”

“Arreya,” Gideon said, turning toward the feline huntress, “we appreciate your skills and recognize Garan’s words would have raised the fire in any warrior’s heart, but if you draw blade against another of our company again, then you too can be on your way, and we will have to manage without your services.”

Garan visibly choked back whatever response had been rising in his throat. Arreya sheathed her knife, lowered her spear, and gave a nod of assent to Gideon.

“My apologies, captain,” said the Zafirr
chats-enash,
bowing her head toward Gideon. Turning to Garan she added, “You live while you serve this mission, Cyrian. Once it is complete, we will finish what we have begun.”

 “So be it,” Garan answered. “I could use a new rug, and you will match my room perfectly, kitten.”

Goldain smiled. This was probably not the burying of the hatchet Gideon had hoped for, but given the personalities of those involved, a temporary ceasefire was probably as good as it was going to get.

As the scuffle broke up and everyone went back to the work of making camp, the young archer, Jeslyn, approached Arreya.

“That was amazing,” she whispered. “That brute deserved it for sure. I wish I could fight like you. Hey, you think you could teach me?”

Arreya placed a gentle, black-furred hand upon the child’s golden-haired head.

“I wasn’t much younger than you when I made my first kill on a pride hunt. However, Adami do not mature as quickly as Zafirr. Work first on gaining your speed and strength, and perhaps once all this is over, I will teach you to be a real huntress.”

The girl’s smile stretched the breadth of her face as she wrapped her arms around the Zafirr
chats-enash
warrior. Arreya, unaccustomed to this type of physical affection, endured it with a clear look of discomfort on her face. The child, her heart doubtless filled with hopes of becoming a warrior like her father, ran off to settle in for the night in anticipation of dreams filled with valor and glory.

Melizar observed the exchange between the surface-worlders with silent amusement. Deep in his heart he found he agreed with Xyer Garan. He knew the tales of the Malakim, the Ayabim,
and the One Lord. He had read the prophecies of the great struggle for the souls of men and how the messengers of the One Lord, who governed the servant races, were given powers to answer prayers. His own learned and studied
kashaph
arts were purported to have been taught to the servants of the Ayabim as an enticement for men who sought alliance with them. It is also written that the
oth
gifts are given by the One Lord through the agency of the lords of light, the Malakim.

This had to be mere legends and stories. Melizar knew the materials, the ancient words, and the gestures by which the powers of
kashaph
were manifested. These powers could be taught to anyone with the potential to learn. They required no mystical prayers or enticements to function. Furthermore, unlike Gideon’s encouragement to the Durgak, one could not use powers one had not learned. If the Durgak somehow were given a way to make water from mere prayers,
that
would be an eye-opening contradiction to all Melizar thought he understood.

Before much time passed, Duncan returned to the company.

“Great news, lads and lasses, our prayers have been heard. Come with me and bring the water barrels.”

Melizar mused to himself as the company began to scramble to react to the Durgak’s announcement.

Interesting…This should prove quite entertaining and informative no matter how it turns out. Nothing like a good miracle, real or faked, to stir the pot a bit!

A few of Tropham’s troopers grabbed the barrels, and the whole company followed the Durgak across the road and out into an open field. In the middle of the plain rested a single large boulder. Rocks like these were common enough in this land and some, like this one, were even large enough to provide shade enough to rest under during a hot summer’s journey. As they gathered around the rock, Duncan addressed the assembly.

“The very voice of my patron Hadaram has assured me the One Lord has heard our prayers and wishes to answer them.”

“Do you often hear voices, priest?” Xyer Garan chided. “Perhaps a bit less ale might help that condition.”

“Enough!” snapped Goldain in a rare display of assertive leadership. “You’ve said your piece, Garan, so keep your mouth shut and let’s hear what Duncan has to say.”

Garan turned red but indeed held his peace. Duncan let slip a slight smirk as he continued.

“As was done for the chosen tribes of old in
Olam Haba,
the world before, according to the
Book of Beginnings
, so too will the One Lord meet our needs this day. When the chosen nation wandered in the desert, water was given from stone. So the answer has come that our gracious One Lord will once again do the same.” With that, the Durgak knelt beside the rock, lifted his hands toward the night sky, and said, “O Lord, as your servant Hadaram has revealed to me in my prayer vision, bring forth water from this stone that thy greatness may be shown to those who believe and to those who doubt.”

As soon as Duncan had spoken these words, there was a great rumble from the boulder. One small section about the size of a round shield fell away from the face of the stone, and to the astonishment of all there poured forth from the heart of the rock a strong stream of rushing water. After a few dazed moments, the troops holding the barrels quickly refilled them from the stream and others drank directly from the waters pouring forth from the rock.

While everyone was astounded at the power with which the prayer was answered, none was more shocked than Melizar. He realized immediately that perhaps there was more to the ancient writings and legends than mere myth. This would require considerable study and not a few conversations with the Durgak.

For Xyer Garan, however, his face widened in genuine surprise, then quickly scrunched into a frustrated scowl brimming with animosity. His very vocal mocking and objections to such faith had been witnessed by all. Now that Duncan had managed to summon up what apparently was an answer to prayer, Garan’s words would carry little weight after this.

The moment was not wasted on Arreya who addressed Duncan at a considerably louder than normal volume.