The Transall Saga (13 page)

chapter
39

Trisad’s dusty main street was desolate. The only sign of life was a filthy beggar with a gray beard that almost touched the ground. He sat in rags near one of the fallen-down houses, and when they walked by he pleaded for scraps of food.

Mark peered into the dark opening of one of the buildings. Several large burbbas, rat creatures, scurried across the floor. Up the street a door slammed. A small breeze kicked up a red whirlwind that blew itself out against one of the ancient weather-beaten walls.

A thin woman darted across the road in front of them, balancing a basket on her head. Mark couldn’t help noticing a wide scar on her face that ran from her left eyebrow down to her chin.

"Friendly place," Mark said.

"I told you, Kakon, Trisad is now a refuge for outlaws and others who want to remain hidden. People here keep to themselves, and they do not like outsiders. Come, I know a man who will give us food and drink. When the time is right, I will ask him about the shaman."

Sarbo turned a corner and stepped into a yard littered with bones and broken pottery. A furry animal on a short chain, a cross between a dog and an alligator, snarled at Mark’s beast. "Wait here, Kakon. I will see if we are welcome."

Sarbo strode into the shadows. Mark watched him walk down a set of dirt steps and heard him knock vigorously on a door.

"Hello to the Short Man," he shouted. "Out here in the hot sun you have Sarbo the warrior."

There was no answer. Mark led his beast to the edge of the steps to get a better look. Sarbo shrugged and then knocked again. "Short Man, I come with a friend. We require food and shelter for the night. Dare you turn us away?"

The door creaked open less than an inch. A deep voice boomed out, "Sarbo? Is it really you?"

"Open the door, you old fool, before I break it down around your ears."

"It must be you. Only Sarbo would be brash enough to threaten Trisad’s greatest fighting man." The door swung open and a portly man with a shaved head and a barrel chest stepped out. He threw his arms around Sarbo, pounded on his back and then stepped away, grinning. "I heard you were killed in a Rawhaz raid, you son of a garka snake."

"Lies. All lies," Sarbo said, laughing. "Like the one about you being a great fighting man."

"Who is your companion?" Short Man nodded toward Mark. "I have not seen his kind before. Strange-looking sort."

"Never mind about his looks. He is a true friend, brave of heart, and not too bad in a fight either. We need a place to stay tonight. Will you take us?"

Short Man yelled into the house, "Yonk, get out here. Take their mount and see that it is well taken care of."

A scrawny boy nine or ten years old with smudges of dirt on his face awkwardly rushed up the steps. He took the reins from Mark and led the beast away.

"Come inside, my old friend. There is plenty of rodent soup on the fire." Short Man led the way down more steps into a musty cellar.

There were no windows in the underground room. Light came from a pot of burning oil hanging in the corner and from a small, round adobe fireplace. Rugs were strewn about on the floor to serve as furniture. Sarbo sat down on one and Mark did the same.

Short Man lifted the lid off a tall pot and pulled out a gourd dipper full of lukewarm water. He handed it to Sarbo, waited until he had drunk his fill, then offered some to Mark.

There was something about this loud man Mark didn’t like. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he definitely felt uneasy about him.

The boy called Yonk timidly slunk back into the room and sat down in a dark corner.

Short Man glared at him. "Do not sit, ignorant dung. Get our guests some food. Can’t you see they have come a long way and are extremely hungry?"

The boy went to the pot hanging over the fire. He scooped some stew into two wooden bowls and handed one to Sarbo. He turned to hand the other one to Mark. When he did, some of it slopped over the edge and landed on Mark’s foot.

"Fool!" Short Man bellowed. He raised his hand to strike the boy but Mark jumped between them.

"There is no harm done," Mark said quietly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "It was an accident. Do not tire yourself by beating this slave on my account."

Yonk’s eyes were wide with fear. Silence filled the room.

Finally Short Man stepped back. "You are right, Sarbo. Your strange-looking friend is very brave. Either that or very foolish."

"He is young." Sarbo dismissed the incident with a wave of his hand. "Let us talk of other things."

"Yes." Short Man sat down. "Let us discuss why you have come to this forsaken desert. Surely it is not just to see an old friend?"

"Ha!" Sarbo gulped a swallow of the hot stew. "If you think that, then the heat has finally addled your brains. No, we are looking for someone. We have come to see a shaman who has been residing in Trisad."

"Shaman?" Short Man slapped his knee. "That is a very funny joke."

Mark started to speak but Sarbo held his hand up in warning and continued. "We were told that there was a shaman here who had knowledge of strange powers. One who had seen some extraordinary things and could give us some information we are seeking."

"I don’t know who told you this, my friend." Short Man was still chuckling. "But they have made fools of you. You came all this way for nothing. There is no shaman here now, and there never has been."

"Perhaps he is not a shaman," Mark said. "It is possible that we heard wrong. Perhaps there is someone here who used to be a medicine man. Someone who knows about the before time?"

"Psshh. Who cares about that?" Short Man leaned forward. "Now tell me why you are really here, Sarbo. Are you on the run? Scouting ahead for a raid? If the booty is good I might be persuaded to go along."

Sarbo hesitated briefly. "I knew I would not be able to fool you, Short Man." He set his bowl on the dirt floor. "The fact is, we were doing some scouting and ran into the Samatin. I lost my beast and we came here to see if I could pick up another."

Short Man rubbed his thick hands together. "A trade? What do you have?"

"We will talk about it in the morning, my friend. Now I am very tired. When we have rested we will start the bargaining. "

"Of course, what was I thinking? Yonk, show our guests to the stables. They will get a good night’s sleep and then"— Short Man opened the door—"tomorrow we will bargain."

chapter
40

"Sir, wake up."

Mark felt someone gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes flew open. Yonk was kneeling next to him. The boy put his fingers to his lips and motioned for Mark to follow him outside.

It was still dark and Mark had a hard time keeping up with the boy. Yonk led him through a narrow alley and into an abandoned storehouse.

Inside, Yonk lit a small torch. "You are in much danger, sir. I could easily lose my life for telling you this."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Because you stood up to him. No one has ever done that. You must be very brave."

"Why am I in danger?"

"Everyone in Trisad knew you were coming. There has been a reward offered for your capture. Short Man hopes to keep you here long enough to collect it."

Mark scratched his head. "A reward? Why would anybody put out a reward for me?"

"That I do not know. But if you stay here you will regret it. Take your friend and go back to your village at once." Yonk blew out the torch and started for the door.

Mark grabbed his arm. "Wait! Tell me, is it true that there is no shaman living in Trisad?"

"Short Man did not lie. There is no one like that here. But there is someone who speaks about the before time. He is very old and they say he has lost his mind. I doubt you could understand anything he says."

"Get him. I have to talk to this person. It is very important to me."

Yonk fidgeted with the torch. "This will not be easy. I have already saved your life. Why should I do this also?"

"I can’t explain. But if you do it I will owe you a great deal."

"Really? How much in trade goods?"

"Go get the old man, you little wretch," Sarbo’s deep voice demanded from the open door. "And hurry up about it or I will crush your head as if it was an overripe melon. "

Yonk squeezed past him and ran down the alley.

"Did you hear everything?" Mark asked.

"Almost." Sarbo stepped inside. "It seems that you have become a wanted man."

"They have me confused with someone else."

"Of course. I forgot for a moment how much like everyone else you look. I am sure it is just a big mistake."

"I guess you have a point there. But what else could it be? Up until a few days ago no one here even knew I existed."

"Someone did. The Merkon heard about you. And when he found out he made a special trip across many miles just to meet you."

Mark was quiet, thinking. The Merkon had told him there was a shaman here. Why would he lie?

"There is something not right about this, Kakon. I said I will help you in your quest and I will, but we are at a disadvantage. First we must find out who our enemies are and know all that is going on."

There was a noise at the door. Yonk led in the old beggar they had seen asking for food on the street the day before. "This is the man, masters. He is called Pet. Talk to him if you can."

Mark helped the feeble old man find a place to sit. "We need light, Yonk. I want to see who I’m talking to."

Yonk hit two small rocks together and relit the oiled rag on the end of his torch.

Mark knelt beside the man and looked into his face. It was wrinkled and caked with dirt and his matted hair hung down over his eyes. "I need to ask you some questions, Pet. Do you understand me?"

There was no response. Mark continued. "They say you know about the before time. Can you tell me about it?"

"I know much about the before time," Pet squeaked in a dry, raspy voice. "But you do not really care. You are one of the carriers of the long death. You have the look."

"The look?" Mark asked quietly. "What can you tell me about my looks?"

Pet stared straight ahead. "I am the last of the keepers. When I die it will all be lost."

"What will be lost, Pet? What do you keep?"

"The knowledge. The ancients entrusted it to my family. We have always been keepers."

"Do you know about a light, Pet? A great light that can take you to a different time?"

The man covered his head with his arms and rocked back and forth. "So much waste and destruction. Many suffered through the long death. So many died that the bodies were piled up and there was no one left to sing the songs. When the blood sick came to this land it spread like a fire. No one was safe." He stopped rocking. "It could still be out there. Be careful."

Yonk shook his head. "I told you he was crazy. You will find out nothing from him. I had better take him back now."

"Wait." Mark put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. "This is important, Pet. What do you know about a powerful light that appears in the jungle?"

"The people did not know how to grow food or defend themselves. Only handfuls survived and they were changed. Everything was changed in the blood sick."

"He is rambling, Kakon." Sarbo glanced out the door. "It will be morning soon. We must go."

Frustrated, Mark looked back at Pet. "I know you are trying to tell me what happened in Transall to make everything different from my time. But I don’t understand all that. All I want to know about is the light. Can you tell me anything about the light?"

The old man stared at the torch without blinking.

"It is no use, Kakon." Sarbo helped the old man to his feet. "Take him back to his house, Yonk. And"—he grabbed the boy’s arm—"do not go back to the Short Man tonight. It could prove to be dangerous."

Sarbo waited until they had gone and turned to Mark. "Come with me. Before this night is over we will have some answers.

chapter
41

Sarbo stepped back, took a deep breath
and slammed his body into the door. It splintered, fell off its leather hinges and crashed, barely missing the sleeping man inside.

"Wha—What’s going on?" Short Man frantically reached for his sword.

Mark kicked it across the room. Sarbo stepped on Short Man’s chest, pushing him down as he held the blade of his sword against the man’s neck.

"Sarbo," Short Man gulped. "My good friend. What is the meaning of this?"

"That is what we are here to find out, Short Man." Sarbo stepped down harder. "Light the oil pot, Kakon. The fire doesn’t let me see into this deceiver’s eyes."

"Deceiver? I would never deceive you, Sarbo. Someone has given you false information."

"There is a reward offered for the capture of my friend. Who is behind it?"

"I do not know what you are talking about. I—’’

Sarbo pressed the blade into Short Man’s flesh until he drew blood. "I have no time to waste. It will be daylight soon. If you value your life, tell me before I cut your head off and feed it to that corwunk on the chain outside."

Short Man closed his eyes. "All right. Someone came here. He said your odd-looking friend was worth a lot to someone very important."

"Who wants him? And why?"

"He did not give a name. All I know is that he rode a fine beast and wore metal armor like the kind tied to your friend’s gear."

Mark gave a low whistle. "The Merkon."

"Or one of his men." Sarbo looked down at the white-faced man on the floor. "When did he say he would be back?"

"He did not say. Only that if we wanted the reward we had to hold him here until they came for him. I had no idea he was your companion, Sarbo. I just thought I could pick up some easy booty."

Sarbo stepped back. "I will not kill you, Short Man. My friend and I are leaving now. If you know what is good for you, you will stay out of our way. And if the man in armor returns it would be better for you if you do not tell him we were here."

"Of course." Short Man sat up and rubbed his throat. "I could never betray you, Sarbo. You know that."

"If the reward was large enough, you would betray anyone." Sarbo sheathed his sword. "But see to it that you do not or I will return. And next time, promise that you will not be left attached to your head."

There was a sound in the courtyard. Mark blew the light out and moved silently up the steps.

Standing in front of him was his silver beast, along with a fat b!ack one and a short, hairy animal like the kind the Samatin had been riding.

"See how I think ahead, master?" Yonk said to Mark, pulling the animals closer. "You could use someone like me on your journey."

"For what?" Sarbo climbed the steps. "You would only slow us down."

Yonk appealed to Mark. "Master, you know that if I stay here Short Man will kill me the minute you are out of sight. Haven’t I stood by you from the start?"

Mark rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"I can cook," Yonk went on. "And I am good with animals. I will see to your every need. You will not have to lift a finger. It would be a terrible mistake not to take me with you."

Sarbo took the reins of the black beast and jumped on its back. He looked at Mark. "Come, Kakon. Perhaps the Samatin are sleeping."

Mark climbed on his animal and followed Sarbo to the edge of the courtyard. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Yonk. "If you are coming you’d better hurry. Nobody’s going to wait for you."

"Oh, thank you, master." Yonk hopped on the small donkeylike animal and trotted after them. "I promise you will not regret this."