John Maddox Roberts - Stormlands 03 - The Poisoned Lands

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NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this

book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the

publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment

for this "stripped book."

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this

book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely

coincidental.

THE POISONED LANDS

thereof, in any form.

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

49 West 24th Street

New York, N.Y. 10010

Cover art by Ken Kelly

ISBN: 0-812-50631-6

First edition: February 1992

Printed in the United States of America

0987654321

ONE

The spies lay motionless, belly-down on a crag of rock overlooking endless

miles of desolation. Each was covered by a blanket mottled in gray and brown,

so that they were all but invisible from just a few yards away. Only the

snouts of their telescopes poked from beneath the blankets, each lens shaded

by a piece of leather against the chance of casting a reflection. The rising

sun was behind them, but these men took no chances. They had taken this

position during the hours of darkness and had remained motionless since first

light. Soon the heat beneath the blankets would be terrible but exposure meant

certain death, and the scene before them was worth a day of discomfort. "This

is it in truth!" said one, his voice little more than a whisper, for there was

always a chance of a roving sentry passing near. "It can be no other!"

"I am sure of it," said the cooler voice. "But calm yourself. The time for

excitement is when we claim our reward."

2John Maddox Roberts

The sight before them was enthralling only to one who could interpret its

significance. In the distance a camp sprawled on the desert floor, close

against the raised lip of an ancient crater. Many such craters pocked this

vast desolation, but only this one was a center of human activity. Indeed, the

desert was nearly void of humanity except for scattered nomads and this one,

strange operation.

From the camp, files of men climbed the crater rim and descended into the

depression beyond. Those in the returning files trudged under weighty loads,

which they deposited somewhere in the camp. Columns of smoke rose from within

the crater, but these were not volcanic in origin. Along the rim mounted

sentries paced, the morning sun casting reflections from their lance points.

Even with telescopes, the distance was too great to discern details of dress

or equipage.

All day long the two men lay motionless, their attention sharpening at each

new activity below them. The rise on which they lay was not high enough to see

within the crater but they had a good view of the camp. When the sun passed

zenith they put away the telescopes lest their position be betrayed by a

reflection. The heat grew terrible but they endured it, sucking occasionally

at their water skins.

When darkness fell, they cast off the blankets and lay gasping gratefully in

the relative coolness. Moving stiffly, they rose and began to fold their

blankets, packing up their telescopes, water skins and other sparse gear.

Before the darkness was complete, one took a reading from a small compass. He

closed the compact instrument's cover and returned it to a pocket in his outer

robe.

"Look, Baffle," said the other man.

Where before only columns of smoke had been visible, they now saw a ruddy glow

and ascending sparks.

"A smelting operation," said Haffie. "there can be no question of it." With

his hood thrown back, he was revealed as a lean man with close-cropped black

hair and a

THE POISONED LANDS 3

stubble of beard. The other man was of different race, short and stout, his

scalp shaven on the left side. The hair on the right side was gathered into a

single plait and dyed blue. Haffle picked up his spear and made to leave the

crag but the other lingered.

"Ingist, we've no time to waste. Come along, we have to find our beasts before

daylight."

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" Ingist said, staring at the glow as if

hypnotized. "WeVe found it, after men have failed all these years."

"Finding it is one thing," Haffle said. "Living to report it and collect our

reward from the queen is another, so let's be away."

Reluctantly, Ingist picked up his own spear and trudged after his companion.

Except for the short spears, which doubled as walking staffs, the men carried

daggers at their belts but no other arms. To all appearances, they were

traveling traders like hundreds of others who roamed the village-dotted

farmlands along the borders of the southern kingdoms, following the small

rivers and skirting the trackless waste of the desert. Popular legend filled

the desert with mysteries and marvels, but these two had found little in their

many expeditions except rock, sand, heat and thirst. Until this day.

They had followed hints and rumors, interrogated men who claimed to have seen

this marvel, offered bribes and had even consulted seers and fortune-tellers

to find this site. In the end they had found an injured workman, desperate for

money to buy medicine. He claimed that he had worked for a season at the mine,

and had not been fooled by the circuitous route he and the other workers had

trodden. He had managed to shift his blindfold from time to time, and spot

certain landmarks. The crater was not in the deep desert at all, he told them,

but rather was located near the cultivated lands at the northern border of

Canyon territory.

They had killed the man to prevent his telling others, and

4John Maddox Roberts

had followed his directions to the crater that was so like the many others,

except for this one unique quality. As they trudged toward the place where

they had left the rest of their little caravan and their desert-traveling

bumpers, their hearts thrilled to the knowledge they now held. They had found

the world's greatest treasure, the secret for which their queen would reward

them beyond any man's wildest dreams. They had found the steel mine of King

Hael.

The heat in the crater was stifling, so that the warriors were hard put to

keep their masks of imperturbability from slipping. They did not want to

appear weak before the workmen, but this place tested the hardiest. In the

heat they had discarded their customary skin clothing and rode in knee-length

cloth breeches. Head scarves and light mantles protected them from the fierce

sun. If they were lightly clothed, they were heavily armed. Each man had a

great bow and a quiver bristling with arrows. Each bore a long sword of steel,

and their lance points were likewise of steel. The tips of their arrows and

javelins were of cheaper bronze. Their shields were of differing designs, as

were the men themselves, for they were not all of a single race. They were

united in their mounted way of life, despising inferior people who walked on

the earth like animals.

"Three more days," said a long-haired youth to his companion. "Three more days

and we can leave this furnace. I cannot tell you how sick I am of soot and

smoke and the reek of these sweaty slaves."

"Not to mention the sun and the rationed water," said the other, who was

slightly the younger of the two. They shared a close resemblance, both tall

young men with copper-colored hair and pale blue eyes. Their high cheekbones

distinguished them from the others, and each had an easy, natural grace that

set them apart.

"Where will you go when the season's operation breaks up?" asked the elder,

kneeing his mount up the concave

THE POISONED LANDS 5

side of the crater, hoping to catch some breeze up on the rim.

"Back to the grasslands and the hills, where else?" said the younger.

"Not I. I am going along with the labor escort. I want to see some of the

southern towns before I return home."

"But Father has told us . . ."

"Are we boys that we must obey his every wish?" said the elder. "We are both

free warriors and we need no father's permission to go where we will."

"He is more than our father, as if I need to remind you. He is also our king."

They paused atop the low ridge, out of the smoke and clamor.

"And as such he has never forbidden free warriors to go where they will in

peacetime, as long as they don't take military service with a foreign king

without his permission. I just want to travel a little and see some new

sights. To tell you the truth, I am almost as weary of grass and livestock as

I am of this desert."

The other looked doubtful. "I don't know. He was reluctant just to have us

both away from home on this mission. It worries him that he might lose both of

us."

His brother smiled wryly. ' 'Kairn, he cherishes the hope that one of us will

someday succeed him, but you and I know that is not to be. The council of

chiefs will pick someone else. Father is the great spirit-man, the unifier of

plain and hill. What are we? Just warriors like any others. We lack the

spirit-force that made him like a god to the tribes. I am not prepared to

spend my life near home, indulging his fond hopes for my future."

Kairn was silent. He lacked his elder brother's easy self-assertion and the

thought of disobeying their father troubled him. The scene below them was

busy, but the clamor of the previous weeks had ceased and the sound of sledge,

pick and wedge no longer assaulted the ears. The workers were cleaning up the

site and the last of the freed metal was being

6John Maddox Roberts

melted in the furnaces to free it of the last bits of concrete matrix. The

molten steel was then cast into ingots for easy transportation. Prodigious

effort was expended each year to bring fuel, supplies and laborers to this

site, but steel was so valuable that King Hael bore the expense gladly.

Around the rim of the crater, mounted men patrolled constantly. Workers were

not allowed to ascend to the rim save where the path notched its edge. They

were allowed only in the crater and the camp. Any who were caught trying to

get to high ground to spot landmarks were assumed to be spies and punished

accordingly.

"Well, what do you say?" urged the elder brother.

"Don't press me, Ansa. This will take some thought. We have three days yet.''

"During which time you will decide to remain a dutiful son, no doubt. Well,

you may do as you like. I am riding south as soon as the season ends."

Kairn was thoughtful as they rode back to their tent at the end of the day. It

vexed him to admit that he lacked an adventurous spirit. He was almost

eighteen, and had been a warrior for more than two years. Perhaps it took more

than fine weapons and a cabo to ride to make a warrior. He patted the beast's

neck and it tossed its handsome, four-horned head proudly. All around him

exhausted workers trudged toward their pallets. These were short, dark men,

strongly built but without the fierce poise of the mounted warriors.

Kairn shuddered at the thought of leading such a life, toiling on the land or

at some other equally ignoble labor instead of riding free across the endless

plain. Surely, he thought, he would die before living like that. These were

the stolid peasants of the southern lands, for whom his desert was just a

hotter, drier place to work. They endured the hardship in return for generous

pay, half of which would be claimed by their sovereigns. They deserved no

better, he supposed. Men so spiritless that they would not fight should

THE POISONED LANDS 7

be grateful for any crumbs dropped to them from the tables of their betters.

He curried his cabo and turned it loose in the circular compound walled with

piled rock. With a happy snort it trotted to the watering trough. Every drop

was laboriously brought from the nearest river in wagon-mounted casks. The

animals got as much as they needed. Men had to make do with less. There were

more than three hundred of the creatures hi the pen, each animal's horns

painted with the distinctive colors and patterns favored by its rider.

Under the shade of the open-sided tent, the temperature was just bearable. The

half-dozen warriors within made space for Kairn, but they paid him no special

deference. The riders did not understand royalty as it was practiced in more

settled nations. He was passed a water skin and he took a handful of dried

food from a communal bowl. As he munched the tasteless mixture of pounded

dried meat, fruit and parched grain, he thought of the cities of the south.

He had never seen them, but he had heard his father's stories of the fabulous

lands to the west and south. Older warriors who had fought in the king's

wide-ranging campaigns had described the sumptuous cities, their temples and

public buildings, their strange entertainments and their women who (in the

warrior's stories) always seemed to prefer virile nomads to their effete,

civilized menfolk. He felt the tug of attraction, a curiosity to see those

places, but he also loved the boundless plain. He wanted to see the exotic

cities, but maybe next year would be soon enough, or the year after.

Not so his elder brother. Ansa talked of little else than travel hi foreign

lands. He had ridden on a few caravan escorts to the borders of Omia to the

west and the Canyon territory to the south, and this had whetted his appetite

for more. For the last two years he had fretted to be away, but their father

had sent few missions in that direction recently, being preoccupied with the

east.

John Maddox Roberts

No, he would return home at the end of this season. It would be good to be

away from this place.

The laborers sang as they left the crater behind. They wore tunics or kilts

that had once been white and most wore head scarves or conical hats of woven

straw. The hornlike soles of their feet seemed to be immune to the heat of the

desert floor, and their teeth flashed white in their dark faces.

Ansa turned for the last time and waved. From the rim of the crater, his

brother waved back. Then Ansa set his face to the south and sternly suppressed

any further sentimental gestures. He cursed his younger brother's timidity and

lack of enterprise. Ansa longed to roam free, but he would have liked company.

The brothers had been close all their lives, especially these last few years,

when their father had grown so preoccupied with the easterners and their

fire-weapons.

But they were boys no longer, he reminded himself. And had King Hael not begun

his career in this very fashion? Early in his life Ansa had wearied of the

story of how his father had come across the mountains with the first trade

caravan from Neva, owning a spear, a knife, a longsword and a single cabo. Now

he was a king. But then, his father was a great visionary, a man touched by

the spirits.

In any case, Ansa had no ambitions to be a king. He just wanted to sample life

away from his familiar world of hills and grasslands. As a boy he had been

impatient and argumentative, unlike his younger brother. He had pushed himself

to excel in the warrior arts and had suifered agonies of frustration at each

slightest failure. A fall at wrestling, which Kairn could laugh off, would

cause Ansa to sulk for days. He was long past such childish moods, but he

yearned to test himself and he saw no sense in waiting.

He fretted at the slow pace of the march. Not only did they have to travel at

the pace of walking men, but the route was tortuous, with many circlings and

switchbacks. At in-

THE POISONED LANDS

tervals the workers were blindfolded or made to march after dark. He knew that

it was necessary to keep the men from understanding where they had been, thus

keeping secret the location of the crater, but it was galling to spend ten

days on a march that could have been accomplished in two.

Ansa could have wept with joy on their final day in the desert. The breeze

carried the scent of water and growing things. All up and down the file of

mounted guards the cabos made their strange, rumbling sound of happy

anticipation. Ansa reined in his mount as it tried to break into a run. He

patted its neck and leaned toward its ear.

"Easy, my pet. We're still miles from the river. No sense running now. We'll

be there before nightfall." He felt like running himself.

They camped that night near the first river of the Canyon territory. It was a

small stream, but after the desert it was a blessing and they had to watch the

cabos carefully lest they drink too much and founder. The workers were

scarcely less thirsty and they rushed down the muddy bank to sprawl on their

bellies, sucking up the now-murky liquid in prolonged draughts. The warriors

showed more self-control, first allowing their mounts to drink, then wading

upstream to clearer water before leaning from their saddles to dip from the

stream with wooden bowls.

The natives who inhabited nearby villages had long grown accustomed to these

visitations, and soon traders appeared with such goods as they knew these

visitors craved. Fresh foods and strong drink were in high demand. The village

women were ill-favored by nomad standards, but some were not so discriminating

and they found many eager customers among the workmen, who were happy to spend

their pay before the tax-gatherers took it.

Ansa sat at the fire with some other warriors, eating and drinking and talking

endlessly, after the immemorial fashion of off-duty warriors. The tender meat

of fat domestic animals was a great luxury to them, after weeks of tough

John Maddox Roberts

THE POISONED LANDS

game or dried rations. The king periodically issued stem injunctions against

overindulgence in wine and beer, which were scarce in their homeland, although

more common now that they traded so widely. His subjects agreed that these

were wise rules and proceeded to ignore them every chance they got.

"We'll stay here for ten days," said Bulas, an older Ma-twa warrior who was in

command of the mission. "The cabos can eat and drink and fatten up in that

time."

"So can we," said a younger man, his voice unsteady with drink.

"I won't be returning with you," Ansa said. Bulas peered at him through the

smoke. "What do you mean?"

Ansa took another swallow of the pleasantly bitter beer. "I mean to stay here

and push south. Til rejoin you at the crater next year or the year after.''

"That would be unwise," Bulas said. "You may be taken prisoner and tortured to

reveal the site of the steel mine." Ansa shrugged. "I'll claim to be from one

of the southeastern peoples, a Ramdi or Ensata. Foreigners will never know the

difference. Even if they've been on missions to our territory, my brother and

I don't much resemble the Amsi orMatwa."

"How will you be able to bear it?" asked an Amsi his own age. "To be alone in

a foreign land, without kinsman or tribesman is terrible. If you are sick or

wounded, who will guard you? If you die, who will perform the rites?"

"I'll take my chances," Ansa said. "You accomplish nothing if you lake no

risks." Then* after a pause, "I confess, though, that I would as soon not

travel alone. Will any of you accompany me?" He looked from one to another,

but their expressions were doubtful. He had not expected otherwise. The

tribesmen were profoundly conservative. His father's merging of the peoples

had been shock enough to last a generation, and they were reluctant to face

any further

innovations. They loved to roam widely, but only in large, strong groups. In

the end, he found no volunteers.

A few days later he rode from the campsite. His mount had regained its

sleekness and spirit and was eager for travel. He bade his companions farewell

with a light heart, but as soon as he was beyond sight of them, he felt his

stomach tighten with trepidation. Until now, he had put up a brave show, but

the reality of what he was doing gave him pause. He was now alone in a way he

had never experienced before. He shook himself and thrust the mood aside. He

had chosen his path and he would pursue it, come what may.

By midday his dread was gone and he found himself singing an old Amsi

traveling song. As he passed people working in the fields flanking the road,

they glanced up but paid him no special note. He wore short boots and baggy

trousers of light cloth girdled by a broad leather belt. He wore a shirt and a

light cloak against the still fierce sun, and his ornaments he had acquired as

gifts or from traders over the years. No one could have named his nation by

his appearance and he was just another anonymous traveler, as he had intended.

Even his steel weapons would not identify him as one of King Hael's subjects.

The lively trade in steel meant that weapons of the precious metal were no

longer as rare as they had been. His steel longsword, still a rarity outside

Hael's dominions, would not be apparent unless he had to draw it, at which

time he would not be worrying about revealing his nationality.

He followed the river as it wound through the cultivated tend, and

occasionally he crossed oddly straight streams branching from the river. At

first he thought these were • natural but soon he realized that they were

irrigation ditches. The land was so arid that only by tapping water from the

river could agriculture be sustained. He knew that somewhere to the south this

tributary would join the great River Kol.

12 John Maddox Roberts

This was Canyon land, but the local farmers were a peasant people related to

the laborers he had escorted from the pit. The true Canyon dwellers formed an

aristocracy, very mysterious and credited by most people with great powers of

sorcery. He had never seen any of these strange folk, for they never traveled

far from their own land and always traded through intermediaries. Of all the

foreign peoples he had heard of, these intrigued him the most. It was not

because of their sumptuous cities, for their land was poor in material goods.

It was because of their rumored powers and their sheer strangeness. It was

said that their skins were blue, their hair white, and their eyes a veritable

rainbow of colors. They were not particularly warlike, but no army had ever

managed to advance against them, though many had tried. All such invasions

turned back, generals and soldiers alike swearing they had been defeated by

sorcery.

He was curious to meet these people, of whom his father had spoken frequently.

He did not travel in expectation of meeting hostility. Most people reacted to

a lone traveler with curiosity or disdain but seldom with mindless aggression.

Isolated people usually wanted contact from outside, as long as it represented

no danger, and cosmopolitan people took strangers in their midst as a matter

of course. It was large, heavily armed groups entering their territory that

alarmed most people.

He longed to take some game with his bow, but he was unsure whether some local

landlord might object. The thought of going back on preserved rations irked

him, but he knew he had best proceed cautiously. The first night, he camped by

the tittle river and watched the black-scarred face of the moon rise over the

low mountain range to the east. Through his mind went the chant of apology to

the moon that his father recited most evenings at moomise, but he did not

voice it aloud. Men had wounded the moon long ago, in tile days of the fiery

spears. Those had been times of great and terrible sorcery, and men had been

struck (town

THE POISONED LANDS

for their presumption. Each people had a different tradition concerning how

this had come about, but all agreed that men had brought the terrible times

upon themselves, bringing an end to what had been a golden age of wealth and

plenty.

The night grew chill as the heat of the day dissipated into tbe cloudless air,

but he did not bother to build a fire. The stars were brilliant, the fixed

stars and the wanderers and the ones that rose and sped across the sky and set

at odd intervals. It was held by some that these latter were man-made, that in

the days before the fiery spears people had actually lived on these tiny

islands in the sky. Of all the old legends he found this one the most

difficult to credit, but if men had truly been able to assault the moon with

fiery spears, perhaps they had been able to build villages in the sky as well.

The world was full of mysteries and he knew he would not solve this one. After

a last check to make sure all was well with his cabo, he rolled into his

blankets and slept.

His dreams were troubled, with vague, menacing faces, flashes of lurid fire

and boundless, roiling waters. He woke once sweating, then slept again. By

morning he remembered little of his night-visions, but he was uneasy as he

rose and saddled his animal.

By his fourth day of lone travel, he was in high, forested land. There was

little cultivation, but peasants grazed flocks of a sort of dwarf curlhorn,

and wild game abounded. It was a place of astonishing beauty, its craggy hills

and gullies revealing brilliant colors laid on in wide, horizontal streaks.

The day before, there had been a brief but intense rain, and this day the

ground was a carpet of riotous wild-flowers that had appeared as if by magic.

The sky was a blue even deeper than usual, and the clouds formed towers and

ramparts of the purest white. It was a setting to put song in a man's heart

and in his voice, so he sang as he

John Maddox Roberts

THE POISONED LANDS

rode, a wandering-lay of his mother's people, far more melodious than the Amsi

chants.

As his surefooted cabo picked its way daintily along a trail with a high rock

on one side and a precipitous gorge on the other, Ansa realized that he was

singing a duet. Shocked, he stopped in midnote. The other voice continued for

another two notes, then trailed off. The only direction that made sense was

up, so he craned his neck and saw a vague shape on the rock above him. With

the sun behind it he could make out no details.

"Who are you?" he demanded, chagrined that he had come so near another human

being without noticing. He soothed his vanity with the thought that mis was

unfamiliar

terrain.

"Oh, don't stop singing, please! It's such a pretty song.'*

The muscles of his back unclenched and his hand dropped away from his

spearshaft. It was a feminine voice, youthful but beautifully modulated.

"You still haven't told me who you are," he reiterated.

"Why should I?" she said. "This is my land, not yours." Her accent was

strange, but he had no trouble understanding her.

"You are right." He smiled, but the effect was marred by the way he was forced

to squint. "I'm Ansa, from the northern plains. But you have me at a

disadvantage. I can't see you up there."

"We can remedy that. Ride on another hundred paces, until you are off the path

and in a little meadow. I'll join you there. Don't try to ride farther without

me." Then the shape was gone.

He rode on, and a few minutes later the path ascended slightly, leaving the

cliffside and entering the level, grassy meadow the woman had described. He

halted and let his cabo graze the soft, luxuriant grass. His expert eye told

him that nothing had grazed this place in quite some time. There

were marks of many animals, but most of them were browsers or predators.

A few minutes later the woman joined him. She, too, was mounted, but not on a

cabo. His own animal shied and made hoarse grunts of dislike as the other

beast approached. It was a humper, a superlatively ugly beast, foul-smelling,

ill-tempered and graceless, but strong and tremendously enduring. They were

far better adapted for desert travel than cabos.

The rider was swathed in a gray robe, her head covered by its hood and her

face veiled. She halted a pace from Ansa and lowered her hood and veil. Her

face was long and fine-boned, as beautiful as he had been led to expect, but

he found that the reality was far more striking than even his expectations.

Her skin was a delicate shade of blue, her eyes had violet irises, rimmed with

emerald. Her hair was white, not the white of great age but rather an almost

metallic silver-white. The hands with which she pushed back the hood were thin

and elegant, the fingers impossibly long.

"I am Fyana, of Alta and the Canyon." Her wide, full-lipped mouth formed a

smile, and he smiled in return. "I had watch duty on this trail this morning,

but I don't think I need to raise an alarm for you."

"No, I assure you I'm not that dangerous. But, do your people usually entrust

a sentry-post to a single woman?''

"I have more resources to call on than you might think," she said. "Besides,

that little path is not much of an invasion route.''

' 'I can vouch for the truth of that,'' Ansa said. ' 'But then, why keep watch

over it at all?"

"We don't like to be surprised, even by friendly visitors," Fyana told him.

This was valuable information, although she might not think so. The Canyoners

were not all-seeing, as some people thought. He wanted very much to know their

limitations.

John Maddox Roberts

THE POISONED LANDS

"We see few plainsmen this far south," she said, "and never wandering alone.

Have you lost your way?"

"Not at all. I was bored at home and wished to see new lands. My—king doesn't

discourage foreign travel, as long as his warriors do not take warlike service

with other kings. All my life I have heard of the southern lands, and of the

Canyon. I resolved to visit some of these places before war or old age put an

end to all travel for me."

"Here comes my relief." Fyana pointed to the other end of the little meadow.

Another rider came into sight, this one mounted on a cabo. As the rider drew

near, Ansa saw that it was a young man. His hair was darker than Fyana's, and

his eyes were yellow, but the resemblance was otherwise so great that they

might have been twins. The voluminous robe he wore left only head and hands

exposed. It was by his bearing that Ansa knew him to be a man rather than a

woman. He balanced a long lance in a stirrup socket as he drew rein a few

paces from them.

"Who is this?" he asked, eyeing Ansa from head to foot.

"A visitor from the north," she informed him. He showed none of her open

friendliness. "He is no threat."

"Best he were not." He rode past them, to take up his sentry-post.

Inwardly, Ansa fumed. At home, he would have called the youth out for such

insolence. Here, he knew, he had no such right. "Is he so hospitable to

everyone?" he asked.

"Pay him no heed," she advised. "That is Elessi. He is a new-made warrior, and

wants everyone to know how fierce he is."

"You have that sort here, too? Then I'll give the matter no more thought.

Junior warriors new to their arms can be a nuisance, but they always attack

from the front, else how are they to build a reputation? Now, will you guide

me to your village? Or had you further business out here in the wilderness?"

"Nothing of importance. Just follow me." She turned

the bumper and set off at a stately, racking gait. Ansa's cabo, full of

suspicion, followed the larger animal at a distance Ansa could not force it to

reduce, no matter how hard he tried.

A ride of less than an hour brought them to a small valley, its floor

patterned with tilled fields, neatly bordered by low stone walls. Lovingly

tended orchards ranked their trees on sloping ground, some fruiting, others in

full blossom. Ansa had a low opinion of agriculture, but he could not deny the

beauty of the scene. The air was fragrant as well, a welcome change from the

dry sterility of the desert.

At the far end of the valley, he could see a cluster of buildings erected up

the sides of the narrowing gorge, whence issued a small but swift-flowing

stream. The structures blended naturally with the canyon, but the walls were

white, and the roofs of baked red tile. It was tar more attractive than the

mud-walled villages he was used to.

They passed a few outlying farmhouses. Apparently, there were some who were

willing to trade the safety of town walls for the convenience of living near

their fields. Then Ansa noticed that the village had no surrounding wall. For

whatever reason, these people were extremely confident in their safety from

attack.

Diminutive livestock scattered before them as they rode into the dusty streets

of the village; tiny, domestic quil, poultry and a fat, bipedal lizard raised

for its meat. All were scavengers and they helped to keep the village clean.

Vil-lagers regarded the newcomer with curiosity, but he saw no hostility in

their looks.

"I will take yOu first to the Elder," Fyana said. "It's customary. She will

grant you the freedom of the village and then you may come or go as you like."

"That suits me well," Ansa said. He found that he liked this; being in a

strange land, among alien people. Most of his tribesmen would have found the

situation discomfiting, but Ansa had always known he was different in this.

John Maddox Roberts

THE POISONED LANDS

They halted before a small house, one no different from the others. Its

doorway was flanked with two statues. In stylized form they represented a man

and a woman. Fyana's bumper knelt and she slid from her saddle. She made a

perfunctory bow to each image, then went inside. Ansa dismounted and stood

looking about him. There was no place to tether his cabo except to one of the

statues, and he felt that it would be unwise to do that, so he held his reins

and stood awkwardly, waiting for something to happen.

A few minutes later, Fyana reemerged from the house, followed by a taller

woman who wore a striped robe. She placed her fingertips together and bowed

slightly.

"Welcome, warrior. I am Ulla, Elder of this village. Will you come inside?

Imasa will see to your cabo." At these words, a boy appeared at Ansa's elbow.

Ansa regarded him doubtfully.

"Thank you, but this is a spirited beast. Perhaps an experienced rider ..."

She smiled. "Imasa is an excellent cabo handler. Have no fear."

He placed the reins in the boy's hand and the cabo was led away, docile as one

of the fat little quil in the streets. Ansa shrugged and followed the two

women into the cool, dim interior of the house. The furnishings were sparse,

but the floor and walls were covered with rich carpets. There were no windows,

but light entered through skylights of thick glass. At Ulla's gesture, the

three seated themselves on embroidered pads placed around a low table of

carved and inlaid wood. The other two said nothing, so Ansa held his silence

as well.

A young girl appeared from a rear room bearing a tray that held a steaming

pitcher and cups. Fyana poured the hot liquid into cups. Ansa took one and

sipped at it, watching the others closely. He was familiar with this sort of

welcoming ritual, but each people possessed local customs and he did not want

to give offense. The drink was a fragrant herb

infusion. When he set the emptied cup on the table the women seemed satisfied

that the ceremony was complete and Ulla called for more substantial

refreshments.

Ansa studied the woman. Fyana had called her an Elder, but she appeared to be

little older than Fyana herself. Like everything else, it seemed age was

difficult to discern among these people. She had the same silver hair and

blue-tinged skin, but her eyes were pale gray.

"Fyana tells me that you have left your native plains to see the world, from a

spirit of adventure."

"I grew restless at home," he concurred.

"And how is the king, your father?"

He blinked and bit back a denial, knowing it would be futile. "So it is true,

then, that you have magical powers?"

She laughed musically. "No need for magic. I met your father some years ago,

at a trade fair. His physiognomy is quite distinctive, and you resemble him. I

knew that he has sons about your age. Hence, you must be one of them. Have no

fear. King Hael has been a good friend to us, and if you wish to travel

incognito, we will not reveal your secret. South of here, you are unlikely to

meet anyone who knows what your father looks like."

"That is a relief. In answer to your question, he does well, indeed, although

I have seen little of him lately. He travels much in the east, in recent

years." He left unspoken the thought that had gnawed at him for years; that

his father was obsessed with the east, with the fire-weapons and other strange

crafts of the easterners. His life had become an endless quest to maintain his

military edge over his old enemy, Gasam the Shasinn.

"Yes, he has not been seen with the trade missions in some time," Ulla said.

"Do not think, because of that, he values the Canyon less," Ansa said, seeing

a chance to exercise a little diplomacy on his father's behalf. "He counts you

among his most valued friends."

John Maddox Roberts

"The Canyon lies between the plains and the southern kingdoms," she pointed

out. Then, softening, "But, I know that King Hael would be our friend even if

we weren't a buffer between him and his enemies."

"But Sono and Gran aren't his enemies," Ansa pointed out.

"They soon may be," Ulla said. "Gasam has taken Chiwa, and he will not be

satisfied with that land alone. Surely he will try to take the other southern

nations soon." She regarded him with some concern. "Perhaps this would not be

a good time for you to be wandering in those lands. Stay here with us. There

is much to see in the Canyon territory."

"And I wish in time to see it all," he said. "But my heart is set on seeing

the great cities before Gasam destroys them all. Besides," he said, an idea

forming in his mind, "if the situation in those lands is precarious, ail the

more reason for one loyal to my father to observe and report to him."

"That is true," the Elder said. "But there is no hurry. Tarry a while here

with us."

He looked from her to Fyana. This, at least, was an easy decision to make.

"That I shall."

TWO

King Gasam sat on the terrace of his palace in the city of Hima. He had chosen

this beautiful mountain resort as his capital because it was so beautiful, and

because he had utterly destroyed the old capital in his conquest of Chiwa. In

the broad plaza that stretched before his terrace, a contingent of the native

slave-troops .drilled. The company he now watched was drawn from the wild

jungle tribes of the southern hills, men clad in colorful skins, heavily

tattooed, armed with flint-tipped spears and hide shields. He liked their

looks and spirit. The peasant-conscripts drawn from the nearby villages were

obedient and militarily valuable, but they were not true warriors and tfcey

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