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
Copyright « 1992 by John Maddox Roberts
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions
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.
8
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
9
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
10
John Maddox Roberts
THE POISONED LANDS
11
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
13
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
14
John Maddox Roberts
THE POISONED LANDS
15
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.
16
John Maddox Roberts
THE POISONED LANDS
17
"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.
18
John Maddox Roberts
THE POISONED LANDS
19
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."
2O
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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