Having always envisioned Paradise as encompassing an area somewhat greater in extent, the longer he remained on Ool-lak-lan, the more Madrenga found himself having to reconsider.
While he never learned the full extent of the island, he soon discovered that it was bigger than he could traverse in several days of trying, even while riding Orania. He had come ashore at the narrowest point. Coves to the north and south of the village were home to additional communities of Felfs. Gelfs dwelled in the limestone caves that riddled the island’s mountains while several separate clans of Skelfs inhabited the higher peaks. From time to time they would visit their lowland cousins, leaving their saddled sea eagles perched on platforms secured to the tops of old coconut palms.
True to his word, Madrenga pitched in when and wherever he could, from helping to round up rogue chickens to pulling in the lines and nets by which the villagers made their livelihood. Skilled as sharks, they commonly caught far more than they could eat. Periodically they would convey their surplus to one of the human settlements on the other side of the Strait of Chanchindd. There, whether sold fresh or dried, their excess catch always fetched a good price.
As did the villagers, Madrenga supplemented a diet of fresh fish with the bounty of the land. Fish, fruit, nuts, wild vegetables, domesticated fowl: a man would have to be crazed or unutterably lazy to go hungry in such a place. A varying but reasonably constant sea breeze moderated the humidity. The longer he stayed, the less urgent seemed the need to deliver a foil scroll to a distant kingdom.
He became friends with several of the villagers. Eventually his presence was accepted to the point where they would let their children play with him in the lagoon, darting and dashing like elemental water sprites around his much larger form, teasing and splashing with him. The men came to count on riding Orania in front of and behind his saddle as they went to gather produce from more distant sites. Even Bit was no longer shunned, though when gazing at the dog’s outlandishly toothy maw there was not a man or woman in the village who believed Madrenga when he insisted that his pet’s bark was worse than his bite.
I could live here. The thought occurred to the youth on more than one occasion. The longer he remained, the more currency the notion gained.
Not every one of the Felf was as friendly as some. A few still avoided his unintentionally overbearing human frame. These individuals could be seen muttering and glancing in his direction when they thought he wasn’t looking. He was prepared to be patient and overlook the occasional suspicious squint and unkind comment.
He had not broached the subject of his staying permanently with the chief or any of the senior villagers. But the island was extensive and there were numerous deserted beaches. He could establish himself separately, apart from his new friends without being truly isolated, and without intruding on anyone’s territory. For a boy raised begging and stealing in the crowded, hostile streets of Harup-taw-shet the gorgeous beaches and fecund jungles of Ool-lak-lan were a tempting prospect, even in the absence of members of the opposite sex.
In regards to that, who could say what such a future might bring? Some day he might travel with the Felf as they journeyed across the Strait to sell their fish in the market of a human town, and there he might meet a comely lass of similar inclination. One willing to surrender all to live with a strange foreigner on a beautiful island populated by elven clans. Perhaps, if he was fortunate, a girl with black hair and dark eyes who …
If only the scroll didn’t burn so fiercely against his body and his sense of responsibility so hot against his soul. Try as he might when contemplating his future options, he could not banish from his mind the kindly visage of Chief Counselor Natoum, who had invested much in an unknown quantity from the streets. True, that had been a tactical decision designed to ensure that the scroll reached its intended destination, but the counselor’s cold calculation did nothing to mitigate the trust he had placed in Madrenga. While the youth could betray his own promises to himself, he found it far more difficult to do the same to someone else.
If only, he mused, he had not developed such a strong sense of ethics. Why couldn’t he be as amoral as some of his friends? Was that what had attracted Natoum to him in the first place? If so, then the counselor was more perceptive than Madrenga had given him credit for.
Could he trade the paradise into which he had accidentally stumbled for the promise of an uncertain future? The rewards of Ool-lak-lan lay all around him, plain to see. Delivering the scroll promised only mental satisfaction, modest payment, and when he returned possible promotion to a position within the Queen’s retinue. All assuming he survived to complete the mission.
On Ool-lak-lan he had found satisfaction. So long as he continued his mission, he retained his honor. Could he enjoy the former without the latter?
A lightly-clad figure appeared at his left side. With Madrenga sitting on the sloping beach and the chief of the village standing on the sand slightly above him, the leader of the local Felfs was able to regard the visitor almost eye to eye. The elder held his beautifully carved, mother-of-pearl inlaid staff of office in one hand. The top of the staff was pointed, in the event that while carrying out his duties of office he should happen to chance upon a particularly tasty fish. When he spoke, his voice was full of concern.
“Madrenga-man, your heart must be full up with unhappiness, because it overflows from your face.” Reaching out, he put his free hand on the much bigger human’s shoulder. “You brood like an unsuccessful hen.”
“There is something that weighs heavily on my spirit, yes,” the bigger but much younger man confessed.
The chief nodded knowingly. “Your task. It calls to you.”
Madrenga looked surprised. “How did you know that’s what it was?”
“You have shelter. You have plenty to eat and drink. You have never mentioned the name of a loved one. What else could it be but that which brought you this way?” Using the tip of the staff he pointed toward the engraved cylinder that never left its place of attachment on the visitor’s belt. “You long to stay but your sense of duty pulls at you like a twice-moon tide.”
Madrenga turned his gaze back out to a sea that was blue and beckoning. “I can’t keep myself from thinking about it. I try, and fail.”
The chief patted him on the shoulder. “I sensed you were a good man when first you came among us.”
“No you didn’t. You thought I’d come to steal your gold.”
Shaking his head slowly, the chief made a tut-tutting sound. “Sometimes you are a difficult fullman to assist. I put it down to your youth. What is on this scroll you are charged with delivering?”
Madrenga pushed out his lower lip and shrugged. “I have no idea. It is a royal communication and not for eyes such as mine.”
“And you must deliver it to …?”
“A land and city called Daria.” With a bob of his head he gestured seaward. “It lies somewhere to the east. Exactly where I am not sure.”
The chief pondered this for awhile before speaking again. “When we cross the Strait of Chanchindd to sell our produce to the fullmen we are always traveling east. Sometimes southeast, sometimes more to the north, but always east. If you are bound to continue, we can take you that far. To the nearest point on the shore of the great eastern land.” He was quite confident. “We can lash several of our largest boats together and atop them place a wooden platform large and strong enough to hold you and your animals.”
Visibly touched, Madrenga stared at the chief. “You would do this for me?”
“You have killed no one, stolen nothing, and caught many chickens.” The chief smiled. “You have also helped to catch many fish. It is small repayment, and the platform will in any case bring a good price in Yordd. We have sold cut timber there before and …”
“Wait, wait.” Madrenga’s mind was whirling, his heart racing. “Did you say ‘Yordd’?”
The chief nodded. “Yes. It is the nearest fullmen city of size to Ool-lak-lan and a place where we often do business.”
Yordd, the younger man thought wildly. Yordd. What had Quilpit told him, lo these many days past in Charrush, when first Madrenga had inquired of the mate about a route to distant Daria?
“Fastest way would be to find passage to Yordd. From there would be the shortest, though not necessarily the easiest, way inland to the country you seek.”
He didn’t know whether to express his thanks to the chief or burst out laughing. Here he had sat, marooned and half come to grips with his accidental newfound station in life, when all the time he had been staring across the water at the very destination he had sought from the other side of the Sea of Shadows.
Yordd. The stepping-off point, the seacoast city that served as harbor gateway to Daria. How much time could he have saved had he learned of its presence weeks earlier? How much time had he wasted…?
No, he told himself firmly. No time had been wasted. He’d made friends, had regained his strength. No time can be called wasted that is used for making friends. But he could move on now. The chief’s revelation had reinvigorated his determination. He would finish his mission and deliver the scroll. Then, if the fates and his own desires were so inclined, he might well choose to return to the blissful land of Ool-lak-lan rather than risk the long and dangerous journey all the way back to Harup-taw-shet. If naught else it was an option he would hold as close to him as the scroll itself.
Preparations were made in surprisingly short order. While the chief and a portion of the population would have been pleased to see the visitor remain among them, there were others who were happy to see the towering young fullman and his animals go. Construction of the platform atop the linked outriggers proceeded apace.
When it was completed Madrenga was surprised to see how little in the way of provisions were brought aboard. He could only muse and marvel. Yordd must lie even nearer than he thought. There was also a large quantity of salted and fresh fish to sell. The villagers were not about to embark on a crossing of the Strait simply to convey one visitor to the other side.
When all was in readiness, he bade farewell to the chief and to those others who had welcomed him into their community. Some he now knew by name, others only by sight. As he struggled to lead Orania onto the makeshift but sturdy craft, tears came to his eyes as the Felf women broke into an ululation of farewell. He could not understand all the words, but there was no mistaking the sentiment.
The weather being fine, sail was raised to supplement the muscles of the Felf rowers. Soon song and palms and village shrank into the distance, until at last they vanished entirely beneath the western horizon. When a patient Orania folded her legs beneath her, Madrenga sat down beside his horse. Bit curled up against his legs. Mindful of the dog’s armored, spiked collar, Madrenga was careful where he placed an open palm against the animal’s shoulders. As the improvised raft effortlessly bucked the gentle swells, he turned his head and his focus resolutely to the east.
Behind him, the farewell gathering was breaking up. Children returned to playing in the lagoon, the women to their work, and the men to gathering. Those responsible for the next day’s fishing repaired to the greeting meeting house. It was empty now, devoid of its temporary fullman inhabitant. Bending to the sandy floor, the men soon exposed the storage lockers concealed beneath. Even those with whom the visitor had made friends had to admit there was benefit to be gained from his departure. At least now they could set out the longlines that had remained unused while he had lived among them.
From the buried equipment lockers, lines of braided gold cable were unspooled, from which hung more than a hundred large hooks fashioned of hardened, alloyed gold.
In the great harbor of Yordd, Felf fishermen arriving from the islands of the Strait to peddle their catch were not an uncommon sight. The appearance of a makeshift raft composed of a large wooden platform set atop multiple smaller outriggers, however, was something of a novelty. It drew enough curious onlookers to make Madrenga uncomfortable. He relaxed once the improvised transport docked and it became apparent that the bulk of the crowd’s interest lay in what his Felf friends had to sell and not in their single fullman passenger.
There was no need for extended goodbyes, as these had been exchanged prior to the departure from Ool-lak-lan. There were no tears, no sobs. Those Felf who had been chatty enough during the crossing found themselves thrown into noisy negotiation with the initial wave of fish buyers. Thus left to his own, Madrenga led Orania off the craft and up the stone steps that led into the city proper.
After his extended bucolic interlude on the island it felt strange to be back among his own kind again. Pedestrian traffic was more frenetic and the crowds even denser than they had been in distant Charrush. The mix of people was familiar enough: Harund, the occasional slender Selndar, plus clusters of a short, squat folk whose appearance was new to him. Among the surging, nattering multitude he saw not a single representative of the three elven tribes. Their absence did not surprise him. While completely at home on their islands, they would have been swamped by the size and smells of the city.
Fashioned of finely quarried basalt and limestone, some of the buildings in Yordd rose higher than even the lookout towers of Harup-taw-shet. Everything was outsize here, from ships in the harbor beside which the Thranskirr would have paled in size to the fortifications that marked the entrance to the port. Only he and his companions did not seem diminished in comparison. He stood as tall as ever, while dogs both domesticated and wild shied away from the hulking Bit and other horses eyed the now massive Orania the way a refined hostess would a barbarian requesting entrance to a tea party.
As he led his animals up a main street and deeper into the city proper, Madrenga could hardly believe he had made it this far. Yordd! Gateway to his final destination. Though changed, he was alive and well, as were his companions. Despite all he had been through he still retained the majority of his gear. Thanks to the inexplicable transformations he had undergone he felt as if he was in the best health of his young life. Possessed of physical strength he had never known, much less imagined, he felt confident now of completing his mission. He would return to Harup-taw-shet with his head held high—nay, higher than when he had left. Amazement and gratitude would accompany his triumphant returning.
Calm yourself. Remember your place. You are delivering a scroll, not winning a battle or rescuing a princess. You are a glorified delivery boy; nothing more. Still, what stories he would have to tell upon his return! His friends on the street, should he deign to meet with them again, would have the honor of basking in the aura surrounding his accomplishment.
Then he got his first good, clear look at the mountains behind the city, and pre-emptive self-glorification gave way to a reality check.
Snow-covered peaks gleamed in the morning sun; beautiful to look at but arduous to cross. He consoled himself with the thought that a city of commerce like Yordd would necessarily sit at a juncture of multiple trading routes, and that at least one or two of these must run through those same mountains. They were far higher than any he had ever seen. At least, he thought as he looked over at Orania, he would not have to hike through them. His erstwhile pony had become big and strong enough to carry three men, much less simply her master and if need be, his dog.
The presumed existence of a limited number of well-known, heavily-traveled routes into the interior meant it would be hard to get lost while making the crossing. His confidence returned full-blown. As for the time lost he had spent recuperating in Ool-lak-lan, with every step deeper into the teeming streets of Yordd that dream-like sojourn receded more and more into memory.
For some time now he had ceased to worry about sneak thieves and pickpockets. Anyone who drew too near or lingered too long became the recipient of a bark or two from Bit. Though he was only being friendly, the sight of those dagger-like teeth flashed in a smile was enough to deter even the most ambitious of cut-purses.
He still had nearly half his money left. When he had emptied it onto the desk of Captain Hammaghiri he had been careful not to be overly generous. Though he had no idea of local costs, he hoped what remained would be enough to get him all the way to Daria. He would begin the last stage of his journey with a late morning meal in this new city. The crossing from Ool-lak-lan had left him hungry for something besides fruit and fish and eggs.
Though most pedestrians accelerated alarmingly out of his way the instant he started to swerve in their direction, a few were sufficiently secure in their selves to allow him to ask a question or two. Eventually he found himself outside a tavern whose exterior hanging sign identified it as The Blunt Instrument. Belying its name, its clientele bordered on the sedate. There was an associated stable where he was able to leave Orania, and a choice of empty tables and booths for himself. It being mid-morning, the place was far from crowded despite its excellent location on a main street leading inland from the harbor. Feeling very good about things, he entered, he sat, he ordered.
Ordinarily he would have politely but firmly waved off the two men who approached his table and asked to join him. But one was the blondest fellow Madrenga had ever seen, with hair and brows the color and thickness of gold thread, and the other a rock-like Harund with, in an astounding first in Madrenga’s experience, a beard that had actually been washed, combed, and trimmed. Such an unlikely pair he could not have turned away individually, far less in tandem.
He was not concerned about their possible motives in seeking out his company. The heavy wooden table at which the three of them now sat was near the front of the eatery, was well lit and exposed to the attentive gaze of the proprietor, and should anything go awry there were numerous potential witnesses seated at several other tables.
Besides, as much as they might want to talk to him, he equally needed to talk to some locals.
“Dariak?” The Harund’s voice was characteristically deep and rough, the consonants rubbing together like rocks. “Never beenak there myselfk.” He nodded at his lithe companion. “Bors, now he maybek, sa?”
The lean-muscled blonde shook his head. “No, I’ve never been there either. But I know of the way. It is straightforward enough. Many caravans ply the main route.”
Between mouthfuls of plied pork and swallows of an excellent dark beer, Madrenga nodded and strove to sound more sophisticated than his age would suggest. “I’d heard there was considerable trade between Yordd and Daria. I was counting on that.”
“It should be a simple matter for you to gain passage.” The blonde hesitated. “If you can pay.”
Madrenga’s expression fell, the further to emphasize a necessary prevarication. He had no intention of informing these two strangers of the actual state of his finances.
“I hope so. I’ve come a long way and spent much of what little I have. I retain enough for this meal, food and fodder for my animals, and a room for the night. After that …” His voice trailed away meaningfully before brightening once again. “I’ve hired myself and my animals out before. My horse can pull a wagon, and my dog,” he glanced down at where Bit was dozing by his feet, “can fight and defend.” Feeling bolder (or perhaps it was the beer), he placed his right hand firmly on the pommel of his sword. “I can fight as well.”
Leaning back in his chair, the Harund eyed him appraisingly. “You big enough, sa. But no offense meaningk, I thinking maybe a little youngk for a warrior.”
“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” Madrenga responded. The beer was making him feel very good indeed. Truthfully, he was still hard pressed to believe the changes that had come over him and his companions in the course of his journey thus far. “But to be honest, though I’ve had to do my share of fighting, I’m not a professional soldier. I’m actually just a courier.” Pulling aside his shirt and shifting his lightweight armor revealed the cylindrical scroll carrier attached to his belt. “This is why I have to get over the mountains. It’s a communication from Queen Alyriata of Harup-taw-shet to her counterpart in Daria.”
Two wisps of golden spider silk, the blonde’s eyebrows rose slightly. “A royal communication! What does it say?”
Madrenga blinked, started to down another draught of beer, and now thought better of it. He’d had more than enough to ensure that he would sleep well tonight no matter where he bedded down.
“I have no idea. There is no reason for me to look at it. I know only that I am to deliver it.”
“Of course. Pardon my natural curiosity.” The blonde smiled. “You really do need to get to Daria, don’t you?” Madrenga nodded. “I think mayhap we can help you.” He glanced at the Harund, who nodded vigorously. “There is an acquaintance of ours, a local nobleman. His name is Hinga Cathore. Though not a merchant himself, he does deal in commercial matters. As such, he knows many of the traders who travel inland. A gracious and kindly man, he is always ready to assist those in need. If you ask, he might be willing to provide you with a personal contact who will take you over the mountains for a fair price. Especially since it involves so worthy a cause.”
Madrenga immediately perked up. “Can you arrange an introduction?”
Slim human and squat Harund exchanged a glance. “I don’t see why not,” the blonde replied easily. “All he can do is refuse to see you. But if he accepts, and learns the truth of your situation, he may even offer to let you stay at his home until it is time for you to join a caravan. Cathore is famous for his hospitality!”
“Then I would not have to pay for a room for tonight.” Madrenga was more than taken with the thought. “How soon can you speak to him on my behalf?”
“Time can be chop-up like a steak.” Pushing back his chair, the Harund was already rising. “Best not to waste the pieces. We can go right nowk.”
A grateful Madrenga gestured expansively. “Why not?”
He paid for the meal, but when he offered to also pay for his new friends’ drinks they politely refused, insisting that he needed to conserve his funds. In Madrenga’s eyes that further solidified their benign intentions. With Bit at his side he recovered Orania from where she had been quartered. In another surprise, the kindly stablemaster refused payment.
“She wasn’t here long enough and didn’t eat enough to matter,” he told the horse’s master. Truly, Madrenga thought, if Yordd boasted such an abundance of fine folk as he had already encountered then it was no wonder it had grown to assume such prominence as a place for gathering and trade.
The blonde had a horse of his own while the Harund preferred to ride tewkback. Madrenga had never seen a tewk. Looking like a cross between a mule and a chameleon, it was one mount that would never lose sight of a trail. Not with its bulging, independently swiveling eyes.
Relieved to be with friends who knew the way, Madrenga was able to relax and enjoy his surroundings. While Orania followed the mounts of the two guides, the youth on her back drank in the sights of bustling Yordd. It wasn’t long before they left behind the commercial district that sprawled along the harborfront and entered a residential district comprised of small shops and neat homes. Exotic plants bloomed in flower boxes and the air was saturated with pleasant aromas. No palms here, but plenty of shade trees that overhung the entrances to homes of one and two stories.
As the road began to slope upwards, scattered larger dwellings took the place of packed-together smaller ones. The increasingly grand estates with their views of the port and the ocean reminded him of similar gracious structures in Harup-taw-shet. No views of the ocean there, he told himself. Only mountains and canyons and distant high plains.
Grander in its setting than in its shape was the House of Hinga Cathore. Not as large as some of the manors they had passed in the course of ascending from the harbor, the compound clung to a promontory that jutted out of the mountainside. A masterpiece of the stone mason’s art, the multistory structure put Madrenga in mind of an eagle poised to take flight as it kept an eye on fish swimming below.
“Nice panorama,” he commented admiringly.
Slowing until his own smaller horse was beside Orania, the blonde nodded. “Cathore has mounted on a balcony a long lens that lets him see everything that is going on in the city. He is a most intensely curious person.”
Madrenga smiled. “You mean a telescope.”
The blonde frowned in confusion. “No. It is something else. I know what is a telescope. This is—different.”
Madrenga left it at that. He was only making polite conversation. The nobleman’s furnishings were of no particular interest to him. He was here in the hope that the man could help him reach his destination and for no other reason.
At the entry gate a servant took charge of their mounts and guided them toward an open stable area piled high with hay. As Madrenga waited, the blonde gestured toward his feet.
“Hinga Cathore is a particularly fastidious man. I’m afraid your dog will have to wait here.”
“Not a problem. These two are used to being together.” Kneeling, he gave Bit a good rub. “You go with Orania, boy. I’ll be back soon.” Straightening, he pointed as the footman led the two horses and one tewk toward the waiting area reserved for animals. “Go on.”
Obediently, Bit turned and trotted off alongside Orania, dog and horse briefly touching noses. The Harund’s tone was approving.
“Fine animals you have, bothk. I would like to have for myselfk.”
Madrenga laughed. “Sorry. The three of us have been together too long. Even if I ever thought of doing such a thing they would never accede to it. If I gave them to you, you wouldn’t be able to control them.”
The deep voice emerged again from within the beard. “Seeing them so, I think samek thing.”
Another servant conducted the three men through a modest ground floor entryway and up a twist of spiral stone stairs. They emerged into a surprisingly high-ceilinged room filled with cabinets and shelving on which were stacked innumerable books, jars, stuffed animals, and other arcane paraphernalia. A hunter, Madrenga mused. After noting that none of the examples of the taxidermist’s art were particularly large or impressive, he revised his initial supposition. Merely a collector, then. A naturalist by hobby, perhaps.
Hinga Cathore was big, broad-chested, and gray of hair. In the absence of a beard, a brushy mustache hung down over his upper lip. His hands and head were outsized, his feet presumably likewise. He looked more like a retired drover or brewer than a nobleman. If you blended the talkative blonde with the bearded Harund, you might get a man who looked like Hinga Cathore.
The analogy was only a trick of the mind and the eye, Madrenga told himself. Had any familial relationship existed between the three men, surely one or the other of his new friends would have mentioned it by now. Nor did Cathore greet the two locals in the manner of a relative. Instead, they exchanged greetings that were so softly voiced Madrenga could not make out the words. But the nobleman’s welcome was effusive enough.
“I am always delighted to meet someone from a far land, especially one I myself have not had the opportunity to visit!” Standing as tall as his visitor, Cathore was able to put a reassuring arm around Madrenga’s shoulders as he guided him toward a quartet of chairs. Choosing one, he directed his guest to a seat opposite his own. Not invited to join them, the twosome from town remained standing nearby. A large table overflowing with books and devices stood to one side while an arched opening framed another balcony and a spectacular prospect of the city beyond. Madrenga ignored the view.
He was far more interested in the large pink-faced monkey that was sitting on the table perusing a book. Noticing his guest’s captivated stare, Cathore let out a hearty laugh.
“Sobo can’t read. But he likes to look at the pictures. And I think he also likes the smell of old books. One time he started to eat a valuable treatise on medicinal plants. I let him. He shit vellum streamers for a week. Now he just looks.”
Torn between empathizing with the monkey’s discomfort and laughing at the image thus described, Madrenga settled for a sympathetic smile. “To the best of my knowledge none of my companions has ever tried to eat a book. They don’t look at them, either.”
“Fine animals,” the Harund put in. “Strongk horse, really big dogk. I admire very muchk, sa.”
The master of the house nodded matter-of-factly. “So, what brings one so young all the way to Yordd from far-off Harup-taw-shet?”
Madrenga bridled slightly at the “so young” but by now had learned when to comment on the observations of others and when to hold his peace. “I am a courier, charged with conveying a communication from my Queen to her counterpart in Daria. I can pay for guidance but must find a reasonable way to get inland.” He indicated the men who had brought him from town. “These good gentlemen suggested that you might be able to recommend to me a caravan or convoy traveling in that direction.”
At this Cathore roared anew. “‘Good gentlemen?’ My young friend, you have a way with words as well as with travel.” He wiped his nose, then his tearing eyes, then his nose again. Flinching slightly, Madrenga reminded himself that not all noblemen had noble manners. Still, he was surprised.
“What sort of communication?” Cathore was suddenly intent.
“I don’t know. I was directed to deliver it. I have not looked at it.”
“An honorable young man. I see why you were chosen. Maturity is not a function of age, my young friend. That is a constant across countries. Indeed, across worlds.” Leaning forward, he extended a hand. “May I have the privilege of seeing this communication, my friend?”
“My name is Madrenga.”
The nobleman seemed momentarily taken aback, though why this should be so his guest could not imagine. It was not the first time mention of his name had occasioned an inexplicable response. Madrenga had put it down to coincidence, deciding that he must share a name with someone famous, or perhaps infamous. No doubt one day the explanation would manifest itself.
“Very well—Madrenga.” The hand gestured anew. “The communication: may I see it?” When his guest continued to hesitate, Cathore grew impatient. “Come, come, young man: how can I decide whether to help you unless I am allowed to determine if you’re telling the truth?”
A sensible enough response, a wary Madrenga concluded. He noted that while the blonde and the Harund wore swords and knives at their belts, his noble host was unarmed and clad in plain embroidered silks. The servant who had led them upstairs was nowhere to be seen. No artfully positioned spray of spears or rank of axes decorated any of the room’s walls. Meanwhile he still had his own sword and armor. Appraising the available weapons, an impartial observer would have concluded that his host had more to fear from his guest than the other way around.
Reaching down to his belt, he unfastened the protective travel container and passed it to his host. The engraved cylinder was still sealed as tightly as it had been when Counselor Natoum had handed it to his chosen courier. Cathore inspected it closely, turning it over and over in his fingers, noting the designs that had been incised into the metal.
“Corium. A valuable trinket, to be sure, but only a trinket.” He held it up to the light and smiled. “As with any communication the value lies on what is written, not on what it is written upon.” Without hesitation he slipped the cylinder into a wide pocket of his pants. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, young Madrenga of Harup-taw-shet. You may go now.”
Shocked beyond words by the flippancy of the incipient larceny, Madrenga was reduced to gaping open-mouthed at his smiling host.
The moment that ensued following Hinga Cathore’s pocketing of the precious scroll passed in an eternity of contemplation. Upon its conclusion Madrenga rose, wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the haft of his sword, and drew it halfway from its scabbard. Instead of responding with a challenge of their own the blonde and the Harund immediately retreated in the direction of the doorway. A seated Cathore cast them barely a glance and a derisive sniff before returning his attention to his visitor.
“What are you going to do with that, young Madrenga? Stab me to death, here in my own home?”
“My wish is to take neither your life nor violate the sanctity of your house, but only to have returned that which is mine.” Now it was his turn to extend an open palm. “Give me back the scroll and I will leave quietly.” His voice was taut. “I will find others to help me get over the mountains to Daria.”
“Possibly you will.” When Cathore rose, Madrenga stepped back and pulled more firmly on the sword. The blade was now most of the way out of its scabbard. His every sense was on edge. The nobleman made no effort to confront the threat that had been aimed his way, nor did he make any effort to remove the scroll cylinder from his pocket. Instead, he walked slowly to the overflowing table. A hand gesture caused the child-sized monkey to drop the book it had been examining and drop to the floor. It stood there screeching, occasionally throwing its arms into the air to punctuate its fusillade of complaints.
“Or possibly,” Cathore continued, “it is your destiny now to find your way elsewhere. Which I promise that you will if you do not leave quietly.” Ominous portent gave way once more to an engaging smile as he tapped the pocket holding the cylinder. “Why so much fuss? This is just a communication. Not gold or jewels or some precious medicine. Your journey has been long and your traveling, I suspect, arduous. Return, go back home, say that the scroll was stolen by bandits or swallowed by a dragon. Be inventive. Be convincing. Few will doubt you. Those who might will be unable to prove otherwise.”
Madrenga held his ground. “Give me back my property, or I will have to take it.”
“Dear me. What are you, Madrenga? Of years spent alive, seventeen? Eighteen? Your size may fool others, but I am a connoisseur of truths. I see you for what you are, and what you are is no threat to me.” One hand fluttered in the direction of the doorway that was presently occupied by the blonde and the Harund. “Go now, while you can.”
“I want his animals.” The bearded one grinned expectantly. “Good eatingk!”
The thought of the hairy deceiver and his friends feasting on the roasted bodies of Bit and Orania was enough to decide Madrenga. With a cry he rushed forward, intending as he did so to draw his sword the rest of the way.
Hinga Cathore raised both hands and declaimed, in a voice that shook the stones of the tower all the way to the bedrock beneath, “SAALAMAK!”
Madrenga was stopped in his tracks. His body suddenly weakened to the point of collapse, his fingers relaxed on the sword hilt. Freed from his grasp and drawn downward by its own weight the blade slid slowly back into its scabbard.
The yellow embers that had replaced Cathore’s dark pupils were blazing bright, like burning sulphur. Previously brazen in their lying, the blonde and the Harund now cowered in the doorway, at once too fascinated and too fearful to flee. The monkey was going crazy; running back and forth, leaping onto shelves and bouncing off the walls, throwing books and found objects in all directions as it shrieked with an insane mixture of terror and delight.
The embroidered inscriptions and designs on Cathore’s clothing now shone with an unwholesome green glow. Day fled from the room, to be replaced by a darkness wholly independent of the position of the sun outside. Far off in the distance Madrenga believed he could hear Orania neighing frantically and Bit barking and snarling like a mad dog. That was strange, he thought. The courtyard where they were being attended to was not that far away, and the large balcony opening close at hand. Why then did they sound so far away?
Again he tried again to draw his sword, but his hand would not respond. Nothing was responding. He was paralyzed, frozen in place. A veil had been drawn over his head through which he could vaguely see shapes and hear sounds, but he could not move. When he tried to give voice to his outrage, his lips and tongue failed to respond.
Only one voice could be heard: that of Hinga Cathore. No nobleman he, the helpless and disconsolate youth now realized, but a warlock vile and true. If his sulphurous gaze was not enough to confirm it, his mastery of forbidden words was more than enough proof. Madrenga damned himself for a gullible fool. A stranger to good beer, he had allowed to much of it to dull his senses. Having said too much, having trusted too much, he had been led here like a sheep to the slaughter by the promise of friendship and help, only to be …
To be what? With nothing left to hide and his collector’s desire fulfilled, what did Cathore have in mind for his naive young visitor? “Possibly it is your destiny to find yourself elsewhere”, he had said enigmatically. Was the cryptic now to be made reality? Were the warlock’s words promise or threat—or both? Through the darkness that hooded him he could hear his nemesis growling.
“I gave you your chance, young Madrenga. I offered you the opportunity to leave. You chose to challenge me, and you have lost. Now you must go. Having seen that your boldness and your foolishness are inextricably linked, I cannot believe that, given another chance, you would not try to return and retake that which you have lost. Therefore I must be rid of you permanently and for all time.”
Moving to the heavily laden table he picked up a book. Though finely bound, it was smaller and less prepossessing than many of the larger, more impressive volumes that surrounded it. Opening it, the warlock searched until he found the page and the words he sought. One hand he raised high overhead. Straining, Madrenga could barely see what the mage was about.
“SINATHAM REES KAHL-LETH—I banish you to the first place of death and disease upon which your body and spirit may impinge!”
At this a darkness constricted around him to fall whole and entire upon the hapless Madrenga, who did not even have time to shout out his fury and frustration at having been so wantonly and cruelly deceived.
Passed then a moment in time and space to which he could not give a name.