Simon Hawke - The Outcast

“Believe me, I shall give you no cause to look,” said the marauder. “If my path never crosses yours again, I shall count myself well blessed.”

He untied one of the crodlu, climbed up on the lizard’s back and spurred it to a gallop down the trail leading to the valley. Sorak watched him go, then called Tigra to dig holes for burying the corpses. He couldn’t care less whether they were decently buried, but he did not wish to tempt any of the tribe. Halflings ate human flesh.

Seen from the ridge overlooking the valley, the walled city of Tyr resembled the body of a legless spider. The main portion of the city made up the spider’s abdomen, while the head contained the king’s palace and the templars’ quarter. Roughly in the center of the main part of the city, overlooking the stadium and the arena, stood Kalak’s ziggurat, a huge, square-stepped tower constructed of massive blocks of mortared stone. The Wanderer wrote that it had taken thousands of slaves laboring from dawn to dusk for over twenty years to construct the massive edifice. It rose high over the city, dominating the slums and marketplaces all around it, and was visible for miles beyond the city’s outer walls.

At the opposite end of the stadium, separated from the main part of the city by a thick, high wall, stood the Golden Tower, the palace where the sorcerer-king, Kalak, had resided. Surrounded by lush gardens and colonnaded walkways, the Golden Tower was ringed by the templars’ quarter, where the servants of the king had dwelt in luxury, isolated from the people under their authority.

There were three large gates that gave entrance to the well-fortified city. The Grand Gate faced the mountains and gave access to the sprawling palace compound. The Stadium Gate, located between the templars’ quarter and the tradesmen’s district, led to the stadium and the arena. The Caravan Gate, at the opposite end of the city from the palace, was the main entrance to the city. It opened onto the largest and busiest street in Tyr, Caravan Way, which led through the merchant district to the central market square, near the foot of Kalak’s ziggurat.

The Grand Gate was the closest to the trail coming down out of the foothills, but Sorak did not expect to be admitted through the palace gate. He chose to ride around the city’s outer wall, past the outlying farms and fields, to the Caravan Gate. He rode one of the crodlu belonging to the slain marauders and led the others in a string behind him. He had not needed to rope them all together, for they would easily have followed Screech, but Sorak saw no purpose to be served in drawing attention to his unique psionic powers. At least, not yet. And he prudently kept his blade concealed beneath his cloak.

The guards at the gate questioned him briefly before passing him through. He told them he was a simple herdsman who raised and trained crodlu out in the tablelands, and that he had brought in this string to sell in the marketplace.

The guards were primarily interested in Tigra, having never seen a tame tigone before. Tigra was not exactly tame, but Sorak did not tell them that. He explained that he had raised Tigra from a cub and that the beast was bonded to him and a great help in tending the crodlu herd. Then he demonstrated his control over the beast with a few simple commands, which Tigra promptly obeyed, and by encouraging the guards to pet him. One of the braver souls ventured to do just that, and when Tigra suffered the caress without taking his arm off, the others seemed well satisfied. They were always eager to admit traders to the city, for the profits of anything sold in the marketplaces of Tyr were subject to a tax that went into the city’s coffers, from which the guards were paid their salary. However, they warned Sorak that he would be liable for any damage that his tigone caused, either to life or property.

As he passed through the massive gates, he rode along Caravan Way, the widest street in the main part of the city. The other streets he saw leading off the main avenue were little more than narrow alleyways winding through the tightly clustered buildings. As he led the crodlu through the street, he was assailed by a bewildering agglomeration of sights and sounds and smells. In the forests of the Ringing Mountains, there had been no shortage of stimulation for the senses, but his first impression of the city brought him close to confusion and panic.

“So many people!” said Kivara excitedly. “And so much noise!”

“They swarm like ants,” Eyron said with astonishment. “How can so many live together in so small a space?”

In the stretch of one city block, Sorak saw humans, elves, half-elves, even a few dwarves and half-giants. Some drove wagons or pushed wooden carts, others carried baskets on their heads or heavy loads on their backs, all bustling in a steady stream of traffic heading both to and from the central market square. The marketplace itself extended all the way out to the city gates, with tents and stalls with awnings set up along both sides of the busy street. Nobles reclined in the comfort of their shaded litters, ignoring the filthy beggars who sat in the dust and held out their hands in supplication. Armed soldiers mingled with the crowd, on the watch for thieves and pickpockets. Food vendors chanted their offerings to passersby and merchants with goods of every description held up their wares and cried out to entice customers.

Sorak had never experienced such an overlay of odors. Long accustomed to catching the subtlest of scents on the cool, crisp mountain breezes, he was overwhelmed by the smell of all the bodies mingling around him, the musky scents of herd animals and beasts of burden, and the heavy aromas of basted and spiced meats cooking over braziers in the food stalls. This was a far cry from the peaceful and spiritual atmosphere of the villichi convent and the bucolic serenity of the Ringing Mountains.

He felt the Watcher’s anxiety as she tried to assimilate it all. His pulse raced with Kivara’s exultation at the novelty of the experience. He sensed Lyric’s childlike awe, Eyron’s apprehension, and the Ranger’s steadfast determination to remain alert and avoid being distracted by all the tumult and confusion. As he rode through the crowded street, glancing all around him at one fascinating sight after another, he felt the Guardian’s reassuring presence, striving to maintain a balance within the tribe in the face of so much that was new to them.

“I had no idea it would be like this,” he said to her. “How can anyone think straight with so many distractions? How can anyone stand living with so much noise?”

“One probably becomes accustomed to it after a while,” the Guardian replied.

“I do not think I ever shall,” said Sorak. He shook his head. “Do you suppose this goes on all the time?” “I imagine it dies down at night,” the Guardian replied. “Perhaps it is quieter in other sections of the city. I do not know, Sorak. I’m a newcomer here, too.”

Sorak smiled inwardly at her jest, then hushed Kivara, who wanted him to stop at every stall and tent they passed. “I, too, am curious, Kivara,” he said. “There is much to see here, but now is not the time. Be patient.”

He had no difficulty making his way through the crowd. Mounted on a crodlu and leading a string of four others behind him, he could not only see well above the crowd, but his approach caused them to part before him with alacrity. Crodlu were known for occasionally snapping and taking a piece out of an arm or leg. Their chuffing, bleating, snorting sounds helped part the traffic, and more than a few of the people that he passed stared up at him curiously.