Rose Estes - The Price of power

As he trudged across the barren plain, clenching his toes inside the large, over-sized boots in an effort so keep them on, he began to wonder if he mightn't be able to undo some of the damage to Hornsbuck's "idled brain. It could scarcely get worse. Digging in hcs pouch with his free hand, he pulled the spell book tree and began to leaf through it, looking for an appropriate spell.

So involved was he in studying the book that he failed to notice another Wolf Nomad caravan on its way out of the city until it was nearly beneath his nose.

The caravan master, a pompous man of advanced years, was taken aback by the strange sight that greeted him: a man, oddly muffled in a red cloak large enough for one twice his size, shuffling in too- large shoes, and wearing a bulbous pink silk turban on his swollen, hairless head, leading the strangest entourage imaginable.

An enormous fellow rode atop the single horse, his bare feet dangling nearly to the ground. Tied behind him was a wolf with a lolling tongue who snored loud enough to wake the dead. And dragging behind the horse on the end of a leash was another wolf, with one green eye and one blue eye, that snapped and snarled and fought the rawhide restrainer. The only normal member of the party was a stocky wolf with reddish blond fur and a short, scarred muzzle who trotted off to one side as though trying to appear unconnected with the rest of the group.

"Ho!" said the caravan master, Wolf Nomad protocol overcoming his misgivings.

"Huh?" said Mika, shoving the turban back from his eyes with a cloak-wrapped hand, allowing the spell book to cover as much of his face as possible. "Oh, uh, no! No!" he replied, unable to see clearly because of the sunlight glaring in his eyes, yet recognizing the ancient wolf clan greeting. To not respond would be an insult and a breach of acceptable conduct which could result in a challenge, and, perhaps, even a duel.

"Whartan of the Wolf Nomads, born to the Blue Forest Wanderers, out of the Pine Lodge clan," said the caravan master, reciting his lineage and demanding. without so saying, Mika's credentials.

"Mika of the Wolf Nomads, born to the Burneal Forest Hunters, out of the Far Fringe clan," replied Mika, knowing full well that the man was correct in asking his identity, for no one was allowed within distance of Eru-Tovar unless he could account for himself either by birth or by business.

"Who is your companion?" asked the man, still highly doubtful of Mika.

"One Hornsbuck by name, a mighty warrior," answered Mika, pushing back the turban which had once more slid forward over his eyes. "Also of the Far Fringe clan."

"Success be your reward," said the man after a long pause, unable to think of what else to say.

"And peaceful be your journey," replied Mika, relieved that he had not been forced to fight. He nodded at the man, holding his turban on with the spell book.

The man gave him one last penetrating look and aenaled his caravan to continue. Mika stood ст. as all twenty wagons passed by, trying to ¦ d›e curious looks of the outriders. Just then the approached, a great burly monster of a ropelike muscles and two long blond straightened in the saddle and " Locus Blossom!" he cried joyous- K. he bhc eves brightening visibly. The braided ¦ Цж. producing a long, vulgar kiss- rode on. Hornsbuck attempted to leap down Ьсм tbe saddle and follow the rider, and it was all Mika could do to subdue him.

Finally, Mika was able to persuade Hornsbuck to stay where he was, but not before the princess darted in and delivered a painful bite to Mika's heel. Fortunately, the immense boot protected him from serious injury so that he merely limped a little bit more than he had before.

Mika pulled himself up to his full height as they drew near the city. He let his eyes rove over it, impressed as always by the sheer size of Eru-Tovar.

The city had been built on a tall rise, surrounded on all sides by the open plains. The entire city was walled, in most places four times the height of a man. The wall was made out of huge, polished squares of black marble, quarried from the nearby hills. Mounted atop the walls at regular intervals were realistically carved wolves' heads, mouths open and snarling. Banners flew above the guardposts, black wolves on a crimson ground, and fluttered on either side of the massive gates, the main entrance to the city.

Mika led his party through the gates, answering all queries correctly, satisfying the guards' suspicions by mention of inter-clan connections. He also added that he was seeking medical attention for his friend, who even at this moment was drooling onto the horse's neck. It was Hornsbuck who convinced the guards. Waving their lances, they passed Mika through the gates and into the city.

Eru-lovar was a marvelous place indeed. Boasting a permanent population of some five thousand inhabitants, it often swelled to three times that number on feast and festival days, during the peak moments of timber harvest and during the autumn hunt, drawing far-flung nomad clans, as well as those who sought to purchase their wares.

The city reflected a cosmopolitan air, the direct result of the many cultures who had passed through its?ates and left their mark. There was little that could not be found in Eru-Tovar.

There were streets filled with shops that sold nothing but fresh meat and others that sold only smoked and dried meats. There were streets filled with alchemists and others that boasted magic-users. Woven goods, leathers, precious metals and gems, produce, livestock, money-lenders and booksellers, each enterprise had its own section of the city.

But Eru-Tovar also gave space to a huge open-air market for vendors whose business was of a less permanent nature; and of great interest to Mika was a sprawling, active, red-light district. It was to this last that he directed his attention, for it seemed that few of his problems could not be soothed by a soothing glass of wine or two. He also felt that he had earned it.

Following a path he had taken many times before, Mika entered the huge market that fronted the red- light district, giving it an air of decency that it did its best to live down.

Mika led the roan between the rows of sturdy stone houses which were shuttered against the heat of the day. Following the babble of voices, he soon found himself in a broad thoroughfare lined with tall, multi- storied buildings constructed of cream-colored stone and accented by brightly painted windows and door frames of red, green, and blue.

Spread in front of these buildings were wagons, two-wheeled carts, semi-permanent stands, and in some instances, mere blankets spread on the ground.

Vegetables, fruits, wheels of cheeses, jewelry, weapons, clothing, skins and furs, as well as cobblers, tooth fixers, healers, and a variety of other services were offered to passersby in loud tones.

Mika's eye was caught by a shimmering bolt of cloth, blue-green with tiny flecks of silver shot through the weft. He turned aside to finger the material and held it out to admire the play of sunlight on its soft folds.

"For your lady?" the vendor asked, and with great shock Mika realized that he had not been thinking of a lady at all. That idyllic part of his life seemed remote now. He tossed the material aside in confusion and strode off down the street without looking back.

Using a pouch of coins that he had taken from Hornsbuck, Mika purchased hard twists of stringy, white cheese still wrapped in the yellow-green leaves of the galda tree that gave it its salty flavor. The seller, a large, buxom woman with a bronzed, pock-marked complexion, threw in a leather sack of nutritious galda seeds for good measure and pinched Mika on the thigh as she muttered a bawdy suggestion on garlic-scented breath.

Mika blanched beneath his turban and, kissing the woman's hand gallantly, begged forgiveness, citing time as a factor for his refusal.