Roger Taylor - Arash-Felloren

Rinter massaged his behind. ‘He’s not going to like the city, then,’ he said, affecting a heartiness he did not feel.

Atlon laughed. ‘He’ll be all right. He mightn’t like crowds, but he’s been in busier places than this, and he’s extremely curious.’

‘You seem very easy about it.’

‘Felcis are intelligent and resourceful – Dvolci more than most. And he knows I need him more than he needs me.’

You’ve been far too long on your own, Rinter thought, though he managed to keep it from his face.

Atlon turned his attention to the people around him again. Despite his slightly irritable response, Dvolci’s remark had been accurate; apart from clothes and accents, the crowd in essence was little different from that which could be seen any day travelling to and from the great market in his homeland. With the exception that is, of the number of wagons and riders that were being escorted by groups of armed men. It took no soldier’s eye to see that these men were not formal escorts for the purposes of decoration or for declaiming their master’s status, but men ready and used to action, albeit only street-fighting in many cases. He asked Rinter about them.

Rinter seemed surprised. ‘No disrespect, but you must come from a very sheltered place,’ he said. ‘They’re just for protection, that’s all. None of the bigger merchants will risk sending goods across the Thlosgaral without one.’

‘There are a great many robbers there, then?’

Rinter gave a strange laugh and shook his head as he replied. ‘Yes and no.’ He looked around then nodded discreetly towards a rider being escorted by four men on foot. ‘Those men, for instance, belong to Barran. They’re there to protect that merchant, as I said.’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially and gave Atlon a knowing wink. ‘But the person who controls most of the robbers in the Thlosgaral is Barran himself.’

Atlon frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Rinter’s expression became that of a man faced with the need to climb a large hill. The last remnants of his concern about Atlon as a secret assassin faded utterly. ‘The merchant has a choice. He can try to cross alone, in which case he risks being robbed. Or he can employ some of Barran’s men and be substantially guaranteed a safe passage.’

‘Against… Barran’s robbers,’ Atlon said slowly, his frown deepening. Rinter nodded then waited for Atlon to grasp what he was being told. In a moment there would doubtless be an indignant outburst from this naive newcomer.

It did not come, however. Instead, Atlon grimaced and blew out a long breath. ‘There’s much wrong with this city of yours, I fear,’ he said quietly, as though to himself.

Rinter felt suddenly indignant. Who was this man, this teacher, to criticize his city – the finest city in the world? He was about to give voice to his outrage when he remembered why he was here. The prospect of the felci as a source of income intervened to soften his response, though his tone was still heavily sarcastic when he spoke. ‘You have no robbers in your land, I suppose. That’s why you wear a sword.’

Atlon paused before he replied. ‘My remark was out of place,’ he said quietly. ‘I apologize. Yes, sadly we do have robbers – and worse than yours by far. The darkness in each of us emerges in any community.’ His eyes became distant. ‘No matter from how far or how near you look, there’s always darkness and light mingled. Always.’ He laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘And you’re correct, we do go armed – a duty and a tradition. Each of us must be prepared to defend his neighbour as well as himself, mustn’t he?’ He slapped the hilt and smiled. ‘Be prepared to bring a little light into matters if necessary.’ He made a mock sword thrust with his hand.

Rinter returned the smile involuntarily, even though he was not sure he understood what Atlon was talking about. Suddenly, and uncharacteristically, he wanted to know more about this newcomer. What kind of land was it he came from? What had brought him so far from home? Where did he get that horse from, and where had he learned to ride like that? And, not least, what did ‘and worse by far’ mean?

His curiosity did not last long however, as his dominant concern returned in full force. They were drawing ever nearer to the city and he had still not thought of a strategy that would put Dvolci in the pits – if the damned animal hadn’t got itself lost! He could improvise as circumstances allowed, if necessary, but he preferred not to do that. Things could go wrong even when you had a plan, but without one…

He would have to force the issue.

‘How much money have you got?’ he asked bluntly. The words were no sooner uttered than he was wishing them back, but Atlon did not appear to be offended.

‘Enough for a few days at The Wyndering,’ he replied.

Rinter decided not to overreach himself by asking how many were a few, but in the absence of any better inspiration, pressed on with his direct approach. He nodded significantly. ‘You really should give some serious thought to putting the felci into the pits.’ Despite himself, he glanced anxiously around to see if Dvolci was anywhere in sight. ‘Even with a few minor fights, you’ll make at least enough money to give yourself a month at The Wyndering.’ This was not true, but he embellished it anyway. ‘And have some left to carry you on your journey.’

Atlon used this abrupt return to Rinter’s main concern to reiterate his own. ‘I’ll have a look at them,’ he conceded, anxious not to alienate his guide with too resolute a refusal. ‘But I think I’d rather be looking for a more conventional way of earning something. There must be schools, places of learning, surely? Or families that want tutors?’

Rinter was beginning to feel helpless. He lied. ‘You’ll have to be in one of the Learned Guilds to get that kind of work, and you can only join those if you’ve been educated in the city.’

Atlon frowned. ‘I’ve never heard of anything like that before,’ he said.

‘You’ve never been to anywhere like Arash-Felloren before.’

As though falling back on a poor alternative, Atlon moved to his real interest. ‘Well, I’ve worked with crystals in the past – I’m quite good at it actually. Surely I wouldn’t need to be in a Guild to get a job in a crystal workshop, would I?’

Caught unawares by Atlon’s casualness, Rinter had shaken his head before he realized it. He resorted quickly to dark warnings. ‘You’ll not get paid much. The Kyrosdyn didn’t get rich by paying well. And they’re hard masters.’ His concern became genuine. ‘In any case, you don’t want to be near people like that. They’re very odd – dangerous even.’

Atlon refused to be cast down. ‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating,’ he said cheerily. ‘All the crystal workers I’ve known in the past have been welcoming once they see your interest is sincere. They tend to be preoccupied, I’ll admit, but it’s a delicate job and needs a lot of concentration.’ Seeing from Rinter’s gloomy expression that the warnings were about to be renewed, he offered a compromise. ‘Let’s have a look at your fighting pits, then you can show me where the crystal dealers trade and I’ll find out for myself.’ He looked at Rinter earnestly. ‘I’ll pay you what I can for your time, of course. You’ve been very patient and helpful.’

Rinter made a vague, half-accepting, half-rejecting shrug, accompanied by a grunt. This man kept catching him off-guard.

Atlon put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. After a moment, a brown shape appeared as if from nowhere, and nimbly threaded its way through the wheels and hooves grinding the dusty highway. Atlon casually dipped low out of his saddle, held out a hand, then swung back equally effortlessly as the felci clambered up his arm and on to his shoulders. There was a small burst of spontaneous applause and cheering from a group of men in a cart moving in the opposite direction, but Atlon did not even realize that it was for him. Rinter too, found that he could do no other than applaud the action.