Dave Smeds - The Sorcery Within

Ulnam held his composure for almost the count of five, then the facade cracked. They shared a hearty guffaw. It did Lonal good to joke. Too many within the recently arrived clans had been displeased to hear the story of Tebec and Yetem. Outside of the T'krt clan, loyalty to Lonal was not as entrenched, and a few voices dared to speak of heresy. None, of course, would challenge Toltac's word, for he was opsib over them all, but people muttered all the same. Ulnam and Lonal had always been on good terms; it was gratifying to see that this had not changed.

In some ways, it was easier for Lonal than for the westerners themselves, who were once more the center of attention. All the T'lan and the Ena wanted to view firsthand this man-who-didn't-look-like-a-man.

The contest was over, and the participants left to join their families. The reunion celebrations that had taken up the past day would have to yield to the necessity of movement. The most desolate, most dangerous portion of the migration lay just ahead of them – the journey through the Pass of Hattyre. Lonal and Ulnam surveyed the low, blistered hills to the east.

"When do you expect it? As we enter, or at the fork?"

"I never know what to expect where the Buyul are concerned."

"True."

Grim, they parted, each off to their responsibilities as war-leader, Ulnam looking after his clan, Lonal the authority over all three. Lonal rode back to the rear of the clan. His war-seconds could handle the front well enough; his greatest worry was the stragglers. A dragging end could put the caravan in danger, should the raid happen at the wrong time. They had to make speed over Hattyre.

Things were proceeding well. Soon virtually every member of the clan was under way. The only exceptions were two women, one elderly, the other in late youth, who stood several hundred paces behind the departing end of the caravan. The old one was removing her clothes and handing them to the other. When she was naked, she sat her frail body down in the dirt beside the trail. The younger woman bundled the clothing in her arms and headed back toward the caravan. The old woman bowed her head and did not look up again.

Lonal watched respectfully, as he had done many times. The old woman left behind was Mada's grandmother. He had foreseen this. She had barely kept up in the flat; she couldn't be expected to maintain the pace needed through the pass. He nodded to Mada's wife, the woman carrying the clothes, as she reached his position.

Lonal turned back to his duties, inevitably thinking of the time when he might be in the old woman's place. Of course, as a Po-no-pha, he would keep his garments – his weapons, too, if he were selfish – and would hear the high Ah-no-ken recite the hour-long rite of death, but he would wait in the desert all the same. The fact that he would return one day to the world, and the woman would not, was slight comfort. He couldn't decide which was better – a sudden death in battle or, like Mada's grandmother, to be able to choose the time and place.

He worked his way gradually through the procession. The broad, amorphous columns of the earlier part of the journey were consolidating toward the gap in the hills ahead. Soon they would be able to travel only two or three abreast. Then they would be vulnerable.

Shigmur joined him.

"The first night's watch has been assigned," the war-second reported. "What about them?"

He pointed not far ahead. There, Tebec and Yetem walked beside Fumlok, their wives and children following. Having lost their oeikani to Kulam, the twins had to travel on foot. They owned two other animals, but they were of the drelb breed and suitable only as pack animals. Yetem had already returned the mount she had borrowed for the contest.

"I want them to participate, but I want eyes on them. Put Tebec on guard at the pens for the first watch, the same for Yetem, late watch. I'll think of something else tomorrow."

"Yes, war-leader."

Tonight's camp should be secure, Lonal calculated, but there was no certainty. He prepared himself for the first of several sleepless nights. When would the Buyul strike?

There was no incident. They reached the first campsite and, unlike previous stopovers, staked out the tents before nightfall. Lonal was pleased. The location was large enough for everyone, and all approaches were plainly visible. He stood beside the firepit, where the ritual flame had yet to be built, and stared farther up into the hills, wondering what threats they held. His first wife brought him some broth.

Tebec soon strolled up.

"Nannon abat se,"Lonal said.

The other replied smoothly in Zyraii, then reverted to the High Speech. "Fumlok has explained that we are in danger of attack by another Zyraii tribe."

"Yes. The Buyul."

"Each time he tries to explain why they would want to attack us, I don't understand."

"It's simple. The Buyul don't like us."

"Why not?"

Lonal shrugged. "Before I became war-leader, this pass was Buyul territory."

Tebec nodded slowly. "Then wouldn't another way be safer?"

"This is the best route. I wouldn't have taken it if I didn't intend to keep it."

Lonal began to stir the coals of the long-dead campfire. He frightened a small scorpion from its lair in the shade of one of the hearthstones. Its brood clung to its back. He flipped the creature over with a charred faggot, dumping off the little ones, and swiftly picked it up by the tail, holding it just short of the stinger.

He waved the arthropod in front of Tebec, swaying it so that it would not crawl up his fingers. His free hand indicated the orange markings spotting an otherwise dull yellow body.

"Not poisonous," he explained, and threw it back onto the charcoal. The offspring, grey as the sand and rock of the area, swiftly crawled back aboard. "It is called dukham, after the greatest sinner of all Zyraii. As punishment for his godless life, Dukham was reincarnated into the first of this particular species of scorpion, a creature so lowly it is denied even the luxury of a powerful venom."

Tebec, however, was not going to let the earlier topic be dropped.

"Why did you take the pass from the Buyul?"

Lonal considered telling him, but that would take far too long, and there were more important tasks for the moment. He settled for the simplest reply.

"Because I don't like them."

The apprehension thickened throughout the next day, as the three clans of the T'lil made their slow progress up the hills. The way was not difficult; it was simply impossible to hurry. Each stray noise brought palms to the hilts of demonblades. They stopped only when the heat was fiercest and continued on in spite of the sweat and the taxing climb. They saw a pair of the rare wild sheep of the region, several hawks, many snakes – but no hostile Po-no-pha.

"Do you suppose they've lost their balls?" Ulnam asked Lonal, after one of many patrols had returned with the same news: the Buyul were not to be found, nor were there any fresh traces.

"They haven't forgiven me yet," Lonal answered, and sent out more scouts.

The war-leader was near the westerners as they travelled through the pass. As they topped the crest, their view of the land suddenly expanded eastward. Ahead, the relatively easy road they had followed up the western slopes transformed into a twisting, double-backed aisle, cutting through a gradually receding series of parched ridges. Somewhere in that desolation the road forked, one way heading south, toward Buyul lands, the other east, to T'lil ground. That was the point of greatest danger. Lonal stared at the peaks that concealed it.

But the twins looked farther, past the hills to the incongruous sight near the horizon.

"Norym,"Yetem gasped.

It took Lonal a moment to translate from the High Speech. "Trees," he corrected. Small wonder that the Ah-no-ken had not yet taught them the Zyraii word. In this land, the term only had true meaning in the valley beyond the hills. They were so far away that any hint of green was distorted by the atmosphere into a kind of blue-grey, but the westerners obviously knew they were viewing a forest. The foliage meandered from north to south, a languorously winding track a league or more wide, occasionally thickening or narrowing, with several islands. Had Lonal not been preoccupied with his duties, he might have shared their awe. They were witnessing the lifeline of Zyraii.