Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (72 page)

 
          
Tekkan
ordered the longboat lowered and soundings taken, bringing his craft in as
close he dared while a crowd gathered, watching this unexpected arrival with
the wary enthusiasm of folk too long accustomed to their own company and
consequently suspicious of newcomers.

 
          
The
anchors went down, holding the warboat, and Tekkan summoned Calandryll, Bracht,
and Katya to the poop, to hold brief conference there.

 
          
They
had already agreed a simple plan: those three, with eight of Quara's archers
and as many oarsmen as they might need, would journey inland to Tezin-dar,
using Calandryll's chart. They would endeavor to hire a guide from among the
hide hunters, someone familiar with the swamps; and Tekkan would await their
return offshore with the bulk of the crew.

 
          
"These
are mostly Kands here,” Tekkan said, studying the swarthy faces lining the
headland, his own creased in distaste, "and Calandryll speaks their
language better than any of us—let him negotiate for a guide and a boat. And
Katya—I'd wager these hunters have few women present, and have likely never
seen any such as you. Warn the archers to tread wary around them,- as should
you."

 
          
"None
shall lay hand on her," Bracht said promptly, that gallantry eliciting a
brief nod from Tekkan, and a warning.

 
          
"Ward
your temper, Kern—they outnumber us."

 
          
Bracht
grunted assent. Calandryll, impatience growing, said, "Do we go ashore
now?"

 
          
"Aye,"
said Tekkan, and they clambered down into the longboat.

 
          
Their
arrival at the closest jetty brought the crowd of hunters surging around them,
filling the air with shouted questions. Calandryll answered them as best he
could, waiting as the boat ferried more of the Vanu folk ashore. They were
neither merchants or corsairs, he informed them, but adventurers bent on
journeying inland, that news bringing a howl of derision from the assembled
Kands. Why, they wanted to know,- there was nothing inland save more swamp and
the promise of an ugly death. Worse than dragons inhabited the inner swamps,
they said, stranger creatures than any man had seen. He noticed then that on
the fringes of the jostling crowd there lingered figures he could not swear
were entirely human, thmst back by the Kands as might be children, or curious
animals. He saw a man—he thought it was a man—whose face appeared scaled, like
a lizard's; a woman whose skin was a greenish color, the bunching of her skirt
suggestive of vestigial tail; another, whose sex he could not define, showed a
face flattened, porcine, like ill-molded clay. There were more, but hidden by
the humans, themselves barbaric in high boots of dragon hide, necklaces of
teeth, and patchwork garments, with broad-bladed knives and heavy swords much
in evidence. Many, he realized, were female, but dressed as the men, and like
them, gave off an odor of sweat and blood; and many, male and female both, were
missing parts: fingers or whole hands, some with peg legs, others with empty
sleeves. One pushed to the fore, a short, broad-shouldered man, his beard a
striation of black and silver, three fingers missing from his right hand, a
thong heavy with dragons' teeth about his thick neck. He announced himself Thyrrin
ek'Salar, and when he raised his hands for silence, the throng obeyed, as if he
held some office among them, or was their acknowledged spokes
man
.
He suggested that all should repair to what he called their inn, that all
present might hear what word came from Kandahar, and, seemingly accustomed to
obedience, led the way to a long building of wood and reeds hung with hides for
walls, half its floor jutting out over the swamp, a deck beneath which floated
the detritus of the place, the water alive with small scavengers squabbling
over the corpses of flayed dragons and the offal that was spilled there. It
stank, to which the hunters appeared oblivious, its furniture a motley
collection of carpentered pieces and makeshift, bones as prominent as wood in
the construction. Calandryll saw that the halflings made no attempt to enter,
gathering instead about the foot of the ladder as the human folk crowded
inside.

 
          
They
were brought mugs of some sharp liquor, distilled, ek'Salar advised them, from
one of Gessyth's few edible plants. He owned the inn, he told them, and was
disappointed to leam they carried no wine or ale to trade, his stocks run out
and not replaceable until the merchants came north. They drank his homemade
brew for appearance' sake; the hunters quaffed eagerly, welcoming this
interruption of their lonely routine.

 
          
Questions
were shouted until ek'Salar imposed some semblance of order, requesting
Calandryll to rise and impart his news. He climbed to his feet, doing his best
to ignore the insects that buzzed about his face, and told them of events in
Kandahar
, of the uprising in the Fayne and the
Tyrant's seizure of available vessels, that producing shouts of outrage and
alarm. He said nothing of the founding of a Lyssian fleet, and deemed it the
wiser course to allow the hunters their assumption that the Vanu folk were of
his country. Finally he was free to speak with ek'Salar.

 
          
"You
would travel inland?" the Kand demanded, fixing Calandryll with a dark
gaze rendered disturbing by the cast that distorted his left eye.
"Why?"

 
          
"Gessyth
is uncharted," Calandryll declared, telling the tale agreed earlier on the
warboat, "and I am a scholar. I would map the interior."

 
          
Laughter
greeted his announcement as those closest relayed his words to the rest. Ek'Salar
waved his two remaining fingers in the direction of the swamps, his smile
exposing blackened teeth.

 
          
"There
is nothing to map, my friend. There is nothing save what you see—swamp and more
swamp."

 
          
"Legend
tells of a city," Calandryll replied. "A fabulous city deep in the
swamplands."

 
          
Ek'Salar
snorted laughter and shook his head: such a gesture as might meet the telling
of a tale so improbable as to place the teller's sanity in doubt.

 
          
"Legend
tells that the cities of Lysse are walled with gold," he said, "but
you, as a Lyssian, likely know better."

 
          
Calandryll
smiled agreement: this man, he decided, was the one who held the key. Should he
argue against their going, they would find no support: he must win ek'Salar's
support.

 
          
"You
are clearly traveled," he said, "and so know better than to believe
each legend you hear."

 
          
"Indeed,
I do," ek'Salar nodded, pausing to crush an insect that landed on his
cheek, idly wiping the smeared remains against his tunic. "And so I know
that Tezin-dar does not exist."

 
          
"You
know the name?" Calandryll said.

 
          
Ek'Salar
chuckled and sipped the fierce liquor. "I know the name," he grinned,
"and I know that men have gone seeking that place before. I know that none
have returned." '

 
          
"Ortan!"
called a hunter. "Tell him about Ortan!"

 
          
"Indeed,"
said ek'Salar, "the tale of Ortan is a salutary lesson. He was one of us,
Ortan—a hunter of dragons, and a good one. But he dreamed of Tezin-dar,
which—as you, a scholar, doubtless know—is reputed to be paved with precious
metals; gold and silver and others unknown to man, with priceless jewels set as
ornaments in the walls. Windows of gems so large and flawless they form the
panes. All there for the taking, Ortan said, and
him
the one to find it. Well, Ortan persuaded several others
as foolish as himself to accompany him on this madman's journey—nine of them,
with Ortan the tenth. Good men, all of them: they knew the swamps. And not one
came back! Though we did see Ortan again ..."

 
          
He
paused, chuckling, and raised his mug, straight eye fixed on Calandryll.
"At least we guessed it was Ortan because he wore a ring we recognized on
the
hand
we found in the
belly of a dragon. That and his knife, which was also in the dragon's
belly."

 
          
Fresh
laughter met the telling. Calandryll held his face straight and said,
"Even so, that does not prove the city does not exist."

 
          
"Perhaps
not," said ek'Salar mildly, "but it proves that any man who goes
seeking it is a fool."

 
          
"I
do not think I am a fool," Calandryll said, and glanced at his companions,
"Nor are my comrades fools."

 
          
"If
you go seeking Tezin-dar," said ek'Salar quietly, "you are all fools.
And you will die out there."

 
          
"We
have come far," Calandryll returned. "We have fought the cannibals of
Gash to come here."

 
          
"The
painted people?" Ek'Salar flourished a dismissive hand. "They are
nothing. You have seen the dragons?"

 
          
Calandryll
nodded.

 
          
"You
have seen the younglings—the mature dragons inhabit the deep swamps, and they
can swallow a boat whole. And they have a taste for human flesh."

 
          
"You
survive them," Calandryll said.

 
          
"We
know their ways, and we do not venture where the full-grown dragons hunt."
The Kand shook his head, his swarthy face abruptly serious. "I tell you,
my friend, that only death awaits you in the swamps. The dragons are hazard
enough, but there is more—a great deal more. Out there are living trees that
feed on flesh; insects that find a man's—or a woman's," this with a look
to Katya, "body a most excellent place to lay their eggs. And those eggs
hatch grubs that eat you—a most painful death! There are creatures in the
swamps such as make those things outside look human—and they are no friends to
men."

 
          
"I
should be willing to pay a guide," Calandryll said,
"handsomely."

 
          
"My
friend, my friend," ek'Salar sighed, "Have you heard nothing? There
is no one here will take you into the deep swamps. Your Lyssian gold is
insufficient—listen to me! You have coin? Then buy our hides! You come here
ahead of all the rest and so have the chance to take your pick of the prime
skins. Take those back to
Kandahar
and you can dictate your price in the market. If what you say of this
civil war is true,
Kandahar
will have need of armor and you shall return to Lysse wealthy. Wealthy
and alive still."

 
          
"I
thank you," said Calandryll gently, "but I am no merchant. I came to
find Tezin-dar, and that I shall attempt."

 
          
Ek'Salar
shook his head wearily. "You name yourself fool, my friend. And you will
die a fool's death if you attempt this."

 
          
"Even
so," Calandryll murmured, smiling that the Kand should know he was not
insulted, "I would hire a guide. A guide and a boat suitable for the
swamps. Will you help me in that? For which service I should, of course, be
willing to offer a fee."

 
          
"I
require no fee," said the Kand, "for you will not find a guide. But I
will ask."

 
          
He
rose to his feet, gesturing the crowd to silence.

 
          
"Listen
to me! These folk are come seeking Tezin-dar and require a guide. One who knows
the deep swamps. They will pay—handsomely!—for this service. Indeed, I believe
the man who undertakes this commission might name his own price. Will any here
go with them?"

 
          
There
was a long silence, then a man laughed, echoed by another and another until all
were roaring mockery. Someone called, "Tezin-dar? I'll show those women sweeter
dreams than that." Another shouted, "Better slice your wrists
now—that's an easier death." Most shook their heads in negation and
disbelief, studying the newcomers with pitying and puzzled eyes, as if they
recognized madness.                                              
.