Chapter Six

Dryden stood there a long time staring at the man sitting against the wall. Nothing in him had prepared him to see Mar again. Mar had died. He knew that Mar had died, hadn’t he? Those last words, “Do not look back, not even for the ending of the world.” He hadn’t actually seen Mar die. As instructed, he hadn’t looked back. But a whole mountain of snow and ice and boulders had come down upon them. Dryden had only escaped by a hairsbreadth. How did this man sit here before him now? For a moment, Dryden thought himself mad.

“Are you going to help me stand? I fear that I cannot lift myself up.” Mar said.

It was certainly his voice. It was the form of the man too, though ragged and starved. He was pale and dark-haired with a hawk nose and solid jaw. He no longer looked so youthful as he had before. Dryden stepped forward and extended a hand. Mar took it. He was no spectre. His hand was firm, though cool and clammy. He pulled the wizard to his feet. He wobbled and nearly fell. Dryden caught him, and then with Mar’s arm over his shoulder, they walked from the gloom of that place. Outside in the courtyard, he found a broken pillar for Mar to sit upon.

“Do you happen to have a drop of water?” He asked, “They have not given us water or food in days.”

Dryden whistled and a trooper arrived and handed Dryden a full canteen. He opened it and gave it to Mar. Mar took a small sip and sighed deeply in a kind of ecstasy. Then he took another small sip and closed it.

“My thanks. May I keep this for a while?” He asked the trooper, who nodded, “Any food? I think some biscuits should do nicely.” He crossed his legs. He appeared to be completely at leisure now.

The trooper went to his saddlebags, retrieved a small pack of biscuits, and handed them to Mar who nibbled at them. Dryden watched him as he sat and slowly ate and drank. Mar brushed his hair back from his face. One of his eyes was still gold. It shone brightly in the sun. The other eye was now indigo. In addition, the wizard’s face was now badly scarred on the same side as the indigo eye.

He looked up at Dryden, “Ahh, yes, my face. Terribly unfortunate. These things happen when a mountain falls on you.” He took another small bite of biscuit.

Dryden realised that all the troopers around them were staring and watching. The surgeons had arrived. Someone pointed them into the room. Havelock had noticed what was happening and came over.

The commander’s face went white when he saw Mar. He was as shocked as Dryden, “By all the gods… How?” He was at a loss for further words.

“Indeed, sir. How?” Dryden asked.

“I’m afraid I do not know,” Mar replied frowning, “The question has kept me up at night these long months.”

“What do you remember?” Dryden asked.

“I remember telling you to ride and turning to cast my spell. I remember something greater than the aethium filling me… I do not know what or how. Then the mountain came down. I awoke in chains on this side of the Korum.”

“It was not you who brought down the mountain, Mar?”

“Let us just say that I do not know if the power that brought it down was mine alone.”

“What of the eye? Why is it the colour of aethium?” Dryden asked.

“I do not know. I must tell you that I am blind in it.” He took another sip from the canteen.

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“Can you ride?” Havelock asked.

Mar shrugged, “I will much regret the day that I cannot ride,” then he paused in thought for a moment, “Yes, I think I may be able.”

“Is there anything else you require?” Havelock asked.

“Aethium, and a spot of vengeance,” Mar replied dryly.

“I have none of the former, but I can offer you the second,” Dryden answered, “We have no wizard with us. They went with the main army.” Then he explained briefly their situation, including the siege at Andaban, their hunt for Aisa An-Beya, and the Army of Reprisal.

“It is fortunate you found me, but without aethium, I think the latter of my requests may be impossible. She is a powerful sorceress. Our only hope is that these desert wastes hold few memories.”

“I fear that is a vain hope, Mar. If she was able to raise these bones where there is nothing but sand and a small waystation, I fear what she could raise in Ghinai or near the Jaxa.” Dryden replied.

“So you mean to ride to Ghinai?”

Havelock answered, “She means to, and we to chase her. Ghinai is the only crossing over the waters of the Jaxa. If she means to ride to the northern passes, she must cross the river. To cross the river she needs must ride to the bridges at Ghinai. It is the same problem Varo faced when the Styranians invaded five hundred years past. Really Mar, you studied at the King’s Conservatory, did you not study history, geography, and tactics?”

“I am not myself these last months, sir.”

“Ahh yes, I forget myself, you have endured privations.” Havelock’s voice softened.

“These are nothing compared to my training as a wizard. Something has changed in me. My old self, my memories, they are… I am at a loss to describe it. There is a strangeness in me now.”

While they had spoken, men had begun to clear the rooms of dead bodies. Many of the slaves that had been held there had died and rotted. A few still lived, though Dryden thought they would not be long for this world. The dead were piled so that they could be burned, lest they rise again. The sickly were placed in a covered area of the courtyard apart from the soldiers and horses. Surgeons examined them. Suddenly Captain Khathan stopped cold and stared at the group of enslaved who were resting and being given sips of water by the surgeon and his assistants.

“Tathi!” He cried suddenly and practically ran to the enslaved. He knelt by one of the figures and stared into their eyes.

The figure on the ground looked up at him with big brown mournful eyes. The figure did not speak. They had not the strength.

Dryden went to Khathan, “Who is this?”

“My cousin’s wife, sir.” The Guludan captain’s hard face was clenched in a kind of agony. His jaw was set, and he frowned deeply. His eyes welled with tears. His shoulders were tense as he refused to sob openly.

“Your cousin?”

The Captain did not look up when he spoke, “He was my lieutenant. He died at Golconda. He had brought his family to Vurun. When they were surrendered to the Vuruni I had expected that they might be mistreated, but this?” Khathan’s voice was wracked with pain. He looked around now at the other slaves, “I know many of these prisoners. They are Guludan women.” His fist clenched, “They sold our women as slaves to these.” He gestured at the slavers who were held captive off on the other side of the wide courtyard.

Dryden went across the courtyard in long strides. He went right up to their leader, Yrzod, “What know you of these women?”

“I purchased them fairly.” He said meekly, “I paid a good price. They were quality servants, to be sold in Ghinai.”

“Slavery is not legal in Ghinai, nor any colony of Vastrum,” Dryden growled.

The man laughed openly, “Sahib, you make slaves of all you rule. In Vurun. In Ghinai. In Gulud. In Dravan.”

“We conduct business with them. They are our allies.”

“The Vuruni do not seem your allies.” He cackled again, “They sold us these slaves.”

“You said the witch wanted to buy the wizard. Where did you find him?”

“Wandering the desert. I saved his life, watered and fed him.”

“Why did the witch set the undead upon you?”

“I would not part with the wizard. He was worth much more than she offered. When she learned that Kurush had withdrawn from Andaban, she left for Ghinai. She raised the dead to punish us for our insolence. We had intended to return him to Vastrum and ask for a suitable reward. Speaking of which, what reward will you offer?”

“How many days since she left?”

“Six.”

“You did not give these women water?”

“We gave them some.”

“Not enough.”

“I suppose not. We had other concerns. The dead came all day and night. We have returned your wizard to you. We have cooperated and told you all we know. Will you not reward us?” Yrzod pleaded.

Dryden looked back and saw Khathan’s face, a mix of agony and rage. He saw Mar, who shook his head softly.

“Hang them.” The words found his lips unbidden. Then he turned and left them. The sounds of cries and pleading echoed behind him as the men of the 13th hung ropes above the great gate of the old caravanserai at Ruvat Ban.