Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (28 page)

Unable
to tear his eyes away, Jeff watched life begin to ebb, watched crimson bubbles
froth from her mouth, refused to believe he had killed a woman.

“God,
no! What have I done?”

Jeff
tried to pull the sword free but it wouldn’t come. He screamed agony and
wrenched it out. As the point was withdrawn, a foaming gout of blood poured
from her mouth and she toppled over. One convulsive heave and her body stilled.
Jeff fell to his knees and wiped the blood from her face and mouth, then gently
closed her eyelids. Bowing his head until it touched the ground, one hand
caressed silky hair.

No
one moved; no one knew what to do. Cynic moved close to nuzzle his shoulder in
sympathy. Wiping his eyes with a bloody sleeve, Jeff reached his arms around
Cynic’s neck and pulled himself up. They stood that way for some time before he
crawled into the saddle.

What
remained of the night passed in a haze of fatigue and remorse. The wounded were
seen to, those who had died buried in a common grave, and pack animals rounded
up. One of the guards had been seriously wounded, another broke an arm when he
tripped on a rock and fell. Three drovers had been killed.

The
caravan got under way well after sunrise to plod through an interminable day of
searing heat and choking dust. They reached a small village around sunset and
set up camp in a fog of exhaustion.

Security
still had to be seen to, but Belstan made arrangements with people he had known
for years to help out for the night. Huddled in blankets, Jeff sank into a
sleep so deep that not even remorse could penetrate.

He
awoke still groggy with fatigue and started to pull a boot on. The camp was quiet
and he let it drop. Events of the previous night flooded in, inflicting such an
enormous sense of guilt that he groaned from the impact. The sun eased above
the horizon and marched into the sky, but Jeff did not move.

Entangled
in blankets, head bowed, he tried to make livable sense of what he had done and
cared nothing for his mission or anything else. Doubt savaged him as the duel
played itself out in his mind over and over.

“Is
this what I was brought here for?” he agonized. “To kill and kill? Nothing I do
or say makes a difference. And dammit, now a woman! What am I becoming?”

Jeff
felt pressure on his shoulder and raised his head. Belstan’s face was haggard
and drawn, accentuating an expression of genuine concern.

“Food
has been prepared and will help.”

Roused
by the unexpected compassion, Jeff got to his feet. He was about to follow
Belstan when he remembered that Cynic had been wounded. The cut was about four
inches long and so crusted with dirt he couldn’t tell how deep it was.

Silently
faulting himself for not having taken action sooner, Jeff hurried to find some
clean water and washed the cut.

“Oh,
damn, that is not good.”

The
cut appeared to be at least half an inch deep. He felt around the cut and
groaned. The skin was hot and seemed swollen. Spreading the cut a bit he notice
some yellow fluid down deeper. Pus. It had to be.

“You
dumb shit, Friedrick.”

A
drover happened by while Jeff was trying to decide what to do. The drover,
Garthok, took a good look at the wound.

“It
ain’t as bad as it looks. Just been sittin’ too long.”

“Yes,
it has.”

After
a period of silent reproof, Garthok said, “Well, I guess ya gotta learn
sometime.” He hurried off, saying over his shoulder, “I got some stuff that
will fix it up.”

Garthok
supplied a pot of foul-smelling ointment laced with what looked like strands of
fungus or mold. He showed Jeff how to apply it and left without another word.

Breakfast
was nothing more than stale bread and cheese. Belstan waited until Jeff had
emptied his second mug of coffee before ambling over to sit down.

“I
was close witness to your duel, and have lived long enough to know what taking
her life cost you. Yet, often do female bandits fight alongside the men.”
Belstan peered intently into Jeff’s eyes. “While there are not sufficient words
to console the agony this event has caused you, be aware that given the
opportunity she would have killed you without thought or remorse. Yet she could
not. I have traveled this land for more years than I wish to remember, but have
never seen such sword skill.” He paused for a brief moment. “And never have I
encountered such an unusual young man.”

Jeff
experienced a flash of alarm but any response was forestalled by Belstan’s
upraised hand. “You owe me no explanation. It is I who owe you more than can
easily be repaid, for you have saved both my livelihood and the lives of us
all.” A crooked smile creased Belstan’s face. “Although I am not known for easy
generosity, let me say that whatever I can do for you will be done. Given the
condition of this caravan, I will be further indebted if you would consent to
overseeing its safe arrival at my agent’s office in Khorgan.”

“Will
the men accept my decisions? I am a newcomer.”

“They
have come to respect you and are concerned that you will leave. We are still
two days hard travel from the city. Please think over my proposition.”

It
required some time for Belstan to recruit replacements in the village, delaying
their start until late in the morning. The day went smoothly enough once they
were underway, and the time of danger had passed.

Villages
dotted the rolling countryside, and most of the arable land was under
cultivation. Maturing crops laid out in orderly squares marched to the horizon,
broken here and there by rows of tall trees that resembled poplars.

Belstan
called a halt before dusk near a lazy river that curved around a good-sized
town. The road had widened into a major highway shortly after entering
farmland. Heavy traffic bustled by in both directions as travelers hurried to
find a night’s lodging. There weren’t many good spots left in the grassy area
used as a campground, and another caravan was closing up behind.
 

With
a hundred yards to go the following caravan put on a burst of speed and tried
to pass. Belstan saw them coming and whistled up his team. The race was on. It
was an exciting dash that bordered on a stampede, serving to lift Jeff’s
spirits.

The
caravan was no more than settled for the night when Jeff hurried to the river.
Disregarding modesty, he peeled off filthy, blood-soaked clothes and jumped in.
Scrubbing off layers of dirt, he swam out into the river to escape the noise.
It was a gently flowing stream, barely cool, and bordered by trees with rich
green leaves. Floating on his back, Jeff could hardly take his eyes off them.
After days of choking dust and arid conditions, the trees seemed a miraculous
creation.

Other
caravans arrived as the day dwindled. Although Jeff was sunning well out on a
sandbar, the arguments that resulted as caravans squeezed into camp drifted to
his ears with volume to spare. Shortly a number of flying bodies plunged into
the river seeking relief from the heat and dust.

Jeff
felt shy until he noticed that no one else was. Men and women alike, they swam
in the nude and beat the water to a froth with their antics. Wading around a
particularly spirited water fight, Jeff went to fetch Cynic.

Equipped
with a bucket and brush, he enticed Cynic far out onto the sandbar until the
water was clear and lapping at his belly. Jeff washed the cut on Cynic’s flank,
dipped a full bucket from the river and poured it over his back. When Jeff set
to scrubbing him with the brush, Cynic’s mental sigh of relief and pleasure was
so profound that Jeff chuckled.

It
was dark when they called it quits. Along the way to camp, lanterns and
campfires glowed like giant fireflies illuminating people dancing to gypsy
music. Humming in time to the music, Jeff applied more of the salve. Cynic
fidgeted when he felt the sting and he hated the smell. Still, the wound was
healing nicely with no sign of infection and Jeff slathered it on thick. Later,
dressed in spare clothing that was worn threadbare but at least clean, he
approached Belstan.

“I
accept your offer and appreciate the trust you are willing to place in me.”

Belstan
nodded acceptance. “You could have deserted the caravan without risk when it
was attacked. Many would have done so. That you did not recommends your
character. The manner in which you then defended the caravan speaks highly of
your ability to keep your wits when hard pressed. I could ask for no more.”

It
was a fine cool morning, and Jeff rode at the head of the caravan next to
Belstan’s freight wagon. While it was nice to be free of the dust for a period,
what Jeff really wanted was more information. Khorgan was only a day away. They
passed the time chatting about the city, which Jeff guardedly admitted he had
never visited.

“Ah,
Khorgan, jewel of Chaldesia. Center of commerce, seat of power, and home to
every vice a man might imagine.” Belstan’s smile disappeared. “It is not a city
to trifle with, my young friend, for its bite can be deep and swift. Much of
what is good in this world may be found there, but everything that is evil. It
is a merchant city run by a council of twelve men and women corrupted by
avarice and sated with every pleasure that power can command. Khorgan is also
the center of every intrigue that is hatched for hundreds of septa in any
direction you might travel.” After a brief period of silence, Belstan threw a
sly look at Jeff. “Except to the north.”

Jeff
was caught by surprise, and Belstan laughed with satisfaction. “Do not be
alarmed. Your origins are safe with me and I doubt others in the city will mark
your appearance so consumed are they with their own plots. You would be well
advised, however, to cut your hair short and,” pointing at Jeff’s tattered
jeans, “purchase clothing not so foreign to this land.”

As
the day passed and Belstan extolled the virtues and vices of Khorgan, Jeff’s
interest continued to grow. It promised to be some kind of city. Trying to get
a grip on how long a septa was, he asked Belstan to mark it out as the wagon
moved along. While no more than an estimate, it appeared a septa was close to a
terran mile in length.

By
late afternoon it became clear they would not reach the city before sunset.
Belstan was not anxious to attempt entry after dark and halted the caravan
several hours shy of the western gate. Throughout much of the evening Belstan
and other caravan members continued to expand Jeff’s knowledge of Khorgan

The
overall impression he got was of a walled city three times as large as Rugen
surrounded by businesses, crafts and residences that doubled its size.
Belstan’s partner, whose name was Rogelf, owned a warehouse on the shore of a
lake directly across town from the western gate. In order to avoid a long trip
around Khorgan, Belstan intended to cut through its center the following day.
That night, Jeff cropped his hair short.

They
had not been on the road long the next day before entering the fringes of what
Belstan referred to as Newtown to distinguish it from the original city.
Unconfined by walls, the roads were broad and clear of garbage.

Jeff
commented on that fact to Belstan, who shrugged. “It has been thus for many
years. A fee is charged, more often than not the refuse taken away. Water is
also piped into central areas, again for a fee. Those who seek to avoid the
fees are fined and may be imprisoned. Unless, of course, they can afford the
bribe.”

Everyone,
it seemed, was on the take.

Well
into Newtown, Belstan stopped the caravan. Motioning for Jeff to follow, he
trotted across the street and into a shop that smelled strongly of tanned
leather and was lighted by dust-filtered sunlight. The shop’s gray-haired
proprietor hurried to meet them.

“Belstan,
you old thief. I am surprised no one has yet slit your weasand.”

“Not
for want of trying, Crofel,” Belstan replied, clasping arms. “Let us see some
clothing for this young man.”

When
they left the store Jeff had donned a pair of snugly fitting leather pants, a
soft leather vest, and new calf-high footwear that reminded him of jackboots.
Retaining his floppy hat, Jeff purchased a bright feather to stick in its
crown. Belstan waved away his thanks.

“Merely
a tithe, my boy. Merely a tithe.”

Later
that morning the caravan nosed into a large plaza. Leading the way, Jeff reined
Cynic over to the side to make way for those coming behind. Belstan stopped his
wagon when it was abreast Cynic. He smiled broadly at the look of astonishment
on Jeff’s face.

“The
main bazaar, not to mention the pride of Khorgan.”

The
plaza was at least two city blocks to a side, Jeff estimated, but the impact of
the bazaar was not confined to its size. A babble of voices roared in his ears.
Jeff was dumbfounded. He had seen his share of old movies set in one Middle
Eastern market or the other, but this was something else entirely.

Shaking
his head in disbelief, Jeff clucked Cynic back into motion. “It’s full. The
whole plaza is full of people. There must be thousands of them. Outrageous!” He
caught himself and switched back to northland speech. “I could not have
imagined that such a wonderful place existed.”