EXILED Wizard of Tizare Page 16

  He looked up to his wife, then over at Taline, one hand stroking his grizzly cheek, the other holding a makeshift poker, a heavy gnarled stick.

  “I’ll take you to the ruins. We’ll make the journey in one day, and return the next. If you do not find what you need after that, it is no affair of mine. And” he said, “I expect you to keep to your agreement.”

  “You should have no fear of that,” Taline said, her voice rich with a delicious promise that nearly drove Falon crazy.

  Instead, he got up arid quickly walked outside.

  •

  Ashre sensed that Falon wasn’t happy.

  For the first time he felt, once again, the aloneness that had been his constant companion in Fahl.

  The others were still eating, talking ... all of them enjoying the warmth of the fire and the good hot food. But Falon had left.

  Ashre slipped off his chair, and made his way to the front door. The farmer’s wife heard him move. She gave him a quick glance. He smiled, and kept on walking.

  It was cold out! A chilly wind blew from the east, wiping away the warmth of the day. Falon had walked away from the small house and was standing by a small fence, looking out at the desert.

  Don’t leave, Ashre thought. Because that’s exactly what he feared his brave new friend might do. Just vanish into the night air.

  He ran over to him.

  “I—I didn’t know where you were.” He smiled up at him.

  Falon turned, a funny kind of expression on his face. “Well, I’ve been here, Ash. Standing here, shivering, thinking ...”

  Ashre climbed the fence and turned, putting himself between the vastness of the desert and Falon’s eyes.

  “What were you thinking about?”

  Falon lowered his eyes. “Sirrom ... Tell me, do you get ... I mean do you think that there’s anything we should be worried about? Not that there’s—”

  Ashre shook his head. He understood why Falon was concerned. Sirrom wasn’t the first murderer he’d seen. But there was no danger coming from him. In fact, just the opposite.

  “No.” Ashre said.

  Falon smiled. “And are you ever wrong?”

  Ashre grinned back. “All the time.”

  “Then I’ll just go on looking out at the desert and worrying.”

  Ashre came close to him. The wind was growing fierce, and he felt tiny specks of sand flying through the air, cutting into his skin.

  “I miss Caissir,” he said.

  “So do I, Ash. So do I.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  The highlander laughed and threw an arm around the kit, pulling him close, shielding him from the wind. “He left because he was smart. Now, let’s you and I get back for some rest.”

  The wind roared and snapped at their backs as they went back inside the cottage.

  •

  Falon didn’t sleep well.

  It seemed to take forever for him to make himself comfortable, curling and uncurling on the dirt floor. The sounds of all the others, the heavy snores of Sirrom, the hungry mewlings of the kits, Anarra’s strange wheezing, and even Ashre’s gentle calling out in his sleep, all put Falon on edge.

  But most of all it was Taline.

  She was giving off an aroma that could have had him tossing and turning all night. Eventually he covered his head tightly with his kilt, wrapping it around and around, blocking out the sounds, and everything.

  It was well into the night before he fell asleep.

  And he dreamed.

  He was surrounded by mrem, of every color and class, some dressed in full battle armor, others in simple kilts armed only with a simple stick, sharpened to a point.

  But none of them moved. They stood on some ghostly black plain, their eyes all fiery and golden, like the glowing embers in a fire. They stood, and watched him walk ahead. Into the dark.

  Then it was there. Twice as big as he was.

  Looming over him, looking down.

  He saw its forked tongue come out, tasting the air, savoring the moment. Falon tightened his grip around his sword—so heavy that his muscles were clenched just holding it erect in the air.

  As he came closer to his opponent, its grayish-green skin glistened even in the blackness. Its eyes were dull, though, big limpid pools that were of another world.

  But that was just it. They weren’t of another world.

  They were of this world

  And the battle to come was a battle for this world.

  He raised his sword.

  The liskash stirred. It looked more like a demon. But it didn’t reach for its weapon, some great clunky thing strapped to its side. Instead, it simply moved, swishing its tail around, and Falon was knocked off his feet.

  The others started to back away ... until he was all alone.

  It came closer, leaned over him. He smelled its breath, suffocating from its foulness. He moaned, fumbled for his weapon. The liskash opened its mouth.

  He called out. Over and over again.

  Until he made a sound out loud. And another. A helpless, inchoate moan.

  The last time he made the sound his eyes were open. And Sirrom was standing over him, looking down.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Wha—”

  The army, the liskash ... where were they?

  “Yes ... I ... I just had a dream.”

  Sirrom nodded. “And well you might. Get your rest now.”

  Falon nodded, and turned over.

  When he’ again opened his eyes, the skies showed their first hint of morning light.

  •

  True to his word, Sirrom had them moving early. Falon watched him take his two kits, and hold them close. Then, he gave his wife a quick nuzzle—a gesture that seemed to embarrass her.

  The whole venture threatened to collapse when he told Anarra that Daynia would have to be left at the farm. The desert, Sirrom patiently explained, is no place for uxen. They have no footing and they have to struggle just to move. The wheels of the cart would just sink into the fine sand.

  All perfectly sensible, but Anarra stormed around the small cottage, asking Taline whether she was going to listen to a simple farmer.

  And Taline said she was.

  Abruptly, Anarra unpacked the cart, divided up the weapons, food stores, and other gear, and even prepared a small pack for Ashre, who couldn’t have been more pleased.

  But as they left the farmland and with it the last green ground before the desert, Falon kept wondering if maybe Caissir didn’t have the right idea. With Sirrom now in charge, and Anarra fuming, there seemed to be little need for an ambitious highlander eager for a new life.

  No, and Taline didn’t seem to care if he was there or not. Openly, almost brazenly, considering that Lonirr was watching, she walked beside Sirrom from the very start.

  Only an all-consuming curiosity and the lack of any future elsewhere kept him from turning around.

  The desert soon gave him other things to think about.

  It was a hot yellow sea, its waves and troughs frozen into position. Every step was an effort, and the simple act of walking became an act of grim determination. The pack, which hadn’t felt so bad when they were on hard ground, now felt like a dead weight around his neck, ready to pull Falon down.

  Even Ashre, who had been enjoying everything so far, started complaining.

  “Can you take my pack?” he asked, after they had been climbing their first sandy hill.

  The kit’s pack was light—just his own dagger, some food and water. But any weight was too much.

  “Hold onto it a bit, Ash. When you’re really beat, I’ll give you a hand.”

  The highlander watched Sirrom. He was clearly experienced in the ways of the desert. His steps seemed more surefooted, and he had a pace and rhythm that
suggested he knew how to work with the sand rather than against it.

  But as badly as Falon felt he was doing, Anarra was worse. Still pouting over her lost Daynia, she lingered near the back, grumbling, gasping at the hot air. She was a big she-mrem, and her weight, though layered in muscle, made it difficult to move on the shifting sand.

  It was getting near time for a meal break when he saw his first sand bird.

  Nobody had warned him about it, so the sight of the large ungainly bird soaring overhead was disconcerting.

  “What is that?” Falon asked Sirrom.

  As soon as he asked the question, another bird flew overhead, then another appeared, until there were six of them making large circles in the brilliant sky.

  “Sand birds,” Sirrom explained, without a pause in his marching.

  The birds had bodies shaped like twin wine bladders. The wings were large. The heavy bird could fly, but just barely. But it was the neck that was most peculiar.

  It stuck out of the bird like the branch of a tree, ending in a head shaped like an oversize dewberry.

  Falon ran up to Sirrom. “What are they doing here?”

  “Feeding.”

  Falon smiled, thinking it some grim joke.

  “Feeding! On what?”

  Sirrom gestured to the left, where the birds were soaring, now lower to the ground.

  “On sand weevil larvae. That’s why they’re circling over there. They can check the sand for signs of any movement.”

  Sand weevils. There was a lot Falon didn’t know about the creatures that lived in the desert. But sand weevils figured in many of the strange legends and tales told by the old mrem of his village. Usually they were stories of treasure, or the magical power to be found in skin of a mature weevil. One tale told of a highlander who made his way into the desert, and fought a weevil.

  He was granted three wishes.

  At this point, Falon had only one wish ... to get out of there.

  “Aren’t we in danger here?” Falon looked at Sirrom, then at Ashre. “I mean, where there’s weevil larvae, aren’t there weevils?”

  Sirrom nodded. He walked confidently alongside Taline.

  Falon couldn’t see very well, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to see their hands entwined.

  “Yes, you’re absolutely right. Over there,” Sirrom pointed, “is a weevil field. I saw it well before we got here—and I avoided it. As long as we stay away, there should be no problem....”

  Falon watched, fascinated, as the birds went lower and lower, until finally they landed, sending up a shower of fine sand. Then they matter-of-factly plunged their necks into the sand.

  “Amazing,” Falon said.

  “I can’t see it ... could you lift me up?” Ashre asked. Falon hoisted Ashre onto his shoulders as Anarra passed them.

  All of the birds had their necks buried in the sand. Their bodies were wriggling this way and that, as if struggling with something.

  “Aren’t they worried about the weevils?” Ashre asked.

  “I should think so,” Falon laughed. “Unless they know—”

  Just then one of the birds pulled its long neck from the hole, brandishing a pinkish white thing that wriggled wildly.

  “Got one!” Ashre yelled.

  Then another successful burrower popped up, and another, until all of the birds were standing on the sand. One by one they took flight. Falon could see them gobbling on their prizes even as they tried to get their chunky bodies up in the air.

  No easy task that, he thought, amused.

  The last bird left on the sand bent its legs, ready to leap into the air.

  But then the great mountain of sand heaved, rising like a real wave now, knocking the bird down, burying it, until the sand poured off the sides of some great blackish thing rising underneath it.

  “What’s—” Ashre began.

  Alarmed, Falon looked for Sirrom. He and Taline were far ahead now, almost out of earshot.

  “We’d better get—” Falon began to say.

  Another mountain started to grow ... this time, right beside them. Falon felt the sand shifting around his feet, the deep, low rumble of something under the ground.

  “Hold on!” he said to Ashre.

  But already he had lost his balance and was tumbling back, falling onto the hot sand....

  As a giant sand weevil seemed to sprout from nowhere.

  FALON THOUGHT he yelled.

  But later he wasn’t sure.

  He did remember to get to his feet, pick up Ashre, and toss him as far as he could, away from the weevil.

  He was turning around when the ground shifted again, like water settling into a sloshing pan.

  The weevil was about the biggest living thing that he had ever seen ... about half the size of Sirrom’s cottage. It had two elegantly curved pincers that immediately caught Falon’s attention. They were a shiny black, almost polished to a glossy glow. The sand cascaded off the creature’s back, not sticking to it at all.

  The pincers separated and something like a mouth, with fuzzy hairs where teeth should be, went all wet, opening and shutting all too eagerly.

  It wasn’t me, he wanted to say. I didn’t touch your babies. It was those stupid birds.

  And though his faith was a flimsy thing at best, he found himself muttering the name of the All-Mother, hoping she’d listen to one of her less dutiful supplicants.

  Even as he struggled to stand again, with the sand still sloshing around, the weevil scuttled close and made its first attempt to trap him.

  It missed easily.

  No eyes, noted Falon gratefully. The thing was blind.

  But blind or not it made another clean swipe, and this time one pincer jabbed into his elbow, breaking his furry skin. He jerked away just in time to avoid the opposing pincer.

  It couldn’t see, but the weevil sure could smell or sense something. With its aim improving so dramatically, he knew that the next attempt might be fatal.

  He got to his knees.

  A sword landed at his feet. A heavy weapon, a piece of metal designed to do major damage.

  “Get up!” Sirrom hissed. “Before we have more of them to deal with.”

  Sirrom’s words inspired Falon to scramble to his feet, dragging the weapon with him. The pincers made another grab at him—and this time he smelled the weevil, a smell of wet sand and sea eels.

  Sirrom was beside him.

  “Aim for above the mouth—and a hard blow. It’s sensitive there.”

  There was one problem with Sirrom’s instructions. To hit the sensitive spot, Falon would have to get awfully close to the pincers.

  Sirrom wasted no time. He leaped toward the weevil just after its last attack. Then he smashed his blade down, producing a great clacking noise. The weevil screeched, the sound of a knife blade scraping across a smooth stone,

  Then, there was another sword cutting the air. And Taline was beside him, her blade cartwheeling around. Her aim was perfect and the weevil screeched even louder.

  Now it was his turn, but he wasn’t used to so heavy a blade. And his timing was off. He brought his blow down just as the weevil readied itself to snap at him. Only Sirrom’s tough yank backwards saved him from being skewered like a roasted mynt on a spit.

  But Falon was nothing if not a fast learner. He brought his blade around quickly, gracefully, as if dancing a duel with the creature. Except that this time it was perfectly all right to land the first blow.

  His heavy blade smacked the shell, and a thin crack appeared. A sickly yellow froth bubbled out. The creature scuttled backwards.

  “Well landed!” Sirrom cheered, with a grin.

  “Behind us!” Taline’s scream shattered Falon’s brief moment of victory.

  Three more of the creatures were moving across the hummocks of sand. Glidi
ng, sliding effortlessly towards them.

  “Come on!” Sirrom yelled. “We can’t face all of them.” Sirrom grabbed Taline’s hand, and Falon followed them. He was wondering what would stop the weevils from catching up to them when he turned, and saw the weevils coming to an abrupt halt.

  “Why are they stopping?” he shouted to Sirrom.

  “They won’t leave their nest and burrows.”

  Right, thought Falon. His mouth was open, panting, and his tongue was exposed to the hot air.

  It makes perfect sense. Except for one thing.

  Hadn’t Sirrom known the nest was there? So why hadn’t he warned him?

  Sirrom did come and try to save him....

  After three attacks. And even then, Falon knew he himself had landed the blow that made the weevil scurry away.

  They caught up to Anarra. Ashre stood beside her, but so stiffly it was clear that he wasn’t with her.

  “Now stay with me,” Sirrom ordered, barely glancing at Falon.

  And to be sure, Falon would do that. And watch him too.

  Ashre came beside him.

  “Sorry about the toss, Ash. Didn’t want you inside that thing’s belly.” He looked down at the gray kit’s face. But instead of seeing it all calm, the danger past, Ashre’s eyes were squinted and confused. He tapped Falon’s arm.

  “It shouldn’t have happened.” Ashre said quietly.

  “I know. We should have stayed away from—”

  “No! I should ‘have had a ... feeling, I don’t know, some warning!” He tugged at his whiskers. “But there was nothing, nothing until the weevil was there.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Ash.’ Maybe it only works with some people or some situations.”

  “It always works ...” he said slowly, a determined look on his face. “Always.” He looked up at Falon. “It didn’t work then because something made it not work.”

  Falon looked at him. He’s scared, he thought. Perhaps for the first time. Really scared.

  “Something,” Ashre repeated. “Or someone.”

  The ruins appeared on the desert like some camouflaged animal.