The Asutra (7 page)

Ifness responded in a measured voice: "An intellect in full control of itself unfortunately must sacrifice that receptivity which distinguishes the primitive mentality. This is an evolutionary step I have, on the whole, been happy to make."

Srenka tugged at his nose ring, uncertain whether or not Ifness had spoken in disparagement. He looked at Gulshe; they gave each other shrugs of perplexity, then went to their beds, where they muttered together for half an hour. Srenka seemed to be urging some action which Gulshe resisted; Srenka grumbled raucously; Gulshe made an ameliorative statement and both fell silent.

Etzwane sought his own blankets, where he lay wakeful, uneasy for reasons beyond his understanding. "Perhaps," he told himself, "my mentality is primitive and credulous."

During the night he awoke often to lie listening, and once heard the bickering of distant ahulphs. Another time a far mellifluous hooting reverberated through the stone defiles, to send eerie shudders along Etzwane's skin; it was a sound he could not identify. He had no awareness of returning to sleep, but when he awoke next, the sky glowed lavender to the approach of the three suns.

After a glum breakfast of dried fruit and tea, the four set forth again, passing through a series of limestone defiles, then out upon a high meadow. They rode through a forest of gallows trees, then up a barren valley. A five hundred foot crag loomed above them, with the parapets of a ruined castle at the crest. Gulshe and Srenka halted to consider the trail ahead. "Is the castle inhabited?"

"Who knows? " growled Gulshe. "Enough such places exist, with rogues and murderers waiting to roll down a rock, that the traveler must take care."

Srenka pointed a crooked finger. "Lyre birds fly above the stones; the way may be considered safe."

"How far now to the battlefield? " asked Ifness.

"An hoar's ride, around the root of yonder mountain.... Come now; at a fast pace. Lyre birds or not, I mistrust these old bandit dens."

The four rode forward at a smart gait, but the ruined castle offered no menace and the lyre birds soared as before.

They rode down from the pass. Gulshe pointed toward the great mountain, hunching like a sullen beast over the plain below. "Thence the Red Devils came, on their way to Shagfe—there, to the north, you can barely see the Shagfe stockade. Early in the morning the men attacked, from positions they had taken during the night, and the Red Devils were encircled. The battle lasted two hours, and all the Red Devils, with their captive women and imps, were dead; and the band which had destroyed them marched south and was seen no more: a great mystery . . . There! The place where the Red Devils camped. The battle raged in this vicinity. Ah! Smell the carrion! "

"What of the bones? " inquired Srenka with a sly grin. "Do they meet your expectations?"

Ifness rode forward, across the scene of carnage. Roguskhoi corpses lay everywhere, in a clutter of twisted limbs and contorted postures. Decomposition was far advanced; ahulphs had toyed with the idea of devouring the black flesh and some had died from the experiment; these lay curled in furry balls down the slope.

Ifness rode in a great circle, gazing intently down at the corpses, sometimes halting to study one or another of the stinking red shapes at length. Etzwane halted his pacer somewhat to the side, where he could watch the Sorukhs. Ifness rode up and halted beside Etzwane. "What do you make of the situation?"

"Like yourself, I am puzzled," said Etzwane

Ifness looked sidewise, eyebrows disapprovingly high. "Why then am I puzzled?"

"Because of the wounds, which are not those of swords or cudgels."

"Hmmf. What else have you noticed?"

Etzwane pointed. "He with chain bib yonder appears to be a chieftain. He has suffered damage to his chest. The asutra he carried was destroyed. I noticed another dead chieftain across the field with a similar wound. The men who killed the Roguskhoi, like ourselves, knew of the asutra."

Ifness gave a curt nod of the head. "So it would seem."

The Sorukh approached, wearing artificial smiles. "The bones then," Srenka put forward, "what of all these fine bones?"

"They are obviously not in salable condition," said Ifness. "I can make no firm offer until you clean and dry them, make up standard bales, and convey them to the Shillinsk dock."

Gulshe gave his flowing mustache a sad tug; Srenka was less controlled. "I feared such duplicity! " he cried. "We have no guarantee of profit; we have invested time and property to no avail, and I for one will not let the matter rest on these terms."

Ifness said coldly, "Upon our return to Shillinsk I will compensate you and your comrade generously; as you point out, you have done your best. However, I cannot undertake to buy a field full of corpses in order to gratify your avarice. You must find another customer."

Srenka twisted his face into a ferocious grimace, his lower canine tusks gripping his nose ring. Gulshe warned him with a gesture. 'The protests are reason- able. Our friend understandably cannot burden himself with merchandise in its present condition. I am certain that a mutually profitable arrangement is possible. In a year the bones will be well weathered and in prime condition, or we might rent slaves
to
boil and strip the carcasses. In the meantime let us leave this foul place; I feel a presentiment."

To Shagfe then," growled Srenka. "At Shagfe I plan to drink a crock of Baba's cellar brew."

"A moment," said Ifness, scrutinizing the hillside. "I am interested in the band which destroyed the Red Devils. Where did they go after the victory?"

"Back the way they had come," sneered Srenka. "Where else?"

"They did not visit Shagfe?"

"At Shagfe you can make your own inquiries."

Etzwane said, "Ahulphs might track them."

"They are a month gone and far away," said Ifness. "The effort might well be tedious."

"In Shagfe we will undoubtedly hear news," suggested Gulshe.

To Shagfe then," said Srenka. "I thirst for old Baba's cellar brew."

Ifness turned a reflective glance toward Shagfe. Gulshe and Srenka already were riding down the long slope. They halted and looked back. "Come along then; the day will not last forever; yonder is Shagfe! "

"Very well," said Ifness. "We will visit Shagfe."

Shagfe, a dreary and unprepossessing settlement, baked in the lavender sunlight. Rude mud huts straggled along a wind-scoured street; behind was a scatter of leather tents. A rambling flat-roofed structure of mud and wattle dominated the town: the inn and grog shop. A clattering windmill nearby drew water into a tank, which overflowed into a trough; here sat a band of ahulphs who had come to drink. They had brought rock crystals and already had bartered for rags of yellow cloth, which they wore rakishly tied to their hearing knobs.

Riding into Shagfe the four passed the slave pens: a complex of three sheds and three fenced yards in which a score of men, as many women, and several dozen blank-eyed children were confined.

Ifness, drawing his pacer to a halt, turned to Gulshe. "Who are these captives, local persons?"

Gulshe examined the group without interest. "They appear to be strangers, probably excess folk sold by the hetman of their clan. They might be persons taken in raids beyond the mountains. Or they might be persons seized and sold by private enterprises. " Gulshe gave a curious choked chuckle. "In short, they are anyone unable to prevent otherwise. Here there is no one to say us nay, and each man must see to his own welfare."

"Such an existence is unpleasant," said Etzwane in disgust.

Gulshe looked at him without comprehension and turned to Ifness as if questioning Etzwane's sanity; Ifness smiled grimly. "Who buys the slaves?"

Gulshe shrugged. "Hozman Sore-throat takes them all, and pays a good weight of metal in the bargain."

"You are very knowledgeable in this regard," said Etzwane in a dour voice.

Srenka said, "And what of that? Do you begrudge us a livelihood? Perhaps the time has come for an understanding."

"Yes," said Gulshe, "the time has come. " He brought forth a heavy-bladed knife of polished black glass. "Magic is not proof against my knife, and I can split either of you as if you were melons. Dismount from the pacers and stand facing the pens."

Ifness asked in a mild voice, "Am I to understand that you intend us an inconvenience?"

"We are men of trade," Srenka declared in a boisterous voice. "We live for profit. If we cannot sell bones, we will sell slaves, and for this reason we have brought you to Shagfe. I likewise am adept with the throwing-knife. Dismount! "

"It is humiliating to be captured directly in front of the slave pens," said Ifness. "You show no regard for our sensibilities, and if for this reason alone, we refuse to gratify your wishes."

Srenka guffawed. Gulshe allowed a yellow line of teeth to show below his mustache. "Dismount; to the ground, and promptly! "

Etzwane spoke softly, "Have you forgotten the curse imposed at Shillinsk?"

"Hundreds of curses already ride our backs; what harm is another? " Gulshe jerked his knife. "Dismount."

Ifness shrugged. "Well, then, if we must, we must.... Destiny plays strange tricks. " Alighting wearily, he placed his hand on the pacer's haunch. The pacer roared in pain and sprang forward, into Gulshe's pacer, toppling the beast to the ground. Srenka flung his knife at Etzwane, who had dropped to the ground; the knife cut the air a foot over his shoulder. Ifness reached up, grasped Srenka's nose-ring. Srenka emitted a quivering hiss, which would have been a scream had he been able to articulate. "Hold him by the ring," Ifness instructed Etzwane. "Keep him in a state of compliance. " Ifness went to where Gulshe, scrambling, cursing, clawing at the ground, attempted to gain his feet. Ifness laid a comradely hand on Gulshe's shoulder; Gulshe gave a spasmodic jerk and fell once more to the ground. "I fear I must take your knife," said Ifness. "You will not need it again."

Etzwane and Ifness continued toward the mud-and-wattle inn, leading the riderless beasts. Ifness said, "Six ounces of silver for two able individuals; it seems no great sum. Perhaps we were gulled. But no matter, in any event. Gulshe and Srenka will profit greatly by learning another facet of the slavery trade. ... I could almost wish that. . . but no! It is uncharitable to think of my colleague Dasconetta in this connection. Almost I regret the parting of ways with Gulshe and Srenka. They were picturesque companions."

Etzwane looked back over his shoulder to the slave pens. Except for Ifness' energy pack, he would now be peering forth from between the withes. Still—these were the risks he had weighed in Garwiy; he had elected to face them rather than pursue a life of security, music, and ease. . . . Ifness was speaking, as much to himself as to Etzwane: "I regret only that we failed to learn more from Gulshe and Srenka. . . . Well, here we are at the hostelry. In retrospect the inn at Shillinsk seems a haven of palatial luxury. We will represent ourselves not as wizards nor research students, nor even bone merchants. The most prestigious occupation at Shagfe is slavery, and slavery is our trade."

At the inn they paused to survey the settlement. The afternoon was warm and placid: infants crawled in the dirt; older children played at slave-taking among the tents, leaping forth with ropes to drag away their captives. At the trough under the windmill three squat dark-haired woman in leather pants and straw capes bickered with the ahulphs. The women carried sticks and struck at the ahulphs' long sensitive feet whenever they attempted to drink: the ahulphs in turn kicked dirt at the women and screamed abuse. Beside the road a dozen crones in shapeless straw cloaks huddled beside offerings of goods to be traded: mounds of dark-red meal, thongs of dried meat, blue-black finger grubs in boxes of wet moss, fat green beetles tethered to stakes, sugar pods, boiled birds, cardamoms, salt crusts. Above, the vast bright sky; to all sides, the hot flat plain; far in the east a band of riders, visible only as a vibration of black specks, with a thin plume of lavender dust above. . . . Ifness and Etzwane approached the inn, and entered by a hole in the mud wall. The common room was dim and dank-smelling. A rack behind the counter supported three barrels; elsewhere were benches and stools where half a dozen men sat with earthenware bowls of sour seed wine or mugs of the famous Shagfe cellar brew. Conversation halted; the men stared at Ifness and Etzwane with a still intensity. The sole illumination was the purple glare of outdoors seeping through the door-hole. Ifness and Etzwane peered around the room while their eyes adjusted to the dimness.

A short, bare-chested man with long white hair ambled forward. He wore a leather apron and knee boots, and was apparently Baba the proprietor. He inquired their needs in a rough dialect which Etzwane understood more through divination than comprehension.

Ifness responded in a fair simulation of the dialect. "What sort of lodging are you able to provide us?"

"The best to be had in Shagfe," declared Baba the innkeeper. "Anyone will tell you as much. Is your question motivated by sheer curiosity?"

"No," replied Ifness. "You may show us the best you have to offer."

"That is simple enough," said Baba. "This way, if you please. " He led them down an ill-smelling corridor, past a rudimentary kitchen where a great kettle of porridge simmered over a fire, and into a bare courtyard, sheltered around the periphery by an overhanging roof. "Select whatever area you wish. The rain generally sweeps in from the south and the south bay is the driest."