The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (46 page)

Darryl frowned. “So we have no choice but to continue our slow rate of progress until we sight the Hixian’ borderlands?”

The blonde girl shook her head.

“Not necessarily master. The road loops and turns and we can save a great deal of travelling time if we leave the route at the neck of one of the loops, then strike across open country and rejoin the road with a great saving in both time and effort. The danger is that we may blunder into the territory of some family or clan who resent our intrusion. Such an unfortunate misadventure would doubtless cost us our lives.

We could also save many darkenings of hard travel if we cross ‘The ‘Green Desert’but the aera is waterless and covered with poisonous plants and the bones of many men remain to mark out the route.”

“The intelligence gatherers in Ptah said nothing of these dangers.” The boatmaster said with a frown, but the girl simply laughed and playfully pinched the man’s cheek.

“Old stuffy men, poring over maps and reports from inside their dusty chambers; they know nothing. I am Whiteflower of the Kev, who has wandered this hard land since I was able to walk and all of my knowledge lies at your service. Now master, I beg you to sleep for a while, for a hard afternoon’s trek lies ahead of us and you will need all of your strength before the coming of night.”

The full heat of the five suns had waned somewhat by mid-afternoon and the little expedition resumed its march along the old trade route. The road-surface improved and the caravan advanced at a much faster rate than in the morning. Unfortunately they soon entered an area that had recently experienced a considerable amount of earth movement and the road was completely lost in a mad jumble of shattered rocks and uprooted Thoa trees. Whiteflower declared it was essential to cross this belt of devastation before nightfall, in order to draw water for the transport narr.

Soon the travellers were threading their way through a veritable maze of boulders and broken tree stumps and where often forced to heave the transport narr bodily over the obstacles barring their path. Yet their progress was pitifully slow, and despite their best efforts and only a glimmer of sunlight remained when they finally reached open ground.

Whiteflower raced ahead and standing upon a tall rock she surveyed the surrounding countryside in the hope of sighting the ruins of the old way-station where she expected to find water.

“This way” she called out.” Pointing into the gathering darkness, “I can see the way-station for it lies only a little way ahead of us, but we must hurry, for we shall never find it once the light is gone!”

The members of the expedition redoubled their efforts and soon they were driving their complaining charges through a broken gateway and into the shelter of the station’s ruined wall. Despite their personal exhaustion they immediately set about tending the narr and watering the thirsty animals from a spring welling up in the middle of the station yard.

Whiteflower produced a bundle of dried tree branches and carried them into a dilapidated and roofless building standing in the middle of the enclosure. The girl quickly lit a fire in a still serviceable hearth and a stew made from dried narr’s meat was soon simmering in an iron cooking pot.

George, axe in hand, took first watch at the door of the enclosure, whilst the remainder of his companions gathered around the fire and waited for the dried meat to soften in the boiling water.

Paris distributed a ration of Thoabread to each of the travellers and turned to the young clans-woman sitting by his side.

“Our first day’s march was exceedingly hard!” He observed. “Will the going always be like this?”

The girl laughed. “Finding it tough are you? Oh temple creature. Well never fear, man-of-books. During the next few days, we shall travel over a section of the road that remains in a reasonable state of repair. Also you will become accustomed to the hard toil of marching overland as the journey progresses, and you will find it less harrowing, once your muscles become hardened by the rigors of the trek.”

“Are we likely to meet some of the clans-folk who live in these parts?” Myra asked, as she retrieved a food bowl from her travelling pack.

Whiteflower shrugged. “I cannot say, perhaps we shall meet a group of the hunters who stalk the wild narr, or possibly find a small isolated clan living in one of these ruined way-stations. Even so, I expect us to be received hospitably by the people who dwell close to the road, but robbers are to be found everywhere in these turbulent days, so we must be ever upon our guard and always keep our weapons close at hand.”

The girl tasted a spoonful of the stew and declared it to be palatable.

“Eat and then sleep!” she ordered. “The night is short for tired travellers and we have much distance to cover on the coming morrow!”

The travellers made good progress during the next four days, for Whiteflower was proved correct when she declared that a well preserved section of the road lay ahead of them. Even so, the members of the expedition had to treat the little transport narr with care and avoid driving them excessively hard, for their bird-jointed hips were liable to become inflamed through over-use if the creatures were made to trek for long periods. Paris, the Dark Priest’s envoy, was often to be found rubbing the creature’s hip-joints with soothing oil whenever the caravan stopped for a rest beneath some convenient clump of Thoatrees. The man seemed to have a strange empathy with the normally bad-tempered animals, who obeyed his every order without the slightest hesitation.

One evening, as the travellers rested around the cooking fire, the young wisewoman had paused to congratulate the overseer for his skill with the creatures. Paris replied that he spent much of his childhood as a narr-rider; that had been in the days before his telepathic gifts had been recognized by the Dark Priests who immediately conscripted him into their service.

“Do you wish that you were still tending the breeding narr in the village of your people?” George had asked, but the man shook his head and explained that entering the service of the priests was an opportunity afforded to but few, and his selection had brought great honour to both his home village and to the clan that bred him.

“But I sometimes miss the stinking creatures,” he admitted with a sigh. “For life in the service of the Priests of Ptah can become exceedingly dull and tedious and I often hanker for the open air of the plains and the warm beat of the five suns upon my face!”

“Would you ever be allowed to return to your native clan and live out the remainder of your life as a common herder?” George asked, as he passed a warm sleeping robe to the envoy.

“No.” Paris replied, drawing the garment around his shoulders. “The servants of the Dark Priests may retire to the villages of their birth, only if they achieve low rank during their careers, but those who attain high office must live out the remainder of their lives behind the walls of ‘Holy Ptah.’ Such men possess too many of the priest’s secrets to be allowed to dwell in freedom amongst ordinary men.”

He laughed. “Had the present crisis not been so grave, then I would certainly not be here with you now!”

The envoy lay down and drew the night robe over his head.

“Sleep, man with two axes!” He said, with a hint of finality in his voice.

“Sleep and let us replenish our strength for the morning’s march!”

On the evening of the sixth day of their trek, the new-comers made their first contact with the tribes-folk dweling beyond the Red Bank River.

The column had been making good progress along a level and well surfaced portion of the track and both men and animals were still in a fairly fresh condition when they came within sight of the supposedly abandoned way-station where they intended to spend the night.

The first indication that other people where currently occupying the station came when Whiteflower noticed a thin column of smoke rising from behind the walls of the ruined structure. She instantly halted the column whilst they were still out of darter range of the gate. The girl threw back her head and uttered a high-pitched piercing cry that echoed across the boulder strewn plain, before eventually dying away in the far distance. Whiteflower’s identification call was immediately answered from within the way-station by a similar cry that differed slightly in cadence.

She gave a visible sigh of relief. “Yonder call was that of a family of wandering narr-hunters who are on friendly terms with my Kev kinsmen. We may now advance to the gateway and treat with them for a space at their campfire.”

The caravan covered the remaining distance to the gate and was met by a short barrel-chested tribesman dressed in rough garments made from crudely prepared narr-skin. Whiteflower raised her hand in salute and then took a bunch of dried herbs from her back-pack and bowed to the man before placing the present in his outstretched hands.

“Birthing herbs,” Myra whispered to her brother. “They help to ease the pain of childbirth and make the delivery of babies much easier. The plants only grow on the banks of the Life River and they must be a priceless gift to tribes-folk such as these.”

The chief narr-hunter was obviously delighted with Whiteflower’s gift; for he ordered the other members of his family to welcome the newcomers into the station and help them to un-harness and tend their complaining beasts of burden, once they were safely within its walls.

The family of narr-hunters, it later transpired, numbered eighteen souls in all. Six were fully grown male hunters who were all armed with darters of an extremely unusual design, being heavy single-shot weapons, each capable of bringing down a fully grown narr with a solitary well aimed dart. A dozen woman and children, similarly clad in poorly cured skins, made up the remainder of the extended family of nomads. None of the adults was of an advanced age and Whiteflower quietly explained that narr-hunters who became too old to keep up with the remainder of the family, during their frequent forced marches, were left behind to die upon the open plain.

“Life is often extremely hard for these people.” The young tribes-woman explained.

“The wild narr frequently migrate over long distances and these hunters must often travel swiftly if they are to obtain a regular supply of food.”

“Are all the inhabitants of the eastern plains forced to endure such a hard and uncertain life?” Darryl asked, as he watched a group of children scavenging for the few clumps of edible moss that clung to the station walls.

“Indeed not.” The girl replied sharply. “Most of the clans are in permanent occupation of their own stretches of territory and are able to supplement their diet by rearing domestic narr and cultivating a few crops in their small gardens; but should a clan be forced from its land through conflict or lack of resources, then its members have no choice but to become wandering narr-hunters like these unfortunate folk.”