Thesk, which was the ungainly name of that far land where Marrec found himself.
Marrec reflected back on his journey since he’d reached the eastern shore of the Sea of Fallen Stars. He and Gunggari had first disembarked in the city of Telflamm after their passage east across the Sea. Telf lamm was the founding city of the Golden Way. For thousands of miles the great trade road wended eastward, eventually joining Faeriin to the fabulous lands of Kara-Tur, Marrec was assured. Along the road lay the merchant towns that comprised the realm of Thesk, the crossroads of the Unapproachable East. All that was revealed to Marrec upon landfall, but he wasn’t sure he believed much of what was told him in the thief-ruled city of Telflamm. At the time, he just wanted to find Fullpoint, though he did recall seeing a map showing Two Stars situated not much farther along the great trade road.
While on the great trade road, they’d passed through countless smaller villages, and three larger cities, Phent, Phsant, and Tammar. The towns of Phent and Tammar had offered no trouble, but in Phsant their ignorance of local custom had caused a few problems. SomehowMarrec wasn’t sure exactly howGunggari had earned the displeasure’ of someone called the Golden Master. Marrec didn’t really worry about it until they discovered hundreds of soldiers loyal to the Golden Master mustered against them as they attempted to exit the city from the strangely named Shou quarter. They’d barely escaped. One thing was surehe and Gunggari wouldn’t be going back through Phsant if they could help it.
Marrec hoped Two Stars wasn’t all that far from Fullpoint. Surely it would be a quick journey, at least after he made some sort of arrangement for Ash’s transportation.
Perhaps he should consult with their guide.
“Elowen?” called Marrec from the rear. He was making certain that Ash walked ahead of him, never allowing the girl out of his sight. “How far to Two Stars did you say?”
Elowen paused in her conversation with Gunggari, looking back. Marrec was glad to see those two seemed to be getting along. “No more than a couple of days, Marrec; it’s about sixty miles. Not to worry. This foliage gives way to grassland soon enough. If we were traveling through a real forest, like the Lethyr or Rawlinswood, you’d know it.”
Marrec nodded, satisfied.
Elowen walked, excited at her chance meeting in the wood. Her senses were attuned to the wildlife of leaf and bough, but more than others of her order, she enjoyed conversation. Sadly, the creatures and plants in her care were mostly unskilled in that area. These strangers had many stories to tell and offered the chance for conversations many and long.
More importantly, the strangers were concerned with the troubles of the wood, just like her. They seemed specifically concerned about the troubles caused by these rot-touched volodnis, as was she. She feared that where blight moved so fearlessly, only one possible agency could be responsible… but she had to be sure before she reported back to the Circle. That was a conversation she did not relish. She had stayed away far too longand the longer she stayed away, the more difficult it had become each day to set her feet back toward her fellows. After all, she had been pursuing her mission, however delayed it had become.
“The trees are yours to guard?” asked Gunggari, who walked beside her on the road to Two Stars.
“Not quite,” responded Elowen. “Nentyar hunters, such as myself, are. few. We don’t patrol specific areas. Rather, we are free to wander widely, trusting our own judgment, but yes, we confront all who seek to harm the forest.”
Gunggari fell quiet, apparently satisfied.
The southlander was a puzzle to Elowen, but an interesting puzzle. She’d never seen anybody like him. A human, to be sure, but one with customs unlike she’d ever come upon before then. He intrigued her. She hoped they would accompany her back to the Mucklestones. Her friend Briartan would love to meet someone from so far abroad.
“What about you?” Elowen asked the tattooed soldier. “What is the significance of all those marks on your body? They seem too exquisite to be mere decoration.”
Gunggari considered a moment, then said, “In Osse, in the land where my mother bore me, these tattoos speak of my strength, skill, and dedication to alcheringa.”
Elowen looked at Gunggari, waiting for him to continue.
“Alcheringa is the philosophy of my people. I walk that path. These marks on my body are totems, each telling of an ancestral hero of my people. I call on them for aid when I am in need. That is alcheringa”.
“Who’s this one?” Elowen impudently pointed at a vaguely human tattoo on Gunggari’s chest. “He’s got a warclub like yours.”
“Tumbarum. He is the spirit of music. He plays the dizheri. Like so.”
Gunggari hefted his hollow war club, upon which were painted elaborate designs in bright colors, and began to blow through one end. A sound, as of thunder, or a rushing river, reverberated through the air. Startled, a nearby flock of birds gave flight. The sound was unlike anything she had ever heard. Gunggari continued to blow. The thought occurred to her that it was music of a sort the elves had never mastered, something she could scarcely credit. His warclub was a musical instrument. Truly a marvel.
After a time, Gunggari finished. Elowen said, “You are a master musician, Gunggari. Among my people, you would be accorded much honor for that alone.”
The Oslander stowed his instrument and nodded, taking her at her word, without humility or arrogance. Gunggari was simply a man who knew his worth.
He said, “You have made my friend Marrec very happy, appearing when you did, saving the child. He has long sought that child; you have made a friend of him and me.” So saying, Gunggari clapped her on the shoulder.
Such familiarity between herself and strangers was uncommon, and normally she would resent such contact, but she was surprised to find that, coming from the strange man from the south with his strange customs, she didn’t mind.
A pony named Henri was procured for Ash in the village of Culdorn that evening. The group had covered just fifteen miles, but they did reach the great trade road, the Golden Way. They put up that night in the Culdorn Inn. Ash was completely taken with Henri; she was far more interested in the little horse than with her companions. The girl tried to sleep with the pony in the stable instead of the room they arranged for her and Elowen to share. That was, by far, the most emotion the child had yet generated for anything, and Marrec was pleased. Perhaps the mount would prove a bridge by which Ash could be reached.
The next day the four traveled swiftly down the Golden Way. Henri was amenable to the pace set. Elowen and Gunggari were used to traveling light and quickly, but Marrec, too, could move fast when necessary. Before the sun dipped down on their flank, sending their shadows ahead like dusky fingers, they covered a full thirty miles. Elowen indicated they had only a half day’s travel to look forward to the next day.
They made camp alongside the road that night. Elowen got a fire going with Gunggari’s aid in scavenging suitable brush and dead branches. Tiny sparks drifted up from the fire, blending with the stars above. Gunggari told a story drawn from the mythology of his people, as he sometimes did, but only with much cajoling from Marrec. That night, he launched into the telling on his own initiative. It was a story about rain.
CHAPTER 6
Rain woke Marrec in the gray light of dawn. Clouds scrolled across the sky, brushing water in great grey arcs across the soggy landscape. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the water from his hair, then stood to check on Ash. They’d rigged a simple lean-to for the girl, which had kept out most of the rain. She still slept under its protection, curled up in her blanket. Henri stood protectively nearby, his coat damp and curled. Marrec could smell the beast’s damp furdistinctive, but not unpleasant.