“My thoughts exactly, cherie,” said Roel as he saddled his mount. “We must take the sinister path, and I believe we measure sinister from where we stood when Lady Doom spoke her rede. And as to ‘left is right, but right a mistake,’ mayhap it applies here-or not-though I do believe its true meaning is ‘leftward is correct, but rightward is wrong.’ Regardless as to whether that is the proper interpretation, I say we ride toward the west, in the sundown direction.”
“Oui,” said Celeste, pulling tight the girth strap
’round her mare. “Duskwise. Let us find this Spx, whatever that might be. Mayhap ’tis where the gray arrow lies.”
And so they mounted up, and trailing the packhorses, sundownward they rode.
“Oh, now I understand,” said Celeste, breaking out of her rumination.
“Understand what, cherie?”
“What Lady Doom meant when she said I was to think on the riddle she posed and the answer I had given.”
Roel frowned, then cocked an eyebrow.
“Remember, she told me that I had answered all three riddles: hers, Verdandi’s, and Skuld’s. But I replied that I had said ‘river’ in response to her poser, which was neither a yes nor a no to the question at the end of the riddle. Anyway, she told me to think on it, and I have.”
Roel smiled. “And what did you conclude?”
“That I didn’t really have to answer the question, for by merely saying the name, or not being able to, that is answer enough.”
Roel laughed and said, “Exactly so, cherie. But heed: even a wrong answer resolves the riddle, or rather the question as stated, for if one gives a wrong answer, then that means one’s answer to the question is no.”
“Hmph,” grunted Celeste. “It’s not much of a riddle if no answer at all as well as any answer-right or wrong-resolves it.”
“Mayhap that’s the way she planned it,” said Roel.
“How so?”
“Love, I think the Fates truly wish to give us guidance, and so they make it as easy as they can without breaking those ‘rules’ they follow.” Roel then shook his head and added, “As to why they would do so, I haven’t a clue, yet I wish they could speak plainly instead of in murky redes.”
Celeste nodded in agreement, but said, “I believe one of their rules must be that those they help must cipher out the meanings for themselves.”
Roel nodded and on they fared, heading ever duskward as the sun rode up the sky.
Nigh midday, Roel said, “To the fore and left, Celeste, a long train of dust.”
“A caravan, do you think?”
“Oui. Or the like.”
Celeste frowned and said, “It is moving starwise and will cross our course. Perhaps we’ll intercept it.” Closer they drew and closer, and Roel said, “Camels.
It is a long train of camels.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of them but have never seen such,” said Celeste. “I hope we do cross their path, for I would see a camel.”
Roel grunted and said. “I saw my fill of them during the war. They are swift, but are not as nimble as horses.
And the warriors astride were quite good, especially with the bow; we were hard-pressed to defeat them. You and I must take care, Celeste, for should this be a military train, such men are fierce.”
“Roel, someday, you will have to tell me of this war.”
“Ah, me, cherie, I do not like to think about it, for many good men died. . on both sides, I am certain.”
“When you are ready, my love.”
They rode without speaking for a while, and then Roel said, “It’s not like single combat, where two knights agree upon the rules ere the fighting begins. Instead it is a charge of steeds and knights and footmen and a horrendous collision of armies crashing against one another, and confusion and chaos and a wild uproar filled with the clangor of weapons and belling of steeds and shouts of rage and cries of fear and the screams of the dying. All one can do is lay about and lay about and lay about, with hammers smashing and swords riving and spears stabbing and arrows piercing, with severed heads flying and entrails spilling forth like hideous blossoms blooming; hands and arms are lopped off in a dreadful pruning, and bones snap and skulls crunch beneath crushing blows. And then, finally it is over, and it seems a silence reigns, but the silence is only relative to what has gone before, for the field is littered with the dead and the dying, and men weep and cry out in an agony born of horrendous wounds, and horses scream of broken legs and ripped-open bellies; and the gorcrows and looters come to pick over the carrion, and-” Of a sudden, Roel became aware that Celeste had stopped the horses and had dismounted and now held him by the hand, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked up at him.
Her voice choked, yet she managed to say, “You need never tell me of this war you fought.” He nodded once, sharply, and whispered, “Let us ride on.”
She looked up at him for a moment more, and then kissed his fingers and released his hand and turned and mounted her mare.
The caravan continued to fare starwise across the grassy plains, and as Celeste and Roel drew closer, Celeste said, “It looks as if their road will join ours. See, it curves ’round and does not cross over; I think it becomes one with this way.” Roel nodded but said nothing, and on they went.
Ahead, the caravan followed the arc and soon it was plodding duskwise, ahead of Celeste and Roel. It moved at a more leisurely pace than they did, and slowly the horses atrot overtook the ambling camels.
“It is a merchant train,” said Roel, his first words in a while. “Not a military convoy. They have an escort of guards, though, so be wary.”
Celeste slipped the keeper from her long-knife, and she strung her bow, though she slipped it back into its saddle scabbard.
As they neared the tail end of the train, three camel-mounted guards-dusky-skinned and dressed in turbans and jodhpurs and boots and long riding coats under torso-covering bronze-plated armor, and armed with curved scimitars and lances and bows-slowed and waited for Celeste and Roel to reach them. One of the warders held out a hand palm forward and called out,
“Wakkif!”
His meaning clear, both Roel and Celeste reined to a halt, and their mounts snorted as if to blow their nostrils free of the somewhat rank odor of camels, and it took a firm hand to keep the horses from sidling away.
“Min inte? Mnain jayi? Intu kasdin ’ala fen?” demanded the guard.
“Do you speak the common tongue?” asked Celeste.
The warder frowned. “Kult e?”
Celeste sighed and said, “Parlez-vous la vieille langue?”
“Kult e?”
She turned to Roel. “It seems he speaks neither Common nor the Old Tongue.”
“I have heard such language as his in my travels, though I do not speak it,” said Roel. “It sounds as if he is from Arabia.”
The man looked at Roel and said, “Betif’ ham
’arabi?”
Roel shrugged and shook his head, saying, “I think he just asked if I speak Arabic.”
Another warder came riding back, this one with gold braid ’round his turban. He spoke to the guards, and they treated him with deference.
“It seems he’s the captain,” said Roel.
The man looked at Celeste and dismissed her with a gesture, at which she bristled but remained silent, but Roel he eyed with some respect. Yet he, too, did not understand either the Old Tongue or Common.
Roel clapped a hand to his own chest and said,
“Chevalier Roel.” He gestured toward Celeste and said,
“She is with me.”
Again Celeste bristled, but still she remained silent.
Once more Roel slapped his chest and then pointed duskward along the road and said, “We ride yon.” The captain slowly scanned the plain; the land was empty as far as the eye could see. He said something to the three other warders, and they reined their camels about, the animals turning at the tugs on their nose rings, and with the beasts groaning and hronk ing, and blue tassels swinging from saddle blankets, and the riders thumping the camels with switches and crying, “Hut, hut, hut, haijin. Yallah, yallah!” they rode to catch the caravan and resume their posts.