"I—I will remain your humble servant."
Jorian cast a bitter look at Karadur, who avoided his eye. The cham said:
"Brakki! Place Master Jorian in the pen and put a trustworthy guard over him. He is, I warn you, skilled at escape from such gyves. Sequester all property of value with him, save his raiment. Make up an escort —ten men should do—to carry him hence to Xylar. Let me think— Xylar is allied with Vindium against Othomae; Othomae is allied with Metouro against Govannian; Metouro is allied with Tarxia against Boaktis, Govannian is allied with Aussar against Metouro. Therefore, Xylar is allied with Vindium, Govannian, and Boaktis against Othomae, Metouro, Assar, and Tarxia, whilst Solymbria, Kortoli, Zolon, and Ir are neutral. The best route were, therefore, through the Ellornas into Boaktis, avoiding Tarxian land, and thence through Solymbria and Ir into Xylar. Is that clear?"
"Aye, Your Terribility," said the man addressed as Brakki.
Then Jorian's legs folded beneath him, and he sank to the carpet unconscious. In his swoon, he found himself again facing the green god Tvasha. Instead of approching the deity reverently, he roared:
"Why didst thou not warn me this knave lay in wait for me?"
Weeping, the god blubbered, "A thousand pardons, good Jorian! I am but a small, weak god, of limited powers. Do not, I pray thee, think hard of me! I could not bear it. And now farewell, for they are robbing thee of the little green idol, and I must preforce serve this villainous cham henceforth. May stronger gods than I go with thee!"
With Jorian in the middle, the escort wound along trails that snaked up and down the valleys of the eastern Ellornas. Moisture dripped from trees which, just bursting into leaf, loomed up out of the mist. Early wildflowers spangled the wet earth with little stars of yellow and blue and white. When the mist lifted, the higher peaks on either hand were seen to be still covered with snow.
The Ellorna Mountains and the Lograms further south formed twin barriers, walling off the land of Novaria between them. This land formed a broad peninsula, which joined Shven to the north with Fedirun and Mulvan to the south, and which also sundered the Inner Sea from the Western Ocean. Between these two mighty ranges lay the roughly rectangular stretch of hill and plain called Novaria, the Land of the Twelve Cities.
The existence of these ranges had allowed the twelve city-states of Novaria to flourish, constantly squabbling and warring with one another, despite the menace of the nomadic hordes of Shven to the north, the predatory desert-dwellers of Fedirun to the south, and the might of Mulvan to the southeast. The few passes through these mountains were easy to defend.
Since both the fierce steppe-dwellers of Shven and the teeming, docile multitudes of Mulvan looked upon the sea with horror, shipping in the Inner Sea was largely in the hands of Novarians and the mixed folk of Janareth and Istheun. Hence there was little danger of a seaborne invasion of Novaria from the greater powers to north and south—unless one of the Twelve Cities, blinded by hatred of some neighbor, brought in shiploads of these dangerous outsiders to help it in a local quarrel. This possibility kept Novarian chancellors and ministers awake nights, for they knew their own folk. They knew that, when their passions were sufficiently aroused, there was no perfidy they would not commit and no risk they would not run to gain an advantage over the immediate object of their wrath.
Jorian still rode his big chestnut roan, Oser, although his hands were manacled. Another rider led Oser, and the loop of a lariat, in the hands of still another, encircled Jorian's neck. Brakki had wanted to send Jorian on a sorry nag and keep Oser for the chain's herds, since horses big enough to carry a large, armored man were highly valued on the steppe. But the commander of the escort, a Captain Glaum, pointed out that Jorian was the heaviest man in the party. If they mounted him on some worn out little rabbit, the beast would collapse, and they would have to buy or steal another mount along the way. Therefore, Brakki had sent Jorian on Oser, warning Glaum that he was to defend the life of the horse with his own.
So they wound among the hills. As day succeeded day, the peaks on the right grew taller and more snow-covered. This was the main spine of the Ellornas. The party kept to the southern foothills, skirting the lands of the Twelve Cities. Jorian, glancing to his left at the forested ridges, was sure that if he could only get over a few of them, he would be in Tarxian territory.
And what then? Being allied against Xylar, Tarxia would probably not extradite him. But he had no money and no weapons. The gold he had taken from Rennum Kezymar, his sword, dagger, crossbow, and mailshirt—even his little green god—had all been taken from him. He knew nobody in Tarxia, which stood at the farthest remove from Xylar of any of the Twelve.
Jorian repeated the one Tarxian name he had heard from Karadur— the wizard Valdonius. If the project of fetching the Kist of Avlen to Metouro was now dead, Jorian would presumably be free to go about his business. But he had better make sure that his geas was lifted and that he knew what his business was. In any case, Valdonius of Tarxia seemed as good a person to start with as any.
For the first few days after leaving Istheun, there had been little talk between the Gendings of the escort and their prisoner. They had not treated him badly, but their attitude was that of an unfeeling but practical man towards his domestic animals. They did not wish to injure him, because such hurts might diminish his value; but they did not mean to take any nonsense from him, either.
As the party left the plains of Shven and climbed into the lower Ellornas, relations thawed as Jorian's ebullient spirit asserted itself. The fact that he spoke fairly good Shvenic and could make small jokes helped. And Jorian resorted to crafty tricks to arouse their interest. For instance, while his escort made camp, he remarked:
"These ridges look much like those of the Lograms, a hundred leagues south of here. They remind me of the time that wizard-smith was going to temper his blade by running it red-hot up my—but that would not interest you."
"What mean you?" said Glaum. "Go ahead, tell us."
"Oh, you nomads know all and believe nothing a sessor says. Why should I bore you with my tales?"
"We will not let you arouse our curiosity and then tease us, for one thing," said Glaum. "Now talk, or by Greipnek's prick, I will twist this rope until you do!"
"Oh, very well," and Jorian was off on the tale of his adventure with Rhithos the smith.
By the time they were well into the Ellornas, it had become an evening routine for the Gendings to demand: "Jorian! Tell us a story!"
Glaum made sure that, at any time, at least two men were watching Jorian with weapons ready. He divided the night into watches, during which two watched Jorian while two others stood regular sentry duty.
"We might run across a bear newly emerged from its den," he explained, "and in the higher mountains, the cave men attack small parties. Please Greipnek, neither shall befall us; but we mean to be ready if it come."
One day, Jorian caught snatches of talk that made him suspect that the party would soon turn south, threading its way through the passes into Boaktis. Therefore, he had better escape forthwith if he wished to reach friendly Tarxian territory. That evening he outdid himself as a storyteller.
"If I did have the wit of King Fusinian of Kortoli," he said, "I should have given you thickheads the slip long since; but alas! I fear I am as stupid as you. You remember my telling you about Fusinian, the son of Filoman the Weil-Meaning, a few nights ago? He was a small man, but lively and quick-witted, so that they called him Fusinian the Fox. And I have told you of the time he sowed the Teeth of Grimnor and was driven out of Kortoli.