‘You either drink too much or you’ve been out in the sun too long, Zagorri,’ Echon, a thin, sun-dried man in a dark blue robe scoffed. ‘My map says that it’s sixty miles—no more.’
‘How well do you know the man who drew the map? I’ve been here all my life, and I know how far it is to the Sama. Go ahead, though. Take only enough water for sixty miles. Your mules will die, and you’ll be drinking sand for that last forty miles. It’s all right with me, though, because I’ve never liked you all that much anyway. But, mark my words, Echon. It’s one hundred miles from the Well of Vigay there to the banks of the Sama.’ And the old man spat in the direction of the pale brown pond. Talen suddenly began to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ Sparhawk asked him.
‘We just had a stroke of luck, revered leader,’ the boy replied gaily. ‘If we’re all finished up here, why don’t we go back to where the others are waiting? We’ll all want a good night’s sleep—since we’ll probably be leaving first thin in the morning.’
‘Oh? For where?’
‘Cyrga, of course. Wasn’t that where we wanted to go?’
‘Yes, but we don’t know where Cyrga is.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Sparhawk. We do know the way to Cyrga—at least I do.’
23
‘Did he die well?’ Betuana asked. Her face was very pale, but she gave no other outward sign of distress.
‘It was a suitable death, Betuana-Queen,’ the messenger replied. ‘We were at the bottom of a gorge and the Klael-beast was hurling the sides of it down upon us. Androl-King attacked the beast, and many escaped that would have died if he had not.’
She considered it. ‘Yes,’ she agreed finally. ‘It was suitable. It will be remembered. Is the army fit to travel?’
‘We have many injured, Betuana-Queen, and thousands are buried in the gorge. We withdrew to Tualas to await your commands.’
‘Leave some few to care for the injured, and bring the army here,’ she told him. ‘Toea is no longer in danger. The danger is here.’
‘It shall be as you say, my Queen.’ He clashed his fist against his breastplate in salute.
The Queen of Atan rose to her feet, her still-pale face betraying no emotion. ‘I must go apart and consider this, Itagne-Ambassador,’ she said formally.
‘It is proper, Betuana-Queen,’ he responded. ‘I share your grief.’
‘But not my guilt.’ She turned and slowly left the room.
Itagne looked at the stony-faced Engessa. ‘I’d better pass the word to the others,’ he said. Engessa nodded shortly.
‘Could you speak with the messenger before he leaves, Engessa?’ Itagne asked. ‘Lord Vanion will need casualty figures before he can change his strategy.’
‘I will obtain them for you, Itagne-Ambassador.’ Engessa inclined his head shortly and went out.
Itagne swore and banged his fist on the table. ‘Of all the times for this to happen!’ he fumed. ‘If that idiot had only waited before he got himself killed!’
Betuana had done nothing wrong. There had been no stain of dishonor in her concern for Engessa, and if she had only had a week or two to put it behind her, it would probably have been forgotten—along with the personal feelings which caused it. But Androl’s death, coming as it did at this particular time—Itagne swore again. The Atan Queen had to be able to function, and this crisis might well incapacitate her. For all Itagne knew, she was in her room right now preparing to fall on her sword.
He rose and went looking for paper and pen. Vanion had to be warned about this before everything here in Sama fell apart.
‘It all fell into place when I heard that old man call their little pond ‘the Well of Vigay”,’ Talen explained. ‘Ogerajin used exactly the same term.’
‘I don’t know that it means very much,’ Mirtai said dubiously. ‘Cynesgans call all these desert springs wells. Vigay was probably the one who discovered it.’
‘But the important thing is that this is one of the landmarks Ogerajin mentioned,’ Bevier said. ‘How did the subject come up?’ he asked Talen.
‘Stragen and I were spinning moonbeams for Valash,’ the boy replied. ‘Ogerajin had just arrived from Verel, and he was sitting in a chair with his brains quietly rotting. Stragen was telling Valash about something he’d supposedly overheard—some fellow telling another that Scarpa was waiting for instructions from Cyrga. He was fishing for information, and he casually asked Valash what route a man would have to follow to get to Cyrga.
‘That’s when Ogerajin jumped in. He started rambling, talking about the “Well of Vigay” and the “Plains of Salt” and other places with names that sounded as if they’d come right out of a story-book. I thought he was just raving, but Valash got very excited and tried to hush him up. That’s what made me pay closer attention to what the crazy man was saying. I got the feeling that he was giving Stragen very specific directions to Cyrga, but the directions were all clouded over with those storybook names. This “Well of Vigay” business makes me start to wonder if the directions were as cloudy and garbled as I thought they were at first.’
‘What were his exact words, young Talen?’ Xanetia asked.
‘He said, “The pathway lies close by the Well of Vigay”. That’s when Valash tried to shut him up, but he kept right on. He said something about wanting to give Stragen directions so that he could go to Cyrga and bow down to Cyrgon. He told him to go northwest from the “Well of Vigay” to the “Forbidden Mountains”.’
Sparhawk checked over his map. ‘There are several clusters of mountains in central Cynesga, and that’s the general region Aphrael pointed out back on the island. What else did he say, Talen?’
‘He sort of jumped around. He talked about the “Forbidden Mountains” and the “Pillars of Cyrgon”. Then he doubled back on himself and started talking about the “Plains of Salt”. From what he told Stragen, you’re supposed to be able to see these “Forbidden Mountains” from those salt-plains. Then there was something about “Fiery White Pillars” and “The Plain of Bones”. He said that the bones are “the nameless slaves who toil until death for Cyrgon’s Chosen”. Evidently when a slave dies in Cyrga, he’s taken out and dumped in the desert.’
‘That boneyard wouldn’t be very far from the city, then,’ Kalten mused.
‘It does all sort of fit together, Sparhawk,’ Bevier said seriously. ‘The Cynesgans themselves are largely nomads, so they wouldn’t have any real need for large numbers of slaves. Ogerajin spoke of “Cyrgon’s Chosen”. That would be the Cyrgai, and they’re probably the ones who buy slaves.’
‘And that would mean that the caravan of slavers we saw is going to Cyrga, wouldn’t it?’ Talen added excitedly.
‘And they were going northwest,’ Mirtai said, ‘the exact direction Ogerajin was raving about.’
Sparhawk went to his saddle-bags and took out his map. He sat down again and opened it, holding it firmly as the desert wind started to flap its corners. ‘We know that Cyrga’s somewhere in these mountains in central Cynesga,’ he mused, ‘so we’ll be going in that direction anyway. If Ogerajin was just raving and his directions don’t go anyplace, we’ll still be in the right vicinity if we follow them.’
‘It’s better than just sitting here waiting for Berit and Khalad,’ Kalten said impatiently. ‘I have to be doing something—even if it’s only riding around in circles out there in the desert.’
Sparhawk wordlessly put a comforting hand on his old friend’s shoulder. His own desperate concern was at least as driving as Kalten’s, but he knew that he had to keep it separate, remote. Desperate men make mistakes, and a mistake here could put Ehlana in even greater peril. His emotions screamed at him, but he grimly, implacably, pushed them into a separate compartment of his mind and firmly closed the door.