He felt ignorant. He'd always prided himself on his mind, but now all his knowledge of the world and what made it seemed so insignificant he might as well have been an insect contemplating the heavens. He hungered to know more, which made him sad because he realized he'd reached the end of what Gubadan could teach him. And as Safar looked at the shattered glove it occurred to him that much of what he'd learned might be in error, or based on Gubadan's stirring myths. Even the old priest admitted, for instance, that there were no turtle gods carrying the continents. The lands floated on the oceans without assistance, he said. The turtle gods were symbols, not science, he said. Although he cautioned symbols sometimes hid inner meanings that might make science.
Safar determined the next time he traveled Walaria with his father he'd find books to broaden his knowledgealthough he didn't have the faintest idea what types of books those might be. To start with, however, he could look for something that could tell him about the four continents. Particularly Hadin.
He reached for the shard containing Hadin and as soon as his fingers touched it his body tingled all over with that warm, honeyed sensation he'd felt the night when the fiery particles had rained from the sky. The feeling quickly vanished and all was normal again. He shook himself, wondering what had happened. He stared hard at the pot shard with its fiery mountain. No answer came. After a time he gave up and tucked the shard away into his shot pouch to be examined later.
He returned to the campsite and his blankets. He slept and this time he didn't dream.
Over the next few days he became uncomfortable in the grotto. Although he didn't show it, there was a buzz of magic and danger in the air that disturbed him. Finally he made an excuse for the two of them to get away for awhile. He told Iraj they needed to find meat for their cooking pot. Always eager for a hunt, Iraj agreed.
Leaving the goats and llama to graze, they wandered along snow-patched trails for hours. Safar felled a few mountain grouse with his sling and Iraj shot a hare with his bow. Safar teased him because he'd brought heavy arrows better suited for bear than rabbits and the creature was so torn up by the missile it was useless.
Iraj pretended to be hurt. I just saved our lives, you ingrate. Didn't you see that mean look in its eyes? A man-eater if I ever saw one!"
"Eeek! Safar shrieked. A man-eating hare! Run! Run!"
And they both bounded down the path as if a tiger were after them.
An hour or so later they came to a promontory that overlooked the main caravan route. Passage through the Bride and Six Maids wasn't easy. It consisted of a complicated series of trails and switchbacks winding up from the desert to the first pass. The pass led to a rickety bridgebuilt, some claimed, by Alisarrian's engineersthat crossed to the next mountain. More passes and bridges joined into the final route, which traveled over the broad summit of the Sixth Maid, then dipped to catch the trail across the Bride herself and then down into Kyrania and beyond.
Safar had spent many an hour perched on that promontory watching the caravans. At the height of the season, when as many a dozen might be traveling, it was a wondrous sight. He'd once spotted four caravans moving along four different peaks at the same time. He'd never seen an ocean, but to Safar the caravans looked like a small fleet of ships sailing over a sea of clouds and snowdrifts. The Kyranians called the region the High Caravans, for it was said that in all the world there were no higher mountains that traders crossed.
As the two young men stood there that day gazing out at the snow-covered peaks, Safar felt sudden joy when he spotted a caravan, the first of the spring, moving down toward the Bride's Pass. He pointed it out to Iraj, who hadn't been in the mountains long enough to distinguish distant objects easily. As he marveled at it they could both hear the sound of jangling bells echoing strangely in the cold, dry air. Soon they could make out the small figures of people, some on foot, some mounted on horsebackfollowing the heavily-laden llamas and camels that padded over the snow. A few large ox-drawn wagons completed the caravan.
"All the places they must have been, Iraj said dreamily, and all the places they've yet to see. The very sound of those bells makes you want to join them, doesn't it Safar?"
"Why should it? Safar said, a little sharply. I'm happy here. Why would I want to live among strangers?"
Iraj gave him an odd look. You have visions, he said, but you don't dream?"
"Not of things like that, Safar answered. I'm perfectly happy where I am. Oh, I've visited the city once or twice. My father sometimes goes to Walaria to sell his best pots. But whenever I went with him I was always anxious to get back as quickly as I could."
Iraj waved his hand at the caravan and the vista beyond. But that's the real world out there, Safar, he said. Where great men determine events. And there are all sorts of mysterious people and things to see. Your valley is beautiful, I admit. But nothing happens here, or will ever happen. Don't you feel left out?"
"Never, Safar declared. I have all I want here. And all I shall ever want."
Iraj shrugged, then said, Let's go down to meet them. I've never talked to a caravan master before."
There was plenty of time left in the day so Safar had no reason to deny him. Also, as every Kyranian child knew, the first to meet a caravan were always rewarded with treats and small gifts. Safar's eyes swept the terrain, picking out a route that would intersect with the travelers at the edge of the Bride's Pass. He pointed the way and the two young men charged down to meet the caravan.
They were skirting a jumble of rock when motion caught Safar's eye. He grabbed Iraj's arm to stop him and looked closer.
A line of figures moved swiftly out of a ravine toward the caravan. They were traveling in a wide loop that kept cover between them and the caravan and Safar knew they were doing this purposely so they wouldn't be seen.
At first he thought they were bandits. He cupped his eyes so he could see better and the lead group jumped into view so clearly and so frighteningly that he cried out.
"What is it? Iraj asked. He was peering at the figures, still not able to make them out.
"Demons! Safar shouted. They're going to attack the caravan!"
CHAPTER FIVE
As Giff watched the caravan crawl along the snowy pass, camel bells chiming, oxen grunting, horses blowing steamy blasts into the chill air, a sudden feeling of foreboding descended on him. He glanced at the other nine mounted demons waiting with him in ambush. They were tense, but professionally so, as they made last-minute inspections and adjustments to their weapons and gear. They were the best of Sarn's fiends with scores of successful raids to their credit.
Giff was not reassured.
He couldn't put a talon on it but it seemed to him that something wasn't quite right. He thought, I should have killed the human myself. It had been bad luck to let Sarn do it. He should have insisted on his rights. But then he thought, don't be so superstitious. You've always made your own luck. Besides, what could go wrong?
He studied the mounted soldiers guarding the pack animals and covered wagons that made up the caravan. The humans were well-armed and seemed skilled enough to cause alarm but this wasn't the source of Giff's worry. Sarn had sent their best scout into the caravan's encampment the night before to steal small items from each of the sleeping human soldiers. Sarn had used those items to make a spell that would confuse the soldiers and turn them into cowards when attacked.
The only defender who wouldn't be affected was the caravan master, a big brawny human Giff would dislike to meet in anything but an unequal fight. He slept apart from his men in a pavilion the scout couldn't approach without being discovered. Even so, Giff thought, when the attack came the caravan master would be quickly overwhelmed without his soldiers to support him.