The scholar crept to the rear of the tent, conscious of all the people who were around and because it was only early in the evening, there was a restless ripple across the common from both animals and humans. The scholar crouched, sandwiched between discarded chests and vegetable peelings. He smelled other refuse but had no desire to know what it was. Murmurs of voices carried on the breeze that usually sprang up at this time of the day in the summer season.
At first, the scholar could hear little except a faint honking that came closer and to his chagrin found himself confronting irritable and unfriendly hrax. After being clacked at warningly, twice, the scholar reluctantly uncramped himself, moving with a curse to the more exposed side of the tent. From where he was, he could see the open flap and realised, with a surge of crossness, that his ineptitude had cost him precious moments. Projecting his hearing, he managed to pick up some of the conversation.
"As you say, you have your son, but you forget we have control of him. We have just visited him to ensure his obedience. He will not fail." The tone was distinctly threatening.
"You know well what we can still do to him," came the second voice, very deep and cold.
"I need to know what those men did to my boy. You must tell me." Bruno's voice was tense and anxious.
"Be content, fool," came the sneering answer. "The boy is programmed to act at the appropriate time. It has nothing to do with you."
"Nothing to do with me? He's my -." Choked gasps cut Bruno short.
The scholar missed the words that followed, because all he could hear was laughter from the two men. There was the sound of a foot scuffing the ground, then a long silence before he heard Bruno speak in a shaken voice.
"I've said I'll marry the woman."
"Wise of you, "approved a still sneering voice in return. "When?"
"Choice is in three days. It'll be then."
"We shall stay until we see you have obeyed. It will please my lord that you had the sense to do what you were instructed."
The scholar heard a brief scuffle. The sounds he heard from the tent made the scholar feel suddenly quite sick when he thought of the slender blond boy so abused. Already nauseous from the beating, the scholar bent his head between his knees. When he looked up, wiping a hand across his mouth, he saw movement at the tent entrance and the two men appeared, grinning hugely. He hastily retreated backwards behind a large and prickly bush, to watch the two dark figures stroll in a leisurely way towards the main square.
The scholar faced a dilemma. Should he comfort Bruno, or pursue the two men? He sat. He abruptly forced himself to face unpalatable facts. He had to accept that he now had to act in a way he'd never done before. He felt it was a perversion of his learning and all he taught, but he knew, without doubt, that these men constituted a serious threat to Myme Chlo, nor could they be allowed to return from whence they came. He no longer had any choice of action. Thinking of that, he didn't enjoy the irony. With a weary sigh, the scholar clambered to his feet, and, at a discreet distance, trailed the men.
~~~
Choice was now only a day away. The "Canal" inn was full of people, noise and argument. There had been two knifings at this inn within the last ten days, so no one, the scholar decided, would be surprised by any more violence should the two blond men make an obliging appearance. As the inn was nearest to the common, he hoped he'd made the right choice of venue. He'd no inclination to search Ortok for two large blond men.
Groups stood about. Other folk pushed and shoved, while others cluttered tables or lounged against walls. Several men played an erratic game of darts, but continually disputed any move made by an opponent. It had the elements of farce, the scholar thought, as his eyes travelled to a small group who played multiple casta and moved drunkenly, with much mirth, from seat to seat. The innkeeper was in his element. Custom had never been so good, and the patrons, as far as he was concerned, could kick up their heels however they wanted.
Tankards were filled and emptied at regular intervals. Several burly canalmen were busily intent on drinking themselves, and anyone else they could inveigle to join them, under the table. Josh, the innkeeper, eyed them in amusement. He was a stout man with wild, grizzled grey hair and keen, discerning eyes. His stern features were softened by the lush salt and pepper beard that stood out at angles from his jowls.
Josh idly chewed on the end of his beard, his head turned to listen to a trio of bargees talk seriously among themselves and noticed they'd been joined by the scholar who smiled over at him, miming his need of a tankard. Josh obliged. The scholar moved across to him with a word of thanks and a deeper grin. Since it was summer and the fire wasn't lit, the scholar could prop himself against the mantelpiece and listen.
"It's true," one bargee was saying, wiping his mouth on his cuff.
"How can Thad know that?" argued a second bargee, stretching along the bar to a bowl full of nuts roasted in honey.
"He used to be on the merchant trains until they stopped."
"And you reckon," scoffed the first bargee, "that they stopped because of fighting down south?"
"Well," mumbled the third bargee. "They say trade has near stopped because of what's happened in Dakhilah and the lowlands south of there." The bargee hefted his tankard thoughtfully. The scholar began to look interested, but made no comment.
"Go on then," said the second bargee impatiently. "What's been going on down south?"
"Unpleasant things," murmured the first bargee, taking a very long draught. His friends studied him, their heads tilted enquiringly.
"What might they be?" asked the scholar.
"Things that make me uneasy and wanting to move north," muttered the bargee. He looked up at the scholar. "You look a learned man. Do you know anything about warriors called Churchiks?" The scholar let his face go blank before it could register both his astonishment and concern. He knew dawning horrified comprehension. He seemed to consider, then slowly shook his head.
"Can't say as I do," he replied ruminatively, a hand stroking his whiskers. The bargee looked disappointed.
"From what I hear," he argued, "there's an army of them under one leader and they've taken over the south - all the lowlands, so I hear. Do you ever get lowland wine these days?" There were disgruntled comments, but no one challenged him. "We used to get it coming up through the Dakhilah Pass, didn't we?"
"Aye," agreed the second bargee, looking hard at his companion.
"Just what are you saying, Rond?" asked the fourth bargee, holding out his tankard to Josh for a refill.
"I'm saying that the merchant trains have stopped coming, because Dakhilah's been invaded by these Churchik. That's what I heard and that's what I believe." Rond took a long swig. "Anyone hear from Dakhilah now?" Heads were shaken and looks exchanged. "Anyone in regular contact with Norsham these days?" There were more shakes of heads. Rond began mumbling to himself.
"What else do you hear, Rond?" Rond was getting very drunk.
"Just," he said thickly, "that these warriors are killers and very cruel. I won't be surprised to hear they're already through Dakhilah and headed north." He lurched against the bar and gave a hiccup.
The scholar listened to the ensuing argument with both amusement and curiosity, thinking to himself that Rond was farsighted enough to be a survivor. He hoped that was so. He leaned back casually, letting his breath out slowly while he cudgelled his brain over the name Churchik. It was so tantalisingly familiar. He was mulling over thoughts of warriors from the south, when he casually turned his head to see Josh serve a new customer.
The customer was a very large blond, with a reddish beard and the keenest, most unnervingly icy blue eyes the scholar had seen in a very long time. Sudden thoughts jostled wildly in the scholar's mind as he began to link what he'd just heard with Bruno's tormentors – they'd beaten him and terrified children. He knew clearly that he stared at a Churchik warrior. He felt a shiver catch him. That the warrior was listening to the talk was apparent from the sardonic amusement he saw
on the man's face.
"Your wish, traveller?" asked Josh, not enjoying the sneer he got.
"A tankard of your best," replied the blond man. "And one for my friend at the end of the bar, over there, see?"
He pointed to another huge man who was slouched against the bar and pulled at an even redder beard. The scholar eyed them for a moment, then turned away. He didn't wish to be recognised. He noticed how they listened to the conversation with contemptuous smiles. The scholar knew, without doubt, who the men were, but what he most wanted to know was why southern warriors should be concerned with Myme Chlo. That he simply had to discover by one means or another. Josh handed tankards to the first warrior who handed over coins and wandered along to his friend. Then both men lounged casually to the far end of the bar, beginning to converse in a genial, though guttural way, with the bargees. Josh still stared at them, a puzzled expression on his face. He heard himself addressed.
"Josh - a fine night for a drink."
Josh swung round and when he saw it was the scholar, he smiled. The scholar now lounged on the bar as negligently as the strangers. Standing upright instead of being a stooped old man, he looked his usual gaunt and amiable self, though whether the warriors would recognise him from their first very brief encounter was dubious. He was even taller, Josh noticed, than the blonds.
"Your usual again, Scholar?" he suggested, relieving the scholar of his tankard and filling it quickly. "Were you in here earlier, by the way?"
"No," replied the scholar imperturbably. "I've been meandering around stalls."
"Do you recommend anything?" asked Josh chattily, as he served another customer.
"Tarl meat cooked in oil and spices," answered the scholar. "Two blocks from here on your left, the fourth booth past the jugglers." Josh laughed, then nodded towards the strangers.
"Ever seen the likes of them before?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
"No, I can't say I have," was the response. "They're certainly not northmen with those blond heads."
"Or east or west," murmured Josh, clearly uneasy. "I wonder who or what they are?"
"I wouldn't query that if I were you," advised the scholar, drinking deeply.
"Know something I don't, Scholar?"
"No," replied the scholar, with a grin. "They just look rather large and very fierce to me."
"Me and all," agreed Josh, lapsing into thoughtful silence.
"Think I'll take a seat over at that far table by the door, Josh. Could you just give this a top?"
As Josh obliged, the scholar looked over at the two men meditatively, then he took his tankard and quietly withdrew from the bar. He sat at some distance from the warriors. He watched and listened for some time. His tankard remained half-full, even as he watched both the bargees and the warriors steadily refill their tankards at regular and frequent intervals. As the evening became well advanced, it was obvious the bargees weren't holding their drink well. The warriors' eyes glittered. That was the only indication they'd been imbibing heavily; it was apparent they were accustomed to easily holding alcohol. And the scholar quietly waited.
His patience was rewarded when, a few hours later, a fracas broke out between the bargees and the warriors. A serving girl, no more than a child, was caught in the arms of one of the southerners who handled her very roughly. The girl was scared. She tried unsuccessfully to push the man's hand away, but he just laughed and deliberately fondled her, then, when held helpless, she began to cry. This instantly provoked the bargees.
The scholar decided it was the ideal moment to do something constructive. When two of the bargees began to take swings at the warriors, the serving girl was rudely flung halfway across the room and fell whimpering to her knees before she had the presence of mind to crawl to safety. While the two warriors were preoccupied and off-guard, the scholar knew he had to act. They wouldn't expect a mental adjustment in a city inn in Ortok.
The scholar projected different thoughts into each warrior mind simultaneously and with considerable power. The first warrior, whom the scholar now knew was named Erek, swung round to face his friend, Amus. Erek abruptly released a bargee he held in a headlock and brushed aside the other bargees as if they were insects. He advanced upon Amus who'd tossed his flagon to the floor and already advanced on him. This was a delicate moment. The scholar wanted no interruptions. Loath as he was to tamper with minds, nonetheless, he sent a peremptory and direct mental command to each of the bargees to back away. Looking bewildered, they did.
This left two powerful men confronting each other. Each suddenly, if oddly, believed the other had claims on the serving girl and each was uncompromisingly determined to fight for what he considered should be his. As he watched a knife drawn from each warrior sleeve, the scholar realised he couldn't have chosen a better scenario. The knives were long and thin. They were wickedly sharp, with beautifully carved hilts. The onlookers drew in sharp breaths. No one admired the hilts, because their eyes were fixed on each man waving a knife at the other with deadly intent.
The warriors circled each other. The other drinkers and revellers backed to give them room. Erek kicked out at a chair that crashed into the bar and promptly splintered. Flagons and tankards were dropped as some patrons left the inn in haste. The scholar, watching the warriors closely, saw the menace in each man and realised how terrifyingly formidable an army of such men would be. Pushing that unwelcome thought to one side, he concentrated on sustaining his mental projections. Josh looked as if he would intervene but a quick glance at the scholar made him change his mind and he turned instead to the serving girl, helping her get behind the bar.
The crouching, then the springing to fence with one another, went on between the warriors for a long time, one never managing to touch the other. First one would stab and then the other. It was a question of whose concentration showed a chink first, because they were evenly matched. The scholar could only admire the discipline and stamina of them both. When the scholar's projection briefly wavered, recognition flickered in Erek's eyes.
He faltered back a step, fleetingly recognised Amus, and instantly put up a hand to ward off his friend. His lips framed words of warning and alarm. His knife hand dropped to his side. With the scholar's control still firmly in place in his mind, Amus was too intent on what he was doing to notice. As Erek hesitated, Amus lunged, his knife plunging straight into Erek's heart. Yanking the knife out viciously, Amus held it above his head, a smile curling his mouth. Erek's head reared up. His eyes darkened with shock, disbelief and rage.
"Come with me," he gasped, through clenched teeth.
As Erek fell, he struck upwards with his knife catching Amus who now exultantly bent over him. His thrust went home. As Amus locked eyes with Erek, the scholar snapped his mind connection with them both. Amus went to his knees. He held his ribcage and breathed raggedly. Erek's lips were blue. He lay partly on his side and he could scarcely speak, choking as he tried to say something to Amus.
"Someone," he managed, on a gasp," - power. Who is it?"
Amus was white-lipped and ready to fall. Looking up through blurred eyes, he saw the scholar stare intently at him from the other side of the room. Amus' pain-filled eyes showed incredulity. His face contorted, his knees buckled and as he slumped to the floor there was a fresh welling of blood between his fingers. At that moment, he realised the seriousness of his wound. His grimace of pain froze. He crawled to be alongside Erek.
"Erek," he whispered. He pulled at his friend's arm. The arm fell limply. "For the love and respect of your father, speak to me." Amus' breathing became more ragged. He turned his head towards the bargees.
"You -." His voice was breathless. "Drink!" He bent his head.
It was the scholar who broke the frozen tableau. He strode forward unconcernedly, saying coolly, "Lamentable, absolutely lamentable. Josh, some wine and some cloths. Go you," he added gently to the serving girl who stared down at the two warriors, her hand over her mouth. "Get yourself something to drink, child."
/> The bargees talked and gesticulated wildly, every so often turning to look down at Erek's body. The warrior's eyes were wide and stared with a malevolence that was frightening. His hands were tightly clenched. Amus was still draped over his friend, his head hanging with the blond curls stuck damply to his forehead, his hands still clasped round the knife stuck in his ribs. The scholar could see the man's lips move as he muttered to himself. The scholar knelt beside him. He lifted the limply hanging head.
The warrior's pale blue eyes met the scholar's, a look that held for a long minute even though the warrior struggled weakly to break the contact by trying to lower his head. He gave a weak cry and a defiant shake of his head before pulling free of the scholar's hand. He crouched, panting with effort. His eyes again unwillingly meeting the scholar's, he let the man raise a goblet to his mouth but swallowed with difficulty because blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. The scholar spoke to him so softly the warrior had to tilt his head to hear.
"It's too late. I've absorbed all I wish to know." Wrenching the knife round in his ribcage, Amus gave the scholar a venomous look.
"Damn you," he whispered faintly, then again more strongly, "Damn you." With a sharp cry, he wrenched the knife again. He fell across the scholar's feet.
"Messy," announced the scholar. "Will someone take over here?" The inn buzzed with speculation and comment, not a few people crossing themselves surreptitiously. The scholar, finding Josh standing next to him, looked down enquiringly. "I did warn you to keep away, didn't I?" The scholar's voice sounded faintly amused.
"Well, yes," concurred Josh, eying the scholar speculatively. "But this! Just look at them! What on Ambros came over them to make them turn on each other?"
"Jealousy, I suppose," suggested the scholar. He took his pipe from a pocket. "That shows the power of a girl over young men."
"If that's your story, Scholar, I'll follow it," Josh said quietly, still staring up at the scholar, respect deep in his eyes.