blight moved so fearlessly, only one possible agency could be responsible… but she had to be sure before she reported back to the Circle. That was a conversation she did not relish. She had stayed away far too longand the longer she stayed away, the more difficult it had become each day to set her feet back toward her fellows. After all, she had been pursuing her mission, however delayed it had become.
“The trees are yours to guard?” asked Gunggari, who walked beside her on the road to Two Stars.
“Not quite,” responded Elowen. “Nentyar hunters, such as myself, are. few. We don’t patrol specific areas. Rather, we are free to wander widely, trusting our own judgment, but yes, we confront all who seek to harm the forest.”
Gunggari fell quiet, apparently satisfied.
The southlander was a puzzle to Elowen, but an interesting puzzle. She’d never seen anybody like him. A human, to be sure, but one with customs unlike she’d ever come upon before then. He intrigued her. She hoped they would accompany her back to the Mucklestones. Her friend Briartan would love to meet someone from so far abroad.
“What about you?” Elowen asked the tattooed soldier. “What is the significance of all those marks on your body? They seem too exquisite to be mere decoration.”
Gunggari considered a moment, then said, “In Osse, in the land where my mother bore me, these tattoos speak of my strength, skill, and dedication to alcheringa.”
Elowen looked at Gunggari, waiting for him to continue.
“Alcheringa is the philosophy of my people. I walk that path. These marks on my body are totems, each telling of an ancestral hero of my people. I call on them for aid when I am in need. That is alcheringa”.
“Who’s this one?” Elowen impudently pointed at a vaguely human tattoo on Gunggari’s chest. “He’s got a warclub like yours.”
“Tumbarum. He is the spirit of music. He plays the dizheri. Like so.”
Gunggari hefted his hollow war club, upon which were painted elaborate designs in bright colors, and began to blow through one end. A sound, as of thunder, or a rushing river, reverberated through the air. Startled, a nearby flock of birds gave flight. The sound was unlike anything she had ever heard. Gunggari continued to blow. The thought occurred to her that it was music of a sort the elves had never mastered, something she could scarcely credit. His warclub was a musical instrument. Truly a marvel.
After a time, Gunggari finished. Elowen said, “You are a master musician, Gunggari. Among my people, you would be accorded much honor for that alone.”
The Oslander stowed his instrument and nodded, taking her at her word, without humility or arrogance. Gunggari was simply a man who knew his worth.
He said, “You have made my friend Marrec very happy, appearing when you did, saving the child. He has long sought that child; you have made a friend of him and me.” So saying, Gunggari clapped her on the shoulder.
Such familiarity between herself and strangers was uncommon, and normally she would resent such contact, but she was surprised to find that, coming from the strange man from the south with his strange customs, she didn’t mind.
A pony named Henri was procured for Ash in the village of Culdorn that evening. The group had covered just fifteen miles, but they did reach the great trade road, the Golden Way. They put up that night in the Culdorn Inn. Ash was completely taken with Henri; she was far more interested in the little horse than with her companions. The girl tried to sleep with the pony in the stable instead of the room they arranged for her and Elowen to share. That was, by far, the most emotion the child had yet generated for anything, and Marrec was pleased. Perhaps the mount would prove a bridge by which Ash could be reached.
The next day the four traveled swiftly down the Golden Way. Henri was amenable to the pace set. Elowen and Gunggari were used to traveling light and quickly, but Marrec, too, could move fast when necessary. Before the sun dipped down on their flank, sending their shadows ahead like dusky fingers, they covered a full thirty miles. Elowen indicated they had only a half day’s travel to look forward to the next day.
They made camp alongside the road that night. Elowen got a fire going with Gunggari’s aid in scavenging suitable brush and dead branches. Tiny sparks drifted up from the fire, blending with the stars above. Gunggari told a story drawn from the mythology of his people, as he sometimes did, but only with much cajoling from Marrec. That night, he launched into the telling on his own initiative. It was a story about rain.
CHAPTER 6
Rain woke Marrec in the gray light of dawn. Clouds scrolled across the sky, brushing water in great grey arcs across the soggy landscape. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the water from his hair, then stood to check on Ash. They’d rigged a simple lean-to for the girl, which had kept out most of the rain. She still slept under its protection, curled up in her blanket. Henri stood protectively nearby, his coat damp and curled. Marrec could smell the beast’s damp furdistinctive, but not unpleasant.
Elowen and Gunggari were up, too, striking camp. Despite the gloom rain normally evoked in Marrec, he was excited to be up and on his way. Two Stars was close.
The countryside was as pleasant an example of Faerun countryside as Marrec had ever seen. Perhaps it was the rain, but the pastures had a radiant greenness, like stained-glass windows. There were a few tall pine trees, and larger, uncut copses, that served as reminders that once a much greater forest existed thereabout. In places, cream-colored stone was visible rising out of the soil. The forest had given way to crops and pastures.
Later, the rain dried up, though the countryside remained clammy and misty. Elowen was good at her word, and before noon they spied the gates of Two Stars. The Golden Way passed into the city, then along the great curve of the city’s inner wall. It appeared as if much of the road within the city was a great trade bazaar. Within the gates he spied many buildings, some temples, and one large castle. At one point, the Golden Way appeared to veer away from the city wall and actually pass through the gates of the castle and out the other side. Within the gates of the castle, the trade route bisected another large road. Marrec thought that it might be the Cold Road, if his memory of maps he had studied was accurate.
“Who holds the castle?” asked Gunggari.
Elowen answered, “That’s Gallidy Castle. Lady Yolatir Gallidy is the latest to govern Two Stars. She’s not especially heavy handed, and lets the trade flow pretty much unhindered. As you can guess, she’s a favorite of the guilds.”
“Two Stars. That’s a nice name,” said Marrec, as they continued to move toward the city.
“I believe it is named for the stars of the east and west that ‘meet’ in the heavens overhead. A good omen for trade, they say.”
Marrec nodded, and they headed into town. The influx of those entering Two Stars was checked by toll collectors. Apparently their lack of a trade wagon made the group exempt from tax, and they were waved through.
“Let’s go see your friend straightaway,” said Marrec. “We can find an inn later.”
Elowen nodded and started down the Golden Way.
It was bustling with carts, temporary and permanent storefronts, and the conversation of what seemed like thousands of people buying and selling all manner of things. The assortment of people was no less strange. Marrec guessed that he saw at least thirty different races, including a few gnolls, giants, and ores in fine cloth, which was a racial mixture he rarely if ever encountered in the west.
The amount of space given over to trade was really quite impressive. The larger side avenues were lined with tents of jugglers, puppeteers, dancing girls, hammer-throwers, fire-swallowers, and hedge wizards of every stripe. But along the main trade road was where the real merchandise could be found. There were tables, stalls, and the cleverly fashioned unfolding wagons of merchants who’d lugged their goods from all corners of Faeriin. Cattle, food, timber, iron, oysters, wool, gem-stones, parchment and inks, glass, weaponry, charms of real power, and a host of additional items too many to take note of were bought and sold. The constant scream of conversation in dozens of languages, but mostly variously accented Common, was almost oppressive.
The crowds made their walk a slow one, as they did their best to ignore the cries and promises of the
