OUTLANDER

 

“Beldan you blundering fool, you track him down after this many moons. Ambush him with a score of my best fighters, and yet he not only lives, but still has it to boot. So what am I supposed to tell that perfumed fool in Pelia now? This has cost me too much time and now too many men’s lives as well, with nothing to show for it.” The rather lanky, heavily tattooed Lagdian rebel leader screamed at his second in command. His name is Fargyn and he is cousin to the ruler of Lagdian, a position he wants more than life itself. “I want that reward Beldan, we need that gold. I have a war to fund if I am going to overthrow that idiot of a cousin of mine sitting on the Ivory Throne.”

“I understand that, my Lord, and I will get him, this I swear. He was not alone, as I told you. Marden soldiers traveled with him. I saw him with his satchel before they went to sleep that night. But you know well, what the Damna of Pelia told us of his cunning. I am sure it was he who felt our presence and led their counter attack.” Beldan assures his Lord and commander. “Besides as I said they burned all our fallen comrades’ bodies, so there is no evidence of it being anything more than an attack for booty to the Thane of Marden.”

“If you had just gotten that satchel at least, then we could appease that fool in Pelia.” Fargyn says.

” I will return there soon my lord; my men still watch all the roads out of Throgmarden until my return. That city is too large and well guarded for us to sneak in, get the satchel and kill him in one night.” Beldan promises.

                                                                    *****

“I agree with you Ruthor, it is very odd that Lagdian rebels would be in our forests where the Arn flows down from the Wall of Glass. Could be that they were deserters looking for booty, I suppose. That Rebel in Lagdian is not fairing too well in his war with his cousin right now. Loyalty is not a trait of traitors anywhere.” Lord Daka says to Ruthor after his report.

“I am of the same mind, my lord. What do you make of the rest of what I have told you?” Ruthor asks.

“Curious mainly, after all, his life was in as much danger as the rest of you. How is the archer healing since your return?” The Keeper of the Gate asks.

“Very well, the healers say he will recover fully. They also have said the outlander did a fine job of mending him with the herbs he used.” Ruthor answers.

“Well for that we do owe him our thanks; Cran is one of our finest archers.” Daka says.

“We have thanked him, my lord, I assure you. He has an odd combination of skills; a fine fighter with a dirk, knowledge of healing arts and ears like a long tooth of the Fire Mountains.” The man at arms says.

“Odd yes, I don’t trust odd myself. Thank you for the completeness of your report Ruthor. I have other business to attend to right now.” Daka says dismissing Ruthor.

“Thank you Lord Daka.” Ruthor says and turns to leave the Keeper of the Gates chambers.

As Ruthor is making his way down the streets of Throgmarden to check on his friend Cran, Dax has just finished bathing himself in the larder. A few minutes later he picks up his satchel from the hook on the wall near his bed and carries it into the main room where he sits on one of the chairs near the fireplace.

Once seated in a comfortable position, Dax opens the bag and pulls out a small metallic effigy of a dragon suspended on a leather tong. Dangling it from his fingers the flattened hammered metal ore spins slowly a quarter turn around then coming to a stop and hanging still in the unmoving air. As it hangs motionless Dax concentrates on its form and direction.

While he continues his observance a light rap comes from the door to his rooms. When he rises and opens the door Mejara is standing there, but upon seeing Dax only half clothed and the objects head now protruding out of his fingers, her eyes go opaque and she starts to lose her balance on her feet. Dax catches the woman in his arms and hoists her up before she falls to the stone street. Dax then walks to the apartments of the mage across the street and kicks at the door’s bottom.

Ceric comes to the door momentarily, opens it and has a look of surprise at Dax holding his sister cradled in his arms.

“She fainted as I opened my door just moments ago.” Dax says to the mage.

“Do you often have this effect on women? Bring her in and you can lay her on her bed until she recovers.” Ceric says and then turns to lead Dax to his sister’s room.

Once they have her prone on her bed and Ceric has loosened some of her clothes bindings, the two men move back to the main room of the house. Dax then tells the Mage of him opening his door with Mejara standing outside and her almost immediate collapse.

“Maybe it was my being uncovered from the waist up, or the sight of my tattoos.” Dax offers in comment.

“No, that would not do it; she has helped me many times, seeing men in much less. Are you sure there was nothing else said or for her to see that could have startled her?” Ceric asks him.

“Nothing to do that, the only thing I was holding was this.” Dax says as he shows Ceric the small fetish in his hand.

“Ah, that is it; it is shaped like a dragon.” Ceric says.

“Yes it is but why would that scare her?” Dax asks.

“A long story my young outlander. Do not worry she will come around soon. She has a deathly fear of dragons in any form. You could not have known.” Ceric relates.

“But there have not been any Dragons in thousands of years. Not even the annals of the ancient’s talk of live dragons farther back than collective memory.” Dax says.

“Do not be so sure man of the outland. Hundreds maybe, and I doubt you have read all of the annals.” Ceric chides Dax. “Besides she is afraid of their image, not the real thing.”

“Oh I see, it was some great painful event then or stories that have scared her greatly.” Dax infers.

“An event, actually the one that made her a mute, but we can talk about that at another time. Where may I ask did you come by that anyway, it looks to be of Tripolia origin?” Ceric asks.

“It was a gift quite some time ago and it did come from Ederwess in Tripolia.” Dax answers calmly.

“It was images of dragons carved on the bows of ships and tattooed on men’s arms that Mejara saw and remembers that triggered her to faint. She remembers them from the day she became a mute.” Ceric tells Dax. “Now let us talk some of your trip. I hear it was rather eventful itself.”

Only in that we were attacked by Lagdian rebels, who gave up the fight as soon as they saw we were not easy to rob and kill.” Dax says matter-of -factly.

“Are you so sure that there was no other purpose; rebels are thought to be untrustworthy, but I think like any other fervent faction, rarely attack without purpose.” Ceric tells him factually.

“I would tend to agree, but what purpose here in Marden when their rebellion is in Lagdian. Unless it is they are deserters from that uprising and merely outlawing now in more prosperous surroundings.” Dax concludes.

“But what surroundings are more attractive to thieves, than one where ones actions would be mistaken for the actions of one of the factions already in conflict?” Ceric ponders the thought farther.

“Possible I suppose, but then why attack the party I was with?” Dax asks him.

“Some order given to gain someone or something maybe. Or it could possibly be an act of revenge to balance some infraction of trust or security? There are other possible reasons.” Ceric says.

“Mage, I think you see intrigue where there is no reason for it to be. But I suppose anything is possible.” Dax answers.

“All things are possible, Dax of the outland, where men are concerned.” Ceric counters solemnly.

                                                             ****

Beldan had crossed the Eagles Plateau: he did not like the Eigle; he thought them idle, lazy and far too rich. He had passed the Wall of Glass alongside the opposite bank of the Arn River, which left him in awe of its sheer unclimbable height. Now he was back in Marden and stealthily making his way through the forests bordering this side of the Arn. He was within sight of where one of his men was supposed to be: watching the road that bordered the Arn.

“Whiss-tit-whiss” He whistled and then waited for a return call. But only silence answered him after several moments. So he moved through the forest another half league down the rivers length and sounded the call again, this time he was answered.

“Whiss-tit-whiss” His comrade answered back. After a few more moments of quiet, except for one listening intently for the slightest movements his man was standing beside him.

“Beldan, you have been gone a long time.” The man said.

“It was necessary I am afraid. Lord Fargyn was not happy to say the least. What have you to report?” Beldan asked.

“We have not seen him leave the city since we got here. Mogn was able to slip into the city a few nights ago, with the hood of his cloak up covering his head. Since he has no tattoos on his face we took the risk. Unfortunately he did not find out where the man lives, only that a party of soldiers had returned after being attacked by Lagdian rebels.” Wilan reported.

“You are very lucky that he was not discovered fool. I told you only to watch the roads.” Beldan scolds Wilan.

“I have always been lucky and you were gone longer than I thought you would be. So I took some action myself rather than just sit here until one of us gets caught.” Wilan answered slightly angry with the harsh tone his friend had just used.

“I understand my friend, but a lot rides on us completing the mission Lord Fargyn sent us on.” Beldan apologizes.

“Alright, so what do we do now?” Wilan asks.

“Continue to watch. I have no Tattoos on my face either, so tomorrow I will go into the city. I am older and with more wit than Mogn, I will leave my weapons here with you. I will kill some long ears or nut eaters and try to sell them at a market or vendor as a premise for being there.” Beldan tells him, then walks off to find the game he will need for his plan.

                                                                 ****

 “Pollocan, you ageless conniving maji, why is it you cannot tell me that which I need to hear right now. Have those feeble powers of yours finally left you completely.” Damna the Great practically rants at his Mage.

“Most high Damna, I have consulted the stars and sent word to that worthless dog; Fargyn in Lagdian without result. I will continue to do all I can to get the answers you need.” The ancient and wrinkled mage answers his sovereign.

“I don’t want promises and excuses old man, I want answers and results.” Damna continues.

“My son, Pollocan is doing all that any mage could, patience please.” Jamin Jaise beseeches her son.

“Most beloved Mother, do not interfere in this council. You are here due to my much endearing love for you, not as my councilor. My father allowed that of you, but I am not my father and one reason none of my wives are Queen.” Damna says to her in less than conciliatory tones.

 “Yes my son, I know that, I just offer my words as a calming influence to those things that are disturbing to you where all is being done that can.” Jamin answers.

“Not all is being done until I have it or him, only either of those suffices. Now, all of you leave me before I do something none of you will like.” Damna the Great shouts to all.

                                                                    ****

“Dax since it seems you have traveled most of your life. I have brought you here with me to look at this chart and give me your opinion of it.” Ceric says to the outlander.

“Of course Greyhair, I am more than glad to do that. I do not know what help I can be in just looking at a chart, but I will if that is your wish.” Dax answers.

After quite a while of perusing the rather immense map and mulling over all the symbols being used on it Dax stood back straightened in his stance.

“What do you think man of the outland?” Ceric asked.

“It is as good, maybe even better than most I have seen before. But like most it is not exactly accurate in those areas where the information is sketchy or unknown to the maker.” Dax replies to the mage.

“Such as where may I inquire?” Ceric asks of Dax.

“Here in The Waste for example. Your map maker shows the walking dunes and covers enough area to depict the extent in which they change with time, but he shows the rest of that vast desert the same.” Dax says.

“Of course, isn’t it?” Ceric replies with more intense curiosity.

“Not at all, in fact, but that is not known to many in reality. Most men know of the roads between Pelia and Jav and then on to Roden bordering the Windless Sea coast. They are also familiar in one way or the other with the road from Pelia to Sandar following the Arna River and then up to Arg and along the Fire River through the Crystal hills to Cabet itself around Lake Crystal and down the Fall River into Roden.” Dax starts relating to Ceric and continues. “However most have not consulted much with those Sandwalkers with their hump backed beasts who traverse the interior of the Waste itself. If they had they would understand the legend of “walk only on the sand or perish.”

“I have heard this proverb before, but thought it just a tribal myth to scare their young from the roads and people other than themselves.” Ceric answers.

“Most people erroneously think that.” Dax says. “In truth there is a vast area covering the center of the Waste that the Sandwalkers call The Dry Sea of Lost Souls and none will go there, because they say no man who has ventured there has ever returned or been seen again. Even Damna the Great would kill to know more of this area.”

“So where and how large is this Dry Sea of Lost Souls and why does it not show up on any maps.” Ceric asks.

“For a Sandwalker to speak of it outside of their tribe is taboo and most map makers are unaware or at least ignorant of its exact locality and extent.” Dax answers Ceric. “Also due to the nature of the desert its borders alter at times with the movement of the sand at its border. There is no sand in the Dry Sea, only cracked parched earth. If you traveled around its border you would find it to be more than a hundred leagues across”

“So can you show me on the map its approximate area and location?” Ceric asks him while pointing at that part of the map.

“Of course, it is about here and covers most of all this.” Dax shows the mage by outlining a large area in the approximate center of the Waste. Ceric uses a quill to etch a line where Dax directs.

“Is there anything else apparent to you?” Ceric asks again.

“The same applies to the area where the Stinking Waters and Trees of Dark meet in the Mystic Province. To my knowledge, no man knows exactly where they meet either since no one has ever made it across one of them to come out on the other side alive.” Dax ponders out loud. “Then there is the Fire Mountains, your mapmaker shows them as all varying peaks throughout, but I can tell you that there are a few hidden valleys high up.”

“Alright, I can just make that comment to the mapmaker. Can you think of anything more?” He requests.

“Not of any great consequence. But if I wanted a map to be the best known to anyone, I think I would put on it every small village or grouping of peoples, not just the major towns and cities.” Dax says in finality.

“Well, I too have had that thought, but most of the Lords don’t seem to care about much more than those towns with family seats unfortunately.” Ceric states almost with regret.

“One day that could prove to be a mistake.” Dax uttered as if almost a thought to himself rather than a statement.

A few days later Dax was exercising with Ruthor and Vlad at the accommodations they shared with other soldiers. The three men along with Cran and Ofid had become friendly, in terms of shared experiences. Cran and Ofid were patrolling a watch somewhere in the city.

“You are Dax of the outland, are you not?” A sergeant at arms asked after approaching the three men.

“That I am, sergeant.” Dax replied.

“I was ordered to find you and bring you to the dungeons. Lord Daka and High Councilor Ceric have a man there, they wish you to see. I can wait until you are cleaned up and ready if you wish?” The soldier tells him in a respectful tone.

“That sounds like a fine idea since I smell like a wet mongrel dog.” Dax answers as his companions’ chuckle under their breaths.

A short time later, after Dax with the sergeant, had walked to Dax’s quarters and he rinsed the sweat from his body and changed into his other garments. Then the two men headed in the direction of the Throgmarden dungeons. Once there they descended to the chamber where; Lord Daka, Ceric and the jailer Dax recognized, from his own time there, were standing in front of a man who was chained to the wall. The man had obviously been at least beaten, if not more and was since he was soaked in his own blood and sweat. It was also apparent to Dax that the man was another Lagdian rebel from the tattoos on his body.

“Ah Dax, you are here.” Ceric said as he and the Keeper of the Gate turned to see him with the Sergeant approach them.

“Well Outlander, I am glad you finally decided to join us. I would like to hear your thoughts on why we find another Lagdian traitor in our realm. This one, inside our city attempting to act like a simple hunter, selling his misbegotten bounty.” Lord Daka tells him. “We have questioned him for three days and he still will do nothing but bleed and sweat.”

“I would have no true idea Lord Daka, I assure you. I have never heard of any objective of the Lagdian rebels, other than overthrowing Amish Magdar and his rule there.” Dax answers.

“I did not actually think you would Dax. But since we have never encountered any here in Marden, until after you came, even I hoped you might be able to shed some insight into possible reasons.” Ceric says.

“I for one am still not so sure you would tell us, if you knew.” Lord Daka adds before Dax can answer.

“Lord Daka I have nothing to hide and I will tell you what I know, but of this man or his confederates I know only what I have heard. Which is probably nothing more than and maybe less than, you have already heard yourself.” Dax replies.

“Humph!” Is the only sound Lord Daka utters, as he turns his attention back to the chained man.

“Dax, could you see if he will talk to you at least?” Ceric asks.

“I will if you wish Greyhair?” Dax replied to the mage. Then he walked around the three men and stood within arm’s length of the prisoner. As he stood there the man’s eyes opened briefly and partially for a moment, but in that moment Dax saw recognition, recognition which surprised him. “You appear to know me Lagdian; I saw it in your eyes. Who pray tell are you and what am I to you?”

No answer came from the man, even after Dax asked it two more times. Then the jailer, who was listening just as closely as Ceric and Lord Daka, took a step closer and prodded the prisoner with a spear just enough to elicit a spasm from pain.

“I do not think that tactic will work with this one oaf. It is apparent you have been trying that for a while without success already.” Dax said with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

“So what method would you use Outlander dog?” The jailer spat back at Dax.

“Quiet you cur, he is right. Do you have any better ideas man of the outland?” Lord Daka asked Dax.

“None you would agree to Lord Daka.” Dax replied harshly.

“What do you mean Dax, do you have an idea?” Ceric interjected.

“Yes Outlander, I would like to at least hear this idea, which you are so sure I will not agree to.” Lord Daka adds.

“For some reason this man seems to recognize me, but he will not talk to any of you regardless of how much pain you inflict upon him. So I wonder if he will tell me anything, maybe if he and I were alone for a short time.” Dax says to all three of them.

Lord Daka bursts into laughter immediately and finally stammers in between laughs. “And of course you will tell us everything he tells you.”

“Would you Dax, would you tell us what he says, everything he tells you?” Ceric interrupts before Dax can speak.

“I have nothing to hide Ceric, at least nothing I can think of. But then I could have said nothing here at all.” Dax says in return.

“True enough Dax, true enough.” Ceric says.

“Let us just leave for now, another day or two and either the jailer will break him or I will have him killed.” Lord Daka says, then turns and motions all of them toward the cell door.

Once they have all left the cell, the jailer turns the key in the lock and starts toward his area farther in the dungeons. Then when the other four men are outside; Daka and the sergeant head in the direction of his official chambers, while Ceric walks along with Dax in the direction of their living quarters. As they get close to their destination and out of hearing distance of anyone Ceric slows to talk.

“As the moon reaches its zenith tonight the jailer will change and the one who let me in secretly to talk to you will be on duty.” Ceric says.

“And you think he might allow me in to see that man without Daka knowing about it. Why would you want that Greyhair?” Dax asks.

“Sometimes knowledge of the unknown is worth the risks of political intrigue. Sometimes we must play at deception to uncover hidden agendas. Sometimes we just have to trust.” Ceric replies back.

“Sometimes risk means death and trust can backfire on you with dire consequences.” Dax answers back.

“Sometimes, Dax of the outland, sometimes.” Is all Ceric says before leaving Dax at the door to his own living quarters.

That night Dax eats late in his larder then leans in the doorframe watching the sky until the moon has reached its full height. Then he closes his door and walks through the deserted streets to heavy oaken door that will take him to the city’s dungeons. He waits patiently after a knock on the wooden door with its heavy metal hoop. After quite a while he hears the barred eye space move and a lantern shows from within to illuminate who is outside.

“I recognize you; you are the outlander that the Mage visited here not so very long ago. What do you want at this hour?” The man says sternly.

“I would talk to the prisoner from Lagdian. That same mage you know and I think he might talk with me if no other knew of it.” Dax replies quietly even though no one is about near this small alleyway.

“I have heard the same from him earlier today, he was not sure you would come tonight, but said he was sure you would come. Come inside and be quick if you want no other to know.” This jailer said in all earnest.

After plodding their way down stairs and along many corridors, only lit by the jailer’s torch, they come to the door to the cell. The jailer turns the key in the lock and opens the door, allowing Dax to enter.

“I will lock the door behind you, but will just be outside when you are done.” He says.

“Is there any water to be had nearby? Just a small amount may go a long way in the loosening of his tongue.” Dax asks the man.

“Wait here; I will bring you a small flagon. Be sure to bring it out when you are done, none can know you were here.” The man says.

When the jailer returns with the water and gives it to Dax, Dax goes inside just before the man closes the door behind him. He hears the key go into the lock, but the jailer just stands outside at the ready instead of turning the key.

Dax walks across the small cell with the torch given to him and sees that the man’s eyes are slightly open and watching him intently.

“I am alone Lagdian and have brought a small amount of water. Will you talk if I help you to drink it?” Dax asks.

At first there is no answer and Dax understands this, he would be the same.

“If you are not going to answer, I will leave; I will not waste my time on you beyond this night.” He says.

Still no answer comes, only silence permeates the space between them. After a few moments Dax turns to leave.

“No beating me, no torture? You are weak, man out of place here.” The prisoner says in raspy breaths.

“Not weak rebel, but you would not talk from many beatings I know that; neither would I. Do you wish to drink of this water or not?” Dax says flatly.

“Yes I will drink, but I will not say anything amiss for it. I know talking will not save my life here in this place.” He says.

“Nor can I probably, I will not promise what I cannot in truth grant.” Dax tells him in all honesty. “You do not sound as if your capture and torture is without some just nature.”

“That would depend on ones point of view I guess. But I am not here in any misdemeanor to this realm.” The man says. “But none here are going to believe that regardless of what I say, I am a rebel, even if not to this king, then another that I do not deny.”

Dax steps closer; places the flagon of water to the man’s lips and squeezes lightly as the Lagdian rebel gobbles down every drop not running out of the corners of his mouth.

“I owe you at least my thanks for that.” The man says after a gasp of air.

“You owe me nothing. But if you say the truth and you are not here for mischief against this Thane, and I would not believe you a deserter. A deserter would have talked to save himself. Then what are you here for?” Dax asks in sincerity.

“You, Dax of the outland as I here you called, you and what you have.” The man almost spits back at Dax.

“Me Lagdian, I have nothing belonging to any other, nothing of great worth and I know not your leader Fargyn or his cousin King Amish Magdar.” Dax replies quizzically.

“You, we missed you in the forest when you had soldiers with you and I am caught trying to watch you until you leave this wretched place.” The man hisses back.

“But for what purpose rebel?” Dax asks.