Chapter-2-1
——— I ———
The white, rolling sands stretched toward the horizon in every direction. The waste seemed endless, a wilderness as vast and featureless as the ocean, until a small shape appeared—a yellow-white blur looking much like a mirage in the distance. It was like a dollop of cream that had been scooped from some hidden saucer and laid upon the sand. But slowly the creamy blur began to sway and grow, and as it grew, it grew more threatening, taking on the form of a towering cloud that prowled like a hulking creature across the cowering land, its tail growing long behind it.
“Not good,” muttered the traveler under his breath. He had been watching the thing unblinking for a short while, and now he raised his hand before his eyes as if to shield himself from the reality of what he was seeing. “A sandstorm. I only hope it will change course, or else…”
He shook his head—a head that was not human, but covered in spotted fur, split by a broad maw full of sharp bright teeth, and set with two tufted ears that lay flat against the fur. The traveler was Guin, the leopard warrior, and he was not pleased.
The trackless waste before him was scored by thousands of rifts and rises in the sand. He clutched the reins of his horse. Over his customary loincloth he had worn a thick leather cloak, and in his saddlebags were packed a quantity of foodstuffs and several skins of water, sufficient stores for a long journey. He had brushed off the concerns and accusations of the Sem and spurned the wishes of Rinda, Remus and the young warrior Siba to join him and had galloped off alone into the depths of inner Nospherus.
His leave-taking had not been easy.
“The Sem will lose. If we sit here, all we have to look forward to is eventual defeat and slaughter at the hands of the Mongauli. But, I have a plan,” he had announced with confidence. Yet when he revealed his designs to the gathered Sem, shouts of disbelief, suspicion, and even anger rang through the camp.
“The Lagon? He cannot be serious!”
“Alphetto! The Lagon?”
“Has Riyaad gone mad?”
All the warriors in the camp came to see what the commotion was, and as the word of what Guin had said passed from mouth to mouth, more shrieks of shock and worry rose from the crowd.
“Guin, Guin! What’s going on?”
“Guin!”
Rinda and Remus ran up to the leopard-man and tugged at his arms. They still did not know enough of the Sem tongue to understand what he had said, but the reaction of the Sem made the import of his announcement clear.
“Please, Guin, tell us! What did you say to scare them so? We have a right to know too!” Rinda squeezed Guin’s massive hand tightly with her own slender one and stared into his emotionless yellow eyes.
“I told them something they should have already realized. If we continue our current strategy, the Sem position will soon be compromised, and we will lose. That is why I must go to gather reinforcements. I’ve told them to wait for my return.”
“Reinforcements?” Remus exclaimed. “Where will you find those?”
“Ah!” Rinda put her hand to her mouth to stifle a shocked cry. Suddenly, she understood what it was that the Sem had been clamoring about. “Guin! You don’t truly mean to go to—to them, do you? The Lagon? You would make allies of the Lagon to fight against the Mongauli?”
“Precisely.”
Of all the bizarre plants and creatures—and things in-between, like the yidoh—that chose the terror-filled wilds of Nospherus as their home, only two bore any resemblance to humankind: the diminutive Sem and the mysterious Lagon. To the civilized peoples of the Middle Country, the Lagon were even more fearsome than the primitive, monkey-like Sem. It was said they were as giant as the Sem were small, standing far taller than most men, and that they were wild and violent, a fierce, sub-human race. Yet in truth there were few human folk even in the oldest stories who had ever met with the elusive creatures; little indeed was known about the giants of Nospherus.
The Sem at least were familiar to the Gohrans and other homesteaders who dwelt near the Kes. Certain of the Sem tribes frequently left their villages in the hilly area in the northeast of Nospherus and crossed the black river, skirmishing with the Marches patrol and raiding the villages on the western banks. Nor was it uncommon for the Marches patrol to foray briefly across the Kes on punitive expeditions.
The Lagon, by comparison, were an enigma, a legendary race shrouded in mystery. They lived deep in the Nospherus interior. According to one story, they could be found far across the desert, shielded by mountains where they hewed their homes straight from the solid rock. Another legend held that they were the true nomads of Nospherus, desert drifters that moved from one place to the next, possessing neither homes nor material wealth of any substance, spending their days wandering the endless Nospherus sands.
Or perhaps neither of these tales was true. After all, other than Cal Moru, the magus of Kitai, no known person from civilized lands had ever crossed the demon wastes and come back alive, so there was no way of confirming anything about the lands beyond the Kes. To the people of the Middle Country, all of the lands around that black river were simply known as “the Marches”—a treacherous borderland, full of terrors best avoided. And even to the wildling Sem, who had lived for ages in the very midst of the Marches wastes, the Lagon were little more than a myth.
So it seemed to those at the oasis camp that when Guin left them, carrying the fate of the desert wildlings in his hands, he went in search of a fearful legend. Loto and the other Sem chieftains had resisted, of course; even if some among them had not suspected him of using the dubious plan as a pretext to escape from certain death at the hands of the Mongauli, it nonetheless worried them all to lose their leader, the very one who had brought them every victory they had won against the invaders so far. All of Guin’s power of persuasion and persistence had been necessary before their objections were overcome at last. But there was one against whom no amount of persuasion worked. It was Rinda, more than any other, whom Guin had to work mightily to convince.
“I don’t care what happens, Guin. All I know is that I will not be separated from you again! Whether you go to the Lagon, or to Doal’s very doorstep, it makes no difference to me. I am going with you—and so is Remus! You will take us with you, Guin!”
It took even the leopard-headed warrior some time to work up the courage to answer Rinda’s adamantine decree. “You speak the impossible. This is no sightseeing trek.”
“I assure you, idle travel is the furthest thing from my mind!” Rinda replied hotly.
“Time is of the essence,” Guin explained, “and the desert is filled with unknown dangers. Don’t you realize what a hindrance you two would be?”
“Perhaps, but if we were there, we could go for help should you need it! And, if we were with you, we wouldn’t have to sit here wondering whether you had failed, or succeeded, or were in some sort of fix…”
“Little princess,” Guin said softly, moved by Rinda’s earnestness. “Trust in me, and wait. I will not fail.”
“I-I know you won’t fail, Guin. But, you might need help, another pair of arms or legs—or someone like me, someone with the spirit-sense, Guin. And then it would be too late.”
“Little princess, there is no time. Every twist wasted brings us closer to peril. I’m leaving at once.”
“But Suni says you’ve not packed yet!” said Rinda tearfully. Remus looked at her, his eyes filled with worry. He, too, found it hard to be separated from the leopard-man, but he thought first of Guin’s wishes, and he realized the futility of trying to accompany him through the many difficulties and dangers that surely lay along his path. He was too realistic to recklessly give in to his heart as his sister did.
“Rinda,” he said softly, touching her hand.
“I don’t care, I’m going where you go, Guin, and no one can stop me. I’ve made my decision!”
Guin looked long at the little girl, her chin thrust out forcefully and her gaze unwavering, and he chuckled and shook his golden head.
“I will tell you why you must stay—both you and your brother, Prince Remus. If you do not, the Sem will not condone my plan. They will think only that I have taken you away to safety before things fall apart, and that I have abandoned them to die.”
“So, we are to be hostages,” said Remus evenly.
“Yes. That, or the chieftains, Ilateli in particular, will not trust me. Unlike Loto, he has not given me his unconditional loyalty, and I do not expect it from him.”
“Then why not just leave Remus and…” Rinda began, but her voice failed her and she snapped her mouth shut. She felt suddenly that she had herself caught in a painful dilemma. A powerful impulse from deep inside made her want to follow Guin; yet she was tormented by the thought of parting with her twin brother. In all their life, only once had she been separated from him for more than a few hours, and it was not an experience she cared to repeat. She bit her lip and was silent.
The word came from a tribesman of the Raku that the preparations for Guin’s departure had been made. Guin laid his hands on the twins’ silvery heads. Rinda seemed about to cry, and Remus stared at him with anxious eyes.
“Listen,” he said. “I will find the Lagon, persuade them to join our cause, and return to the battlefield by sundown four days hence. That is my warrior’s promise to you.” Rinda opened her eyes wide and looked up at the strange warrior-creature who had become her guardian. “In fact, I may come back sooner,” he rumbled. “In any case, I must do this. Don’t forget I’ve promised to take both of you to Earlgos or Parros or some other safe haven in the Middle Country. That means that, first, I have to lead the Sem and break the Mongauli army. Trust in me, and wait here.” Guin nodded, then with greater force he repeated, “Trust in me.”
Rinda made no reply. Her eyes were always quick to show emotion and now they belied the indignant set of her lip, sending large tears rolling down her face.
“Guin, come back soon!” Remus pleaded, reluctantly releasing the leopard-man’s arm.
Guin nodded again, then turned and walked with long strides toward where the Raku warriors waited. They were gathered around a horse—a tall muscular stallion with a shiny coat, the healthiest of the many steeds they had captured from the Mongauli on their raids. The charger Guin had ridden previously was now weary from repeated battles, and he had decided to retire it.
“Riyaad! Here is your new mount. Shall we provide you with another, a spare?”
“No need,” Guin replied. “Horses are not made for traveling far in Nospherus in any case.” He checked the fit of the saddle and donned his thick leather cloak.
“There is alika juice—yidohbane—in the satchel in front of your saddle. And here is an ointment you may put on your arms and legs, any place where skin is exposed; it will keep off the sand leeches and vampire flies.”
Guin scooped up some of the thick, moldy-smelling muck the Raku held out to him. It seemed to have been made by mashing up various types of oasis moss. Siba and several other Raku youths helped him apply the runny paste until all his skin was stained a mottled green.
“We’ve put four days’ worth of food in your saddlebag.”
Guin nodded.
“Riyaad.” Siba paused, his hands still clutching two clots of the green moss-paste, and looked up at Guin. The loyalty he felt for the leopard-headed warrior burned in his eyes. “Siba will go with you.”
“No, Siba,” said Guin. “I am racing against time, and I will go most swiftly by myself. Besides, I need you to help carry out the strategy I described to you last night. I can count on you to help smooth the differences among the chiefs.”
Siba nodded. He could see from the set of Guin’s eyes that his decision was final. “Then hurry back, Riyaad,” he said in a weak voice. “I fear our spirit will die if you do not return soon.”
“I will be back, leading powerful reinforcements behind me, by sundown on the fourth day. This I promise.”
“And if you do not return,” Ilateli approached Guin as he made to mount his horse, “then we will know that you have abandoned us, and we will sacrifice the two oh-mu children to Alphetto, as is the way of the Guro.”
“Ilateli!” said Loto sharply.
Guin nodded and lightly leapt astride his horse. “Loto, Siba, Ilateli, everyone, you must battle on as you have done for four more days. Use the strategy we have discussed, and try to hold out against the Mongauli.” Mounted, Guin towered gigantically above the Sem. His leather cloak rustled in the wind. “I will return with the Lagon. I promise this.” He gave his horse a swift kick in the side and at once it broke into a canter.
“Riyaad!” shouted Siba, and the cry went up from every group of warriors gathered there in the oasis.
“Riyaad! Riyaad!”
“Aii aaai!”
The Sem on all sides gave a great war cry, but there was a tinge of sadness in their voices. Some of their fierce spirit had gone out of them. Their hero, their god of victory, was leaving.
“Hyah!” Guin urged his horse out of the oasis hollow. He planned to head north to search for traces of the Lagon.
“Guin! Guin!”
A shrill voice sounded behind him. Rinda was running in his horse’s sandy wake, yelling desperately.
“Guin, east! Go east! Over the Dog’s Head. The Lagon are beyond the white rock, where the white stones dance upon the black mountain! Guin! There you will find the soul of the Lagon! Beware the death-wind!”
The princess kept yelling, but Guin was moving quickly and he could make out no more of her words.
The leopard-man raised his right hand and waved with his curled horsewhip to signal that he had heard the girl’s directions. He knew that Rinda’s words came straight from the gods themselves; she had communed with them, used her farsight, and prayed to Janos so that none of Guin’s precious time be wasted. Not for one moment did he doubt the truth of what she said. He swung his mount’s head to the right and headed due east, cracking his whip till he was at a full gallop.
The horse made good time, its hooves sending up white clouds of sand until the oasis, and the Sem, were far behind. The cries of “Riyaad! Riyaad!” and the trickling of water were lost in the howl of the wind. Guin was alone in the desert.
Already a half-day had passed since his departure. For a time, he had galloped through changeless scenery over flat, hard ground. Near the oasis, gray lichens had graced the boulders and here and there, desert lizards could be seen darting from one rock-shadow to the next. But as he went farther even the occasional plant became a rare sight, until at last he and his steed were alone, the sole living shapes amidst the winding and shifting featureless sand.
Guin was heavy but he was a skillful rider, and his horse moved swiftly and lightly through the dunes. The Raku had fixed thick leather booties over each of his mount’s hooves to help prevent them from slipping and sinking in the sand. The padded hoof-falls sent up a puff-puff-puff of sandy white dust.
The sky was crystal blue. On the ground, there was no sign of yidoh, sand leeches, bigmouths, or any other of the nefarious denizens of Nospherus that might have appeared to hinder his progress. Perhaps this was because of the moss-juice that the Sem had slathered on both horse and rider. Yet Guin knew that once the sun set the dangers would multiply and the going was sure to get rougher. This made it all the more critical that he cover as much distance as possible before then, while the sun still shone in the sky. Rinda had told him to cross over the Dog’s Head, but even from atop a dune, he could not spot the oddly shaped landmark; he hoped to reach a vantage point from which he could see the mountain before the darkness fell.
And so Guin had ridden without rest. Frequently, he would slow to an amble so that he would not exhaust his mount, or dismount and walk alongside the horse. At these times he would pull some dried meat from his saddlebags and chew it slowly. After he felt his strength return, he would mount and crack his whip and they would be off at a gallop once more.
Only one time before now had he taken pause in his rugged advance. This was when he spied a black smear on the far south-eastern horizon, so small that he thought it might be a trick of the eye—until it began to widen and he was able to make out the shapes of countless mounted riders. He was nowhere near where he expected to find the Lagon, and he was certain that he would not be so fortunate as to encounter them so soon, so he reasoned that what he saw was none other than the main Mongauli army on the move.
Quickly then he had jumped down from his mount and turned the horse away from the moving army so that they cast a slimmer profile against the dunes. Then, leading the stallion by the reins, he had walked on very slowly, careful not to raise any dust. His time was too precious to use up laying in wait for the danger to pass, but he knew that even across the distance that divided him from the Mongauli, nothing could stand out more clearly than the dark blotch of a mounted rider against the bleached canvas of Nospherus. Thankfully, it seemed that the invaders were moving too fast to spend much time looking around them. In their wake, a great gray cloud of dust rose and spread and at last dispersed like smoke from a campfire blown in the wind. Guin had not remounted until the Mongauli were so far off that there was no longer any danger of his being seen.
After that, he had ridden hard to make up for the time lost. The desert was featureless once more. No mirage-like armies of Mongauli or Lagon broke the even line of the horizon, and it felt as though no matter how far he went he was trapped forever in the same place.
Guin had no definite destination in mind. Had it not been for Rinda Farseer’s oracular advice, he would not even be heading east now. Yet he was painfully aware that this journey was a great gamble, and that his time was limited. He had promised the Sem he would return on the fourth day, and already most of the first day had been spent in what felt at times like fruitless meandering across the sand. But a promise was a promise, and not only the fate of the Sem tribes, but the lives of Rinda and Remus, the holy twins of Parros, hung on his success in making good his word.
Still, Guin was not worried—or at least he showed no outward sign of concern. He knew that no amount of fretting about his chances would help him. Yet a dark look did come into his yellow eyes when, with the Dog’s Head still not in sight, he noticed the gathering cloud of the sandstorm appear on the horizon.
For a while he forced himself to ignore the coming storm, and he urged his horse onward, plying his whip more forcefully than before. His mount sped tirelessly across the sand. At last, standing in the saddle of the galloping horse, Guin peered over his shoulder at the towering cloud and saw that it had now grown into a full-fledged maelstrom, much larger than before and trailing a dark ragged tail behind it. That could only mean it was coming toward him, and fast.
Still he showed no fear. He whipped the horse and galloped onward, as though to outrace the storm. If some great being such as Jarn had been watching from on high, Guin would have seemed no more than a frail and tiny speck, hardly moving across the endless white desert, pursued by a huge and angry growth, an animate black tumor that raged across the sand with the roar of a stampede. Ahead of the devouring storm, the flitting mote that was Guin would have looked almost powerless, his advance hopelessly slow.
Yet advance he did. He would not stop for the savagery of nature, or for any greater force of fate. He would fight the storm alone if he had to, never quitting without a struggle. Tiny, but undaunted, wild and proud, he was the embodiment of an indomitable will and a fighting spirit without equal.
But even as he fought for distance on the sand, the relentless storm revealed its cruel strength. Steadily it gained on the rider. The whirling sand and wind brought a sudden rain of pebbles down on Guin, stinging his shoulders and his horse’s flanks, heralding the onslaught of the storm. In an instant, the clear blue of the sky turned a dark ashen hue. As though to echo the turmoil of the heavens, the sea of sand around Guin began to boil crazily as the denizens of Nospherus burst out of hiding and ran, flew, or slithered for their lives, trying in vain to escape the oncoming cataclysm.
When the cold blast of the wind flattened his ears against his leopard head, Guin finally stopped his horse. “Too dangerous to go further now,” he muttered to himself, “I need to find some shelter…” Hurriedly he looked around, keeping a firm grip on the reins. Suddenly, his eyes shone with surprise.
“The Dog’s Head!”
There, to the east, sat the giant canine form of the legendary mountain, hunched and black on the horizon. It was as though the desert had been hiding it from him, but now the veil had been lifted. Yet even as he gazed upon his goal the wind howled around him with renewed fury. With a deafening roar a sudden mighty gust forced the air out of his lungs and knocked him flat upon the ground. The sandstorm had arrived.