DAUGHTERS
OF THE SKY
Episode 1 The Slavers of El
Arish
Chapter
8 March of the
Dwarfs
The Dwarven column stretched out behind her as far as the eye could see. Asharia had to admit that the Dwarfs were as efficient and thorough as they were bad tempered, although after Firetong’s description of her part in Steelforge’s capture the attitude of most Dwarfs had changed considerably. Their manners were still terrible, but they treated her no worse than they treated one another, which by Elven standards was abysmal.
Still, they had reacted almost immediately to Firetong’s return and the news of the disastrous ambush and murder of over thirty Dwarfs. Within a week five thousand Dwarven warriors complete with a massive supply train were ready to march.
Thanks to Steelforge’s willingness to betray his former companions they had an exact idea of where the captive Dwarfs had been taken. To Asharia’s overwhelming relief when she and Firetong had returned to the ambush site there had been no trace of Delendria’s body or either of the two gryphons. From that they were able to deduce that all three were probably still alive.
There were numerous other bodies, or what was left of them. The ambushers had not bothered to bury any of the dead, including their own, and scavengers had decimated the rotting corpses. It was stomach-churning work to sort through them looking for her sister’s body, but Asharia was pretty sure that Delendria was not among the dead. By the same token Firetong had also determined that twenty of his Dwarven companions were missing. It was enough to stimulate the Dwarven nation to march. Dwarves, as Asharia already knew from her people’s history, made very bad enemies.
It had taken them only a day to reach the site of the ambush. The bodies were no longer there, buried by a detail dispatched from Kharag the day she and Firetong had returned. Nevertheless, the Dwarven column stayed for a day at the site for a memorial service before pushing on in pursuit of their enslaved comrades.
That had been a week ago. Now they had reached the banks of the desert river and the slaver’s trail had disappeared. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out where they had gone , however. “El Arish,” Gron Hammerhand, muttered. “That nest of vipers. It’s time it was wiped out.”
“Aye,” Firetong agreed. “But it’ll not be easy. The only way to the city is down the river. It will take us awhile to build enough boats to take all of us, especially with the shortage of trees. We may have to send back to the mountains for timber.”
Asharia saw what Firetong meant. The river was lined with strange looking trees with curving trunks and a flare of broad leaves at the top. They were pretty to look at, but their wood was not suitable for building much of anything. With such poor building materials she wondered what the people who lived along the river used for transport. With that thought in mind she wandered down toward the whitewashed buildings lining the river.
She had no idea what the town was called. It was so small that it might not even have a name, but it did house several dozen very frightened villagers, who looked at her in undisguised suspicion and terror as she entered the village.
Asharia had deliberately come alone, leaving Firetong and Hammerhand to their discussion. She reasoned that marching into the village with an escort of heavily armoured Dwarves would not be conducive to getting any information out of the villagers. On the other hand, she did not speak their language. She knew very little of the languages of Men. She could converse with the forest dwellers that lived close to the Aerie, but it would be too much to hope that the river dwellers would speak the same language.
She walked down the centre of the street, attempting not to appear too threatening. That should not have been too difficult, all of the adult villagers were much taller than she was, even the women topped her by a head, but she was dressed in light armour supplied by the Dwarves and was wearing a short sword. She had, however, removed her helmet and allowed her golden hair to flow free, hoping that it would make her seem less intimidating.
No one came forward to greet her although she saw plenty of faces peering at her from windows and doorways. However, each time she turned her head to look at them they quickly ducked out of sight. Asharia was beginning to think that her mission was a complete waste of time when she heard a sudden sound behind her.
She turned quickly, fearing attack and was startled to see a tiny brown-skinned child toddling toward her mouthing something in high-pitched glee. The infant was wearing a dress-like outfit that left her arms and legs bare and a wide smile was plastered on her pixie-like features. Without thinking, Asharia dropped to her knees and returned the hug the child obviously intended to give.
The child cooed excitedly, grabbing a fistful of Asharia’s sun-blonde hair and gazing at it with delight. Then a horrified shriek split the air and Asharia looked up to see a terrified woman rushing toward her.
Asharia stood up, lifting the laughing infant with her just as the child’s mother arrived. Although clearly terrified, the mother was demanding her child back and without hesitation Asharia held out her arms so that the mother could take her babe.
The mother snatched her child and attempted to retreat, but the infant was having none of it, refusing to release Asharia’s hair. The Elven maiden let out a yelp as her hair was jerked painfully.
Around her the villagers watched apprehensively, clearly fearing that she would respond in anger, but instead Asharia laughed and shook her finger playfully at the giggling infant.
That action seemed to reassure the villagers. The mother stopped trying to escape, although she still held onto the playful child protectively. Several other villagers stepped forward, most of them children who seemed to be a bit braver than their parents. Like the baby they seemed fascinated by Asharia’s golden-blonde hair and Elven ears.
On the off chance that one of the villagers might have had previous contact with the Dwarfs she greeted them in that language. “I am Asharia of the Shebaria and I intend you no harm. Does anyone here understand me?”
There was a long moment of silence and then an older man stepped forward. Asharia guessed that he was in his fifties. Like the other male villagers he was clad only in a simple loincloth, his sun-bronzed torso bare. Around his neck he wore a bead necklace with some sort of sun-shaped ornament. His white beard hung down to his chest. “If you mean us no harm, then why are there so many of you and why do you come armed?”
“We seek to find those who killed and kidnapped our companions. It is known that they came this way.”
“You seek vengeance then,” the man observed. “And it is often the case that those who pursue vengeance do harm to those who are innocent.”
“We seek Mahmoud Ben Aben, and none other,” Asharia proclaimed, using the name that Steelforge had given to them under threat of death.
“Ben Aben,” the man replied, stroking his beard. “Then you have my blessing if you pursue that bastard. He has long stolen our sons and daughters from us whenever it suited his purpose.” As if to emphasize his point he spat into the dust.
His reply and action prompted a flurry of questions from the other villagers, who apparently wanted to know what information had been exchanged. When the man replied they looked at Asharia with new eyes. The fear and suspicion was gone, replaced by a looks of appraisal as if they were calculating whether or not she could truly be trusted.
One of the older children, a boy off about six started jumping up and down. He pointed at her ears and began to shout something over and over. Asharia looked at him curiously; this seemed more than just a comment on her strange appearance.
The old man nodded and translated. “The boy is reminding me that there was a girl who had ears just like yours when Ben Aben passed through here.”
“A girl with ears like mine?” Asharia repeated breathlessly. “A girl with long dark hair and about the same height?
“I do not know about the height,” the man replied. “She was a prisoner and was chained in a wooden cage. Ben Aben’s guards did not let us near his prisoners.”
It was hardly reassuring news. It appeared that Delendria had been transported as if she was a wild beast, but at least she was probably still alive. Asharia questioned the man further. It turned out that his name was Maros and he was the headman of the village. During his youth he had traveled to Kharag and traded with the Dwarfs, which explained his command of the language. As he had intimated, he had no love for Ben Aben who each year exacted a “tax” of five young men and five young women from his village, and thus it was with profound interest that he listened to Asharia as she explained her mission and that of the five thousand Dwarfs who had come with her.
She also explained the Dwarfs’dilemma.
“Boats?” Maros asked. “If its boats you need we can help. Or at least we can show you how to help yourselves if you’re willing to learn.”
“Please show me,” Asharia urged.
Maros smiled. “Come this way then.” With Asharia and most of the village trailing he led the way to the river.
Asharia stared in surprise. It was not quite what she had expected, but she was willing to give almost anything a try. “Can you build them any bigger?” she asked.
“As big as you need.” Maros replied, smiling.
“Then I shall take you to the Stonemaster,” she laughed.
“Are ye serious?” the Dwarven leader asked incredulously. “Ye want us to build boat made out of weeds?”
“Not weeds,” Maros said, patiently. “Papyrus. My people have been using it for centuries. It has many uses, one of the chief of which is the building of boats.”
“Ye’ll not get me out in one of them things,” Hammerhand said. “It’d go down like a stone under my weight.”
Asharia forced herself not to smile. She had to admit that she was not as confident in the strange-looking boats as Maros was and could well understand Hammerhand’s objection, but she could think of no other solution to their problem.
“I’m sure they are quite safe. I’ll try one myself.” She looked at Maros, hoping that he would offer some advice.
“There really is no danger,” Maros asserted. “Even children use them. Let me show you how to get in.”
Asharia followed Maros down to the reed boat. It really was quite unlike anything she had ever seen or even imagined. The boat was about twelve feet long with an upswept bow and stern. It was constructed entirely of bundles of reeds, bound together so that they formed a canoe-like boat that floated high on the surface of the river.
“It really is quite stable,” Maros said. And proved his point by stepping aboard the bobbing craft without even bothering to steady it.
“That’s easy for you to do,” thought Asharia, but she was not about to back down. Taking a deep breath she stepped aboard the tiny craft, expecting it to tip dangerously under her weight. To her surprise, however, the boat merely dipped slightly and then resumed an even keel as she moved to the centre.
“Bah,” Hammerhand snorted. “Ye hardly weigh anything. It would never hold my weight.”
“Let me try. If it holds my weight, ye’ve nothing to fear.” Asharia held back her surprise as Firetong stepped forward. Since their forced captivity and escape, the usually testy Dwarf had treated her with deference, but his unexpected support surprised her, especially since Dwarfs were notoriously afraid of water and the weight of armour that Firetong wore would send him straight to the bottom if anything went wrong.
He stepped into the reed boat. To Asharia’s eyes the craft rolled dangerously and she had instant visions of Firetong sinking like an anchor, but to her immense relief the craft righted itself and floated level. “Ye see,” Firetong said, looking right at Hammerhand. “There’s nothing to it.”
Hammerhand growled an incoherent reply. Clearly he could not admit that he feared to do what Firetong had done. Asharia turned to Maros. “This is splendid, but it is a bit small for the transport of five thousand Dwarfs and their equipment. Can you build them bigger?”
“If it leads to the punishment of Ben Aben I will show you how to build a boat large enough to carry a hundred Dwarfs. It is just a matter of gathering more reeds.” He waved his hand toward the river. “And as you can see there is little shortage of papyrus.”
Asharia looked in the direction Maros had indicated. Lining the riverbank as far as she could see were the waving fronds of papyrus. Her face lit up. The solution to their problem was clearly solved. “We’re coming Delendria,” she murmured. “Just hold on until we get there.”
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