Chapter
4: The Edge of Nowhere
As towns went Shailaja had
seen better. It was a dusty blot
in the middle of a drab brown landscape, consisting of a few dusty streets
each lined by rows of whitewashed
buildings. They met in a square
that was centred on what had probably been a working
fountain. It was now half filled
with sand and the ornate piece of statuary that had once produced streams
of sweet sounding water was now broken off at the base and lay shattered
on the ground around it. What
it had once been was long forgotten.
All that was left now was a stem that had once housed the lead
pipes. Even these no longer existed;
salvaged for their metal content.
Meldin, the town was called,
or so she had been told several leagues
ago. It had once been of some
importance as a mining centre, but the silver mines that had been the source
of its wealth had long been depleted.
However, it had found another source of wealth, although one that
was even more stained with sweat and
misery. Here the slave caravans
with their human merchandise left to brave the desert that bordered the town
on their way to the distant city of
In the sweltering heat of
“Barach’s
balls,” he muttered. Using
the name of the Del Zarnan god of lust.
He moved a little farther back into the shadows but kept his eyes
glued on the newcomer.
What he saw was most
impressive. The woman warrior
was well over six feet all and muscled like an image of the goddess or
war. He had never seen anything
like her and with her red hair and pale skin she stood out like a carrot
in a pot of peas. And then there
was the matter of her dress and weapons.
Although the baking heat meant she travelled with her armour stowed
on her saddle, she wore a brace of swords over her shoulders and a dagger
sheathed at her waist. A powerful
bow hung from its protective sheath on the back of her saddle and a quiver
of arrows hung in front of her left knee.
She had tossed back the
hood of her cloak and was taking in the streets with the steely gaze of a
hunter. This was a woman he would
not want to cross, but what was a northern barbarian doing in a place like
Meldin? She hardly fitted in
to the city’s conservative desert
culture. The mere fact that a
woman was riding a horse and was apparently unaccompanied was reason enough
to regard her with suspicion.
However, the observer was less interested in how she appeared to the
locals than in what her business was.
As she passed he quietly slipped from the doorway and headed toward
the slave pens, and someone who would be more than interested in her
arrival.
Shailaja did not miss the
fact that she was observed, but she was not too concerned about her
welcome. She had chosen her
destination well. Meldin had
long ceased to be fussy about those who chose to visit its dusty
streets. Anyone who had two coins
to spend in the local inn was more than welcome to stay until their money
ran out; even a red-headed barbarian
female. As a result those few
citizens who were still out in the afternoon heat gazed at her with mixed
curiosity and hostility, but no one challenged her as she rode slowly toward
the central square and the only building of note in the
town.
It had probably at one time
been a grand dwelling, but now its two stories of whitewashed mud brick walls
were darkened with age and here and there brickwork thick enough to challenge
a good sized battering ram, was crumbling from lack of
repair. Typical of buildings
in the desert, it was built around a central courtyard reached by a narrow
passage just wide enough for a horse, camel, or a
yegger. Although the latter was
less able to tolerate a long journey without water than a camel, it was much
better suited for hauling the two wheeled carts favoured by desert merchants,
and several of the three-horned beasts turned their heads toward Shailaja
as she rode through the portal.
A dust devil danced across
the open space as her eyes swept the quadrangle, noting the small windows
on the second floor and the flat roof that commanded the open
courtyard. The only way in and
out seemed to be the narrow alleyway through which she had
entered. However, it was typical
of most buildings in the area, in that it was built for defence as well as
convenience.
The courtyard measured about
thirty yards across and featured a low portico on three
sides. It was somewhat in need
of repair, but provided shade.
Against the fourth wall was a corral which held a collection of camels
and yeggers. Behind it was the
stable where the more sun-sensitive horses were kept.
Dismounting, she led her
horse past the corral and toward the stables and caught the attention of
a young boy shovelling muck out of one of the
stalls. He was short and swarthy,
with the hooked features common to the people of the
region. The look he gave Shailaja
was far from friendly, but it was also tinged with
fear.
It was nothing she was not
used to. If fact this far into
the desert lands she would have been surprised if it had been anything
else. The inhabitants of Zel
Darna treated women like personal possessions and she was a complete and
undesirable enigma among them.
However, with her cold green eyes, dominating height, and confident
manner she was also extremely
intimidating. “Stable my
horse, and make sure he is properly watered, fed, and
curried. I will be back to check
so make sure it is done.” She
flipped him a copper and the boy caught
it. Perhaps it was the coin as
well as her formidable appearance, but the boy scampered forward and took
the reins.
Shailaja slung her saddlebags
over her shoulder and picked up her bow and armour and headed across the
courtyard toward the inn. From
under the portico several men who had been lounging in the shade stared at
her. Not all of them wore the
traditional garb of the Zel Darna.
A few, like her were not native to the
region. One group of four men
followed her closely with their eyes.
From their skin, eyes, and hair colouring she guessed them to be from
one of the northern lands; not quite as far north as her homeland, but enough
north to favour lighter skin and hair.
Ignoring her audience she
strode past them and into the inn.
Inside it was cool and the odour of spilled wine and stale beer came
to her nostrils, as well as the stronger smell if the narcotic incense called
drong that many of the Zel Darna liked to
inhale. As she had surmised the
inn had once been a much finer
establishment. The floors were
of grey stone and cleanly swept.
The walls were paneled in ancient wood that must have been imported
from some much more heavily vegetated
region. She was encouraged by
the fact that they place seemed to have been kept up despite the decrepit
appearance of the rest of the building.
Few of the tables in the room were occupied, probably due to the fact
that it was still somewhat early in the day for engaging in the pleasures
of drinking or inhaling.
As she stood in the
semi-darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light, she sensed a movement
toward her. She tensed momentarily
until she saw that it was a man dressed in the light tan robes that marked
him as the innkeeper. He was
thin and balding with long mustachios typical of most Zel Darna as well as
the usual beaked nose. Shailaja
towered over him and he bowed to her rather nervously.
“How may I be of service,
my lady?” He hesitated ever
so slightly as if not quite sure of how to address a red-headed giant, and
a woman at that.
“A room,” Shailaja
answered. “Something without
too many bedbugs. Also a
meal. Send the meal to my room
and make sure it has some meat in it.
Preferably something that has not been sitting around for too many
days. And a
bath. Oh, and some of your
wine. Not too
sweet.” She set down her
armour and bow and quiver.
“Have these taken to the
room. I will be back in a few
moments; I’m going to check on my horse.”
She slipped a silver coin
into his hand, ensuring that she would get the service she wanted and then
headed back out to the courtyard.
The innkeeper bowed his head and called for a boy to take her possessions
up to one of the rooms. He also
sent another boy off to the kitchens to see about Shailaja’s
meal.
She found that her horse
was being well looked after.
Apparently the payment of a penny or her daunting personality or both
had made an impression on the stable
hand. The horse wasn’t the
finest steed she had ever owned, but he had brought her to Meldin faithfully
and she wasn’t about to abandon him.
Satisfied that
“horse” was being properly cared for she headed back toward the
inn. She was looking forward
to a cool bath and a decent meal.
She realized that she hadn’t eaten a properly cooked meal for
more than two weeks. Creating
appetizing campfire fare was not one of her more remarkable
skills. The best that could be
said that what she cooked was edible, but no one would have asked her to
stand in as a cook if anyone else was
available.
Halfway back across the
courtyard the four men that had been watching her got to their
feet. She noted that they had
been joined by two more, one of whom she was certain she had seen earlier
watching her from one of the doorways as she rode though the streets of the
town. The expression on the face
of the newcomer, a tall strongly built man, was noncommittal, but that of
the others made her thankful she still had her sword and
dagger.
As she moved toward the
doorway the tall man stopped in front of her, blocking her
path. He was dressed in leather
breeches, with a vest to match, but his shirt was pure silk and he wore a
sword with a jewelled hilt by his side.
They were the clothes of someone who was a bit more than a trader,
although his companions were dressed more modestly in clothing more befitting
desert travellers. One thing
they all had in common, however, was a certain stench she had learned to
detect from previous contact.
“You are in my way,”
she said calmly, resisting the urge to drive her palm into the face of the
tall man.
He grinned insolently at
her. “That is precisely
the idea. It’s not everyday
someone like you shows up in Meldin.
I thought you might be interested in a bit of
company.” He spoke with
a bit of an accent, pronouncing the name of the town
‘Meldeen.’ It placed
him exactly in her knowledge of the various humans she had come into contact
with and confirmed her earlier bias.
“You are still in my
way,” she answered.
“Now, don’t be
like that, red,” the man said.
“I was just offering you a drink and perhaps a few pleasant hours
together.” He was almost
as tall a she was and broad-shouldered to
boot. He probably outweighed
her by a hundred pounds and with his blond hair and blue eyes was impressively
handsome. But she trusted him
no more than a sand snake.
“You don’t know
my name and I’m not about to give it to
you. I don’t drink with
slavers, and I’d fuck a goat before I’d consider spending a moment
with you. Now get out of my way
or I’ll break your face.”
“Talks pretty tough
for a girl,” one of the other men
said. He took a step forward
a sneering half-smile on his face.
“You think you know how to use those swords,
bitch?”
Shailaja foot-swept him
and at the same time drove the palm of her hand into his
chest. The impact left him sitting
on his backside gasping for breath and looking very
foolish.
The man who had first accosted
her took a half step toward and then stopped short, the point of her dagger
at his larynx. “Easy,
red,” the man said.
“We’ll move.”
He held his hands away from his body and slowly stepped
back. His two other companions
went with him, one of them helping the man she had
dropped.
“Red-headed whore,”
the man wheezed as he staggered away.
“Probably about as much fun in bed as a gelded
donkey.”
“You would probably
know,” Shailaja sneered, unable to
resist. Without another word
she returned to the inn.
As she entered the door
she encountered the innkeeper who was hurrying in the other
direction. As soon as he saw
her he stopped. “Is there
any trouble, my lady?” he asked.
“Not for me,”
Shailaja grinned. “Just
some fools who don’t know what ‘no’
means.”
“Ah, that would be
Biel Zenon and his men. They
have been a bit of a problem. It
seems they are not content with the local whores, but must chase after some
of the wives and daughters of the other
guests. I hope they were not
a bother. Fortunately most of
his men are camped down near the slave pens.”
“Thank you for your
concern. I doubt that they will
bother me again.”
The innkeeper nodded and
bowed. “You have my thanks,
my lady. Everything is as you
requested. I even had a new mattress
placed in your room. Your meal
will be up immediately.”
“Thank you,” Shailaja
smiled. She might be little more
than a barbarian but she knew the importance of
manners. “Tell me,”
she said. “Are there any
caravans hiring? I am looking
for any that are crossing the Tombau.”
“That is a region crossed
only once a year during the cooler
months. I expect nothing until
that time.”
Shailaja
nodded. “Thank
you. You have been most
helpful.” She tried not
to show her disappointment.
Crossing the desert alone and at this time of year was risky in the
extreme, but her only other choice was to take up with one of the slave caravans
and she would die before doing that.
“I will have my daughter,
Taya show you to your room. She
also has the meal you requested.”
The innkeeper indicated a young
woman. She was dressed in the
usual manner of the southern regions with a long brown robe that covered
her from head to foot. It left
only the oval of her face visible.
“Bastards,” Shailaja
muttered as she followed the girl.
“I’d like to gut every one of
them.” The manner of dress
and the severe restrictions placed upon women in southern Vedra always angered
her, despite the fact she could do nothing about
it.
The temperature rose as
she climbed the stairs to the upstairs rooms, but the smell of the food Taya
carried as well as the thought of the cool bath that waited pulled her
on. The upstairs corridor was
just wide enough to allow one person to pass. It was something that Shailaja
filed away for future reference.
She also noted the window when she
entered. In an emergency it was
just large enough for her to squeeze through.
Everything in the room was
as it should be. A hip bath filled
with cool water waited next to the bed and Taya set down the tray of food
on a small table against the wall.
Lying on the new mattress was her bow and quiver and her armour had
been neatly hung on several pegs on the opposite wall.
“Thank you Taya,”
Shailaja said, slipping several copper coins into the girl’s
hand.
“Thank you my lady,”
Taya replied, giving a slight bow.
She opened the door and left the
room. Shailaja watched her go,
wondering what was going to become of a young girl in such a male dominated
society.
I could be her, given an accident
of birth.
She turned to the
meal. It turned out to be quite
good. It was some sort of grain;
probably from the fuzzy-headed plants she had seen in the few irrigated farms
she had passed. The meat was
goat and it was flavoured with the hot spices the Zel Darna seemed to
enjoy. There were also dates,
figs, and several fleshy fruits.
She ate everything except one of the fruits which she decided she
would save until morning. She
washed everything down with the wine that had been provided, making sure
not to drink too heavily. She
would have to pay the innkeeper well, but she had the money for
it.
Now as she prepared to slip
into her bath water she had a decision to
make. Staying in Zel Darna would
be none too safe. Sooner or later
someone would come looking for her and even though she was confident of being
able to defend herself she did not want to spend the rest of her life facing
one assassin or bounty hunter after the
other. And there was always the
chance that someone might get lucky - or rather that she would be
unlucky. For awhile she would
be safe in Meldin, but eventually someone would reveal her
presence. Should she attempt
the crossing of the vast
By now her bath had cooled
her down enough. Freed from the
grime of her day of desert travelling she decided that it was time to
sleep. First, however, she made
sure that she would not have any unexpected
visitors. Picking up the single
table that was in the room she moved it over to the door and jammed it in
place. Then she picked up the
stool and wedged it so that it was tight against the
table. Anyone attempting to come
through the door would be slowed up enough that she could get to her swords;
and although the room was small there was more than enough room to swing
her blades.
Her security measures attended
to, she went to her bed. Although
it was still a bit warm in the room, the bath had cooled and refreshed her
and she knew that the temperature would drop during the
night. She climbed onto the bed,
wrapped herself in the blanket and was asleep in a few
heartbeats.
She awoke before dawn, fumbled
for the bucket under the bed, made use of it; splashed water from the tub
over her face and got dressed.
Since it was still dark she unbound her hair and combed it out, then
carefully plaited it into a single thick
braid. When she dressed she made
sure that it was tucked into her shirt so that it would be out of the way
in case of a fight.
She had heard nothing during
the night and surmised that the innkeeper had probably put her away from
the other guests; probably to avoid the possibility of violence and damage
to his establishment more than anything
else. But she was glad of
it. There had been no drunks
pounding on her door in the middle of the night or stumbling and cursing
as they staggered down the hall, trying to find their rooms.
She finished dressing, pulling
on her leather trousers and soft boots, shrugging into her leather vest,
and strapping her swords over her
shoulders. Making sure that all
of her weapons were in place, including the several that were hidden about
her person, she removed the furniture from the door and stepped out into
the hall.
It was pitch black, but
she knew the way. Everything
was in straight lines and she only had to head away from the room to find
the stairs. With her hands out
to the sides so she could feel the wall she moved slowly down the dark
corridor.
She sensed more than heard
the attack; or perhaps she really did hear something; a quick intake of breath,
just before the strike; the faint creak of
leather. Whatever it was she
drew her dagger and went into a fighting crouch just as someone came at her
from one of the side rooms.
The hinges on the door of
the room must have been well oiled, because she had not heard the door open,
but she saw the dark shape slightly outlined against the dim glow from the
stairwell and caught his attack almost before it
happened.
She had two daggers out
now, having retrieved a second from her right boot and the man coming at
her in the dark never had a chance.
She took a single step back, felt the movement as a weapon just missed
her head and struck back instinctively.
There was a gasp as the dagger in her right hand went
home. She had not struck to kill;
she wanted to find out just who was attacking her, but it was hard to select
a target in the darkness. Whatever
the case her opponent staggered away from her, grunting in pain, and she
followed carefully, intent on not letting him
escape. It was then that the
rest of the attack closed in on her.
They came at her from both
sides and from behind. There
were at least three attackers at first and they used entirely different
tactics. Instead of attempting
to strike at her they pushed toward her holding shields in front of
them. In the dark she misunderstood
their attack until they were on her and her blades stuck in the wickerwork
of the shields.
She realized her mistake
at once. Her opponents were trying
to pin her weapons and then deal with her when she was
disarmed. It would have worked
too, against a lesser opponent. But
Shailaja was too quick and too strong.
Shifting her weight against one attacker she used sheer strength to
force him back. It gained her
enough space to draw back her right leg and slam it into the shield of the
man directly in front of her. The
impact drove him back with such force that he was knocked off his feet and
gave her the opportunity she needed.
Stepping back rapidly she
retreated to her room, pushed open the door and drew her
swords. Now she had room to swing
the blades and her opponents could only come at her one at a
time.
She watched the door realizing
that she had had a lucky escape. If
the first attacker had come at her from one of the side rooms rather than
from in front he might have succeeded.
As it was she had reacted barely in
time. Another half heartbeat
and…
A man appeared in the door
in front of her. She recognized
him immediately as one of the men who had been with Biel Zenon the day
before. He was armed with a wooden
staff about four feet in length and he held it like a
sword.
Shailaja had little doubt
that the weapon was not as innocent as it
looked. She had taken blows from
wooden practice swords many times and knew that they were quite capable of
inflicting painful injuries. It
also told her something else. Zenon
and his thugs wanted her alive.
She smiled
slightly. “Come on, you
bastard. What are you waiting
for? I’m just a
woman. Surely you have nothing
to fear.”
“It’s you who
are going to fear, bitch,” the man
sneered. “And I am going
to enjoy teaching it to you.”
He seemed a little too
confident; something that Shailaja found
disturbing. But she was unprepared
for what happened next. Her opponent
stepped forward, his arm raised to
strike. For a swordswoman like
Shailaja the opening was obvious.
She shifted her weight forward.
In less that a heartbeat her opponent would be
dead.
The strike from above was
perfectly timed. As she leaned
into her strike the hidden attacker dropped from the rafters onto her shoulders,
his weight and the impetus of his body slamming her heavily to the
floor. Then everything went dark
as a hood was pulled over her head and the drawstring pulled tight, cutting
into her throat.
She had not lost her swords
in her fall to the floor, but her breath was cut off by the tightening cord
and as she tried to raise the blades they was suddenly pinned to the
floor. Although stunned by the
sudden turn of events she acted instantly, twisting her body to get at the
man pinning her to the floor and holding the choking garrotte that also kept
the hood over her head. But she
was already too late. As her
hands struck at the throat of the man on top of her someone seized her wrists.
She remembered the others that had attacked her in the
corridor. They were all in the
room now, grabbing at her arms and legs and attempting to pin her to the
floor.
“Hold the
bitch. Get the ropes on
her. She fights like a desert
lion. Get her
arms. Don’t let her get
her legs loose.”
Several men were shouting
orders, but eventually they got their act
together. Half-fainting from
a lack of air, Shailaja felt the touch of rope on her
wrists. It was enough to send
her into a frenzied struggle as she fought to escape, but there were too
many men holding her. The ropes
were pulled tight, binding her wrists and then her arms were pulled straight
out in front of her.
“Ease up on the
choke. We want her conscious
and able to walk.”
The excruciating tension
on her throat suddenly released and Shailaja was able to grab a breath of
air. She could see nothing, the
sack over her head completely blinding
her. At least two men were sitting
on top of her, pinning her to the floor.
Ropes were tied around her ankles and thighs leaving her
helpless. Then she was pulled
into a kneeling position.
Her wrists were bound in
front of her, giving her some very slight
hope. If they had been tied behind
her she would have had no chance of escape, but with her hands in front of
her there remained the faintest chance she might be able to break free if
her captors proved careless.
She was held on her knees
by the man who had placed the hood over her
head. He kept a tight grip on
the choke rope that closed the neck of the hood while pressing down on the
back of her neck. Her arms were
then griped just above the elbow and pulled back until her bound wrists were
pressed against her stomach. Then
she felt something hard being inserted between her bent elbows and her
back. She knew at once that it
was the wooden staff that had been used against
her. She was quickly bound so
that her elbows were bent around the staff and tied in place by ropes that
connected her elbows and also lashed the staff to her
arms.
Her spirits sank as she
realized that she was at the complete mercy of her
captors. Rarely had she felt
so completely helpless and she had no illusions about what was going to happen
to her as she was hauled to her feet.
Although blind she had no difficulty in identifying Biel Zenon’s
voice.
“You should have taken
me up on my offer yesterday, barbarian.
I’d have only used you once.
Now you’re going to service every one of my
men.”
Shailaja did not
reply. Attempting to speak through
the muffling folds of the hood would have been too
humiliating. As she was
dragged to her feet and the bonds around her ankles and thighs were loosened
so that she could walk, she was almost overcome with
despair. Fighting back a sense
of complete desolation she was led blind from her room; a captive of the
slavers she so despised.
PREVIOUS CHAPTER WIZARD'S LAIR MAIN PAGE L'ESPION'S STORY PAGE NEXT CHAPTER