The Dragons of Sara Sara (11 page)

The light of the Seal blinked out plunging the gathering into inky darkness. Even the still burning torches could not make an impression after the brilliance of the Seal's light. No one had ever seen such a light, brighter than even the noonday sun. As the light had blinked out there were screams from the crowd, and not all from the women.

Slowly the torch light took hold as eyes again adjusted to the lesser light.
The whole episode had taken only moments leaving even Jardine and Riadia stunned. Neither had expected the Seal to act on its own and use the Trader as it's vehicle.

“Trader,” began Jardine. “You must not leave the village. You must stay where we can protect you and the village with you. Runners will be sent to locate the Seekers of the Key, and with them Mei'An.”Annan began to open his mouth to speak.

“No Annan,” said Jardine in a soft voice. “The Seal must not be lost nor risked again. Do you not see? The village is sealed and cleansed of all influences of the Dark Lord now. With you hidden here it will stay that way. It will take some time for the Dark Lord to realize that there is one place now where he cannot see. Where his eyes and ears can learn no tales.. Where the Great Seal is held safe. You stand at the centre of a district. There are warriors at a day's even spacing all the way to the edge of the Star Field Plain.” As if surprising himself at the length of his speech, Jardine snapped his mouth shut. The Trader said nothing. Still stunned by his new found ability he could only agree. He did not want to be out on the plain alone now. He would stay and take the protection offered by the warriors. He gave a nod to Jardine.

 

 

 

“It is done.” Riadia's voice rolled across the common. “We are chosen to guard the Seal, and it's Guardian. Maidens will be selected to carry the news to the Wind Reader. Defence of the village must be begun this very night. The Dark Lord will not be in ignorance long.”

Men began to form into working parties, along with the women. Different skills would be needed. It was quickly decided that wooden palisades would be built around the entire village as some protection against any marauding bands sent by the Dark Lord, or even Tharsians for bands of Tharsians had been reported on the plains again. It was the raiding season, with summer drawing to a close. It would take days to fully complete fortifications, but the men and women resolved to work in teams until it was done. Farmers and villagers were gathered in numbers within the village as never seen before. Even as Riadia and Jardine climbed down from the stone cairn to take charge of their warrior bands work was under way.

For a moment all seemed safe in the village. But what of the farms? A small group of farmers had gathered outside the inn unsure of what to do next. The animals needed tending. Some still in pens and barns. Crops needed tending and watering, and the many tasks that went into the daily running of a farm had to be taken care of.

The men looked to Daga as the leader. He was after all district mayor as well as innkeeper.

“Daga, is it safe to return to our farms?” called some.

“What of our animals, chickens, crops?” cried others.

Daga stood on the steps of the inn, scratching his chin and thinking.

“Well,” he began. “Perhaps it may be safe, perhaps not. Can we assume our troubles are over for the very moment?”

“The Trader said we were safe now.” Called someone from the crowd. Some of the wives and children had gathered with their men. Anxious voices murmured in the small crowd. The women wore worried frowns, along with the menfolk. The children thought it was great fun. Up so late, and the adults hardly taking any notice of them at all. The recent display still sparkled in the minds of the young ones. They had never seen the like. Even the travelling performers that happened by occasionally couldn't compare. Some amongst them had seen the firework displays that they often carried to the village wrapped in oilskins. Huge paper wrapped tubes that roared and flashed when touched with fire sticks. Rockets that flashed into the sky and exploded there with a rain of brilliant sparkling lights like falling stars. Only the older children seemed to realize that all was not well.

“Listen to me,” called Daga. “We need good riders to go out to the farms in each direction and do what is necessary.” The farmers looked at each other. It was now very late. Indeed well into the night and past the middle portions when it was considered that the spirits roamed abroad. Only the youngest babies slept yet.

Daga pondered the situation. The farmers murmured in the background. He came to his conclusions.

“Rest now in your wagons or those of your friends. You are welcome to share the inn if you need shelter for the young ones and your good lady wives. The night has been long, and we leave at first light to do what we must do. Animals that cannot be brought back to the village must be freed to roam so that they may fend for themselves as best they can. Crops not gathered in yet must be left, or burnt. Possessions must be left, except perhaps for family treasures such as those that can be carried by men on horses. Who ever goes out must be out and back within the day, and back well before the next sunset. No one must travel alone, and there will be parties of six to go to each quadrant where the farms lay. Go now to rest.”

Heads nodded in agreement. The practicalities of the situation drew the women into action. They called to children still at play to attend. Soon the crowd was dispersed as people found their resting places and children were quickly settled. Daga stood alone on the steps of the inn, gazing out into the star filled night. It was early morning and nothing stirred that he could see. The warriors of both the Asha Altan, and those of the Mare Altan had dispersed, apart from those assigned guard duty, and Daga didn't expect to be able to see those. They would not be seen unless they wanted to be. They would guard the village this night with their lives if need be.

Daga turned and went indoors. He went through to the meeting room, and there was the polished red wood box still on the table. A little dusty but unharmed. Daga lifted the box and made his way upstairs to his private rooms.

The lamps were lit in the bed room and Jolin his wife sat on the edge of the bed.

“Well Daga.” She paused. “Let us see what it is that began tonight's events.” She lifted her chin to indicate the dark red lacquered wood chest.

Daga placed it on a foot stool and lifted the lid. He drew aside the pale blue silk covering and already the shimmer of the yellow dress cast a glow out of the box. He drew the dress up to arms length and Jolin could not stifle a sigh. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The lamp light in the room paled in its brilliance. There was a gasp and a strangled cry from the door way. Daga whipped his head around, his wife already on her feet. It was only their oldest daughter. No danger after all. Daga grunted at his unease.

His daughter stood in the door in her night shift, her hand over her mouth and eyes as big as saucers. Her gaze was riveted on the dress still held up by her father. So bright. Not even the yellow daisies of the plain were this bright. She could hardly focus her eyes on the dress as it shimmered and shone with a life of its own. Truly this silk as the Trader had called it was a magical material. Daga's oldest daughter, Desare, was almost a young woman. Daga could not see it of course, but her mother could. Desare took a step into the room.

“Mother, what is this fabulous dress? Where did it come from?” She tore her eyes away from the dress to look at her mother.

“My daughter,” she replied. “The dress is to be yours on your wedding day, when that day arrives.” Jolin looked her daughter up and down and silently hoped that it would not be too soon. She loved her daughter dearly and would miss her about the house, but she knew in her heart that like all children her daughter must grow and eventually make a life for herself. She sighed with resignation. “The dress comes from far away Hua Guo. It seems the price was higher than anyone expected, but it will be yours on your day.”

Desare ran to her mother and threw her arms around her, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had dreamed of her marriage day since a little girl. A fine handsome young man dressed in fine cloths. Herself in yellow, the colour of the daisies. She never dreamed that it might actually come true. She knew of course that her future husband would be a local boy, and his best clothes would be his cleanest work clothes. But it didn't stop her dreaming, and here they were at least half true. Her wedding, when ever that day arrived would be remembered in the village forever.

Jolin pattered her daughters hair and wiped her tear stained cheeks.

By now Daga had returned the dress to its box and sealed it shut again.

“To bed daughter,” he grumbled. “There are still the new day's tasks to be done and I fear the new day will soon be upon us.”

The girl left the room, a dreamy look now in her eyes. The lamps were extinguished and Daga rested his weary bones on the bed. It was too late to change, he would be up and about in only a very short while. Just a few minutes rest was all he needed. He shut his eyes. He had seen the Trader into his wagon from his window, and all seemed well with the world. He would just rest for a moment.
This was a dream surely. No, he was still awake. Wasn't he? But he was in the middle of a herd of horses, stamping and snorting as they circled around him. He didn't think they looked very friendly and they were certainly getting closer with those flashing hooves. He saw that they had riders low in their saddles. How had he not seen them earlier? He was still puzzling this out when he felt one lean over and tug at his coat. Then another tug. They were trying to drag him into the wall of moving horses. This was not very friendly at all. He tried to avoid them, but each time he seemed to get a little closer to the horses now a thundering wall all around him. Suddenly he felt a solid bump. He was falling. He could see the razor sharp hooves coming over him. Suddenly the pain caused him to let out a wild yell and he tried to push himself to his feet. He looked around in a daze. Daylight streamed through the windows. He could hear horses below the window and the voices of riders. He shook his head and put his hand to his nose which he realized was aching. It came away bloody. He realized with some chagrin that that he had fallen off the bed in a dream.

He rinsed his face in the basin of cold water that his wife had left for him and cleared off the blood. He rushed down the stairs as fast as his bulk would allow. There were mounted men in the yard. They must be ready to check the outlaying farms. They watched Daga as he came out of the inn. Much good natured banter greeted him. No one had had much sleep though, and even now people were still yawning and stretching by campfires on the village square and the common.

“Eight good riders – no more.” Called Daga, silencing the talk.

“Two by the North Road, two by the South, two each over the river by the ruins and two west toward the great road. Do not go beyond the last farm and return immediately. If you see any sign of anyone – anyone hear! Then turn and ride as your life depends on it. It surely will. You will not see the Mare Altan, nor the Asha Altan. Anyone else will not be your friend. Go now and return before dark. We will not be able to ride out after you.”

Even as he finished speaking, eight riders had sorted themselves out and were off out of the village by various directions at full gallop. They had a lot of ground to cover, and must be back by nightfall.

The riders had only been gone a short time into the early dawn when a watcher called down from the rooftop of the inn.

"Smoke away to the west. Three columns. Looks like Coolavare's farm.”

Then began a movement, then a rush to the edge of the village for a clearer view.

"Smoke columns west by south.” Came a second call.

Everyone knew that the riders could not possibly have reached those farms yet. There was no stopping them now. They were far out on the plain and riding hard. Surely they must have seen the smoke themselves. They would swing wide to avoid confrontation if they could. It had to be Tharsians. No one wanted to guess what it meant. Perhaps the upheavals of yesterday had also shaken the Tharsians. There were warriors out on the plain, and even as the village watched, a large group of Mare Altan could be seen loping away from the village in double file and disappearing into the ground as they found one of the many small depressions in the plain and used it for cover. The smoke from the fires could now be seen on a fairly wide front, and could only be burning crops. Perhaps even houses. Men and women stood watching in grim silence. It was a hard land at the best of times.

Work on the village fortifications had stopped as people watched the smoke. The rising sun turned dark orange as the smoke hung in the still air.

The Trader Annan Hamar came and stood beside Daga. He spoke in a low voice, “I think we should continue fortifications Daga. Those smoke columns look like Tharsian cooking fires to me. Some anyway. Too small to be farm buildings and they are not Altan signal fires.”

Daga did not like what he was hearing, but of course the Trader was right, and with the entire population of the district now within the village area preparations must be taken.

“You are right Annan.” Said Daga, clapping the big man on the shoulder. “We must prepare for the worst. The Dark Lord is on the move. The final battle comes and we have no idea when it will be upon us.”

The stockades were built right around the village with the only access by gates on the main road into the village. The foundations for the stockade walls had been long in place of course. Xugui had not always been so peaceful a place, and the older men knew exactly how to throw up the stout log walls with minimum delay. Everyone was hard at work, men women and children alike. Fletchers were gathered by the huge barn and along with the older boys were producing arrows from stored willow cuttings. Every weapon of every kind that could be located was being brought to the barn and collected into a great armoury. Some men had even located old armour that had been long discarded or put to other uses, leftovers for the old wars that had finally cleared the Tharsians back to their forest redoubt. Women banded together and made bandages and other items that may have been necessary if battle indeed arrived on their doorsteps. Food was assessed and locations noted. Many people of course had dried meat, stored grains and live chickens for both meat and eggs. The men might do the fighting, but they would need feeding to keep up their strength and the women took the task willingly. They were husbands, sons and brothers and friends after all.

The children sensed the urgency and ran errands with a willingness that surprised many an adult.

There was not a warrior from the Mare or Asha Altan to be seen. They would not wait in the village for an enemy to appear on their door step. Most were by now far out on the plain, circling out to stop any intruding raiding parties well before they even saw the village. They would be on foot. They were skilled riders but preferred to run into battle on their own feet. Horses gave away their position too easily, and the warriors were masters at blending into the landscape. Their clothes were the colours of the vegetation of the plain, and their sun darkened skins the colour of the earth. You could be standing right in the middle of a full band of warriors and not know it until too late.

The Tharsians were without fear, but even they knew that if they met a band of warriors from the plains they would have to fight for their lives without mercy. Raiding parties from other lands simply tried to avoid them.