The Dragons of Sara Sara (3 page)

Catharina flung her horse about and gave a wild yell. “The Dark Lord stirs.” In an instant she was racing toward the village. Antonin heeled his horse around with a last glance at the horizon where the smoke cloud was clearly visible now, towering into the sky.

“Move your team Trader.” He yelled as he sped by the wagon. “Move them for your life man.”

The Trader needed no urging. His horses were already restless and anything that would make a Maiden shriek and flee for her life was enough for him. He didn't even look back. He raised his long whip and the air crackled above the horses heads. The land was flat if slightly undulating and good ground for a wagon, even a damaged one. Within moments the trio were streaming across the wide plain toward the village and outlying farms. Antonin tried his best to catch Catharina. She was almost flat along her horse, her head low by the horses neck as she urged Khrif on. She was the picture of speed and Antonin knew he had no chance of catching her.

“What had she seen?” Antonin wondered. He too had seen the vast black cloud billowing up from Sara Sara, but Catharina's reaction was that of someone who had faced the Dark Lord eye to eye. There were strange things happening this day. Thunder rolling through the earth. The great North Road cracking and smoking. Sara Sara billowing more smoke than had ever been seen from it. It was many days ride to the distant Dragon Spine Mountains that formed a barrier before the lands that held Sara Sara. The mountain itself lay deep in the Blasted Lands. “The creatures that inhabited that landscape would be in some turmoil now.” Thought Antonin. He sped across the plain in pursuit of Catharina.

The Trader and his wagon had fallen some way behind by now but he stayed true to the direction of the village by following the dust cloud raised by the horses of Catharina and Antonin. Whatever was happening he wanted no part of being out on the open plain alone in the gathering night. The Trader was a big man and as tough as any of his kind. The nomadic life the Traders led was not an easy one. They had passage rights in all lands. The only place they never went was the Blasted Lands. There was no trading to be had there. There was not a living soul there to trade with. Certainly none that could be called human.

The first of the outlying farms came into sight, and then the winding dusty road that served as a link between the farms and the village. Clearly the ground tremor had reached even here. People could be seen milling about on some of the farms. Horses being hitched or saddled, some people simply running toward the road. The sight of the two riders with a Trader's wagon in hot pursuit was enough to cause a stir even if the ground rumbling hadn't. There were already some farmers on the road, heading into the village. Alarm was spreading like a grass fire as Catharina sped by them all, Antonin's horse pounding the roadway not far behind. Both were low in the saddle and riding like the wind. No sooner had some people moved back onto the road after their passing than they were jumping for their lives as the huge wagon of the Trader thundered past in a cloud of dust. People and horses were scattered into the surrounding plain, men shouting and waving their arms. Children were screaming and dogs barking in excitement, and the goodwives tried desperately to keep their families from being tipped into the dust or trampled.

Finally Catharina's horse drummed over the low wooden bridge that spanned The West Water, into the village. She swept on through heading directly to her Sept House on the far edge of the village. The Elders of the Clan were there and would know what it was she had faced. Surely they would know what it was that had assailed her with such ferocity and evil. She could still feel her skin prickling.

Antonin saw her direction, and knew he could not follow. No man was allowed in the Clan compound of the Maidens of the Mare Altan. He slid Asifa to a stop in front of the inn hoping that his father and mother would either be there already or soon arriving. The sun was almost below the horizon, and long shadows fell across the common. Only a blazing red crescent stained the horizon. The trader swept his wagon into the square in front of the inn, almost toppling it over as it went up on to two wheels as he hauled the team of six around in a tight circle to stop them.

Those already in the square scattered with wild shouts. Smaller carts and farm wagons were filling the square as more and more people poured in from the surrounding district.

The Dog and Girl was a two story building and the largest in the village. As far as anyone knew, the village had actually grown up around the inn. Rumour and story had it that the inn had been built in a past age. Its foundations were of huge stones deeply buried in the hard earth, and they outlined a building of much larger size than the one that now stood. Even the name was a mystery. The Dog and Girl was the name on a painted sign swung on cross bars on a solid post in front of the inn. On it was painted a girl in flowing dress with a large shaggy red haired dog on a lead beside her. The girls cloths were strange. No one wore cloths like that in any land that was known, even by the Traders. No one had ever seen a dog like the one she led. In the background of the painting stood a stone monolith with strange writing on it.

The innkeeper, Daga Domain by name kept the sign in good repair. As had all of his ancestors before him. A tradition as binding as that of the inn itself remaining open. The inn never closed although trade was spare most times. The busiest days were celebrations of Harvest and the two days – shruq dyal shshems and ghrub dyal shshems - that marked the longest and shortest days of the year. Weddings and Name Days, funerals and celebrations of good fortune often kept the inn lamps burning well into the night.

This night had the makings of the busiest night the inn had seen since the passing of the Queen's Guard this way many years ago. That had been the last time that trouble had come to the village. The wild hordes of Tharsians from Mordos Gloom, the dark forest far to the east had taken to raiding farms and small villages bordering on the plains. They carried off the people and live stock and put all else to the torch. Word had got back to the city of the Queen, Nan Hai. The city lay in the south of the lowland country of Xiao Altai. The city of Nan Hai was ancient. It was said to be the most ancient city in the land. It had been built in a time long past by people long disappeared. Those living there now had come to the city only two thousand or so years ago, long after the great ages of the past had come to an end. Long after the last great battle between The Dark Lord and the Forces of Light. Long after the passing into myth and legend of the Lord of the Dragon Armies.

The Dog and Girl began to fill rapidly. The men jostling for chairs and benches in the vast common room. The women heading instead to the house of the Women's Council. Regardless of the men thinking that they alone ran things and made all the decisions, nothing took place without the approval of the women's council. It had never been openly decided. It was just the way it was. In matters that effected the social and cultural life of the district the women held sway. In matters of the land, or of war and turmoil, the women gladly left matters to the men. So they said at least.

Except for the Warrior Maidens. The Mare Altan. They were a law unto themselves. They were under the guidance of the elders of their clans. Those considered too old to fight, or those in whom the Gift of the Wind was strong formed the core of the clan. The young ones were the warriors. It was they who now kept the roving bands of Tharsians from destroying completely the otherwise peaceful life of the people of The Star Field Plain.

It was hard to tell the age of these women. Not all were young, some showing streaks of grey at the temples, their hair pulled back and tied into braids that hung down their backs. Once a maiden came back from a raid with her hair in a braid it was a foolish foe who crossed her path after that. No girl taking up the spear and the bow could braid her hair until fully trained and considered so by her peers. This nearly always meant the death of an enemy in combat. With the Tharsians raiding out of Mordos Gloom on a regular basis the warriors were in no short supply of enemies. The Queen's Guard were many weeks away to the south, and the Catharsis raids were left to the warriors of the plain to deal with. It was the Spear Maidens who kept the peace and security of the Star Field Plain. Indeed throughout the whole of Da Altai and Xiao Altai. The last Trader to put a number to them had counted fourteen clans across Da Altai and each of these had a number of septs making up the clan. It had been the same in Xiao Altai. Fourteen clans, and septs making up each clan. The sept numbers were unknown, and apparently a secret. It still made up a number of well over one thousand warriors. It was said that a squad of Maidens could run down a horse and still continue on at a steady pace for as long as they chose. Horses formed a part of their lives, but many a foe had found that the maidens were just as deadly on foot as mounted. Perhaps more so.

Their clothes were the colours of the land, all browns and greens and greys. They could hide behind a blade of grass it was said. As deadly as they were in battle, they were still the children of the villagers and farmers of the districts, and were treated still as their children by the mothers. It was a matter of great pride for a family to have a daughter take up the spear or a son to join the secretive societies of the warrior men. Those girls found to have the Gift of the Wind had no choice. They were shown respect and love, and included in the daily lives of the people of the plains. Only their foes need have fear of them.

In all cases though, the girls left home and moved to the clan house, later choosing which sept they would belong to.

The villagers and farmers of the plains rarely gave thought to these things though. Life went on in a steady round of work and rest, and a little social life at small market days in the village square or on the common by the West Water. Occasionally a Trader or travelling Story teller would happen by and this was usually enough for Daga Domain to mount an extra keg of ale or two in the huge racks behind the serving counter of the inn. The men and women of the district would come into the village for a few hours of happy socialising, and perhaps a little half-hearted horse trading between the herders and the Maidens.

Today was very different. The earth itself had shaken. Chickens and livestock alike had taken flight on farms and the very hearth stone of the inn's great fireplace had cracked with a bang like a fire work. The plump innkeeper with his shiny forehead – he insisted he was not going bald, was still trying to clear the mess when the commotion started outside. Within moments his common room began to fill with men alternately calling for a meeting and for jugs of his best ale. It seemed to depend on what the individual thought the more important.

The square was in turmoil. Women and children scattering like chickens from under the hooves of plunging horses, men yelling and babies wailing. The village dogs seemed in a frenzy of excitement either barking fit to loosen their heads or sitting on their haunches and howling with a keening note that made the hair on the back of strong men's arms prickle.

Calm had to be restored in a hurry or serious injury would be done. The innkeeper was also Mayor and duty called. Back in the kitchens there was a huge copper skillet used to prepare quick breads for large gatherings. Master Domain shouted above the noise in the common room, “Cook – bring out the copper skillet. Hurry woman!”

The cook had been looking out of her kitchen door at the goings on in the common room. As fast as her great girth would allow she dragged the huge copper disk on its stand out onto the porch.

“Quickly Cook.” Yelled Dagar Domain above the noise. “Out to the steps with it.” Meanwhile he cleared a path for the cook through the common room. This was no time for being polite and men scattered before his flailing broom like so many boys.

“Take a good hold.” He called to the cook and began striking the huge copper pan with a length of hardwood he kept as a cudgel behind the serving counter.

Slowly the dull booms echoing from the copper pan penetrated the din in the village square and the common room alike.

People stopped milling about and looked to the innkeeper. Even the dogs ceased their howling. Some only after a well aimed farmers boot. The horses settled slowly, some of the more spirited younger horses being manhandled into stamping puffing knots on the edge of the common.

Slowly quiet descended on the village. Women stood weeping, clutching their children to their skirts. The men restless, hefting wooden staffs or long unused battle axes from hand to hand as if expecting attack from the Dark Hordes of Mordor at any moment.

With quiet now on the square and behind him in the common room Dagar Domain raised his voice. “What is happening? Is there any one man or woman who knows for sure the meaning of all this commotion?” He paused and a murmur started amongst the people, rising in seconds to gather strength as each person sought to put forward their ideas.

With a mighty blow to the pan that rang a boom out over the crowd, the innkeeper roared "Silence. Will you have your families trampled in front of your very eyes?”

Everyone fell quiet in an instant, terror at the unknown writ large in their eyes. Suddenly a dog at the very foot of the inn steps let out a long howl. The man nearest all but jumped out of his skin and let out a bellow himself. He gave the dog a hefty kick in the ribs – the dog ceased it's howl in mid voice.

The farmer looked about himself sheepishly muttering about “Fool light blinded animals scaring a man's wits.”

It was enough to break the mood of simmering fear and panic. Those nearest to the farmer began to laugh at his discomfort, and the laughter caught on as people realized there really didn't seem to be anything threatening them. The fellow who had been so startled by the dog forced his way into the common room red faced, those of his friends nearby slapping their sides with laughter and wiping tears from their cheeks.

Calm and order was restored. Women and children moved off to the Women's Council. The common room was still no place for them, even in times like these. Horses were hitched to railings and hitching posts, and others turned out onto the common to graze. The gently sloping ground that ran down to the river from the common was well grassed with lush green growth. Trees lined the banks, Weeping Willows for the most and the river at this point was little more than a stream. The flow was not rapid, but steady for all that and kept the water clear and clean.

Only the Trader with his team of six remained unmoving in the centre of the square. He didn't belong to the village or the district, and would not enter the inn if a council meeting was to take place. Besides that he had a cargo in the wagon that he was loath to leave unattended. The only person who seemed to notice his reluctance was Antonin. Catharina had not reappeared. With the square now almost empty, and everyone crowding into the inn or off to the Women's Council, Antonin sidled his horse over to the Trader who still sat on the wagon seat.

“Will you join me in the inn Trader?” He asked.

“Unhitch your horses. Master Domain the innkeeper will stable them and mount a guard on your wagon if that is what you require.” Antonin glanced over the coverings of the wagon as he spoke. It was only now that he noticed the coverings were tied down over hoops, and not over cargo. This was a wagon that had been made to carry people. The Traders were a close lot, and didn't like people prying into their business, but a covered wagon on top of the day's events needed some explanation.

“I will stay at your village inn farm boy. My wagon needs repairs and the horses need resting. I will need rooms for two beside myself."

The Trader left it at that. His glare enough to forestall questions from Antonin.

“Well, if that was the way he wanted it,” thought Antonin. “Fine by me.” Antonin walked his horse over to the inn and found it a place at the hitch rail. He hadn't noticed Master Domain still standing on the inn porch.

"So the Trader has company has he?” said Daga to Antonin. “I will see this company first before he or they set foot in my inn though, or I'll be a Light Blinded fool.”