Chapter Forty-seven
The Writer and the Poet
Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild
By mid-morning, the twins found
themselves looking at the confluence of two major tributaries of the
Morgulduin. Tumbling down from deep gorges on either side of the valley, the
churning waters, still swollen from the rains of the previous day, spilled
into the misty stream in a froth of white foam and steam. Here the valley
widened slightly, creating wide bottoms which quickly turned into fens
during the winter rains. Built upon higher ground, the road hugged the feet
of the southern mountains, meandering with their sinuous curves.
Esarhaddon led the riders across a bridge of gray stone which passed over
the stream that flowed from the southern ravine. Just beyond the bridge, a
rocky overlook commanded an impressive view of the confluence. Upon this
scenic point was a grove of dark evergreens which stood tall and proud. In
the midst of the coppice was a standing stone, both majestic and unsettling
in its austerity. Rose brambles twined about the slender obelisk, the thorny
vines embracing it in the desperate clasp of a dying lover, the fragrant
crimson blossoms the color of freshly spilled drops of blood.
Though the slaver and his companions scarcely gave a glance to the standing
stone, the girls were fascinated by the unexpected sight. Disappointed that
the slaver did not slow the brisk pace, Elffled frowned as the grove passed
by her admiring eyes all too fleetingly. From out of the corner of her
vision, she caught the cold, hard expression upon the Captain's face.
Deciding that it would be best not to ask the sour-faced Captain about the
origins of the stone, she wondered, "Why does he always have to be so
unpleasant and intimidating?" She looked over her shoulder for a last
glimpse at the granite sentinel, and when she glanced at Ubri again, she
found that he was deep in contemplation, absently staring at some point in
the distance.
Unbidden, a vagrant thought not of her own making began to filter into
Elffled's mind. The sight which so enthralled her had not even penetrated
Ubri's clouded brain. But how could she know that? she asked herself with a
feeling of unease. She closed her eyes, stubbornly unwilling to accept what
her senses told her. Yet she could not deny the words that came to her mind.
The Captain was brooding upon the death of Caran, the previous captain of
Moskala before Valto. Scattered fragments of his thoughts intruded upon her
consciousness... "He was a poor player at tarocca... what a fool to wager so
much... He owed me five silver coins when he died... now I will never see
that money again!"
The possibility that she might be reading Ubri's mind was a disturbing one
to Elffled, for this was the first time that she had ever understood the
intimate thoughts of another. Now that she considered it, though, she could
remember incidents when she had discerned Elfhild's unspoken thoughts, or so
it had seemed then. An impish little smile turned up the corners of her lips
as she reminisced, "Usually Elfhild's ponderings are not worth knowing, but
sometimes when she thinks about men, she can be quite entertaining. My
sister is not so pure as she wants everyone to think!" Perhaps Elffled did
possess a slight degree of clairvoyance, but a more likely explanation was
that she knew her sister so well that she could guess what the other girl
was thinking.
Why, then, had she been able to understand what the surly Ubri contemplated
inside his brooding skull? Or had she only imagined that she had perceived
anything? The man frightened her terribly, and she knew that even if she
could clearly divine his every fantasy, she would find them obscene, even
violent. However, there had been nothing terrible in the sensations which
she had received from him; in fact, they had been ludicrously petty. What a
fool he was to lament money owed to him by a dead man! How crass and
disgusting! Bowing her head, she looked down at the pommel and hid her
amusement under long, curling lashes.
Perhaps she should cultivate this slight talent which she might have...
Could anyone possess a greater power than the ability to fathom another's
mind... and perhaps even influence it? The idea was intoxicating! Then with
a sinking feeling, she reasoned that such notions were only wishful
thinking. She sighed heavily. She was just an insignificant slave girl, lost
and alone in an alien land, and not some sorceress of great power told about
in the old songs and tales.
Elfhild felt far less restrained in asking the question that was on both of
the sisters' minds. "Master Ganbar," she asked deferentially, "that great
stone we saw by the road... is it a marker to honor some battle or other
momentous happening?"
Up ahead of them, the slaver called for the riders to slow their mounts to a
walk. As his horse's gait decreased, Ganbar turned to Elfhild and studied
her face. "I am surprised you even noticed that marker, but your question is
a reasonable one."
"Why surprised, Master Ganbar?" She bit her lower lip, fearing that her
question had somehow angered him.
"Most slave girls would scarcely notice the great stone at all, and if they
did, they would titter and giggle to their friends and tell them that the
obelisk resembled a certain male appendage." Ganbar chuckled, amused at his
own lewd jest. "Slave girls are usually far too busy devising ways to
impress the Shakh with their charms to think of much else. Almost all of
them want nothing more than for him to bed them that night."
A furious warmth suffused Elfhild's cheeks. "If that is all slave girls
think about," she declared vehemently, "it is because they are never
encouraged to think of anything else! You Southrons seem to feel that all
women are brainless creatures with nothing on their minds save for the
pleasures of the flesh!" She tossed her head in defiance and riveted him
with a scathing glare. "Master Ganbar, although this might truly astound
you, women actually have minds which possess the ability to reason and
rationalize. I never would have seen anything obscene in the standing stone
until you so considerately pointed that detail out to me. From the first
moment I laid eyes upon it, I saw the stone as an object representing great
grief and tragedy, and I still see it as that!"
"There, there, I will take your word for it!" Cross at her outspoken words,
Ganbar raised his hand to silence her. "You do not need to keep blathering
about the subject all day. I am not deaf!" He looked away from Elfhild for a
few moments until his temper cooled. When his eyes returned to her, they
seemed genuinely curious. "Why are you so interested in the stone?"
Irked by Ganbar's lack of comprehension, Elfhild lashed out at him
sarcastically. "Since being forced to accompany your master and all of you
upon this journey, I have seen marvels which I never believed could exist.
There have been great cities of stone, castles and fortresses, endless
fields of ensorcelled poppies, an ice cold river whose steaming waters bring
death at just a mere sip, and rugged mountains covered with plants the like
of which I have never seen before. If I am ever taught to read and write,
someday I just might write a book about all my travels." She lifted her chin
and glowered at him like an angry hen with hackles raised, daring him to
challenge her.
Ganbar's eyebrows shot up. "I have never heard of a woman writing a book,
but if you ever do, slave girl, I want to be the first to purchase a copy."
His lips twitched as he unsuccessfully tried to stifle his laughter.
"Maybe you will do just that, Master Ganbar," she spat out wrathfully.
"Maybe you just will!" Her frustration had been speaking when she claimed
that someday she planned to write a book, but now that she considered it,
the idea sounded fascinating. If only she could read...
"Now do you want to hear about this stone or not?" he asked dryly, still
amused at the feisty little blonde slut.
"Yes, of course, or I never would have asked in the first place!"
While the Southron and the slave girl had been deep in spirited
conversation, their mounts had settled into a slow walk, causing them to
fall behind the other riders. Hearing a deep chuckle, they both turned to
look at a grinning Inbir.
"Writing a book, is she? Hmmm..." He rubbed his chin. "Ganbar, maybe we
ought to give her some practical experience before she begins to write.
After all, what does a naive virgin know that would be worth writing? I
would think that a book written by a slave girl should be a spicy,
scintillating read, and this mournful looking wench seems hardly capable of
such a feat. Each of us should teach her something different, Ganbar, and
before long, she will know all the sundry positions which are described in
such lavish detail in the Eastern love manuals!" His dark, sultry eyes
flashed with such a mixture of bold sensuality and pure devilishness that
Elfhild flushed hotly and studied her fingernails. Laughing deeply, he
directed his mocking taunts towards Ganbar. "Once you boasted that you had
developed some new ones of your own, including a variation of Fluttering
Dove, which involves suspending the girl from--"
His large ears reddening with embarrassment, Ganbar cleared his throat
loudly. "Oh, be quiet, you damned idiot! Fetch your oud and compose another
maudlin melody about how the flooding wadi ripped you away from your
beloved! No, wrong song," he added spitefully. "Sing about how you are a
slave to your mistress' bow-shaped eyebrows, or better still, how you
worship her perfumed grotto with its ever-gushing fountains!"
"You insult my talents, Ganbar!" Inbir snarled, shaking his fist high in the
air. "Get off that horse right now, you rapscallion, and we will settle the
debt you owe to art!"
"Oh, shut up, Inbir! Today your brain is in your crotch," Ganbar spat as he
kicked his horse into a brisk walk. Laughing uproariously, the younger man
watched him ride away, and then moved his horse beside Elfhild's mount. He
flashed the bewildered girl a magnificent smile of pearly white teeth. "Have
you ever noticed that Master Ganbar has much in common with that obnoxious
denizen of the desert, the camel?" he asked, his voice filled with mischief.
"Both are surly-tempered, devoid of a sense of humor, and filled with such
massive quantities of flatulence that when they break wind, the zephrs go
out both ends."
"I - I do not know," Elfhild stammered. She did not understand much of what
Inbir had said, for he was far more fluent in Common Speech than was she.
The references to a "camel" left her utterly baffled, and since she did not
want to announce her ignorance, she decided to withhold asking any
questions. The whole situation made her tense, for she wished to have no
part in any in any argument between these two men. Knowing her ill fortune,
she would choose to favor the loser, thus incurring the animosity of the
winner. At last she found her voice. "Master Inbir, I have to be--"
"You need not be in such haste, little one." His voice was husky as his hand
snaked out and seized her horse's reins below the bit. The horse snorted in
surprise and tried to jerk away, but the young Southron soothed the beast
with those strange melodic words in his own language.
"Please, I - I really should go," she whimpered, but in response he only
gripped the reins tighter as he moved his horse closer to hers.
"Little siren of the North, you and I have never talked much. There has
never been an opportunity." His dark flashing eyes sparkled with amusement.
"What do you want, Master?" she implored nervously, casting a yearning
glance towards the rest of the party, which was steadily drawing farther
away from them.
"Nothing, nothing at all," he murmured, his deep, masculine voice low and
tempting, "only the opportunity to admire the bow of your eyebrows as they
arch with such charming chagrin above your alarmed blue eyes... and the
graceful slope of your regal nose... the set of your determined little
chin... and, ah, did I forget the very enticing curves of your pink,
petal-soft lips? You ask what I want. Nothing, nothing at all... save one
smile from your sweet mouth." His intense brown eyes stared insolently into
hers.
Inbir's strange behavior frightened Elfhild, for she had never seen him act
in such a bizarre way. She longed to escape his attentions, but he held her
horse fast. Instead, she lowered her head, deferentially refusing to
acknowledge his presence. Though she, as a slave, could never tell him to go
away, perhaps he would take the hint from her polite reserve. And to think
her sister was actually infatuated with this odd young man! Well, maybe now
Elffled would not find him so desirable once she saw how peculiar he was.
"No smile for me, pretty little flower?" Inbir's forehead wrinkled in a deep
frown. "Not even one tiny smile? No?" His dark eyes mourned in
disappointment. "You have answered me with cruel silence, more cutting than
the sharpest sword. My heart is broken, smitten to the core!" Raising his
face towards heaven, he brought his hand to his heart. "With great sorrow, I
am forced to release you. Heartless maiden, have you no comprehension of the
injustice which you have done?" A shuddering sigh racked his lean, wiry
body.
"What have I done, Master?" Elfhild looked up at him in bewilderment,
uncertain what she had done and frightened that she would be punished for
this unknown crime.
"O Perfection of Beauty, do you not know what heinous blow has been
inflicted upon my soul?" He stared at her, his face contorted in shock.
"No, Master, no!" Elfhild shook her head violently, her eyes wide with fear.
"I do not know what you are talking about!" Close to panic, she realized how
high-pitched and shrill her voice had become, and she winced at the sound.
"You really do not understand, do you?" Inbir looked at her pityingly, as
though she were a simple-minded child. "Perhaps you were not paying
attention, but Master Ganbar gave me an important task. Should I fail to
fulfill it, I would suffer his taunts and jeers."
"What was your task, Master?" Elfhild ventured, totally confused now.
"I am surprised that you cannot remember, for he was quite emphatic...
unless, of course, you two are fellow conspirators in a plot designed to
make me appear foolish." Inbir's voice was dead serious. "He requires a song
of me, and not just any song, mind you, but one about how I pay slavish
homage to the eyebrows of my mistress... and her other intriguing virtues.
Unfortunate man that I am, I have no mistress. What was I to do?" He
shrugged. "I decided to use you as my model."
"A model?" Elfhild stared at him in dismay, horrified by the thoughts of a
lewd song about her.
"Well, you were convenient." His face broke into a wide grin as his deep
voice rumbled in uproarious laughter. "Now go and tell that to Ganbar,
girl!" He was almost bent double with mirth as the tears rolled down his
cheeks. "Explain... explain," he wiped the tears from his face, "that he
would have had a song if only you had given me a smile!"
"Yes, Master, yes! I will tell him!" Relief flooded over her as he freed her
horse's reins.
"Then what are you waiting for?" he roared as he gave her horse's rump a
sharp slap. The beast sprang forward in alarm. As she fought to gather the
reins in her hands, Elfhild was quickly born away. She was more than glad to
be quit of Inbir and his eccentric mood.
His laughter finally subsiding, Inbir reached for his waterskin hanging off
the pommel. "Though that bit of entertainment scarcely paid me back for
Ganbar's outrageous insults, there might be some compensation. After all, it
was almost worth it for the pure pleasure of watching the girl squirm. If I
am lucky, she will pester him the rest of the afternoon with nonsensical
questions about my 'unusual behavior.' She would never have the wit to
understand my little joke about the song."
He shook his head. "That one and her sister are a strange pair," he mused as
he rubbed his chin. "No different from the rest of the Northern barbarians,
they are unlearned, coarse, and dull-witted, filthy in body and slovenly of
dress. It is said that they take but one bath a year, which they wait until
May to endure, but only the Gods know!" He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"What other savages would produce daughters reckless and foolish enough to
embark upon a journey through almost two hundred of miles of enemy-held
territory? How ironic it is that - once captive - these formerly wild and
untamed young maidens now think only of ways to preserve their own skins.
Unbelievable! Perhaps we are civilizing them." A deep, melodic chuckle
escaped his throat as he urged his horse into a trot, the pack horses
following behind.
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