Jheheph could not fathom it, either. Either the Zyraii were going to fight, or they weren't. Both sides waited several tense moments, then a single man stood up from a hiding place and walked down to the roadway immediately in front of the trench.
"Don't shoot," Jheheph ordered his men. His curiosity was aroused.
The man in the road stared straight at Jheheph. "I've come to give you another chance," he said.
Jheheph's jaw dropped. He recognized the voice. It was the same Zyraii who had first confronted them two days before, who – so Jheheph had believed – had also set fire to his precious carpets. But surely it was a trick; that man must have died of his wounds.
As if reading the caravan master's mind, the Po-no-pha untied his upper robes and removed them. When he turned his back, several of the watchers in the caravan gasped. Jheheph stared at the scars and began to shake.
The man turned back. "I ask again – pay the tribute. If not, we will fight again. As you can see, the sons of T'lil are not easy to kill." He put his garment back on and stood there, waiting.
Jheheph licked his lips nervously. He called the small brown wizard to him. "What is this sorcery?" he demanded.
The sorcerer shrugged. "How should I know? I make wards. That's all."
Jheheph stared at the Zyraii, and at the others up the slopes, and at the spot in the line where his carpet wagon should have been. He could fight. He could have his slaves fill in the pit, he could send his mercenaries up into the rocks. They still out-numbered the barbarians. They could win. If he hadn't felt confident of that fact, he would not have challenged the T'lil in their own territory.
But – was it worth the loss of cargo like his carpets or his birds? The wealth he had with him now, though only a small part of his fortune, was still staggering. It would serve no one if turned to ash. He had depended too much upon minor magicians. And what good were the best mercenaries against warriors who could rise from the dead?
He called his quartermaster to him. The words nearly choked him; he uttered them only through clenched teeth:
"Pay them."
XXIV
AS THEPO-NO-PHA RETURNEDto the main T'lil camp in the pastures of the Ahloorm Basin, Omi ran frantically out to meet the twins at the corrals.
"Come quickly," she said.
"What's wrong?" Alemar asked.
"It's Rol."
They left their oeikani with another Po-no-pha and hurried back to their tent. Omi ran to the partition and lifted the cloth, beckoning them into the women's section. The twins knew it was serious. This was the first time the wives had ignored the sanctity of the purdah. Peyri was stooped over Rol, who lay stiffly on his mat, a feverish sudor on his brow. He grimaced and held his lower belly.
Meyr and Sesheer got out of the way, and immediately Alemar was kneeling next to the boy, face grim.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I don't know," Peyri said. Her tone surprised Alemar. There was no fear in it, only the resigned attitude of someone who has lost all hope. "It was the same with his older brother."
Alemar drew back the thin sheet and examined Rol. The boy, who in times past had shrunk from any contact with his foster father, seemed too deep in pain to care. Alemar noticed the tautness of Rol's abdominal muscles and pressed, once, lightly, on the right side above the pelvic bone. Rol cried out.
"Pus gut," he said, in Cilendri. The words were an echo from the past. Behind his heart, he felt a sore, kicked feeling, like that he had felt as a child when ridiculed by his companions or cheated of a special treat. But this was an adult hurt, not capable of being put from his mind like those of younger days.
Elenya put a hand on his shoulder. He took it within his own. "Are you certain?" she asked gently.
"Just likeher," he said hoarsely.
The twins felt the women watching, understanding neither the reasons for their reaction nor the foreign language. Alemar felt an old, useless anger grow and was determined that – this time – he would do something to stop it.
"Where can I find a healer?" he demanded abruptly. "A Hab-no-ken?"
Peyri only seemed more despondent. Finally Omi replied, "Rol is only a boy. Hab-no-ken are not summoned to heal a boy."
This made him more angry. "What is the use of healers if they won't heal?"
Omi shrugged – a Zyraii woman's shrug. "Rol is not important enough. Lonal would have to send Po-no-pha many leagues."
"Iwill go."
"Lonal will not let you," Peyri said with certainty.
"We'll see," Alemar said tartly.
"I thoughtyou were a healer," Lonal said.
"Of wounds and injuries," Alemar answered. "I can do nothing for Rol. A Hab-no-ken must be brought."
"No," Lonal said.
"Why not?"
"He is only a child. Should I waste the time of warriors on his behalf? The nearest Hab-no-ken is in the hills." He indicated the rugged terrain to the west. "It is a day's ride there, and another back."
"No one would 'waste time' but me."
"Do you think I would let you go alone?" Lonal sighed, as a parent would when a child is being petulant. "Have you no pride? A man should not be frightened that God has chosen to test his son."
"Next year, Rol will be one of your warriors. Would you abandon him then?"
"That is not the issue. What use is sickness, if not to weed out the weak? What better way for a warrior to play the Bu, than with nothing between himself and fate?"
Alemar showed teeth. "Should I unheal Shigmur, then?"
Lonal shook his head. "I am not arguing that the healers' work is not good. But if we depend on them, we will lose the cutting edge that the desert demands. Rol will have to wait until a healer visits the camp of his own accord."
"That may be too late."
"It is all I will offer."
"I'll duel you," Alemar said.
Lonal stopped. None of the others present spoke.
"If I win, you'll let me go. If you win, I'll do as you say," Alemar continued.
Lonal pursed his lips, scanning the surroundings. R'lar and Shigmur stood near him. Elenya was near her brother, with their wives cowering in the background. Several children played not far away. "The boy is not even your blood kin," he told Alemar.
"Choose your weapon." Alemar's hand wavered near the pommel of his saber.
But Lonal did not move. The two men stared at one another. Soon even the children became silent and began to pay attention to the confrontation. A locust hopped noisily between the two men.
Abruptly, Shigmur stepped forward. "I will go with him, war-leader."
Both Alemar and Lonal looked at the war-second in surprise. Alemar noticed the shift in Lonal's mood and tried to control the sweating of his palms and the slight quiver of his fingers. The pommel was hard and warm.
Finally Lonal shrugged. "According to reports, a Hab-no-ken has been spending his Retreat near the spring of Triple Spires." The war-leader pointed again to the western horizon. "Maybe you will find him there."
Alemar blinked. "I can go?"
"It seems to matter to you, far more than a duel matters to me." Lonal turned to Shigmur. "Take Zhanee and go with him. Be back within three days."
"Thank you," Alemar said.
"Don't. You have no guarantee that the healer has finished his meditations. He may choose not to come. The Hab-no-ken are not bound to cure all the ills of the world. But I'll allow you the chance. Remember it."
"I am surprised," Shigmur said, the bounce of the saddle warbling his words.
"Why?" Alemar asked, eyes riveted forward, though the hills that defined the western boundary of the Ahloorm Basin were still hazy and purple in the distance, and the configuration called Triple Spires would not be visible for many hours.
"Since he came of age, Lonal has not lost a duel. It has been two years since anyone in the camp challenged him to theju-moh-kai. I thought he would fight you, just for the fun of it."
A small chill flowed down Alemar's spine, though if it had been necessary, he would not have hesitated to fight. The son of Keron Olendim was no petty swordplayer.