Barran’s interest quickened as soon as the strangers appeared. Their arrival was apparently unexpected but they were obviously known to the women, who suddenly became subservient and ingratiating. One of them ran, almost girlishly, to the hut, ‘To get the men.’
Barran eyed the men surreptitiously while he continued his work. One was carrying a small case and was conspicuously better dressed than the others. He was also slightly ill at ease.
A client and two bodyguards, Barran decided. The latter were quite unmistakable. One of them was a tall hulking individual who rolled from side to side when he walked and whose arms arced away from his sides. He stood close to his charge, face set. The other was of more average build and had settled himself against a rock, apparently uninterested in the proceedings. The dangerous one, Barran concluded, as he watched the man looking indifferently about the camp. The first would be some moronic ale-house bruiser whose physical presence was intended to deter would-be attackers. Barran thought it unlikely that he would be able to use the sword that hung from his belt. The second, however, would be the one who anticipated and thought. He would go to some lengths to avoid trouble but would move in quickly with deadly force if real need arose. Hewould be able to use a sword – and the knives he would have secreted about him. Barran was grateful for the fact that he was sitting at a menial task and covered in dust. Just as he had read the man, so he knew that he himself would be the object of an intense inspection. He must do nothing to give away his own calling.
He turned his attention to the bodyguards’ client.
The man was an incongruous sight against the bleak rocky surroundings. He was anxiously – and fruitlessly – brushing dust from an ornately embroidered shirt and periodically mopping his flushed face. Barran knew two things about him already; he was important and he was a fool – or most probably so. The women’s actions marked his importance and the two bodyguards gave some measure of his folly – men bought for protection could always be bought by others. And the man did not even carry a knife!
But who was he?
Aigren and the other two miners emerged from the hut. They were carrying a table and two chairs which they set down in front of the stranger. Awkwardly, Aigren swept a kerchief over one of the chairs and motioned him to sit. When he had done so, the man nodded, and Aigren sat opposite him. The other miners stood a respectful distance away.
The women having stopped working, Barran did the same. He leaned forward, rested his chin on the hammer and prepared to watch. The stranger glanced at him and there was a brief conversation which Barran deduced involved an explanation by Aigren of who this new worker was. The man looked at the smaller bodyguard who made a slight hand movement. Seemingly this indicated approval and the man turned back to Aigren again.
Not really expecting serious trouble, are you then? Barran thought. This must be a regular meeting – a routine affair. Had it been otherwise, a conscientious bodyguard would have been holding a knife at his throat while such a judgement was made. Much would be given away here if he had the wit to see it.
Aigren gestured to Ellyn, who, almost like a serving girl, brought the two pots containing the crystals to the table. A merchant, Barran decided. This would be interesting.
The man delicately lifted the lid of one pot, inserted a finger and stirred it around gently as he studied the contents. He seemed satisfied. Ellyn said something to him and pushed the other pot forward expectantly. This received a more thorough examination, with individual crystals being taken out and inspected closely. At one stage he opened his case and took out a large eye-glass to facilitate this. In the end, however, he shook his head slowly, and with an apologetic shrug towards Ellyn, carefully tipped the contents of the second pot into the first. Though she gave little outward sign, Barran could feel her disappointment. One of the other women actually gave a subdued cry.
Then, bargaining proper began. Aigren pulled out a bag from his tunic and slowly emptied the contents on to the table. Despite his control, Barran could not restrain a start as the crystals caught the dusty sunlight and transmuted it into a disproportionate brightness. The glint that he had seen between the child’s fingers the previous day was multiplied manyfold. It seemed to reach out and pinion him, and something stirred deep within him. As did hard-learned warning signals. When he finally managed to pull his eyes from the crystals and back to the two men, he realized that he was holding his breath and craning forward with his hands clenched tightly about the top of the hammer handle. He cast a quick glance at the bodyguard by the rocks to reassure himself that his momentary lapse had gone unnoticed. Lucky, he reproached himself with some relief. But that had been a shock. He had no name for what he had just felt, but it was a long time since anything had moved him so. He had to force himself to keep his gaze away from the crystals.
Fortunately, the bargaining was now underway. The merchant’s high-pitched and whining voice weaving around Aigren’s slow grumble gave Barran something to concentrate on. He had not been impressed by the ability of the miners to drive a bargain at their first meeting, and he had a strong suspicion that something similar was going to happen here. And, for some reason, even though it was not he who had sweated beneath the Thlosgaral to wrest these crystals free, he now felt a powerful resentment that they might be parted with at too low a price.
But so it proved to be. He had acquired some knowledge of the local currency on his way through the Wilde Ports and though he could not hear what was happening, he could see that the coins the merchant was stacking on the table were the wrong colour for the value that he had just placed on the crystals.
What kind of a dolt was Aigren? Couldn’t he see the clothes this man was wearing – and the kind of men he was employing to accompany him? Items worth only what was being put on the table did not need to be protected by one bodyguard, still less two!
And there was something else about the merchant. Something wrong about this meeting other than Aigren’s incompetence. Barran could not help himself but lean forward intently as he reached out to snatch this elusive impression.
And it was there. Clear for anyone to see who had any vision worth speaking of! The man was desperate for the crystals – it was in his every gesture, in every inflection of his voice. He would have paid ten times what he finally conceded with a little moue of reluctance. Barran glanced round at the two other miners and the sullen faces of their wives and children, but they were oblivious to the reality of what was happening. Sheep for shearing. For an instant he actually considered intervening, but the notion quickly transformed itself into a heightened determination to find out more about this place, about the crystals and what made them so precious. And too, about the merchants and who they in their turn sold the crystals to. He must do this even if it meant delaying his escape. Somehow, there was a great deal of money to be made here.
Yet, even as this resolve formed, a sense of foreboding suddenly swept over him – a nameless fear which awakened his every battle instinct. But unlike the previous shock, this one he recognized as an old friend, awful though it was. More than once in the past it had saved him – made him turn to find an attacker at his back, made him seek out an ambush ahead. He ignored it at his peril. But what possible danger could there be here? The miners had offered him none – and they needed him for work. Besides, injury or no, they were so slow that he could probably deal with all three of them at once if he had to. The mines themselves were dangerous, of course, and he had no great love of confined spaces, but he had no intention of going underground. And the bodyguards would do nothing unless their charge was attacked. Then, as suddenly as the fear had come to him, came the answer. The hint of something unnatural about the slowness of the miners and their women, the anxiety of the merchant. It is this place that makes them like this.Something about the Thlosgaral drains the life out of people.
It was a vivid realization. Even though no reasoning came with it, Barran knew that this conclusion was true. He must not stay here too long or he too would degenerate into one of these dull-witted creatures. It added an urgency to the resolution he had just made.
Yet how was he going to learn anything from these people? Such conversation as he had heard so far had been confined to simple instructions and requests – and even these had been few in number. Perhaps tonight, with a bargain struck, there might be a small celebration of some kind that he could use to ease his way into their confidence? He dismissed the conjectures – they were beginning to cloud his mind. He wasn’t going to fall asleep so easily tonight and, at the very least, he could ask outright what the crystals were used for and who bought them. Showing himself stupider than his employers might perhaps make them more talkative.
Aigren and the merchant were concluding their business, the merchant having produced a balance from his case and some kind of a measuring device. Aigren’s face was immobile, but his posture was full of self-satisfaction. Barran wanted to strangle him.
After the merchant and his escort had left, there was a brief debate amongst the miners and their women, before the men disappeared back into the hut and the women returned to their pestles.
Barran found it difficult to concentrate. The light from the crystals seemed to have lodged within him so that when he closed his eyes they were there again, making all about them seem distant and gloomy – no longer real. He wanted to handle them, hold them up and scatter their light about him, peer into their hearts. He wanted to…
He wanted.
Wanted.
And mingling with this desire, two other contradictory needs pulled at him: the need for knowledge about the crystals, and the strange realization that the Thlosgaral was in some way a dangerous place to linger in. It did not occur to him that all thoughts of simply escaping this place, of his lost horse and possessions, of employment in the war in the north, were gone. As the Thlosgaral itself did every day, Barran had subtly changed.
However, the relentless rhythm of the group soon reasserted itself and Barran could not have said how much time had passed before he looked up and saw five men approaching the camp. Just as he had made an immediate assessment of the merchant and his bodyguards, so now he made one of these new arrivals, though this time it was easier. Their dress and demeanour were unmistakable: they were scoundrels of some kind. Barran noted however, that though they all wore swords, they were carrying staffs obviously fashioned from the hammer handles such as the one he had chosen for support. Robbers then, but perhaps not casual murderers, he concluded. He stopped hammering and discreetly reached for his own staff leaning on the rocks by his side.
In the few seconds which it took Barran to reach this conclusion, the new arrivals were seen, first by the children, and then the women. The children jumped up and ran to their mothers who ushered them back to the hut. Barran could see that the women were alarmed but not terrified. That was good.
A further look at the newcomers told him that they were little more than street ruffians. Nasty and brutal, but no match for a professional soldier. Still, he had no desire to defend himself against five opponents, particularly in his present condition.
‘Stay where you are!’ The command froze the children, but the speaker still chose to emphasize it by purposefully smacking his staff into the palm of his hand.
‘There’s no need to frighten the children, Fiarn,’ Ellyn said, a hint of anger creeping through her sullen manner.
‘It’s as well they don’t disturb your menfolk at their work, isn’t it, Ellyn?’ the man replied. He walked unhurriedly towards the woman. The others followed. ‘You know how… concerned… they become when they have to pay the Landgeld.’
The woman bared her teeth as if to say something, but thought better of it. Instead she lowered her head to avoid looking at him. ‘We’ve nothing for you. It’s been bad lately – poor quality crystals and few of them at that.’
Fiarn nodded, full of mocking concern. ‘Normally there’s nothing I like better than listening to your tales, Ellyn. You’ve such an entertaining imagination. Not quite as slow as most around here – yet. But it’s been a tiring day – there’ve been so many buyers about recently that, as you see, I’m actually having to do some of the collecting myself.’ He took hold of her chin and forced her head round towards Barran. Barran made no response but remained sitting, carefully maintaining an expression of indifference. ‘And things can’t be too bad if you’ve taken on a worker, can they?’
The woman jerked her head free. ‘He’s just a traveller – got an injured leg – he’s bound to us for a month, that’s all. We’ll be lucky if he digs enough to cover his food.’
Fiarn’s expression became one of impatience and he pushed her to one side. ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Just get the money and don’t waste any more of my time.’ He walked towards Barran. The woman stared after him for a moment, then turned to go into the hut. ‘And remember, don’t go shouting for your men. You know what happened last time.’ Fiarn raised his staff warningly.
As he drew nearer, Barran took his hand from his staff but made no effort to stand. If need arose he could do the man greater damage, more quickly, from this position than standing face to face. Fiarn was taller and heavier than he was, though he doubted he was as strong. And he could see a hint of that slowness about him that pervaded the miners. Everything about him confirmed street fighter rather than soldier, but Barran still needed to know a great deal more about what was happening here before interfering. He would have to hold his tongue and await events. Act slow and stupid.
He allowed himself to look confused as he met the man’s gaze.
‘What’s your name, traveller?’ Fiarn asked, towering over him.
‘Barran, sir.’
‘What are you doing in the Thlosgaral, Barran?’
‘Came here by chance, sir. Thought it might be a short-cut. I’m not from round here. I was looking for work. I’m a farm labourer by trade, but these good people helped me when I lost my horse.’ He became earnest. ‘You haven’t seen a horse wandering about loose, have you, sir? He’s a…’
Fiarn raised a hand to silence him and then stared into his wilfully vacant eyes for a moment in amused disbelief. ‘It’s either sold or eaten by now… farmer,’ he said, scornfully emphasizing the last word. Ellyn came out of the hut. She had a small pouch in her hand. Fiarn glanced from Barran to the purse and back again, then abandoned his interrogation and, shaking his head, turned back to Ellyn. ‘Have we seen a horse! Not often you come across someone even stupider than a miner,’ he announced, for everyone’s benefit. His men laughed. Snatching the pouch from the waiting woman, he took a handful of coins from it and dropped the rest on the ground.
‘Just have it ready for me in future,’ he said grimly, holding a fist in front of her face. ‘I know how much you get and I’ve had enough of these games.’ Suddenly he was angry. ‘You people have no gratitude for anything. You owe for the equipment, the right to dig here, and for protection from the robbers who haunt this place. Robbers who wouldn’t hesitate to slit your throats while you slept… children and all. Don’t forget it. Do you understand? Explain it to your husband very slowly when he gets back. He doesn’t seem to have grasped his position fully yet and I don’t want him coming round causing problems again. He was lucky not to have been more badly hurt than he was.’
They were gone.
Ellyn crouched down and picked up the money then silently returned to her work. Barran watched the three women for a while before he started working again. So many thoughts filled his head that he felt as though he was cutting through dense undergrowth in search of a clear path that lay nearby.
Slowly it emerged. These people had a valuable resource which they bargained away more foolishly than children. Then they allowed themselves to be robbed in silence. Therewas money to be made here. All that was needed was a little more information so that a plan could be formed. Then a little determination – a characteristic Barran had in great measure. That, and other less commendable traits.
For as long as he could remember, he had earned his living by fighting for other people. Through the years, all manner of lords and dukes and petty princes had employed him and his kind when their greed, intransigence, or just plain folly, had transformed a dispute of words into a dispute of swords. Without fail they had all claimed to be injured parties fighting for natural justice against treacherous enemies, though Barran could scarcely recall a time when he might have been inclined to believe such protestations. Fighting first for one side and then the other as his commander of the moment negotiated better terms was a common occurrence.
One thing Barran did remember from the earliest days was that, on the whole, he was brighter than most of his companions and, fortunately for his continued well-being, bright enough to keep such knowledge to himself. And two things he soon learned. One was that while fighting and pillaging might satisfy certain needs within him, the money and power that he craved was to be found not by those who fought but by those who commanded their services. The other was that – like the merchant – those who had to buy the swords of others for their protection invariably became hostage to them. He had resolved long ago to profit from the first and avoid the hazards of the second.
Thus, he had worked diligently at the art of soldiering. He had a particular aptitude for the darker side of that art, for he could be vicious and cruel, delighting in hurting others, sometimes even where no gain was apparent – and the adulation and acclaim that that had brought him soon taught him the fundamentals of true leadership.
Eventually he came to have his own band of mercenaries and for a while it prospered. But despite his clear-eyed schemes and his savage bravery, slowly but inexorably the wild vagaries of combat took away trusted friends and battle-hardened allies alike, and left him approaching the middle of his life with no more wealth than he had once set out with, but many more scars, both inward and outward, and an increasingly desperate view of what lay ahead.
Yet it was all he knew and he could but follow the call to arms wherever he heard it.
And it was following such a call that had brought him to the Thlosgaral. Rumour declared that it was the Great Lord returned to mete out vengeance to those who had once dispossessed and banished Him, but Barran gave such nonsense no heed. It was more practical considerations that had lured him north – a reliable contact who had paid a portion of cash in advance, the promise of a good, well-written contract, offering many benefits not least amongst which was equitable shares of all profits from the campaign.
The events of the last two days however, had dispatched such remaining enthusiasm as he had for joining another army. The merchant had shown him the presence of great wealth in the vicinity; Fiarn had shown him opportunity. And here he was, a wolf amongst the sheep. With each blow of his hammer he saw a sunlit path to power and riches opening before him.
He stopped hammering and began to sketch out his new future. He must wait a little and build up his strength, learning what he could about the crystals, the merchants, and Fiarn and this whole frightful place. Then he would probably have to deal with Fiarn. Unless the man had others more powerful behind him, that shouldn’t present too much of a problem. Only a fool would have approached a stranger and stood in front of him as he had – so vulnerable. He must have become so used to bullying women and weary men that he had lost whatever fighting edge he had once had. And there was that hint of the miner’s slowness about him. Barran pursed his lips and nodded to himself, but even as he reached this conclusion, old habits cautioned him sharply – casually underestimating people thus could prove fatal.
‘Work, Barran, if you want food.’
He started, jerked suddenly back to the present. It was Ellyn. He grunted and began breaking the rocks again. The admonition was timely – assume Fiarn is sharp and dangerous, he thought sternly. Assume he has allies. But don’t linger. This is no place to be for any length of time. Again he felt afraid. The emotion inspired him.
‘The man frightened me,’ he shouted across to the women.
There was a slight faltering in the rhythm of the beating pestles.
‘He frightens everyone,’ Ellyn replied. She did not seem inclined to continue, but Barran noticed her jaw tighten. This woman was not yet completely crushed. Probably because of the children, he thought. One day, her anger might spill out.
‘Where I come from, a debt is a debt. A lawful thing. Something to be given and repaid without reproach by either side. Why did he come with so many men and threaten you like that?’
Ellyn’s pestle came down with unusual force, disrupting the rhythm. ‘Youmust come from a long way away, Barran. Debts to the likes of Fiarn are never paid off. He and his kind own this place.’
‘Own it? How can someone like that own a place like this? Is he a Lord or a Duke?’
All the women turned to him, pausing in mid-stroke. Managing an expression of naivete, he looked at them briefly, without stopping his own work.
‘There’s no Lord, no Duke, dispensing justice and maintaining order around here, man. Not even in Arash-Felloren. Fiarn’s just a bandit.’ Ellyn almost spat out the words. ‘One of a score or more such living off the backs of the mining families. The only respite we get from them is when they fight amongst themselves for the right to persecute us.’
Barran shook his head in feigned bewilderment. ‘You should stand against him. There must be law somewhere hereabouts.’
Ellyn’s shoulders slumped, her anger crushed like the rocks under her pestle. Barran cursed himself. Somehow he had stopped her talking. He took a chance.
‘Why don’t you stand against him?’ he demanded.
Ellyn’s temper flared briefly. ‘Because others have done it, and been killed and maimed for their pains. Get on with your work and be quiet.’
Barran was content to accept the rebuke. In that short exchange he had learned a great deal about life in the Thlosgaral. And even more about his future. And it was good. Merchants desperate for the crystals, bands of men terrorizing the miners and fighting amongst themselves…
It all held out great promise.
As if in confirmation, there was a cry from one of the children and the three women abandoned their work to examine the latest find.
Later, the men appeared. They had had a bad day. A rock-fall had buried much of the work of the previous days and one of them had received an ugly gash to his arm. As a consequence they looked set for several days’ hard work before they could expect to mine any further crystals. Ellyn read her husband’s face as soon as he emerged from the hut, and Barran in turn read hers. She had become increasingly nervous as time passed and now he could see her struggling not to flinch away even though she was holding her husband’s gaze as she told him what had happened. For her pains she received a back-handed blow across the face that knocked her to the ground. It was followed by a furious tirade. The children scuttled hurriedly into the late-afternoon shadows. Not an uncommon scene then, Barran thought, but he watched impassively as Ellyn struggled to her feet, in the shade of her glowering, fist-clenched husband. Almost reluctantly her hand came to her bruised face.
Suddenly, and to his considerable surprise, Barran found himself attracted to her. Too long without a woman, he thought, as he looked at her, dishevelled and degraded. But it was not that – not that alone, anyway. There was something beneath the grime and despair. That strong face, and that momentary flash in her eyes as she had struck the ground – a flash that spoke of a knife between the ribs of her sleeping husband one night. He added a caveat – if this place doesn’t eat the heart and brains out of her first. Then he looked at the husband. Jaw jutting in wordless anger, the man seemed about to strike her again, but though she backed away she did not cower. And there was that flash again. Dangerous, thought Barran, though he doubted that the man saw it.
‘I couldn’t do anything else, could I?’ Ellyn shouted. ‘He’d have started on me or the children, you know that.’
The man turned from side to side, like a trapped animal. Barran braced himself. Uncharacteristically he felt that he would intervene if the man renewed his attack on the woman, even though doing so might bring the rage of all of them down upon him. But no attack came. Instead the man let out an almost animal cry. Ellyn reached out to touch his arm but he dashed her hand aside. The two stood silent and motionless for what seemed to be a very long time, then the man said, ‘Enough.’
His voice was suddenly very soft and controlled. At its touch, every part of Barran became alert. The man had passed beyond a certain point. He was going to do something wildly dangerous. Watching him intently, Barran could feel his own hands shaking and his breath coming faster. He paid no heed. They were familiar and appropriate responses and he was too experienced a fighter to be afraid of being afraid. His body was preparing itself and he knew he could trust it. If the man turned against him, he would be ready – and his injured leg would not impede him.
Ellyn, though schooled in different sensitivities, also felt the change. ‘What are you going to do?’ she said, bending forward urgently and trying to catch her husband’s eye. He did not reply and she repeated the question even more anxiously, this time seizing his arm.
‘Get our money back from Fiarn,’ he replied simply, brushing her aside roughly and picking up a long hammer.
Ellyn did not respond immediately but gazed at him vacantly as though unable to grasp what he had said. He was almost out of sight by the time she recovered. Then she was running after him, shouting, ‘No! He’ll kill you this time.’
When she reached him she seized hold of him and was dragged over the rocks for several paces before he stopped. Her shrill pleading ended abruptly as Aigren struck her again. She lay still. Aigren walked away without a backward glance.
It was only a little later, as the women were bathing Ellyn’s bruised face and trying to console her, that Fiarn and his companion returned to the camp. They were carrying Aigren. As they dropped him on to the ground, Barran did not need to look at him to know that he was dead. Ellyn made to move to him but Fiarn grabbed her roughly.
‘Didn’t I tell you to keep him away?’ he snarled. She was wide-eyed with fear. ‘He was always trouble.’ He kicked the body and swore. ‘I’ve let you get away with too much. And what have I had in return? Endless ingratitude from Aigren and the lowest yield of any of my mines.’ He was shouting now. ‘I’ve had enough of you. I’m doubling the Landgeld on this place. You can…’
‘No! You can’t!’ Ellyn snatched herself free and struck him a stinging blow across the face.
Don’t do it, Barran thought, reading the woman’s temper as Fiarn recovered from the shock and, his face contorted, lifted an arm back to strike her. White and shaking, Ellyn let out a piercing shriek and leapt at him, hands tearing at his face, feet lashing out wildly. Fiarn crashed to the ground, Ellyn flailing on top of him. It took Fiarn’s companions some time to drag them both upright and, even then, three of them were having difficulty in restraining the demented woman. Fiarn’s face was alight with rage. He stepped back and pulled out a knife.
‘No! Put the knife away. We need to talk.’ Barran’s powerful voice cut through the din.
The camp was suddenly silent and all turned towards him – even the miners and their wives who until now had simply been watching events, completely bewildered. Barran remained seated, his staff resting casually across his knees.
Fiarn’s expression became one of disbelief. ‘Talk?’ he mouthed.
‘Talk,’ Barran confirmed purposefully.
Fiarn gestured to his companions and made a circling motion with the knife. ‘Fetch that oaf here. We’ll see how well he talks with his tongue cut out.’
As the men walked towards him, Barran took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, at the same time forcing himself to relax. He tested his grip on the staff. This was going to be very dangerous. He would have preferred a great deal more information before making a move against Fiarn but, if Ellyn was killed, this group would disintegrate and…
And there was something about this woman…
Damn! Why was he doing this?
Two men were in front of him. All choices were gone now.
He let them reach down and take hold of his arms but resisted as they tried to drag him to his feet. Then, carefully favouring his uninjured foot, he stood up suddenly and drove his staff straight upwards. Propelled by legs, arms, and many years of harsh experience, the ends of the staff caught each man under the chin with appalling force, lifting both of them off the ground. The two of them were still collapsing as Barran slid his hands together and swung the staff round to bring it down with a crushing blow on the head of a third.
Urged by panic rather than consideration, Fiarn’s fourth companion lunged out and grabbed the staff hastily. He was a big man and seeing his inadvertent success he grinned triumphantly at Barran. There was still a vestige of a grin on his face when Barran let go of the staff and drew a knife and stabbed him under the ribcage. Almost gently, Barran eased the staff from the man’s dying grasp.
In the span of scarcely half a dozen heartbeats, Fiarn’s power in the Thlosgaral had been destroyed. All he could see, however, was Barran’s awful focused intent as he moved towards him, his limping gait serving only to make him more frightening.
The blow that knocked the knife from Fiarn’s trembling hand was scarcely necessary. He reached out to grab the end of the staff in the vague hope of defending himself, but it vanished upwards. As his eyes followed it, a blow behind his knees swept his legs into the air and sent him crashing down on to the rocky ground.
Through the clamour of his frantic breathing and his pounding heart, Fiarn became aware of a foot on his chest, the end of the staff pressing on his throat, and a voice saying, ‘We need to talk.’
Within three years, Barran, with Fiarn as his lieutenant, held sway over more than a third of the mines that worked the Thlosgaral. Unlike his rivals however, Barran had extended his enterprise to include nearly all of the crystal merchants. His power grew relentlessly.