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The Quartz Key Chapter Fifty-Eight
by Lianne Burwell
February 2003
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The further south they moved, the more lush the landscape 
became, and the less familiar. The palm trees were still 
ones he recognized, but the bushes with large, crimson 
flowers, were like nothing Nemir had seen before. Fields of 
grain waved on the horizon, not even in sight of the river 
that fed the fields of the lands he had grown up in, 
indicating other sources of water and land that was much 
richer. The folk here were not dependant on the flooding of 
the river like the north.

And with that greater richness came larger populations. 
Thankfully, the people of the villages they had passed had 
seemed disinclined to comment on the strangers, and when 
Dansen or Nemir had gone into a market to buy more food to 
replace the supplies that had been long used up, there were 
no signs of alarm. Supplies were even more necessary now, 
for while the land was richer, the game was less plentiful, 
as farmers droved the wilderness away for herd beasts and 
cultivated fields. Lions were seen frequently in Ajantha, 
but here, if a lion was sighted the men of the nearest 
village would hunt it down and kill it quickly to protect 
their herds and flocks.

Richer, perhaps, but to Nemir it seemed far poorer for 
having been so completely tamed.

The traveling was easier, with roads carved into the 
landscape by ancient hands, but it was becoming more 
dangerous for them. At the last two villages that they had 
stopped at, rumors had been traveling like the winter 
winds. Soldiers were abroad, traveling in larger and larger 
numbers. Young men had vanished from fields and grazing 
land, leaving behind animals and tools. Rumors said that 
they had been taken to fill the ranks of an army that the 
God-King was building.

No one knew what that army was for, but Nemir did. The God-
King planned to march south. The Southern Clans were 
plotting against Him, and would be crushed for it.

And he could not find it in himself to pity them. They had 
brought this on themselves by their actions. It was nothing 
like what had happened in Ajantha, were his father had been 
slain for no crime of his own. The Prince had been loyal, 
and would have remained loyal.

But he did not care of causes or reasons now. He was 
traveling to retrieve his Companion. Once that was done, he 
would return to Ajantha and reclaim the rest of what was 
his.

After that, he had no interest in what happened to the rest 
of the world.

>>>~~~<<<

It was on the morning of the fourth day after they had left 
the river that the well of fortune that had protected them 
for so long finally ran dry. They had rested during the 
hottest part of the day, then mounted up to ride on. Not 
long after that, the skin at the back of Nemir's neck began 
to prickle.

He reined in Karsa, scanning the surrounding landscape. 
Birds sang in the flowering bushes that were almost of a 
size to be called trees, but other than that, there was no 
movement. Yet he could not shake the feeling that they were 
being watched. There was no place for a watcher to hide, 
but he was knew one was out there.

His eyes glinted dangerously, and his hand inched towards 
his sword hilt. Whoever it was would learn the price spies 
paid. It had been long since his blade had tasted blood -- 
one of a group of river bandits who had thought three 
travelers would provide no fight -- and he itched for it; a 
chance to expend his frustration in violence. Sensing his 
mood, his companions also readied themselves, although a 
glance in their direction found only confusion. Obviously, 
they did not feel whatever it was that he did.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the feeling of being 
watched vanished.

But they were no longer alone. The birdsong stopped 
abruptly, and in the resulting silence they could hear the 
sound of metal on metal; the jingling of harness and 
stirrup. It was the sound of a large number of mounted men 
coming down the road behind them, somewhere out of sight.

"What do we do?" Dansen asked in a harsh whisper. "If we 
ride, we will be heard, and there is no place to conceal 
ourselves."

Nemir frowned and thought quickly. "We continue to ride at 
the pace we were before. If they overtake us, we are just 
travelers." He squeeze Karsa's flanks with his knees 
lightly, setting him to a fast walk. Dansen and Markus 
quickly followed, keeping pace.

For the rest of the afternoon, they kept pace ahead of the 
travelers on the road behind them. As they rode, they could 
still hear the sound of a large company behind them, never 
speeding up to overtake them, but surely aware of them. 
From time to time when they turned in the saddle, they saw 
a glint of sunlight on metal, but the riders never quite 
came into view. Still being not too far from the river, the 
water caused the sound to carry much further than it might 
have otherwise.

But the sun was beginning to set, and if they continued to 
ride through the night, the horses would be exhausted come 
morning, and the riders behind them would become 
suspicious. Honest travelers made camp for the night. 
Dishonest travelers could become a target.

Finally, reluctantly, Nemir signaled that they should stop.

There was an open area next to the road, with a circle of 
stones surrounding the remains of many past fires. When 
they stopped, the horses stood in place, sides heaving. 
Even Karsa looked exhausted, and of the mounts they still 
had, his endurance was the greatest.

The weather being warm and pleasant, with no blowing sand 
or danger of wild animals, they did not bother with the 
tent. Indeed, Nemir was giving thought to discarding the 
tent as unnecessary weight. If they needed one again, they 
had the money to buy a new one when the time came. Instead, 
dry wood was found and they made a small fire inside the 
circle of stones, then set a pot on the fire to boil. Root 
vegetables and dried meat was added, along with a touch of 
salt and spice for flavor. Soup was not as filling as they 
might have liked, but since the hunting was so poor, it 
would do. At least they still had meat. It seemed that most 
of the south subsisted mainly on vegetables. Nemir could 
not imagine finding such a diet satisfying.

The horses were unsaddled and brushed, and dinner was 
nearly ready when the riders behind them came into view. 
Almost immediately, the three of them were the focus of 
sharp and suspicious eyes. They all stayed where they were, 
trying to look as unthreatening as possible, although their 
weapons were close at hand.

The party of riders were a dozen strong, and obviously 
soldiers. Even more disturbing was the golden sunburst that 
adorned the breast of each tunic. That mark was the one of 
the God-King's elite troop. The soldiers that had 
accompanied the envoy to Ajantha had been common soldiers. 
These were anything but.

The leader of the troop urged his mount forward a few 
steps. "Greetings travelers," he said courteously, eyeing 
Markus most of all. Markus was the largest, so likely the 
most dangerous in a fight. As well, it was impossible to 
disguise that he was a foreigner, which was why he had 
remained with the packs and horses whenever Dansen or Nemir 
went into a village to bargain.

"Greetings," Markus said, the accent he always had suddenly 
thicker and more pronounced. This was a situation they had 
planned for, realizing that it would might eventually come.

The rest of the troop stayed in a parade rest, the horses 
perfectly still, but to Nemir's eyes they looked ready to 
strike at the slightest provocation. The leader glanced to 
each of them in turn, then returned his attention to 
Markus. "You are a great distance from home," he observed.

Markus nodded. "Indeed. Markus, son of Ivan, I am. Karl of 
North marches, he is. Come to see the south, I have." He 
paused and frowned. "Learning your language I still am."

"You speak it quite well. And your companions?"

"To see your land, guides were needed. They show me."

The soldier nodded, but his eyes narrowed. "And what brings 
you to our lands? We do not see many from north of the seas 
here."

This was the most dangerous part, since if the soldiers 
decided that they were spies, their lives would be forfeit 
immediately. "To see if the tales are true. A land ruled by 
a god made flesh. Gods we have, but only in disguise do 
they walk among men. To see what a god would make..." 
Markus waved his hands in the air, an awed expression on 
his face. "Such a thing, amazing would be. Yes?"

A small smile crossed the man's face. "Amazing it most 
definitely is. So you travel to the capital?"

If Markus tensed, there was no sign of it. "Last, that 
should be. The best it would be."

"Perhaps. But the capital is the truest expression of the 
God-King's might." The man dismounted, and the others of 
the troop did the same. "It would be my honor to escort you 
there," he said, but there was a coolness in his eyes that 
said that it was not a suggestion. Markus would go to the 
capital.

Markus made a show of considering it, then nodded. "Honored 
to accept. My guides should go home then?"

The captain shook his head. "They are welcome to come as 
well. More than welcome," he said ominously, his eyes 
sweeping over the other two men, and Nemir felt an urge to 
sigh.

Instead, he simply nodded to the man. "As you wish, 
captain," he said, and Dansen echoed him.

"Excellent. I am Limon, captain of the Imperial Guard." His 
men were setting up their own camp, to the side of where 
Nemir and his companions had. The man eyed the soup pot. 
"We have fresh meat with us, if you would share, and fresh 
bread."

"Welcome it would be," Markus said. "What we have, we will 
share too, but not much is there, as you see."

"Do not concern yourself. Now, please, I would very much 
like to hear about your land. I have heard tales, but I 
have never met a northerner. Is it true that in winter, the 
lakes and rivers become solid from the cold?"

The man now looked honestly interested, if not eager to 
know. Markus nodded, and while the troop continued to 
prepare their own camp, he began to spin tales.

As for Nemir, he fought back the frustration. The capital 
was the last place he wanted to go.

At least, for now.

END CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT