"Second, at the end of our time of service, we ask that you give us the bracelets of the Arroden you wear as trophies."
This made Gord grin even wider, this time in mild derision. "You will then pass them off as something you won from the Arroden?" he ventured.
"Never!" Achulka said in a pained tone. As he continued talking, he slowly approached Gord, his sword still held peacefully before him. "I am hurt, Farzeel, that you think so little of warriors of the Al Illa-Thuffi. But I forgive you, since you are an out-lander. You do not realize the power of the armlets you wear as mere decoration. Do you not know," the nomad said with great earnestness, "that each is worked with great charms to protect the life and aid the arm of the wearer?" The nomad leader paused in his advance, waiting for a response.
Rather than pointing out that the dead Arroden to whom the bits of metal had formerly belonged hadn't received much benefit from the silver hoops, Gord folded his arms – a reciprocal gesture of non-aggressiveness – and remained silent for a moment. Then he told the burnoused nomad, "We ride for the Grandsuel Peaks."
"There is naught beyond but the Ashen Desert," Achulka informed him.
"That is where we plan to go," Gord countered.
The nomad shrugged and then said to Gord, "May the rain fall upon us, then, as we trek there."
"You would risk your lives there for these baubles I hold?"
"Not only for those. We have been amidst the powder and ash once or twice, Farzeel. We know there are many other things to be found there," Achulka finished with a knowing grin.
Leda placed her small hand upon Gord's shoulder. "There is no use trying to stay ahead of these clever warriors," she said softly to him. "We should accept their service, instead of having them behind us all the way to our destination."
Gord mulled everything over for only a moment; actually, he had made up his mind even before Leda spoke. Tour terms are acceptable," he shouted to Achulka. "Join us."
Soon all seven were riding together over the dry, flat land toward the long line of peaks that scribed a jagged line on the southern horizon. Two days later they were heading eastward through the foothills of the Grandsuels, paralleling the peaks while Achulka continually scouted the terrain to their right. The nomad leader claimed to know a route through the mountains, and Gord had no reason to doubt him, so he went along with him in more ways than one.
Finally, Achulka gave out with a whoop and stiffened in his saddle. There, see the big rock like a fist with its thumb upright?" he asked, pointing to the southeast at the landmark he had just noticed.
When both Gord and Leda nodded, the nomad grinned with pride. "Why do we care about a strange-looking rock?" Leda said caustically.
That is the entrance to a pass which only we Thuffi know about. All others think there is but a single way across the Grandsuels to the desert beyond. We know better!" the warrior boasted.
Sure enough, they found the pass and began traversing it. As they started the gentle part of their ascent, Gord expressed surprise at seeing little towers in the foothills. Achulka explained that these were built for protection and were used by his people in high summer, when the worst drought was upon the steppes but a little rain and frequent ground fog covered the foothills of the Grandsuels. Herds were pastured in this area, and some few crops were also raised. At such times, however, the Hokrodden, a southern branch of the fierce Arro-den camel-riders, made forays into Thuffi territory. Sometimes, Achulka told Gord and Leda, the guard towers actually meant the difference between life and death to his people. Now these mud-brick fortifications were unpopulated, however, for the full heat of summer was not yet come. The little band simply rode past these places and upward along the defile called the Pass of the Clenched Fist.
It took two days to reach a spot that the nomads told them was about halfway through the mountains. There was a small, green valley at this location, and high up on the mountainsides could be seen stone walls and buildings. "Who lives here?" Leda asked.
"The Chepnoi. They are mountain people – a strange folk," Achulka told her in reply. "Can you believe that they are our cousins? Why any Al Illa-Thuffi would give up horse and steppe for such a cramped and unchanging existence is a marvel under the sky! We exchange visits in high summer – they travel to us in the month of the boar, we come here in the time of the squirrel. The trade is good for both peoples. In four moons' time, this valley will be filled with the mountain folk and my own tribesmen, trading and contesting. I'll give the Chepnoi credit for some things," the nomad said earnestly. "They make good wine in their little valleys, and they know the land of dust too!"
"What mean you by that, Achulka?" Gord asked. "And I am not speaking about wine, mind you!"
"These mountain folk are used to walking, so they don't mind doing so even in the Ashen Desert. The Chepnoi taught us the value of such work, for they first brought stuff from the desert to the gatherings with our people."
"Now do the Thuffi people go into the ash often?" the half-elven girl asked.
"Well, not frequently," Achulka admitted, "but my uncle has been there and returned with a big gold coin and shield of bronze to prove it!"
On that note, they dismounted and made camp in a shaded sward just off the path leading up to the nearest village on the ledges above. In a few days' time, they would be in the waste to the south, and much more than gold coins and bronze shields was at stake.
Chapter 11
NO CHEPNOI WOULD JOIN the expedition into the desert – not after Gord told the mountain warriors that it would take them out of sight of the Grand-suels. That is death, Gray-Lion," said the Chepnoi hetman solemnly. "Even if one stays close to the safety of the mountains, a storm can bury you alive in minutes. To trek out of sight of the peaks is to invite death in many ways, but surely from being smothered by ash – never a week passes without the wind blowing that powder into a scouring fury."
Achulka took the lead at this point and tried to shame his mountain-dwelling kinsmen. "You have stout silken covers and hollow poles for that. What is a little dust storm when one is safely burrowed beneath the very stuff you fear? We will find enough water, surely, and much treasure too! Old women and young boys might fear the dangers of the Ashen Desert, but are you not Chepnoi warriors?!"
"We will live to fight, thank you," the hetman replied laconically, not even taking the nomad's response as insulting. "All but crazed ones shun the interior of the Ashen Desert."
"Then we men of the Thuffi, plus Farzeel and his woman, are crazy," Achulka said with a sneer.
"Yes, you are," was all the Chepnoi chieftain said in reply. That was the end of the discussion.
The mountain folk would not go with them, but they did cooperate in other ways. For a price, they provided the travelers with provisions, gear that would help them negotiate the ash and dust, and they allowed Gord to make a copy of their sketchy map of the Ashen Desert, which vaguely marked out some of the land's major features and indicated the location of the City Out of Mind. Whether or not this latter aspect of the map – or any part of it – was accurate, Gord had no way of knowing. But he supposed the information was better than none at all.
Gord and Leda remained confident and determined despite the Chepnoi leader's negative words. However, the Thuffi nomads grew glum after hearing what the hetman had to say. Even though the prospect of wealth was a strong motivator, the warnings about deadly storms and lurking death from their mountain-dwelling kinsmen had severely dampened the enthusiasm of the five warriors. When Gord paid in silver for what they had obtained from the Chepnoi, the young adventurer took the opportunity to hand each of the Al Illa-Thuffi several nobles, too – all he had remaining, in fact, with Achulka getting the odd extra silver piece. That brought cheerfulness from the steppe horsemen only for a brief period.