Lanosi the Spice Merchant shaded his eyes against the glare and peered into the distance. To no purpose. The searing desert sun, reflected from white rock and sand, wiped out any details that there might have been. He cursed wearily
and replaced his veil. The thin material reduced his vision till further, but it gave his eyes some rest.
The merchant turned his attention to the caravan. His caravan. Forty great duhura's, desert-bred load beasts, shambling along with their characteristic loose-limbed stride. Each one bearing a small fortune in charas leaves, the first of the seasons crop. But only a fortune if they were the first to arrive at the markets of Dain E'Sada, Lanosi reminded himself. To be first to market with the fresh leaves was to gain incredible wealth. To be second was to barely cover expenses. It was a gamble. And it was very, very dangerous.
At a duhura's steady pace, the desert crossing took thirty days, from Kharand in the south to the first outposts of Dain E'Sada. Which made it the swiftest route by far. But this was the La'ed Waste, the Desert of Bones. A name given with good reason. The La'ed tribesmen claimed all that harsh land as their own: strangers who sought to pass paid a toll of blood.
Thoughts of the La'ed caused Lanosi to turn his attention back to the open sands. Pulling aside his veil, he made another futile attempt to pierce the glare.
Soft footfalls sounded on the sand behind him. He glanced round as Tre Waset, Captain of Mercenarys, reigned in beside him. Like Lanosi, Waset rode a duhara-sri, a smaller cousin of the load-beasts, bred for riding.
"They're out there." said the Captain grimly.
"You've seen them? I can't see a cursed thing."
Waset shrugged. "I've seen something. My men have. Shadows. Movements at the edge of vision. Nothing we can be sure of. But what else could it be?"
Lanosi nodded his agreement, taking stock of the Captain.
Tre Waset was young for his rank, but he commanded his men well enough. A disgraced noblemans son from the north, Lanosi had heard. The fair hair and smooth skin, bright red in this heat, bore that out: but he had no real interest in the mans origins. Waset carried sword and crossbow, he knew their use, and so did his men. Twenty hard bitten warriors under this mans command gave Lanosi a certain sense of security.
A false sense, though. For all their ability, Waset and his men would count for nothing should the La'ed decide to attack. They had been hired to gaurd against more common thieves and bandits, such as they might find beyond the desert. For the safe passage of the desert itself, the merchant rested his trust in another source. One which, however, inspired less confidence then the lethally competent mercenaries.
Come." he said to the Captain. "We'll talk to Mejas."
With a slap of reins against their mounts heads, they set off at a trot for the head of the caravan.
As he rode, Lanosi reflected on the three ways in which one might attempt the dessert passage. The first was to use the fastest possible beasts, carrying light loads, and trust to speed and luck to escape the La'ed. About one in every ten of
such ventures were succesfull - according to the optimists. And by success they meant that at least some men and beasts survived.
The second method was to hire a small army and fight through to Dain E'Sada. This was more hopeful: possibly half of all such attempts succeeded. But it was expensive. Armies do not come cheap, and especially not armies willing to face the
La'ed. Little profit could be made on such ventures.
Which left the third and surest method. Hire Mejas.
Mejas did not come cheap either. Lanosi winced at the thought ofwhat he'd bid for the mans services. But a caravan led by Mejas arrived in safety. And in better time than those who must take the weary journey round the La'ed Waste.
What was his secret? Well might Lanosi wonder. So had many others, but in vain. That, however, was of little comfort to the merchant, who prefered to know such things - especially when those things dearest to him, life and profit, were in danger.
Passing down the column, Lanosi took note of the black and white ribbons tied to each duhura. His own riding beast bore a simular decoration. Mejas insisted on them, but refused any explanation. Perhaps it had some bearing on his success: and perhaps not. There were those who had braved the tribes with the ribbons, but without Mejas. They had not survived.
The man himself was not near as impressive as his reputation. An uninformed observer, watching as Lanosi and Waset drew alongside the guide, might have concluded that Mejas was the merchant. Short, inclining to stoutness, he bore no weapons and was dressed for as much comfort as was possible in the desert heat. Light, flowing garments of brightly coloured silk, a round, friendly face. A person might seek his advice on matters of trade or finance. But as a guide through dangerous country he did not inspire confidence.
Lanosi himself - tall, hawk nosed and leather skinned: as well armed as the mercenarys, and wearing mail beneath his white robes - Lanosi looked much more as a guide should. Yet it was Mejas on whom they relied, who held their lives in his care. Lanosi was not comfortable with the thought.
If Mejas was aware of the merchants doubts, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he waved affably.
"Greetings, Ser Lanosi, Ser Waset. We make good progress, do we not?"
Waset grunted. He disliked the guide, and had no qualms about showing it. Lanosi, who must work with the man, was more polite.
"Progress is good enough." He agreed. "But I am concerned about the La'ed. Ser Waset's men have seen things. He believes that the tribesmen may be watching us."
"Of course they are." Mejas replied calmly. "They have watched us from the moment we entered the desert." He smiled, seeing Lanosi's shock. "Do not concern yourself. They will not attack."
"So you say!" Waset burst out. "And if you are wrong?"
Mejas shrugged. "Then we die. But I am not wrong. Trust me."
Lanosi and Waset exchanged glances. They had little choice in that, and they knew it. The knowledge brought no comfort.
The caravans steady pace had taken them to the top of a low ridge. Outcrops of white rock appeared ahead, and Waset took note of them.
"We should avoid those." he said. "Too good a place for an ambush."
Mejas shook his head. "Our path lies along that route. We will not be ambushed, but if we avoid them the La'ed will see that we fear ambush - and that will make them suspicous."
"This is foolishness!" Waset spat out. "Ser Lanosi - this man leads us into clear danger!"
Mejas ignored the mercenary, and looked steadily at Lanosi. "You may conclude our contract at any point." he said.
The Merchant glanced at Ter Waset's flushed face, and shook his head.
"Then we continue." Mejas spoke evenly, but there was no doubt about his authority. Nothing more was said as the rocks grew steadily closer.
Lanosi and Waset strained their eyes against the reflected glare, but saw no sign of movement. None the less, as the caravan passed the first rocks, something flickered through the air and punched into the sand just ahead of the merchant. With a shout of alarm, he and Waset reined to a sudden halt - then had to stir their animals into motion again, as Mejas continued blithely on.
"You said that there'd be no attack" Waset fumed.
"One arrow does not make an attack." Mejas pointed out.
"Nor even two." He added, as another suddenly sprouted in the sand nearby.
"Then what is this?!" Lanosi shouted at the guide. From the caravan came shouts of surprise and fear as more arrows spotted the sand around them.
"They play games." Mejas explained patiently. "They test our courage. Woran!" He turned his head to call, and another man
rode up from the caravan.
Mejas's only servant and companion was even more of a mystery than his master. Tall and broad shouldered, he was never seen without his veil. When he spoke, which was seldom, his voice was harsh and strange to the ear.
"Woran - ride back and calm the men. Tell them to ignore the arrows. Let no one show signs of fear or anger." The man rode off on his errand, and Mejas turned to the mercenary. "That includes you, Ser Waset," he continued. "Ignore them,
and they will tire of their game. But if they are provoked, we may suffer for it." He indicated the crossbow which Waset had cocked and loaded.
Waset glared at him, but reluctanly unloaded the weapon and returned it to its stowage. "It is foolish to go unprepared!" he protested.
"More foolish to provoke the La'ed to anger." Mejas pointed out.
"It is dishonourable to ignore a challenge!"
"There's little honour to be found in an unmarked desert grave."
Another arrow landed close by, causing the mercenarys mount to shy. Waset had to make an undignified grab at his saddle to avoid a fall, and he let out an oath.
"Must we submit to such treatment by savages? If they will not attack - as you promise, guide - then what harm can they do with these toys?" He leant down from the saddle and snatched up the arrow, held it aloft. "See!"
It was not, in fact an impressive example of it's type. Little longer than one of Waset's crossbow bolts, it was a crude, fragile thing: it's shaft a length of bone, tipped with a fragment of black obsidian, and flighted with slivers of horn.
"They think to frighten warriors with such flimsy things? Pah! A child could make better!" With a twist of his fingers, Waset snapped the shaft in two, tossed it away. and raised his mailed fist in a defiant gesture towards the rocks.
Still no movement was seen there, but another arrow leapt out from them. and struck home - not this time in the sand, but in Tre Waset's fist. Eyes bulging with shock, the mercenary opened his fingers and stared at the shiny black point projecting from his palm.
"The La'ed arrows are small because their bows are small. They are made of bone and obsidian because there is no wood here, nor birds to provide feathered flights, and steel is hard to come by." Mejas spoke casually. He might have been discussing the merits of a taverns wine. "However, those bows are of laminated horn, double-curved and remarkably powerful for their size. Powerful enough to drive an obsidian arrowhead through mail. As you can see."
Waset was doubled up in pain, clutching his maimed hand to his stomach and moaning softly. His face was very pale.
"Moreover," Mejas continued, "the La'ed are skilled archers." He was not looking at Waset, but directed his attention to Lanosi. The Merchant, however, stared at the stricken man in fascinated horror.
"They can shoot a dozen arrows whilest a good crossbowman manages but one. They can hit a target as small as - for example - a mans hand, and do so with every arrow. And they can do it from a dhusara at full gallop - or from concealment so perfect that no one can tell where the arrow came from."
Waset rolled slowly from his saddle and dropped into the sand. He lay staring blindly at the sky, his limbs making odd twitching motions and his teeth tightly clenched. Strange choked noises forced their way from his mouth, along with a thin trickle of blood. He might have been trying to scream.
"And of course, they poison their arrows. A mere scratch brings death. Mercifully, a quick one."
Waset lay still.
Mejas continued to speak to Lanosi, as the merchant looked up from the body and met his eye. "I promised that they will not attack. Nor will they. But if provoked, they could kill us one by one, and we would not see so much as their shadows. So it would be best, Ser Lanosi, if we were to heed the example set by our companion here. Our late companion."
Some of Wasets men had ridden up. One dismounted to examine the corpse. He took great care not to touch the arrow.
"Leave the body." Mejas instructed. "And his dhusara. By La'ed tradition, they belong to the man who killed him. I think it best to respect that tradition."
There was no argument. The caravan continued on its way, making a small detour round the corpse. Word was passed - though more arrows fell, the caravaneers ignored them with great intensity.
At sunset, the caravan made camp on the open sands. Lanosi was kept busy, seeing that the duhsara's were properly settled for the night, their precious burdens carefully unloaded and stacked. The mercenarys mounted a gaurd, more from professional habit than in hope of detering any serious attack. But the caravaneers seemed glad of even that nominal protection, Lanosi noticed: they stayed within the gaurded area, huddled round the dung fires and did not look into the darkness beyond.
There were just two exceptions to that rule. Mejas and Woran had made their camp well away from the rest, their fire a tiny orange glow in the vast darkness of the desert. Lanosi stood for a time, watching and pondering the secret that those men alone shared. Pondering, too, what another man might do with such a secret, could he learn it.
And that was not impossible, he thought to himself. There were ways by which secrets could be learned.
From the distant fire came a sound of laughter - laughter with a hard and bitter edge to it. Lanosi shuddered, and turned away. Their jests, he thought, were not pleasant ones.
**********
In the very early morning, with the stars barely faded from their customary brilliance, the caravan was on it's way once more. With much cursing and shouting from the men, and many coughs and grunts from the dhusaras, who detested early
awakenings. Many apprehensive glances were given to the shadowy dunes. The desire to make distance before the heat of the day was almost countered by fear of the La'ed lurking in the dark. But Mejas assured them that it was not important.
"Should they decide to attack, day or night will make no difference. We will know nothing of it until the arrows fall and the blades are at our throats. But they will not attack."
With these comforting words, the caravan moved on.
There were no more arrows that day. And in time even fear of the La'ed was diminished in the face of a more immediate enemy - the pitiless sun. Slogging on through the heat, they hardly noticed that the desert itself had changed. Rocky
outcrops became fewer, and then ceased. The bright sands spread unbroken for mile upon endless mile. It was a land that the sun had hammered into lifelessness, and now the scorching winds came to play with the corpse,sculpting it
into long winding dunes of ever greater height. Up these they struggled, with the wind blowing sand grains in their faces and forcing them into their eyes and down their necks. Noses became clogged, mouths dry and gritty. Sand crept into groin and armpit, soaking up sweat and chafing the skin. The dhusara lidded their eyes and plodded on. In much greater discomfort, their human masters toiled along with them.
Towards noon, they approached the summit of yet another dune. Mejas. reaching the top first, paused to survey the land beyond -then turned, and gave the signal for the caravan to halt. With much cursing and grunting, the column came to a precarious stop.
Lanosi cursed aloud. Half the caravan was strung out along the slope, struggling to maintain their footing on the loose sand. Regaining momentum from there would be all but impossible. He waved the caravaneers back down to the base of the dune, and urged his beast up the slope.
"Curse you, Mejas!" he shouted as he came up to the guide."Don't you know better than to call a halt halfway up a dune? What do you think you're doing?"
Mejas glanced at him, but made no reply. Instead he pointed to the ridge of the next line of dunes, where three mounted figures waited.
"La'ed?" asked the merchant. "What do they want?" He hadn't realised that his mouth could get any drier.
"They want to talk. To me. Stay here. Don't let the caravan move, and don't let anyone past this point until I get back."
"What if you don't get back?"
Mejas shrugged. "Then you do whatever you think best. I will no longer be in any position to care! But I will be back."
Lanosi looked round. From the top of the dune he had an good view over miles of empty desolation. Apart from his caravan, nothing moved, not even the three ominous figures ahead.
"Is that all there are of them?" he asked. "Just those three?"
"That's all we can see. And we only see them because they wish us to. There could be 500 warriors within arrowshot. Or none for a days ride in any direction. Who can know?" Mejas urged his riding beast into motion, and set off down the
slope, with Woran following.
Lanosi watched carefully as the two riders reached the La'ed: but between sun-glare and sand-drift he could make out very little. The tribesmen appeared to lean forward at one point, as if to examine Mejas more closely - or to see something that he showed them. A token of safe conduct? A payment? Lanosi speculated fruitlessly.
Woran was examined as well. Lanosi thought that he removed his veil. What did that mean? Was he known to the La'ed? Then the two had turned and were riding back, with the merchant no wiser than before.
Mejas came up the slope once more, and nodded to him."They are satisfied." He said. "We can pass."
With a wave and a shout, Lanosi started the caravan in motion.
"Be sure that all carry the black and white." Mejas instructed. "They will be watching. But ignore them." The guide turned his animal about, and reclaimed his position at the columns head.
Lanosi stayed were he was, checking each man and beast as they passed by. By an effort of will he himself from looking at the La'ed: bu he was acutely aware of their presence. All the more so when he realised that Mejas had chosen a course which took the caravan within a few hundred feet of the tribesmen. Trailing down the dune behind the final dhusara, he could not resist a covert glance at them.
They appeared identical, three statues drapped in white, seated on white dhusara-sri that remained as motionless as their masters. White veils hid their faces. A harness of leather straps, trimmed with coloured tassels, laced across each mans chest. According to rumour, the colours were markings of clan and sept: if so, none but the La'ed knew how to read them. Better known were the long curved swords who's hilts projected above each mans left shoulder. They could split a man from head to crotch in one blow, it was said, and Lanosi believed it. As for the wicked little bows that each man held before them - he needed no rumour to tell him of those!
He looked away, concentrating on the caravan ahead.
After they had gone a distance Lanosi estimated at a little more than a bowshot, the itching between his shoulders eased, and he risked a quick glance backwards. But the La'ed were gone. They left no sign of their going, and there was nothing to show that they had been there. The desert appeared as empty and lifeless as ever.
Lanosi did not trust it.
***********
Three times more the caravan met with the La'ed. Each time the ritual was the same. First a testing with arrows - which all were carefull to ignore. On the following day, three tribesmen would suddenly appear, waiting for Mejas and Woran. The two rode out, they showed whatever it was they had to show, they returned, and the caravan moved on. The La'ed watched, and vanished.
Lanosi observed these meetings carefully, but fruitlessly. To his great frustration, he knew no more of Mejas's secret now than he had when they set out on their journey - and little more of the La'ed. He thought that he detected a variation in the colouring of their harness tassels, though in all other aspects they were identical. Mejas confirmed that these might well be from different tribes. Or familys, or clans. Or perhaps not. Who could be sure? Maybe these were the same three each time, the only La'ed in the desert! Mejas found the thought amusing, and laughed freely. Lanosi ground sand laden teeth together, and the caravan continued on its way.
The desert changed once more. Drifting sand gave way to a flat, stony plain that sloped gently up ahead of them. Shortly afterwards the first mountain peaks lifted above the horizon. Spirits rose: the worst of the journey lay behind them, and the markets of Dain E'Sada were close ahead. Mejas warned them to remain cautious. They were still in lands claimed by the La'ed, and there were other dangers.
That night, a man was stung by a small scuttling thing. In the morning he died in raving agony. Sobered, they went on their way.
On the 30th day of their journey, they came to the foothills, and the first outpost of Dain E'Sada. Before the following dusk, they topped a ridge and looked down on a great city of gold and blue and pink and crimson, in a setting of green gardens, latticed with canals, walled in brilliant white.
Dain E'Sada! The Wealthy, The Fabulouse, the Market of the World, the Jewel of the Desert. It was a sight to behold at any time. For men who had crossed the La'ed Waste, it was like beholding Paradise. For Lanosi the Spice Merchant, arriving with the first charas leaves of the season, it was his fortune.
For Mejas the guide it was merely the end of another trip.
"I leave you here." He anounced "My contract is fulfilled. From Kharand to the gates of Dain E'Sada, and not a beast or a load lost."
"We lost a man. Two!" Lanosi grunted.
Mejas shrugged. "It was unfortunate. But it has no bearing on our agreement."
The Merchant nodded, reluctantly, but counted out the sum owed. A considerable amount in gold, though small compared with his expected profits.
"I may wish to return along the same route." Lanosi said. "I will offer the same again for your services."
Mejas shook his head. "My thanks for your offer, and for the confidence in me that it implies. But I must refuse. It is my rule to guide each caravan only once."
"A curious custom."
"No doubt. But there it is. A private matter, you understand."
"The price might be increased."
"Even so."
"Then farewell, Mejas."
"Farewell Lanosi, and may your business go well." The guide nudged his dhusara into motion, and trotted of with Woran at his side. Lanosi watched them go. They did not ride towards the city.
"Farewell indeed." he whispered to himself. "But only for a while. I think we will meet again. Yes, I think we shall."
**********
The valley was dark under the trees. Only a few stray beams of starlight slipped through the leaves to gleam softly on steel. The riders coming up the narrow path went slowly, picking their way in the darkness, and as silently as possible.
They had more light and easier going when they emerged from the vally onto a wide plateau. To their left, the ground fell away into the dark gulf of the La'ed Waste. To their right loomed the shoulder of a mountain, beyond which lay Dain E'Sada. Ahead, whitewashed walls gleamed faintly in the starlight. The walls surrounded a small garden, and a house that snuggled to the rocky slope beyond.
Lanosi smiled in the darkness. His information was correct! As indeed it should be, considering its cost. News of Mejas the guide did not come cheaply. But in Dain E'Sada, all things can be had for a price. And his trading had been good, his profits enormouse. He could afford to indulge himself in this matter.
Besides, it was also an investment. Mejas's secret was worth much, and Lanosi intended to learn that secret.
10 men rode with him, mercenarys who had once followed Tre Waset. Now they followed Lanosi. They spread out across the plateau and advanced on the building. No alarm was raised, there was no watch posted. Mejas and Woran lived alone, said
his informants: no guards, not even servants. Strange for someone as rich as Mejas must be. Foolish, in fact, for someone with a secret to protect.
A mercenary was lifted above the walls, and made his report in a whisper. There were lights in the house, but no one in the garden. Not even a guard beast.
They moved to the gate, a pretty thing of iron rods curved into shapes of mythical beasts. Lanosi pushed at it gingerly with his sword. There were tales of cunning traps, sorceries and enchantments, that would turn a man to stone at a touch.
Or some such nonsense. Lanosi believed not a word of it, of course, but it was strange that Mejas should not have even an animal for protection. And who knew what dark secrets the man might know?
The gate swung open easily to his touch. "Not even locked." Lanosi muttered. "The man is a fool!"
Weapons drawn, they advanced towards the house. Light spilled from wide windows, opened to the night breeze. Inside, someone was picking out a gentle tune on a stringed instrument.
Lanosi directed his men with a pointed finger. Two by the window, two more down each side of the house. The others follwed him to the door. Which, like the gate, was unlocked.
The music came from a room to his right. Lanosi walked over to the curtained archway, gripped his sword firmly, and stepped inside. It surprised him to see that the musician was Woran. He had not thought of the veiled man as a person of artistic talent - but there he was, seated near the window with the instrument across his knees. And he still wore the veil, Lanosi saw, even here. Mejas reclined on a couch nearby, a glass of wine in his hand. They looked up in surprise as the armed men
burst in - but less surprise than would have been natural, and no obviouse fear either. Woran began to stand, until a mercenary leveled a sword at his chest.
Mejas merely took a sip of his wine, and relaxed against his cushions.
"Ser Lanosi." He said calmly. "What an entrance! You quite startled me, even though I've been expecting you to visit."
"Expecting me?" Lanosi was completely thrown. "What do you mean... how could you be expecting me?"
Mejas shrugged. "You pay gold to get your questions answered. I pay gold to hear when questions are being asked. I thought it would be you."
Lanosi recovered himself. "If you know that much, then you know why I'm here! I want some answers from you, Mejas - and you will give them to me freely, or I shall drag them out of you!"
"Certainly. You don't need to threaten. I shall tell you what you want to know - which, I presume, is the secret of safe passage through the La'ed Waste."
"Of course!"
Mejas sighed. "Very well. But I warn you, it is not knowledge you will be comfortable with. You may wish that you had not asked."
Lanosi smiled grimly. "That is not your problem."
"Indeed not. But I think it only fair to warn you. And think on this, Lanosi - " Mejas sat up on his couch, and stared intently at the Merchant " - you are not the first person to seek this secret! Others have come, as you have come, and I have told it to them: but not one has ever made use of it, not one has even spoken of it! Consider that, before you force me to answer you!
A cold finger of fear touched Lanosi, but he forced it away. "Clever, very clever, Mejas!" He sneered. "You gaurd yourself with a words and bluff - but you would have done better to employ men and beasts!"
"I cannot. That is part of the secret." It was the guides utter self assurance that led credibilty to his words, thought Lanosi. Without uttering a single specific threat he created an atmosphere of uncertainty and dread that had even the mercenarys looking uneasy.
"Enough!" Lanosi began to shout, building his anger to diguise his fear. "You tell me this terrible secret of yours, and you start now! "
Mejas shrugged. "Very well. Know, then Lanosi, that I was once a merchant just as you are. Like you, I sought to better my fortunes by taking a caravan across the waste. About ten years past this was - and of course, in those times there was no Mejas the Guide for Mejas the Merchant! I went in company with many other merchants, and we employed many mercenarys for our protection. We hoped that they would be enough.
Of course, it proved not to be so. The La'ed came. First they slaughtered the gaurds, then the merchants. I could see that it was hopeless to fight, and foolish to run. So I chose a course more foolish and hopeless that either. I surrendered."
Mejas paused for a sip of wine. "I did not know them then, not as I do now. The La'ed are warriors, the purest, the bravest, the cruelest on earth. They do not understand the concept of surrender. Not for themselves, not for others. Those they capture alive are all treated in the same fashion. Stripped, staked out on the sand, and left. The sun does the rest. I doubt if many men would survive even a day.
"Such was to be my fate. But - as I was stripped for the stakes - the La'ed discovered something. A marking on my skin - just a tiny thing, no more than a fingers width. And when they had seen it, they gave me back my clothing, and my duhara-sri. They tied black and white ribbons to the harness, and set me free. And so began my career as a guide."
Lanosi stared at him, suspicion in his eyes. "So then - what was this marking?"
Mejas stood up. Slowly he unlaced the loose robe he wore, and slipped it from his shoulders.
A concerted gasp of shock and horror came from the mercenarys. Lanosi felt himself go cold.
One side of the guide's body was quite normal, smooth pale skin over plump flesh. The other side.... the left of his chest, his shoulder and left arm to the elbow were black. Like ashes, like charcoal, like skin already dead even as it's owner breathed and talked and drank wine.
"It has spread, somewhat." Mejas said. "It does, you know. Slowly, but it cannot be halted, cannot be cured."
Lanosi felt weak. "What..." He licked his lips. "What is it?"
"Oh, it has many names, here and there. Black Rot is one, though in Dain E'Sada it's known as Shadowskin - I see that you've heard of it?"
Lanosi had. He was very pale, and the sword shook in his hand untill he rested it on the floor. "You've killed us - killed us all!" he gasped.
"Perhaps not. I have studied the matter, naturally. It seems that an infected man may travel fifty days in the company of ten others: one of his companions will certainly get the disease, one might do. The remainder will be spared. But who might be fortunate and who not, no one can say. It's passage from one to another is a mystery. I myself have no idea how I contracted the infection."
"We were thirty days together." Lanosi muttered.
"Just so." Agreed Mejas. "And you recall that I kept myself at a distance. Myself and Woran."
"He too?"
"Of course. Not from me, but before we met. Show him Woran."
Woran lowered his veil. Lanosi looked away quickly.
"Fortunatly, the pain is not too great." Mejas had sat down once more, and returned to his wine. "Not if one can afford the drugs and potions, and our business has been quite prosperous. But there is no preventing it's spread, and in due course it covers the body. Then it invades the inner parts, after which death comes swiftly. I fear that my friend and I may not have more than a few years left to us."
"And the La'ed?" asked Lanosi.
"They fear the Shadowskin even more than you do. Perhaps it is more virulent amongst them. But in any case, they will not harm or hinder any who have it, and they spare all who travel with him. Not even the La'ed can tell who might have taken the infection, and who not. The black and white, of course, are their markings to show its prescence. But they will not trust these alone.
"So that's what you showed them." Lanosi, recovering his strength and his anger, raised his sword once more. "You decieved me, Mejas, put at risk of - that. I should kill you!"
Mejas raised an eyebrow, "Unwise. Spilling contaminated blood increases the risk. Better just to go. After all, you have what you came for. Moreover, you have your fortune made, and will likely live to enjoy it. Providing you do not prolong our meeting! And as for the risk..." Mejas smiled. "I did warn you that the La'ed were not the only danger! And I think that you would have travelled with me even if you had known. To cross the desert and make your fortune, you would have taken that risk - would you not?"
Lanosi nodded slowly. "You're right, curse you!"
The guide laughed bitterly. "Oh, but I am cursed!"
"If I should become... deseased...... then I'll be back to take my revenge!"
Mejas shrugged. "Hurry about it then. Or the Shadowskin will claim me first!"
Abruptly, Lanosi turned away and strode from the room. The mercenarys follwed him with alacrity, only to glad to be out of that place. Soon the breeze brought the fading sound of hard-ridden duhara-sri.
"I'll wager that as soon as he's back in Dain E'sada, he'll have the most thorough bath of his life!" Woran picked up his instrument as hs spoke, and plucked the strings lightly. "Do you suppose he will talk of this?"
"No. Like the others, he will realise what will happen to him if it is known that he has travelled with the Shadowskin! He'd be thrown from the city walls, and his corpse burned. He'll keep the secret as well as we do! All the same, we must make plans to move on. It will take him a little while to find a discrete physician, but when he
does...! I would not care to meet Ser Lanosi again after that!"
"He has it then?"
Mejas nodded. "But not from us. I saw the signs when we first met in Kharand. They are not yet obviouse, but a good physician will know them. I think tomorrow will not be too soon for our departure."
"And where shall we go?" asked Woran.
"Does it matter? One place is much like another to dying men."
"True. But I do have one request, Mejas."
"Oh?"
"Let it be as far as possible from that dammed desert!"
They laughed. Their laughter had a bitter edge to it: their jests were not pleasant ones.
and replaced his veil. The thin material reduced his vision till further, but it gave his eyes some rest.
The merchant turned his attention to the caravan. His caravan. Forty great duhura's, desert-bred load beasts, shambling along with their characteristic loose-limbed stride. Each one bearing a small fortune in charas leaves, the first of the seasons crop. But only a fortune if they were the first to arrive at the markets of Dain E'Sada, Lanosi reminded himself. To be first to market with the fresh leaves was to gain incredible wealth. To be second was to barely cover expenses. It was a gamble. And it was very, very dangerous.
At a duhura's steady pace, the desert crossing took thirty days, from Kharand in the south to the first outposts of Dain E'Sada. Which made it the swiftest route by far. But this was the La'ed Waste, the Desert of Bones. A name given with good reason. The La'ed tribesmen claimed all that harsh land as their own: strangers who sought to pass paid a toll of blood.
Thoughts of the La'ed caused Lanosi to turn his attention back to the open sands. Pulling aside his veil, he made another futile attempt to pierce the glare.
Soft footfalls sounded on the sand behind him. He glanced round as Tre Waset, Captain of Mercenarys, reigned in beside him. Like Lanosi, Waset rode a duhara-sri, a smaller cousin of the load-beasts, bred for riding.
"They're out there." said the Captain grimly.
"You've seen them? I can't see a cursed thing."
Waset shrugged. "I've seen something. My men have. Shadows. Movements at the edge of vision. Nothing we can be sure of. But what else could it be?"
Lanosi nodded his agreement, taking stock of the Captain.
Tre Waset was young for his rank, but he commanded his men well enough. A disgraced noblemans son from the north, Lanosi had heard. The fair hair and smooth skin, bright red in this heat, bore that out: but he had no real interest in the mans origins. Waset carried sword and crossbow, he knew their use, and so did his men. Twenty hard bitten warriors under this mans command gave Lanosi a certain sense of security.
A false sense, though. For all their ability, Waset and his men would count for nothing should the La'ed decide to attack. They had been hired to gaurd against more common thieves and bandits, such as they might find beyond the desert. For the safe passage of the desert itself, the merchant rested his trust in another source. One which, however, inspired less confidence then the lethally competent mercenaries.
Come." he said to the Captain. "We'll talk to Mejas."
With a slap of reins against their mounts heads, they set off at a trot for the head of the caravan.
As he rode, Lanosi reflected on the three ways in which one might attempt the dessert passage. The first was to use the fastest possible beasts, carrying light loads, and trust to speed and luck to escape the La'ed. About one in every ten of
such ventures were succesfull - according to the optimists. And by success they meant that at least some men and beasts survived.
The second method was to hire a small army and fight through to Dain E'Sada. This was more hopeful: possibly half of all such attempts succeeded. But it was expensive. Armies do not come cheap, and especially not armies willing to face the
La'ed. Little profit could be made on such ventures.
Which left the third and surest method. Hire Mejas.
Mejas did not come cheap either. Lanosi winced at the thought ofwhat he'd bid for the mans services. But a caravan led by Mejas arrived in safety. And in better time than those who must take the weary journey round the La'ed Waste.
What was his secret? Well might Lanosi wonder. So had many others, but in vain. That, however, was of little comfort to the merchant, who prefered to know such things - especially when those things dearest to him, life and profit, were in danger.
Passing down the column, Lanosi took note of the black and white ribbons tied to each duhura. His own riding beast bore a simular decoration. Mejas insisted on them, but refused any explanation. Perhaps it had some bearing on his success: and perhaps not. There were those who had braved the tribes with the ribbons, but without Mejas. They had not survived.
The man himself was not near as impressive as his reputation. An uninformed observer, watching as Lanosi and Waset drew alongside the guide, might have concluded that Mejas was the merchant. Short, inclining to stoutness, he bore no weapons and was dressed for as much comfort as was possible in the desert heat. Light, flowing garments of brightly coloured silk, a round, friendly face. A person might seek his advice on matters of trade or finance. But as a guide through dangerous country he did not inspire confidence.
Lanosi himself - tall, hawk nosed and leather skinned: as well armed as the mercenarys, and wearing mail beneath his white robes - Lanosi looked much more as a guide should. Yet it was Mejas on whom they relied, who held their lives in his care. Lanosi was not comfortable with the thought.
If Mejas was aware of the merchants doubts, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he waved affably.
"Greetings, Ser Lanosi, Ser Waset. We make good progress, do we not?"
Waset grunted. He disliked the guide, and had no qualms about showing it. Lanosi, who must work with the man, was more polite.
"Progress is good enough." He agreed. "But I am concerned about the La'ed. Ser Waset's men have seen things. He believes that the tribesmen may be watching us."
"Of course they are." Mejas replied calmly. "They have watched us from the moment we entered the desert." He smiled, seeing Lanosi's shock. "Do not concern yourself. They will not attack."
"So you say!" Waset burst out. "And if you are wrong?"
Mejas shrugged. "Then we die. But I am not wrong. Trust me."
Lanosi and Waset exchanged glances. They had little choice in that, and they knew it. The knowledge brought no comfort.
The caravans steady pace had taken them to the top of a low ridge. Outcrops of white rock appeared ahead, and Waset took note of them.
"We should avoid those." he said. "Too good a place for an ambush."
Mejas shook his head. "Our path lies along that route. We will not be ambushed, but if we avoid them the La'ed will see that we fear ambush - and that will make them suspicous."
"This is foolishness!" Waset spat out. "Ser Lanosi - this man leads us into clear danger!"
Mejas ignored the mercenary, and looked steadily at Lanosi. "You may conclude our contract at any point." he said.
The Merchant glanced at Ter Waset's flushed face, and shook his head.
"Then we continue." Mejas spoke evenly, but there was no doubt about his authority. Nothing more was said as the rocks grew steadily closer.
Lanosi and Waset strained their eyes against the reflected glare, but saw no sign of movement. None the less, as the caravan passed the first rocks, something flickered through the air and punched into the sand just ahead of the merchant. With a shout of alarm, he and Waset reined to a sudden halt - then had to stir their animals into motion again, as Mejas continued blithely on.
"You said that there'd be no attack" Waset fumed.
"One arrow does not make an attack." Mejas pointed out.
"Nor even two." He added, as another suddenly sprouted in the sand nearby.
"Then what is this?!" Lanosi shouted at the guide. From the caravan came shouts of surprise and fear as more arrows spotted the sand around them.
"They play games." Mejas explained patiently. "They test our courage. Woran!" He turned his head to call, and another man
rode up from the caravan.
Mejas's only servant and companion was even more of a mystery than his master. Tall and broad shouldered, he was never seen without his veil. When he spoke, which was seldom, his voice was harsh and strange to the ear.
"Woran - ride back and calm the men. Tell them to ignore the arrows. Let no one show signs of fear or anger." The man rode off on his errand, and Mejas turned to the mercenary. "That includes you, Ser Waset," he continued. "Ignore them,
and they will tire of their game. But if they are provoked, we may suffer for it." He indicated the crossbow which Waset had cocked and loaded.
Waset glared at him, but reluctanly unloaded the weapon and returned it to its stowage. "It is foolish to go unprepared!" he protested.
"More foolish to provoke the La'ed to anger." Mejas pointed out.
"It is dishonourable to ignore a challenge!"
"There's little honour to be found in an unmarked desert grave."
Another arrow landed close by, causing the mercenarys mount to shy. Waset had to make an undignified grab at his saddle to avoid a fall, and he let out an oath.
"Must we submit to such treatment by savages? If they will not attack - as you promise, guide - then what harm can they do with these toys?" He leant down from the saddle and snatched up the arrow, held it aloft. "See!"
It was not, in fact an impressive example of it's type. Little longer than one of Waset's crossbow bolts, it was a crude, fragile thing: it's shaft a length of bone, tipped with a fragment of black obsidian, and flighted with slivers of horn.
"They think to frighten warriors with such flimsy things? Pah! A child could make better!" With a twist of his fingers, Waset snapped the shaft in two, tossed it away. and raised his mailed fist in a defiant gesture towards the rocks.
Still no movement was seen there, but another arrow leapt out from them. and struck home - not this time in the sand, but in Tre Waset's fist. Eyes bulging with shock, the mercenary opened his fingers and stared at the shiny black point projecting from his palm.
"The La'ed arrows are small because their bows are small. They are made of bone and obsidian because there is no wood here, nor birds to provide feathered flights, and steel is hard to come by." Mejas spoke casually. He might have been discussing the merits of a taverns wine. "However, those bows are of laminated horn, double-curved and remarkably powerful for their size. Powerful enough to drive an obsidian arrowhead through mail. As you can see."
Waset was doubled up in pain, clutching his maimed hand to his stomach and moaning softly. His face was very pale.
"Moreover," Mejas continued, "the La'ed are skilled archers." He was not looking at Waset, but directed his attention to Lanosi. The Merchant, however, stared at the stricken man in fascinated horror.
"They can shoot a dozen arrows whilest a good crossbowman manages but one. They can hit a target as small as - for example - a mans hand, and do so with every arrow. And they can do it from a dhusara at full gallop - or from concealment so perfect that no one can tell where the arrow came from."
Waset rolled slowly from his saddle and dropped into the sand. He lay staring blindly at the sky, his limbs making odd twitching motions and his teeth tightly clenched. Strange choked noises forced their way from his mouth, along with a thin trickle of blood. He might have been trying to scream.
"And of course, they poison their arrows. A mere scratch brings death. Mercifully, a quick one."
Waset lay still.
Mejas continued to speak to Lanosi, as the merchant looked up from the body and met his eye. "I promised that they will not attack. Nor will they. But if provoked, they could kill us one by one, and we would not see so much as their shadows. So it would be best, Ser Lanosi, if we were to heed the example set by our companion here. Our late companion."
Some of Wasets men had ridden up. One dismounted to examine the corpse. He took great care not to touch the arrow.
"Leave the body." Mejas instructed. "And his dhusara. By La'ed tradition, they belong to the man who killed him. I think it best to respect that tradition."
There was no argument. The caravan continued on its way, making a small detour round the corpse. Word was passed - though more arrows fell, the caravaneers ignored them with great intensity.
At sunset, the caravan made camp on the open sands. Lanosi was kept busy, seeing that the duhsara's were properly settled for the night, their precious burdens carefully unloaded and stacked. The mercenarys mounted a gaurd, more from professional habit than in hope of detering any serious attack. But the caravaneers seemed glad of even that nominal protection, Lanosi noticed: they stayed within the gaurded area, huddled round the dung fires and did not look into the darkness beyond.
There were just two exceptions to that rule. Mejas and Woran had made their camp well away from the rest, their fire a tiny orange glow in the vast darkness of the desert. Lanosi stood for a time, watching and pondering the secret that those men alone shared. Pondering, too, what another man might do with such a secret, could he learn it.
And that was not impossible, he thought to himself. There were ways by which secrets could be learned.
From the distant fire came a sound of laughter - laughter with a hard and bitter edge to it. Lanosi shuddered, and turned away. Their jests, he thought, were not pleasant ones.
**********
In the very early morning, with the stars barely faded from their customary brilliance, the caravan was on it's way once more. With much cursing and shouting from the men, and many coughs and grunts from the dhusaras, who detested early
awakenings. Many apprehensive glances were given to the shadowy dunes. The desire to make distance before the heat of the day was almost countered by fear of the La'ed lurking in the dark. But Mejas assured them that it was not important.
"Should they decide to attack, day or night will make no difference. We will know nothing of it until the arrows fall and the blades are at our throats. But they will not attack."
With these comforting words, the caravan moved on.
There were no more arrows that day. And in time even fear of the La'ed was diminished in the face of a more immediate enemy - the pitiless sun. Slogging on through the heat, they hardly noticed that the desert itself had changed. Rocky
outcrops became fewer, and then ceased. The bright sands spread unbroken for mile upon endless mile. It was a land that the sun had hammered into lifelessness, and now the scorching winds came to play with the corpse,sculpting it
into long winding dunes of ever greater height. Up these they struggled, with the wind blowing sand grains in their faces and forcing them into their eyes and down their necks. Noses became clogged, mouths dry and gritty. Sand crept into groin and armpit, soaking up sweat and chafing the skin. The dhusara lidded their eyes and plodded on. In much greater discomfort, their human masters toiled along with them.
Towards noon, they approached the summit of yet another dune. Mejas. reaching the top first, paused to survey the land beyond -then turned, and gave the signal for the caravan to halt. With much cursing and grunting, the column came to a precarious stop.
Lanosi cursed aloud. Half the caravan was strung out along the slope, struggling to maintain their footing on the loose sand. Regaining momentum from there would be all but impossible. He waved the caravaneers back down to the base of the dune, and urged his beast up the slope.
"Curse you, Mejas!" he shouted as he came up to the guide."Don't you know better than to call a halt halfway up a dune? What do you think you're doing?"
Mejas glanced at him, but made no reply. Instead he pointed to the ridge of the next line of dunes, where three mounted figures waited.
"La'ed?" asked the merchant. "What do they want?" He hadn't realised that his mouth could get any drier.
"They want to talk. To me. Stay here. Don't let the caravan move, and don't let anyone past this point until I get back."
"What if you don't get back?"
Mejas shrugged. "Then you do whatever you think best. I will no longer be in any position to care! But I will be back."
Lanosi looked round. From the top of the dune he had an good view over miles of empty desolation. Apart from his caravan, nothing moved, not even the three ominous figures ahead.
"Is that all there are of them?" he asked. "Just those three?"
"That's all we can see. And we only see them because they wish us to. There could be 500 warriors within arrowshot. Or none for a days ride in any direction. Who can know?" Mejas urged his riding beast into motion, and set off down the
slope, with Woran following.
Lanosi watched carefully as the two riders reached the La'ed: but between sun-glare and sand-drift he could make out very little. The tribesmen appeared to lean forward at one point, as if to examine Mejas more closely - or to see something that he showed them. A token of safe conduct? A payment? Lanosi speculated fruitlessly.
Woran was examined as well. Lanosi thought that he removed his veil. What did that mean? Was he known to the La'ed? Then the two had turned and were riding back, with the merchant no wiser than before.
Mejas came up the slope once more, and nodded to him."They are satisfied." He said. "We can pass."
With a wave and a shout, Lanosi started the caravan in motion.
"Be sure that all carry the black and white." Mejas instructed. "They will be watching. But ignore them." The guide turned his animal about, and reclaimed his position at the columns head.
Lanosi stayed were he was, checking each man and beast as they passed by. By an effort of will he himself from looking at the La'ed: bu he was acutely aware of their presence. All the more so when he realised that Mejas had chosen a course which took the caravan within a few hundred feet of the tribesmen. Trailing down the dune behind the final dhusara, he could not resist a covert glance at them.
They appeared identical, three statues drapped in white, seated on white dhusara-sri that remained as motionless as their masters. White veils hid their faces. A harness of leather straps, trimmed with coloured tassels, laced across each mans chest. According to rumour, the colours were markings of clan and sept: if so, none but the La'ed knew how to read them. Better known were the long curved swords who's hilts projected above each mans left shoulder. They could split a man from head to crotch in one blow, it was said, and Lanosi believed it. As for the wicked little bows that each man held before them - he needed no rumour to tell him of those!
He looked away, concentrating on the caravan ahead.
After they had gone a distance Lanosi estimated at a little more than a bowshot, the itching between his shoulders eased, and he risked a quick glance backwards. But the La'ed were gone. They left no sign of their going, and there was nothing to show that they had been there. The desert appeared as empty and lifeless as ever.
Lanosi did not trust it.
***********
Three times more the caravan met with the La'ed. Each time the ritual was the same. First a testing with arrows - which all were carefull to ignore. On the following day, three tribesmen would suddenly appear, waiting for Mejas and Woran. The two rode out, they showed whatever it was they had to show, they returned, and the caravan moved on. The La'ed watched, and vanished.
Lanosi observed these meetings carefully, but fruitlessly. To his great frustration, he knew no more of Mejas's secret now than he had when they set out on their journey - and little more of the La'ed. He thought that he detected a variation in the colouring of their harness tassels, though in all other aspects they were identical. Mejas confirmed that these might well be from different tribes. Or familys, or clans. Or perhaps not. Who could be sure? Maybe these were the same three each time, the only La'ed in the desert! Mejas found the thought amusing, and laughed freely. Lanosi ground sand laden teeth together, and the caravan continued on its way.
The desert changed once more. Drifting sand gave way to a flat, stony plain that sloped gently up ahead of them. Shortly afterwards the first mountain peaks lifted above the horizon. Spirits rose: the worst of the journey lay behind them, and the markets of Dain E'Sada were close ahead. Mejas warned them to remain cautious. They were still in lands claimed by the La'ed, and there were other dangers.
That night, a man was stung by a small scuttling thing. In the morning he died in raving agony. Sobered, they went on their way.
On the 30th day of their journey, they came to the foothills, and the first outpost of Dain E'Sada. Before the following dusk, they topped a ridge and looked down on a great city of gold and blue and pink and crimson, in a setting of green gardens, latticed with canals, walled in brilliant white.
Dain E'Sada! The Wealthy, The Fabulouse, the Market of the World, the Jewel of the Desert. It was a sight to behold at any time. For men who had crossed the La'ed Waste, it was like beholding Paradise. For Lanosi the Spice Merchant, arriving with the first charas leaves of the season, it was his fortune.
For Mejas the guide it was merely the end of another trip.
"I leave you here." He anounced "My contract is fulfilled. From Kharand to the gates of Dain E'Sada, and not a beast or a load lost."
"We lost a man. Two!" Lanosi grunted.
Mejas shrugged. "It was unfortunate. But it has no bearing on our agreement."
The Merchant nodded, reluctantly, but counted out the sum owed. A considerable amount in gold, though small compared with his expected profits.
"I may wish to return along the same route." Lanosi said. "I will offer the same again for your services."
Mejas shook his head. "My thanks for your offer, and for the confidence in me that it implies. But I must refuse. It is my rule to guide each caravan only once."
"A curious custom."
"No doubt. But there it is. A private matter, you understand."
"The price might be increased."
"Even so."
"Then farewell, Mejas."
"Farewell Lanosi, and may your business go well." The guide nudged his dhusara into motion, and trotted of with Woran at his side. Lanosi watched them go. They did not ride towards the city.
"Farewell indeed." he whispered to himself. "But only for a while. I think we will meet again. Yes, I think we shall."
**********
The valley was dark under the trees. Only a few stray beams of starlight slipped through the leaves to gleam softly on steel. The riders coming up the narrow path went slowly, picking their way in the darkness, and as silently as possible.
They had more light and easier going when they emerged from the vally onto a wide plateau. To their left, the ground fell away into the dark gulf of the La'ed Waste. To their right loomed the shoulder of a mountain, beyond which lay Dain E'Sada. Ahead, whitewashed walls gleamed faintly in the starlight. The walls surrounded a small garden, and a house that snuggled to the rocky slope beyond.
Lanosi smiled in the darkness. His information was correct! As indeed it should be, considering its cost. News of Mejas the guide did not come cheaply. But in Dain E'Sada, all things can be had for a price. And his trading had been good, his profits enormouse. He could afford to indulge himself in this matter.
Besides, it was also an investment. Mejas's secret was worth much, and Lanosi intended to learn that secret.
10 men rode with him, mercenarys who had once followed Tre Waset. Now they followed Lanosi. They spread out across the plateau and advanced on the building. No alarm was raised, there was no watch posted. Mejas and Woran lived alone, said
his informants: no guards, not even servants. Strange for someone as rich as Mejas must be. Foolish, in fact, for someone with a secret to protect.
A mercenary was lifted above the walls, and made his report in a whisper. There were lights in the house, but no one in the garden. Not even a guard beast.
They moved to the gate, a pretty thing of iron rods curved into shapes of mythical beasts. Lanosi pushed at it gingerly with his sword. There were tales of cunning traps, sorceries and enchantments, that would turn a man to stone at a touch.
Or some such nonsense. Lanosi believed not a word of it, of course, but it was strange that Mejas should not have even an animal for protection. And who knew what dark secrets the man might know?
The gate swung open easily to his touch. "Not even locked." Lanosi muttered. "The man is a fool!"
Weapons drawn, they advanced towards the house. Light spilled from wide windows, opened to the night breeze. Inside, someone was picking out a gentle tune on a stringed instrument.
Lanosi directed his men with a pointed finger. Two by the window, two more down each side of the house. The others follwed him to the door. Which, like the gate, was unlocked.
The music came from a room to his right. Lanosi walked over to the curtained archway, gripped his sword firmly, and stepped inside. It surprised him to see that the musician was Woran. He had not thought of the veiled man as a person of artistic talent - but there he was, seated near the window with the instrument across his knees. And he still wore the veil, Lanosi saw, even here. Mejas reclined on a couch nearby, a glass of wine in his hand. They looked up in surprise as the armed men
burst in - but less surprise than would have been natural, and no obviouse fear either. Woran began to stand, until a mercenary leveled a sword at his chest.
Mejas merely took a sip of his wine, and relaxed against his cushions.
"Ser Lanosi." He said calmly. "What an entrance! You quite startled me, even though I've been expecting you to visit."
"Expecting me?" Lanosi was completely thrown. "What do you mean... how could you be expecting me?"
Mejas shrugged. "You pay gold to get your questions answered. I pay gold to hear when questions are being asked. I thought it would be you."
Lanosi recovered himself. "If you know that much, then you know why I'm here! I want some answers from you, Mejas - and you will give them to me freely, or I shall drag them out of you!"
"Certainly. You don't need to threaten. I shall tell you what you want to know - which, I presume, is the secret of safe passage through the La'ed Waste."
"Of course!"
Mejas sighed. "Very well. But I warn you, it is not knowledge you will be comfortable with. You may wish that you had not asked."
Lanosi smiled grimly. "That is not your problem."
"Indeed not. But I think it only fair to warn you. And think on this, Lanosi - " Mejas sat up on his couch, and stared intently at the Merchant " - you are not the first person to seek this secret! Others have come, as you have come, and I have told it to them: but not one has ever made use of it, not one has even spoken of it! Consider that, before you force me to answer you!
A cold finger of fear touched Lanosi, but he forced it away. "Clever, very clever, Mejas!" He sneered. "You gaurd yourself with a words and bluff - but you would have done better to employ men and beasts!"
"I cannot. That is part of the secret." It was the guides utter self assurance that led credibilty to his words, thought Lanosi. Without uttering a single specific threat he created an atmosphere of uncertainty and dread that had even the mercenarys looking uneasy.
"Enough!" Lanosi began to shout, building his anger to diguise his fear. "You tell me this terrible secret of yours, and you start now! "
Mejas shrugged. "Very well. Know, then Lanosi, that I was once a merchant just as you are. Like you, I sought to better my fortunes by taking a caravan across the waste. About ten years past this was - and of course, in those times there was no Mejas the Guide for Mejas the Merchant! I went in company with many other merchants, and we employed many mercenarys for our protection. We hoped that they would be enough.
Of course, it proved not to be so. The La'ed came. First they slaughtered the gaurds, then the merchants. I could see that it was hopeless to fight, and foolish to run. So I chose a course more foolish and hopeless that either. I surrendered."
Mejas paused for a sip of wine. "I did not know them then, not as I do now. The La'ed are warriors, the purest, the bravest, the cruelest on earth. They do not understand the concept of surrender. Not for themselves, not for others. Those they capture alive are all treated in the same fashion. Stripped, staked out on the sand, and left. The sun does the rest. I doubt if many men would survive even a day.
"Such was to be my fate. But - as I was stripped for the stakes - the La'ed discovered something. A marking on my skin - just a tiny thing, no more than a fingers width. And when they had seen it, they gave me back my clothing, and my duhara-sri. They tied black and white ribbons to the harness, and set me free. And so began my career as a guide."
Lanosi stared at him, suspicion in his eyes. "So then - what was this marking?"
Mejas stood up. Slowly he unlaced the loose robe he wore, and slipped it from his shoulders.
A concerted gasp of shock and horror came from the mercenarys. Lanosi felt himself go cold.
One side of the guide's body was quite normal, smooth pale skin over plump flesh. The other side.... the left of his chest, his shoulder and left arm to the elbow were black. Like ashes, like charcoal, like skin already dead even as it's owner breathed and talked and drank wine.
"It has spread, somewhat." Mejas said. "It does, you know. Slowly, but it cannot be halted, cannot be cured."
Lanosi felt weak. "What..." He licked his lips. "What is it?"
"Oh, it has many names, here and there. Black Rot is one, though in Dain E'Sada it's known as Shadowskin - I see that you've heard of it?"
Lanosi had. He was very pale, and the sword shook in his hand untill he rested it on the floor. "You've killed us - killed us all!" he gasped.
"Perhaps not. I have studied the matter, naturally. It seems that an infected man may travel fifty days in the company of ten others: one of his companions will certainly get the disease, one might do. The remainder will be spared. But who might be fortunate and who not, no one can say. It's passage from one to another is a mystery. I myself have no idea how I contracted the infection."
"We were thirty days together." Lanosi muttered.
"Just so." Agreed Mejas. "And you recall that I kept myself at a distance. Myself and Woran."
"He too?"
"Of course. Not from me, but before we met. Show him Woran."
Woran lowered his veil. Lanosi looked away quickly.
"Fortunatly, the pain is not too great." Mejas had sat down once more, and returned to his wine. "Not if one can afford the drugs and potions, and our business has been quite prosperous. But there is no preventing it's spread, and in due course it covers the body. Then it invades the inner parts, after which death comes swiftly. I fear that my friend and I may not have more than a few years left to us."
"And the La'ed?" asked Lanosi.
"They fear the Shadowskin even more than you do. Perhaps it is more virulent amongst them. But in any case, they will not harm or hinder any who have it, and they spare all who travel with him. Not even the La'ed can tell who might have taken the infection, and who not. The black and white, of course, are their markings to show its prescence. But they will not trust these alone.
"So that's what you showed them." Lanosi, recovering his strength and his anger, raised his sword once more. "You decieved me, Mejas, put at risk of - that. I should kill you!"
Mejas raised an eyebrow, "Unwise. Spilling contaminated blood increases the risk. Better just to go. After all, you have what you came for. Moreover, you have your fortune made, and will likely live to enjoy it. Providing you do not prolong our meeting! And as for the risk..." Mejas smiled. "I did warn you that the La'ed were not the only danger! And I think that you would have travelled with me even if you had known. To cross the desert and make your fortune, you would have taken that risk - would you not?"
Lanosi nodded slowly. "You're right, curse you!"
The guide laughed bitterly. "Oh, but I am cursed!"
"If I should become... deseased...... then I'll be back to take my revenge!"
Mejas shrugged. "Hurry about it then. Or the Shadowskin will claim me first!"
Abruptly, Lanosi turned away and strode from the room. The mercenarys follwed him with alacrity, only to glad to be out of that place. Soon the breeze brought the fading sound of hard-ridden duhara-sri.
"I'll wager that as soon as he's back in Dain E'sada, he'll have the most thorough bath of his life!" Woran picked up his instrument as hs spoke, and plucked the strings lightly. "Do you suppose he will talk of this?"
"No. Like the others, he will realise what will happen to him if it is known that he has travelled with the Shadowskin! He'd be thrown from the city walls, and his corpse burned. He'll keep the secret as well as we do! All the same, we must make plans to move on. It will take him a little while to find a discrete physician, but when he
does...! I would not care to meet Ser Lanosi again after that!"
"He has it then?"
Mejas nodded. "But not from us. I saw the signs when we first met in Kharand. They are not yet obviouse, but a good physician will know them. I think tomorrow will not be too soon for our departure."
"And where shall we go?" asked Woran.
"Does it matter? One place is much like another to dying men."
"True. But I do have one request, Mejas."
"Oh?"
"Let it be as far as possible from that dammed desert!"
They laughed. Their laughter had a bitter edge to it: their jests were not pleasant ones.