No Flame But Mine by Tanith Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

was uncertain, but where he had stood nothing visible of him remained.
    On the peg the twig-hand twitched. It seemed Thryfe the Magikoy Master would not often need Ranjal’s assistance.
    The journey was a bumpy one.
    Up hill, down dale – snow slide, treacherous crevasse, bear-fur forests, mountains poking like dagger behind dagger. They had been told to leave their chariots. That was to get out of them, give them up, for the seventy-nine men who had been one hundred and fifty, and themselves lied about being ninety, had captured Arok’s hunting band and decided they would keep the chariots for themselves. Instead the prisoners were hauled aloft the hills of the giant riding-sheep.
    Dromazi the mounts were called. Most had two humps, between which the Jafn men were each obliged horrifiedly to perch behind the original cavalier. Some other beasts had only one hump, and there the rider sat forward on the creature’s neck. None of the captured were offered a seat on these. They were entirely grateful.
    The position and motion of the ride anyway were agony. Arok expected to become seasick but did not. Only marvellous Fenzi took it all in his or the dromazi’s stride. He had mastered the knack in a couple of hours. But his reward for this was to have his hands tied to the saddle in case he also mastered his jailer, unseated the man and escaped. Meanwhile the Jafn chariot-lions padded behind the party snarling, in custody.
    Once or twice you could spot a heap of buildings high above amid rocks and trees. Farms? Strongholds? No one said.
    Up and down their procession went over the terrain. Then up and up.
    Only Arok and presently Fenzi understood the new language, Simese. Their conquerors called the land Simisey. They were ferocious and loud, bellowing songs and curses, their hair woven and beaded like the manes of Jafn lions.
    The little lionet-tiger cub had first been cradled lovingly by their leader. But after it bit him repeatedly, he was urged at last to have Fenzi’s hands untied and to give the cat back to him. ‘There, baba,’ said Fenzi, now in Simese, ‘come to your elder brother who loves you.’
    â€˜No brother of yours , barbarian!’ roared the red-wool-braided leader, whose name was Sombrec.
    â€˜There, there,’ repeated Fenzi sweetly to the tiger, just managing to say it also to Sombrec, who seemed on the road to exploding from rage. His mount however did so instead, letting off a colossal fart. That quenched even Fenzi’s flirtatious sarcasm.
    They finally reached the Simese city. Arok registered a crows’ nest of a town up a mountain. This tip was known as Padgish. It was the capital.
    To Arok only a garth could have any worth as either town or fortress; only a Jafn clan House had any credence as a palace. Sullenly he scowled at Padgish as they entered, until at length, reluctantly, he changed his mind.
    For Padgish was impressive.
    One long straight paved road, worthy of Ruk cities, led all through. On either side were edifices of two or occasionally three storeys. Some windows had glass. The palace had an excess with colours stained in them. Gardens boasted vast trees, and tree-trunk columns upheld the frontage of the palace house, then marched away in ranks inside.
    Next something went tearing by, a man riding an animal that was not tiger or lion, not even a humped and huffing dromaz.
    â€˜Horsaz?’
    â€˜No – no scales. No pong of fish either.’
    The horsazin of such reivers as Kelps and Faz did bear some vague resemblance. But the Simese variety were made of warm-tinted hide, the flying mane and tail of hair. They had no horn jutting from the forehead.
    In depressed wonder the Jafn captives were herded into a yard of the Padgish palace.
    â€˜This one can speak our tongue. And the black one, he too.’
    Arok, and Fenzi still with the cub in his arms, feeding from a vessel of milk the captors gave him, stood in the throne hall.