Gamori

Part 7

 An hour before noontide we boarded the stately three-decker pleasure barge Vain Naiad, bound for Tek Wek, where we would procure supplies, laborers and overland transport.

Extending in all directions was the emerald verdancy of the vast Ishoon Delta, teeming with life. Amphibious water leapers launched themselves upon membraneous wings to catch dragonflies, while armored snappers lay in wait for the unwary among the lotuses and giant lilies. In the reedy shallows, towering, stilt-legged boobree-birds snatched up wriggling electric catfish. Crocodilians abounded, many of immense size and venerable age. Protruding from the water's surface were the eyes and snouts of slorts: bulky, tusked, semiaquatic beasts which can be most disagreeable, often lethally so.

Twilight brought a batrachian cacophony and a bedazzling show of fireflies. As the sky darkened, two glowing yellow-green orbs appeared, one at the Naiad's bow and one at her stern. These were naviglobes, and are equipped on every Gishite river barge to avoid nocturnal hazards. Like many streetlights and flameless torches, they utilize a type of luminescing algae which is cultivated exclusively in the Thousand Isles of Thool.

Listening to the frogs and the rhythmic splashing of the Naiad's many oars, I said to Jezrin, "This would be almost romantic except for the fact that those lovely splashing sounds are being produced by chained thralls."

She stomped on my foot, but not too hard. "Portsgate must be one benighted little tide pool. You actually believe we are being propelled along by slaves? True enough, there is slavery in the empire, but those doing the heave-ho-ing down there are paid pretty well. In fact, there's a way station not far upriver where they'll let those guys off and exchange 'em for fresh ones. The rowing profession is quite a nice gig for the musclebound."

Once again, I felt like a fool. Jezrin snickered, then said, "You know, I wish they were slaves. It would raise my mood knowing that they were chained and toiling away, with no hope, just so I could hear some splashes." She sighed, "If only I were a despot with the power of life and death over millions. Alack, here I am stuck trying to explain the intricacies of oars and boats to an insular merchant. Life is so unfair. But at least we're finally traveling in style."

In Tek Wek we hired workers and stocked up on things essential for desert travel: water, canteens, rations, tents, bedrolls, sandstorm goggles, scorpion repellant, vials of anti-venom, medicinal herbs, painkillers, flameless torches, mint tea, and the wonderful kirwen coffee I had come to adore. The paler amongst us, especially Umbreen Wentletrap and I, needed copious dwalij ointment to mitigate Zjun's brutal rays. Kwilish, called the washer plant, is endemic to the Kinshazi Desert, and has long been used by the Oblej nomads for personal hygiene, disinfecting wounds, and laundering, and we made sure to have it in abundance.

Jezrin knew of a reliable caravan master, a Nasadi man named Eblis Fenn. Meeting us in the fountained, blue-tiled courtyard of the caravansary near the city gates, the gray-bearded Eblis apparently already knew the ex-assassin.

"Lady Araffeyid! This old vulture is pleased to be graced by your presence once again. So, you wish to be taken to the middle of nowhere. Your travels must have made you jaded indeed. But who am I to question one so captivating, and so willing to part with coin! Now let me make a wild guess. Your companions are new to the delights of the Kinshazi Desert."

"They are, Master Fenn" Jezrin replied with uncharacteristic politeness. "Please show them how best not to die." Though she and Eblis were conversing in Nasadi, I could, by now, follow along well enough.

Fenn switched to my native language, addressing Sindar and I. "I shall do my best not leave your bleached bones in the sand!" He then erupted into maniacal laughter.

Sindar said, "Ah, my bones shall remain unbleached at least. My gout is flaring up, so I fear this portly merchant prince shall be sitting this one out. In between recuperating and drinking myself into oblivion, I shall make arrangements here for our return journey. Besides, what would my litter bearers do in my absence?" He said this from his palanquin, and the eight men who carried it simultaneously formed downcast expressions.

Just before dawn, Eblis gave us a crash course in desert survival, then we loaded up the train of sandstriders. I was impressed by the size and prodigious carrying capacity of these scaly, ochre-hued, bipedal animals, and by their cooperative dispositions. Thok was even able to ride upon the largest and most robust of them.

The ruins of Eb Tamal lay not far south along the river. We passed close by the dreaded first capital of Gish in the late afternoon, for to do so at night is considered by the locals to be the epitome of suicidal folly. Our trio of Oblej guides traced signs of protection in the air.

History states that High Queen Vazazha II was a militaristic, expansionist despot who reigned for nearly a century, a megalomaniac who shattered all records for constructing monuments dedicated to personal glorification. Legend states that she was a diviner and a thaumaturge, and never truly died. It is said that she sleeps in a hidden city of the dead, perhaps located beneath the abandoned capital, waking periodically to hold court, sending forth her servants to procure living victims to feast upon. Rumor states that no one who has attempted to explore Eb Tamal has ever been heard from again.

My rational mind stated that such notions were mere bugaboos, but that I should not give offense to our guides, especially since warriors from their tribe were actively deterring bandits from spoiling our trip.