Ganne


19 - The Taking Of A Golden Eyes.


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Rain fell from a lowering sky.  Marika's brown mare plodded along the
muddy track, its head drooping.  Bundled up in the riding cloak, Marika
stared grimly ahead at the gloomy avenue between the soaring pines.
Unseen, yet darker than the pines, the Curse lurked at the edge of the
shield's influence.  Marika hunched further down in the saddle, to be as
far from the malign presence as possible.  She was thoroughly miserable.

It had begun raining, even before crossing the river at mid-morning.  Her
escort had come no further than the bridge.  Geraldine had thrust a black
oblong pendant at her, pointed over the bridge, and said "Go!  And if we
discover you on Ganne lands again..." The threat had been left hanging.

"But the Curse..." Marika had begun to protest.

Geraldine pointed at the pendant, and said, "wear that at all times.  It
will keep off the Curse.  Be very careful that you do not misplace it."

The woman gave Marika no time to dwell on this startling revelation.  She
pointed across the bridge.  "Go!" she commanded; "and do not come back."

Marika had sat a long moment wondering whether to appeal to the bridge
guards, who stood at a respectful distance.  She already knew it would be
pointless to appeal to any of her escort; they had hardly spoken a single
word to her on the seven days ride up from the Vardenne fortress.  With no
other options, Marika had urged the horse onto the bridge.

In a very few minutes, the horse's hooves were treading upon the cursed
land of the Ballan Tah.  Marika had paused to look back over the river;
but she was denied a final glimpse of her homeland; the southern shore was
lost in the rain.  To a High Ganne, exile was considered worse than a
death sentence.  The land south of the Great River was "home" to a High
Ganne in a way that could not be expressed in words; and exile from its
bosom cut more deeply than for any of the commons.  With a great effort,
Marika hardened her heart, and turned the horse's head into the north.

The rain on her face hid the tears she, as a Bah Clousaard, could not
possibly have been crying.

That had been some hours ago; and Marika was still pondering on the tiny
tablet of shiny black on the thong about her neck.  Its very existence
provoked many questions about the Curse, and what Guara knew of it.  There
had been rumours, even down in her far south western province, about
expeditions into the cursed lands, and their singular lack of success.
The implications were stunning, and would have been full of possibilities,
if only she were not an exile.  Yes, there would have been distinct
possibilities for forcing a change of regime...  Had she but known of this
beforehand...  And had she still cared ...  and...

The horse hesitated.

There were two soldiers standing in the road, thirty yards down the track.
Their black leather armour glistened wetly.  Though she felt nothing in
the Ganne, Marika looked back over her shoulder, knowing what would be
there.  Three more soldiers stood in the road.  They carried strung
crossbows.  Marika looked left and right.  More of the Vardenai soldiery
was standing among the pines.  Some held swords, most held crossbows.

There was no easy escape.

Marika sat straighter in the saddle, and kept the horse walking towards
the two in front.  In the normal course of things, this ambush would have
caused her no concern whatsoever.  However, with the unknown quantity of
the Curse, Marika was wary of exercising the Ganne.  She was a resourceful
woman, all High Ganne were; and a vague notion of getting closer, then
trying to ride down the two men blocking the road was already forming.
Evidently, the man with the officer's shoulder flashes was alive to this
possibility, because he gave a curt order.  The trooper at his side raised
the crossbow, and trained it upon the advancing horse.

As she got closer, Marika noted how unkempt the soldiers were.  They all
had ragged beards; their clothes were muddy an disheveled; they looked
more like brigands than soldiers.  She wondered if they were deserters.
Well, as it seemed that the Ganne would have to be exercised after all, it
did not really matter; they would die just as easily, whatever their
military status.

Marika reined in a few yards from the men.  "Good day, gentlemen," she
said.  By whose authority does common soldiery of the Vardenai trespass
upon lands under the protection of the Ganne Council?"

The officer smiled; there was nothing pleasant about the expression.  "The
Vardenai needs no one's leave to enjoy what is rightfully theirs...  Least
of all one of you haughty bitches.  These lands are ours by default."

"Really?" Marika asked, her voice cold.

The officer nodded.  "You foolish women have been somewhat remiss in the
protection of your supposed dominions for more than a generation.  Who can
say what upstarts and adventurers might take it into their heads to claim
these lands.  The Emperor has decided in his wisdom that such a parlour
state of affairs cannot be allowed to endure along his eastern borders.
Now, if you please, my Lady Ganne, would you be so good as to step down
and explain your trespass upon Vardenai land?"

"No.  I would not," Marika said.

The man's smile deepened, became touched with an unpleasant amusement.
"Then, my Lady Ganne, we are going to have to do this the hard way."

"That," rejoined Marika, "is a frightful cliche;" and she lashed him with
the Ganne.

The mare screamed.  It reared.  Marika hardly noticed.  A brilliant golden
light blinded her, as a hand of God-like power punched her in the head.
She was barely conscious when she hit the muddy ground, slammed from the
saddle by the lash of Ganne, rebounding from some unseen and unexpected
barrier.

Marika was barely aware of being dragged off the road.  Dripping
vegetation lashed at her, brambles tearing at her exposed skin.  Then she
was being pinned down on her back by four men; and her view of the dark
pines closing out the sky was blocked by the officer.  He came to stand
between her spread legs.

He leered down at her.  "There are penalties for trespass upon Vardenai
land, my Lady Ganne," he said, and reached to unbuckle his belt.  With a
booted foot, he flipped up the hem of Marika's riding skirts.

With the realisation of what was to happen next, Marika's wits cleared.
This was her own personal worst nightmare.  She began to struggle wildly,
screaming curses at the men.


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