Ardalia: The Breath of Aoles

Chapter Twelve - THE MARKED

In order not to worry her, and because secrecy is essential, he told himself.

He shook his head. It was a very good reason and settled things nicely. He had made use of it as a shield to reject the obvious, so he didn't have to admit that the oath he had made to find Teleg linked him to another female. Alicene's reserved personality, her distinction and delicacy, had represented an ideal to conquer, and yet, Pelmen noticed that there had never been a rapport between them approaching that which he had discovered with Laneth. In those conditions, even if he never ceased repeating that Alicene considered him simply as a friend, the prospect of finding himself face to face with her made him feel uncomfortable. As for Laneth, he preferred not to imagine how she would react if she thought she had a rival.

There'll be time to sort out any problems when they arise.

He mopped his brow, although he was aware of the futility of the gesture. Even bare-chested, the humid heat reigning here was almost unbearable. Aoles had either forgotten to breathe in these deprived lands, or did not think they formed part of his kingdom. No longer able to stay in the cart, Pelmen got down and walked behind it. His situation was hardly any better, for he hated the sucking sounds his sandals made, and how they sank into the ground. He consoled himself as best he could by telling himself at least he had something on which to concentrate his efforts.

With infinite slowness, the mist became less prevalent and the terrain dried out underfoot. When it became evident that the stench was easing, Pelmen gave thanks to Astar. He wanted at all costs to avoid spending a third night in the swamp. Even Fekkar emitted a low-pitched sound in which satisfaction was detectable, and Xuven nodded his head. The grasslands were sterile in the vicinity of the marshes, the rare trees stunted and deformed. A little further on, the vegetation had won the battle, although it had not yet recovered all its liveliness. They camped among a few slender-trees, and then moved on again after a night of rejuvenating sleep.

The wind blew with much less vigor than on the Windy Steppes, it even dropped completely for hours on end. The grass became yellower and livelier, covering the hills where the space was not filled with forests of tri-folds growing in rows.

Eventually, they traversed the first field of toropones, olive-tinted plants whose bulbs protruded from the ground, the extremities of the largest ones reaching three feet in height. According to Xuven, they were the malians' staple food but were toxic to hevelens.

Individuals clad in trousers or robes girdled with broad strips of cloth were working in the fields, and Astar occasionally reflected the blue gleam of their sickles. Pelmen dilated his nostrils. The creatures only exuded a very weak odor, difficult to identify. The odor of fresh water. Their skin had a gray-blue coloration and their limbs were strangely articulated, testifying to a completely unfamiliar combination of flexibility and rigidity.

"Malians?"

Beside him in the cart, Xuven nodded.

"I thought they were much smaller." Pelmen estimated the nearest malian to be more than six feet tall, a stature approximately matched by the other peasants. Beardless and lanky, the native had interrupted his work to watch them.

"The rare representations we have of malians are rather flattering—to us," Xuven said, smiling. "The artists undoubtedly thought the difference in height to be not worth mentioning."

A chunkier malian, who was working only a few yards away from the track that they were following, scrutinized Pelmen closely as he leaned over to trim a toropone stem. The trunk supporting his neck and head—one of his two necks and heads!—tapered toward the hips. He only had two legs, orientated in the opposite direction, thicker than they would have been if their proportion to the rest of the body had been maintained. His bare feet were webbed, unlike his long, slender hands.