Chapter 19

The people of the Bitter Peat called themselves Tibu, which meant 'People of the Smoke' in their own tongue. They were an unimpressive lot, physically, reminding me of the Raspe, in that they had the thin, knobby-jointed appendages and the bristly fur, but they had neither the height or the air of detached majesty I associated with the Raspe. Short, barely more than waist high on me, their furred faces featured odd, hard-plated mouth and jaw segments that managed to just barely avoid looking like a bill or beak. They seemed to have little in the way of necks, with their heads nestled into rounded shoulders amidst a thick ruff of fur or feathers, I wasn't sure which. All this I saw as bits and pieces only, as the Tibu wore thin lizard skin leathers over most parts of their bodies.

The two Tibu who met us rode beasts they called Rul — which I learned much later, meant 'ridge runner' in the language of the Tibu. It was an interesting language, more for what it wasn't than for what it was. I did not know it then, or have much opportunity to learn it, as the Tibu spoke mind-to-mind amongst themselves, and this, among other things, was what kept them so well hidden in the endless bog that was the Bitter Peat. The spoken language was a mix of several different languages, or more precisely, the trade patois of several of them blended together. A few of these included words from languages I knew to be very, very old. Not so old as Old Cunish perhaps, but old enough and potent enough. The combinations their trade tongue created were — interesting.

The two riders were very quickly twelve, as more riders began to appear out of the heat of the midday sun. We were close to being surrounded. The way they wanted us to go was left obviously open.

With my foot on the path the Tibu offered, I stopped and looked long and hard at Kei and Labo. "Boys?"

"We may not find it possible to leave this place as easily as we came to it," Kei answered softly.

Labo huffed a derisive laugh somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. Or at least it would have been, if you could get past the sense of frustration that came along with it. "I think we're going to have to have our wits about us to get out of here in one piece."

"There's a good chance even that won't help us this time," Kei moaned.

"I'm sorry boys," I spat. I began a silent tune in my throat, and beat a rhythm with my fingers on the side of my leg. It wouldn't be enough though — I could feel it. "I'm not feeling good about my own chances, once we get to where they want us to go, let alone yours."

"What do you want us to do?" Labo glanced at the two riders, but the sky was filled with a blackness that only I could see, and there was fire within the blackness. Tiny points of dark red fire.

"I can't get us free of this," I grumbled. "but I can get you two free."

"No," Kei snarled. "We're supposed to protect you."

"Not yet, not now," I hesitated, not wanting to say what first came to mind. "Maybe someday, but not now. Today, it is still up to me to protect you."

Neither spoke, and after a long moment, I nodded towards the west. "You'll feel it when it happens, and when it does, run west and don't stop running until you hit the Tatterik, you hear?"

Both of them gave me their wildest Vulkai grins. "See you on one side of the veil or another, Wizard." Kei said, offering me the title I knew he thought I'd never get the chance to wear openly. Labo simply turned his head towards the west and let his nostrils flare at the scent that lingered on the air. With that, I reached out and pulled the darkness to me, tasting the red fire as it stung where my magic touched it.

I didn't see the boys when they began their run. I was too much into the blackness and the pain. I held the pain and welcomed the blackness, not even when I was knocked to the ground. Even the kicks and punches couldn't penetrate the cocoon that had been built to thwart my magic.

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Umaq was a fortress of mud, stone and cane that rose half a mile across and fifty feet high out of the wet bog around it. The streets were narrow and crooked. The walls were made of brick — bricks made of dried mud, not the kiln-fired bricks I was used to. From my position tied between two of the Rul, the structures seemed towering in contrast to the narrow streets leading inward and upward to the center of the city. My state of consciousness didn't allow for much keen observation, so I wasn't sure if the impression was true or not. My weapons hadn't been touched, nor had my cloak or the travel pack slung over my shoulder. I hadn't been touched, or even spoken to, out loud or mentally, since I'd become aware of my surroundings again.

The palace at the center of Umaq was even more of the same. Just as dull a brown and just as muddy. It was separated from the city proper by a twelve foot high wall — more stone, mud and cane. Between the gate through this inner wall and the steps of the palace was a large courtyard. As we entered, I could see that the courtyard was ringed with Tibu, each holding a sharpened cane pole as those who'd escorted me here did. As with my escorts, I could see a bone knife on each warrior's belt. The stood, the butts of their poles hard on the ground in front of them and the points raised to the hazy overcast sky.

At the base of the steps into the palace, sat the King of the Tibu. He was a large specimen, and fat as well. I wasn't sure if the man could even stand, he was so fat. Beside his chair stood three oddly dressed specimens that I knew immediately were wizards. I walked forward with my escorts into the middle of the courtyard, where my escorts encouraged me to stop. When I did, they left me to join their fellows in the ring around us. Between the king, the wizards, the warriors and the nearby spectators, most of whom I couldn't see, there were almost a hundred people close at hand. They spoke mind to mind as a matter of course, and I could hear them all, but it was like a steaming kettle, or water sizzling on a griddle and I couldn't make anything of it except for its existence.

"So wizard, you come to the Bitter Peat, and you hope to slink past the Tibu without paying tribute," the king spoke out loud. His was the only voice I ever heard speak aloud during my time among them.

"I didn't even know you existed until I saw your riders," I answered, knowing he wasn't looking for explanations.

"There was a time when wizards could cross our land without concern for the Tibu," he spoke this aloud as well, but I heard the echo of it in my thoughts, and so must have the spectators, for the mental noise grew, momentarily. "But the wards of the north have been broken, and those who dwelt beyond them have returned."

I saw no need to respond to this, so I simply stood there.

"But of course you, of all people, would know of this," the king continued. "You were the instrument they chose after all."

"A flawed weapon," he continued when I kept my silence. "the tip of a shattered spear." he laughed then, a roaring, yet oddly high-pitched laugh. The laughter too, echoed in my mind from those around us. "And now a spear that has been placed in the hands of the Tibu" he raised his fat-fingered hands up in front of him, palms up. "In my hands."