The Shifting Sands

Days later, when Rithmere was at last in sight, Lief was not feeling so hopeful. The way had been long and weary, and he was very hungry. Berries growing at the side of the road were the only food the companions had been able to find, and they were few. Travellers who had passed along the highway before them had almost stripped the bushes bare.

The longer they had walked, the more crowded the highway had become. Many other people were moving towards Rithmere. Some were as ill-prepared for the journey as Lief, Barda, and Jasmine. Their clothes were tattered and they had little or nothing to eat. A few, famished and exhausted, fell by the roadside in despair.

The companions managed to keep moving, stopping often for rests. They spoke to their fellow travellers as little as possible. Though they were feeling safer concealed in a crowd, they still felt it wise to avoid questions about where they had come from.

They kept their ears open, however, and quickly learned that the Games had been held every year for the past ten years. Their fame had grown and spread — now hopeful contestants came from everywhere to seek their fortune at Rithmere. The friends also learned, to their relief, that Grey Guards were seldom seen in the town while the Games were in progress.

“They know better than to interfere with something the people like so much,” Lief heard a tall, red-haired woman say to her companion, a giant of a man whose muscles bulged through his ragged shirt as he bent to tighten the laces of his boot.

The man nodded. “A thousand gold coins,” he muttered. “Or even a hundred! Think of the difference it would make to us — and to all at home.” He finished tying his lace, straightened, and gritted his teeth as he stared at the city ahead. “This year we will be finalists at least, Joanna. I feel it.”

“You have never been stronger, Orwen,” the woman agreed affectionately. “And I, too, have a good chance. Last year I was not watchful enough. I let that vixen Brianne of Lees trip me. It will not happen again.”

Orwen put his great arm around her shoulders. “You cannot blame yourself for losing to Brianne. After all, she went on to become Champion. She is a great fighter. And think how hard the people of Lees worked to prepare her.”

“She was treated like a queen, they say,” said Joanna bitterly. “Extra food, no duties except her training. Her people thought she would be their salvation. And what did she do? Ran off with the money as soon as she had it in her hand. Can you believe it?”

“Of course,” the man said grimly. “A thousand gold pieces is a great fortune, Joanna. Very few Games Champions return to their old homes after their win. Most do not want to share their wealth, so they hurry away with it to start a new life elsewhere.”

“But you would never do that, Orwen,” Joanna protested fiercely. “And neither would I. I would never leave my people in poverty while I could help them. I would rather throw myself into the Shifting Sands.”

Lief stiffened at her last words and glanced at Jasmine and Barda to see if they had heard.

Joanna and Orwen strode on, shoulder to shoulder, towering above the rest of the crowd.

“That she mentions the Shifting Sands means nothing, Lief,” Barda said in a low voice, looking after them. “The Sands are as familiar a nightmare to folk who live in these parts as the Forests of Silence are to the people of Del.”

His face was grim, deeply marked with lines of weariness. “A more important matter is to decide whether we are wasting our time trying to compete with such as Joanna and Orwen. In our present state —”

“We have to try,” Lief mumbled, though his own heart was very heavy.

“There is no point in talking of this now!” Jasmine broke in impatiently. “Whether we compete in the Games or not, we must enter the city. We must get some food — even if we have to steal it. What else are we to do?”

Rithmere seethed with people. Stalls lined the narrow streets, packed together, filling every available space, their owners shouting of what they had to sell and watching their goods with eagle-sharp eyes.

The noise was deafening. Musicians, dancers, fire-eaters, and jugglers performed on every corner, their hats set out in front of them to catch coins thrown by passersby. Some had animals — snakes, dogs, even dancing bears, as well as strange creatures the companions had never seen before — to help them attract attention.

The noise, the smells, the bright colors, the confusion, made Lief, already light-headed with hunger, feel faint and sick. Faces in the crowd seemed to loom out at him as he stumbled along. Some he recognized from the highway. Most were strange to him.

Everywhere were the hunched forms of beggars, their gaunt faces turned up pleadingly, their hands outstretched. Some were blind, or had missing limbs. Others were simply starving. Most people paid no attention to them at all, stepping over them as if they were piles of rubbish.

“Hey, girl! You with the black bird! Over here!”

The hoarse shout had come from somewhere very near. They looked around, startled.

A fat man with long, greasy hair was beckoning urgently to Jasmine. The three companions edged through the crowd towards him, wondering what he wanted. As they drew closer they saw that he was sitting at a small table which had been covered by a red cloth that reached the ground. Leaning against the wall behind him was a pair of crutches. On the table stood a perch, a basket of painted wooden birds, and a wheel decorated with brightly colored pictures of birds and coins.

It was plainly some sort of gambling game.

“Like to make some money, little lovely?” the man shouted above the noise of the crowd.

Jasmine frowned and said nothing.

“She cannot play,” Lief shouted back. “Unless it costs nothing.”

The man snorted. “How would I make my living that way, young fellow-me-lad? No, no. One silver coin for a spin of the wheel, that is my price. But I am not asking your friend to play. No one can play at present. My bird just died on me. See?” He held up a dead pigeon by its feet and swung it in front of their noses.

Jasmine glared at him, stony-faced. The man’s mouth turned down mournfully. “Sad, isn’t it?” he said. “Sad for Beakie-Boy, sadder for me. I need a bird to turn the wheel. That’s the game. Beat the Bird, you see? I have another two pigeons back in my lodgings, but if I go and fetch one now I’ll lose my spot. Lose half a day’s earnings. Can’t afford that, can I?”

His small eyes narrowed as he looked Jasmine up and down. “You and your friends look as if you could do with a good meal inside you,” he said slyly. “Well, I will help you out.”

He threw the dead pigeon on the ground, kicked it under the table, and pointed at Kree. “I will buy your bird. How much do you want for him?”