Coldmarch

by Daniel A. Cohen

  Cam tried to whip his golden hair in a majestic way, which didn’t quite work since it was matted down with sweat and dirt. ‘Salvatore of House Erridian.’

  The seller gently put his cudgel on the table, trying to decide whether or not to buy the claim, as the Erridians were the most powerful house outside of the Khat’s immediate family. Scrub away a few layers of grime, and Cam could obviously be the real deal, considering he had the blond hair, fair complexion, and correct haughtiness. It wasn’t a terrible lie.

  ‘And you have a token to prove as such?’ the bespectacled man asked.

  Cam scoffed. ‘I hardly think that’s necessary for someone of my status. And I hardly think you’re in any position to ask, House Icarus.’

  ‘Salvatore Erridian is notorious for wickedly grotesque eyebrows,’ the seller said carefully. ‘Like two chunks of serrated boilweed from what I understand.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cam said with an irritated roll of his eyes. ‘And anyone well informed of the true happenstances in the Khatdom knows there’s more than one Salvatore in the Erridian family. Uncle Sal doesn’t groom his eyebrows, but I obviously do. And along those lines, if you’re going to represent House Icarus, as low as they have fallen after their bungled incense deal with the Paphos Cry Temple Priests, then you might want to scrape away some of that grime from your fingernails, sir.’

  The glasses man sat back, placated for the moment. He put his hands under the table. ‘So what interest is the safety of my slave to you, Salvatore of House Erridian?’

  Cam looked back at me, his bravado still present, but a nervous look creeping into his eyes. ‘I— I just.’

  My eyes widened, hoping he might miraculously come up with something feasible.

  ‘You’re not a sympathizer, are you?’ the seller asked, the wickedness in his eyes apparent even behind the glasses. ‘I heard there are some sympathizers that stop here from time to time. Gilly’s a softy on the decrees.’

  The shackled Jadan backed away nervously, hunched low and looking fearful at Cam’s interference. Even though the din of the place was back to normal, everyone in the tavern was keeping half an ear open for Cam’s answer. The reward for turning over a sympathizer could keep a Noble drunk on stout ale for a year. The circle of girls had opened into a crescent, each one wide-eyed with the hope of fresh gossip. The redhead’s adoration was put on hold, her head cocked in a curious manner.

  ‘Sympathizer!’ Cam scoffed. ‘How dare you make such implications!’

  The seller gave a flippant opening of arms, as if to say ‘prove it’.

  Cam hesitated and picked up the cudgel, giving the shackled Jadan what could only be described as a light tap on the shoulder. I wanted to slap my forehead, my stomach clenching as my friend continued to dig himself deeper into trouble. I sneaked a glance at the side door behind which Split had retreated, praying the Pedlar would come out soon so we might scatter.

  The branded Jadan gave a polite bow, nursing a hand over the spot Cam had struck, and said a meek: ‘Ow, sir.’

  The seller looked at the Jadan, and then at Cam, an eyebrow rising far above the glasses as he slowly cracked his knuckles.

  ‘Fine,’ Cam said, throwing his hands up, his face going bright red. ‘I’m bored with what I got. Too many figs syndrome. I want to rent your Jadan boy for the night and I want—’ He took a deep breath, the next words straining with effort. ‘I want his hands to be … untainted.’

  The seller clucked his tongue, a deep grin forming. ‘So you think Sunpillow here is a handsome slave, do you, Salvatore Erridian? Fancy his luscious dark skin?’ The man leaned in, giving an over-exaggerated sniff of the air in front of Cam. ‘That why you got yourself smelling like pretty rosemusk?’

  Cam swallowed hard, looking at his feet as he nodded, his freshly opened sinkhole only growing wider. ‘So what if it is? I’ll pay big Cold.’

  The red-headed girl turned her back to Cam faster than an arrow. Fortunately for us, this sort of scandal didn’t seem as exciting or lucrative to the crowd as their gambling, so attention started to wane. The clacks of dice soon filled the space, eyes returning to their own dealings.

  I started to breathe again, but not all that easily.

  We still weren’t in the clear.

  Glasses man dipped to the side, looking past the cage of hissing skinkmanders and over at Shilah and me. ‘Looks like you already have some young company.’

  Heat shot into my cheeks. And even though I couldn’t see Shilah, I imagined she was fuming.

  Cam gave a flippant wave. ‘They’ve been with me for days now. I’ve tasted those figs plenty. And us Erridian boys have needs. Us Erridian boys want …’ He coughed, trying to force the words out. ‘… something new.’

  Just then the side door beside the bar swung open, Split and Gilly spilling out. Split was holding a giant bag of supplies over his shoulder, his pockets bulging at the seams. Gilly looked pale as white limestone, his eyes bulging as they focused on the bag on my shoulder. He cleared his throat, running his hand over and over through his grey hair, which speckled greasy goop on the bar. ‘Round of ale on the house! Finest brew, Coldest mugs!’

  The place erupted, and any rogue attention that was clinging to us was quickly scraped away. Split sifted through the celebrations, accidentally bumping people with the supplies sack, reigniting a few glares.

  ‘What’s going on here, Nephew?’ Split asked, his voice imperious.

  ‘Nothing, Uncle,’ Cam said. ‘We were just having a conversation.’

  The seller gave Split a scrutinizing look, suspicious eyes going right to his eyebrows, which were dirty and thick, but not enough to be considered notorious.

  Split waved his hand impatiently. ‘No time for conversations. You know we have that deal to make by nightfall.’

  ‘Hold on,’ the seller said, holding up his palm and smirking. ‘Young Salvatore here promised me big Cold for a night with—’

  Cam dropped the cudgel. ‘Misunderstanding. Come, Uncle. Let’s leave and go do that deal.’

  The glasses man began to stand up, hunched over with his hands on the table looking as if he might join the skinkmanders in their chorus of hissing. ‘I’m an honourable man. I expect others to be as well. I was already promised Cold for my slave, and if Sunpillow here is not sleeping with your nephew then he’s sleeping in my crate—’

  ‘I’ll take the whole litter right now,’ the original buyer across the table said, his cheeks pinched with worry. He pointed frantically at the skinkmanders, forcing a smile. ‘Double the price.’

  The glasses man swung his attention back. ‘You said double?’

  ‘Double.’

  ‘You have that much on you?’

  While they were distracted, I reached into the Coldmaker bag and grabbed an Abb, cupping it in my palm. Shuffling a few steps, I got close enough to the shackled Jadan to reach out and drop the gold bead into one of his ripped pockets, hoping it didn’t fall out. I gave the bead a quick pat and winked as the poor soul met my eyes.

  ‘Put it in water,’ I whispered.

  I don’t know why I risked the gift, especially since I couldn’t explain the importance of the Abb to him now, but I knew my Jadan brother was going to be punished later for this interaction between High Nobles. I wanted him to have a bit of wonder to keep him occupied through the lashings.

  ‘I have no time for this,’ Split said, his face jiggling with anger, but his eyes calmly gesturing for the door. ‘Your tongue has got you in trouble once again, Nephew.’

  Cam flared with embarrassment, his fist clenching at his side.

  Split snapped his fingers. ‘Slaves! Out!’

  Shilah and I turned heel, Cam and the Pedlar trailing behind. We all made it to the door without being followed, or questioned, although I did hear the most incredible scoff escape the redhead’s lips as we passed her table.

  Once outside, the door sealed tightly behind us, we started running towards the mudbrick stables. Shilah had begun shaking, h
er arms wrapped around her body.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked.

  She stopped beside the dwarf camel, her quaking erupting into a fit of delighted giggling, head tossed back and face lighting up brighter than the sky. Cam was as flustered as they come, not able to meet our faces, but after a moment of wordless babble, he too was doubled over with laughter. Picka sensed the hilarity and started braying happily, and of course I had no choice but to finally let go.

  ‘What?’ Split demanded, tossing the large sack of supplies onto the cart. ‘What did I miss?’

  Tears were too busy leaking from my eyes for me to stop. It felt like such a release to laugh again. Shilah was wiping away her own tears, giggling like I’d never heard before.

  ‘If you have a good story, you have to tell your Pedlar!’ Split said, crossing his arms. ‘Rules of the Coldmarch!’

  Chapter Ten

  We made our way North for half a day, the Sun blazing overhead, our packs full, and our hearts lighter than they had been in a long time. Split’s mood had improved considerably, and he even ended up sharing a few stories about other Jadans who he’d shepherded to Gilly’s Tavern. He smiled particularly about a girl called Lop, who was apparently so quick on her feet that she insisted on scouting ahead of the group. Her spryness ended up saving them from a run-in with the Vicaress of Belisk, who had been slinking around Gilly’s looking for a runaway. There was also a boy – ‘a rare case’ – who everyone jokingly referred to as ‘Shaman Eli’. Eli had a pet scorpion that he’d de-barbed and insisted that he’d figured out the secret to making crops grow faster. He also spat at people’s feet when they got too close or pried too much. Split had shepherded great healers and storytellers, and plenty of young women who’d just come of age, and I could feel the gap closing between myself and the answers I so desperately craved. Soon he’d be telling us about Langria, and why the Coldmarch so abruptly ended ten years ago.

  The land up here was firmer than I was used to, the dirt almost springy, which allowed the cart to roll smoothly and our pace to quicken. Even though Split hadn’t directly taken anyone on this next stretch of the March, he’d still walked the route once alone, to understand what lay ahead for his flock. So now he was leading us towards one of the Great Bridges where we’d cross the Singe with speed and confidence. The Sun was blazing, but at least we had parasols and supplies, Gilly having even thrown in a few vials of groan salve for our future rashes and burns. There had been no sightings of the Vicaress on the Khat’s roads, and the hounds were a distant memory. Even Shilah’s hesitation towards Cam had waned, and, though they didn’t fall into friendship, she at least began to chuckle at his jokes.

  Everything was going surprisingly well until two ominous silhouettes popped up on the horizon, headed right for us.

  Jabbing a fingernail in between his teeth, Split picked out grains of sand and said, ‘These here, my little flock, are the moments that separate the Peddlars from the merchants.’

  ‘What’s the difference again?’ Cam asked, moving his body in front of mine so I’d be out of view from the approaching lawmen.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ I whispered. ‘That only makes it more obvious.’

  Cam weighed what I was saying with a bobble of his head, eventually stepping aside. The figures heading towards us had their chests proudly thrust out, displaying the symbol of the Khat’s law. At the sight of the design – black flames being crushed beneath a Pyramid stone – I pulled the Coldmaker close to my side. Split was unperturbed, spitting out the loose grains of sand with a wry smile.

  ‘Merchants sell goods,’ Split said. ‘Only goods. And any brainless oaf can slap a price on a box of gem candy and stick it on a table.’ Split wiggled his eyebrows, a bit less sullen. ‘But Peddlars sell themselves.’

  Cam nudged me in the side. ‘So, selling tips on how to eat more and bathe less?’

  ‘Blisters and boils, you’re insufferable, Tavor,’ Split said, waving his arms about dramatically, which I hoped was not conceived as aggressive. ‘We sell our words, our attitudes. Our stories. And you attach the right story to an item – I don’t care what that item is – and the price becomes irrelevant. People don’t want to buy things; they want to buy the story behind things.’ Split gave a dramatic wave of his hands and feigned an overzealous voice. ‘This necklace, sir, why it was worn by the great designer Halia of House Plindus, back when the Belisk Towers were being erected. Oh, and this piece over here? Glad you asked, ma’am. This long wooden rod with the snakehead on top is the dowsing rod that belonged to Darlish the Unrelenting. Does the staff work any more? Another great question, ma’am. It’s never worked for me, hence why I’m selling it, but it could always be saving its magic for the right hands.’ Split let out a small belch, his eyes widening with surprise. ‘Wow. Gilly’s cheese is denser than I remember. Good stuff.’

  ‘You seem rather sure of your skills,’ Shilah said.

  ‘You don’t become the most successful Shepherd ever to work the Coldmarch without being sure of yourself,’ Split said, his smile toothy and confident. Now that the Pedlar had sobered up, he almost had a charm about him, and I could see why the Pedlar title suited him. ‘Doubt and lies have a remarkably similar smell.’ He paused, giving a little huff through his crooked nose. ‘Not that I would know.’

  Picka matched the huff, stamping her toes.

  ‘What’s that mean, when she does that?’ I asked, pointing to the camel’s foot.

  Split shook his head, rubbing his hand on Picka’s neck. ‘Nothing. Now stand short, my Jadan friends. And Camlish, let me do all of the talking. Please.’

  Shilah and I deepened our slave stances as the lawmen approached. I tried not to get too nervous, as these men were travelling North to South, and there was a good chance they had not heard news of precious runaways.

  ‘Ho, lawmen!’ Split practically cried out, waving a friendly hand. ‘Praise be the Khat!’

  The lawmen didn’t answer, keeping their faces stern and their hands on the hilts of their swords.

  ‘Please, do examine my scrollwork for these slaves!’ Split said, coming right out with it, making me tense. ‘Examine my luxurious goods for yourselves. And just so you know, the law’s Cold spends twice as well with Peddlars!’

  ‘I thought desperation was suspicious,’ Cam whispered out of the corner of his mouth, waving jovially at the lawmen before raising his voice. ‘Praise be the Khat, sirs!’

  Still no answer from across the vast stretch of stone, and if anything, the lawmen’s lips stiffened further, turning to each other with a wordless glance. The brutal Sun lit them from the back, casting their shadows long and sharp across the dead land.

  ‘You’ve done this before, I assume?’ Cam whispered again, keeping his smile wide. ‘Dealt with lawmen, while you had a flock?’

  ‘My number one customers,’ Split said quietly. ‘Trust me, if we have to choose between what’s in front of us versus what’s behind, I’ll take the law every time. Don’t forget it’s just regular Nobles hiding behind those fancy sigils.’

  ‘The Vicaress is a regular Noble, too,’ Shilah said, head bowed.

  ‘The Vicaress,’ Split scoffed. ‘All the Vicaresses in every city have their heads too far up their arses to be able to sniff us out. It’s the Hoo— hounds that we have to worry about. The hounds.’

  ‘You think the hounds still have our scent all the way out here?’ I asked.

  ‘PRAISE BE THE KHAT!’ Split waved even more furiously at the approaching danger. ‘Now hush, all of you.’

  At last the lawmen got close enough for me to make out individual faces, both their hands resting on their swords as if they were expecting to use them. The one in front looked as self-important as they come, a neat yellow goatee rimming thin pink lips, his mouth just begging for an excuse to curl into a smirk. The man behind him was tall and curiously round in the centre, shaped like a sand-viper that was only halfway through digesting a hearty meal. His face was decidedly less expressive, and I imag
ined he did far less talking over the course of their partnership.

  ‘Gentlenobles,’ Split said with the friendliest grin I’d ever seen, his yellowed teeth and blackened gums stark against the Sunlight. Gesturing to the cart, the Pedlar rubbed his hands together. ‘Everything is for sale except for the puppet in the case. And that’s not for sentimental reasons, I just know if you purchase it you’ll return the damn thing, as her ugly old face has been known to scare the—’

  ‘Khatfists,’ Yellow Goatee interrupted with the exact smirk I’d been expecting, pointing to his chest. ‘Not Gentlenobles. We earned the Khatfist title, we expect you to use it, Pedlar.’

  ‘Of course,’ Split said with a bow. ‘I meant no disrespect. First and foremost, let me offer you honourable Khatfists some fancy headscarves for any women you might have in your life, free of charge. The dyes employed were mixed by the experienced hands of the Tefflin sisters in the Hotland Delta, guaranteed to get your women in a state of complete and utter—’

  ‘Papers.’ A wet tongue circled beneath the lip above the goatee as his eyes simultaneously circled Shilah. It made me want to ball my fists and shove her dagger into each of his eyes. ‘For the slaves. If you wouldn’t mind, Pedlar.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Split said, sighing as if overwhelmingly bored. ‘Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way. Then the gifts for your women. I’m transporting these two slaves from the chains of—’

  ‘He said papers,’ the Khatfist with the bulbous stomach barked from the back. ‘Unless you’re a swindler.’

  The Goatee turned, his voice gentle. ‘Francis, my dear. Give respect, get respect. We’ve discussed this.’

  Split bowed low, his bald spot revealing itself to be pretty severely burned. ‘Thank you kindly …’

  The Goatee didn’t offer a name yet. His meticulously groomed eyebrows raised, glancing to the top of the cart where the scrolls sat.

  Where most of the scrolls sat.

  Cam reached out one hand and smoothed his long yellow hair with the other, almost as if to draw attention to the fact that it was a similar colour. ‘Salvatore Erridian, pleased to make your acquaintance.’