by Aldrea Alien
Darshan rode wordlessly along the dock front. He seemingly paid little heed to the sound and, although his nose wrinkled at first, made no mention of the smell. His gaze was fixated on the larger trade ships moored along the northern half of the docks. The vessels sat in the water like summer-fat ice seals. Men and women swarmed their rigging and winched crates of wares onto the decks.
The ship Darshan would’ve arrived on still sat amongst the trading vessels in the southern half, the crew clambering all over it. Unlike the other ships, there seemed to be not a man in sight. “Is it common for Udynean ships to only be crewed by women?” Hamish knew from watching the ships as a boy that a large percent of the crews tended to be equal in gender. Those that weren’t generally came from foreign shores.
Darshan shook his head. He halted Warrior once they were a good distance from the stalls and bird-swarmed fishing boats. “My father requested that particular crew. Said I would be less distracted from duties that way.” He nodded at the ships and stalls. “I have been told that your people deal mostly in textiles; wool, linen and the like. I see very little of that here.”
Hamish swung his head from side to side, taking in the rest of the ships and smaller fishing vessels lining the docks. Much of what came to Mullhind by sea also came out of the dark, icy waters. “I think you’ll find they send a great deal of the linen by land. And there’s nae an abundance of flax around Mullhind. Those fields are a wee bit more south.”
Darshan frowned. “How much more? And do they have a suitable dock?”
Hamish peered blindly at the trade ships. “I cannae say for certain,” he confessed. “Nora would be the one to ask there.” His older sister was the one who knew the most about their economic state. Upon glimpsing Darshan’s slightly puzzled face, he elaborated, “She’s me sister and will be with me mum during the negotiations.” She’d also be happy answering any of the ambassador’s questions.
The man’s brows lifted in mild surprise. At the reference of his sister being included in the trade discussions? Or was it because she wasn’t a man? The latter did seem at odds with the Udynea Empire’s decision to originally send the now-departed countess as their ambassador.
“Not your brother, then? I would have thought the heir would be involved in his kingdom’s trade. Or did I misunderstand his ranking?”
“Nae, he’s the eldest amongst us. And aye, he’ll likely pop in at some point, but Nora is better suited to the task. She’s good with figures and is sure to ken anything you want to ask about what we trade and where.” Hamish still wasn’t sure how she managed to keep all the numbers straight in her head. He had tried in his youth, and quickly gave up to instead pursue the more amiable task of mingling with those living on the surrounding farms.
Darshan nodded, seemingly to himself. “I look forward to availing her of such knowledge.” He pointed at the crates and barrels still being hauled aboard the nearest ship. “So what are they loading? Do you know what comes out of Mullhind?”
Hamish swung his attention to the ship. Whilst he couldn’t identify everything at a glance, he was well aware of what lurked in the barrels. “A lot of fish and salted pork.” Hides, too. Leather, sheepskin, the occasional bearskin… “There is likely some wool already aboard. Only from the closest farms at this time of year, though.”
“I would assume much of the exports from here go to Cezhory?”
He nodded confidently. “I cannae tell you how much, though. Nora can.”
“I will be sure to ask her.” The man swung Warrior about with practised ease. “I would like to see the markets now.”
They rode down the streets, halting occasionally as Darshan eyed a stall or window front. He seemed especially curious of places involving wares that took some crafting—the smithies, cobblers and the like—but asked no questions. A shame considering Hamish knew a little more about them than exports.
“I notice a distinct lack of elves beyond the ships’ crews.” Darshan smiled. “Or are you keeping me away from their district?”
“There are nae districts. And there have never been a lot of elves in Tirglas. They always seem to be coming through.” And most of them travelled further south. Kings and queens in the past had offered land for the nomadic elven clans to settle on, but they would always respectfully decline and move on. Their distrust of humans likely ran deep into their blood, all because of the Udynea Empire’s greed. He peered at Darshan. The ambassador didn’t seem overly eager for information. “Why?”
“Mere mild curiosity. The climate here must be similar to that kingdom they carved for themselves in the east. They run hotter than humans, did you know that?”
Hamish shook his head. He knew very little about elves, most of it from books or second-hand, and sometimes third-hand, recounting.
“I merely wondered how they had adapted to a cooler climate, it might have helped back home.” The ambassador’s words drifted, his attention seemingly drawn to the clanging of a smithy. Then his head snapped back around, all focus narrowed on Hamish. “You get snow here, correct? What is that like?”
“Cold?” Hamish mumbled. Just what sort of answer did Darshan expect from him? “Wet?” He’d a multitude of unpleasant memories consisting of days trudging through knee-deep snow, be it during his youth training alongside his father and siblings or searching for lost livestock as an adult. “It’s difficult to move through when it first goes down and the whole world’s muffled like you’re hearing it through a thick blanket.”
“I am almost sorry I shall not be around long enough to witness it.”
“Do you nae have snow? The border of Udynea cannae be that far south that it avoids a harsher winter. Or do you spellsters alter the weather there?”
Darshan’s mouth dropped open. “Gods, no!” he spluttered. “Only a madman who believes himself a god would tamper with something as complex as the weather. Never mind the vastness of magical energy that would be required, just one wrong action could throw an entire estate into a barren mess.”
Despite the late afternoon sun warming Hamish’s shoulders, coldness seeped through his skin. At no stage had Darshan said it was impossible. If a single man could cause a drought, then they could weaken a village without any loss of life on their side.
Was that why his mother seemed intent on forming an alliance with known spellsters and slavers, rather than constantly objecting to the presence of Udynean traders crossing the southern border?
The sky had turned into a mixture of dusty-pinks and yellows by the time their horses trudged through the castle gates. The change of guard meant there were twice as many eyes watching them enter. A few of the more knowledgeable men gave Hamish a smirk, whilst some others shook their heads as if he were some unruly child.
“I thank you for indulging me,” Darshan said, his voice carrying across the courtyard where Hamish knew the straining ears of the guards readily collected every word. “Your escort around Mullhind was most insightful.” The ambassador gracefully slid off Warrior’s back, his head swinging from one side to the other in search of something.
It wasn’t until Hamish caught the man fiddling with the end of the reins that he realised what Darshan was looking for. “Come on.” He jerked his head towards the stables, leading his mare into the dark opening. “We unsaddle our own mounts here.”
“Truly?” The word wobbled on a light tone, surprise making it almost incoherent. “How terribly rustic.” Both pony and rider caught up to Hamish with a brief trot. “I am afraid you shall have to show me, your saddles are a mite more complicated than what I am used to. Our riding gear rather lacks the straps on the animal’s chest, or under the tail, unless they happen to be carthorses.”
Hamish halted in the stables. “They come off easily enough. Here, I’ll show you.” With a few quick movements, he unbuckled both the breastplate and crupper on his mare’s saddle, waiting until Darshan mimicked him before leaving the man to the rest and returning to his mare do the same. “I take it that you dinnae do
a lot of travelling on hills.”
“Our roads tend to wind around the steep ones,” Darshan replied between grunts as he fought to release the girth buckle.
After a few moments, Hamish took pity on him and undid that, too. He hauled off the saddles one by one and placed them on the racks with the rest of the horse tack before idly snatching up a couple of brushes and handing one to the ambassador.
Darshan looked oddly amused by the gesture, even as he took the brush. “Do you not have stablehands who do all this for you?”
“Aye,” he murmured, turning his back on the man to focus on grooming his horse. He softly hummed to himself as he worked. Most of the time, he left the stablehands to their jobs, but there was something soothing about brushing the accumulated dirt and sweat from the mare’s back after a long day. And it took time to get her spotless. Whatever lazy moments he wasted here was less he had to spend in the castle.
Hamish circled around to the mare’s far side and glanced over to the other pair as he continued to groom her back. Darshan was tending to Warrior, not perhaps as vigorously as the pony’s owner, but methodically.
What could he get away with asking in regards to magic before the man thought it as prying? There wouldn’t be many times afforded to him like this where he could enquire about any limitations. He wet his lips. “I noticed earlier that you didnae mention whether it is possible to control the weather.” He focused on his horse’s back as if brushing her was far more important.
Darshan jumped and a crackling sheen of purple outlined him for a heartbeat. He whirled to face Hamish, his face having gained the slightly sallow look of shock.
“I didnae mean to pry,” Hamish hastily said.
“No, that is not— I merely—” He laid a bejewelled hand on his chest. “My thoughts were miles away until you spoke.” His lips twisted into a strange smile, the mist of times long since past drifting across his face. When Darshan’s gaze met his own again, he almost seemed to be a different man. “What was it you wished to ask of me?”
Hamish repeated himself.
“It is all mostly theoretical,” Darshan muttered, returning to grooming Warrior. “I cannot rightly recall anyone in Udynea trying and, if there was a spellster that strong in imperial lands, I am certain they would have made their presence known to the emperor by now.” He shook his head, now just visible on the other side of the pony. “Like I said earlier, it would take a lot of power and the source is not endless. Could you imagine if it was?”
Hamish quietly sucked on his teeth. He hadn’t had a lot to do with spellsters beyond his younger sister—before she was sent to the cloister at least—but he could picture it well enough. It’d be like a world full of gods. Only without the Goddess’ divine will and wisdom to guide their actions. “And just what is the source of your power?” Spellsters appeared in Tirglas without reason. Some believed it the Goddess’ punishment, whilst others were convinced it was the work of demons.
“Well, it would be easier to explain with my childhood diagrams at hand, but it comes from here.” Hamish barely caught Darshan laying a hand on his chest and tapping with a forefinger.
“Your… heart?” he carefully ventured. He had vague memories of the days before Caitlyn was taken from the castle, of the priests suggesting his sister not force her magic. He didn’t understand why back then. The spellsters in foreign lands had always sounded so powerful and demonic.
The man frowned at Hamish over the pony’s back, his thick brows almost touching the wire frames adorning his face. “No, I mean my being. The energy I use to spark a flame is the same one you draw upon to fire that bow you were carrying earlier.”
“You use your muscles?” He could see that applying to hurling objects or fire, but in the type of healing that was acceptable in the cloisters?
“Like I said,” Darshan muttered. “Easier with diagrams.” He tipped his body, peering at Hamish from beneath Warrior’s neck, his face as eager and open as a puppy. “I could draw up some. I would be more than happy to explain to you in greater detail once we are inside, if you are of a mind?”
Hamish hummed, considering. Whilst he saw no practical use of such knowledge, he wouldn’t have minded spending a little longer in the man’s presence. There was a certain bounciness that came to light every so often, like his face was usually hidden beneath an ill-fitting hood that was always on the verge of slipping off his head. “I’d like that.”
“Really?” The man perked up like a boarhound on a fresh scent. He smiled broadly, the glee on his face sitting on the verge of unnerving. “And here I thought magic was a taboo subject in Tirglas.”
“I wouldnae say taboo. Discouraged, maybe.” Hamish led his horse into his pen, the act mimicked by the ambassador. “But you will nae be able to do much explaining tonight. Dinner’ll be ready.” He indicated the doors of the castle proper with a jerk of his head. “Come on.”
“Of course, the welcoming meal.” Darshan dusted off his hands, frowning at his pale attire and swiping a few dark hairs off the no longer immaculate fabric of the knee-length coat. “I am not really prepared for food right now. Or dressed for it. I do not suppose something could be brought up at a later time?”
Chuckling, Hamish clapped a hand around the man’s shoulders and led the way towards the castle doors. “Nae. First rule of dining around here is: You eat now or go hungry.”
“That is about what I thought.” Darshan sighed. “To be honest, I have not had the pleasure of eating any Tirglasian cuisine and I am unsure what—”
“Cuisine?” Fresh laughter roared out his throat, paralysing him for what felt like an eternity until he was able to regain control over his own body. “There’s your first mistake,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “We’ve food. Grub. Nothing fancy but it’ll fill you up.”
The man’s easy smile had turned a little glassy. “How delightful,” he murmured. “I look forward to it.”
~~~
The dining hall wasn’t as lavish or even as big as Darshan had pictured. Only a few tapestries adorned the otherwise dark grey slabs of stone. Heat roared from twin fireplaces situated on either side of the room and standing between them was a heavy wooden table with another, longer one intersecting lengthways at the far end. Both tables were laden with food and people already sat, enjoying the fare.
A quick, mental headcount of eight was enough to let him know this was close to the entirety of the royal family. They sat in an oddly-familiar placing, Queen Fiona and her husband, Prince Consort Duncan, sharing the heavy table at the head whilst the rest of the family was relegated to the longer one.
What Darshan didn’t see was anything resembling a court. He leant closer to Hamish and whispered, “Should I perhaps be elsewhere?” Back home, evening meals were rarely shared without some nobility present. This seemed a far more intimate affair.
Hamish shook his head. He clapped his hand onto Darshan’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
Queen Fiona glanced up as they neared the tables. That sharp, blue gaze latched onto Darshan, burrowing its icicle-like depths into his soul before settling on Hamish. “You’re late.” The crack of a whip couldn’t have snapped any cleaner than her voice.
Hamish took up a seat between his older brother, Gordon, and a sandy-haired woman who Darshan had yet to be introduced to, but guessed was Hamish’s sister. “Well, you see—”
“It is entirely my fault, your majesty,” Darshan interrupted. There was little point in standing by and allowing the blame to fall on Hamish when the man had only done as Darshan had asked. “I saw very little of Mullhind on the journey up from the docks and I was eager for a second look. I am afraid that eagerness led me to taking advantage of your dear son’s hospitality. I do hope it did not cause any trouble.”
The queen’s icy gaze swung to encompass him once again and Darshan was immediately thrown back to a time when his five-year-old self, still enamoured with his new abilities, had set the bed curtains alight with an errant magical fl
ame. His father had pinned him to the spot with a similar look.
“That is to say I—”
“You wanted to confirm our fiscal state for yourself?” Queen Fiona finished for him, her tone scarcely thawing. “I assure you, ambassador, everything is as stated. We dinnae make a practise of lying in Tirglas.”
“Leave it be, lass,” Duncan said, his soft voice rumbling much like a distant thunderstorm. Even seated, he was a large man. He laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder.
A glance around the table was all it took to see how Queen Fiona stood out amongst her own family, her tan skin practically ashen in comparison to everyone else’s.
Much of the children’s features seemed to take after their father. Duncan’s sons shared a heavy similarity in bone structure if not hair colouration—even if Hamish’s was a touch brighter than his brother or father’s greying auburn coils. And where only the elder two children had Duncan’s rather startling green eyes, all three royal siblings were close enough in skin tone to each other, if not as dark a brown as their father.
Queen Fiona opened her mouth.
Her husband got there first. “You cannae stem curiosity.”
Darshan took the only empty seat left at the table as his face warmed, glad that it was the farthest from the head table. Yes, he probably could’ve arranged the whole trip a little better, but he hadn’t exactly been thinking straight at the time. “I did not mean to imply that—”
“Mum?” Hamish piped up. He glanced at Darshan, a not-so-subtle request for him to remain silent. Was the man hoping to spare him another icy glare? “I was thinking of travelling to the cloister tomorrow?”
Darshan sat a little straighter in his chair. “You actually visit the cloisters?” He’d heard about the Tirglasian custom of locking away their spellsters, most of the Udynean court had. But he had thought the people inside were imprisoned much like the Demarn kingdom did with her spellsters and that ghastly tower. “I would very much like to see one up close. Providing that is acceptable, of course.”