“Maybe I should go in there, and try to find out what is happening.” Lorn suggested.
“Not likely,” Darrow replied. Not one tribesman has been seen within the vicinity of that place. You are the first to have wandered that street in months, and that was only because you are relatively new here. Trust me when I say that you should never, ever go near the mercenary guild again.” Darrow was insistent, but appeared honestly concerned for Lorn.
“Well what about Ju?” Zya demanded. “What if they decide he will make a fine recruit for this army of mercenaries? How are we supposed to rescue him from them?”
“They will not take children. That at least is beneath the mercenary code. They will not have anyone that cannot fight, and that rules children out. Of course that does not mean they will not keep their eyes open for any future potential, but for now, Ju and Nikki are too young.”
“Women too?” Lorn was so surprised to hear this that he just blurted the words out.
Zya sidled up to him. “Was that supposed to mean that you think women cannot fight?”
Lorn coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment. “No Zya, I was just surprised to hear it was all.”
“It is not so difficult a concept to entertain.” Darrow replied, heading off any potential argument. Most women up here are as able to fight as the men. Therefore they are as willing to become mercenaries. It is just a bit less likely. They do not mix with the men, and so there are a few female mercenary bands. Helma's Hellcats is one that I know has joined this freakish union. Mavra's marauders is one other.”
“Mavra's?” Both Tarim and Zya exclaimed. When Darrow looked at them in surprise, Tarim elaborated. “Mavra was the name of one of our companions, currently leading what could be called a potential band of her own.”
“Well this Mavra isn't her, I can tell you that much. She is as big as me, and most probably as strong. She has also been a mercenary for the past twenty years. Certainly not one you want to mess with. But as for the children, they are safe as long as they keep their noses clean and do what they are paid to do.” Darrow rose from his seat. “Look, I must go. It's been nice seeing you all again. I am a sucker for a family reunion, but I have my own people to look after. Do not worry about Ju, he will be ok. But do not go anywhere near the mercenary guild again, not for any reason. It may be that fate saved you when it did last time, but it is a fickle mistress that will rule you should you be drawn under her sway. Me, I never leave things to chance. Too much can go wrong.” He shook hands with them all, and then shifted the weight of his falchion to a better position with a grunt.
“You really should stop by the weapon smiths some time.” Lorn said critically as he looked at the great curved sword Darrow preferred. “There are perfectly good cutlasses there.”
“What? And part with this beauty?” Darrow grinned. “Not a chance in hell.” Darrow made his way to the door, but before opening it, looked through the window, and then turned back. “One more thing, Zya. Be careful when you go to that grand ball in the Ducal Palace, there might be more afoot than you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“The person that uses Ju to run messages to the guild is based in the palace. There is a tenuous link between the palace and the guild. I would not want you to get caught in anything.”
“Darrow, how is it that you know all this about the goings on and yet remain undetected by any of those you watch?” Tarim asked very seriously.
Darrow assumed a tragic expression. “My friend, I would have thought that you had a little more confidence in me than that.” Then he grinned. “I am the master of the underworld around here. I know everything that's going on, or didn't anybody tell you?” And with a flourish of his obnoxiously coloured clothes, he was out the door and gone.
Tarim crossed to watch the rapidly repeating form of Darrow as he sauntered off round the bend in the street.
“Has he been here often?” Zya asked as her father continued to peer through the door.
“Now and then.” He replied. “He seems to feel the need to keep us informed of what he finds, and what happens within his realm. To be honest it is also good to hear about what Ju is up to as well. He is kept so busy that we hardly see him.”
“Is Ju all right?” Zya asked. Her instinct told her he was. She could imagine him sneaking around alleyways with that girl that she had met in the cellars, using his quick feet and quicker tongue to good effect.
As an affirmation of her sudden thought, her father replied. “As far as we can tell. He is here on occasion, but he ends up sleeping in all sorts of places, most of them underground. Still, he has Darrow and Yneris keeping an eye on him, I think he is in no immediate danger.” Her father turned back to her. “How are you going to spend the rest of your free time?”
Zya looked down at herself. The robe was nice enough and she enjoyed the play of the earthen colours. “I am going shopping.” She decided out loud.
“The needs of the city finally getting to you, are they?” Her father asked, not with disapproval, but a gradual resignation to the ways that were affecting them all.
“Not really.” Zya replied. “I still want to run for the hills every time I see the gate, but there are a few things that I need, just modest things.”
Tarim smiled, and hugged his daughter. “I am so proud of you, and your mother would be too. You are so very much like her.”
Zya looked at her father. He rarely mentioned her mother. “How so?”
“Your committal to values, and your steadfast refusal to abandon them. Your loyalty to those close to you. You even look like her.”
Zya smiled, unshed tears in her eyes that would remain so as she would not break down in front of them. “I need to go to the market.” At a warning look from Lorn she added, “But not that market, there are others nearby that will suffice. One day you will tell me all, father.” With a grateful glance she stepped out into the afternoon, Lorn closely trailing her and leaving her alone with her thoughts. There was another loyal person if ever she had met one. He was even able to split his loyalty between them and his tribe. Zya admitted to herself that there were feelings that she had for Lorn, but feelings that she was not quite ready to come to terms with. She shelved them in the back of her mind, and promised herself that one day, perhaps one day soon, she would deal with that issue.
They walked to a market that had a reputation for quality goods, but provided a little entertainment in the form of travelling performers of every sort. The market was immensely popular as the performer population was as fluid as the river. There were always new acts arriving. It provided light relief in an otherwise crowded and stressful region. For Zya and Lorn it provided the ideal distraction, especially since it was in completely the opposite direction from the guild quarter of the city. They could see the Ducal Palace separated on the hill to the South, and the city wall stretched off to their right, diminishing as it closed towards the ragged cliffs that grew up to the West. The market and entertainment were separated into two adjacent buildings, great warehouses that were built in the least populated quarter. With the denser half of the city across the river, benefiting from the trade and defence that were provided by proximity to trade routes and rock, less people were willing to live further away. This was moderated to a degree by the clever positioning of the palace and the guilds. All in all, it was quite nice not to be jostled around, but Zya soon saw that the situation was not going to remain that way. Bodies bustled in and out of the twin buildings like a colony of ants. “Not more crowds,” she moaned.
Lorn chuckled.
“What?” Zya was not in on the joke.
“Somebody has obviously seen a market for a market here,” he joked.
Zya groaned and punched him on the arm, laughing all the while.
They entered the building to find row upon row of stalls sectioned off and covered with material roofs. Huge windows let light in; especially bright as the angle of the sun meant that as it began to set it shone directly t
hrough, showing up all the motes of dust that swirled without aim through the air above. Zya's attention became riveted on the clothes. Try as she might, she remained unimpressed by a lot of the gaudy wares that were the norm in this pirate city. Instead, she opted for a wide brown leather belt that could still fit the sheath of her dagger on it. Not even willing to haggle, she paid the asking price and took the belt, wrapping it around her robes. It had the desired effect, and she felt more like a woman. “I have no desire to walk around like a tent, for the robes are enough to announce what I am.” Once she had what she came for, the rest of the markets held no more than a marginal interest to her and she wandered, gazing through stalls as much as at their wares. She became one of those frustrating customers that the vendors just could not reach.
“Why don't we go to the other building and see what entertainment they have on offer?” Came Lorn's suggestion through the haze.
Zya smiled in response. “That would be nice, let's do that.”
They made their way back through the stalls, ever-more desperate merchants trying with every ounce of persuasion to sell what they could at the end of the day. They walked out into the street separating the two buildings and Zya halted, looking around.
“What's wrong?” Lorn asked as she stared around.
“I know this place,” she replied. “I know this street, this very building. I have seen it in my dreams, a long time ago. I have to go in, and if I say something to the man, he will say something back to me.”
“Are you sure this is safe?”
Zya turned towards him. “I have no idea, I only know that I need to do this, Lorn. I need to go into this building.” Without waiting for him to comment, Zya entered the warehouse. The interior was very different, but no less busy. The difference was in the layout. No packed aisles festooned this hall, but instead, separate areas were put aside for each different type of performer. Stages had been erected for musicians and speakers, while smaller booths lined the sides of the open spaces for the less popular acts. It was towards these that Zya was drawn, bypassing the crowds that pushed and jostled for a better view of a man that was juggling what she perceived to be sticks of fire. It was towards the shadowed far end of the warehouse that Zya began to slow her pace, as she searched for something. Here the booths extended into the depths of the shadows, and were only kept alight by tallow candles and the occasional lantern. Zya looked from booth to booth as she searched for something that only she could see. Suspicious and often greedy eyes peered back at her, but she never once stopped for long enough to become enticed. In the middle of the booths she stopped, peering over the shoulder of a woman who was deeply enmeshed in a game of cards with the small man that was separated by the table between them. The man was nothing special; Dark brown hair that hung loosely and framed his bearded face, dull eyes intent upon the cards in front of him, and nondescript brown clothing. He did not even look up as Zya peered at him.
The woman however, became a bit unsettled by the presence of two people over her shoulder. “Do you mind?” She asked in an acid voice filled with greed and deception.
“Our pardon madam, we were just perusing the games.” Lorn apologised.
“Well go peruse somewhere else, the both of you. This is my game and I do not want to be disturbed.”
While Lorn had distracted the woman's attention, the man behind the table looked up at Zya from between the five cards he had in his hand. He gave her the same odd look of recognition.
“I am the dreamer.” She said, not knowing where the words even came from.
He smiled curiously, and replied, looking at a slip of paper he had picked up from the table. “The gates aligned focus the mind to cross the bridge.”
Chapter Thirteen
The man in the booth leaned forward and placed a small piece of the paper in Zya's outstretched hand. She took the paper, closed her hand, and the whole incident had passed in a matter of moments. As Zya finished speaking the woman ceased to lecture Lorn, and the whole incident was lost to the couple in the booth. She felt not quite herself and yet again found that Lorn, who kept an eye out for any pursuers, was guiding her. When they got outside, he did not lessen the pace, but spoke in a voice that reeked of confusion. “Okay, do you want to tell me what that was all about?”
Zya tried to frame distant memories into words. “I had a dream once that I was outside a building, and that I would enter, and seek out a man. I would say something to him, he would say something to me and hand me an object.” As if this triggered a reaction, Zya looked down at the paper in her hand. She unfolded it, and spoke two words, but too quietly for Lorn to hear, even with his tracker's exceptional senses.
“What does it say?”
Instead of speaking, Zya, almost in a daze, handed him the paper. Lorn looked at the curvy, flowing writing. “Wrong Order. Wrong order of what?”
Zya looked at the piece of paper in his hand. “Well, that must be what he handed me. I assume it means that I am a member of the wrong guild. Either that or I have done something before I was supposed to. It could have any number of meanings.” As they walked away from the market, Zya tied her hair back with a piece of leather. It exposed a bit more of the warrior in her for the severity of her look.
Lorn noticed the change, not commenting on it. “How long ago did you have the dream?”
Zya considered this for a while. “When I was a lot younger, I think. Not recently.”
“And it came true. I think you are more of a seer than anybody understands, even perhaps you yourself.”
Zya stopped in the street and looked at him, oblivious of the few people in this district that were winding their way through the detritus left by countless other people. “Is that what you think?”
“It is. I also think that you have had the gift for a lot longer than you care to admit. I think you have had this since you were a child, from what you say, and have kept your dreams hidden from everybody else.”
Zya sighed, and started walking, though this time it was more of a trudge. “Perhaps I have, perhaps not. Out in the countryside, little things did not mean so much. It may be that I didn't take any notice of my dreams and for seasons I may have been having them.”
“Would you like to know what I think?” Lorn asked her as he walked alongside.
Zya looked sidelong at him, “tell me.”
“I think that the closer to whatever destiny fate has in store you get, the more these things matter. Your little episode back there may serve to make you think that you have to leave your guild, but it may mean something completely different. Only you know best what your feelings tell you.”
Zya smiled. “Is that the opinion of an objective observer?”
Lorn had the grace to blush, a very rare thing on a man, let alone a tribal chief. “Not entirely, no. Zya I miss you when you are not there. You brighten our days with your presence, and the world seems less futile when you are around.”
Zya's eyes roamed into the ever deepening blue of the early-spring sky. “I have to do this, something tells me that I must. There will be time for everything else later, I promise.” Zya took his hand, and they walked silently back to the tribal quarter without pause, not allowing any distraction to pull them apart for even a moment.
By the time they returned, the sun had almost set, and Ondulyn was clearly visible in the East. The brightest of the stars had come into view, gradually lighting the heavens with their immortal glow. They entered through the back door, the same way that the wizard Ralnor had found his way into the carpentry. The workshop was quiet, with the slightest trace of candle smoke in the air from a wick that had burned on after the candle had been snuffed. Light crept under the door that separated the workshop from the living quarters above, and they made their way upstairs. Hearing voices speaking yet again, Zya became cautious, and listened carefully. One of the voices was a lot younger than the other, and she instantly knew who it was. Zya looked around at Lorn and he urged her up the stairs, nodding encouragement.
She opened the door to find Ju talking to her father. They stopped talking and looked at her, then burst out laughing.
“Did I miss something?” Zya asked, not sure whether to be offended.
“Of course not,” her father replied. “Ju was just saying that you would be returning at any moment, probably wearing that look of suspicion you seem to have adopted lately.”
“I then said that once you knew it was me, a look of relief would cross your face.” Ju added. “It looks as though I was right.”
Zya had missed the gentle jesting of her adopted family, and the closeness they had for all of their experiences made her feel home among them. Here in this room was all that she had ever needed of life. As the evening wore on and they ate a meal that Tarim had contrived to prepare with Ju, Zya was reminded of Gren the cook and his culinary delicacies. All of their cooking had stemmed from the man, his countless recipes, and numerous stories of herb lore. Zya found herself yearning for the company of her extended family. The instinct that took over in her from time to time arose and made her feel that they would be together again one day, but it was never soon enough. Then Lorn distracted her with a raucous tale about Darrow and the baker's wife, and she forgot all of her woes for a time. As the night deepened, Zya found herself yawning and sought her bed. She regretted missing a single moment of the joviality that had grabbed a hold of them all, but she knew that whatever training her teacher had in mind for her the following day was likely to be tiring and she needed the rest. She sat on the end of her bed, brushing her hair. “The gates aligned, focus the mind, to cross the bridge, wrong guild.” Zya repeated the phrases over and over again.
“The girl said that, in the dream,” Ju said, sticking his head around the door. He entered and closed it. The bow still stuck out from behind his shoulder, but it fit him better every day now, and it did not hinder him. “You have grown since I saw you last, at an alarming rate. Do you ever take that bow off?”
The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2) Page 40