“Children are secondary,” Master Go explained. “Women bleed with the moon. Bleeding, injuries of any kind, weaken the defenses severely and are ideal points of attack for an opponent. A sorceress who remains a woman is in great danger every moon when she bleeds. Kai was lucky that, as an adept, she had easy opponents for the first few monsoon seasons. Later, she was able to drain experience and energy from the opponents she defeated. Perhaps she was just lucky her fights were held at times that were beneficial to her. But without neutralization, it was just a matter of time before someone caught her at the right moment.”
Jok thought for a while. “Is that why there are so few females among the adepts?”
“Among the adepts, yes, and even fewer among the sorcerers,” Master Go explained. “The Goddess alone knows why women prefer to become mirrors rather than have themselves sterilized.”
That explained a lot. Especially why Master Go consumed his female students so thoughtlessly. He didn’t think they were capable of surviving anyway.
Over the next few days, Jok tried to spend as much time as he could with Tev. It was happiness on borrowed time, and they both knew it. Jok explained Kai’s defeat to Tev. Master Go had let Kai run to her demise with her eyes wide open. Go also knew how close Tev and Jok were. Jok didn’t dare imagine what Master Go would make of that. He was already having nightmares about the arena. Tev seemed less affected by the whole situation. He didn’t display any palpable fear, he simply seemed unapproachable and deeply lost in his own thoughts. Only when they flew their falcons were the friends able to enjoy life without restraint.
Master Go let them stew. Initially, he focused on rigorously training the new adept, Sis. Sis was a fully adequate replacement for Kai in every respect. Ruthless and mercilessly focused on gaining the upper hand, he teased the younger students and exploited them without the slightest guilty conscience. Sis was only better than Kai in one respect: he didn’t believe in senseless cruelty. That was at least something. Jok still kept his distance, though working with Sis was markedly more pleasant than working with Tur. There was no chance of becoming friends or remaining neutral, anyway. As Kai and Tur had trained him, he now had to assist Master Go in training Sis to fight. The energies he harvested during these training sessions were like thick, black oil. Tev complained angrily. “Every time you come from the tower, your energies are darker and bitterer.”
“What am I supposed to do? I only harvest what I am offered.”
“Can’t you reject Sis’ energies?”
“So Master Go gets it all? No way. I’m not that stupid!”
“I don’t want you to touch me with those dark energies!”
Tev sounded combative. Jok looked dismayed. He had never seen his friend act like this before.
“Let’s talk about it later. I have something important to take care of right now.”
Such petty misgivings! Jok was a bit annoyed. A good sorcerer collected as much energy as he could get. Tev should know that by now.
It didn’t matter. Something more interesting than a nagging friend awaited him.
*
Tolioro departed Sawateenatari with great pomp and circumstance. Ioro had his hands full inconspicuously placing guards along the entire route through the city. There mustn’t be another attempt on the crown prince’s life. Jok had promised him he would watch over Tolioro’s departure as a falcon. In fact, a large royal falcon had been flying over Sawateenatari for some time. Several people had seen it. People immediately saw the bird as a good omen, sent by the Goddess.
Tolioro was enjoying the day. Finally, he was the focus of attention for once. His father had already said his farewells at the palace, but not without giving him a thousand pieces of advice on how a good ambassador is to behave. It was starting to ooze from his ears. The old man was growing annoying with his constant talk of the House of Mehme’s honor and responsibility toward the Karapakian people. What was the fun of being king if it was all about obligations?
For now, though, he was escaping all of that. As an ambassador in Tolor and the future groom of the Toloran princess, more amusing days awaited him.
Tolioro tightened the reins. His black stallion elegantly arched his neck and danced a bit. Clad in his new aquamarine statesman’s robes, he self-confidently tossed back the cloak with the falcon crest, puffed up his chest, and raised his chin. Cheers rang out from the crowd.
“Just look how good he looks!”
“May the Goddess bless you!”
“What a handsome prince!”
“A true son of the House of Mehme!”
“May fortune always be with you!”
Tolioro basked in the attention. Ahhh, life was truly wonderful!
Jok watched as the company, with the crown prince in the center, slowly wended its way through the city. The falcon sailed effortlessly on the thermals rising from the city. Jok smiled in his mind when he saw several people notice him and point upward. They probably thought the Goddess was honoring Tolioro. Fools. If he weren’t in the falcon, the only thing Sawateenatari had to offer it was the many mice and pigeons. Hopefully, Tolioro would disappear from the city soon. Then, he would go meet Ioro and be able to have a chat with him.
The Toloran Bride
Down below in the hall, a door slammed shut. King Dacas of Tolor started and laid his papers aside with a resigned sigh. He heard quick steps on the stairs. Then, the door to his study flew open. An energetic, little person stormed in, planted herself before his desk and placed her fists on her hips.
“You don’t seriously believe I will marry that arrogant fop, do you?”
Dacas raised his eyebrows. “Is that how a proper princess speaks?” he asked mildly.
His daughter took a deep breath, then raised her chin even higher and glared at him. “No, Sire, it is not. But is Tolioro of Karapak a proper husband for a Toloran princess?”
Dacas sighed again. That point went to his daughter. He himself wasn’t convinced Tolioro was suitable. Still, the arranged marriage was one thing, the alliance necessary for Tolor’s survival was another. Without this union, there would be no alliance. He stood up and reached for his cane. He slowly limped around the desk to stand face to face with his daughter. “Damned leg!” he murmured. That was one of the reasons he urgently needed this alliance. He studied his eldest with a loving expression. Sirit wasn’t exactly a beauty, but her hearty laugh made most people look past her large, narrow nose, pale eyes, fair skin and somewhat chubby figure. The sun rose for him when Sirit laughed. And Sirit laughed a lot. Today, however, she didn’t seem to feel like laughing. “What did your future husband do this time?” he asked.
Sirit snorted disdainfully. “He played Fox and Goose with me. As though I were a ten-year-old! And he doesn’t even know all the rules. I let him win three times in a row and he didn’t even notice! Instead, he generously offered to teach me how to play the game properly.”
Dacas couldn’t help but smile. Wanting to teach his intelligent daughter, who regularly beat him at the royal game of knight’s war, a child’s game! Tolioro was truly far too self-confident. He didn’t even notice that Sirit was testing him.
“Sweetheart, Tolioro has never encountered an independent woman in his father’s harem. Give him time; try to get to know him!”
Sirit’s shoulders drooped. “It is pointless. The Karapakian has studied plenty and boasts about his knowledge, but he cannot think logically and apply what he has learned to the situation. He wouldn’t recognize the solution to a riddle if it bit him on the nose!”
“Child, don’t be so hard on him. He is trying his best to impress you.”
Sirit’s outcry came from deep within her soul. “But he is cold! Father, he doesn’t love me, and I will never love him!”
Dacas took his desperate daughter in his arms. “Shhhh,” he consoled her as she sobbed. “Child, very few royal marriages are for love. You mustn’t expect love. The respect with which you treat each other must be the foundation of your
marriage.”
“But you and mother love each other!”
“We learned to love each other.” Dacas held her at arm’s length so he could look her in the eyes. “And our marriage was arranged, just like yours. You know something good came of it.”
Sirit sniffled and took a handkerchief from her sleeve. She noisily blew her nose. “Father,” she said quietly, “I am trying to believe that it will be the same for Tolioro and me, but there is something about him that I fear. I don’t know what it is. I am simply afraid.”
“I am also afraid,” Dacas said. “Afraid of what will happen to Tolor if this union does not come to pass.”
Father and daughter looked at each other for a long while. Then, Sirit nodded, bowed slightly, turned around and left. She stopped briefly at the door and turned around to look at her father. Dacas hadn’t moved. “Father, you know I also think of Tolor. I will do what must be done. May the Goddess have mercy on us!” Then she closed the door behind her.
*
Tolioro angrily pounded his fist against the wall. That Toloran whore had actually dared rebuff him! That was the fourth time in a row since he had beaten the little kitchen maid five days ago. Nothing serious had happened; she only had a few bruises and had even received a gold coin for her trouble. Since then, none of the servants wanted to share his bed. The Tolorans were insane to give their servants so much freedom. To make matters worse, there weren’t even slaves he could have purchased for his pleasure in this barbaric country.
And when he thought of his bride... Tolioro grimaced. The stupid bitch spoke of politics and economics as though she understood them but wasn’t even able to play Fox and Goose. He had defeated her three times in a row. And she was terribly ugly. Her pale eyes alone! But he had no choice, Kanata wanted this union. She hadn’t even officially yielded to his courting. Why, by all the rain demons, did the Tolorans place so much value on the opinion of a woman?
He was going to go insane if something didn’t happen soon.
Tolioro looked around the room. There was nothing that enticed him to spend another minute in there. He spontaneously barked for his Karapakian servants. “I want to go into town. Bring me my cloak and inform my bodyguard!”
A castle like this one had a thousand ears. Two of them belonged to a small, thin and, now, smiling man. Count Chilikit paid good money to hear current news about the Karapakian ambassador and crown prince.
Damn it! He had lost again! Tolioro stared as his Toloran opponent reached for the stack of gold coins. First, no woman in his bed, then, bad luck at gambling! It seemed all the gods were conspiring against him. He hesitated. Of course, a Karapakian crown prince had credit, but Kanata’s reaction to gambling debts wasn’t exactly a curse he wanted to call down upon his head. It was better he stopped playing. He pushed his chair back and stood up. With a polite bow, he thanked his fellow players for a pleasant evening. His lowered eyes hid his smoldering fury.
Tolioro slowly walked to the front taproom. His bodyguards were outside in front of the door. There were no threats to him in this house. Only nobles and other high-ranking personalities met here. A small table was free next to the crackling fire. Tolioro walked toward it and made himself as comfortable as he could in the armchair. Without having to request it, a buxom barmaid brought him a cup of spiced wine. Tolioro reflexively picked it up and warmed his fingers. Nights in Tolor were significantly colder than they were in Karapak. It was the altitude.
“I assume you’ll have nothing against my company!” A young man in drab, gray-green clothing sat down in the second armchair and pushed it closer to Tolioro.
“Actually, I do!” Tolioro hissed.
The man smiled as though he hadn’t said anything and continued chattily. “It’s a bit boring here tonight, don’t you think? As crown prince of Karapak, of course, they only show you tame and harmless pleasures. After all, nothing must happen to our valuable guest!”
Tolioro pricked up his ears.
“I heard there is going to be a lovely fight somewhere tonight,” the man continued, “something, let’s say, on the edge of legality, but interesting, perhaps, to you. I could get you in, very discreetly, of course.”
“What do you want in return?”
“Ah, Karapakian directness! What should I want in return? Nothing, of course. It would be an honor and a pleasure to accompany you there!”
Tolioro’s eyes narrowed to slits. There was more to this offer. His curiosity had been piqued. “And how to do you expect to smuggle me past my bodyguards?”
“There are ways,” the man said evasively. “It’s better if you don’t know all the details.”
“Who are you anyway?”
“Oh, excuse my terrible manners!” The strange man bowed, half seated. “I am Baron Fitor of Arant Kone, youngest son of His Serene Grace, Count Chilikit.”
Tolioro quietly whistled through his teeth. Count Chilikit was one of the most influential men in Tolor. He was one of the count palatines who elected the royal heir to the throne. He was also supposedly incredibly wealthy. Deepening this contact would be worthwhile. He raised his tankard. “I gladly accept your offer. To a lovely evening!”
Baron Fitor raised his glass, too.
On the way out, Fitor laid a cloak around Tolioro’s shoulders. It was strange. Just a moment ago, several people had looked over to him and greeted him. Now it seemed as though he had become invisible. His bodyguards outside the door also deliberately looked past him.
“What did you do?” he asked Fitor. The Toloran laughed.
“A little, harmless spell. You look like my cousin Rodrak. As long as you wear this cloak, everyone will see you as an insignificant visitor from the countryside. Don’t worry. The spell is completely legal.”
A camouflage spell! Tolioro had heard of such spells, but they were very rare. Only the intelligence service was permitted to use them in Karapak. Well, he would have to make sure to keep this cloak!
Fitor led him down dark streets and alleys. After only a few minutes, Tolioro had lost all sense of direction. Finally, Fitor pulled him into a large, dilapidated house. A gigantic figure at the entrance asked for a password. Despite paying close attention, Tolioro was unable to hear Fitor’s response. The doorman let them in. Inside, the house looked much less dilapidated than it did from outside. They walked down a long corridor, then, down two flights of stairs, another corridor, then deeper, down another flight of stairs. The last stairway ended in a large, underground room with a small arena. Two muscle-bound men were wrestling in the center. Fitor pushed through the crowd until they reached the ring. A coin discreetly exchanged hands, then two comfortable seats with the best view opened up.
The fight was nothing special. After a short time, one of the combatants was on his back. The other received polite applause.
Fitor leaned over to Tolioro. “That was just the warm-up. The really good part is coming up now!”
Indeed, the next two opponents looked promising: large, broad-backed men with the swaying gait of experienced fighters. They were naked, except for the loin cloths they wore, and they were both carrying dangerous-looking knives in each hand.
It was a wonderful fight. Tolioro watched, spell-bound, as the knives wove a complex pattern of attacks and counterattacks. Soon, both fighters were bleeding from multiple cuts. The larger of the two seemed to gain the upper hand. The smaller one retreated. Two more steps and he was standing at the edge of the arena. The big one smiled, certain of his victory, and stabbed at the other. The little one dodged under the jab as quickly as lightning. The knife just barely grazed his back. It left a bloody smear across his ribs. The smaller man deftly retreated to the left corner of the ring and waited. The big one stood there as though paralyzed. Slowly, as though in slow motion, he began to topple backward. He hit the floor with a crash. The hilt of a knife protruded from his stomach and a second from his chest. Only now did Tolioro realize the smaller man was no longer holding his knives. The audience broke out in frenet
ic applause. Coins rained down on the bloody sand from all sides. The victorious fighter bowed, then raised his arms, beaming, and basked in the applause. Tolioro was impressed. This was the kind of entertainment he liked!
Standing outside on the street, five fights later, he was in high spirits and restless. The crotch of his pants stretched suspiciously. Damn it, what he wouldn’t give for a suitable woman right now!
Fitor seemed to read his mind. “A fight like that makes you really horny, doesn’t it?” he asked. Tolioro didn’t notice the somewhat derisive undertone. “If you want a woman, I know of a place not far from here.” Tolioro nodded.
Fitor led him to a dark flophouse. A fat, greasy-looking woman received them. Fitor spoke with her briefly. Then she hollered something. A small, toothless man appeared with an oil lamp. He led Fitor and Tolioro across a dirty courtyard to another building. Tolioro noticed and was surprised to find that the front rooms were packed full of straw. The old man brought them to a small, windowless room. A heavy, locked door led further into the building. Someone was sobbing behind the door.
The man pointed to a corner. “You can hang your clothing there. You can find masks there in the basket, knives too. When you’re finished, you can wash up in the adjoining room.”
Tolioro now noticed a second door next to the clothes hooks. The man lit another oil lamp and placed it on a three-legged footstool. Then he disappeared.
Fitor smiled. “He won’t come back until we’re done,” he said. “You can do whatever you want. No one will hear a thing.”
Aha, that’s why there was so much straw!
“Even if they do, no one here will ask any questions. You have free rein. Amuse yourself as you please. I will wait for you outside.”
Royal Falcon Page 21