by Erik A Otto
So his name was Paulo. Why couldn’t he have told her that? “Purveyor, please don’t use my name,” he said to the woman.
“Why?” the woman asked. “So we can confuse everyone by calling each other Purveyor all the time? That’s ridiculous, Paulo. Enough nonsense. Why are you here? Have you finally come around?”
Paulo said, “Be advised that this woman with me is a commoner under indenture. We have come to find the Truthseeker at her request.”
The woman laughed mockingly at the Purveyor, something Nala had never seen any other Fringe do. “Maybe I should look up the definition, Paulo, but it sounds to me more like you’re the one under indenture.”
Paulo looked annoyed. “She provided us the location of the recent Albondo ruin find. Her name is Nala.”
“She did? Well, I’m sure I should thank her for such riches. Unfortunately the reward will mostly go to the Niknak Fringe. We’ll see little of it here. The Thelonian Fringe always have to work a little harder for freedom.”
“Purveyor,” Paulo said indignantly. “I caution you—”
“Yes, yes, of course. A measure of caution always, Paulo.” She waved at him with her hand and looked to Nala. “Nice to meet you, Nala. I’m Nevena. I am the Purveyor for the Thelonian and Sambayan lands.”
Nala smiled politely and said, “Nice to meet you.”
Nevena looked back to Paulo. “Well, she’s sweet, this new plaything. You have quite a talent for finding these little vagabonds. Does this one have a theory as well?”
Paulo was clenching his teeth. He wore a dark scowl on his face. “Nala, can you wait for me outside by the well? I wish to speak with the Purveyor alone.”
Nala was troubled by what Nevena was saying. Was Nala being used in some way she didn’t know? Was the Purveyor—Paulo—some kind of Fringe pervert?
She did as Paulo asked, though, and walked outside. There was indeed a well a hundred feet away from the tent. She stood next to it with arms crossed. Paulo watched from the threshold of the tent. Satisfied that she’d found her way, he retreated back into the tent.
Nala wasn’t about to let them talk about her behind her back. As soon as the flap closed, she rushed back and found a niche in the wet grass where she could squat and put her ear to the leathery tent material.
Paulo was speaking. “…for the benefit of all of us. What would we do without the find in Albondo? How can you be so…ungrateful in the face of what we’ve gained from my work with Nala?”
“Well, without the find in Albondo, we might actually have more help in Spoons from your Niknak brethren. And you don’t actually think the Niknak Fringe will be safe there, do you? Why waste time and resources on a stopgap measure?”
Paulo paused. “Yes, yes, you’re right about that, but I can’t change the minds of everyone in Niknak. I need time to sway them, just like I needed time to sway them about the Day.”
“And yet here you are, spending time doing…what again?”
Paulo sighed. “As always, Nevena, your words have your way with me. It’s a deal I made for the greater good of the Fringe, and I must stand by it. Besides, this man, the Truthseeker, may have other secrets that will help us. He was a scripter in the Great Library and was attacked by a gargoyle.”
It was Nevena’s turn to sound annoyed. “Paulo, your curiosity will be the death of you. You shouldn’t waste your time chasing demons and secrets, and you shouldn’t be doing any deals with Belidoran trash, never mind living up to them. We need to survive. Do you hear me? Do what you will with this girl, but get back to Niknak quickly. We need to start the exodus, for we are still lounging on the beach, and the dark waters of the Cleansing are rising quickly around us.”
“I…I think you’re right, Nevena.” Paulo said with some resignation. “I will return to Niknak soon.” It was the first time Nala heard Paulo being deferential to another.
After a pause, Nevena said, “The good news is that this Truthseeker you’re after won’t be around for long. He’s being held up north by Granth’s army. The Matagon Monks are only a couple of days away, from what I hear. When they get there, I’m sure they will turn his mind to mush. Or maybe they will kill him on the spot. This alone should persuade you to mark the end of your pointless quest right away. If not, I suppose it will end for good in a couple of days anyway.”
Nala had heard enough. She scurried back to the well and crossed her arms again aloofly. Paulo exited the tent a minute later, looking weary. He signaled for her to follow him toward their lodging for the night.
Chapter 23
The Jailor
The next morning the air was thick with so much fog that Zahir and Hella could barely see a stone’s throw ahead of them.
They packed up their few belongings and made out along the shoreline, hoping they could find their way back to civilization, assuming they were in fact in Thelonia.
Hella was quiet at first but only for so long. Then she kept complaining about the weather the way princesses do. First one storm, then another, then fog she said. Blah, blah, blah. Zahir, on the other hand, was happy. The rolling blankets of mist reminded him of the autumn season in Kalianca. Besides, it would be good cover for going inland, as long as they didn’t get lost.
The rocky shore eventually graduated to a grassy escarpment with steep banks, then up an escalating ridge heading south along the coast. There were no paths, and the ground was wet and slippery from the rains, so it was slow going. Their shoes were quickly soaked, and their footfalls made squishing sounds.
The ridge kept rising, and the fog lessened. They passed into what looked to have been a farm at one time. It was a guess based on the broken and burned fence line and rectangular plots of scorched earth, each with mounds of ash punctuated by charred masonry that must have served as fenceposts. It reminded Zahir that it was wartime here in northern Thelonia, and it kept him alert.
The ridge continued up as they consciously chose the higher paths. They reached the highest point of the bluff, allowing them to finally look down on a fog-covered valley of the interior. The mist was dissipating, so they decided to wait it out at the top for better visibility of the surroundings.
“This is a good lookout point, but doesn’t it also make us visible as well?” Hella asked.
Zahir nodded. There were no trees on the bluff to hide behind, and even the brush was subdued. “Yes, a risk we have to take, but who will be looking for us?”
They sat and ate their stale provisions while trying to dry out their shoes. They also massaged their aching leg muscles that were unused to such exertions after their long sea voyage.
“What are those?” Hella asked, pointing down.
An array of small peaks had perforated the receding banks of fog in the valley. It soon became evident that they weren’t part of the geography. They were tents, and there weren’t just a few; there were hundreds of them, perhaps thousands.
Hella answered the question before Zahir could. “Is that an army?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. We may have picked an unfortunate place to stop. We should leave.”
At least they knew what direction not to go. They packed up in earnest and made their way down the bluff, trying to keep low and out of sight of the valley. They would need to stay near the water until they were sufficiently out of scouting range of the army. Zahir knew, though, that if this army was in any way disciplined and alert, they would be spotted soon.
Sure enough, on a precarious bend in the terrain, they heard, “There they are! Halt in the name of Thelonia.”
Zahir and Hella turned to face five men on horses. They couldn’t outrun them, and it was unlikely that Zahir and Hella could kill them all, so they would have to try to win them over with words. Zahir and Hella walked over cautiously with hands raised.
As they’d agreed, Hella would do the talking. She said, “We are Fringe whose band was attacked by Sambayans in the north. We’re heading south to Thelos. Can you give us safe passage?”
Zahir cringed.
It was a bit naïve to think soldiers would help the Fringe.
“Safe passage? You must be kidding. But where are these Sambayans you’re talking about? We’ve seen none for hundreds of miles.”
Weren’t they at war? It had been a good guess, but they couldn’t know the Sambayan positions, or even the state of the war for that matter, having been on the other side of the Great Ocean and then cooped up in a ship for weeks.
Hella replied with confidence, “Just to the north.”
“In Hayden’s Gap or in the Northern Forest?”
“In the Northern Forest,” Hella guessed.
The men looked skeptical. The one who had been speaking looked them up and down and murmured in another’s ear. “You’re coming with us,” the leader said. The sound of swords sliding in scabbards ensued as the five men drew.
Zahir tensed. “I’ll take the four on the right,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “You take the weak-looking one on the left.”
But he didn’t sense Hella tensing for the fight. Her gaze was focused on Zahir as the five men advanced. “Zahir, please. We won’t win this fight. Put away your sword.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you, princess, even if they’ve seen us together. We are far enough from Jawhar.”
“Very comforting,” she said, “but please, Zahir, you don’t need to die here. We will find freedom some other way.”
The princess didn’t understand war. She didn’t understand these people. Nor did she understand him.
Zahir charged the men. Even though they were tensed and ready, the one on the right couldn’t get his sword up fast enough to parry the blow to his arm. He suffered a deep gash and dropped his sword. The man would live, but his sword arm would be useless.
But alas, these men weren’t the sedentary rangers of Jawhar, nor were they soft Fringe traders. These were well-drilled warriors in wartime. One man was ready for the charge and dug a knife deep into Zahir’s thigh. Zahir couldn’t help but crumple to the ground, while another kicked the sword out of his hand. The two others jumped on him and held him down as the knife still protruded from his leg. Zahir struggled against them, but their weight and strength were too much.
Hella said behind him, “Thank you! Thank you for freeing me from this man.”
Probably a good gamble, Zahir thought, but it didn’t work.
“Nice try, Traitor,” one of them said, breathing heavily from the effort of holding Zahir down. Then he punched the arm of one of the other men collegially. “Two Marked in two days. Granth is going to be pleased, I think.”
There was no talking their way out of this now, no matter how crafty Hella’s words.
The man who’d stabbed him pulled the knife out of his leg—a spurt of blood accompanied it. Zahir couldn’t help but cringe and gasp at the pain. He tried to block it out while he examined his wound. They hadn’t hit an artery, but he could still bleed to death. If no escape was available, that at least could offer him salvation.
The Jailor of Kalianca would be no prisoner.
It was a huge army. Zahir guessed they were twenty thousand strong, with an equivalent amount of flags and sigils for both Thelonia and Belidor. Why were so many Belidoran resources being positioned this far north, and in a foreign country? Surely the Sambayans weren’t a significant threat anymore. He wondered if Jawhari intelligence was aware of this. If there was going to be a war, it might be best to strike soon while this Belidoran force was farthest from Jawhar.
Of course that wasn’t his mission. Sometimes he had to remind himself that he was here to try to stop a war with Belidor rather than start one.
The mission seemed so hopeless. They were a kaifhur and treasonous Jawhari in the far-off lands of Thelonia, taken captive by one of the largest armies around.
They were brought to the far side of the camp where a large tent was nestled close to the forest. Outside was a solitary sentry. He whispered with the leader of the men who had taken them. Then one of the deputies untied Hella and Zahir and brought them inside. Zahir couldn’t suppress his muffled grunts of pain when he hobbled into the tent. He tried to minimize the weight on his leg.
The tent was spacious. Along the back, three prison cells of made of wood had been erected. They were open-air and flimsy. If one had the right tools, it would be easy to escape. Moreover, if a prisoner had many days, perhaps weeks to pry away—like the inmates in Kalianca—they could make short work of them from the inside. Zahir would have never allowed these cells.
Only one of the cells was occupied. The solitary prisoner wore a threadbare and dirty robe. His head was shaved in the front and long tatters of hair flowed down the back. He looked to be a priest, especially because he was sitting and praying as they arrived. Another man in a Thelonian military uniform sat close by him just outside the cell. This man’s lips moved and eyes darted back and forth as if he were in some kind of waking dream. Closer to the entrance, another man in blue and gold Belidoran colors was sitting and reading off the top of a stack of documents on his desk. This man had bone keys hanging from his belt. He must be the jailor.
The leader of the men who had captured them said, “Look what we found skulking on the bluff: the princess of Pomeria! And this one is a Fringe man she’s been fraternizing with. He attacked my men. Nearly cut Pence’s arm off, he did.”
The jailor glanced momentarily at Zahir, then spent a good minute looking Hella up and down. He had that hungry look in his eyes that Zahir had seen in the perverts of Kalianca. “Will you look at that; the Pomerian princess. I’m sure the general will be happy. He’s out on maneuvers, but he’ll be back tomorrow. The monks have already been sent for, to come collect the Truthseeker. The Traitor will be a nice bonus.”
Hella spoke up. “Sir, there’s been a mistake here. I insist on speaking—”
The leader of the squad punched her in the stomach, and she doubled over. “Thank you for giving me the justification to punch a princess in the stomach, something I’ve always wanted to do but never had the privilege. Now, I told you to shut up. Save your treasonous words for Granth.”
They hustled Zahir and her to the two empty cells and locked each of them inside.
Zahir considered their situation. Two guards in the tent and one sentry on the outside meant it would be hard to plan anything with Hella, even if the one sitting near the priest was some kind of idiot. The two inside would hear everything they said and see everything they did. The chances of escape were negligible.
He needed to seriously consider the possibility that the mission had failed.
Zahir had once seen a man swallow his own tongue in Kalianca. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. One needed to bite it off deep in the mouth to create a big enough piece to choke on. It would probably be easier just to try to hang himself using his shirt as a rope. In that case he would have to hope they wouldn’t get into the cell before he died.
He wasn’t about to give up yet, though. Only when there was no hope left, when staying alive would mean the death of his family or countless Jawhari. Only then would he drink that grievous elixir.
Chapter 24
The Naustic
Paulo tried to convince Nala that it was pointless to go after Sebastian. He tried to convince her that they should turn back. He argued that even if they were to find Sebastian in the army camp, how would that help them? But Nala would hear nothing of it. They came this far, and they knew where he was, so they would go to see him. She so longed to speak to Sebastian, even if it was one last time.
Paulo reluctantly agreed. He knew as well as she that it would all be over when the monks arrived to take Sebastian anyway.
They came upon the army encampment easily. It was in a long valley north of Thelos, just east of the Great Ocean. They arrived late in the day as a fold of sun was receding across the tent-studded plain, relinquishing color to shadow in a long sweeping tide.
Soon after they spotted the camp, soldiers rode up to them.
“Let me handle this,” Paul
o said.
“What’s your business, Fringe?” There were four men on horseback. They drew their weapons as they approached.
Paulo bowed low and extended his arm. He had reattached the simple crest showing the dapper brown forked flag that both he and Nevena had on their tents. “We are indeed Fringe. I’m the Purveyor of Niknak. I come to discuss terms with your weapons engineers. Times are tough for Fringe, and we may have more favorable terms than those granted by the Purveyor of Thelos.”
The men looked confused. One said to another, “I’ve heard of Purveyors. They’re some kind of captain among the Fringe. Yoseph has mentioned them before.”
Another soldier circled them with his horse. He spoke from behind Paulo and Nala. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Paulo and Nala rode down a main thoroughfare in the camp, escorted by two men. They stopped at a large tent that had an array of weaponry stacked and displayed in front of it.
Here a heavily scarred man with three fingers missing on one hand sat while examining the tip of a long spear. He stood and greeted them gruffly. “What’s this about?”
“I come to discuss terms for weapons,” Paulo said.
“Where’s the woman that you Fringe usually send?”
“I come from Niknak, whereas she’s from Thelos. I may have other weapons or other terms.”
The man looked skeptical but motioned for them to come inside.
They sat inside the dark, greasy-smelling tent while the Purveyor and the armorer spoke. Nala tuned it out. She was tired from the day of travel and more interested in looking at the array of weaponry. Most were swords, but there were maces, pikes, shields, and spears also littered about. It seemed disorganized, but perhaps only because there was little space to put them all. She felt a tinge of discomfort with all of this silverstone in one place, but not so much as she might have felt a few months ago.