The World of Samar Box Set 3

by M. L. Hamilton

  He fumbled with the stirrups, settling his pack on the horse’s flank and lifting himself into the saddle. Before he reached the road, he heard Kendrick leave the house.

  He pulled the horse up and waited for the Nazarien. He didn’t at all like the idea of entering Cambia alone, otherwise he would have left him behind. Jarrett was tired of Kendrick and this latest episode did little to help his feelings, but he wasn’t heartless – he felt pity for the old man. The idea of being left to such despairing poverty was terrible.

  He wished that he could clear his mind of these distressing thoughts, but the mood prevailed in every object that met his sight. Even the road heading to Cambia was little more than a dirt path, blemished by enormous potholes and gouged with the wheel tracks of wagons.

  Cambia – what could they hope to find? What scourge of life and depths of despair might she hold? He fancied people begging in the streets, thin hands extended to him, pleading, mothers holding gaunt babies to their withered breasts, groaning. If Davo’s farm was so poor, surely Cambia was far worse.

  * * *

  Thunder had begun to rattle the dark sky when they arrived in Cambia. Cambia had one main street that housed all of the city’s grey, shabby markets, grocers and dry goods stores, and many dark, dank alleys. The only park at the center of the main street flaunted dead, leafless trees with mottled trunks, and dry, brown blades of grass that crackled when stepped upon.

  Jarrett’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword as he saw body after body sprawled beneath the trees. Lawries. Most wore clothes that were little more than rags and had matted, filthy hair. He was amazed that the other townspeople paid them little attention as if they didn’t see them at every turn of the road, lying against the store fronts, shoeless feet hanging over the sidewalks and into the streets, on the rooftops where a hand or leg, or sometimes a head foretold their existence, or lying in the gutters where they’d been kicked by an angry merchant who’d felt their drunken wrath the night before.

  Jarrett watched the townspeople. They moved with aimless, confused expressions and their clothes were only a little less shabby than the Lawries. As the strangers moved down the main street, the townspeople lifted their hungry, absent eyes and watched them. It was enough to send a shiver down the Terrian’s spine.

  Jarrett’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. He’d seen eyes like these before, many times, staring through the darkness around a campfire – predatory eyes, hungry and wanting and deadly. He and Kendrick had been foolish to flaunt their wealth so openly in such a deprived city. Their clean clothing was affront enough, but the Terrian realized the horses were the greatest insult. That they should be riding when most of these people were starving seemed like a flagrant disregard of their suffering.

  He stopped his horse before a tavern. It was the single building on the entire street whose porch didn’t sag with years of abuse and whose sign, although faded, still occupied its original spot on the facade of the building and was legible.

  The Nazarien stopped beside him, a line of concern marring his brow.

  Jarrett glanced at him and then surveyed the street. “If we want any information,” he said, “this is the best place to come for it. Tongues wag loosely in a tavern.”

  “But don’t you remember what Davo said about the people of Cambia and how they feel about...” Kendrick made a quick motion toward the earrings in his ear.

  “The people of Cambia look like they’re ready to take offense at anything. Still, we’ve got no choice and we’re already here. Let’s just hope they’ve got greater concerns to occupy themselves with beyond us.”

  They swung down from the horses, securing them loosely to the post before the tavern and eyed the citizens of the town as warily as they were being eyed themselves. Jarrett hated the thought of leaving the horses unprotected even for a few moments.

  An indescribably dirty child moved close to Jarrett and looked up at the tall man with large brown eyes, then lowered them to his horse. He reached out a tentative, filthy hand and placed it against the man’s thigh. Jarrett suppressed a desire to draw away, reminding himself that it was only a child. The child licked his lips and looked more closely at the horse. A few more of the citizens moved in for a better look. Jarrett exchanged a warning glance with Kendrick.

  An old woman on the porch of the tavern pushed herself from her chair and came slowly forward. She was older than any woman Jarrett had ever seen, her hands so gnarled and twisted by age as to be nearly claws, her hair long, silver and sparse, her mouth sunken and drawn over her gums. As she moved closer, her mouth opened exposing a toothless grin. She stank of death.

  She moved directly toward Kendrick, one twisted hand lifting and a finger pointing at his face. Jarrett’s hand fell to the sword at his side and he braced himself. He was surprised as always, to the point of irritation, at how controlled the Nazarien stood in the face of danger. Jarrett felt sure he would have drawn away from the old woman long before, abhorred by her smell and appearance, but Kendrick stood stoically in place, his hands at his sides, his face a mask to his inner emotions.

  “You,” said the old woman, “you’re one of the others, aren’t you? What are they called?”

  Jarrett tensed, casting a wary glance about the crowd. Kendrick looked at his companion from the corner of his eyes and his hand also fell to the hilt of his sword. The crowd was silent, too silent, waiting for the Nazarien to answer.

  Suddenly, a woman in the rear of the crowd shouted, “He’s one of the others, one of the forbidden!”

  A loud murmur rose and they pressed forward. Jarrett felt hands shove against his back and he swung around, drawing his sword in the same instant. The faces that met him were grey and sunken from hunger, the eyes glimmering out of dark sockets. He felt the child’s thin hands against his thigh again, but this time the tiny fingers dug into his flesh. He pushed the child away, dropping his guard for just a moment as a bottle, hurled from the outer rim of the crowd, caught him in his left temple and dropped him to his knees. Before he could regain his feet, they were on him, tearing at his clothes and pounding their fists against him. He fell beneath the horse, his sword knocked from his hand, and the horse reared in fear, crashing down within inches of his body. He tried to shield his face from the attack, curving his arms over his head.

  Suddenly he heard a scream of pain followed by an animalistic snarl. A hand grabbed him under the arm and hauled him to his feet. He staggered and fell against the steps of the tavern. Something wet and sticky ran from his temple into his eyes and he couldn’t take a deep breath. His ribs felt as if they’d been crushed. Clawing the wet fluid from his eyes, he squinted at his hands, surprised to find them covered in blood. Then he realized it was probably his own blood as more of it flowed over his brow and trickled down his cheekbone.

  Carefully lifting his head despite the answering pain behind his eyes, he came face to face with a massive dog. The animal was standing with its thick legs braced, the hair along the back of its neck raised and its lips pulled back to reveal two rows of fierce white fangs. Jarrett swallowed hard and pressed back into the stairs. Standing to the left of the incredible animal stood the largest man Jarrett had ever seen. He towered over seven feet tall and his arms were as big around as the Terrian’s upper thigh. In one gigantic hand he carried a stick and in the other a whip. With a crack of the whip, he drove the townspeople back; the same people who had been so ready to tear the strangers apart just a moment before.

  “Get your lousy arses out of here!” he thundered and his voice shook the very porch against which Jarrett now lay.

  Jarrett shivered involuntarily at the force of the command and wondered when it would be his turn to be whipped, but instead, the giant turned to him and smiled. Or at least Jarrett thought it was a smile, but on so enormous a man, a smile could merely be indigestion. Then he held out his hand. Jarrett glanced down at the meaty paw and wondered if refusing it would only earn him a lengthy death sentence. Deciding he simply ha
d no other option, he accepted the offered hand and thought he was about to have his shoulder dislocated as the man pumped it with vigor.

  “Muzik Andrada,” the giant boomed with unbelievable good cheer. Routing angry mobs seemed to agree with him.

  Jarrett squinted through the blood that ran down his face, his eyes confused. Were the words some new method of dealing out death that he didn’t know? “Say again?”

  The giant laughed, a loud, earth-shattering laugh that made him tremble as much as the shouting had done earlier. He reached over and slapped Jarrett against the thigh so hard that his bruised ribs were jarred. “Muzik Andrada,” he said again. “My name, that is, and this is Kian.” He pointed over his shoulder at the dog.

  Jarrett eyed both man and dog, then looked for Kendrick and found him leaning against the rail of the porch as badly battered as he was himself. The Nazarien met his companion’s gaze with as much confusion as Jarrett felt.

  “Muzik Andrada,” he repeated, his blood-stained face lifting into a tentative smile as he appraised the giant again.

  The giant guffawed once more. “So what’s your name, little man?”

  “My name’s Jarrett,” he said. It suddenly dawned on him that he was bleeding rather profusely, which might account for the ridiculous nature of their conversation.

  The giant narrowed his brown eyes and regarded his new friend steadily. Jarrett marked that the man’s face was pleasant and thoughtful, the eyes small but intelligent. A purple scar extended from just below Muzik’s right cheekbone to his chin and disappeared into a closely cropped brown beard and mustache.

  “Haven’t you a family name?”

  “Jarrett Murata,” he said and the giant quickly repeated it, striking Jarrett once again on his thigh. Jarrett gritted his teeth. He was beginning to wonder if he should lose much more blood. It was mildly concerning, but Muzik didn’t seem ready to end their amicable conversation just yet.

  He bent down and stared openly into Jarrett’s face. The Terrian squinted uneasily. “It isn’t very safe for you here,” he said, his expression growing serious. “They would have killed you both.” He nodded in Kendrick’s direction.

  Kendrick moved to Jarrett’s side and hunkered down on the porch beside him, tugging a clean handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it to Jarrett, who pressed it over the cut above his brow. Pain exploded in the Terrian’s head and black spots danced before his eyes, but he clung tenaciously to consciousness.

  Kendrick didn’t look much better than he did. His clothes were tattered and his face was dirty. A rend in the right leg of his trousers revealed a wound. Jarrett wondered if he were hurt anywhere else. Kendrick’s eyes shifted from Jarrett to the giant and then to the massive dog, which stood rooted in place to protect the man’s flank.

  “Why do they want to kill us?”

  Muzik Andrada regarded him and then laughed his booming laugh. Jarrett braced himself for another of the bone shattering slaps, but it didn’t come. When he’d finished laughing, his face grew deathly serious again. “Because you’re one of the others, the forbidden,” he said and his gaze was riveted once more on Jarrett’s face. “The moment you rode in here, so boldly and foolishly on your fat horses with your brightly colored clothes, these people knew exactly who you were.”

  “The others?” asked Jarrett in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  Muzik didn’t laugh, but glanced back over his shoulder as if he expected to see someone standing there. “Talar Eldralin’s kind,” he said, “Nazarien. The moment they saw the blue eyes they knew.”

  Jarrett’s gaze shifted to Kendrick, but Kendrick was staring at the giant. “Forbidden?” he asked.

  Muzik Andrada nodded. “Neither of you would have lasted the night,” he said, and then broke into a laugh, “but now you’ve found me.”

  “Why are Nazarien forbidden in Cambia?” asked Kendrick.

  “Cambia!” shouted Muzik. “Why, Nazarien are forbidden throughout the entire kingdoms of Adishian and Sarkisian both! There is a bounty paid for the bodies of Nazarien in Sarkisian and I can tell you both that not a single one of these people here would hesitate to turn you over.”

  Jarrett eyed the enormous man warily, then he searched the ground in front of the tavern for his missing sword. Marking Jarrett’s pointed search, Muzik retrieved the sword from under the horse and handed it over as Jarrett struggled to his feet.

  “You’re a funny little man,” he said. “If I wanted to collect a bounty, do you think I’d have wasted so much time in conversation? Not likely. If I wanted the bounty, I’d be half-way to Sarkisian by now.”

  Jarrett lowered the sword and leaned against the rail. So what now? How long did they have to stand here and carry on this conversation? He could feel a fresh trickle of blood roll down his forehead and into his eyes. He knew that even with Kendrick’s support, he wouldn’t be able to stand much longer.

  Muzik suddenly moved forward, pushing Kendrick aside. He placed his arm around Jarrett’s waist, half-lifting, half-dragging him into the tavern and depositing him in a chair. “Mott!” he shouted, and a little, withered man scrambled around the counter at his command.

  Kendrick followed.

  “My friend here is hurt and tired. Get him a room and some food! Tell Tosa to get her lazy arse out here and clean him up!”

  Mott hesitated a moment and looked at the two men. “Muzik, these men are...”

  “I know what they are!” he shouted. “Are you refusing me?”

  Mott’s large, dark eyes shifted between the men. “No, of course not. It’s just that you know what can happen if I...”

  Muzik grabbed the little man by the front of his shirt. “Then, Mott, we’d better find a way to make my new friends a little less conspicuous, eh?”

  “Yes,” said Mott, “we can do that.” He scrambled from Muzik’s grasp and ran behind the counter, disappearing behind a red curtain that hung across the back of the bar. They could hear his excited voice shouting something as he slipped from sight.

  Muzik laughed to himself and took a seat beside Jarrett, patting him with surprising gentleness on the back. Jarrett glanced about the tavern and noted that a handful of people sat on the stools before the bar, turned so they might stare at the newcomers. Muzik leaned back in his chair and pointed to one at the farthest end.

  “Burton, bring your old friend Muzik here a bottle of whiskey and three glasses,” the giant said and the man at the end of the bar scrambled to get it, balancing everything in his hands at once as he crossed over to the table.

  Jarrett was surprised by the power their new friend had over the men in the tavern, over the entire town for that matter. Everyone jumped at his command and then skirted out of his way before he lost his temper. What was it about this giant, except his size, that command such respect and obedience?

  Burton stood beside Muzik as the huge man poured the booze into three cups and distributed them. Jarrett took a sip and then paused as his eyes came to rest on Burton over the rim of the glass. The man was staring open-mouthed at him, his hands hanging limply by his side.

  “It’s your eyes,” said Muzik absently, motioning toward Jarrett with his glass. “Rarick’s had a ban against all Nazarien for so long and this bounty has taken such a heavy toll on people of your race that few Humans have ever seen anyone with eyes the color of yours before.” He looked up at the staring face of Burton. “It makes them act stupid,” he said with disgust and struck the man in the stomach with his elbow. Burton gasped in pain and retreated to his seat at the bar.

  Kendrick finally settled into the seat beside Jarrett. He was frowning. “Jarrett isn’t Nazarien,” he said as if the very idea was abhorrent. “By his own admission, he’s Human, not Stravad.”

  Muzik regarded the Nazarien for a moment, then glanced at Jarrett. “Then explain the color of his eyes, eh?”

  Kendrick shook his head. “I can’t and I don’t think he can either, but he’s Terrian, not Nazarien.”

  “Same d
ifference,” said Muzik curtly, then he turned to Jarrett and his friendly face lifted into a smile. “So you’re Human, not Stravad, eh? Somehow I think the real truth’s been kept from you. No Human has eyes like that unless there’s been a Stravad sneaking around the bedroom window at night.” Muzik laughed and Jarrett smiled in return. Many people had questioned the same thing his entire life – it certainly wasn’t a new idea to him. He was also aware that his sharp features and dark complexion spoke of a strong Stravad blood that his brothers and sisters didn’t share.

  “Come on, Jarrett,” said Kendrick, staring at Muzik. “If this city is hostile toward Nazarien and Terrian alike, then we’d best move on immediately.” He rose to his feet, but Jarrett didn’t follow.

  His body was sore and his head continued to throb, although the booze had begun to dull it a bit. Truthfully, Jarrett didn’t think he’d make it to the door of the tavern without assistance, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay on his horse. Should he have been able to, at any rate, where would they go?

  They were far within the kingdom of Adishian now and if what Muzik said was right, every town they passed would be equally as dangerous. He knew they couldn’t turn back, but he didn’t know how they could go ahead. Right now Muzik was the only friend they had, unpredictable and volatile as he might be, and Jarrett didn’t relish the idea of leaving him.

  “Sit down, Kendrick,” he said tiredly and turned to the giant. “Muzik, we owe you our deepest appreciation, but I have to agree with my companion. I don’t feel safe in Cambia, but I’m not sure anywhere is safe out here.”

  “You are in a delicate position, my friend,” said Muzik, “but with me you’re safe, at least in Cambia. No one would dare to harm you as long as you remain with me and this will give you time to think through your next move.”

  Jarrett considered Muzik’s words. For some reason he trusted him. The man had saved their lives and had shown no other motives at any time since then. He could very easily have taken them prisoner by now. Jarrett shrugged. “It seems to be our best option at the moment. Thank you.”