by B. K. Boes
Jabin pressed his lips together and pulled out two gold coins. He didn’t want to agitate the man any further. After lunch was better than not at all.
“Now, scooch!” he said. “I’m hungry!”
Jabin quickly stood, bowed his head, and thanked the man once more before leaving the rookery. He began the walk toward the west end of the docks, his stomach aching, as his confidence dwindled.
What if he doesn’t send the message? Or what if something goes wrong and the message never arrives?
He looked down at his right hand, where he always kept his ring.
How will we make it from Nomika back home? I have nothing left but my signet ring to sell, and my father would never forgive such dishonor.
On top of everything else, they still had no idea when the woman would be in danger. Though Jabin had heard of the Festival of Pardons, he had no idea when it started or when it ended. She could die tomorrow, before they even got there. Or in a span, after they’d been there several days.
If Oracle Lan makes it to Nomika before this woman falls to her death, perhaps everything will be fine. Mae can be involved in the rescue, and Oracle Lan can bring us home.
Jabin’s stomach felt as if he’d swallowed rocks. His gut told him this was all going to be a lot harder than that.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kaela
Hodda Nomadic Tribe
Ogche, A Lone Mountain
Desert of Eidolon, Erem
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
Arland and his father, Sion, guided the sandbeast from the driver’s seat of the sandsled toward Ogche Mountain. It wouldn’t take long to get there. The mountain loomed in the near distance, a rising pile of gray rock interrupting the desert’s smooth and sandy horizon. The marketplace was a small city of tents at the base of the mountain, mostly white with the occasional red where the people of the mountain sold their gems, glow orbs, and other rarities.
As they came closer, Kaela could make out guards in black at every cave entrance that dotted the mountainside, the occasional woman in red leather armor visible as well. The people of the Lone Mountains zealously guarded the insides of their mountains, never letting outsiders in. They loosely governed the marketplaces, taking a small percentage of the profit from goods sold under the mountain’s shadow.
Kaela sometimes wondered what it was like inside each mountain. Though they were separated by many days’ journeys, each one was said to be the same on the inside. Rumors and legends told of beautiful cities built out of the stone, lit by glow orbs, each surrounding an inner lake of the purest fresh water. Usually Kaela made up stories in her head about the people, the culture, the way things worked behind that veil of secrecy. Kaela found the Lone Mountain people fascinating, despite the fact that the tribes of Erem had a general dislike for them.
Even more so, Kaela wondered why her curse was so much easier to manage when her tribe spent any amount of time at any of the Lone Mountains. This made the Lone Mountains her favorite places to visit. While there, she could freely walk about crowds of people without the mental burden of maintaining her walls. Sava had told her she would understand one day, when she was older, that there was a story to be told that Kaela could not hear until she was ready. No matter the reason, the Lone Mountains were filled with intrigue for Kaela.
But today, her imagination was in a darker place. She didn’t have time to daydream about mysteries.
As the sandsled’s wide runners skidded across the sand with a gritty whooshing, Kaela hugged her middle and tried not to look at the other passengers. Roshleth Vyad was meditating, her husband was snoring, and Orlin was picking at the underside of his nails. He was sitting too close, his shoulder brushing hers whenever the sandsled jostled a certain way. She didn’t want to look at them, didn’t want them to see it in her eyes. Tomorrow, she would do the unthinkable. She would undermine the woman who was supposed to be her mentor. She would try to turn the Elders against their leader’s decision to trade with the Adikeans.
“You don’t look so good,” Orlin said from beside her, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Want some water?” He patted his waterskin, which was hooked to his leather waistband.
“No,” Kaela said, pointing to her own waterskin. “I have my own.” It was still had a few sips left from when she’d filled it at one of the market wells the day before. She savored the water from the mountains, as it seemed to stay cool and crisp no matter how long it was left.
Another mystery of the Lone Mountains…
“Well, you look like you just ate sandbeast dung,” Orlin said.
Kaela rolled her eyes. “Leave me be, Orlin.”
“What’s the matter? You scared of meeting an Adikean?” Orlin asked, an eyebrow raised.
Roshleth Vyad opened her eyes for a moment. “There’s nothing to be frightened of,” she said. “The Adikean representative is just an old man doing business. He’s no warrior, and his coin is as valuable as anyone else’s.” Roshleth Vyad closed her eyes again, the matter clearly settled in her mind, and continued her meditations.
As they approached the marketplace, the murmur of a thousand people doing a thousand different things turned into a cacophony of sounds. Buyers heckling, vendors calling out their wares, friends laughing, fathers shouting, babies crying… it was a never-ending, overwhelming bombardment very different from the quiet life of an Eremite nomad. And though there was so much noise, the air itself was blessedly quiet.
The sandsled slowed, and Sion guided it toward a road that was little more than a worn path in the packed sand. A grid of tents and roads stretched as far as the eye could see, curving around the mountain’s base in both directions. The mountain towered above it all. Kaela’s eye followed the line of the slope. A thin stair, treacherous by the looks of it, wound up the cliffs to a wide cavern entrance that overlooked the marketplace. Men in black leather armor guarded the cavern’s entrance.
As they navigated, Kaela watched as more guards in black came down the crowded road, led by a woman in red leather armor. They were of the mountain, a patrol that kept the marketplace safe and free of most crime. The commanders always fascinated Kaela. She’d glimpsed them at every marketplace, much like this one, leading a contingent of men in black. As far as Kaela knew, the people of the Lone Mountains were the only ones in all of Leyumin whose military was led by women. And if rumors were to be believed, each red-armored woman was fierce, cunning, and ruthless. It was said that even Adikean warriors steered clear of agitating them.
Sion pulled up on the reins and they stopped, their sandbeast stomping the ground a few times before standing still. “Arland, stay out here with the sandsled.” Sion jumped down from the driver’s seat and came around to the back of the sandsled. He helped Roshleth Vyad down first, and then Patriarch Gavril.
“Need help getting down, Kaela?” The broad-shouldered man held out his hand, and Kaela took it.
“Thank you,” she said as she hopped down.
Orlin refused the help and nearly toppled face first into the sandy dirt. But, he righted himself quickly enough. Kaela pretended as though she didn’t see. There was a time when she would have laughed and teased him as friends do, but she’d quickly found out Orlin didn’t appreciate that kind of friend. He liked to pretend as though he never made mistakes, and Kaela had never heard him laugh at himself.
Roshleth Vyad straightened her shoulders, smoothed her tunic, and readjusted her flowing robes. “All right, Kaela and Orlin, listen closely. You are about to witness a trade deal negotiation.” She eyed Kaela. “You are not to say a word. The Adikean will not take kindly to the ramblings of children. Listen well, for one day you two will be making the same sort of negotiations for the Hodda.”
Kaela nodded.
“Yes, Grandmother,” Orlin said. He straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes, which was something he did when he was taking something very seriously.
Kaela sighed inwardly as she followed Vyad and
Gavril across the road, weaving in and out of the meandering crowd. Sion walked beside them, alert. A sign hung from the entrance to a white canvas tent; it bore the silhouetted depiction of a therbak, wings outstretched. Two warriors stood guard on either side of the entrance. Each one was bare-chested, matted locks falling over their shoulders, with loose-fitting white trousers and leather sandals that crisscrossed up to below the knee, cinching the white fabric underneath. They each had short swords on one hip and two daggers of different lengths sheathed on the other. Their faces were stoic, their bodies unmoving.
A woman sat inside the tent behind a little table. She had a ledger of some sort open and was scribbling something in it. Roshleth Vyad ignored the guards and stepped toward the table. Each guard tensed and turned, hands on their short swords. Vyad paused, a look of surprise on her face, but the woman at the table held up a hand, and the warriors relaxed, if you could call it that, stepping back into place.
“You approach me with more confidence than you are due,” the woman said without looking up. Behind her, a section of the tent was curtained so no one could see behind it.
Kaela winced as Roshleth Vyad bristled.
“I am the Roshleth of the Hodda,” the Roshleth said, “and I’ve come to make a trade deal with the Adikean representative.”
The woman sighed and turned the pages in the ledger. She made a final mark and looked up. “My husband is finishing up with someone. It will be a moment.”
A man stepped out from behind the curtain, keeping his head low. He was short and lithe. A scar ran across his cheek, another along his neck. His right earlobe was missing, and as he tied off a money bag to his belt, Kaela noticed a little finger was missing as well. As he came near, Sion placed himself between the man and his fellow tribesmen.
He came up to the table. “Your husband and I have struck a deal,” he said.
The woman looked up at him. “What did he settle on this time? How much money?”
The strange man looked at Vyad and Gavril and scowled. Then he turned back to the woman. He held up three fingers.
“That much?” Her lips pressed thin. “I hope for that price we won’t have any… hiccups this time around?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I always get the job done.”
“Is a little finesse too much to ask?”
“You wanna do it?” he said, his voice a low growl. “You don’t seem the type to get her hands dirty.”
She sighed and waved him off. “We will be waiting for your report.”
As he left, he made sure not to make eye contact with anyone. Vyad and Gavril watched him go with eyes wide. Orlin had gone back to picking at his fingernails. Kaela shivered. That was not a tribesman making a trade deal.
The woman stood and held up a finger. “I’ll just be a moment,” she said as she walked to the curtain and slipped behind it.
“My dear,” Gavril whispered. “Are you certain this is the direction the Sustainer has blessed? That man…” He trailed off and looked over his shoulder.
“I’m certain,” Vyad said. “Our trade deal has nothing to do with that vile man. This is between us and the Adikeans.”
Gavril swallowed but said nothing more.
If I can change her mind now, I won’t have to betray her later. Kaela took a deep breath and gathered the courage.
“Roshleth Vyad?” Kaela’s voice squeaked. “I’m not sure—"
“Did I not say you are to remain silent?” the Roshleth said sharply.
Orlin elbowed Kaela’s side, and when she looked at him, he frowned and mouthed the words, “Not now.”
Kaela bit her lip. She was about to try again when the Adikean woman reappeared.
“My husband will see you now,” she said.
Roshleth Vyad took the lead. Sion walked beside her, with the Patriarch close behind. Orlin followed, and Kaela lagged behind, her spirits at an all-time low.
Behind the curtain, a man reclined on a settee with colorful pillows all around. He twirled a dagger in his hand as though it were a toy. His head was shaved clean. He was perhaps the same age as Kaela’s father.
“I haven’t seen a Roshleth and a Patriarch come to me in quite some time,” he said. “It seems I have intelligent leaders before me today.”
“We wish to negotiate a trade deal,” Roshleth Vyad said.
It has begun. Kaela felt sick to her stomach. There was no stopping it now. She would have to contradict Roshleth Vyad in front of everyone to stop their tribe from making a deal with the devil.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Moloch
The City of Pytar, Ergon
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
The fortress’ dining hall was long and thin. A balcony ran along the perimeter. There, archers stood above them with bows slung over their shoulders. Three huge brass chandeliers hung down the center of the ceiling over the long, thin table. Hundreds of crystals dangled in strings below the candlelit chandeliers, casting light in different colors around the room. Lampstands with huge glow orbs in their basins adorned each corner of the room.
Moloch arrived at the appointed hour for dinner, but he and Bram found the room empty, save the servants and guards. He sat in the silence while Bram stood guard against the wall directly behind his seat. The Fortress Guard peered down at them from the balcony and watched them from their posts along the walls on the ground floor.
Eventually, a young man walked in who Moloch hadn’t met yet. He was pale and thin but dressed in royal robes of brightly colored silks. He sat across the table from Moloch.
“Lord Moloch Sarrem?” the man asked.
“I am,” Moloch said.
“I am King Gonnoss’ son.” The man coughed a little into a handkerchief.
Moloch bowed his head. The king had only one son. “Ah. Prince Durand. I’m pleased to meet you, Your Majesty.”
The doors to the dining hall opened again, and another young man entered. “Ah, cousin,” he said to the prince. “I see you’re making friends with the man who is trying to steal your father’s power.”
“Come now, Morrwin. It’s a little more complicated than that.”
Moloch recognized the name at once. The son of King Gonnoss’ third brother, the man the Ergonians called Duke of the West. Morrwin was a baron and heir to his father’s title.
“Is it?” The baron laughed.
“It is,” Moloch answered, his tone even. Baron Morrwin’s presence was going to make things more difficult. The Duke of the West would theoretically benefit from the Western Pass if the ancient bridge wasn’t constantly trafficked by Adikeans. “And, I believe the arrangement I’m seeking would benefit everyone in the North.”
“Ha!” A deep, familiar voice boomed throughout the dining hall, and Moloch felt the blood drain from his face. He turned to see Junia’s father in the doorway. “I doubt that, Lord Sarrem. The word of a Sarrem doesn’t fly any farther than I could spit.”
Of course. The Duke of Pytar, the second eldest brother of the royal family, would be present for these discussions. I should have anticipated this.
But he hadn’t. And now his throat was dry, and his palms were beginning to sweat. He stood suddenly, without thinking. “Lord Nondrum,” he said.
The man hadn’t changed since Moloch last saw him. His beard was a little trimmer, and he wore linen and silk instead of leather armor, but his black eyes still held the same piercing quality. His voice was still hard, his presence just as intimidating. “Sit down, Lord Sarrem,” he said in near disgust as he sat beside Baron Morrwin.
Feeling a fool, Moloch sat and looked over his shoulder at Bram, who was as wide-eyed and as pale as Moloch felt. “I wasn’t aware my audience with the king would include so many… voices,” Moloch said.
“My father is wise,” Prince Durand said. “He wishes those he trusts be present to hear your plans. We will all advise him in a private session once you are gone.”
A young man in black robes stepped
into the room and raised his voice. “King Gonnoss greets you,” he said as he stepped to the side and bowed low.
Moloch stood with the rest and bowed as King Gonnoss entered, royal robes flowing as he walked, a stern look upon his face, and his jaw firmly set. He sat at the head of the table. Moloch was to his left. The prince was to his right, and the duke and the baron seated down the line. Servants began pouring through the doors with trays of food and pitchers of water and ambrosia.
“We will eat and talk of war strategies after. Understood?” King Gonnoss looked directly at Moloch.
“Yes, your highness. Understood.”
“Good.” The king began to eat, his son, brother, and nephew following suit. “Tell me of your journey,” the king said between bites. “Was it free of trouble?”
Moloch swallowed and refused to look at Lord Nondrum. “It was, thank you, Your Majesty. We had a guard of a dozen men, besides myself and Bram, my second-in-command.” He nodded toward Bram who stood stiffly against the wall, watching every move made by the servants, the guards, and even those seated at the table.
“Your second is a common man?” Baron Morrwin asked, a mocking tone underlying his words.
“Bram is far from common,” Moloch answered. “Many years ago, when he stepped away from the army for a while, he became my bodyguard. Saved my life. And when I joined the army, he came out of his retirement. He’s been by my side for a long time. No man is more loyal or more deserving of my trust.”
“I think it’s very forward of you,” Prince Durand said. He paused to cough in his napkin, a rattling cough that gave Moloch pause. “A common man can become extraordinary if given the opportunity.”
“Yes, I agree,” King Gonnoss said.
“Certainly not an association Lord Nibal Sarrem would readily admit to,” Lord Nondrum said. “My own second is a common man, actually.”
“I’m glad we have something in common,” Moloch said.