Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga)

by Robert Day

  The local market, a bare oval in the center of the village where the road passed straight through, was alive with the activities of the villagers as they shopped and bartered with the local shop owners, but others also busked for money. One young man played a flute, albeit poorly, while a young girl no older than twelve sang soft tunes, dressed like a waif in torn trousers and shirt. Even an old man juggled assorted implements, but it was obviously only meant for amusement as he incorporated bungling and drunkenness into the act, bringing hoots of laughter and clapping from his audience as he passed through the market.

  Not really knowing how to start, Javin addressed the gathered people who were drawn to their horses and invariably the ferocious looking Moorcat, who eyed the crowd skeptically, growling low in his throat on occasion, which scared many of the young ones.

  “If you wish to view two masters at work with the blade, step closer, but ware our furry guardian. He delights in devouring little children.” This last he spoke with a laugh as he directed it at a small group of kids who were creeping close to the Moorcat, obviously more curious than afraid of the big cat, but Javin’s words sent them darting away with cries and screams of mock terror, for they could see his words were meant in jest.

  The two tethered the horses and removed their shirts to begin, a few loud whisperings questioning their heritage amongst other things, while Val heard ‘Darishi’ and ‘Dak’marian’ more than once from the adults.

  The first ringing of steel quieted the people, though, as the two worked their way into the exercise at hand. Their daily routine had given each a great understanding of the other in terms of ability and actions, so it did not take long for them to work quickly up to pace without the danger of injury. A careful observer would notice that blades were usually turned aside through wristwork at the last moment when it looked as if the edge might strike skin, or thrusts not completely evaded were pulled so as not to cause injury, but these occurrences happened rarely, such was the skill of the two swordsmen. Gasps of astonishment and wonder drew others as surely as the clash of steel, and soon a fair sized crowd surrounded the two fighters, even the old juggler and the young flautist, though the young girl still sang in the shade of the building, oblivious to the fight and the fact none heard her.

  In the interests of entertainment, Valdieron began to try more daring moves, to which Javin responded in kind, realizing the sudden advantage he might have had was because of Val’s showmanship, and not any increased skill on his part. As a result, both swordsmen spun and leaped about, twin sabers slapping against longsword and rapier in a display that looked more acrobatic than martial. The crowd slowly began to clap along with the action, while the young flautist began to play a lively tune to correspond with the two combatants.

  Such a fast paced fight was taking its toll on the two, but both knew they needed to finish with a flurry to further impress the crowd, so there came a rapid exchange of cuts and thrusts as both stood their ground. To the crowd, it seemed they saw only half of the strokes that took place as a constant clattering of blades drowned out their clapping and the young flautist.

  Then it was over. Both stood with weapons lowered, a pace apart and breathing heavily from the exertion. A trail of blood mingled with sweat rolling down Val’s arm from a small gouge in his shoulder, while Javin nursed a bruised rib from a kick or pommel bash, but their smiles showed neither minded the pain. A hush had descended over the small crowd, and as Val turned, he saw the market had all but frozen. Then a clap came from among the watchers, sparking a rousing round of applause and cheers before coins began to rain down upon the two.

  Such attention was unfamiliar to Val, despite his recent presence at the Tournament, but thankfully the villagers did not remain for long, turning their attention to other business now the performance was ended. One man, however, lingered until the two had finished gathering up the coin they had been tossed, before addressing them.

  “An excellent performance, my young friends. You must be masters in your land, yes? No matter. I am Thavius, owner of the ‘Rusty Pot’, an Inn here, and I was wondering if you two would like to repeat your performance tonight for my patrons?”

  Valdieron hesitated in answering as he turned to Javin. It was mid afternoon, leaving them little time for further travel, but he felt as if something was drawing him south, and every moment of delay could be costly. He also knew they needed food and rest, as could be offered by the Inn, giving them the opportunity to travel faster the next day.

  “Five gold for the performance, plus food and lodging for the night.” Apparently, Javin had thought the same as he addressed the jovial innkeeper.

  Thavius pursed his lips momentarily, but then his smile returned as he accepted the offer. “Agreed!” He shook hands with Javin to seal the deal, then he bade them goodbye, giving them instructions as to how to find his Inn and telling them they would not have to perform until two hours past dusk when most patrons would be present.

  The performance went as smoothly as expected considering many of the patrons were drunk or as good as, and despite having to dodge empty tankards occasionally thrown at them, it gave them five gold pieces afterwards, plus a full stomach and a warm room for the night, for Thavius proved true to his word.

  From village to village the two travelled from then on, working for small crowds in Inns and hostels for small amounts of money. On a few occasions they were laughed out of an establishment, or threatened with worse by untrusting or racist Innkeepers. Word of their work passed quickly, however, and once or twice they were sought out by Innkeepers looking for new entertainment to boost their patronage, so it only took a little work on their behalf to find themselves employment and lodging for a night. They took up the name ‘The Bladesmen’, from an old tale Valdieron had been fond of as a child, and this helped them to be recognized also, for the name spread faster than their reputation.

  Altaire was a small city in central Zarn, several leagues south of the River Lorel, which flowed from the large Lake Lorellar to the north east. It was unlike the two other major cities Valdieron had seen, Ranil and Thorhus, in that it was aesthetically pleasing to look at, its slender and archaic structures settled atop a grassy plateau, with a man made lake to the east and a tended parkland to the south. It had no outer wall, probably due to the fact it was a centralized city, with little need for protection against an enemy that would have to cover a great many leagues through hostile territory to even reach it. Its ruler, High Lady Emaritus, had taken over rulership of the city at an early age with her father’s death, and had seen no need in reinforcing the city’s defenses.

  The streets of the city were paved or cobbled, giving the impression of wealth as the two riders passed through an arched entry, admitting them into the city. The arch was of marble and sandstone, worn with time but still remarkable in its size and beauty.

  The houses were capacious; often multi leveled and made of sandstone, marble and granite. The absence of wood was not surprising, considering trees of any great quantity or size were scarce. Metals such as silver and brass were used for ornamental railings or balustrades. Statues and statuettes were also prevalent, some atop ornate balusters or set into niches, though Valdieron could see no pattern to them, so he assumed they were merely ornamental.

  Their first meeting with the Bloodguard proved interesting. Where most of the people went about their afternoon activities with only a slight pause to study these newcomers and their ‘tamed’ Moorcat, the patrol of Bloodguard zeroed in on them as soon as they were spotted. Here were two outsiders, riding where horses were uncommon, armed and trailed by a very large Moorcat.

  Valdieron saw them first, drawn by their flashy uniforms of black with red stripes over the shoulders and down the legs, while each wore a flat red beret. Golden cuffs and chains added show to the outfits; though pommels of slender swords were a grim reminder these were fighting men.

  Their leader was a tall young man with several medals on his left breast and three slender gold
chains hanging from each lapel. A silver corded whistle hung from his neck, its purpose obvious. His demeanor seemed swarthy as he led his men through the dissipating crowd, and Valdieron sensed trouble brewing. He was either a young officer with an attitude trying to make a name for himself through toughness, or someone who was just arrogant and troublesome. Either way, it did not bode well for their encounter.

  “Who are you who come to our city armed thus, and with a dangerous creature? Know you not our laws?” Haughty could not begin to describe the young commander’s attitude. Valdieron bit back a remark as he drooped in a flourishing bow, wishing he had dismounted before addressing the young officer, who would no doubt see his height as offensive.

  “We are known as ‘The Bladesmen’, entertainers and acrobats both, who perform for the entertainment of the people. This creature is part of our performance, and thus we must plead ignorance of your laws, for as you can see we are strangers to this fair city.” His father had always said flattery was sometimes necessary. He noted the young officer gave a start at the mention of who they were, but he still viewed them with unconcealed contempt.

  “Ignorance is no excuse for breaking the laws!”

  “Then if you would be so kind as to tell us what law we have broken, perhaps we can pay the penalty and then be on our way.” His father had also said there was only so much sweet talking you could give to a bully before it came time for more direct means.

  The officer’s face darkened with rage at this and he moved to take Shakk’s reins, but pulled away as Shakk bared teeth, instead breaking out in a sneering smile.

  “By law, no wild animal is to be brought within the city without the permission of the High Lady herself, or her Minister for Animal Residency.”

  Remembering old Tarik’s description of the many types of ministers, Valdieron was barely able to restrain a chuckle at the absurd name.

  “Then we have not fractured your law, for as you can see, this animal is not wild.” For emphasis, Valdieron barked a commanding ‘sleep!’ to Kaz, who responded by dropping to his stomach and lowering his head to the ground, feigning sleep, for which Valdieron was grateful, as he had only recently begun teaching the young cat the trick.

  “Where are you staying?” asked the officer, obviously frustrated by the course the conversation had taken. Some of his men behind him wore guarded smiles, as if enjoying their commander’s embarrassment, and it was not hard to see the young officer was not well liked.

  “The Wagon Wheel,” lied Valdieron, having seen the run down Inn further back along the street.

  “But that lies back past the next street!”

  “Is it also against the law to walk the streets? We are visitors, and would like to see more of this magnificent city.”

  Realizing he was getting nowhere, nor did he have any reason to detain the two, the officer made to turn away, but stopped to fix both Valdieron and Javin with a cold stare. “Remember well that you are strangers. Such as you have been known to get into trouble in these dangerous streets, so I will be keeping my eye on you two.” At a flick of his hand, the platoon of men formed around the young officer as he started back down the street, and true to his word, he looked back occasionally until they were lost in the crowd of people.

  “Do you just attract violent people?” asked Javin with a smile, shaking his head at the departed officer.

  “Its a talent!” returned Valdieron with a shrug of the shoulders, similarly dismissing the incident, though in his mind he knew they were not through with this young officer. He may have been relatively naive concerning the ways of the world, but he knew hate when he saw it, and the young officer’s eyes and words had seethed with it.

  Chapter 27

  As its name implied, the ‘Lady’s Blessing’ was a sizeable and attractive dwelling, from its washed sandstone exterior decorated with darkwood window shutters and marble pillars, to the marble inlaid walls and floor of the great taproom and elegant bedrooms. Plush carpet of crimson and black ran through the corridors and stairways, while white tinted lanterns rested in shallow niches to give the interior a rich and comforting glow.

  “This doesn’t look like the sort of place where one might expect to see a show such as ours,” mused Javin, pushing into the plush taproom as a young groom behind them led the horses towards the stables, all the time eyeing the large Moorcat, eyes a mixture of fear and wonder at the creature despite Valdieron’s assurance the cat would not bite.

  “Thavius did not seem the type who would lead us astray,” returned Valdieron, though he too was unsure of himself seeing the large taproom. A long marble topped bar ran along the back wall, with kitchens opening beyond it to the rear of the great building. To the right of the entry rested many tables and stools, and across from them, taking up the remaining space in the room, was an open dance floor with a squat, square dais in its center.

  A few customers were already present, seated at the bar and talking in hushed tones, while a lone barman polished tankards with a clean white cloth beyond the great bar. At their approach, he draped this cloth over his shoulder and eyed them curiously.

  “We are known as the Bladesman, performers of some small renown who have been given the name of this Inn by Thavius of Embrus, who indicated our performance might appeal to its owner, Palarmaine.”

  “Wait here!” barked the barman, turning his large body and disappearing into one of the back rooms, from where the smells of the kitchen were almost overwhelming. After a short wait, he returned with a short man wearing a plain grey outfit.

  “Your performance will be seen tonight for ten gold pieces, take it or leave it. Arbash here will show you to a room where you can rest until sent for, and food will be provided free of charge.”

  “Your offer is acceptable,” stated Javin, replicating the barman’s gruff attitude, but he seemed to take no notice as he returned to his wiping, dismissing them with the gesture as the elderly servant moved off with a gesture for them to follow.

  Their room was as opulent as both had seen, let alone stayed in during their travels, with two large beds plus the luxury of a large copper bath, which was filled and steaming. Arbash left with a slight bow after showing them around the large chambers, treating them as if they were of some importance, despite their appearance.

  “Palarmaine must be looking at making a fair amount of money from our performance to be giving us a room like this,” mused Javin, disposing of his heavy saddlebags and pack.

  “True,” returned Valdieron, a little curious at their sudden fortune, “but I did not see many travelers in the streets who would need such a room as this. Obviously he makes his money on sales in the taproom, so he can afford to give us one of his better rooms.”

  “Well, we had better make sure we don’t mess up on this one. Surely his customers will consist of some people of influence, and who knows where word of our performance might spread. We might be welcomed like this in every town we pass.”

  “Remember, we don’t want to be too conspicuous, Javin. All it would take is for the wrong person to see or hear of us, to put us in great danger. I know little of these Ashar’an, but it stands to reason they have eyes and ears in even the remotest of places.”

  “They can kill me if they want, but not before I have a bath,” groaned Javin, stretching as he undressed and made for the bath, which resided in an alcove off the bedroom. Fresh towels were set on wooden benches, while soaps and other potions were available around the tub.

  Of much the same opinion, Valdieron did the same; the warm water driving away most of the aches and pains, though few of the concerns he felt. Through some means Valdieron did not dwell on, the water remained at the same warm temperature. After washing and drying himself, he changed into fresh clothing.

  “I think I’ll check out the quality of the ale here in Zarn,” smiled Javin, pulling on his boots after giving them a thorough wipe clean. “Coming?”

  “No, I think I’ll stay and catch up on some rest. Can you check on K
az while you’re down there, though? He won’t wander away, but he’ll probably get hungry soon. I’ll have to see Palarmaine about getting something for him to eat.”

  “There are plenty of horses there if he can’t wait,” Javin quipped with a smile as he slipped from the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet before he closed the door behind him.

  The first thing Valdieron did was wash his clothing and boots. The bath allowed him to soak his heavily dusted clothing plus scrub them with the sandy soaps present, and he placed them over the benches to drip dry.

  His pack he also gave a clean, enabling him to take a quick stock of his belongings. His battered old cookware he gave a scrub, for they had accumulated a fair amount of grime that rainwater or a dip in a stream could not remove. The six texts of Llewellyn’s on the ‘Wind Dancers’ he removed from the weatherproof leather bag he kept them in, checking each in case of a leak, for moisture would be disastrous to the old parchment and ink, but each was in the same condition they had been when he left Thorhus. Another thin tome accompanied them, this one a translation of the ancient Elvin text into the common tongue, for he needed to be able to read the Elvin text in the tomes to get the most from them. His learning came slow, for he had no teacher to show him the proper inflections and tones needed to speak the musical language, but he was able to work his way slowly through the tomes.

  Setting aside these tomes, he withdrew the remaining items in the pack. A length of thin but strong rope, his fletching kit with extra bowstring, tinderbox, oil and lantern, plus the small metal box that had originally contained the Dragon’s Tear he wore around his neck along with his purse. His quiver and bow were left with the saddles, under the ever-watchful eye of Kaz.

  Returning everything except the tomes, he stretched out on the soft bed and began to work on his study of the Elvin language. He knew parchment and ink would allow him to write down what he learnt, making the task a little easier, so he reminded himself to buy these when he had the opportunity, and instead worked on the pronunciation of the few words he already knew, along with the alphabet.