by CA Morgan
“Willful child,” Raga grumped. He adjusted himself again in the saddle, and then spurred his mount to catch up with the vibrant green and black of Eris and horse as they raced as swift as the wind across the plateau’s gray rock.
Chapter 3
The Sultan’s Eris
Ulna Karahm, the lush garden city and capital of Reshan, lay as a gleaming pearl shining white against the warm, golden sand of a desert beach. Tall palms rose as green minarets from the tropical gardens enclosed within thick, city walls.
From their vantage point high on a sand dune, Eris and Raga looked over the walls into the unusually well-organized city. Seven natural springs supplied the inhabitants with the water to sustain life in this arid region of blowing, shifting sand. Growing around six of the springs were magnificent gardens full of fruit trees, exotic flowers, and broad-leafed plants that gave shade to the weary, as they came to fetch the clear, cool water.
The seventh spring was not visible and Eris knew with certainty that he would see it once he was inside the expansive palace, which was built in the very center of the city; an inconvenient location for making good on their escape should it come to that.
In the distance, several leagues to the north of the city, was a gray-brown cluster of tents. In the cool quiet of the morning, the travelers heard camels bellowing and goats bleating as the shepherd boys gathered the animals to take them to feed on patches of scrubby plants.
“In many ways, that is the real Reshan,” Raga said, pointing to the tent village.
“Then what need have they for a Sultan?” Eris asked.
“Aside from being a moderator between the nomadic tribes and merchants, or between the tribesmen themselves—truly, I’ve never seen a group of people who argue amongst themselves as much as they do—the Sultan is the head of a very large, well-disciplined army that patrols this vast desert,” Raga told him.
“What have they to trade except sand and goat cheese, much less guard with such an army?” Eris asked, gazing across the endless dunes.
“You surprise me. I was sure a rascal such as you would have heard the stories about Reshan.”
“I’m not fond of deserts, so I avoid them.”
“Dismount and follow me,” Raga said.
Eris followed Raga several paces from the barely discernible road they were following. The sorcerer held out his hand, palm down, and closed his eyes. Slowly, he turned in a circle. Eris laughed at the picture he made.
“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?”
“Shh, I’m listening.”
“Listening to what? The sand rolling beneath your feet?”
Raga waved him silent, took a step to his right, and had almost completed another circle, when he stopped and smiled.
“Found it,” he said. He knelt and dug into the warm sand using both hands as a scoop. “Ahh, you can’t hide from me. Here, hold out your hand.”
Promptly Eris did as he was asked and Raga dropped a shimmering red ruby, perfectly faceted, into his hand.
“Verin’s blood!” Eris swore. He held the gem up to allow sunlight to pass through it. “There’s not a flaw in it.”
“That, and many more like it, is the reason for the Sultan’s armies,” Raga said, dusting himself off. “Without some sort of control, this desert would become a place of utter chaos and endless war with people from every land searching for those gems.”
“This entire desert is filled with gems like this?” Eris asked, incredulously. He surveyed the seemingly endless dunes and a rocky outcropping that protruded upward in the distance. He bent his head to look at the stone. As he tilted his hand, the gem played with the sun creating flashes of red on the ground.
“They are here and there,” Raga answered.
“Where did they come from? And how can they be cut so perfectly right out of the ground?”
“The truth is buried somewhere in all the legends, and what that truth is, I have no idea. The nomads have been uncovering them for countless generations.”
“It must take years to find one.”
“Not usually that long. A few months at most.
“Pretty lucky then, I’d say.
“Luck is only a small part. No, you see each tribe has at least one diviner to help locate them,” Raga said.
“How do they do this?”
“Just as I did.”
“Then they are tribes of witches,” Eris assumed, a cold, hardness in his voice.
Raga smiled.
“This doesn’t have much to do with arcane ability. This gem, or any crystalline form for that matter, emits a vibration. The diviner is simply a person sensitive to these vibrations. A good diviner can sense gems in up to thirty spans of sand,” Raga told him and held out his hand.
Reluctantly, Eris handed him the stone. “A man could get rich here.”
“He would probably die first. Without the aid of a diviner they are near impossible to find. A man could dig all his life and miss by the measure of his hand,” Raga said and threw the gem far out into the sand.
“What did you do that for?” Eris demanded. “Our purses aren’t that fat.”
“Better to go hungry for a day than allow greed and desire to grab hold of you. Out here it’s a quick way to death’s black gate,” Raga said and remounted.
“That one wouldn’t have amounted to much,” Eris argued.
“Then it shouldn’t bother you to never see it again,” Raga said, and urged his mount down the dune’s slope.
“Damned fool,” Eris muttered, watching him ride away. You’ve never gone hungry, have you? The sorcerer could always command a loaf of bread to appear at his table, but a starving man would be hanged for stealing a crumb.
Catching up to Raga, Eris asked, “If the Sultan has a whole desert full of precious gems, then what use has he for your red stone?”
“The Sultan wants a legitimate son to succeed him. Any of his nomadic diviners could have told him that there is something different about my gem compared with those from the sands. I’m sure he takes it as an omen of good luck,” Raga answered.
“As soon as we pass through those gates yonder, his luck will have run out,” Eris said, confidently.
Raga remained silent and decided not to challenge Eris’ rare, good mood. The odds were still greatly against them, and as he had been chasing his gems for some time, he never allowed his hope to rise too freely. In silence, they rode the rest of the way to the city gates.
The exquisite perfume of countless flowers assailed their noses as they passed through the city’s high portal gates. As the hour was early, the city guards, who were barely awake themselves, let them pass unquestioned. Yet in spite of the early hour, the streets were already crowded with foreigners. Some of the national costumes Eris recognized, but many, those who were likely from the far reaches both east and west, he was unfamiliar with. Dozens of these loud strangers lead heavily veiled women through the streets and guarded them with jealous, greedy eyes. Like fatted animals at a fair, the men kept the women from being bumped or jostled so that their flesh would be clear, not bruised.
“I never thought it would be like this,” Raga said. He felt disgust as he witnessed the humiliation thrust upon the women.
“Obviously, you’ve never paid attention to what happens when the slave ships come to Rennas Baye.”
“I don’t think I want to either.”
“And don’t get any ideas about leading me on a golden chain.” Eris pointed through the crowd to a man leading three women by the golden chains attached to their equally gilded collars. “This whole business is humiliating enough as it is.”
“Even as Erisa, I’m sure it would take more than a golden chain to bind you,” Raga commented. “Let’s find a room and remove ourselves from this. Then I’ll go find out how I’m supposed to present you.”
Eris didn’t argue.
As they rode through the city, Raga explained to Eris the purpose of the mind-bond he was proposing as a way to keep them in
contact once separated, and the necessity of their remaining in as close proximity to each other as possible. For this reason, they located an inn just off of the palace’s broad, stonework plaza. The price for the convenience was exorbitant and came close to emptying Eris’ pouch—or at least one of them.
“We should have kept the ruby,” Eris grumbled, as he followed Raga up a flight of polished, wooden stairs. “You obviously don’t know what it’s like to live between one border dispute and another.”
“That may be, but I know for a fact that you’re not above a little nocturnal activity to amuse yourself,” Raga said, as he pushed open the door to their room.
Eris had never seen such a beautiful room in an inn and he had been in many. There were those few that he paid a gold piece a night for a certain amount of luxury or pleasure, and those in which he was almost afraid to sleep for fear the rats and vermin would eat him alive while he dreamed.
It was a large room with a floor of exotic, inlaid woods. There were two large, down-mattress beds, various kinds of lacquered tables, and velvet upholstered chairs and divans. On the dining table stood a crystal decanter full of red wine and a silver tray laden with fresh fruit from the local gardens. On the opposite side of the room a glass-paned door opened out onto a small balcony from which one could peer over the palace walls.
Eris stepped out onto the balcony and leaned against the wrought-iron railing. He studied the layout of the palace grounds and the streets surrounding it. He heard Raga step out behind him.
“If I can manage to find my way to those rear gardens, then I should have a good chance of escaping. The real problem I see is that they had to put this palace right in the center of town. Soldiers will appear from every rat hole along those streets leading to the northern gates if we’re forced to leave on the run,” Eris said.
“I have the uneasy feeling that will be the case. But then, that’s what I’m here for,” Raga said. He put a friendly hand on Eris’ shoulder, but Eris shied away from the touch. In spite of the warm sun upon his face, he felt a cold shiver ripple through him.
“I think I’ll go downstairs and see if I can find something to eat,” Eris said, stepping back into the dim light and coolness of the room.
“You don’t have to do that. How about a feast like we almost had in Rennas Bay?” Raga suggested, following him back inside.
“I knew my mind wasn’t playing tricks back at the Black Mare. I need to trust myself first around you,” Eris said angrily, as now he knew for sure that Raga, and magic, had been responsible for it. He slammed the door as he went out.
It was late afternoon, when Raga returned from his palace visit. He found Eris still in the tavern. He was leaning up against a wall with his legs stretched out on the bench on which he was sitting. A half a dozen cups, all drained to the bottom, sat on the table next to him. Another, he held in his hand and slowly sloshed the contents. He watched the comings and goings of the people in the inn with an aloof, cynical detachment.
“How was your lunch?” Raga asked, as he sat down on the bench opposite Eris.
“Passable. So, when do I prostitute myself before the leering eyes of the Sultan’s court?” Eris asked, sounding surprisingly indifferent.
Raga sighed. The amount of ale Eris had consumed had but taken the edge off of his intemperance. It was going to be a long night.
“We’ll go to the palace tomorrow toward late afternoon,” Raga answered. “Tonight, if you wouldn’t mind, I want you to change yourself so we can fit you with a costume. You'll be one of the last to be presented, so we need to devise something as exquisite as what you become.”
“So, then what do I do? Meet with the Sultan and exchange meaningless pleasantries with him? Flatter him with even more undeserved drivel?” Eris mocked, with a flutter of his fingers as he pretended a sarcastic bow
Charra-Tir be damned to the Seventh Hell, Raga thought suddenly looking into Eris’ darkly violet, challenging eyes. Someday you will pay for your tricks. Had he a choice in the matter, not even all the gems hidden in the sand would have been enough to coerce him into saying what he was about to say.
“It involves a little more than that,” Raga said uncomfortably. Why did the witch have to curse this man, who possessed so little patience and reminded him of a cold, winter wind? Or worse, a mountain panther lying in wait to pounce and tear the throat out of its unsuspecting prey. Why did the fates choose to throw them together into such an impossible situation? Raga felt Eris’ alcohol-tempered gaze on him and realized that he hadn’t spoken for several minutes.
“You are going to have to . . . how can I put this better . . .you have to dance for him.”
Eris smirked. He looked at Raga as though it was he who was drunk and jabbered nonsense. He made a snort of laughter, drank his half-full cup to the dregs, and would have ordered another had Raga not stopped him.
“I’m being serious with you,” Raga insisted. “All the Sultan is interested in is that the girl he chooses can dance, and that her face and body are beautiful. You already have two out of the three, but we need to find out if you can dance.”
“What do you think?” Eris asked as he reached out and grabbed another cup of ale from a serving girl’s platter as she hurried by to serve another patron. The girl turned angrily to face him, but he gave her a smile and a wink that was full of promise. Her cheeks colored and her anger vanished. She hurried back to the bar for a replacement and stood watching him attentively, but he had already forgotten her.
Raga put his head in his hands and rubbed his face.
“Will you cooperate just a little? It’s not just for me that we’re doing this. What harm can there be in doing a little dance?”
“I’ve never danced a step in my life. I see no reason to start now.”
“I’ve seen your footwork at swordplay. It’s not so very different,” Raga said. “With a little practice, perhaps a little spell—“
“No!” Eris objected and drank down the cup.
“Will you stop drinking? You’re drunk enough as it is.”
“I am not,” Eris flared. “I understand all too well what you’re saying to me and I don’t like a word of it.”
“I can’t change any of it. This is the way it has to be. You have no choice in the matter.”
Eris turned around to face the sorcerer. “I swear you’ll eat steel if you tell me one more time that I don’t have a choice in a course of action. If this woman I become is so breathtaking, as you claim, then all I have to do is show myself to the Sultan and he’ll choose me.”
Raga shook his head wearily.
"It won’t happen. There is not even one of his concubines who is not an excellent dancer. The man likes women who dance. I know you understand this."
Raga paused. Eris wasn’t convinced.
“You can't deny the effect that girl had on you in Rennas Baye. And, she wasn’t even that good,” Raga said.
“You’re not going to convince me by insulting me.” Eris recalled the golden-haired girl. She wasn’t that bad. In fact, in that brief moment, she was enchantingly beautiful with her veils floating magically up and down, and accompanied by the ethereal throb of the music.
It was the wrong recollection Eris realized too late. In his somewhat inebriated state he was lax and lost the strict control he normally maintained over his daydreams. He briefly allowed his mind to wander too far prompting the wrong emotions. There was no stopping the tingling that raced through every nerve in his body. Words of anger froze in him.
The sorcerer stared as Eris leapt from the bench, bolted up the stairs two at a time, and disappeared down the corridor.
Eris flung open the door to the room, slammed it shut and collapsed face-down on the bed as he entered the last stage of his metamorphosis.
His head swam and his stomach convulsed as his womanly form was ill-equipped to deal with the amount of alcohol he had consumed. It was all he could do to reach under the bed and pull out the white-enameled chamber pot bef
ore everything in his heaving stomach came rushing out. By the furies of the gods he was sick. The limbs of his newly formed body ached. Cold sweat seeped from every pore making his now over-sized clothing cling to his skin as if trying to suffocate him. Again, his stomach seized and burning ale flowed from his belly.
After what seemed like hours, but was only a matter of minutes, Raga entered the room quite out of breath. He found Eris hanging half-off the bed. The luxuriant black hair, which lay mostly on the floor, instantly told him the reason for Eris’ mad dash up the stairs. Raga saw the chamber pot’s white gleam and called for a serving maid to clean the room immediately.
Slowly, Eris pulled himself back onto the bed and lay on his back. Even with his eyes closed the room spun in circles. He felt his heartbeat pounding between his eyes, but the pain in his body was the worst. Never before had he felt such pain as a result of one too many cups of ale.
Raga lit the wax candles and hurried the maid in her duties.
When the girl had gone, Raga went to the bed and brushed the hair away from Eris’ face. The beautiful face was unnaturally pale and the long, dark lashes of his closed eyes looked somehow wrong against that deathly paleness.
“Raga,” Eris whispered, “I think I’m doing to die. I drank too much for this body to handle. The pain...is incredible. The change. It happened...too fast. Oh gods.”
He panted for breath, groaned, and turned to the wall grabbing his stomach. He coughed and gagged, but there was nothing left to come up. When the spasm was over, he rolled back feeling even worse than before, though that hardly seemed possible.
“Eris,” Raga said, gently, and took one of Erisa’s delicate, cold hands in his, “I can help you feel better. All you have to do is say the word.”
Eris wanted desperately to pull his hand away. Raga’s hand gently squeezed his and he felt comforting fingers stroking of his forearm.