by Licia Troisi
Sennar lost his grasp of the piece of dried meat he was preparing to eat. “Huh?”
Nihal lowered her eyes. “You heard me.”
For days it had been her only thought. She knew it was a wild and foolish idea, that hardly anything remained of the half-elves’ city, that it would make for an agonizing trip, but her need to go was almost crippling. The visions Thoolan had conjured of her massacred people and the voices of the spirits that had tormented her mind for so long had left a mark on her soul that she could not ignore. As they grew closer to crossing the border and out of her Land, Nihal was overcome by a kind of nostalgia and by the need to see something, anything at all, that brought back the memory of her people.
“No, I didn’t hear you right,” said Sennar. “At least I hope I didn’t hear you right.”
“I know it’s madness, but … I can feel it. I have to go there.”
“Just a few nights ago I asked if you thought it was a good idea for us to cut across the desert and you said yes. You almost killed yourself back in the Land of Water trying to rush us along. Now all of a sudden you want to linger in enemy territory?” Sennar’s tone was cutting.
“Fine, you’re right, I haven’t been very considerate of you these days,” she admitted, responding to the accusation hidden in his words. “And I know it might be dangerous, but …”
“I just don’t get it,” said Sennar, his anger subsiding. “What makes you want to take such a risk?”
“I want to understand where I came from, to find my roots.”
Sennar shook his head. “Now I understand you even less. You were raised by a human, you’ve spent your whole life among humans—why can’t you just think of yourself as one of us? You won’t find anything in Seferdi that you don’t already know. Only more suffering and death.”
Nihal stared at the ground. “Maybe you’re right, but I can’t just let this go. It’s not easy to explain. My roots are here; I can feel it. Who I am is tied to this land, who I could have been, who I will be. I want to see what remains of my people.”
“Why do you want to torture yourself?” Sennar asked, his voice pained.
“I have to go there. I’ll never be a human, and I’ll never be a half-elf, either, if I don’t see Seferdi, the White City, rise up in all its brilliance from out of the forest. Try and understand.”
“If that’s what you want, then.” Sennar gave in.
They headed west, and after two days’ travel, they were out of the desert. But as they emerged, they were met with a view that almost made them wish they were back in the arid wasteland: a vast, barren plain, dotted with black protrusions. Towers rose up out of the plain and were connected by scars of white roads and surrounded by clusters of disordered structures piled one atop the other. Not a tree in sight, only the plain’s blinding gray. The desert, for all its desolation, had at least offered safe passage. This place would be crawling with Fammin.
“Think it over,” Sennar said to Nihal at the edge of the plain. “If you want, there’s still time to change your mind. I’ll go and gather provisions from one of these … these cities, and you can wait for me in the desert. Then we’ll head south.”
Nihal pulled the hood of her cloak tight around her face. “The sooner we go in, the sooner we get out,” she declared, stepping onto the plain.
The last day in the desert, they had been forced to fast. They had but a few drops of water. Now they were hungry, and they wouldn’t be able to avoid the settlements for long. Luckily, during their first few hours of travel, they met with no Fammin. In the afternoon, however, they spotted a few silhouettes in the distance, and were shocked to discover that the approaching figures were humans.
The first man, armed and on horseback, didn’t honor them with so much as a glance. He trotted past, undisturbed. The second man was driving a cart carrying ten Fammin in chains. At the sight of them, Nihal gripped the handle of her sword and waited for the cart of loathsome beasts to fade from view. Only when they had disappeared completely from their view did Nihal give a sigh of relief and relax.
Toward evening, they came to one of the clusters of buildings that passed for a city. It was a fortified citadel, with squat buildings, houses, inns, and armories, all surrounded by a high wall. A massive tower, the citadel’s central nervous system, rose up out of the center of the cluster. Everything was built of dark stone—basalt, most likely, which lent a grim aspect to the city. A dense, rainy mist began to soak the dry ground, filling the air with a faint smell of rot.
“We have no choice,” said Sennar. “We have to go in.”
They circled the high city walls and found only one entrance, a gate guarded by two Fammin. Slipping through unnoticed was out of the question. They would have to pass through the gate.
“I’ll do the talking. You cover up and keep quiet,” Sennar ordered.
They made their way warily toward the gate. At the sound of their approach, one of the watchmen raised his lance.
“Who’s there?” he grunted.
“Weapons merchants,” Sennar answered.
“From where?”
Well then, his cover might work, after all.
“From the Land of Fire.”
“You don’t look like dwarves.”
Nihal brought her hand carefully to her sword, a cold sweat forming on her forehead.
“We aren’t, in fact. We are men from the Land of Fire. We’re in need of lodgings for the night.”
The Fammin eyed him with suspicion. “What’s that your companion’s carrying under his cloak?”
Before Nihal could react, Sennar pulled back her cloak and revealed her sword. “My own handiwork. Gorgeous, isn’t it? The finest black crystal in the Land of Rocks. A little taste of our quality for potential customers.”
The Fammin lowered his lance. “You may enter,” he said, opening the heavy gate.
Sennar hurried through and Nihal followed.
Just beyond the gate was a low, black wall, built so close to the surrounding city walls that it left only enough space for one man to pass through. Farther along, it opened out into a series of narrow alleys squeezed in tight among low walls.
Sennar took a few cautious steps before shoving Nihal down one of the narrow alleyways.
“What’s gotten into you?” she blurted.
She despised this place. The walls made her claustrophobic, and the rain was beginning to drive her mad. Even the barren desert was preferable to this eerie and Fammin-infested citadel.
“Quiet,” Sennar hushed her, raising a finger to his lips. He closed his eyes and began to recite a spell. When he opened his eyes again, he placed his hand on her forehead. Nihal felt a strange, warming sensation.
“What did you do to me?” she asked, terrified.
“It’s a spell Flogisto taught me in the Land of the Sun. A camouflage spell that allows you to take on any disguise. You now have the face of a handsome boy,” said Sennar with a grin.
Nihal ran her hands over her face and traced her unrecognizable features. In place of her soft skin, she felt a rough, wild beard. Her nose was larger, her forehead higher. Her hands went immediately to her ears. Round. The effect was unnerving.
“It will last the rest of the evening, but no longer. When we get to the inn, don’t say a word and don’t show your face. Just concentrate on eating. The camouflage spell is just an extra precaution—it’s best we keep to ourselves.”
Sennar threw his cloak back over his shoulders and began walking.
They wandered up and down the alleyways running between the buildings for a long while. It was an impossible maze of narrow lanes and backstreets that intersected at the oddest angles. It was almost impossible to find their bearings, and they soon realized they were lost.
“I don’t know where we are anymore,” Sennar admitted.
Nihal kept silent and forced he
rself to repress the irritation and loathing she felt. She walked with her head bowed, doing her best to ignore her surroundings. Suddenly, she heard a dull sound and halted, her hand on her sword.
“What is it?” Sennar asked.
Nihal looked around, but saw nothing. It took her a minute to realize that the noise was coming from within the buildings. She pricked her ears and heard what sounded like several bodies, jostling around in a small space, labored breathing, grunting. A painful sensation crossed through her mind, the air caught in her lungs, and an anguish of empathy for the prisoners gripped her.
They wandered for nearly an hour, soaked to the bone by the sluggish but relentless rain. They were about to give up when they spied a figure approaching. Nihal stopped short.
“Who’s there?” asked the shadow, by now just a few steps away. The voice did not sound menacing; if anything, it was jovial.
Sennar took charge of the situation. “Merchants. We’re trying to find an inn for the night.”
The shadowy figure stepped closer. “If it’s an inn you’re looking for, how in the devil did you end up around here? There are no inns here in the barracks.”
Now that he was closer, they could distinguish the stranger’s features. The man was draped in a hefty, red cloak. His hand held a lance. He must be a guard.
“It’s our first time here, and we don’t know the lay of the land,” Sennar replied, his tone already less confident.
The man looked them up and down, pausing for a moment to examine Nihal. Then he shrugged to shake off the rain. “It’s obvious you’re newcomers. Here there’s nothing but cells for the Fammin. If you want to find an inn, you’ll have to go up into the city, though it’s a bit of a climb. Just keep going toward that incline; you can’t miss it.”
Sennar thanked him, took Nihal by the arm, and ambled off in the direction the man had indicated.
Nihal was shaken. The sensations she had perceived had come, then, from Fammin. It didn’t seem possible. This wasn’t just anger; she had felt the creatures’ feelings of abasement and suffering over something ineluctable.
They had to walk a great distance before the cells gave way to a citadel clinging to the hillside. The houses, humble and identical, crouched in the shadow of a small fortress that was probably the command center.
Before long, they came across what appeared to be a tavern. From within, they could hear whistling and shouting. Nihal and Sennar entered.
The pungent smell of beer assaulted them the moment they stuck their noses through the door, along with a cacophony of howling and coarse laughter. The tavern was tiny, clouded in thick smoke from too many pipes, and overflowing with soldiers huddled around the tables.
Nihal would have liked to run out, but she held back. After all, she was the one who’d gotten them into this situation. Sennar headed straight for the man he took to be the innkeeper. The clatter of voices was so deafening, Nihal couldn’t make out a word of their conversation. She followed Sennar’s lead.
The sorcerer led her to an isolated corner table. Nihal took the seat that struck her as most sheltered. Sennar sat in the chair beside her.
“The rooms are above the bar,” said Sennar. “Let’s eat. Then we can go right upstairs. We’ll leave at dawn. We’ll pull back the curtains so we’re sure to wake.”
A server carried over a thin broth, just the sort of slop you’d serve to a bunch of mercenary soldiers. Mysterious filaments floated on the surface of the soup. To top it all off, they were given two ample mugs of beer and a hunk of rye bread.
Chaos and good cheer reigned in the tavern. At one table, group of soldiers did nothing but toast and laugh as they hoisted foaming mugs in the air. Apparently, they were celebrating something.
Nihal was repulsed by the whole lot of them. Traitors, that was what they were: a filthy bunch of traitors huddled together in a shady tavern. She wished she were on the battlefield. But she was in enemy territory, and she had to make the best of it. She drank her soup as quickly as possible.
Just then, one of the soldiers rose to his feet, mug in hand. “Here, here! Listen up,” he slurred. “Anyone who doesn’t celebrate with us tonight be damned! Including you two over there, you two in the corner!” he said in the direction of Nihal and Sennar.
“Don’t let me do anything stupid,” Nihal whispered.
Sennar took her at her word and surreptitiously rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Tonight is a night for celebrating! Our troops have conquered two more cities in the Land of Water. It won’t be long before the entire land is ours! To the Tyrant! May he soon rule the entire Overworld!”
Everyone gave a shout and raised their glasses. Not even Sennar could refrain, and warily raised his own. Nihal, meanwhile, went on slurping her soup.
“What’s your problem?” came a voice. “What’s there to be so down about?”
When Nihal lifted her gaze, she found herself face-to-face with a ruddy soldier. He stank of alcohol and his skin was as sun-worn as a farmer’s. His lips curled in a mocking smile. Nihal wanted to slap the stupid grin right off his face. She tucked her head back under her hood and turned away.
“My friend here’s not really a talker,” Sennar broke in quickly.
“I can see that for myself,” the man spluttered, the beer sloshing in his pitcher. Some of it spilled onto the floor. He pulled up a chair and sat next to them. Without paying the slightest attention to Sennar’s uneasy gaze, he once again pressed his face up against Nihal’s. “So, my friend? What’s eating you?”
“He’s mute,” Sennar answered. “And deaf,” he added.
Nihal went on slurping.
“What a shame,” the man muttered. “Such a grand celebration and he can’t even enjoy it.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. Rather than walk away, the man offered his hand to Sennar. “Avaler, commander of the troops stationed in Tanner, at the border with the Land of the Sun.”
Nihal’s heart skipped a beat. She’d heard the name of that village before. It was near Eleusi’s home.
“Varen, of the Land of Fire,” Sennar intoned, not bothering to shake the man’s hand. “Arms merchant. And this here is Livon, my apprentice.”
“Well, well! You’re young to have an apprentice.”
“In truth, this is my first time here selling my merchandise. Until last year, I was working for a dwarf.”
Beneath the table, Sennar stretched a hand toward Nihal’s. She grasped it and felt how cold it was. She looked up and saw sweat beading on his forehead.
“They say the dwarves are the finest armorers,” the man said.
“Indeed, I had one hell of a teacher.” Sennar tightened his grip around Nihal’s hand.
“You’re both very fortunate. These days the war’s really plowing ahead. Of course, Dola was a great loss, but at the end of the day, we have plenty of top-notch warriors and things are back on track.”
Sennar turned toward his plate and resumed eating.
“Where are you headed?” Avaler inquired.
“To visit my teacher’s old client. I’ve been told he lives near the ruins of Seferdi, but I’m not quite sure which road to take.”
“There are no cities on the way to Seferdi,” the commander replied, a hint of grim suspicion in his voice.
Nihal held her breath. This time, Sennar had dared too much.
“Ah, of course! You must mean the base in Rothaur,” Avaler exclaimed after a moment.
“That’s the one. You took the words right out of my mouth,” Sennar warbled.
“I hadn’t thought of Rothaur. It’s not exactly close to Seferdi. It’s the last fortress before you hit the swamps. It’s easy to get there. From here, just head west. When you reach Messar, head south for a couple of miles. The road is well kept and there are plenty of villages. At a healthy pace, it shouldn’t take you
more than four days.”
Plenty of villages … Just what we need, more company.
The soldier went on babbling, unruffled. “My father was there for the sack of Seferdi.”
Nihal shuddered and Sennar squeezed her hand.
“Really?” the sorcerer asked in a neutral tone, returning to his food.
“You bet! My father was one of the first to join the Tyrant’s ranks. He saw it all clearly from the get-go. My old man.”
Nihal let her spoon fall with a clash into her empty bowl and Sennar made to stand.
“Where are you going?” Avaler asked. “The night is young. We have to celebrate.” He forced Sennar back into his seat and refilled their glasses with beer from his own pitcher. “This round’s on me. In honor of my old man.” He guzzled down his own glass and resumed speaking. “My father loved to tell me the story of Seferdi’s destruction. It was the first time Fammin took the battlefield, those rascals. Back then, though, there weren’t so many of them, and besides, they’re really just dumb beasts. Without someone telling them what to do, they’re useless. My father wasn’t the sort to mess around with. When I was little, he used to tell me about how white and grand the city was. They went in at night. Half of them went after the half-elves. The other half sacked the royal palace. They slaughtered half the city’s population in a single night. The king was the first one they killed.”
He poured more beer into his tankard and drank. “Ugly-looking things, the half-elves. And full of themselves, too. My father couldn’t stand them. Me neither, obviously. Before that crook Nammen came around, my people in the Land of Night were on the verge of winning the Two Hundred Years War. And besides, they were all a bunch of damned wizards, always reading other people’s thoughts and performing all kinds of strange rituals against the gods. They got what they deserved.”
Nihal shot to her feet and Sennar followed.
Avaler stood, too, and placed himself directly in front of Nihal, blocking her way. “Well I’ll be damned! I told you it was too soon to leave!”
Sennar stepped between them. “Let it go. He can’t hear you. And actually, he’s right. It’s getting late, and we’ve been traveling all day. Believe me, it was a real pleasure getting to know you, but we really have to go. I’m falling over with exhaustion.” Sennar proceeded to fake an epic yawn, nearly dislocating his jaw in the process.