by Guy Antibes
Benninese swords had a distinctive look, but this shop sold blades of all types. An old man with thinning hair sat on a stool, reading through a scroll of sticks that the Benninese used as books. Reading the Benninese characters vertically, the man slowly rolled the sticks in his left hand to the growing roll in his right. Trak wondered how many leagues of scrolls had passed through the man’s weathered hands.
The shopkeeper lifted his eyes as Trak averted his. Rare blue eyes in a sea of brown, Trak thought. It wouldn’t do to be noticed, but the shop held some fine used weapons. Trak lifted a thin Santasian sword from a wooden rack and held it in his hand. He swished the blade around, getting a feel for it in his hand.
He sighed as the balance did not meet his standards, too hilt-heavy. Trak continued to test out the blades on another rack. Balance meant more than design to him. The dark blue curtains that served as a door to the back parted as three men, all with the bearing of guards, left the shop without a word to the shopkeeper, who continued to read.
Trak walked to a rack of Bennin-style blades. A few of these looked new as he went through the swords. He picked one up that looked a bit more used than the others and swished it. This one had the balance Trak sought. He lifted it up towards the exceptionally high ceiling and let the blade fall naturally down and away. He assumed a simple practice form, and the blade seemed like an extension in his hand. He tried all he could to keep from smiling.
“How much?” Trak asked, assuming a lower, gruffer voice.
“Thirty-two cranes.” The man’s eyes narrowed and looked closer at Trak and then at the used sword.
“Twenty-five with a serviceable scabbard,” Trak countered. He took out his pouch and pretended to count the cranes in his purse. “Maybe, twenty-four.”
“Twenty eight, and I will throw in a knife from that rack,” the shopkeeper nodded towards a wall rack filled with knives.
Trak took a deeper breath than he needed and looked over the merchandise. He spotted a knife that nearly matched the sword in style and condition. He pulled it off the hooks that held it to the wall and looked it over. The blade carried the same maker’s mark as the sword and had certainly been used, but Trak could see that someone put a lot of care into the edge, and the balance matched that of the sword.
“Deal,” Trak said as he counted out the coins. The man brought out nondescript, but serviceable scabbards for both knife and sword. They didn’t match, but Trak didn’t care. He didn’t buy the weapons to show off. He strapped the sword to his waist and thrust the knife in the waistband of his pants, which required re-cinching with the weight of the knife.
“You chose wisely. Both blades are made of exceptional steel by a master craftsman and will serve you well.” The shopkeeper counted the coins, and then swept them off the counter and into a box filled with even more money.
Another man walked out of the curtain, and Trak had to quickly turn his head as Lenis and Paka walked in the door. He fidgeted with the sword keeping his back to them until they had gone. Trak pulled his hood down and bowed to the shopkeeper and left.
He quickly walked out of the square in a different direction from Mori’s house and found a deserted alley, where he teleported to his bedroom. Trak threw off his cloak and took his weapons downstairs. The steel could still stand some polish along with some finishing edge work. He pulled the sword out of its scabbard and admired the blade.
Mori walked into the room. “Jojo will join us for dinner.” She stopped and looked at Trak practicing with the sword. “Jojo said you knew how to handle a blade. Now, I believe him.”
“How much is a sword worth in Beniko?”
Mori walked up to examine Trak’s new weapon. “This is a very good sword. It’s worth at least twenty cranes.”
Trak turned red. “I paid twenty-eight for the sword, this knife and the scabbards. Did I get taken?”
“Ask Jojo,” Mori said with a disgruntled look on her face. “If he knows the maker, then you did well enough. If you are looking for your friends, they are out in the stables, as usual.” She turned to go but faced him once more. “When did you return from your jaunt out in the city? I didn’t hear you come in.”
Trak smiled. “I am practicing being stealthy. I guess I succeeded.”
“You certainly did,” she said, returning to the kitchen.
If Trak needed an appraisal, that was fine with him, but he really didn’t need Jojo to verify the quality of the sword. He went out to the stable to see how Sirul and Tembul progressed with the flyer and to look for any materials he could use to bring a bit more shine to the blades and more bite to the edges.
“Look what I bought,” Trak said.
Tembul and Sirul stopped their construction and walked over to Trak.
“Pretty plain, don’t you think?” Sirul said. “It’s used.”
Tembul smiled. “Sirul likes shiny things.” He took the sword in his hand and swung it. “A little heavy in the hand for me.” He took the blade and tried to wiggle the blade and the hilt. “Quality, I would suppose for a Bennin-style sword. Why do you think you need this?”
Trak looked around for unwanted listeners. “I think I found another way into the castle. Lenis used it coming and going.”
“Going where?” Tembul said.
“I followed Paka and him to a meeting with Jojo and Nashi. I couldn’t hear much of what they had to say, but they mentioned ’tricking the Toryans’, and I think that meant us. The place they exited into the square was a weapons shop.” Trak smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t enter and come out with nothing, could I? While I took my time looking for swords, men came and went. Lenis and Paka returned to the castle while I was in the shop, but I’m sure they didn’t notice me.”
“You think to spirit away the princess from there?”
Trak shook his head. “No, not at all, but I am going to explore. The more I know the castle, the better we prepared we will be to find the princess and leave.”
“Sirul and I are ready. We are making spare parts, now, to stay busy.”
“I think we will be busy in the truest sense very soon.”
~
Trak laid the sword down on the table in the sitting room, seating himself atop the cushion on the floor. He didn’t like being so low, remembering the most embarrassing moment of his life, struggling with the couch in Asem’s Amorim house during his last meeting with Valanna. Nothing would ever compare with the humiliation he felt that day. He wanted to stand up and pace the room while they waited for Jojo to arrive.
He bit his lower lip, going over in his mind how he would begin questioning his erstwhile partner at the prison camp. The door opened, and Trak struggled to his feet anyway. Jojo walked in with Nashi. Trak didn’t want Nashi’s presence, but he couldn’t really say anything.
“Come and sit. We have things to discuss.”
“With a sword?” Jojo said. He sat down gracefully on his cushion, something Trak couldn’t do, and picked up the sword.
“I bought it today.”
“You don’t need a sword.”
Trak forced a smile. “We’ve had this conversation before when we sparred in the mines.”
It was Jojo’s turn to smile. “We did, didn’t we?” He slid the blade out of the scabbard. “You have very good taste. How much did you pay?”
“Twenty-eight cranes. Mori thinks I might have overpaid. What do you think? I bought a knife that is a near-match.”
“Do you have it with you?”
Trak nodded and pulled the knife from his loose jacket, laying it on the table.
Jojo examined a maker’s mark pressed into the steel by the hilt. “This is an Omoti blade. He was a master swordmaker from the last century. You ended up with a fine deal. Benninese swordsmen don’t really like to buy used weapons. The good ones are kept in the family. A noble who died without heirs must have owned this. You’ve tested the balance?”
“It is very good, especially for me,” Trak said.
�
��I would think so,” Jojo said. “You did well to select this particular sword. The knife might even have been its mate. It’s an Omoti as well. I’m surprised Gomiko let this out of his shop.”
Trak felt his face heat up. “Ah, my surprise is not a surprise, then,” he said.
“That you found one of the clandestine entries into the castle? I am very impressed. What else have you found?” Jojo said.
“The plans that you gave us are not correct.”
It was Jojo’s face to redden, but he merely paused. “And how did you find that out?”
“I used the weapons shop entrance to sneak inside Beniko Castle and took a few informal measurements.”
Nashi’s eyes widened as Jojo’s narrowed. “Nashi?”
“I am sorry, my lord. The plans must have been drawn before recent renovations.” Jojo’s friend began to sweat.
“No,” Trak said. “I would have noticed if the stairways were new.”
“Bring me the plans, please.” Jojo grabbed Nashi’s arm just as the man tried to rise.
Tembul arose and ran up the stairs. No one said a word in his absence. He returned and spread the plans on the table. Trak’s notations were plain to see.
“Amazing that you weren’t caught. I can see that you’ve spent quite some time inside,” Jojo said.
Trak nodded, looking between Jojo and Nashi. He doubted that Nashi performed an act, while he squirmed.
Jojo calmly examined the map and asked to see the next floor down. “Hmmm, Trak has noted a staircase not on the plans that I have gone up and down countless times. Why are these plans different, Nashi?”
“There must be some misunderstanding, Lord Jomio.” He tried to bow, but Jojo wouldn’t let him.
“Who paid you, the Vashtans, or one of my enemies in the bureaucracy?”
“Is there any difference?” Mori said walking into the room with something clutched in her hand.
“Nashi?” Jojo said.
Nashi continued to squirm. “Lord Manoka! He sponsors the Toryan noble.”
“The one Trak saw us with today?”
Did the man know everything?
“Yes, yes. If he followed the plans, he would have been led into a trap when we sent them in.” Nashi broke away, but Sirul tackled him. Nashi looked up from the floor. “How did you really get in and out of the castle?” he said with a stupefied look on his face.
Jojo looked up at his cousin. “Mori?”
She knelt by Nashi and forced the contents of a vial that she carried into his mouth. Nashi thrashed, throwing off Sirul until his body went still.
Jojo pursed his lips. “My loyal secretary deserved that.” He sighed and leaned over the plans. “Did you master the art of teleportation? You must have.”
Trak nodded his head. Jojo had to know, and Trak knew better than to fight against a man like Jojo.” I did. It’s a matter of visualization, as you might surmise.”
“Can your friends teleport?”
Trak took a deep breath. He would have to tell some of the truth. “Sirul can’t, but Tembul can move things short distances. You might have strength enough to be taught.” He really classified Jojo’s abilities as equivalent to Tembul’s.
“Which we will start tomorrow. What is the visualization?”
“I thought of a sewer.”
Jojo laughed. “A sewer?”
“The sewer pipe protects the contents, so I imagined moving through a pipe. I tried to visualize a shell, but that just didn’t work. Sewer pipes work, I assure you.”
“I will find out tomorrow. Now I will be honest with you. Your friend, Lenis, is out to save the princess all by himself.”
“We had that figured out before we left Homika Port,” Tembul said.
“What you don’t know is that he has already met her.”
“So how does that fit in with the trick you will be playing on the Toryans?” Trak struggled to stand up.
“Ah, you heard Hokono interpret?”
“I did,” Trak said.
“Lenis knows that I have given you shelter, and if you are caught, you wouldn’t be released until long after he has left with the princess.”
Trak clamped his lips together. “Did he offer to pay you?”
“With information about the court.” Jojo leaned his head to look at Nashi. “Probably false as well. How good is your teleport spell?”
“As long as I have a good idea of where I need to go, it hasn’t let me down yet. How did you know I went into the weapons shop?”
“I have men watching the square. There aren’t too many men with Pestlan features in Beniko, and they know how to peer beneath the hoods.”
“I guess,” Trak said. “I thought I was careful.”
“Not careful enough,” Tembul said with a trace of reproof in his voice.
~~~
Chapter Twenty
~
THE VASHTAN’S EYES WERE LIKE LOOKING INTO DEAD POOLS. The woman smiled at Valanna, showing teeth more yellow than the Vashtan’s skin. “Your companion has fallen asleep.” She spoke Warish with a strange accent that made Valanna shiver.
“Valanna Almond, I am Derit of the Blue Swan clan,” the woman said, following Valanna’s eyes to the floor.
Valanna leaned over to see Kulara’s slumbering body at the Vashtan’s feet.
Valanna had no idea what a Blue Swan clan was. Her expression obviously reflected her thought.
“I am an enemy of the Yellow Foxes.”
Who could possibly be the Yellow Foxes? Was this woman a spy? Valanna wondered. “Are you allied with those who seek to overthrow King Harl and King Marom?”
Derit clapped silently and grinned. It seemed more like a leer to Valanna. “I am their enemy.”
Kulara began to stir at the Vashtan’s feet. The Vashtan rose from her seat. “I will contact you again on your journey. Please do not try to kill me when I do. I will wear blue and white clothes in the style of the Warishian desert tribes.”
The woman leaned over into a pose and disappeared. It might be useful to learn that, Valanna thought just before she got up from her seat and said the word ‘worry’ to help Kulara come to.
Kulara eventually blinked as Valanna helped her to the stool from which she dropped. “What happened?”
“A Vashtan named Derit just visited,” Valanna said. “If she is to be believed, she is an ally.”
“Ally?” Kulara shook her head and took a draught of the wine in front of her.
Valanna looked around the common room and saw that sleeping bodies on the floor were more common than she thought.
“She put you to sleep while I listened to the music with my eyes closed.”
“I do that too,” Kulara said. “Uh, listen with my eyes closed. Oh, my head.” She put her hand on her head while she took another sip of wine.
“Why don’t we go back to our room or tent or whatever it is? I’ll tell you every detail in the morning when your brain is more receptive.”
Kulara rubbed her forehead. “A good idea." She stood up and nearly collapsed.
Valanna helped her stagger to their tent where both of them lay down. Kulara started snoring almost immediately in a most unladylike way. Valanna smiled and wondered if Asem had ever let her know, since she’d heard Kulara snore often enough. As for Valanna, she took awhile before the shock of talking to a Vashtan woman gave way to slumber.
~
“Do you know anything about Vashtan clans?” Valanna said when her companion awoke.
Kulara put her hand to her head. “My head still hurts, and I remember nothing after we had something to eat. Did you say Vashtan?”
“She laid a sleep spell on you and took your place while I listened to the music with my eyes closed. Her name is Derit, and she’s of the Blue Swan clan.” Valanna shrugged, but then rubbed her arms. “Scary woman. She said she wasn’t an enemy, but her enemies, the Yellow Foxes, are our enemies. I suppose that makes us allies of a sort.”
“No threats?”
Valanna shook her head. “She will contact us. If you see a Vashtan wearing blue and white, it will be her. I wonder if we can trust her?”
“How did she leave?”
Valanna closed her eyes, trying to remember the woman’s pose. “She made a pose and disappeared. The patrons were too boisterous to notice, but I did. The pose was a leaning form.” Valanna tried to imitate it, but she didn’t recall hearing the power word. The entire encounter gave me chills.”
“Then we let her approach us. Even if she is an ally, the woman might not want to risk talking to us in such a public place.”
“I suppose so,” Valanna said. She realized that they didn’t have much of a choice in the matter until the woman showed up again. If she could teleport like Trak saw the Vashtans do in Santasia, she could keep pace with their flyer well enough.
Kulara left Valanna to wash-up, so after she had folded the bedding, Valanna sat down with her hands clasped around her legs, wondering what this Derit had in mind. Ever since the Santasian civil war, the Vashtans had been an evil race in her mind. She thought them as one united people, but Derit had challenged that perception. Were there evil and more evil Vashtans? Could there be a decent faction of Vashtans? Valanna realized that her impression had been too simplistic, and she might have to adjust her attitude after Derit met with them. She must have had some purpose to contact them.
How had they tracked her into the Arid Lands when she successfully escaped the net the Vashtans had laid throughout Pestle? She would demand Derit answer those questions.
Kulara returned, and soon the pair of them trudged into the hills surrounding the oasis towards their flyer. At least Valanna didn’t have to go through the dust bath this time. They reached their flyer, which looked undisturbed. Both of them expected Derit to show up, and Valanna couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed that the Vashtan woman didn’t appear.
They had stowed the camouflage cover away and put their bags in the front compartment, ready to take off, when Derit appeared on the flyer wearing a blue and white travel cloak. Her backpack appeared to be very full.