Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  Chapter Eleven

  Redheaded Terror

  “Brick streets, and laid in patterns at that. Real sidewalks! This is astounding!” Jeff looked around with delight. “I can’t believe this. Khorgan really is some kind of city!”

  Angry shouts from up ahead reminded him of his duties. The street was twice as wide as any in Rugen but still choked with traffic. Cynic liked a challenge and hurried through the gridlock with deft moves and not very discreet shoulder blocks. Ignoring the outraged curses that resulted, Jeff guided the caravan through an intersection and immediately turned his attention back to the city.

  Brick buildings fronting the street were as tall as three stories. He had seen glass windows in Rugen, but the large display windows they passed would have drawn no criticism in Seattle. Elaborate signs and colorful bunting sprouted and twisted over the doors of businesses along the street, drawing Jeff’s attention away from wrought-iron lamp standards. Sidewalk cafes, open-air markets, the rumble of traffic and crowd noise—energy filled the air.

  Checking to make sure the caravan was together, Jeff studied people on either side of the street. They were dressed in such a bewildering variety of clothing that he couldn’t pick out a dominant theme. Turbans and caftans, soldiers in a wild mix of doublets and pantaloons, portly men dressed in broadcloth suits—the variety seemed endless. While the variety in dress was less among women, the color of their attire ran the rainbow’s spectrum. Long hair and long dresses tending to the conservative seemed to be the trend.

  Jeff heard the jingle of horses coming up behind and had to give all his attention to maneuvering the caravan to the side of the street. Shortly, twenty or so dragoons passed at a quick trot. When the caravan was moving again, Jeff walked Cynic to the front of the column.

  “Belstan, are those troopers part of an army or do they report to the city counsel?”

  “Civil Guard answering to the council,” Belstan replied sourly, “and a surly lot by and large. Stay clear of them if at all possible, or have gold in your pocket to buy your way free.”

  The afternoon was well along before they exited the eastern gate and turned onto Marine Way. The lake side of the street was crowded with warehouses but Jeff noticed that only in passing. A forest of masts stretched along the waterfront.

  “Holy shit, there must be hundreds of ships!” The caravan moved between two warehouses, providing Jeff an unobstructed view of the lake. “Those aren’t waves, they’re swells. It must be a real monster.”

  Driven by a storm far to the east, large swells pounded the seawall with spray bursting over the top. Ships heaved and gyrated at their moorings, singing a dolorous refrain as they ground against piers. Belstan grinned at Jeff’s unbelieving expression.

  “Lake Ligura. Impressive, is it not?”

  Jeff could only nod agreement.

  Lamps were being lighted along the waterfront and the smell of cooking food spiced the air. The crowd was boisterous, largely on foot and filing into taverns along the street. Jeff cocked an ear to listen to music drifting from a nearby inn. It sounded shrill as it wailed through a minor key, but fit in perfectly with the sound of swells as they crashed into the seawall.

  It was dark when Belstan pointed to a brightly painted warehouse. “We have arrived.”

  Jeff let out a piercing whistle and waved his arm in a circle to bunch up the caravan. It had been a long deadly trip and everyone pitched in with a will to see the end of it. The animals were stripped clean in record time. Jeff gathered his crew around.

  “Good job, men. Let’s get these critters into the holding pen, then, by the gods, it’s time to eat.”

  Whistles and shouts of agreement sounded at once. Jeff found a switch and whacked the strange animals called kalks into motion. On the way by one of them tried to bite him, but he jerked his arm away. Jeff recognized the animal as the same one that had scored on him earlier in the day.

  Balling up a fist, he nailed the animal up alongside the head as he had been instructed and it jerked away with a venomous hiss. In passing, however, and at the critical moment, the kalk let out a thunderous fart. Jeff reeled back gasping for air.

  “Oh, pig shit! What a smell!”

  With the crew howling laughter, Jeff took a running skip and kicked the animal in the rump. It bounded into the holding pen with a bray that sounded quite self-satisfied.

  An hour or so later Belstan located Jeff in the stable forking fresh hay into Cynic’s manger.

  “Will you join us for evening meal? My partner is anxious to meet you.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Jeff ran an appraising eye over Rogelf while accepting a cup of coffee. The agent was big in every dimension, with huge arms and massively rounded shoulders. He also had a large belly, but it looked to be as much muscle as fat. About five ten, Rogelf was balding and had piercing hazel eyes. They clasped hands.

  “Welcome, Jeefry. May the gods spit on your enemies for saving my old friend’s goods, not to mention his carcass.”

  “It was a near thing, but we got through it.”

  Rogelf nodded emphatically. “Too near a thing, young man.” He waved Jeff toward a table crowded with food. Overhead, a brass lantern swayed in the cool breeze wafting through open windows facing the lake.

  Although his appetite was ferocious, Jeff forced himself to eat at a deliberate pace and with attention to manners. Shoveling food down like he did around campfires would never do. Throughout the meal, conversation flowed in staccato bursts between Rogelf and Belstan. Rogelf’s expression showed real concern when the topic entered the realm of politics.

  “The taxes, my friend, the taxes! Shortly after your departure west, the council seemed to go mad. I have lived in this city all my life, but have never been so hard pressed. Import duties, city taxes, export taxes, head taxes, food taxes. There is no end to them!”

  Belstan stopped chewing and stared at Rogelf. “Surely the council knows they will destroy their own house if businesses fail? Faced with these new taxes, I am certain that many will do just that.”

  With a massive shrug, Rogelf threw his hands wide. “How can they not be aware of the danger? Yet there seems to be more than simple greed at the heart of this. My agents report a sense of close-lipped fear among the counselors. But fear of what? Business is good. The piers are filled with ships from the east and south. Caravans pour into the city every day.” Rogelf shook his head in perplexity. “While tax revenues must be enormous, to what end? Destruction of the very thing that makes our city great? Its commerce?”

  Sighing hugely, Rogelf dished himself another slab of meat and set to work on it while Belstan cogitated. Jeff tried to sort probabilities, but with a full meal in his stomach couldn’t do much more than yawn. Rogelf noticed Jeff’s condition and had an employee show him to sleeping quarters inside the warehouse.

  Jeff was wide-awake shortly after dawn and looking for his boots. When he realized where he was, in Khorgan and not on the trail, it was too late to get back to sleep. Slipping quietly out of the warehouse, he fed Cynic and set out on foot northward along the shore.

  Fascinated by the gangs of stevedores, impressed by the huge freight wagons rumbling along wooden piers and enchanted by the haunting calls of sea birds, Jeff soon lost track of time. Drawn like a magnet to the fleet of ships heaving in the swell as they lay moored bow and stern, he wandered from pier to pier. Along the way he made the acquaintance of an old gaffer, long retired from the sea. Delighted with Jeff’s interest, the gaffer took him by the arm and hobbled off toward the nearest ship spinning tales as he went.

  Jeff eventually noticed how high the sun was, bought the old-timer a farewell beer and meandered toward Rogelf’s warehouse. Belstan was waiting out front anxiously peering up and down the street. He dragged Jeff inside as if he were an errant child.

  “Thank the gods! Where have you been, boy?” He waved an agitated finger under Jeff’s nose. “This waterfront is not a place to be taken lightly. Before you venture out a
gain, allow me to provide a guide else you be found floating face down in the lake.”

  Belstan eventually ran out of grisly examples and they sat down for the noon meal.

  “Rogelf seemed quite concerned last night. Is something amiss?”

  Lost in thought, Belstan silently chewed a particularly tough piece of meat until he got the better of it.

  “The council is aroused, even fearful,” he said in a puzzled tone of voice, “and that is cause for deep concern when you consider the size of the Civil Guard. When last I had cause to investigate, the city had two thousand well-trained soldiers under arms, and another five thousand militia quickly available.”

  “That does seem to be an adequate force considering the city is peaceful and we have heard nothing of an outside threat.”

  “Yet the council is aroused. It is extremely vexing and the tax situation nothing short of ruinous. Rogelf and I considered this for a good portion of last night but found no sensible explanation. While banditry is always of concern, other caravans arriving have not reported unusual activity on that score. Also, having just returned from the West I am aware of no threat from that quarter.” Belstan’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Arzak is never to be trusted, but Rogelf has heard nothing that would rouse suspicion.”

  “And yet, as you say, the council is aroused.”

  “To a degree Rogelf has never before witnessed, Jeffrey. This is the heart of our concerns: Rogelf’s agents are as good as any yet report only that those serving the council refuse to say anything even when offered large bribes.” Belstan muttered darkly, “When a substantial bribe will not loosen jaws in this city, something is seriously awry.”

  “Any reports of unusual emissaries at council meetings?”

  Beady eyes snapping with sudden interest, Belstan stared at Jeff. “Please explain yourself, young man.”

  Gazing thoughtfully at Belstan, Jeff considered options. “As you have already surmised, I am not simply a mercenary looking for work. Before I say more about what I believe is taking place, I want you to think about that and whether you want to have me in your employ.”

  As he had on prior occasion, Belstan strove to place Jeff’s origins. Also as in the past, he failed. Getting up, Belstan paced around the room for a period then re-seated himself and glowered at Jeff.

  “I have traded around this country for over thirty years. In that time I have never suffered such confusion as I now do. Suddenly you make an appearance, contrive to save everything I have labored to build, and then present this to me!”

  Belstan jumped to his feet and resumed pacing. Not inclined to displays of emotion, he gave the impression of someone who would dearly love to kick some furniture.

  Carefully selecting words Jeff followed Belstan’s erratic course around the room. “Yes, I have put you in a difficult position. You have been kind to me, Rogelf openly generous. What I have to do, what I have to ascertain beyond doubt, might well place you and Rogelf at considerable risk. I do not wish to see either of you involved in something that could well be your end.”

  Having calmed himself, Belstan sat down to reconsider everything he had observed since Jeff joined the caravan.

  “It is not every man from the North who employs such words as ascertain. Most of those I have met were barely able to lace their boots. I tell you, young Jeff, I have had a feeling about you from the day we met. Over the years I have learned that to disregard such feelings is perilous.

  “There are things afoot here that cause me concern beyond anything in memory. If I am going to listen to what you have to say, and I believe I am, then Rogelf must be present.”

  It was some time before Belstan returned with Rogelf in tow. The latter ushered them into an inner office and shut the door. Jeff and Rogelf found seats, Belstan remained standing.

  “Rogelf and I have worked together for a good share of our lives. We both know in our hearts that some large threat is brewing, something larger than either of us has ever encountered. We must discover its origin before it devours us! You have started something today, Jeffrey. Now we would hear the full tale.”

  Although having second thoughts, Jeff nodded. “Before I tell you about myself, let me share what I believe is happening in Khorgan. I am many things besides a warrior, and one of those things is a student of history and peoples. These studies lead me to conclude that Khorgan is being forced to pay tribute. Now I ask you, who is mighty enough to force such shame on this city?”

  Having finished what he had to say for the moment, Jeff let the men chew on it while he studied them. Several minutes passed before Rogelf sat up straight in outright alarm.

  “By the gods, Belstan. Salchesia. It has to be the Salcheks! No other province or city has the power.”

  Belstan slapped himself on the forehead and groaned. “How could I have not seen this? Yes, yes! It has to be the Salcheks!” He pointed an excited finger at Jeff. “The moment you uttered the word, tribute, everything became clear. Everything we have seen and heard shouts agreement. But the Salcheks! While it has been many years since they left Khorgan, stories of the terror they visited on this city spring to mind afresh. If this is true, it is terrible news.”

  The traders batted the tribute idea back and forth, serving to deepen their conviction that it was the best explanation for what was going on in Khorgan.

  “You have led us to this conclusion quite skillfully, Jeefrey. May I conclude that the Salchek Empire is not unknown to you?”

  “Your observation is astute, Rogelf. I believe it time to reveal my origins and intent.”

  “Please do, lest my mind come asunder with speculation!”

  Jeff smiled at Belstan’s relieved expression and proceeded to feed information to them in hunks small enough to swallow, starting with Rugen and the scrap of parchment Ethbar had shown him. After brief reflection he decided to say nothing about his ultimate origins. When he was finished they assaulted him with such pointed questions that he discarded that reservation.

  “You have referred to me as an outlander, and I am most certainly that. Allow me to give you a better idea of the land I spring from.”

  Pulling his shirt up, Jeff released the restraining strap and drew the Colt. Opening the cylinder, he extracted the cartridges and lay it on the table.

  “With this weapon I have the lives of six men in my hand.”

  Gazing at the gleaming thing of silver steel lying on the table, both men looked as if they expected it to strike out like a snake at any moment.

  “You are among the first people on this planet to view this weapon. Be assured, it is the least of such on my own.”

  They remained closeted for the rest of the day and much of the evening as well. Questions flew thick and fast, especially questions having to do with the word, planet. Mental fatigue took its toll, and the meeting adjourned near midnight. By mid-morning of the next day they were seated around the same table debating implications. Every so often, either Rogelf or Belstan would ask to see “the gun.”

  Jeff held nothing back. He needed quick access to accurate information that would take months to get on his own. He had probed both men deeply the previous day and concluded that neither of them had telepathic abilities. They were exactly what they appeared to be—sharp-minded traders. Even though he assessed them as savvy men, Jeff had to voice a major concern before the meeting broke up.

  “As we value our lives, no word of these deliberations must come to other ears. I believe it safe to say that we all understand the virulence of rumor.”

  Belstan snorted. “I would sooner talk about having made love to a finmaid while traveling through Borstel, my boy.”

  The urgency of the situation forced matters along at a furious clip. Rogelf now knew which questions to ask and fanned out agents in hopes of snaring information on just who was in town. Belstan spent considerable time poring over his collection of maps with Jeff usually hanging over his shoulder. Late one evening, he stabbed his finger onto a map.

 
“If they are coming, it will be through Lukash, Lugsburg or both.”

  “Lugsburg is situated close to the ocean,” Jeff observed, tracing his finger along the coast, “and accessible by this river. On the other hand, I suspect Lukash will be the first port of call if the Salchek are coming. From what I have heard, it seems likely the Arzak cooperated with the Salchek during the last invasion.”

  “Without doubt.” Rogelf entered and Belstan waved him over to the map before continuing. “While it has been many a year since I traveled to Arzak, I still remember it as a hateful land, one filled with treachery, deceit and the most vile forms of slavery.”

  “And Lukash is its capitol city.”

  Belstan nodded toward Jeff with pursed lips, “Yes, and by extension the center and distillation of all that is evil in that land. That is why I mentioned Lukash as a possible point of entry for an invasion. The ruling families in Arzak have coveted Chaldesia for many years and would make fitting accomplices to the Salchek.”

  “What is their appearance, Belstan? The Salchek, I mean.”

  “I was not yet born when they departed, and coming as we do from the South March my family was spared contact. I must admit to a certain curiosity. From what is rumored, one gains the impression of invincible giants.”

  “Not giants,” Rogelf said, “but terrible adversaries. What I know of the Salchek, that is what I feel to be more than rumor, places them as outlanders whose home lies across the sea to the south and east of Arzak. They are said to be short men of great endurance who prefer to fight from horseback or small carriages. When I was a child, my granny often told stories of their cruelty to make me behave. Sometimes she even succeeded, so terrible were the tales.”

  Chariots, I’ll bet, Jeff thought. Formidable opponents when facing poorly equipped foot soldiers and unskilled cavalry. Shit. Khorgan isn’t going to fight, which means Rugen will take the full brunt of the invasion! Jeff felt a burst of angry frustration.

  “If history is any guide, the council is likely to believe their gold will purchase safety. My studies inform me they will fail, but only after the Salchek have drained the city of every linta in it. Weakened by the loss of so much of its wealth, Khorgan will fall easy prey to invasion. Once established in this city and Lugsburg, the way north is open.”