Empire of the Saviours (Chronicles of/Cosmic Warlord 1)

by A J Dalton

  ‘… and his wife made him sleep in the dog’s kennel every day after that for the rest of his life,’ Jacob finished.

  Aspin laughed loudly. He must have heard a tale about everyone in Godsend by now, yet the trader showed no signs of running out. ‘Tell me something about Saviours’ Paradise then. I’ve only been there once before, and that was when I was younger.’

  Jacob’s busy eyebrows beetled up the expanse of his forehead. ‘Indeed? Well, I heard some people spend their whole lives without stepping foot beyond the walls of their own town. Why, old Yulia in Godsend reckons she’s not had cause to venture beyond her own veranda in the last ten years, what with a strapping son like—’

  ‘What about Saviours’ Paradise though?’

  ‘What? Oh yes, Saviours’ Paradise. Well, see, the trees are now giving way to open fields. All the land as far as the eye can see belongs to the town. It’s a large place, bigger than Godsend and Heroes’ Brook combined, by my reckoning, prosperous too. But for all its wealth, the people are renowned for being very particular with their coin, if you take my meaning. I’m not one to speak ill of a neighbour, mind, but there’s some I’ve heard describe them as mean and miserly. Not sure I’d say as much myself, but they certainly drive a hard bargain when it comes to trade – I guess that’s how they’ve become so rich, eh? They like to dicker plenty, see, so if you want a good price for your skins, young Aspin, be prepared to wrangle till sundown or even the next day, if you have the time. There’s some that will leave you dangling till the end of the market so that you’ll take whatever price is offered in desperation.’

  Jacob finally took a breath then continued. ‘The problem is that Saviours’ Paradise has so many people coming to it, their traders can afford to walk away from a deal if they don’t like a particular price, and can buy from somebody else instead. Worse, the traders of Saviours’ Paradise are well organised. They have a Chief Trader, see, called John Largeson, and he’s large by name and large by nature. You can’t miss his girth. If Chief Trader John lets it be known none of the traders in Saviours’ Paradise is to pay beyond a particular price for your skins, say, then no one will pay beyond that price. So stay on his good side if you should run into him. You may need to give him a free sample, if you take my meaning. Then there’s the issue of the traders from other towns having to buy a permit if they’re to set out a stall and start selling in the town’s marketplace. Eight silvers the permit costs, can you believe, though the permit is good for a year. So traders from other towns have to charge more for their goods to cover the cost of the permit, which means they’re usually more expensive than traders from Saviours’ Paradise, see?’

  ‘But I don’t have eight silvers,’ Aspin objected.

  ‘Hmm. Well, you can just walk around carrying your wares and someone will come up and whisper a price to you. If it’s to your liking you might then follow them to a quiet place to make an exchange, but there are risks with that. Sometimes, you’ll find that someone has the local guard standing by to have you arrested for trading without a permit. Your goods will of course be confiscated and you’ll never see them again – that’s the best that will happen, if they don’t decide to make a bloody example of you, see? Otherwise, you can try selling direct to traders from Saviours’ Paradise outside the walls, but you won’t get much of a price there, and there are plenty of guards around to ensure traders from other towns aren’t all doing deals with each other and all but setting up a rival market. Worst comes to the worst, young Aspin, I’ll let you sell your wares off my stall once I’ve set it up. I’ll only take a copper a skin off you for the privilege – it’s the least I can do for the good company you’ve shared with me on our journey here.’

  Aspin smiled. He didn’t need to be a soul-reader to know this man: Jacob was largely honest but still a trader at heart. The offer was a fair one. Jacob would be as good as his word and Aspin understood enough to know he needed to secure some of the coin of this Empire if he was ever going to survive in it. ‘Thank you, good man Jacob. I will accept your offer if I may.’

  ‘Of course, young Aspin. Here, let’s shake on it. All well and good. I will need to stop outside the walls for a while, to renew certain acquaintances, find out any news about traders in Saviours’ Paradise and so forth. You can wait on me if you like or look around the town and find my stall later.’

  Aspin knew that once Jacob got gossiping with the other traders he might be more than just a while. ‘I’ll take the chance to look around the town if you don’t mind, get a sense of the people and their wealth, and so forth.’

  Jacob nodded approvingly. ‘Smart thing to do. Why, I remember—’

  ‘Just one more thing, good man Jacob, while we’re on the topic of Saviours’ Paradise. Are the people particularly … religious? Do they quickly bend the knee to their betters?’

  For once Jacob struggled for words. ‘Well, I … That is … Yes, of course! I dare say they’re as faithful to the Saviours as any other townsfolk. I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression about them with my talk of their appetites when it comes to trade. The traders of Saviours’ Paradise greatly benefit all the communities! Why, I happen to know that Chief Trader John is an extremely generous benefactor of Minister Baxal and always pays more than the necessary tithe at the temple. Don’t dare speculate otherwise, young Aspin, for we would not want to cause the traders of Saviours’ Paradise unnecessary trouble with the holy Saint, now would we?’ Then Jacob gasped and looked queasy.

  ‘Does something ail you, good man Jacob?’

  In a faint voice the trader replied, ‘The holy Saint always knows. He will have heard us. O Saviours, forgive our jealous and impure thoughts! Young Aspin, join me in a prayer of repentance.’

  Aspin murmured nonsense to play along. It appeared that the lowlanders referred to the others as the Saviours, and prayed to them. It was clear that Jacob believed the Saviours had the sorts of powers gods would have, but how could that be? The others were normal beings, or so his people had always thought. Yet how could normal beings have toppled the old gods? How could a man defeat his own god? It was preposterous, wasn’t it? Why would a man even want to defeat his own god?

  He scratched his head. Perhaps a man would want to ascend to the place of the god, as the Saviours had done. Perhaps a man would simply want to be free of the god. Both reasons made sense. Now he thought on it, he was not sure just why he would want to find and help restore the old gods anyway. Wasn’t he simply being manipulated by Torpeth? Why would he actually want to raise a new authority over himself? Besides, who was to say the Saviours weren’t actually an improvement on the old gods? From all that Jacob had told him, the lowlanders were happy in their Empire, prosperous and relatively free to live their own lives. Could it be that Aspin’s people might actually be better off in the Empire?

  He sighed, remembering something of his revelation from the sacred grove of yews. It always came back to the Geas. The old gods had been protectors of the Geas, the life force of the world. In replacing those gods and creating an Empire in which they ruled over the majority of the people in this world, the Saviours were close to having the Geas at their command. If it were not for the likes of Aspin’s own people eluding them, the rule of the Saviours would be all but absolute. Then it depended upon the intentions of the Saviours towards the Geas. If their intentions were entirely selfish, then there would be no will or meaning except as prescribed by the Saviours. There would be no freedom or escape, ever! Of course, if they were well disposed towards the Geas, everyone would lead fulfilled lives and live happily ever after.

  Happily ever after? Aspin couldn’t imagine what that would involve. Life never worked like that, because there were always jealous and selfish people like Braggar, whose version of happily ever after tended to be at the expense of someone like Aspin. More than that, it was clear that Jacob was scared whenever he mentioned the Saint. Apparently, the People of the Empire had something to fear from their Saviours.

  �
��Don’t worry, good man Jacob. If the holy Saint always knows, he will know that we allowed speculation to get the better of us but were quick to repent once we realised our fault. Surely the holy Saint is understanding and forgiving of our imperfection.’

  ‘Err … yes, of course he is! That’s right, the holy one will know we meant no harm. He is … f-f-forgiving. Yes, he is forgiving. Even so, we should be sure to pray long and hard tonight.’

  ‘Does the Saint answer such prayers?’

  Jacob’s jolly smile and relaxed attitude were now entirely gone. He looked at Aspin in horror. ‘Why would you ask that, young Aspin?’ he whispered. ‘Are you seeking to bring divine retribution down on our heads?’

  ‘I was just—’

  ‘No, young Aspin, not another word!’ Jacob interrupted, bringing Tilly and Floss to a sharp stop. ‘I do not know what Minister Stixis tolerates in Heroes’ Brook, but where I come from it does not do well to question the holy work of the representative of the blessed Saviours. Their wisdom is infinite compared to our own and far beyond our simple understanding. Look, we are not far from the town now. I suggest you step down here and go the rest of the way on your own. I have enjoyed your company, but I now have other business to which I must attend. I wish you luck in the market and good day, young Aspin of Heroes’ Brook.’

  So he had found a topic that could silence Jacob the trader. A mixed blessing perhaps. Aspin could foresee that Jacob would say nothing of their conversation to anyone else but that there was also nothing Aspin could now say by way of apology or to rescue the situation. Resolving to be more careful the next time he ventured to talk to a lowlander about the Saviours, Aspin reached back for his weapon and pack and climbed down from the wagon. He waved as Jacob moved off, but the trader did not look back or otherwise acknowledge him.

  The path here – which Jacob had referred to as a road – was smooth and even, so Aspin set himself a good pace, although he made sure not to go so quickly that he caught back up to Jacob’s wagon. The sky was a flat greyish silver and the wind constantly rose and fell, but the weather was pretty much dry and he did not smell any rain or snow coming either. For the time of year, this would pass for very good weather in the mountains. Plus, anyone going any sort of distance in the mountains would invariably find themselves out of breath as they ascended or holding their breath as they picked their way downwards. All in all, then, the lowlands were easy and comfortable, and Jacob’s tales had certainly painted a picture of a similarly soft and self-indulgent people. No wonder the others had taken these lands and its people with relative ease. He must not let himself be drawn in by the ready smiles and friendliness of the people, lest he forget himself and become too much like them.

  After a short while the road rose in a slight gradient, although nothing to trouble him. In the far distance, however, he saw that the road took on a significant slope and the fields gave way to heather and rockier ground. He could just make out the top of a wall running the length of a ridge of higher ground. The closer he got, the higher and longer he realised the wall was. How big was the place and how many must make their home inside? How could his people ever hope to stand against the multitudes of the Empire, especially when the Empire had the power to construct a place like this? He revised his opinion of the lowlanders yet again.

  He climbed the slope and found himself on an immense apron of ground before walls that were far longer than he’d ever seen in his life – perhaps even two miles – and at least six times more than his height. The place had to have been built by giants! His mouth hung open in wonder and fear, but he was soon blinking and looking around in equal wonder at the countless number of wagons covering the ground. Most were stacked with sacks, barrels, boxes and cages. An area of the apron had also been given over for animal pens. Surely there were enough beasts to both carry and feed an army! The din was terrible, as men and women shouted greetings, shared news and haggled over prices; chickens squawked; dogs snarled and barked at each other; horses whinnied and stamped; children screamed as they chased each other through the crowd; donkeys brayed; and hulking guards in brown leather yelled at people that they needed a permit to trade and that any further transgressions would result in broken heads. The place was terrifying, but at the same time thrilling.

  ‘Paradise it ain’t, eh?’ A passing stranger smiled, seeing his face and disappearing before Aspin could think of a reply.

  ‘Talon of Heroes’ Brook!’ called a familiar voice somewhere. ‘Well, I’ll be! I didn’t think to see you here. I’d heard the road of your town was still flooded. No? Someone I was travelling with said …’

  Aspin realised it was Jacob’s voice and headed in another direction before he could be seen. He was bumped and jostled several times and someone cursed at him. People were beginning to look at him and he felt exposed even though he was in the thick of humanity. With no other obvious direction to go in, he made his way towards the long queue of people waiting to enter the gates of the town.

  There were six guards manning the gates. They looked people up and down, checked permits carefully and asked questions. Aspin told himself he had nothing to worry about – no one knew he was from the mountains so he shouldn’t have a problem, should he? Yet the queue of people was restless, for individuals kept craning their necks and leaning out to see what was going on up at the front. Apparently, this sort of delay was not usual.

  ‘Here, what’s the hold-up?’ a woman standing behind Aspin called out. ‘Keep us waiting much longer and my pies’ll go stale. Who’ll want them then, eh? And I’m getting old standing here. Who’ll want me then, eh?’

  There were a few chuckles from others in the queue. Aspin glanced back at the woman. She was middle-aged and wore a low-cut red dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Aspin guessed that the cloth must have been expensive, for he’d never seen such a colour before, but no one in the mountains would ever wear such a revealing dress – in part because it was too cold to do so.

  The woman caught him looking and plumped her hair. ‘Like what you see, dearie? I have a field that needs ploughing.’ She grinned invitingly at him, revealing two rows of brown teeth with gaps in them.

  Aspin blushed and turned away, a few bystanders laughing knowingly as he did so.

  ‘Quiet, woman!’ the man in front of Aspin said back over his shoulder. ‘Don’t you know who that is in the darker leather with the gold trim? That’s Skathis, the holy one’s Captain himself.’

  ‘Really?’ The woman smiled. ‘Maybe he’s heard I’m coming to market and can’t wait to see me.’

  More laughs. Aspin looked for the man called Skathis and saw him standing with arms folded and forearms on display towards the back of the guards. His dark hair was cropped close to his head, not that all the white scars across his scalp would have allowed much hair to grow anyway. His face was similarly frightening, with most of the skin pulled tight or out of place by the way old cuts and injuries had healed. He must have seen countless fights, Aspin reasoned, and was a man to be feared given that he had survived them all. Strength and skill alone in combat could not be enough either – the man must also be charmed with good luck or a quick intelligence. Skathis silently watched and listened as people passed one by one through the gates.

  Aspin tried to read more of the man, but could glean nothing. Was something blocking his reading or did the man just have very little soul to be read? He couldn’t help feeling nervous now. Was it really possible for him to pass under such intense scrutiny undetected? What had Jacob meant when he said the Saint always knew? He chewed the inside of his cheek and wondered whether he should just leave this place and find another town or village. Wouldn’t he find the same there, though? And if he stepped out of the line now, wouldn’t he serve to attract the attention he was trying to avoid? Despite the chill air, he felt himself sweating under his armpits.

  ‘What is it with all the questions then?’ the woman asked over Aspin’s head. ‘Are they asking after me?’

&n
bsp; ‘Hang on,’ said the man in front of Aspin as he asked the man ahead of him. Less than a minute later the man muttered back to them, ‘Asking where people are from, whether they’ve met anyone unusual on the road, anyone from Godsend.’

  The woman snorted. ‘Everyone from Godsend is unusual! They live too close to the wilds, eh? They say the babes of the townsfolk are taken in the night by dark spirits and replaced with changelings. Knew a man from there once. Terrible appetites he had, and thick hair all over his back. Eyebrows met in the middle too.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of hair on a man’s back,’ a matron a few places further back in the queue answered. ‘It’s only manly and gives you something to hang onto. They don’t half complain if you have to hold them by the ears instead. And most men are animals given half a chance.’

  Cackles, nudged elbows, agreeing nods or, from the more respectable, disapproving scowls. The queue edged forward and then it was Aspin’s turn. Four guards stood around him. Had the man Skathis just taken a half-step towards him? Were his eyes narrowed?

  ‘Where you from?’ asked a guard who had a flat nose and smelt overpoweringly of body odour.

  Aspin licked his lips. ‘Heroes’ Brook. The road out of the town is no longer flooded. My name’s Aspin Longstep.’

  ‘Didn’t ask your name,’ the guard said, suspicion evident on his face. ‘And you’re short. Why would they call you Longstep?’

  ‘Err … it’s some sort of joke.’

  The guard grunted. ‘Anyone else here can speak for you and confirm you’re from Heroes’ Brook?’

  Aspin hesitated, thinking desperately. ‘Wait a second … Er … yes, Talon of Heroes’ Brook. Talon the trader. His wagon’s over there. He said I could sell my skins from his wagon in the marketplace later. He said he’d only take a copper a skin for the privilege.’ He tried not to swallow too obviously and carefully avoided the gaze of the man called Skathis.