by Ryan DeBruyn
The rest of the trip to the city entrance was quiet. Then the anchor brakes got dropped into the dirt and jerked them all to a grinding halt. Verimy asked, “Why is the line going out longer than the one headed in?”
Azrael felt his eyes widen and stuck his head into the front. There was a long, snaking line of dirty, bedraggled sapients waiting on the guards to allow them exit. Azrael studied the mismatched colored paneling that created a rusting wall rimming Mur. The large metal plates were leaned haphazardly against standing trees and overlapped to create a defense a strong wind could collapse.
The interior of the city was even more dangerously built. Bent rods were driven into the earth and plates were screwed, nailed, tarred, or sapped into place. The effect was an almost never-ending sprawl of ‘buildings’ leaning against one another. Azrael scowled; if there was a single fire, or a bad storm, this whole shanty town would be decimated. However, bad weather never happened in a Territory.
Azrael studied the sticky sap that was leaking out of the nearest tree. He was actually surprised that the Tuatha allowed the collection of the sap, when cutting down trees was a crime that landed you in the arenas. Otherwise known as a death sentence.
Mark inched the transport forward. “Told you, tax hike and rumors of new ownership. Everyone leaving has to prove they have paid the new tithe. Most people are choosing to move on rather than risk a trip to the Pit. Other than those idiots.” Mark indicated a line of people waiting at a bar door.
Verimy pushed Azrael’s head back through the door. “No one survives the arenas.” Verimy kissed two of his fingers and then touched his heart. “It appears you were telling the truth earlier. You still have merchant rights?”
“That’s what you’re paying me for,” Mark quipped.
Verimy joined Azrael and Dara in the back.
Azrael coughed. “Does that change the plan?”
Verimy shook his head. “Dara, you’re still going to be Mark’s shop assistant when he sets down for the day. Azrael, you’re staying in the office.”
Azrael’s shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes. The office was a small compartment within the floating transport truck. It was right behind the passenger seat and had one lockable door and a small window that allowed Mark and Dara to pass him Crystals, gems, marks and chips as they were collected. Azrael opened his eyes. “Wait. What about you, Verimy?”
“Mark is going to put out the yellow flag and I will be in the cab trying to buy information.”
Yellow flag? Right. For adventurers, that often meant they were looking for maps, quests or locations.
That was new. But the look on Verimy’s face told him that he wouldn’t be getting an explanation. What sort of information would be worth some of their saved Crystals? Verimy didn’t show a hint of emotion but something about his behavior was odd.
Mark maneuvered the massive vehicle into position and slowly lowered it to the ground with a thud. All four walls shook around them. Azrael raised a single eyebrow and Dara punched him in the arm with a chuckle. The rusted-out shipping container didn’t collapse. This time.
Once on the ground, Dara and Mark got to work efficiently rearranging metal shop panels that folded off the side of the truck. Within half an hour, everyone was in their assigned positions.
For the next few hours, Azrael meditated within the miniscule space of the office. It had a single chair, a table, and a small safe stowed under it. Azrael evened his breathing to long silent intakes and controlled exhales. His goal was to hear Verimy when the man found an information broker. He was sitting just a few feet away, so it should be pretty simple.
“Heya, Gurdy. We have the usual pelts, extra meat, and assortments of other drops to trade,” Dara’s best cheery voice filtered through the passenger side walls.
Gurdy was a gnome vendor. Her high-pitched squealing penetrated the metal as if it was paper. “What are you hoping to get in return?”
“The usual—”
“You’re hoping to purchase some maps, I hear.” A low baritone coming from the front of the truck overrode Dara. Azrael inhaled sharply. Verimy was buying the information at the same time as Dara negotiated with Gurdy. Azrael couldn’t have expected this and leaned nearer to the front of the vehicle. He wanted to hear Verimy and the unknown information broker, not Dara and Gurdy.
“I can’t do the usual pricing after the tithe has been levied, Dara. I can get you four hundred arrows as usual, but the salts, peppers, and oils will cost you extra.” It was impossible to hear Verimy’s responses over the shrieks of the gnome.
“—I do have a few maps with what you’re looking for. Lord Ogma used to buy up all these types of maps himself—”
“Four pelts. I can’t trade the extras for less than four.”
“With a possible change of ownership, you might not see Lord Ogma for a long time.” Verimy’s soft voice carried back to Azrael from the driver seat.
What would Lord Ogma be looking for? Azrael tried to listen further, but both devolved into price negotiations after that.
“If you are back this way and have any locations to share, let me know. Not many people venture out that far,” the salesman with Verimy finished.
“Mark, have you paid your taxes yet?” an arrogant sounding voice called from the front of the shop, just as a money pouch dropped in through the office slot. Gurdy’s shrieking must have garnered the wrong sort of attention.
That voice sounds more authoritative. I’m guessing a patrol, or military?
Azrael began sorting it out, placing the Crystals, gems, marks, and diamonds into slots that led into the safe by his feet. Mark responded as the currency slid down the slots with a rattle. “I certainly have, Captain Colten. All according to my Merchant Writ.”
“The one signed by Lord Ogma? I don’t know if you heard, but Mur will be changing ownership, Mark,” Colten retorted and a few grunts told Azrael he had company. “What about your pretty little shopkeeper? She could settle any tax issues and line her pockets besides—”
A slap like gunfire sounded and Azrael tried to peek through the opening but couldn’t see anything.
Someone coughed, but the silence that followed was deafening. Azrael strained to hear what came next. What had just happened?
“Sweetheart? Everything okay?” Verimy’s voice called from up front, seeming to come from the passenger side of the front seats.
“Everything’s just fine. Colten here just needed a reminder to keep his hands to himself.”
“Tax papers, all three of you. Now!” Colten’s voice cracked like a whip.
Shuffling of papers sounded through the wall. Then Colten said, “This is one paper.”
“Look right here, Captain Coltan. It is for me and two assistants.”
“Alright, it does say three people. Who’s in the office if you three are out here, then?”
“My son,” Mark responded quickly. “He is under the age of eight and exempt from taxation.”
Colton went over every inch of the stall after that. Loudly banging through each item and storage compartment. Finally, with an audible sigh the Captain said, “Good day, Mark. That document is only good until tomorrow. Be out of my town or I will run you out. Merchant Writ or not.”
Verimy whispered, “Is there a law against taxing children under the age of eight?”
Mark snorted. “No, but that idiot doesn’t know that.” A short pause before he spoke again, “Dara, you are lucky that the Captain still fears Lord Ogma. I think we have overstayed our welcome, though. Let’s close up and get inside for the night. We will leave at first light.”
Chapter Three
Azrael sawed his jaw, trying to bite a piece out of a trail ration Mark had handed him. Was the taste always this bad? The hover transport wasn’t leaving until morning, and the group had sat inside since the Captain had confronted them.
Mark ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. Azrael tilted his head. The oily look was gone. In place of a rodent sa
t a businessman. Mark leaned forward. “I heard an interesting rumor about why the tax hike happened.”
Azrael squinted at the change in Mark’s speech pattern and glanced at Dara and Verimy. They continued to fight with their own trail rations. Verimy managed a bite and held it up. “What is this made of, Mark, rocks?”
Mark’s eyes crinkled and he ran a hand through his long beard. “The Karacy were born of rocks. I would never dream of being cannibalistic.” His face sobered, and he continued, “Recently there has been a downturn in citizens willing to sign up for the arenas. Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem, but I have seen fewer ships of prisoners arriving in the capitals and outlying Territories.
“So, if the rumor I heard is true, King Oberan needs more slaves in the Pit. According to everything I was told, King Oberan is farming the people on this planet for Essence.”
Verimy laughed. “Mark, come on, you know better than that. Planetary Gods hoard Essence and they definitely don’t take sides in conflicts. No one even knows how to produce Essence, just that it is the second tier energy formed of Ether.”
Dara smiled and nodded along with her significant other. “Not to mention all they would achieve by feeding the planet more Essence would be to strengthen the planet. That might be beneficial if the Tuatha wanted this planet as a training ground. However, killing people inside of a dungeon increases the dungeon’s Essence, not the planet’s specifically. It would be a very inefficient method to collect Essence, no?”
Mark shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “You are probably right. I heard it recently and now realize it is probably just someone’s bad dream. They could be planning to use the dungeons as training grounds, though.”
Verimy stroked his chin but gave no verbal response. Azrael followed the conversation but hadn’t taken his eyes off Mark. While Mark had seemed to laugh off the dismissal, Azrael could tell the Dwarf was still worried.
Mark’s eyes met Azrael’s, and the dwarf tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his silver irises. Azrael shivered and looked away as the conversation turned to other things.
“Azrael, it’s time for bed,” Verimy ordered.
More like time for the adults to speak.
Azrael lay down and feigned sleep, modulating his breathing to sound convincing. After a time, the others began speaking again. As he had expected.
“If we can find an area deep into the wilderness, we can probably avoid patrols and eat off the land. Dara and I can start to make arrows instead of buying them, but our damage will probably suffer because of it. Mark, what class are you?”
Mark snorted, “Trader, so don’t go expecting much help from me.”
“Well, we have a map to a nearby dungeon. Once Azrael turns eight, we should be able to farm it for a time.”
Paper rustled and noises of approval were made from the others as they likely studied the map. Azrael strained his ears, but the others chose to call it a night.
Azrael fell asleep shortly after.
He woke up to banging on the door to the hover transport and loud catcalls. “We’re hungry and have no place to sleep, but you get to sleep in opulence, huh!”
“You think you’re above us?”
“We know you’re in there, Mark! Give us some food!”
Azrael looked around worriedly and noticed that everyone was awake. Verimy shook his head and mimicked falling back to sleep before he closed his eyes and attempted the task himself. Azrael tried to sleep again, but every bang on the shipping container shook the rickety sheet metal walls.
He swore they were trying to tear it apart for scraps at times. Mark sat up, wide-eyed and shaking. Dara peeked from the front. “There is an entire mob out there, Ver.”
“We are much safer locked in here, then. Go back to sleep, Dara. In the morning, the guards will disperse everyone. Probably,” Verimy responded without opening his eyes.
***
Azrael woke again as low morning sunlight penetrated the high windows of the transport. A noise woke him up; a loud sound that was akin to dropping a ball down a long tube. Azrael recognized the familiar noise; it was the gravity pulsar booting up.
Mark sat in the driver seat, and Verimy sat beside him as they made their way towards the northern gate. It was the exact opposite direction they had entered from. Azrael tried to look around surreptitiously for the map his trainer had purchased. There wasn’t an obvious slip of paper out on a counter and he yawned theatrically to hide his perusal.
At the gate, Mark supplied their papers to the guards on duty, and Azrael hid in the office to avoid scrutiny. Mark was pretty sure they wouldn’t care about a minor, but they figured it was best to just answer the questions asked and move on. Since the gate guards didn’t ask them if anyone else was with them, they didn’t even have to lie.
Once they were moving, Verimy poked his head into the trailer from the front seat. “Do you think this is a day off, Azrael? Get to work on your kata forms.”
Dara watched over him this time. She didn’t ask him any questions as he flowed from stance to stance, instead only using her bow to correct his postures when she deemed it necessary. It gave Azrael some time to think. Where would they keep the map now that they had studied it?
Azrael finished his katas and ate another atrocious travel bar as an early lunch. According to the conversations he overheard as he tried to stay invisible, this side of the Territory was much larger than the other. It made sense, in a way, because his trainers had never taken this route out of Mur to hunt.
They travelled for a few hours, and were just nearing the border of the Territory according to Mark, when something went wrong. The gravity pulsar engines made a sound like they were throwing up a hairball, and then the transport flopped like a beached whale onto the ground. The momentum of the travel jerked to a quick stop and Azrael flew forward. He tried to see what happened to Dara but was a bit preoccupied with attempting to not hit the wall headfirst.
He turned enough to collide with the container wall back first, and his ribs made a noise like dead branches breaking in a storm. He fell to the floor, breathing becoming hard. He fought his own body for each inhale as a sharp pain stabbed into him.
Dara shouted, “Azrael is hurt. Mark, what was that?”
Mark growled, “We ran out of power, but that doesn’t make sense. The batteries should have been converting all night.”
Azrael wheezed in a lungful of air as the driver side door slammed. Verimy came to kneel beside him. Azrael’s vision began to darken as his brain started to feel the starvation of oxygen. “He needs a healing potion, Dara. Take out the one we have.”
A taste like the ripest berry juice dripped into his mouth. He accidentally breathed some into the wrong pipe, causing him to cough. The pain of the cough sent him into unconsciousness for a moment. However, he woke as his brain signaled that he was drowning. Drowning on that same berry juice.
He fought the urge to spit it out and was able to swallow mouthful after mouthful.
He finally cleared his airway and managed a breath. Then the pain quadrupled, and he felt bones start shifting again in his back and ribs. He passed out.
***
Azrael woke up again to Mark’s voice and the sound of two metal objects hitting the floor. “One of the citizens from last night plugged some old appliances into the outside sockets.”
Verimy grunted. “Two heaters? At least that explains why we couldn’t hear them. How long until the battery recharges?”
Mark shook his head. “Unfortunately, once it is fully depleted, it needs six hours to recharge. You can’t use it during that time.” Azrael managed to move his head. Mark was rubbing a large dent in the wall. Likely where Azrael had collided and nearly killed himself.
Mark let his hand fall to his side and his head fell. “Can you help me move it to the side of the road? If a patrol comes this way, I don’t want trouble for blocking the path.”
Azrael felt the truck slide across the ground and managed to sit up. Once the
motion stopped, he stood and went outside. Verimy saw him and said, “Go gather fallen branches and kindling. Only things on the ground, mind you; there is a law against cutting down anything inside the Territory borders.”
Azrael groaned but did as he was asked. When he returned to dump his wood, he found his trusty quarterstaff and the buckets waiting for him to fill up. He closed his eyes. “I did just almost die, you know?”
Dara ruefully shook her head. “You probably wouldn’t have died. I don’t think the ribs pierced your lungs. Anyway, water is about a mile or more in that direction. You know the routine.”
He sighed—that was right, no one cared. He lifted the staff and buckets and jogged off half-heartedly. Better to finish quickly since he knew he would have to practice sword forms when he got back. Then after that he might have time for a rest.
He was spared from the sword forms, to make another trip for water. Another body meant they needed more. Well, at least the routine wasn’t the same as it had been for weeks.
He stacked kindling and coaxed the fire to life once he had brought enough water.
The entire time, the others chatted, and he continued to try to be invisible.
“You know of a cabin that we might be able to use?” Verimy asked skeptically. “Out in the middle of nowhere?”
Dara squinted her eyes and took a deep breath, but Mark nodded.
“Actually, I have stayed there on a few occasions. The person who owns it moves around a lot, so he often isn’t even home. However, I know he is there presently. I think you should meet him.”
There was a sort of reverence mixed with worry about the way Mark spoke that made Azrael want to hear what came next. Either this man was powerful, or Mark was about to reveal something dangerous. “If you two are interested in opposing King Oberan or finding a way off this rock, he is probably the best source for options.”
Azrael felt his eyebrows raise as he worked his stick back and forth over the split kindling. If what Mark had just stated was right, it was both—this man was both secretive and powerful.