The Eyes of a Doll (The World of Shijuren Book 2)

by Howell, Rob

  I especially enjoyed the bass that had been fried in olive oil, vinegar, sugar, onions, and cubeb. I had never tasted anything so bitter and yet so sweet at the same time. Odd, but delicious.

  After dinner, he brought me into a room and presented me to an older woman. Tall, with the same thin build as Era, she had eyes that brooked little nonsense. She glared at both of us. Ylli only said one word, “Achrida,” to her. He then suggested I return to the patio for rakija when she was done with me.

  The woman spent the next few minutes looking at me. At first I thought she was taking my measurements, for she pulled out a cord like many tailors used, but she never really put the cord to my body. She ruffled my hair, lifted my hand, turned it over and looked at my arm, and generally did things that made no sense to me. Finally, she told me to leave.

  Not knowing what else to do, I left. Sebastijan, Ylli, and I spent the rest of the evening sipping wine and rakija, very publicly, on his patio.

  We had been given luxurious bedrooms that held all the charms of Andreas’s cage. In the too-soft bed, dreams periodically woke me, leaving me to restless attempts to return to sleep.

  After one such interruption, my mind wrapped in fog, I arose to insistent tapping at the bedroom door. The deep, soft carpet felt odd as I crossed it, almost tripping me with its lush wealth.

  “Hello?”

  At the door was the same stern woman, along with two servants. She held a small case covered by a towel. One servant carried a small bundle and the other a large one. She directed the servants to place their burden on my bed, and they left.

  “Strip.”

  “What?”

  “Take off all of your clothes?”

  “What? Why?”

  She glared at me.

  “I’m told to change you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are going to Achrida, right? And you want to stay out of sight?”

  I nodded.

  “Strip.”

  I took off my tunic.

  “All of it.”

  While I removed the rest of my clothes she opened up one of the bundles. In it was a long tunic, old and frayed. It bore lines that suggested it had once been adorned with trim, but that trim had been removed as the tunic had aged. The bundle also held a pair of old, uncomfortable-looking sandals.

  “Put these on.”

  She then opened up her case. It held several ceramic pots along with some scrapers, several brushes, and three pieces of fabric twisted into cones. She removed the stopper from one of the pots, and an acrid aroma that hinted of lemon filled the room.

  “Sit down, then close your eyes.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Nothing I understand.”

  She sniffed. “Your hair is too light.”

  “Too light?”

  She sighed and shook her head at my stupidity. “How many people with light brown hair have you met in Achrida?”

  “Uh, a few.”

  “Were they travelers? Or barbaroi?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Of course you don’t, but they probably were. Now hush and close your eyes, I have work to do.”

  I did as she ordered. I felt her hands moving through my hair. The paste felt odd as she rubbed it through my hair.

  “What is the paste?”

  “Henna.”

  “What is that?”

  “Shut up and let me work.”

  I shut up and let her work.

  When she stepped back, I opened my eyes to see her looking closely for any streaks or mistakes. Twice she put more paste in her hands and touched up sections of my hair. Finally satisfied, she carefully wiped her hands clear of the paste.

  Then she turned to the bed and the other bundle. She opened it up to show me clothing of Imperial design: two long overtunics, three undertunics, and two pairs of pants. A belt, also of Imperial design, was rolled in amongst them.

  “Do you have boots?”

  I nodded.

  “Let me see them.”

  I pulled them out for her to examine.

  “These are sufficient.”

  She packed up her supplies and moved to the door before turning back to me. “Wear that tunic and the sandals today. Before dinner you should bathe, especially cleaning your hair. Leave the excess on your hair until you bathe, even though it will feel odd all day. Spartak will show you where and provide you with old towels. Also, stop shaving.”

  With those curt words, she left.

  Bemused, I looked at the clothes she’d left for me. They all seemed to fit me well. I had just finished buckling on the belt that held my saex when Ylli and Sebastijan entered.

  “Excellent.” Ylli smirked. “And you should let your beard grow out.”

  Sebastijan laughed at my expression. I glared at him but spoke to Ylli.

  “She told me not to shave.”

  “Good.”

  “I suppose this makes me look different.”

  “People may still recognize you, but you’ll be harder to recognize.”

  “I could still be found by someone using magic.”

  He nodded. “Yes, but while there’s no way to hide you perfectly, dyeing your hair and growing a beard will give you much more freedom to look around Achrida.”

  Ylli paused, looking at me pensively, and then turned to Sebastijan. “You warned me.”

  Sebastijan chuckled and Ylli smiled back at him before saying, “You speak to him about it. I have things to do.” Turning back to me he continued, “Find Hristo at midday. He’s preparing some equipment for you. If you have any other needs, speak to any servant.”

  “I shall, thank you.”

  Ylli lilted out, leaving the scent of roses to fight a losing battle against the aroma of henna.

  I looked at Sebastijan warily. “What are you supposed to speak to me about?”

  “You’ll have to leave your sword and scale armor behind.”

  I grimaced and started to object, but he snapped, “They’re simply too distinctive.”

  I stopped and thought. “You’re right.”

  He motioned at the belt at my waist. “And you must leave the shorter blade.”

  “What? Leave my saex?”

  He laughed. “Yes. It’s the only blade of that design I’ve ever seen. A water-patterned sword with an odd, rounded hilt is bad enough. Yes, we have scale armor, but yours is different, markedly so. I’d rather you kept both of those things than your saex.”

  “But it is my proof that I am free man.”

  “It will be the proof that makes you a dead man.”

  “I cannot leave it.”

  “I will mourn you.”

  I glared at him as he continued.

  “Why are you doing this, Sevener?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why are you trying to find out who is creating a rift between Gibroz and Ylli? You could just leave for the Great City and join the Imperial Guard.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Do I?”

  “Have you not been paying attention? If I don’t do this then Honker and Ludmilja are in…”

  I trailed off and Sebastijan struck.

  “Yes, they’re in danger if you don’t follow through. It could be that if you fail, your life might not be the only one that is lost.”

  “I’ve borne my saex every day but one that I can remember.”

  “I know your story. If your lord had required you to put down the saex so that you could fulfill some task he required, would you do so?”

  “No lord would require that of me.”

  “Perhaps, but have you not sworn an oath to Honker? Maybe not in so many words, but have you not vowed to protect him and his family?”

  I nodded.

  “Give me the saex, Sevener.”

  I hesitated.

  “I will care for it. I will make sure it is oiled, sharpened, and placed back into your hands as soon as
is practical.”

  “And when will that be? Months hence, perhaps.”

  “That’s not likely. Also, Ylli and I discussed that timing while your hair was getting dyed.”

  “Yes?”

  “I won’t wait for any messages from you. I’ll leave in four days with your equipment with me.”

  “And Deor?”

  “Someone who looks as much like you as Ylli can find shall ride him back, wearing your armor.”

  “On Deor? He won’t like that. I doubt he’ll allow anyone else to ride him.”

  “We’ll find out. You should talk to him. You seem to know how to talk to him.”

  “This brown paste makes me smell wrong, and you want me to tell Deor I’m leaving him behind?”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he smirked. “About twenty feet.”

  “By the eyes of the Slain God, I am not liking any of this.”

  “You had your chance to come up with a better plan.”

  “I didn’t think it would be this irritating.”

  “Start thinking like an Achridan.”

  I shook my head and then a thought occurred to me. “In that case, why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why will you follow me so quickly?”

  “We gain nothing by implying you’re here in Lezh any longer. If you are discovered quickly, you’ll need my help. If you are not, and you stay abnormally long in Lezh, people will start to wonder. If you return about that point in time, we can go directly to the Faerie and imply you’re back. In fact, it will give you more freedom to move around Achrida, as all will know to watch the Faerie for you. I’ll feed that illusion. If you’re staying elsewhere, they may not know where to look.”

  “What about ambushes?”

  “Ylli will attach us to one of his more heavily armed caravans. By that point, people will surely think we are fast friends and will think nothing of us riding with one of his caravans. We might have some extra surprises hidden in the caravan, but Ylli has made sure over the years to develop the reputation that robbing his caravans was a fool’s business.”

  “I suppose you know best,” I said doubtfully.

  “Yes, yes I do.”

  Chapter 28

  Morning, 19 Blommemoanne, 1712 MG

  It had been years since I had ridden a horse other than Deor. While Zeqea was not as smart as Deor, her eyes were clear and irritable. I had been told her breed tended to be slow, sturdy, and well acquainted with the hills and mountains around Lezh.

  I decided if it came to a fight I would slide off her and fight with my spear. At least I had my own spear, as its design was unremarkable. I felt much better to have at least one of my own weapons. I also had the small knife in the leg sheath Eirik had made for me, hidden in my boot. Of course, hidden blades were normal in the Empire.

  They called the sword they gave me a spatha. A little longer and balanced differently than mine, it was used by nearly every cavalryman in the Empire. I had practiced with it briefly the previous evening, but it still felt awkward.

  More awkward, of course, was the absence of my saex. Sebastijan had suggested I take a blade of approximately the same length, but that idea seemed repulsive.

  Mounting Zeqea that morning proved more challenging than expected, considering her height. Deor had solidly bitten my thigh the previous night as I tried to explain the plan. He merely knew I was leaving him. The ache made my leg stiff.

  Ylli and Sebastijan waited for me to settle in the saddle, hiding smirks at my obvious pain.

  “Are you ready, Edward?”

  “I suppose, Ylli. The plan still seems overcomplicated to me.”

  “Welcome to the Empire.”

  “You’ve said that before, Sebastijan. It irritates me more every time you say it.”

  “Excellent.”

  Ylli chuckled at our banter. “Have you met Gjon?”

  “Hristo introduced me this morning.”

  “Follow his instructions. He shall get you into Achrida. Do you have my letter and sigil?”

  I patted a pouch I had carefully placed inside the leathers of the light armor I wore.

  “Right here.”

  Sebastijan spoke up. “Once inside, what do you do?”

  I sighed. “The day I get there, I go to the Golden Sea, which is down the road we talked the first time. Ask for Radovan.”

  “You remember how to get there?”

  Now I nodded forcefully. “Yes, I do, and I also remember that I am to watch the first play at the amphitheater after I get back. I might even recall that Gabrijela will hopefully meet me there. I’m not a complete idiot who forgot everything we went over three times last night.”

  Sebastijan and Ylli laughed.

  “Excellent. I foresee a successful hunt.” Still chuckling, the Lezhan kral walked back into his house.

  I started to put my heel to Zeqea’s side but Sebastijan put a hand on my saddle before I could leave.

  “Four days, Sevener. Stay alive for four days.”

  I nodded and nudged the unfamiliar horse to join the rest of Hristo’s troop.

  In my travels since leaving the Seven Kingdoms, I had served as a caravan guard several times. Hristo nodded his approval as I settled into my duties quickly.

  The only interesting happening on the trip occurred around midday on the third day of travel. Hristo habitually rode around the caravan to make sure all of the guards were where they should be and doing what they should be doing. On this day, he paused next to me and wiped some sweat off of his brow.

  “Be glad you’re riding with us.”

  I looked at him questioningly.

  “This morning, Gjon noticed that a number of odd flashes in the hills at the last prime ambush spot.”

  “You think they were waiting for Sebastijan and me?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s just as well that we’ve passed them.”

  I nodded. Like everyone else in Hristo’s troop, I wore no helm. I had to admit that the acrid paste had changed my hair’s appearance drastically. After washing it, the henna had settled nicely, making my hair much darker. Nevertheless, I was not Katarina. Relying upon a disguise made me nervous.

  Hristo sensed my thoughts and patted my shoulder.

  “They can’t have recognized you from that far away. And don’t worry about Sebastijan. We’ll pass one of Ylli’s caravans either later tonight or in the morning. I’ll pass the word on to its troop leader, who’ll pass it on to his caravan. They’ll be ready if the ambush decides to attack.”

  “Good.”

  He smirked and returned to his rounds.

  Sebastijan, Katarina, and I had moved quickly when we had traveled to Lezh, so I was not surprised the caravan took longer. It was not until we settled into an inn on the eleventh day that Hristo took me aside.

  “Tomorrow is the solstice.”

  I was scratching my beard. I had never let it grow this long, and it never seemed to stop itching.

  “We call it Wodensniht. In the north, the day lasts forever. It never really turns dark on this night.”

  “The world is a strange place.”

  I nodded.

  “We are close to Achrida now, less than a league to the Old Road. Prepare your kit. When it gets dark, you and Gjon will leave the caravan and enter the city.”

  “Thank you.”

  He patted my shoulder again.

  “Good hunting, lad.”

  Chapter 29

  Night, 30 Blommemoanne, 1712 MG

  The moon was a slight waxing crescent as we turned up the Old Road. The moonlight seemed to flow directly through the nuraghi at the intersection. The precarious stack of stones had stood there for centuries, looking like it would collapse any moment, but as the light slid through its stones, it calmly proclaimed it would stand for centuries more.

  Gjon poked me quietly out of my woolgathering, and I followed him up the road that circled to the west of Achrida, leading to vistas that overlooked the city in all its gl
ory.

  He was a tiny, wiry man with stringy hair bound up in a leather wrap. He walked lightly, which made up for the heavy hands he had shown on the ride from Lezh. I suspected he would have been more comfortable atop a ship’s mast than on a horse.

  The initial portion of the road had been terraced almost into steps that rose gently along the mountain. Before we reached the end of the terracing Gjon put his hand up.

  “Thar’s them steps that be the path.”

  “What steps.”

  Gjon carefully pointed out a series of places where the layers of rock had made their own terracing. Unremarkable, especially in the moonlight, I would never have noticed the potential pathway down.

  He led me down carefully. Many times we almost had to hop to reach the next step, a nerve-racking leap next to the steep hill beyond if we missed.

  Eight steps later we curved under an overhang and could not see the Old Road anymore. From there we walked a twisting, sliding, but relatively flat pathway downwards. Only in a couple of instances did the path get especially tricky. In each of those spots small, stringy, but resilient trees provided handholds. I suspected their presence was not a coincidence.

  Soon we had descended to the point that the walls and buildings of Achrida obscured the lake. The path led directly along the base of the Achrida’s modest landward fortifications. The moon had traveled over us and now shone from the west, which was the only reason we were not walking in deep shadow.

  The mountainside wove back and forth, sometimes crowding the wall, sometimes leaving a large sloping area filled with rocks. Gjon pointed, and I saw the barest hint of a path back up the mountain at a point where it crowded the wall.

  We hopped up the sharp incline to a flat spot just about at wall level. A six-foot gap remained between the wall and the mountain. Just past the wall, in the city, a building rose over the fortification.

  Gjon pulled out a small lantern, lit it swiftly, and then flashed the shutters in an intricate pattern. A door opened in the building, and I could make out a form in the pale moonlight. It noiselessly winched a heavy oak plank into place, stretching out over the wall to the mountain-side, allowing us to cross into the unlit room inside the building.