Oddly, the driver not only didn’t complain when he noticed that she had made herself a home in the back of the wagon, he began speaking more clearly to her, at least when he discussed his cargo. She learned that his name was Hilip, and that he was shipping thread and heavy cloth and hoped to sell all of it at the North Province garrison. This pleased her immensely, since it meant she could ride along with him right to her destination. She even offered to help him unload, which he gleefully agreed to, so long as she didn’t expect a discount on her fare. Sayri was fine with that; her intent was to have a valid reason to be in the garrison without arousing suspicion, and the merchant had provided it.
After a tenday of traveling with the wagon train, the terrain became more rocky and hilly. Brush began to appear along the side of the trail, particularly at the base of the hills, and on the eleventh day she was relieved to see a tree, though it was a dreadful skeleton of a thing. Thereafter the landscape changed quickly; Sayri suspected that more rain fell in the region they were passing into, though there was no sign of it as the days wore on. The trees became more common, though, and by the end of the next day they were passing through a forest of tall, thin trees with white bark.
The trail became a road, despite the fact that they had passed through no towns, and it began to rise slowly, twisting its way through the forest and along hillsides as though it sought to conceal its course. The third day passing through the forest they emerged suddenly at the summit of a ridge, and the trees ended abruptly. The land fell as though a god had laid his arm in the ground and swept the dirt away, and the road to the bottom looked as though it had been slashed into the slope with a giant knife.
As their wagon crawled down the steep slope, Hilip told her that the ridge, which stretched as far as she could see in either direction, marked the border of the North Province. On the flatlands below sat the garrison.
To Sayri, it appeared to be nothing more than an orderly collection of buildings spread out wide across the flats, but on more careful examination she saw that at the town’s centre was an open field, outlined with a fence perfectly circular in shape, and a cluster of blockish structures at its core.
The town, which Hilip said was called simply “North Garrison”, was ugly and monotonous, comprised entirely of square, single-story, yellow-brown brick buildings. The garrison itself was similarly constructed, though she saw the grey of stone on one building at the very centre, like a metal hub on a wheel of dirt.
As the town was unattractive, so were its inhabitants. Dust was clearly a common issue, as most of the simple, loose clothing worn by the people was a near match to the colour of the dirt; yellow-brown (at least, she assumed the townsfolk did not by choice wear clothes of a like colour with the ground, but who knew). There was a market, at least, bustling with activity as the wagons rolled past, and Sayri spotted many fruits and vegetables that were certainly imported; it appeared the locals were well fed, at least.
As the wagons made their way through town, they broke away one by one until only two continued on; Hilip’s and another. They approached the garrison gate and came to a halt before it. The gate itself was a simple affair, obviously not intended to stop anyone from breaking it down; Sayri knew nothing of military tactics, but she guessed that no one would attack an army base.
Four warders stood outside the metal gate, which was open. They were all dressed in uniforms; brown vests studded with metal plugs, brown skirts pleated with metal strips, and shiny black boots. She wondered how they kept the boots shiny if the dust rendered everything else dull.
Two warders went to the wagon before them, and two came to Hilip’s. Their speech was the same dialect Arad had used when they first met, that she heard in Yalcinae; she could only pick up a few words, not enough to catch the nuances of the conversation.
One warder spoke to Hilip while the other went back to examine the contents of the wagon. After a brief exchange with Hilip, the first man addressed her; she understood nothing of what he said.
“I beg your grace, young man, but I am not of Somria,” she replied, inclining her head slightly.
He raised an eyebrow. “From where ya come?” he asked her.
“The mining province of Red Rock,” she answered, not entirely untruthfully. I was there, after all, she reassured herself. She did not expect him to know of it, and his expression suggested she was right.
“What ya called?” he demanded.
“Jasenth,” she replied immediately. She had, after all, been called that name for a year in Benn’s Harbour, and still would be, by some. Good thing he didn’t ask for my name, or I would have had to lie.
The second warder returned from the rear of the wagon, nodding at the first, but her interrogator had a quizzical expression as he glanced back and forth between Hilip and Sayri, as if trying to puzzle out the nature of their relationship. Hilip reached into his pack and pulled out a large glass bottle, saying something and passing it to the man, whose eyes lit up. The driver shrugged and the warder waved them on, and the four orey pulled the wagon through into the compound.
“What was that about?” Sayri asked nervously.
“Ya accent odd, and ya too young and pretty ta be ma wife,” Hilip said, frowning. “I give him coastal wine ta soothe his worry. Expensive; ya owe me,” he added, irritated.
“Of course,” Sayri agreed. She suspected that he had acted more to save himself trouble than save her, but she was grateful regardless for getting pass the gate; she doubted they would have let her in, alone.
Once inside the garrison compound, she saw that the blockish buildings near the centre surrounded an impressive multi-story fortification of grey stone. She wondered if Arad was in there, or Win Wal.
“How can I find the combat instructors?” she asked.
Hilip laughed, a short, cracking outburst. “Ya want to be soldier?” he asked her sarcastically.
Sayri didn’t really notice his poor attempt at humour; she was too busy trying to appear nonchalant as they drove right through the army of her nation’s enemy. “I need to find someone,” she replied quietly.
“First we unload. They ya do as ya wish. But I be careful about wandering na base alone,” he warned. “Soldiers, they a rough lot. Ya pretty, they like that.” He cackled again, letting his eyes roam unselfconsciously to her breasts.
Sayri reddened slightly, clenching her jaw. She ignored his lewd behaviour; he hadn’t spoken so before, and she suspected that the presence of the warders emboldened him. Warders which, she noticed, swarmed all about the compound in multitudes, some engaged in exercises, some busy about a myriad unfathomable tasks, and some simply standing around. Many of the latter leered at her in a manner considerably less friendly than Hilip had.
She shivered as she contemplated wandering aimlessly among them, searching for Win Wal and Ooji.
Unload first, then. After which, she would have to come up with a plan to find them, somehow.
・
The large crates were heavy, but Hilip was not much stronger than Sayri was, so together they lifted each to the back edge of the wagon bed, then stepped down and unloaded them to the ground. Once on the ground, Hilip said they belonged to the army, and weren’t to be moved. He was quite adamant about it; when Sayri went to place another, smaller box on top of a large crate, he berated her not to touch it.
The crates and boxes they placed on the ground were fetched almost immediately by warders, who did not speak to Sayri or Hilip, but examined her carefully from head to toe—she didn’t expect to ever get used to the way they looked at her, as though she was a piece of meat they were considering for a meal.
As they went about their work, Sayri puzzled over her dilemma; she needed to find Win Wal, but she couldn’t safely wander the base alone, especially with no excuse to be doing so. The pile in the wagon dwindled, and she became more and more worried. The only safe option might well be to leave with Hilip, she thought. But then what would she have accomplished?
She had nea
rly resigned herself to that most undesirable of options, when a warder approached. He wore a similar uniform to those carrying away their cargo—as did all warders that she had seen; if there were separate uniforms worn from various units, she couldn’t see the difference—but he carried a large, leather book instead of a weapon.
The warder was tall, thin, and young—hardly older than Sayri; he was attempting to grow a beard, without much success. He cleared his throat as he approached, frowning in an attempt to appear official. Unlike most of the warders they had passed since entering the compound, he seemed uncomfortable in Sayri’s presence; she recognized leftover boyhood shyness she had oft encountered in young men of the Lower Valley.
The young warder glanced at her, then addressed Hilip. “Cargo?” His voice was higher than she expected; he cleared it again immediately, making her think it was due to nerves.
“Textiles,” Hilip replied. “Canvas and sewing supplies.”
“Taking out?” the warder asked.
Hilip shook his head. “Na,” he said.
The warder wrote in his book. “Uh,” he said, glancing again at Sayri, then at the ground, then back at the driver. “Do ya, um . . . any further orders, messages?”
Hilip was shaking his head, but Sayri stepped in front of him. She had no idea what she was doing. “Yes, I have a message,” she answered quickly, locking her eyes on him.
He actually jumped as she moved closer, then blinked several times, his eyes flicking from her lips to her eyes, and back repeatedly. “Uh, who . . . “
“I have a message for someone named Win Wal, young man,” she said firmly. “I understand he is some sort of instructor at the garrison?” As she spoke she turned slowly to look back at Hilip, arching her back slightly and giving the young warder a good look at her profile. A year of hard travel had leaned and tightened her already firm body, and her breasts had filled out; she was stunning now, and she knew it. When she turned back to him, she tilted her head and allowed a slight smile to curl her lips, and her hair, which had grown out a bit and was of a colour virtually unseen in these lands, brushed her shoulder gently before falling back into place.
“Would you be so gallant as to show me the way, young man?” she asked softly.
The warder blinked again several times, and licked his lips. “What she say?” he asked Hilip.
Rot, she swore silently to herself. She had tried to soften her accent and make it closer to the Somria style of speaking, but sometimes the locals still had problems understanding her. It was hardly a convenient time.
Hilip raised an eyebrow and smacked his lips.
Please, Sayri thought.
“Na lady ask for . . . escort, ta the man she has message for,” Hilip replied, in a somewhat mocking tone.
The warder nodded so violently, Sayri worried he might hurt his neck. “Ya,” he said simply. His eyes were wide as a boxcat’s at night.
It appeared that her accent, however incomprehensible to him, was nonetheless not unattractive. She walked over to the wagon, took her pack from the front seat and faced Hilip, her back to the warder.
“Many thanks, Hilip. You have been good company. I will not be leaving with you, and I will not return after now. Please ignore when I say I will be coming back, and do not say farewell to me; here is your payment, plus extra for your wine, and your trouble,” she said quickly, handing him a pouch containing twenty coins.
Hilip frowned, but accepted the pouch with a shrug. “Sure ya want ta stay alone, girl?” he asked quietly.
“It’s all right,” she told him, showing him a confident smile in contrast to the anxiety she felt. “I have a contact here. My thanks.”
She turned and started walking back toward the warder, then glanced over her shoulder and said loudly, “I’ll be back shortly.”
Thankfully, the driver had obviously been in such situations before; he caught on just fine. “Don’t be too long,” he said, turning away casually.
She thanked him again in her heart as she approached the young warder, who she could have sworn was trembling; she added just a touch of sway to her hips as she came up to him. “All these warders make m’ nervous,” she said slowly, allowing her full native accent to roll smoothly off her tongue, but keeping her words clear. “Y’ don’ think they’ll trouble m’ do y’?” Tilting her head down and widening her eyes innocently finished off the show.
He gulped audibly. “N-n-na, lady,” he stammered, turning and offering his left arm to her with a wince. “On m-ma honour, I—I shall see ya safely to ya destination, na back.”
“Oh, thank y’, young man,” Sayri purred, folding the fingers of her right hand lightly into the sensitive crook of his elbow, and placing her left hand just above it on his bicep. She tilted her head to look up at him as she squeezed him arm tightly. “I do feel safer, already.”
As he escorted her away from the loading area and across the open compound, Sayri wondered why she hadn’t thought of using the tactic before.
Or, perhaps she had used it, many times, without realizing it.
In retrospect, Sayri concluded that her previous thought—to surrender her plan in resignation and leave the garrison safely with Hilip—would have been the best choice if she hadn’t secured the young warder as escort. There were dozens of men practicing maneuvers around the circular courtyard of the compound, and still more standing around off-duty; her destination ended up nearly on the opposite side. Even with the young warder—who introduced himself as Gheles—accompanying her, men whistled loudly at her, undressed her with their eyes, and began following the two. They tortured Gheles as they walked alongside, showing absolutely no shame in the presence of a lady and ignoring his demands that they silence their foul mouths. They picked at Sayri’s hair and pulled up her skirt, and slapped her bottom; the farther they walked the harsher the abuse became. She kept her eyes down and clung to Gheles’ arm tightly, no longer to charm him, but because his presence was genuinely the only thing that made her feel safe.
By the time they reached the crude brick buildings at the opposite side of the compound, they had an entourage of nearly a dozen off-duty men, many drunk, encircling them and describing in far-too-intricate detail the nuptials they imagined would be going on between Gheles and herself shortly thereafter. Their descriptions left nothing to the imagination.
Even though she only understood half of what they said—she silently blessed the heavy Somrian accents and the unfamiliar profanity they spat out—her ears and cheeks were nonetheless burning red as they approached their destination, and her eyes were brimming with tears.
Somrian warders, it seemed, were experts at crude and intimidating sexual insults. She felt nearly as violated by their words as when—
No. I am not a victim. She made fists and summoned courage. They’re only words.
Still, she would never, with all her fortitude and resolve, have made those several hundred paces across the compound alone.
The commotion had drawn the interest of many more men leaning against the low, mud-brick structure they approached. Sayri feared the group would become even larger, and more aggressive. By the time they arrived, she was breathing heavily, panic rising.
Then the door to the building opened with a metallic groan, and the warders became suddenly subdued.
A man stepped out; he was quite small, about her height. He had a strange build, with shorter legs and sharper shoulders than any Somrians she had seen, and long arms that came halfway down his thighs. His face was likewise odd, with a tiny button for a nose, and dark, hooded, intense eyes. His skin colour was much more brown than the local men; it was almost black.
Sayri had never seen a man who looked remotely like him. He scowled at her, and she was terrified.
“What this about?” he said with an accent equally foreign, glaring at her. She opened her mouth to reply, but her words were lost in the cacophony that immediately erupted around her. She didn’t catch a word that any of the men said, but they vanished in
to the mid-day sun as quickly as gazers into the black of night.
Sayri swallowed audibly.
“What this about?” the man repeated. Oddly, her attention was drawn to his clothing; he was the only one she had seen in the garrison with no uniform. He wore only a clean white, sleeveless, smock, from which a pair of knobby brown knees and scrawny legs protruded.
“Master,” Gheles said slowly, detaching her hands from his arm with some difficulty and bowing formally in the Somrian style. “This lady carries a message for you.” He gestured politely at Sayri.
The man’s eyes narrowed, transforming into pinpricks of light. “Deliver it,” he commanded.
Sayri’s breath caught. She found her voice. “You are . . . Master Win Wal? Combat instructor?”
“Unarmed combat,” he corrected. “Yes.”
Sayri glanced at the young warder. “Y-young—M-Master Win Wal, my message is a private one—that must not be, um, overheard.” She was stammering now, and her breath came in gasps, but she couldn’t help it. It all came to this—all the dangers she had overcome—and she was absolutely terrified that he might not be able, or willing, to help her at all.
Win Wal waved a finger at the young warder, who bowed again and turned to depart.
Don’t forget your manners, Sayri. “Young man—Gheles,” Sayri said quickly to him. “Peaceful day, and many thanks for your security.” The words tumbled from her, with a nervous smile and a brief curtsey.
He bowed again to her, with a trace of a smile that disappeared as he noticed Win Wal waiting, then he marched off.
Win Wal pushed open the heavy wooden door behind him; it creaked again, the hinges obviously in dire need of oil. He stood by the door, gazing at her expressionlessly. “Well?” he said.
Sayri stared at him for a moment, not sure what he meant. Then suddenly she understood and walked hastily in, heart thumping.
It was a small room, neatly decorated with furniture, wall hangings, and other household items—all completely foreign to her, as if she had walked into a dream. The brownish bricks were entirely covered by bright, multi-coloured fabric tapestries, displaying patterns she had never imagined. The dirt floor was likewise concealed beneath heavy rugs, woven from what she thought was wool, but was thicker and rougher. The furniture was all wood, but painted brightly, mostly in yellows and greens. A tabletop depicted some sort of animal with a long neck and multicoloured spots; it seemed to be a beast from a night-time story.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 30