by Erik A Otto
Heading east into the morning, into the day, and into the weeks that were to come, running from the monks that would follow him, his thoughts remained turbulent, but he held on to one thing.
Cast out from his faith, cast out from his home, and Marked as an infidel, he told himself he would find the truth, just as his father had done before him. He would come back with answers, answers they might not like, but answers that, by Matteo’s grace, must be heard by all. And even if they didn’t listen, just to know would be enough. He must know the truth, for even if the monks didn’t finish him, the questions assailing his sanity certainly would.
Chapter 18
The Traitor
Hella opened the silk drapes one more time, taking in a view of a lone lavender tower jutting out in front of the lower city. In the distance, beyond the city, the Charia hills rolled upward into the impassable mountains. It was hard to reconcile this fairy-tale view with the horror stories of Jawhar from her childhood.
But hilltop views didn’t tell the story of a people.
She closed the curtain again and glided over to the mirror to check her attire. She had only one Pomerian dress that seemed to fit in with the lavender and gold everyone was wearing, so she had another altered. Of the changes she’d asked of the old Jawhari seamstress, few of them had been made to her liking. She surmised that she looked passable enough, however.
As she swept toward the door, she glanced back to make sure she left the room in a reasonable state. Her chamber was impressive by any standard. Oak-crafted drawers, marblewood tile, and lush bear rugs adorned a room large enough to sleep half her retinue. Her bed was softer than anything she’d ever slept on. Only a few items were astray, but they didn’t tarnish the elegance of the room, so she left it the way it was.
Cantric was standing guard, tall and alert. He was a bull of a man, with high cheekbones and eyes set slightly too far apart. He was quiet and sometimes had a smell to him, but he was uncompromisingly loyal.
“Hello, Cantric. I trust you had a good evening.”
“Yes, Envoy. Thank you.”
“Come, let’s see them off,” she said, and he followed her down the marblewood stairs.
“Today is a happy occasion for your colleagues, but I assure you your time will come as well.”
“Thank you, Envoy.”
“Tell me, Cantric, do you think you could live in a place like this?”
“Ma’am? Um…well, we are in Jawhar, Envoy, but it’s…nice.”
“Yes, indeed.” Her guards had deeply ingrained biases when it came to the Jawhari. It was usually drilled into them during military training. If they could be convinced that the Jawhari were something more than heathen animals, there would certainly be more hope that an alliance could eventually be realized.
Two Jawhari guards were waiting for them in the foyer. These two fell in step behind them as they made their way out of the residence to the courtyard. There her entire retinue was waiting for her, along with a number of dignitaries, including Faruq, Zahir, and the residence staff. The courtyard was closed off to the public but outside the gates a few of Jawhari citizens were glaring in at the ensemble.
The rest of her retinue were patting Tasman and Gingrich on the shoulders, wishing them well and laughing at some quip. She was glad to see that some good-cheer had infected them all.
She didn’t take lightly the decision of whom to send back. She still had some vestige of a girlish crush for Tasman, but after learning he was a devoted family man, that spark had fizzled. It would do him well get home and see his two daughters, and more importantly, he was capable of delivering her message and handling himself on the road.
Gingrich she was sending home for a different reason. Of all her guards, he had the most trouble tolerating the Jawhari. At times he barked out terse warnings to their Jawhari escort when they came close to her. Once he pushed away an angry-looking Jawhari citizen when Hella was in no real danger. While he had no ill intent—quite the contrary in fact—his actions seemed to be born of some innate hatred, or maybe the military propagandists did their job too well with him. Whatever the cause, Hella felt it was best that he be away during the most diplomatically sensitive time of her mission. It would reflect poorly on her and diminish her effectiveness if there was some altercation with her guards.
As she approached her retinue they stopped cajoling and stood at attention.
“Tasman and Gingrich, you serve your kingdom well. I thank you, and I bid you a safe journey. Please ensure that our message of peaceful process is delivered, and that the replacement guards from Pomeria are well informed about all the tidings from home—hopefully all good tidings.”
Tasman responded for them, “Thank you, Envoy. We will gladly do your bidding.”
They said their goodbyes. The four Jawhari guards they’d been assigned joined them as they exited through the gates, and the small crowd made way obediently when the riders pushed through.
Now she needed to get to work.
Loitering in the courtyard were Faruq and Zahir. They were speaking with two other men she hadn’t met near the steps to the entrance. One of these men appeared to be residence staff. He was garbed in a tight black service uniform with a stencil of the residence name on his breast. The other wore clothes she recognized as similar to the garb of Mahmood and his followers. These uniforms didn’t have the soft curves of the priests in Pomeria and Belidor. They wore broad angular shoulder pads, and their hair was pristinely cut, leaving a perfect circle on the tops of their heads. Their outfits gave them a more significant physical presence than the average priest.
She walked up to the four of them. The residence employee stopped in midsentence as she approached, then backed away as if she were some Fringe device about to explode. The priestly one stepped back as well but remained in the vicinity. Zahir stiffened slightly, wincing at her, and Faruq gave her one of his more obsequious smiles.
“Gentlemen, I was wondering if you could help me. I would like to arrange a meeting with each of the councilors.”
Faruq answered readily, “I can certainly do so for Basim Taymullah, who has been anxious to meet you. Sal Habib is busy this week, and he isn’t always in Judud Jawhar, but I will ask. For Wahab the Weak, he prefers you deal with his office directly, and for Mahmood…” He looked to the priest who was standing a few feet away from them.
Zahir cast a dark glance at Faruq and spoke up. “I can get a meeting with Wahab. I will let you know.” Zahir’s words surprised her because she’d been led to believe his Belidoran wasn’t any good. It also contradicted what Faruq said about requiring her to seek his office directly. Were Faruq and Zahir possibly at odds with each other?
“Thank you, gentlemen. You are kind. And sir, I apologize, but we haven’t been introduced.” She nodded to the priestly fellow and advanced toward him. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Zahir and Faruq melt away, leaving her alone with the man. Perhaps he spoke Belidoran as well.
“I Drax.” He cleared his throat. The sound was such that she thought he might be sick, and she was about to offer her compassion, but then he quite adamantly spat whatever he had gurgled onto her shoe.
This was going to be interesting.
She looked down for a second, pretending not to care, then said, “I see, Drax. You seem to have left some of your name on my shoe.”
He looked at her with disgust, then leaned into her, his broadened shoulders dominating her view. “You can get Mahmood. I tell him. But maybe you join your guards in next trip home, Princess Envoy. You are like ignorant dog playing in Fringe junkyard. One hardek step and you lose paw.” He made another noise in his throat, as if conjuring up more spittle.
“Thank you, and it has been a pleasure to meet you as well. I expect to have my meeting with Mahmood soon, or the Herald will be interested to know why he is the only councilor who refused to meet with me. Good day, Drax.” She about-faced and walked away, hoping he wouldn’t cast more phlegm her way as she left.
Chapter 19
The Imbecile
Adeira had adopted a sulky air when Darian first returned, but she shed it within minutes, and since then she’d been almost cheery in a sarcastic sort of way.
Thankfully when he returned she became more willing to give him work to do. He wasn’t only watching the meadows for roving Sambayans but also taking care of Donaldo, mending seams for the baby’s clothes, and helping to prepare meals. Watching for Sambayans was the hardest. He would have much preferred to do something that kept his mind occupied. Memories of the battle and the bloody forest melee came back to him with force, and he found it hard to stop emulating Reniger when he was idle.
One of the Bantam Meadows representatives named Martin Vohl and his scribe stopped by, their only human contact in a number of weeks. Darian had been on watch duty at the time and of course hadn’t even seen them coming down the footpath until they were a stone’s throw away. Darian scrambled to ready the bow, but Adeira said she knew them and told Darian to stand down.
They offered a snack of hard cheese, pickled beets and some crusty bread to share with the two men.
There was no news of Adeira’s husband. Adeira didn’t ask, but it was the first thing Vohl offered. She took it in her usual stoic way; looking down for a split second to register it but otherwise showing no emotion.
On the war front, the news was harrowing and relieving all at once. A Belidoran warship had reached Thelos via the Great Ocean and informed the Thelonians of their support against the Sambayans. In the south the Sambayans had sacked Marsaya, but instead of continuing southeast to the rest of the Thelonian lands, they had crossed the Prosana River, heading for Rio Castellan in Belidor. The word was that Sambai’s true target had been the Belidorans all along. The Thelonians were just standing in the way.
Vohl cautioned that pockets of Sambayans still remained in Thelonia, even in the meadows. Whether these groups were defending supply lines or were just splinters of the original surge toward Belidor, Vohl didn’t know, but either way it wasn’t safe. There were still reports coming in of attacks in the vicinity.
Darian wondered if being truly safe wouldn’t come for a long, long time. The border between Thelonia and Sambai didn’t have fortifications like there were between Belidor and Jawhar. Rather, it was extremely porous, if not downright wide-open. Even after they rid the countryside of the Sambayan bandits, protecting themselves from further incursions would be difficult.
After the more practical information had been imparted, Vohl warned them that the Day of Ascendancy was fast approaching, and of omens like the Red Rains in western Belidor. He spoke of increasing industry from the forges of the Fringe and disturbing troop movements in Jawhar. Darian didn’t put much stock in these rumors and prophecies, but Vohl insisted on their importance. He said people were more prone to committing offenses in times rife with discord, so no one should be trusted. Maybe, but Darian didn’t like the way the man preached. Was the war with Sambai not enough of a bad omen? It seemed strange to Darian that people would pour more sour milk into their cup of worries when the cup was already overflowing.
Vohl would at times cast a skeptical glance at Darian. He might have been concerned for Adeira’s safety, which was understandable enough. Darian answered Vohl in curt responses, trying to keep his disorder under control. Adeira interjected to explain who he was in more detail. Vohl responded with the usual raised eyebrows when he heard that Darian was a Bronté, and he nodded knowingly when Adeira conveyed that Darian was one of the few survivors of the league column that was heading south.
Whatever words were bandied about, Darian could see through the man’s veneer. He knew that look in Vohl’s eyes as he glanced his way or looked down. He was being polite to Adeira, but clearly he thought ill of Darian. He had placed Darian in this box the first time Darian whispered in emulation, and there was no getting out of it.
It usually bothered Darian when people thought he was stupid, or worse, simply because of his disorder. But for some reason, this time it didn’t affect him at all. Or rather, it annoyed him, but not enough to make him feel a need to defend himself.
Darian emulated Vohl under his breath, pondering the man. Unfortunately, Vohl noticed the mimicry, and frowned.
At that point Darian decided it would be best to remove himself from the conversation altogether. He simply stood up from the table, picked up the bow, and took up the watch outside again, trying to keep his whispers quiet.
Vohl and his scribe exited shortly after. Darian only nodded to them as they left. Adeira watched them leave, then confronted Darian outside the homestead. “What’s your problem, Bronté, and why are you so funny all the time?”
He contemplated her question.
“Hello?” she asked in frustration.
Why did he have this disorder? Why did he have to emulate these people, even though he sometimes hated it? He didn’t know.
He didn’t give her an answer because he didn’t have one to give.
She tired of waiting and headed back into the homestead.
Chapter 20
The Traitor
Sal Habib was Hella’s first meeting. His office was across the hilltop in a stately tower. The view from the tower captured not only the Charia hills but also the skinny wedge of the Jawhari Sea that reached into Judud Jawhar to accept the chill waters of the Venari River.
“It’s an admirable panorama,” Faruq said as they waited for the councilor in his office. “Did you know the Jawhari Sea has less than half the surface area of the Great Ocean but the same amount of coastline? It twists and turns so much that it would take you six months to travel around it. Of course, such a thing has never been accomplished because it abuts up against the impassable mountains in the west, making the coastline treacherous. The great explorer and adventurer Banic once made an attempt—”
“Forgive me,” she interrupted. “When do you think the councilor will arrive?” It was hard to keep her attention on the meeting with Faruq’s blathering.
“He should be here any minute, Envoy. Perhaps you would like to sit?” Faruq asked with a smile, pulling a chair out for her.
“No, thank you, sir. I sit too much, you know.” Then she turned from Faruq to Paykal, who was at her side. “Paykal, in our meeting today, please listen, and only interrupt if necessary. I will be using Faruq’s services this time.” She didn’t want to insult Habib as he often used Faruq as his emissary.
“As you wish, Envoy.” Paykal looked more relieved than offended.
Habib arrived about twenty minutes later. He bowed in apology, and Faruq translated for him. “Sal wishes to apologize for his tardiness and is doubly sorry that he only has fifteen minutes for this meeting. He has to tend to an important transaction in the lower town that the Herald would like to go a certain way.”
“I understand. There is no need to apologize. I’m grateful for any time he can offer.”
Faruq translated.
Before she could continue, Habib was speaking again. He spoke for a long time before Faruq translated. “Sal says that he is glad you have come to Jawhar and he is highly supportive of improving relations with Belidoran lands, especially trade relations. He also says that he is not a politician but a businessman, and so doesn’t care about religious differences or quarrels of the past. He only wants to see stability for the greater good of all Jawhar. Please let him know how he can help you achieve your goals with the council.”
It was refreshing to hear his rational take on the situation. She replied, “I’m thankful for your support, and it seems we share the same objective. Since we have little time, I would like to quickly provide you with my intended proposal and obtain
your feedback. May I do so?”
After the translation, Sal nodded.
“Thank you. I wish to propose that we establish embassies in Judud Jawhar for both Pomeria and Belidor, with reciprocal Jawhari embassies in both Esienne and Pomer City. This would be the beginning of an end to operating under a veil of secrecy for the realms. It would help our respective nations learn about each other and eliminate the rampant rumors. I for one have never seen a city as beautiful as Judud Jawhar, for example. A greater awareness of this beauty could dispel some of the negative views about the Jawhari in my country. Lastly, these embassies wouldn’t only be political in nature but could also facilitate trade. Early commercial exchanges could take place as a staging ground to determine what goods could be traded en masse. I have confidence that once these embassies are successful, antagonistic notions will diminish, and our vested interests in improved trade will keep everyone incentivized to keep the peace.”
His eyes were wide-open and his face frozen in time as he heard Faruq go through the translation. Then he promptly nodded his head and responded, smiling.
Faruq translated. “Sal says he likes this idea. You have his full support. In fact, he will provide you with a list of our trade exports so you can see the kinds of goods that could be exchanged in these embassies. He says he is willing to be open with you and the Belidoran countries in order to make this work.”
She smiled in turn. This was going exceedingly well. She knew, however, that the others would probably be less receptive. As if he read her mind, Sal warned her of this.
Faruq said, “Sal says that he won’t be the one to take issue with this proposal. Mahmood is obviously opposed to anything Belidoran, so he will be difficult. As for Basim Taymullah, while he may not have a strong religious inclination, he will do anything to get in the Herald’s good graces, including using you in some undesirable way. Then there is Wahab, who has effectively been ruler of the nation until the last few years. He could see you as yet another challenge to his waning authority.”