by Erik A Otto
He simply walked out of the stable with the horse in tow. When he was far enough away, he saddled and sat atop the horse. The horse had no objection, so Sebastian rode with haste, making distance from the farm and praising Matteo for his good fortune.
He found a place where the trees were thicker and made camp. He tied the horse to a nearby tree, and it didn’t complain, oblivious to the new owner and change in surroundings. The acquisition of the horse was so easy that it made him think again that perhaps this was indeed the path the Matteo had chosen.
He made great progress the following morning, covering many leagues on the same trail he’d been on for days. He thought he might even give the trail a name for his journal. Perhaps the Path to Truth, or maybe the Truthseeker’s Road.
Several more farms presented themselves, which he carefully navigated around. The grass became thicker, the trees became fewer, and his speed became greater. At this rate he would be in Cenara in less than two days.
He was coming up to another green blip on the map and expected to run through an overgrown crater. But the map was faded here, and his speed reflected too much overconfidence born of his recent good fortune.
The first sign of something unusual was the house in the distance. The blocky building didn’t look like the other farmhouses he’d seen, which typically had angular roofs and flowers adorning the windowsills. It was far away and hard to make out, but it appeared to be a square blip on the horizon, and in a certain light it almost shined. He should have recognized that the shape was unusual, too symmetrical to be anything other than a Forefather building. But it was far to his right, removed from the path, and he was passing quickly. The trail was on an incline, and he wished to make it over the top, where he expected to see the crater just like all the other green dots he’d passed on the map.
Multiple blips rose from the horizon as he completed the ascent. Some of these blips were clearly human figures, so he should have stopped there, but he was too slow to react, and his inertia kept the horse moving. When he reached the top of the crest, he finally pulled the reins up. There was indeed a hole in the earth here, but it was no crater. The hole was many times the size of the other craters he’d seen on the journey so far, and the earth didn’t fall away gradually but rather vertically. Pulleys, a ramp, a ladder, and a staircase descended into the immense pit.
Around the lip were wood and bone buildings that looked to be temporary in nature, as well as the silhouettes of several people, some of them gesticulating in his direction. He would be entirely visible to them in his current position, a beacon on a bulge in the grasslands horizon.
Turning about his horse, he kicked the flanks in earnest. He would flee back to the woods, and hopefully these people wouldn’t follow.
The horse was tired. The beast had been pushed all morning without a break. Once oblivious, it became highly objectionable and reared up, trying to buck Sebastian. He tried to hold on but was unsuccessful, falling backward and landing hard on the ground. His foot was caught up in the stirrup, and it dragged him forward a few feet. Thankfully his foot broke free after that, only slightly twisted.
Sebastian limped after the horse. For a while it kept pace with him, always staying the same distance away. Sebastian decided to approach more cautiously. The ploy worked; the horse stopped cantering away, and he managed to catch the reins and soothe it. He pulled himself on top slowly and stroked its mane. “Matteo, praise you. Take me away from here.”
He could hear them closing in. Galloping hoofs came from behind, and he saw several more horses creating clouds of dust from the vicinity of the blocky building on his left. He gradually spurred his horse to a trot, but it was too late. His horse slowed as it saw the others approaching. Within a minute Sebastian was completely encircled, and there was nothing he could do to urge the beast forward.
“Hilania Matata!” a balding man with a coarse voice said to Sebastian. Except for a sheathed sword on his side, the man was barely clothed and dirty. His shoulders rippled with muscle under the grime. The others were similarly attired, but a few had lumps of flesh hanging from their necks—Sambayan goiters.
Behind the main circle were three who were clearly Cenarans. They carried large packs on their backs and had dark arrowhead patterns of bloodletting scars emanating from their eyes. They were also tanned, heavily tattooed, and hairless. Belidoran common folk often hired Cenarans to do carpentry or other basic trades, so perhaps the Sambayans had a similar relationship with the Cenarans. The border wasn’t far, so it made sense.
Sebastian was clueless as to what the balding Sambayan man said. He could only respond with a plea and hope they understood Belidoran. Sebastian bowed low in his saddle. “Greetings, friends. I am…a truthseeker. I mean no harm. I’m not an emissary or soldier. I only seek passage through your lands.”
One of the Cenarans called to the entire group from behind the circle, “Baha adami use lai low, Belidoran hai.”
He must be translating, Sebastian thought.
“Tumane use suna. Use milata hai,” the bald Sambayan man croaked in the direction of two solid-looking Sambayans by his side.
Sebastian hoped these people were humble tradesmen, perhaps bone mound miners, who would let him pass once they realized he was alone and harmless. Perhaps this balding man was the leader, and perhaps he was asking his colleagues to escort Sebastian through the area.
It was a naïve thought.
The two solid-looking Sambayans dismounted their horses, walked over to Sebastian, and savagely pulled him from his horse. These were not tradesmen, nor were they humble. They were brutal and remorseless Sambayan slavers.
Chapter 27
The Traitor
Hella kept her head held high as she walked down the hall from her chamber. It was important to maintain her poise, despite the perilous situation. Waynard, walking ahead of her, didn’t have the same regal training. His eyes bulged, and his head flitted this way and that. “Keep your cool, Waynard,” she said.
After Battia fled she revised her plan. Instead of sending someone to collect her retinue, she and Waynard would have to do it themselves, and to do that they would have to pass through the lobby to another wing of the Dignitaries Residence.
Paykal’s poisoning wouldn’t remain a secret for long. Her only hope was to declare that there had been an accident and then find some way of conveying the specifics privately to the Herald as soon as possible. She had to be careful, though. If she made any public accusations, she could be imprisoned or killed. In fact that might be exactly what Sal Habib wanted. Best to handle this quietly but quickly.
But first, a little more protection would be useful. Who knew if Sal Habib also had assassins lurking about to finish the job?
The marble staircase eventually opened into the lobby. She saw two guards speaking intensively in Jawhari. She made her way toward them.
When they saw her they immediately drew their swords. They cautiously moved to meet her halfway through the lobby.
This wasn’t normal.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she asked the Jawhari guards. “There has been a dreadful accident in my chamber. I would like to meet with the Herald immediately.”
Whether or not they understood her, they didn’t stop. Knowing what could ensue, she looked Waynard in the eye and mouthed a no. There was a fervor in his eyes, but she knew he would do her bidding.
“Kinda jatta litrama jattreya!” one of the guards said, sticking his sword out at her.
“Fine, take me, but I’m sure you’ll regret it.” She kept her head up and looked down her nose at them, while at the same time thrusting her wrists out.
They bound her and Waynard with tempered rope made of sinew, then pushed them along, heading toward the outside square.
Before they could exit the lobby, Zahir came running in, his face beet red. The guards exchanged heated words with him. Unfortunately, given her still-rudimentary understanding of Jawhari, they were words she couldn’t understand.
One guard made a stabbing gesture with his sword and then waved at Zahir to step aside. Zahir seemed to have lost the argument. His head tilted down despondently and he shuffled to his left.
Or it could have been he wasn’t despondent. Maybe he was thinking. Or maybe he was lulling them into a false sense of security.
In a lightning-fast movement, Zahir pulled his sword out and rammed it through the gut of one of the guards. The other guard yelled out in alarm.
Hella turned to help Waynard, who was struggling with his bonds. Zahir and the uninjured guard circled each other. Zahir made a quick step in one direction, and the guard leaned away evasively. But Zahir’s move had been a feint. His body weight was actually headed in the other direction, and now he hovered over an off-balanced foe. Zahir’s hard slice cut deep into the man’s leg. He crumpled to the floor, crying out in agony and holding the wound.
Zahir approached Hella and Waynard with his blood-soaked sword. He wore a snide expression, and for a moment she thought he might strike them down as well. Instead, he cut their bonds and said, “You come with me.”
“What’s this all about?” she asked. “We’ve done nothing wrong. I will not move from here until I know what games are being played.”
Zahir seemed to ignore her. He walked over to the lifeless body of the first guard, kneeled, and gashed his throat. Then he walked over to the moaning man holding his leg and did the same, silencing him. He wiped his sword on the dead guard’s lavender jerkin, staining it red.
Hella tried to contain her disgust. “What is this butchery? I’ve come here for diplomacy, not…this.”
Zahir turned to her, his body tense. “They cannot know. Come now!” He pointed at the exit leading to the courtyard.
The desperate intensity of his countenance could not be ignored. There must have been a reason Zahir did what he did. She remembered what he’d said to her the other day. “Pomeria chose well.” It seemed sincere enough, at the time. And he had cut Waynard’s bonds. If he was going to kill them, he certainly wouldn’t have done that.
Zahir stood there, breathing in louder and louder breaths, as if about to reach another violent crescendo.
In the end, what choice did she have? With Sal Habib clearly out for her blood, Mahmood hating anyone who spoke Belidoran, and Taymullah a feckless bureaucrat, it might be that Zahir and Wahab were her only allies.
“I will come,” she said.
So they fled together.
They navigated the streets in haste, from small shops to apartments to alleyways. Zahir sometimes ran ahead of them and asked them to follow a moment later; he obviously didn’t want to be seen aiding them in their flight. Eventually they landed in an older building that looked like it had been vacant for some time. Zahir had a key.
In the old building, Zahir found a few heavy lavender cloaks to wear. It was a hot day, so they would be sweaty and uncomfortable, but they would be useful to conceal their identities. Then Zahir led them into a hidden basement tunnel that proceeded down into the lower city.
Hella would pose a question here or there, but Zahir would quickly cut her off with an exuberant “Shhhh!”
In the lower city, while she and Waynard hid in the shadows, Zahir bought some provisions, as well as three shoddy-looking horses. Jawhari stock was a poor pedigree, and these steeds looked weaker than most. Waynard gave her a disconcerted look, but she kept herself expressionless. Until she knew better the motivations of their guide, she would say, do, and express nothing that could reveal anything to him about what she was thinking.
There were no signs of any troops following them, but the cautious glances Zahir cast everywhere suggested they should remain on alert.
They left the city through the northern gate without incident.
Hella assumed they would be heading south, or southeast, toward the passages to Pomeria or Belidor, but instead, they went northeast, along the Venari River. Finally, when the path along the river was devoid of people, Zahir actually responded to one of her questions.
“Please, Zahir. What happened? If you want us to continue on this trek to nowhere, I need to know why I’m being pursued. And what made you rush to intercept the guards, and why did you need to…slay them?”
Zahir was ahead of her. He didn’t look back when he responded. “The Belidoran girl came to the guards in your building. I don’t know what she told them. I heard she was taken to the head of the guard. Afterward they issued a command to hilltop security to take you if seen. I only know because the head of the guard owed me a favor. He told me about the girl and the command.”
“What Belidoran girl?” she asked.
“Barta?” He didn’t sound sure of the name, but it was close enough to Battia for Hella to be sure.
Hella thought Battia had fled out of fear or uncertainty. Yet Zahir was saying she had actually gone to the guards of her own volition. Surely she would have known it could trigger this response from the guards, or was she that naïve?
Zahir said, “The council will meet quickly, if they haven’t already. Wahab has considered this scenario before. He told me what would happen next; you would be caught and kept in solitary confinement for a failed attempt to kill the Herald. Eventually, you would be killed.”
“I’m not sure about Battia’s involvement in this,” Hella responded, thinking out loud. “But I’m certain Habib is behind it, and some Pomerians I know may be complicit, too. But then…if you saved me, you must know it was Habib. Why? Why would he do this, and why would you help me?”
“We believe Habib was trying to have the Herald killed, with you as his hand, so he could seize power. He controls many of the resources we would need for war and also is a middleman for some of the Fringe trade contracts, so he would stand to profit greatly. Mainly, though, as Mulla Telahtaree, he wants to undermine any possibility of peace between our nations. If he had succeeded in this ploy, he would have the excuse to go to war.”
“And what if I had drank the wine first?”
“Ah, it was the wine then.” Zahir nodded. “Well, then you die. Maybe Habib frames the Herald for your death. Either way, war becomes more likely.”
“So why not stay and expose Habib?”
“Well, for one, you will be killed. There is no doubt. It would be a fake accident or a staged escape attempt, but either way, you would die while in confinement. You see, even though the ploy failed, Habib still benefits, as long as you can’t expose him. The Herald doesn’t want war, but he will be forced to consider it after this sign of Pomerian…what is the word? Aggression? Yes, aggression is the word. If you are dead, it’s much easier for Habib to make war happen because you can’t speak in your own defense, and it increases the likelihood of Belidoran revenge.”
She had been used as a pawn in Habib’s game. It was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid.
Zahir shrugged his shoulders and said, “So that’s why I’m helping you. Wahab believed you being alive is better than dead. He told me to help you get home, and then you could be our connection in Pomeria and Belidor—you could vouch for Wahab from there.”
Only a week ago she thought Zahir’s Belidoran was non-existent. Now he seemed remarkably articulate. How could he know her language so well? He was a Jawhari representative from a region far to the west of here, away from Belidor and Pomeria. It didn’t make any sense.
She must try to learn more about him, but it wasn’t the right time. There were too many other burning questions.
“So is Mahmood involved in this?” she asked. “Who else do we need to watch out for?”
“I know only what Wahab tells me, which is not a lot. Mahmood may be involved. I don’t know.” Zahir looked back at her. “This is why Wahab told Hayzan to make you stay in Managash.”
He didn’t have to say it. She already knew. Her craftiness in outwitting Hayzan might have helped start a war.
She felt like an idiot.
“Why didn’t Wahab just send an emissary to tell me his concerns
about Sal Habib?” Hella asked. “Why all this secrecy?”
Zahir sniggered at that. “You are Pomerian. How could he trust you?”
As the path meandered, the river beside them broadened into the mouth of the Jawhari Sea. Large peaks rose in the distance; the impassable mountains. Hella was again taken by the beauty of this part of Jawhar. If she could ever find her way back to describe it, no Pomerian would believe her.
It wasn’t all pleasant. At one point they passed a small infestation of bone chuckers making burrows into the ground near a thicket of yellowish trees. Their sacks were filled with the flesh of some dead animal, or perhaps harvested from a nearby bone mound. These appendages trailed behind them as they tunneled. Pomeria had tried to exterminate the pests decades ago with limited success.
These bone chucker vermin, at least, would be something Pomerians would believe.
She took her time digesting Zahir’s answers. The story had some plausibility, but she couldn’t know for sure if he was being truthful. Mostly she had trouble understanding Battia’s role in all of this. She seemed quiet but not stupid. She had been born and raised in Belidor, part of a noble family of high standing who were known by many. Surely she was no traitor. But then, why would she run away and report the incident? It didn’t fit at all. Perhaps seeing Paykal die had driven her to a fit of madness.
After more mulling, she couldn’t identify any other immediate questions, except for the most obvious one. “If you’re taking me back home, why are we heading north instead of south?”
“South would have more people looking, and there is something else you need to see.”
“Oh really? What is it?”
“Wait and see.”
“Why don’t you tell me what it is right now?” Hella let her frustration bleed into her voice.
“Dothil, Princess. As I said before, you are Pomerian and not to be trusted.”
Chapter 26