He looked behind him.
Back at the very edge of visibility, in the shadows beyond the last culvert, was something in a shape like that of a man, but its proportions were wrong. The legs and arms were too long, the head was odd shaped, and at an angle no man’s could be while he still lived.
Arjun turned back around and tried, if possible, to sprint even faster. He was young, strong, and healthy, but his breath began to run short. The shape behind him kept pace, but showed no sign whatsoever of becoming tired. Sooner or later, Arjun thought, he would give out and collapse on the ground, however briefly, but in that moment it could catch him with no further nasty surprises from his sword.
Ahead on the left, across the gully, was the pile of rubble marking one end of the final passageway. What a joy the simple act of seeing had become! He ran to it, and leapt across, nearly lost his balance on the rocks on the other side, then kept going as he drew on reserves of energy provided by fear and hope.
He ran down the passage, clambered up some broken stairs and a pile of more rubble, and there at the end was the narrowest crack at chest level, between two brick walls. He jumped for it, grabbed hold, and clambered precariously on the narrow lip. The space was so small he thought a bigger man, like his father, would have to expel every ounce of air from his lungs to squeeze through.
But then he thought grimly, his father wasn’t coming.
Arjun squeezed through the gap and out onto the broken pavement of a dark, filth-strewn alley. Nothing followed him. Light came from a street at one end, and the stars twinkled overhead. After the sewers and the pitch darkness, it seemed like a heaven made real.
He slipped out of the alley and into the street. It was busy even this late at night, and full of an amazing array of characters. There were thugs and drunks, vendors and con men, performers and courtesans. There were folk of many lands, and of kinds other than human. There were no guards visible anywhere nearby. Lights hung from posts in front of dens of drinking, gambling, or worse. In this part of town, the city itself maintained no lights on the streets.
Arjun was suddenly and acutely aware of his situation and appearance. He was on a filthy city street, barefoot, in robes that were rich but now dirty and tattered. His hair was wild, dirt and sweat shaping it to a crazed sort of halo around his head. But he had a bronze signet ring on his hand, and a fine bronze sword along with two beautiful bags on his back. Bags that he knew, and an astute observer could tell, were full of heavy and possibly valuable things. He probably looked like a madman, but potentially a rich madman.
And he realized, painfully, how little he knew about life on the streets.
Before too many eyes could take notice and focus on him, he ducked into the next alley. It was full of broken pottery and furniture. Arjun thought it might be next to a trash peddler’s shop, or maybe it was just a convenient place to stow unwanted things. An immense chest-high rain urn sat cracked diagonally along one side, about twenty feet in from the entrance. Arjun crept around behind it, cleared out a pile of rags there, and sat his back to the wall. He folded the tatters of his robe around him, and rested his sword across his knees, one hand gripping the handle tightly.
He intended to wait things out until just before dawn, when even here, crowds would thin. Then he planned to make his way to an inn, some vile one around here where he hoped they wouldn’t ask questions, and get cleaned up. He might take the tatters of his robe and make a kilt, but as soon as he could, he would buy clothes and some sandals.
Instead, he fell asleep in his hiding place, cheerless as it was.
~
Inina walked casually along the Street of Vipers in the predawn darkness, her shining black hair bouncing in three large braids down her back, and her hips swinging freely below her slender waist. A little bag was slung across her shoulder. It had been a good haul tonight.
She turned the corner to the alley where the closest of her caches was hidden. There was the big urn, and behind it the loose tile under the comfy pile of rags she’d collected for the benefit of the drunken beggars that haunted the dens along this street. They slept off their drinking on any handy bit of softer-looking rubbish, and in doing so guarded or at least hid that spot from more observant eyes, the eyes of those with occupations like hers. If one was there at the moment, she’d move on to the next cache. No worries this early in a night’s work!
There WAS someone there, but not like anyone she’d have expected!
A young man, not much older than herself, sat there asleep with knees folded and his back against the wall. He was in the remains of what once would have been some very, very nice robes. He was filthy, but the filth looked recent and he didn’t smell. In fact, under it all, and even from a few feet away, she could detect perfume. For all its disarray, his wild hair looked like it had been washed and oiled at some point in the recent past. In his lap, dropped from a loose hand, was a very fine engraved bronze sword. Red stones studded the pommel and hilt. On a finger of that loose hand was a perfectly fitted signet ring of bronze, and on his half-bare chest was a heavy bronze amulet, carved with strange symbols.
Who was he?
Or, even more importantly, would he wake up if she reached for the sword?
She stepped forward and leaned over him, far more tentatively than usual. Her hands reached toward the sword. This close, she noticed the spiced scent of him and saw the dark heavy lashes of his eyes.
They fluttered, and opened.
Too late and too hastily, she pulled back! Her feet skittered and slipped as he rose with lightning speed, the sword in his hand.
~
Arjun woke from dreams of death and endless cold darkness to see a beautiful girl before his eyes. The sun had not yet risen, and for a brief instant he thought he was still dreaming. Then, she pulled back and drew her hand with a slender gleam of obsidian.
He started awake and rose to his feet with all the speed natural grace could muster. Dream or not, sleeping through the arrival of an obsidian dagger might mean he’d never wake up! He raised his sword and pointed it at her.
Then he got a better look.
She was around his age, or more likely a year or two younger, of average height, with a bare slender waist, rounded hips and high full breasts. She wore a light slip of a kilt around her hips, hitched up a bit too short for decency, at least as most people saw it, and had a band of decorated cloth around her neck and across her chest in common Zakran fashion. She had dark flashing eyes, full lips, and black hair in braids down to the small of her back. He decided she was one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen.
She also had that obsidian dagger, drawn and at the ready.
“Are you done staring at me?” she said.
“My apologies,” he replied, “You startled me. Thank you for trying to help, I am sorry I frightened you.”
She looked at him, momentarily wide-eyed. “Ah… help. Yes, of course, I, um, was worried you might be injured. You aren’t the sort of man I usually see around here. And… who are you anyway?”
“I am Arjun dra Artashad,” then he remembered he would be a fool to go by his true name now, “But… you may call me Sharur.”
Her expression changed from surprise to what might be quizzical skepticism.
“dra Artashad? DRA you say! Of the lineage of Artashad? Well good morning, eh… my lord.” she said with a tone that started sarcastically, but then trailed off in uncertainty.
She then appeared to work up her curiosity, and asked “What does Sharur mean?”
“Hunter, in old Hayyidi,” he replied, “but what is your name?”
“Inina, of the lineage of no one.”
“I am honored to meet you, Inina,” he said with a solemn expression and a small nod.
She smiled, but there was confusion in her eyes.
“Honored? I can’t remember the last time someone was honored to meet me! I think I’m starting to believe your name. What are you doing out here on the streets?”
�
��Nothing I can speak of now.”
“Then go home, because you’re going to get hurt out here.”
“I’m unsure if I can go home, though I have reason to think not. It is now my task to find out, and that will guide what I must do next.”
“What? Trouble with your parents, your father?”
“Not with him.”
“But trouble! All right then, Arjun, or Sharur, how do you expect to make it here?”
“I suppose first I must obtain lodgings, a bath, food, and some sandals. After that, I’ll begin investigating.”
Inina laughed, “Obtain lodgings! If you go asking an innkeeper around here that question that way, she’ll have shady friends jump you in hours. If you’re lucky they’ll only take your bags and your sword, but leave you alive. Then again, someone like you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t hiding from someone ELSE rich and powerful who is on the right side of the city guard while you are probably on the wrong side. In which case, an innkeeper likes rewards for fugitives as much as anyone else, and might send someone with a little message of her own for the guard.”
Arjun hadn’t thought about any of that. He thought uncomfortably about the idea of a reward out for him, and whether she, Inina, would want to claim it herself. He decided to take a chance.
“Very well, what do you recommend?”
She smiled, “You’re asking ME for advice? What makes you think you can trust me?”
“You’ve already been giving me advice, good-sounding advice, and unasked. Therefore in that regard I do think I can trust you.”
“Hmm… eminent logic, I suppose. But this isn’t some school by the great plaza.”
“Since you are so determined that I NOT trust you, Inina, let us put this to the test.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step back.
“No!” and now it was his turn to smile, “I mean I will call upon you to swear an oath.”
“An oath? We don’t generally give them round here, Arjun. Bad for business! Besides, why should I do that?” a hint of suspicion crept back into her voice.
“It costs you nothing, and I will make no demands, other than that you speak the truth to me.”
“That itself might be a cost.”
Arjun looked at her intently, “All right, I will begin. You can follow my example.”
She looked on nervously as he drew himself up straight-backed, raised his hands to the sky, and then folded them across his chest.
“I Arjun, son of Ashur, of the lineage of Artashad, declare before gods and men that I will not betray Inina, who stands before me, and that I will keep secret that which she tells me by her oath. May this oath bind me in this life and the next.”
The expression on Inina’s face changed to wonder, and a change came also over her demeanor. She gulped.
“I… Inina, daughter of those I never met, declare before… gods and men that I will not betray Arjun, who… ah, stands before me, and that I will speak the truth to him. May this oath bind me in this life… and the next.”
“Now,” she said, “let’s get out of this alley.”
~
Arjun and Inina walked down the Street of Vipers as the sun rose. The early morning traffic of wagons and porters was already growing. The noise was tremendous, but then many who slept along this particular street had strong drink to help them ignore it.
She looked at him, her big dark eyes flashing and a renewed smile on her lips. He’d done his best to groom himself, washing up from a rain basin and smoothing down his hair. “So, did you have any idea where, to what inn, you were going to go?”
“I presumed I’d find one with an innkeeper wouldn’t ask too many questions.”
She laughed. “The problem with that is that you wouldn’t find out until after you’d let something slip, and any innkeeper who volunteers that she’ll keep secrets for you will be one of the first to sell you out for the right price.”
“I can match many prices.”
She eyed the heavy-looking bags crossed over his shoulders.
“I’m sure. But you aren’t smart to advertise THAT either. The trick to staying hidden, and many other things, is knowing the right people. ”
“That, at least, I can understand. In my life, I mean my life as I have known it, it is much the same… as I have discovered,” he said, his expression turning dark, and something he fought to control flashing in his eyes.
“Tell you what,” she said, as a bit of jauntiness returned to her walk, “I’ll take you to The House of Red. Old Lurshiga is one who won’t ask questions, and who can and will keep secrets, no matter what. Her place is expensive for being so run down, but that is because she has to build the cost of protection payoffs to the city guard into her prices.”
“I thank you, Inina,” he said gravely.
They left the Street of Vipers, and went south down a side street. Arjun knew that a few blocks more would take them to the wide King’s Road that ran, almost perfectly straight, the long distance between the great plaza and the west bazaar. He guessed that the neighborhoods Inina knew well ended there. Arjun himself had, at one time or another, been to almost every district of the city, but he’d been travelling with his father, carts of goods, and an entourage along the main streets. He’d never seen the back streets, like this, outside his own district.
Zakran was a vast place.
“There it is,” said Inina.
Ahead of the on the left was a brick and plaster building of three stories. A large round plaque mounted on the wall above its door was painted bright crimson. The windows on the ground floor were of an unusual design – tall but very narrow. Its front door was recessed in from the street, and as they approached, Arjun saw it was heavily reinforced. The place as a whole was sturdy, but run down, like a decaying fortress.
Arjun was walking toward the door when Inina darted ahead of him.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to get some new clothes first? Even in the House of Red, there are people who won’t be as good at secrets as Lurshiga, and you really stand out. I also don’t think you’re someone who usually goes barefoot, and your feet look like they agree with me.”
Arjun stopped. He’d been through so much barefoot in the last twelve hours that he’d almost forgotten about it. His feet, however, were battered messes of cuts and dirt.
“Luckily there are a couple of peddlers nearby I know and trust,” said Inina.
They first went down the street to a dealer of simple unfitted clothes, the kind poor people bought and adjusted themselves. The dealer, a heavyset greasy-looking man, smiled at Inina, but gave Arjun a skeptical look.
“My friend had a rough night,” said Inina, “He needs some good street clothes. Sorry, he’s still a little addled.”
The dealer smiled broadly, though his eyes moved to Arjun’s sword and ring, “Well young sir, I have just the thing for you!”
He then searched his shelves and found a kilt and a cloak of plain cotton of roughly the right size. “That will be three silver moons, young sir.”
Arjun might be ignorant of street life, but he was a merchant’s son, and not ignorant of prices. The man was asking about four times what those clothes were worth.
“Honorable shopkeeper, as you can see from my tattered robes, my fortune runs low. I can only afford seven copper moons.”
The man stopped, looked at him, and the smile faded to a look of concentration. After some brief haggling, they settled on eleven copper moons, or a bit more than a silver. It was still on the high side, but Arjun was in a hurry. He changed behind a reed screen in the corner. For good measure, he hid his amulet and his ring in a bag, and then bundled the other bag and his sword in the remnants of his robe, which he tied and slung over his shoulder as a kind of poor man’s back pack.
As they left, Inina watched him with surprise and a bit more respect. “I didn’t expect that. I thought people like you just sent your servants to go buy things, and didn’t worry about the cost.”
He smiled, “I might be rich, or was. At the moment I actually don’t know. But I am not some landowner living off estates. We didn’t get rich or stay that way without worrying about the costs. How much does that merchant kick back to you?”
She started, then relaxed again with a smile. “Not much, on what you paid, a copper crescent or so. For what it is worth, I didn’t promise he’d give you a great deal, but I DO trust him to keep his mouth shut.”
“I know, and thank you,” said Arjun, “That was part of why I was willing to overpay. Now, let’s go find your other friend, for the sandals…”
She laughed, and felt for once, and most unexpectedly, she had some good company.
4. The Tale of Ill News
The morning was growing warm, and the streets more crowded. Arjun and Inina walked from a sandal shop to the House of Red. As they did so, he turned to her.
“Since you won’t be able to introduce me as ‘your friend’ forever, now would be a good time to start calling me Sharur,” he said.
“I’ll have to break some long time habits formed in the four hours I’ve known you, but I’ll try,” she replied.
He opened the door, and they entered the House of Red. Inside it was dark, but still cool in the morning air. A smell of human bodies and old wine mingled with hints of spices and incense. Low tables and stools ran in lines in Zakran fashion. A few motley patrons sat at them eating barley gruel. At the far end, against a wall lined with niches containing amphorae, was a stone table with a higher stool, and on that stool was a large woman. She had graying hair tied back in two heavy braids behind her head, and wore a billowy kilt of many faded colors.
When she saw Inina, her eyes brightened, “My little sugar sweet! It is so good to see you. And, ah! Who is this handsome young man you’ve brought? Someone special and… very close I hope!”
Arjun was surprised to see Inina blush.
Lurshiga rose and walked over to Inina, enveloping her in a big motherly hug. She then turned to Arjun.
Blood on Bronze (Blood on Bronze Book 1) Page 3