He had many armed men with him, both of the city and his own personal guard, as well as a captain of the fire watch and two sleepy city scribes. Beside him stood his otherwise worthless slave Eb-Heb, who had reported the news and described the culprits. Bal-Shim had no idea about the girl, but the young man could only be Arjun.
Near the ashes of the back door, he could see the charred remnants of two bodies in bronze armor, the armor of his guards. Full of concealed fury, he wanted to go kick them, smash the burnt bones for their failure, but he had his living guards watching him, and did something else entirely. He walked over to the bodies, kneeled beside them, and bowed his head in prayer.
“O’ gods, lords of all, guide and protect the spirits of these good men, who died faithfully in their duty. May I be worthy to honor their memory, and may I be able to avenge them.”
Bal-Shim rose, turned, and looked at his men. There was worship in their eyes. He spoke again.
“And we WILL avenge them, men! We’ll show this aristocrat, this corrupt leftover of the dark times of the kings what it means to anger the good honest common men of Zakran, men like you and me! I am now adding to the city’s reward for the capture of Arjun dra Artashad with a personal bounty of fifty gold suns!”
At the mention of that sum, the men’s eyes, his guards and city alike, now gleamed with something more akin to hunger.
To Eb-Heb, he whispered quietly, “Run to the house of Zash-Ulshad, and speak to the doorman. Ask him if his master will speak with me today, and give him the following words, exactly, ‘it may be wise to spare the bird in the cage, so we may lure the hatchling’, repeat it now to me.”
Eb-Heb looked at him uncomprehendingly, and then tried to repeat it. It took him three more tries, but at last he had it memorized.
“Go now!”
The slave bowed to his master, and set off at a trot. The master watched him go, and finished his business with the fire watch and guardsmen. Then Bal-Shim decided it would be wise to visit the temple of Ur-Laggu. Even as open as religion was in Zakran, he could not be known to take part in the true festival underground, but could at least pay his respects during the first cycle of worship just after dawn. There he also had need to speak with certain persons. Later, after his visit with Naram dra Zash-Ulshad, he might take part in the public, surface festival that was open to all. Open even, he thought with cynical pleasure, to one believed to be a devotee of Zamisphar.
~
Arjun and Inina awoke late in the day, intertwined close together on his little bed. He covered her in kisses, and she melted in his arms. After a time, they arose, washed again, anointed themselves with perfume, and dressed in clothes Arjun had taken from his family’s things at the warehouse. He wore his old kilt and cloak of purple and black, with bronze discs giving weight along the hems. She wore an outfit belonging to one of the serving girls, but plain as it was, it was cleaner and newer than much of what she owned. He found various bronze ornaments from his treasures, and bedecked them both from ears to ankles.
“Arjun,” she smiled and spoke to him in a soft voice, “We can’t go outside like this!”
“No indeed, but it feels good, does it not?”
Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, “I feel like a princess...”
“You have always been like one to me, as much in your plainest clothes as now sparkling with bronze and lapis. From the moment I saw you, I thought you were one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen. Now that I know you, I see that beauty in your heart as well.”
She clung to him tightly, kissed his neck, breathed in his scent and felt his strong arms around her. Her body shook with emotion. She’d known him, what, a month? And yet no one had ever been as close to her heart as he. She had many friends, but few she’d trust with her life. Him, she did. She’d felt it early on, even if she didn’t dare say it to herself, and she felt more, so much more. But what was she? A poor thief of the streets, daughter of no one, maker of nothing, unworthy of such as him! And he… was so strange, lofty, learned, and dangerous, yet so unworldly as well. She guessed from his stories of his life, and his own shyness, that she had been his first lover. He was not hers, though he was the first she’d had any reason to enjoy.
She cried on his shoulder, tears running down her skin, and his.
“Inina, what is wrong?”
“I don’t want this to ever end, being here with you, safe from the world, in your arms, and wearing your treasures.”
“I wish that too. We’ll have to move some time, at least to eat and get some wine,” he said with a little smile.
She looked up at him, sniffled, wiped her eyes, and managed a smile.
He continued, “But as to that last part, wearing my treasures, that you can go on doing. Half of what we took last night is yours.”
“What? It belongs to you, to your family!”
“I wouldn’t have it now if not for your help, and I want you to have it. You will have enough money now that, if you use it wisely, you will never even need to work again,” he smiled, “thought it doesn’t rule out using your old skills for better ends!”
“Arjun, no!”
“Inina, please.”
“I… all right,” and with wild and impossible dreams in her mind, and passion in her heart, she covered him with kisses, pressing her perfumed and jeweled body to his.
Even as they found life and joy in their little room together, outside on the streets, men searched for them with gold and power on their minds, and death in their hearts.
9. The Tale of Blade and Spell
Under a hot midday sun, Arjun stood with Enlil iru Geb in the courtyard of sand. Today marked his thirtieth day of training, and despite what he’d come to know of Enlil, he’d expected at least some kind of formality to mark what the weapons master had told him from the beginning was his transition from tentative student to accepted apprentice. He watched Enlil carefully, waiting for some sign.
“Break for lunch,” said Enlil.
Arjun started to turn, but some instinct kept him on his guard, and when the sweeping kick came at his knee, he was ready. He dodged, spun, and parried the sword that aimed straight for his heart. He then tried to grab Enlil’s sword arm while brining the point of his sword to the trainer’s neck, but the latter was too fast, made a leaping step away, and then spun around, sword ready. Enlil smiled.
“Well done, you who were a student, and are now an apprentice.”
“Master, that strike at my heart did not seem feigned. What if I had not seen it and defended myself in time?”
“Who can say? But now, attend to your meal.”
Arjun sat at his place in the shade, feeling confused, unsettled, and honored all at once. Finally, he could stand it no more, and spoke, “Master, how will my training change, now that I am an apprentice?”
Enlil finished his bite of food, chewed slowly, and watched Arjun’s discomfort with impassive calm. Then he replied, “Besides you having a say in when you train? Now, I’ll no longer go easy on you.”
At that, Arjun steeled his heart, and his body, for the battering to come.
~
Notices, clay tablets hanging by cords, appeared in prominent places around the city, offering a reward of five gold suns from the city, and no less than fifty from Bal-Shim iru Shulggi, for the arrest of Arjun dra Artashad, who had escaped from city guardsmen under unspecified charges, then gone on to rob and burn the warehouse of a law abiding merchant, and murdered two of his guards. It attempted to give a description of the fugitive, but such things were vague guidance at best. Those who posted the notices could not know that the only person in Zakran who both knew Arjun by his true name, and knew his whereabouts, was a young woman who’d given him all her heart.
Nonetheless, when Arjun saw one, he knew it was time to be more alert. He was thankful he didn’t have any distinguishing scars or other marks, and that though strong, he was otherwise a man of average height, build, and complexion for a Hayyidi. There were t
housands of men in the city of his approximate age and description. Still, he might want to alter something, to avoid looking too much like his old self.
Below the offer of rewards for his capture was a second section, describing the imprisonment of his father on also unspecified charges, and incongruously suggesting that if he, Arjun, turned himself in to the authorities, he’d be allowed to see his father and together they would obtain a fair public trial. Arjun dismissed it out of hand. If they’d been interested in giving a fair trial, they wouldn’t have smashed in his father’s door in the middle of the night. For that matter, what originally had his father been charged with?
Though he knew he wouldn’t take the bait, his heart ached at the thought of abandoning any chance, however unlikely, to see his father. He still had hopes of rescuing him, poor as his chances of success might be, or barring that, to avenge him. To that end, he’d been training pitilessly in battle and stealth. As he stood staring at the plaque, he considered he might need more than these to succeed.
Then another notice caught his eye. It was larger, and bore a ceramic seal glazed in a coppery finish and bearing the symbols of Zakran. That marked it as the announcement of a new law. He read it carefully, and was shocked. Henceforth, certain professions were going to require licensing by the council of the city, the requirements for which could be obtained in detail from scribes at the citadel, but which included at least a fee of ten gold suns and some kind of approval process. Arjun found it startling. While some professions, such as that of his family, had maintained formal or informal guilds, they’d never had the actual power of law to keep others out, and the city government had wielded no such power since the days of the kings!
At the top of the list were bronze makers. Below them were smiths who worked in gold, silver, copper, tin, or lead, and last, a long list of other kinds of workers in the same metals, such as miners and those who worked forges. It was all very disturbing. Smiths at least could afford ten gold, but those others would almost certainly have to find wealthy sponsors or employers. Some of course already did, but since the demise of the kings three centuries earlier, and the breakup of the old system of estates and patronage, there had been many free workers. He considered another unpleasant possibility, slavery had been on the rise in recent years, and the number of ways to become enslaved had been increasing. Men unable to pay the fee, who lost their profession and thus livelihoods, might then find themselves performing them again in thrall to a man rich enough to pay for both fees and slaves.
But also troubling was the selectiveness of the list. All were workers in metal. Why? He guessed that there was something special going on regarding bronze makers, given the treachery of Bal-Shim, but what had the others to do with them?
He had much to think about.
Now though, he must deal with the practical task of how, if ever, he was going to rescue his father. The time was probably growing short. His chances of success were improbable at best, but as he’d reflected earlier, if they were going to even be that, he’d need something more.
He’d need magic.
~
A beggar walked up a steep path to the house of Kartam dra Argesh. He walked with a shambling gait, hunched under a filthy cloak. His face was dirty and his face was unshaven. Someone who looked closely might have noticed that the face under the beard and dirt was young, and the build under the cloak was strong. But beggars walking to the house of Kartam were a common occurrence, and this footpath came straight from the busy streets below, avoiding the houses of his neighbors.
The beggar came to the door, and it opened slightly. Out of it stepped a doorman.
“Seeker of alms, master Kartam is not dispensing them this day, but if you tell me your name and tale, he may remember you for a day that he is.”
“Tell your master that the son of Ashur seeks his help once more.”
The doorman looked him over, and his expression passed first to recognition, then concern, “It would be wise if you made this your last visit unless bidden, young Arjun, matters grow much more dangerous for you, an in these times, it is quite possible that the house of Argesh is being watched.”
“For me?”
“No, but the reasons for the watching are quite independent of whether such a watcher might recognize you, and report. However, I will go speak to my master, and he will tell me what he wishes.”
The doorman stepped back inside, and closed the door behind him. There was a long wait. At last, he returned.
“Come inside, and he will help you as he can.”
Arjun followed him again to Kartam’s office. The latter had grimmer expression than Arjun had ever seen on his face.
“Lord Kartam, thank you for seeing me. You seem troubled.”
“There is much at work, and I can only perceive part of it. But that which is visible on the surface is most worrying. You have seen the new law?”
“Yes, lord Kartam.”
“That law was passed over the objection of nine of the council. I did not know those behind it had gathered so many allies. It is strange that a group of men vocal in calling themselves harbingers of new times should revive a style of law from the darkest old days.”
“So I thought as well, lord.”
“However, that is not why you are here Arjun. I am glad you have not fallen into the trap baited for you by your enemies, though I now fear even more for your father, and for you. What has caused you to open yourself to scrutiny in coming again to my house?”
“In my own plans, lord Kartam, such as they are, I believe I have need of magic.”
“So you may, for though whoever helped you with your disguise has skill, you may need magic to pass close scrutiny as a beggar.”
“I was thinking, lord, of magic related to the opening of ways and portals.”
“Ah, then they are dangerous things you plan. You have come to me to advise you of a magus who might be trusted?”
“I have, lord Kartam.”
“There are none of whom I could be completely certain in the manner of Umrub the G’abudim, but those who prepare magic for my uses will be unlikely to wish to incur my wrath. Of them, I will recommend to you Shirin iru Anlil. We will be asking him to take great risks on your behalf, and for that and other reasons, his castings will cost great amounts of gold.”
“I wish to have him train me to do my own casting, lord Kartam.”
At that, the old man’s face took on a look of surprise.
“Arjun! You have long amazed me, and do so still!” he laughed, “to start training as a magus at your age, when you have never been an apprentice, is a task any master would be loathe to do. And lacking prior preparation, it will be difficult for you! It will also likely be even more costly than purchasing magic made by others. What funds do you have?”
“I have coins, gems, and bronze in total worth in total, assuming average sale prices, perhaps five thousand gold suns.”
“You escaped with far more than I would have imagined! Though I presume you have much supplemented it by recovering stolen items at the warehouse of Shulggi.”
“Yes, lord.”
“Such sums may well be enough, but I cannot in good conscience send you forth to spend on that scale unaided. Go now, and wait outside, acting as a beggar once more, and I will have my servant give you that which is needful.
Arjun bowed low, “Thank you, lord Kartam.”
He then returned outside, and after some minutes, the doorman emerged.
“Seeker of alms, master Kartam has relented, and gives them to you now,” and with those words, the doorman handed him a small stone and a few copper crescents.
Arjun made the humble clumsy bow of a beggar, and left the way he’d come. As he walked he wondered at Kartam’s intent. The stone would have a message for Shirin, but what purpose, beyond slightly aiding his disguise, was served by the coins? No matter, it was not wise or his place to question now. He put them in the coin purse he kept under his cloak, hidden from thieving
hands.
When he returned to his room, he opened the purse, planning to move the crescents to the hidden box containing the rest of his coins. But inside, instead of copper crescents, he found gems of great worth, sparkling in the fading light.
~
The house of Shirin iru Anlil was built like a fortress. Lofty walls met at a gatehouse with only two windows, high overhead, and the great house itself was hidden in the center behind tall trees. All in all, it was an excellent place not to be seen, and that suited Arjun perfectly.
He approached the front gate, which was carved in what must be deliberately obvious wards and runes. He was no closer than ten feet away, when a deep booming voice spoke from nowhere. “Who seeks the house of Shirin?”
“I am Sharur, sent by Kartam dra Argesh.”
“Sent by lord Kartam, are you? Produce some proof.”
“He gave me this stone.”
“Wait.”
The gate opened, and in the dim light of evening, he could see the flicker of magic. On the other side of the gate was an ogre, dressed in a tunic of bronze scales over a red tabard, and carrying an immense bronze axe. A memory of childhood struck Arjun’s mind, and he recalled his father had made that axe.
“Give me the token, and wait again,” said the ogre.
Arjun did so, and much time passed. The sky grew dark, the stars sparkled overhead, the copper moon rose, and a warm breeze blew, scented with spices. At last, the gate opened once more, and there was the ogre.
“Follow me, and do not stray from the path.”
Arjun did as asked. He and the ogre walked a straight path of stone between beautiful gardens. Ahead was the great house. It was ornately carved in geometric patterns interspersed with runes. He could sometimes see, and at all times feel, the faint crackle of magic.
A door of bronze and gold opened before them, and inside was a small but well appointed audience hall. In a chair at one end sat a small, thin man in blue and purple kilt and cloak inscribed along the hems with runes. He wore bands of various metals on his fingers, arms, ankles, and brow. All bore traceries and runes.
Blood on Bronze (Blood on Bronze Book 1) Page 8