Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms

by Bevan McGuiness

  Maida looked away from Keshik and lifted her eyes to regard Jooure, the northernmost city of Lac’u. Legend had it the city was built to mark the northern boundary of the country’s great farmlands. The expansion of the vast farm had meant that the city no longer served that function, but its walls provided travellers welcome relief from the days of tedious riding through endless fields.

  They had been riding for days, not once setting camp, sleeping irregularly on the ground, wrapped in thick blankets, sharing body heat, whenever Keshik felt the need. Maida was so tired she was dizzy, occasionally faltering in the saddle. Even Keshik was starting to show signs of weariness. He could easily ride for ten straight days, but this time he had pushed hard as if there was something behind him driving him on or ahead, drawing him.

  At the walls of Jooure the gates stood open, guarded in a somewhat desultory fashion by a single soldier. Keshik reined in and allowed his horse to come to a halt at the man’s raised hand.

  ‘What is your business in Jooure?’ the guard asked.

  ‘Private,’ grunted Keshik.

  ‘And very short if you don’t tell me more,’ the guard retorted.

  Keshik gave a small smile at the guard’s response. ‘I am looking for work,’ he said.

  ‘What sort of work?’

  ‘Bodyguard, personal escort, arena fighting if you have it,’ Keshik said.

  The guard looked him up and down. ‘I was right,’ he said.

  ‘Right about what?’ asked Maida.

  ‘How long you will be staying here,’ the guard said.

  Keshik’s smile vanished as the guard waved them through. Maida reached across and put her hand on his arm.

  ‘It is not worth it,’ she whispered. ‘Would he be worthy, standing guard?’

  Keshik did not acknowledge her words, but urged his horse on. Maida gave the guard a mischievous smile and followed him in.

  The city of Jooure was famous for smuggling, even Maida knew that. Set far in the north of Lac’u, it was beyond the Talons’ reach, and with only the untracked frozen wilderness beyond it, no one seemed interested in what might or might not go on inside its grey walls.

  And now, once within those walls, Maida wanted to be outside. Under her horse’s hooves the road was slippery with mud that lay over large slabs of stone. On either side, the buildings loomed grey and unwelcoming, their windows shuttered against the chill wind. She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders while Keshik shrugged off another layer of clothes in defiance of the wind.

  They had not been to Jooure before, but it was not hard to find what they needed. Lying near the edge of the city, not far from the main gate, was the standard Lac’un market: a large open space where merchants of any sort could pitch a shelter and trade their wares. With a little skill or local knowledge, a person could find anything in such aplace. In Jooure, more so than most Lac’un cities, anything meant items ranging from food to slaves to someone’s quick death — for the right price.

  Keshik reined in his horse in a likely looking spot between a woman selling blankets and a family selling farm produce near the edge of the market. While he set up their gyrn and established their stake on the muddy ground, Maida selected the best of their recent acquisitions and made her first foray into the market.

  The Kifud blankets fetched a good price, but only in coin. Maida preferred gemstones or jewellery — or sometimes favours — as they were easier to carry, so she went in search of a jeweller.

  She found Thurgista, a young but highly competent dealer in fine gems she had met before. He looked up as she sat cross-legged in front of him. A wary smile of greeting passed over his face as he saw her.

  ‘Maida,’ he said. ‘It has been a while. Are you well?’

  Maida extended her hands and bowed. ‘Thurgista, I come with goods to trade, just scales and an honest heart,’ she intoned, invoking the Lac’un Traders’ Code.

  Thurgista sighed and bowed in return. ‘I hear your offer and listen with open ears, just scales and an honest heart.’

  Maida looked up and winked. ‘Good, that’s out of the way.’

  Thurgista scowled at her. ‘Do not invoke the code lightly,’ he cautioned. ‘The Talons are far from here, but there are … others who listen.’

  ‘Ice and wind,’ Maida cursed. ‘Free Guilders?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Armed?’

  ‘Usually,’ Thurgista assured her.

  ‘Fine. The code it is.’ Maida rose to her feet smoothly and untied the saddlebag from her horse. She dropped it in front of Thurgista and sat back down. ‘I seek fair trade and equitable exchange.’

  Thurgista reached forwards and tugged at the thong holding the bag closed. When it was loose, he hesitated and looked up at Maida for her permission to open it. She gave the curt hand gesture required by the code. It signified both her acceptance of his request to examine her goods, and her lack of a weapon. The Lac’un Traders’ Code dated back to a time when trade was often dangerous, and traders were killed as they took their eyes off their customers to regard the goods being offered.

  Thurgista tipped the coins out onto his mat and started sifting through them.

  As usual, the coins were a mixture of different metals and origins. Every one of the Eleven Kingdoms was represented in the pile of gold, silver, copper and brass that spread out over the thick, woven trader’s mat. While Thurgista picked over them, separating the various types, Maida diverted her attention to her surrounds.

  She noted the six armed men who hovered threateningly nearby policing the market, the handful of customers who braved such a bleak and grey day to come to trade and the others who watched everyone with eyes that were too sharp, too wary to be anything but Free Guilders.

  ‘Still with Keshik?’ Thurgista asked without looking up from his work.

  ‘I am,’ Maida said.

  ‘Pity.’

  ‘He’s a good man.’

  ‘No, he isn’t,’ Thurgista disagreed. ‘He is a violent, vicious killer who stalks death. You are too good for him.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Maida cautioned. ‘He has killed men for less.’

  Thurgista snorted. ‘He has killed men for allowing their shadow to fall on him while he practises.’

  Maida had to agree. Keshik was deadly and killed far too often.

  ‘You know where my tent is if you ever chose to leave him,’ Thurgista offered, his voice low.

  ‘I do, but I would not want you to die like that.’

  Thurgista finally looked up. ‘A good haul,’ he said, as if their recent conversation had not occurred.

  ‘We have been lucky,’ Maida said.

  ‘Keshik is never lucky. He works hard for his wages, and always gives good value.’

  Maida narrowed her eyes at Thurgista’s tone. It had changed. They were being observed. She held Thurgista’s gaze and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  ‘We are looking for small, easily carried pieces,’ Maida said.

  Thurgista made a show of considering her words. He stroked his chin. ‘I think I have what you want,’ he said finally. ‘Wait there.’

  He rose and walked into his tent. Maida allowed her gaze to wander, apparently at random, but in reality, she was looking for whoever it was concentrating a bit too hard on their transaction.

  It did not take her long to locate the watcher — a lean, hard-looking man standing not far away, regarding a rather plain cloak too intently. Maida’s suspicions were confirmed as he shot a glance towards her, then looked away too quickly when their eyes met.

  A man of action, rather than a real watcher, she guessed.

  Thurgista returned with a small black pouch. He sat down and held it out to Maida.

  ‘I offer this in exchange,’ he said.

  Maida opened the pouch and tipped the small collection of sparkling gems into her palm. Her practised control fled in the face of the beauty that lay in her hand. She gasped at the tumble of jewels.

  Thurgista
gave her a small smile. ‘I take it my offer is acceptable?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maida said, attempting to regain her composure. ‘Acceptable.’ She looked up at the trader, knowing she had no chance left now of bargaining and conceded defeat. ‘But only just acceptable.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Maida returned the gems to their bag and tucked it into her belt. She stood. Thurgista rose too.

  ‘Until next time,’ he said. ‘And remember my offer,’ he whispered.

  With a shake of her head, Maida turned and left. The watcher followed her at a not particularly discreet distance.

  About halfway back to where Keshik waited Maida stopped and confronted her follower.

  ‘Unless you want to hire Keshik, I suggest you go away now,’ she said. ‘He does not like strange men following me. If you follow me back to our tent, he will kill you. But if you come with me and I introduce you, he will listen.’ She turned away from him. ‘The choice is yours,’ she said.

  He caught up with her before she had covered ten paces.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘My name is Maida.’

  ‘I know,’ the man said. His accent was strange, unlike any she had heard before. When she told him this, he laughed aloud. ‘That is no surprise,’ he said. ‘I am from Siecenta. My name is Panxo della Frado de Scieta al Tidan.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Maida.

  ‘Most people call me Panxo,’ he went on. ‘Only my mother could ever get her tongue around all the rest.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘My father, whoever he might have been, has but one claim to fame: he paid in full in advance for my dear mother’s tender services. Or so I am told.’

  Maida could not help but smile. ‘And all those names, what do they mean?’

  Panxo shrugged. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘And what do you want with Keshik?’

  Panxo’s face went suddenly serious. ‘My current employer has interests in another city to the south.

  He wishes to retain the services of the finest swordsman in the world to see to some problems he is having there.’

  Maida sighed. It sounded just like the sort of thing Keshik would take on without hesitation, and she hated the heat of the southern lands.

  ‘Where exactly are these interests?’ she asked.

  ‘Vogel.’

  7

  The slave was led deep into a labyrinth of narrow alleyways and doors. His guide moved with the sure confidence of a street dweller, unhesitatingly following some long-memorised path. The slave automatically committed the route to memory, counting steps and noting passed openings. It did not take him long to realise he was being led in a complicated loop, most likely to ensure he was unable to find his way back again, to make him lose any sense of location he might have. In the dim light he smiled grimly. His master had taught him too well to fall for so obvious a trick. By the time his guide stopped at a closed door, the slave knew they were little more than twenty paces away from where they had first met.

  The man looked around before pushing the door open. He stepped aside to usher the slave before him.

  ‘Come in,’ he said.

  The slave shook his head. ‘After you,’ he countered.

  His guide shrugged and walked in.

  The room was surprising: well set up with two chairs, a table, a curtain — presently drawn back to reveal a bed — and a steadily burning lamp casting a warm glow over the room. Scattered around on the floor and the table were dozens of books. The slave looked around approvingly. He stepped forwards and picked up a book from the table.

  The book was old, with tell-tale signs of much use. On the cracked leather cover was the word ‘Vogel'. The slave opened the front cover. Written in black ink on the first page were the words ‘Ileki and Ima'.

  The slave snapped the book shut and faced his guide. ‘Ileki?’ he asked.

  The little man nodded. ‘My name is Ileki. And yours?’

  The slave shook his head. ‘I am called Slave.’

  Ileki frowned. ‘Slave? Is that your name?’

  The slave shrugged. ‘It is what I have always been called, so it will suffice for a name.’ He gave a short-lived, wry grin. ‘For now, at least.’

  ‘Who is your master?’

  ‘Sondelle,’ Slave answered.

  Ileki frowned. ‘That is not a name I know. Did you live around here?’

  ‘I don’t know where I lived.’

  Ileki’s face showed his disbelief, but he did not voice it. Instead he pushed some books off the table and gestured for Slave to sit. With only a brief hesitation, he did so.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Ileki asked.

  As if the words were a signal, Slave suddenly felt faint with hunger and thirst. ‘I am.’

  ‘You look like you should be. Wait here, I will bring us food.’

  He had taken commands all his life but not any more.

  Suddenly alone, Slave stared at the closed door. A dark memory crept into him. A closed door… darkness… isolation… the aching loneliness that would hunger for even the company of his master… the terror of the door opening again to reveal…

  Fear stole into his soul. Deep-seated fear, slowly building into terror, threatened to unman him, to reduce him to immobility, to strip his strength away. He felt his knees weaken. He started to slump to the ground as his heart raced and his breath came in short, sharp gulps.

  His head swam and the room started to tilt; the floor rose up quickly, striking him a fearsome blow to the head. The pain shocked him into motion. He pushed himself up from the ground, his hand reached inside his jerkin to grip his Claw. As before, the feel of the warm metal soothed him. He regained control of his breathing, but his heart still pounded, sending blood coursing loudly through him.

  The room swam as he leaned on the table. He closed his eyes but dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. With them open again, he was able to fix his gaze on a spot on the wall to anchor his focus. Slowly the spinning calmed and finally stopped. Slave breathed deeply as his heart slowed to its normal rate. The sudden panic at being locked in surprised him. His chest hurt from the pounding and his jaw ached from clenching, but he was recovering.

  The door flew open to reveal a compact, strongly built man — not Ileki. Slave sprang forwards with his Claw, reacting without thinking, but the man was fast and apparently expecting the attack. He dodged the slicing Claw before shooting out his hand to grasp Slave’s arm. With speed and strength, the man dragged Slave down, and stamped on his chest.

  The air burst from his mouth in a pained gasp. The attacker wrenched Slave’s arm around and held it tight in a brutal grip. He bent Slave’s wrist further and further until he lost his grip on his Claw. The weapon clattered to the ground and the man kicked it away.

  ‘You need to be faster than that, my friend,’ the man said with a grin.

  Despite the pain, Slave was able to sense the shift in his attacker’s balance. It was enough of an opening and he took it. With a grunt of pain, Slave swung his free hand hard at the tendon at the back of the man’s heel. With his fingers rigid like rods of iron, the blow tore into the flesh and snapped the tissue with a sharp crack.

  The man screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground, grasping at his ruined leg. Slave sprang to his feet and slammed his fist into the man’s face. The screaming stopped.

  Slave stepped quickly to pick up his Claw and remained crouched, looking, feeling for any other hunters. His senses were as alert as any hunted animal, or cornered predator awaiting the next attack.

  Footsteps. Slave sniffed the air, but here it was too full of unknown scents, too many people, too much detritus of life for him to discern anything. He padded silently to wait behind the open door.

  Ileki shuffled in. When he saw the dead man on the floor, he gasped in shock and nearly dropped his package. The razor-sharp blade of a Warrior’s Claw pressed against his throat held him motionless.

  ‘Who is that?’ Slave hissed into his ear.

  Ileki
swallowed, making the blade scrape slightly against his flesh. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But …’ he added as the blade shifted as if in preparation for a killing stroke, ‘I know who he works for. And why he is here.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘He is a scout for a man named Slaaj. You can see the mark on his jerkin.’

  Slave shot the dead man a glance and saw the stylised bow and arrow design over the left breast. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Slaaj runs a mercenary company. He supplies fighters: bodyguards, armed escorts, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Why would he be looking for me?’

  ‘You were in the arena today?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Slaaj recruits from those who survive. You must have fought well.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Slave admitted.

  ‘When did you escape your master?’

  ‘Today, just as the sun reached its peak.’

  Ileki nodded. ‘A bad day to be on the streets for one who knows nothing of Vogel’s ways.’

  ‘Keep talking,’ Slave urged with an increase of pressure from the Claw.

  ‘Did your master tell you about the Day of Release?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It is an old tradition of the city. Once every Crossing, on the sixth day of the sixth phase, people are given the chance of release in the arena.’

  Slave lowered the Claw and pushed Ileki away. The small man stumbled forwards, catching his balance on the table. Slave stepped towards him.

  ‘What do you mean by release?’

  ‘Desperate people — debtors, criminals in hiding from the Talons, some prisoners with no patrons — are released into the arena. There they can fight for their deliverance. If they perform well, they may be released by an offer from a patron.’

  ‘A patron?’

  Ileki shrugged. ‘A prisoner stays in prison until he has paid off the blood price. A patron can pay in addition to what the prisoner earns to reduce the sentence.’

  ‘And what does the patron get out of this?’

  ‘Usually whatever he wants.’

  ‘You said desperate people. I met one today who did not seem desperate.’