Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Bonuses
Map
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Bonuses
Acknowledgements
About the Author
First published 2016 by Quill Ink Books Limited
Copyright © 2016 Zuri Amarcya
The Sovereign’s Western Realm Map © 2016 Zuri Amarcya
Cover Illustration by Nick Deligaris
Cover Typography by Street Light Graphics
All names, characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than what in which it is published.
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One
“Tramp, do you speak?” The Thaide approached Nemma. His robes, brilliant white with thick, deep blue swirl designs, settled around him while the wide white hood rested on his large head.
Behind him on the Torak Road, horse riders and carriages charged back and forth to Torak city as travelers took advantage of the morning’s mild weather to visit various wards in Hannaw. Twenty paces along the road the grand Torak Gates, made from lumni stone, emitted a strong translucent glow under cloudy skies.
“Yes, Thaide. How may I help you?” Nemma said, performing an unbalanced curtsy as tension sparked through her. The Thaide’s high opinion of their own authority along with their suspicious attitude usually heightened their ability to see manipulation tactics and made them notoriously difficult to trade with.
“What is that in your possession?” He walked closer looking at the shallow square box in her hands. The silver tower symbol embedded on the cover shone bright against the dark wood, highlighting the quality of the craftsmanship.
She feigned surprise and concern. “This box, sir? It’s legal, I assure you.”
“I’m not interested in your assurances. What is it?”
“My goods.”
“Why aren’t you in the trade bay?” He gestured to the large patch of muddy earth behind him on the side of Torak Road. It was the only place beggars were allowed to sell their goods and it was full of young sellers, slipping and sliding in the mud, shouting out to travelers on the road, desperation riding their tones as they tried to secure sales.
Nemma took a moment to answer, biting her lip and looking towards the Gates. “I’ve been promised a purchase.”
The Thaide raised his eyebrows; magiens and lords rarely offered a promise to beggar merchants. “For how much?”
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s not for sale.”
The Thaide stood silent for a moment, his eyes taking in her wild hair to slippered feet. Although she was dressed in a soiled, dusty tunic, Nemma knew her brown eyes and golden brown skin would always be clear and dirt free. She considered it a curse and a blessing; one that had helped her secure many sales over her time working in the bay but a feature that set her apart from the other beggars. She looked younger than eighteen years and the absence of the Ryim accent in her speech also helped, a gift from her parents.
“I never asked if it’s for sale.” The Thaide’s voice deepened, embracing a threatening tone.
She pursed her lips and twisted the ball of her foot into the dirt. “The lord said he would pay twenty lorel for it,” she mumbled.
“Twenty lorel? Why do you charge so much? This is the Ryim.”
“I didn’t charge him,” she shot back. “He said that’s how much it’s worth. And that city merchants don’t make such fine jewelry.”
“Jewelry?”
“Yes.” She paused, squinting at him for a moment, then giggled. “You don’t think I’m selling an empty box do you?”
The hood whipping across his face did not hide the change in his expression.
“Open it,” he demanded. “And don’t presume I will allow you to mock me.”
Nemma hinged back the lid of the box, and the sudden gleam in his eye told her the sale was secure.
“I’ll pay five lorel,” he said, his voice barely audible over the commotion in the bay.
Nemma shook her head, throwing her coarse, light brown hair into a frame around her face. “You know I can’t sell this, Thaide. I must honor the lord that will be returning for it.”
“He may not.”
“I’m sure I can resell for a similar amount, not less.” She shrugged, swinging the box as she did so.
The Thaide studied its contents. “Twelve lorel, then.”
As Nemma deliberated his offer, she noticed a few of the sellers behind him watching her, their scowls apparent even in her peripheral vision. Most of the fit and able Ryim children sold their employers’ goods at the trade bay in return for a small percentage of the profit, supplies and sometimes protection, but she had avoided them by targeting a patrolling Thaide and standing behind the bay. Any sale would officially be illegal, but who would argue with a Thaide?
“Done,” she agreed, exchanging the box for twelve golden coins rarely seen in the Ryim.
“Did you make these?”
“Yes.” Nemma pocketed the coins, keeping close watch on the sellers behind him.
“They’re very good,” he murmured, examining closely, “This bracelet is an odd combination of lumni stone and diuth jewel. I haven’t seen these colors mixed before. And the earrings, a wonderful quality of jiji gem and crystal. Your style is fashionable. Have you considered selling to Torak merchants?”
On receiving no reply he looked up, but Nemma had gone.
***
Nemma traveled along the Ryim, an unofficial, trodden path running outside the walled Torak city. Father said once that the Ryim was created from people too poor to gain citizenship in Torak and too poor own land. They set up camp outside the city wall hoping to gain access to the city and thus the Ryim was created. The poor people erected huts to provide shelter, fashioned tools from materials available and the lords and magiens who traveled past threw them unwanted items. Father did not know from where the people originated, but said that back then, the beggars were friendly. They would help each other to stay alive. That was no longer true.
The recent storm had raged for about thirty days, flooding many of the huts and punching others into collapsed heaps. It had calmed to a halt during the night but it was not unusual for another to follow. Nemma stopped by various huts to buy supplies while blankets of silver clouds crumpled overhead as the rain twisted uneasily in its sleep.
Bad weather limited the opportunity for beggars to sell their wares as magiens and lords usually avoided stop
ping at the trade bay during storms. During these times, the beggars of Ryim did whatever they could to get by. Nemma had seen huts ripped open, beggars banding together to rob others and children killed for their food, but basic survival was not the only worry. The despair and frenzy gave cover for other crimes. Her stomach turned as visions of the bodies of the beaten, raped and maimed during previous storms flooded her memory. The Thaide were supposed to patrol regularly to stop these crimes but it was never frequent enough.
The usual busy atmosphere seemed frantic; lacers bustled around their laceboards with armfuls of material and hollow clanging punctuated the dense chatter-filled air as tinkers endeavored to increase their supplies. Nemma swerved through gaggles of beggars bartering for supplies around the merchants’ workstations, keeping her head down and her supplies out of sight. An icy droplet fell on her forehead and she increased her speed, careful to avoid holes and dips in the uneven gravel. Merchants began packing up their tools and sent their sellers hurrying towards the trade bay, endeavoring to sell whatever they already had in stock, while others scattered for shelter glancing towards the threatening sky.
Nemma followed the circular Ryim path that echoed the round shape of Torak city, keeping close to its black wall as she moved closer to home. Fifteen paces to her right was the thick forest that separated the Ryim from the Hanwyan Ocean. She skirted around abandoned, damaged huts, leaning delicately over scattered piles of wood and straw, noting dried blood stains on the hut walls and nearby tree trunks. The strong stench of rotting flesh filled her nose and engaged her gag reflex—the Thaide had yet to remove the corpses strewn on the path. A numbing sensation washed through her as she focused entirely on increasing her awareness.
A twig snap caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder and her heart plummeted.
“Mornin’ Nemma.”
A group of sellers gathered several feet behind her, their chests heaving under patched rags. She turned to face them. How could she not notice she was being followed? She counted eight or nine workers. They looked no older than sixteen, and some of them could be as young as seven, but their bodies held solid and muscular limbs. Some were brown like her, others held the typically rosy but pale complexion of native Hanwyans, but the dirt and sand that covered most of their skin and hair uniformed them. Nemma recognized a few of them that had challenged her on previous occasions.
“What do you want?” Nemma asked, well aware of the reasons for their approach.
“Tha money you owe us,” said a tall dark-haired boy called Elcdan, taking a step towards her.
“I owe you nothing.”
“Oh, but you do, Nemma,” he said, moving closer still. The other sellers started to fan out. “You went and stole a sale from us today. A twenty lorel sale.”
Nemma edged back. “I didn’t make twenty lorel.”
“Don’t lie,” he snapped, clenching his jaw. “I saw the coins that switched ‘tween your hands, and Miri heard your barterin’. Why should we struggle on a few rho ‘tween us, when you run in and steal twenty lorel? You weren’t even in the bay.”
“Hand it over,” another larger boy demanded, edging closer with a slight limp.
Nemma backed away, glancing around for an escape route, but they were too close now. If she turned and ran, they would catch her and she would lose all control of the situation. Other beggars rushing along the path gave them a wide berth, barely glancing in her direction.
Brawls with Ryim children, especially bay sellers, were not unusual. Many beggars, adults and children alike made it clear long ago that they despised her clean appearance calling it unnatural. They blamed her for all their misfortunes, convinced of some kind of ploy to steal sales. As a youngster, she would roll about in the mud and sand every morning, attempting to fit in but the dirt would fall away by sun-arc. She soon came to live with the fact that she could never be friends with any of them. Her father was a respected trader in the Ryim, but regardless of his influence, it was necessary to fight to defend her goods and money. He had trained her well enough to protect herself but her stomach still tightened as Elcdan came towards her.
“And look at her pretty boots,” a girl laughed. “I bag them.”
Nemma’s heel kicked a large stone as she stepped back. Picking it up, she weighed it in her hand with her eyes still on the group. The most confident fighters held their position in front of the semi-circle they made around her, while the less confident stayed further back. A desperate heat rose in her. With the next storm approaching, she could not allow them to take her money or supplies.
“No,” said another small boy on the right. “They would look good on my Ma’s feet.”
“You’re a coward, Elcdan,” she called, stepping back further. “I’ve defeated you plenty before and now you bring others to do what you can’t.”
“And you’re a thief,” Elcdan sneered. “Don’t try and mock me into facin’ you myself, you’re stealin’ from all of us.” He beckoned at the rest of the group and they charged.
Stepping back Nemma threw the stone with as much force she could muster towards the larger boy, aiming at his poor leg. It connected with his knee and he fell, screaming. Some of the other sellers saw him fall and held back but it did not deter Elcdan and a handful of others.
She blocked and dodged a number of blows from Elcdan and another boy, edging backwards. She smacked away another blow from a girl coming at her from one side, thrusting the heel of her hand in the girl’s nose and causing blood to spurt. She turned and swung at Elcdan, who jumped out of the way as number of sharp pains scattered over her back. Nemma turned and grabbed the wrist of the girl behind her. Twisting it, she yanked her forward, hearing a pop as the girl yelled. A hard jolt jumped up her leg and she pivoted to knuckle a boy in the temple and avoid another kick. Someone grabbed her by the hair and she cried out as they locked her head in their elbow, struggling with them as they staggered over the debris on the ground.
Kicks fell on her torso and legs and she pushed back forcing the seller behind her to stagger away from the group. She kicked out as hard as she could but they grabbed at her legs, managing to pull her boots from her feet. Her throat closed up as the pressure at her neck increased, and her mind began to float. Reaching around, she grabbed the crotch of person behind her squeezing and twisting as hard as she could. Luckily he was male. He yelped and released his hold. Coughing and gasping for air, she dodged blows from Elcdan, dancing sideways and kicking him in the knee. He fell with a cry and Nemma rushed forward, dodging a blow from the other boy, and punched Elcdan in the face. A kick in her right hip threw her off balance and as she lurched to the left she grabbed onto a girl who was about to hit her, using her weight to swing the girl round towards the others coming towards her, tripping her up as she tumbled forward.
Suddenly rain lashed down around them.
Nemma breathed heavy, but did not take her eyes away from the sellers. They exchanged a panicked look and a number of them started running back the way they came, not wanting to be out in the storm.
“Elc, forget it,” a light-haired boy yelled, holding his groin and backing away. “There’s gonna be another storm.”
“So you gonna let her get away with twenty lorel?” Elcdan shouted back. “Help me get her!”
Nemma turned and ran, ignoring the sharp stabbing of broken glass and hard pebbles under her feet. A girl caught up with her and grabbed the back of her tunic, ripping it as she pulled her back. They both fell over. The girl pulled Nemma onto her back and grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the ground as Elcdan approached. She struggled against the girl’s hold as Elcdan searched her body, trying to single out the most logical move she could make next but the invading hands held her concentration as they moved nearer her hidden pocket. Then she felt her underpants being drawn down. Desperate, she yelled and kneed upwards, catching Eldan in the face. She kicked wildly and threw her legs over her head to knee the girl in the side causing her to release her grip.
; Gasping, Nemma sat up and saw the girl clambering away in the opposite direction while Elcdan lay unconscious on the ground. Her arms, knees and torso ached and spasmed as she got to her feet, weak legs causing her to sway to the pit pat rhythm of the downpour around her. Her hidden pocket strapped to her waist still held most of her supplies but only five lorel remained in the pocket of her tunic. Checking Elcdan’s pockets, he only had another few rho. She cursed. It would not be enough to sustain them for another thirty days, if need be. She would have to find a way to get the supplies they needed or they would starve.
The rain was now a sky-wide shower of prickly hail, drumming into every surface and drawing the unpleasant smells of the Ryim high into the air. Nemma’s torn tunic, swung heavy with rainwater and revealed more flesh than she was comfortable with, but she could not hold it in place without compromising her secret pocket. She would need to move quickly.
After taking a few gentle steps to ease her aching hip and knees, she slapped Elcdan until he spluttered awake. It would be cruel to leave him unconscious at the start of a storm. As he stirred she ran towards the Brook, wincing as her feet hit the jagged stones. Hopefully the sea-sellers would still be trading.
***
“Nemma. What happened?”
Violent shivering prevented Nemma from answering as she shut the door of the hut behind her, rainwater streaming from her hair and tunic, creating little pools around her bleeding feet. She took a moment to compose herself, basking in the warmth from the lanterns hanging from the low ceiling of her home.
The huts in the Ryim were built from what ever material could be gathered from the surrounding trees and whatever could be traded. Nemma’s hut was not the largest but one of the sturdiest, with a stone base and two layers of walls made from thick wood and mull stone. The inner wall was covered with a thick brown woollen material that helped confine heat within the room, while the strategically placed furniture helped to block out insistent winds. Nemma breathed in the aromas that greeted her with pleasure: cherry flower, herb stew and musky poa heat – the smells of home. Her feet squelched on the bare stone floor as she walked to the center of the room. Delicately crafted lumni stones hanging on the walls cast a cream glow on the cluttered space and Nemma was pleased to see a large detailed lumni sculpture of a swan in flight glowing on the wall over the stove. Father had finally finished it.
Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1) Page 1