Slavers of the Savage Catacombs

by Jon F. Merz

  Ran drew a hand across his brow to wipe the sweat away. The sun beating down on him from overhead was hot, and he felt a thirst come over him. Without thinking, he dropped one hand to the small water skin on his belt and took several slugs before replacing it. As he rounded a corner, a large stone wall came into view and several guards manning a gate immediately hailed him.

  “Visitor to Chulal, stop!”

  Ran leaned back on the reins, and the horse drew to a halt. Ran stayed where he sat as one of the guards came over, his eyes already fixated on the two swords Ran wore at his side.

  “What is your name?”

  “I am Ran. From the island nation of Nehon.”

  The guard’s eyes opened a bit more. “You’re a long way from home.”

  “It depends on what you call home, I suppose,” said Ran. “I grew tired of my small country and have come here to search for work.”

  “What type of work?”

  Ran smiled and nodded at his swords. “These aren’t used for making wine.”

  “Indeed.” The guard frowned. “If what you say is true and your intention is sincere, then we will have no quarrel with you. I would caution you, however, that Chulal is a peaceful city. We do not tolerate any sort of mischief here. Any transgressions are dealt with severely.” He pointed to Ran’s right. “As you can see . . .”

  Ran followed the man’s finger and saw several large Xs hammered into the ground roughly two hundred yards away. Upon one of them, a man hung with his arms and legs outstretched. He didn’t move. But there was motion around him anyway, and Ran saw several large birds of prey busily feasting on the man’s entrails.

  Ran swung his gaze back to the guard. “I have no desire to end up like that.”

  The guard grunted. “Entry fee to the city is twenty goran. I trust you can pay that?”

  Ran shook his head. “I don’t have any goran on me.”

  “Then entry is denied—”

  Ran held up his hand. “I do have these, however.” He withdrew a small sack from inside his tunic and slid two large pieces of gold into his hands. “They’re Nehonian agara, but I think they should suffice.”

  “They will indeed,” said the guard.

  Ran handed them over, and the guard took them. “Stay here while I prepare your entry papers.” He walked back to the gate and to a small house that stood nearby. Ran sat in the sun waiting. After several minutes, the guard returned and handed Ran a single piece of paper.

  “Keep that with you at all times. If you are stopped for any reason, this will serve as your permission to be in the city.”

  “Should I worry about being stopped?”

  The guard shrugged. “Only if you aren’t what you say you are.” He waved Ran ahead through the gate. “Best of luck finding employment here.”

  Ran smiled. “I make my own luck. But thank you.” He ducked his head under the portcullis and rode through the portal.

  Once through the gate, Ran saw the main city directly ahead of him. Another, higher wall stood before him, but the guards manning it only took a cursory glance at his papers before waving him through. As Ran came through this checkpoint, the spires in front of him loomed even larger. They stood on par with the mountaintop fortress of the Nine Daggers shadow warrior clan back in Gakur, and Ran felt a twinge of homesickness as he looked at them. He quashed the sentiment down deep inside him and reminded himself that he was there with a purpose: find a trading caravan and get himself hired on as security. If he could make his way to the west, he would be that much closer to reuniting with Princess Cassandra.

  The main city street led him directly to the sprawling marketplace. No doubt the leaders of the city had purposely routed travelers through this section as a way to boost the local economy and make the city attractive to merchants. Ran nudged the horse down a side street and found lodging for the steed before walking back up to the market on foot.

  The sights and sounds that assailed his senses were too numerous for him to catalog. He caught a smattering of at least six languages; the merchants and patrons were an equally diverse mixture of races and species. As he walked through the labyrinth of stalls, Ran was hailed by traders in Nehonga, the language of his native land. The two swords he wore marked his nationality. But he passed them all by, his eyes still marveling at the dizzying array of silks and spices and goods from lands he had only heard and read about.

  His heart beat faster. This was what he had hoped his wandering quest would expose him to: the vastness of the world stretched before him with nothing but the promise of adventure and excitement.

  He passed a large tent, and the man standing before the curtained opening hailed him. “You, sir, are you interested in seeing the most exotic women ever to walk these lands?”

  Ran smiled. “Thank you, no.”

  “I have women here with breasts the size of giant melons. They know how to treat a fine man such as yourself. Only ten goran for a night’s entertainment the likes of which you won’t find anywhere else in the city.”

  Along with some strange and exotic sickness, no doubt, thought Ran. He moved on, and soon he smelled the scents of a hundred different cuisines. His mouth watered as he realized he hadn’t eaten in some time. He passed row after row of bubbling cauldrons, blazing hearths, and sizzling grills. Slabs of meat hung on hooks while being basted with huge mops. Portable ovens served up steaming hot loaves of bread.

  And there, in the midst of it all, stood a noodle stand selling the thick buckwheat zabo noodles of Nehon in a swirling steaming broth of chicken and vegetables. Ran grinned and headed for the stall.

  The chef stood stirring the broth and smiled as Ran approached. “It’s not every day I see one of my countrymen here.”

  Ran settled himself on a chair in front of the stand and waited for the chef to place a cup of tea in front of him before sipping the green mixture. “Tastes just like home.”

  “It should,” said the chef. “I have it imported.” He gestured to the noodles. “What would you like with your zabo?”

  “Chicken, scallions, seaweed, chilies,” said Ran, glancing around the food stalls. “I’m surprised you’re not busier.”

  The chef shrugged as he set to preparing Ran’s dish. “Some days are like this. Others I’m far busier. I do quite well here, although most of the city dwellers like more cabbage in their soup than I can stomach.”

  “Glad to know there’s someplace I can come for more home cooking.”

  The chef set the bowl of steaming soup before Ran. “What brings you to Chulal?”

  Ran touched his swords briefly. “Looking for work.”

  The chef frowned. “Not enough killing in Nehon for your liking?”

  Ran slurped some of the noodles into his mouth and sighed. It was like he’d just been transported back to Nehon. “I’m restless by nature. Nehon was beginning to feel a little restrictive, so I thought I’d come across the Dark Sea and see where my fortunes lay. I’m hoping to improve them considerably, possibly looking to get hired on as a guard for a trade caravan leaving the city and bound for the west.”

  “Plenty of those leaving every day,” said the chef. “Dangerous work.”

  Ran swallowed another mouthful of the noodles and smiled. “I don’t mind the danger.”

  “No disrespect, but you seem a little young. Are you certain you can handle those swords?”

  Ran smiled. “I’m absolutely certain.”

  “Fair enough,” said the chef. “The best place to fall in with the caravans is over near the harbor. When the ships come in bearing goods, the caravan managers are usually there planning their trips. Any of them that are looking for more security are likely to be there as well.”

  “I’ll be sure to look into that,” said Ran. “Thank you.”

  The chef nodded at the bowl of soup. “Three goran.”

  Ran fished a single gold agara from his tunic and slid it across the counter. “Will this do?”

  The chef snatched the gold coin and the
n placed a handful of the Chulal currency on the table as change. Ran slid some back across and nodded at the chef. “My thanks for the fine meal.”

  “Harbor lies to the east. That way,” said the chef. “But I wouldn’t want to get caught down near the docks after dark. The place is as dangerous as the docks in any seaside city. Probably even more.”

  “I was under the impression that crime wasn’t tolerated here in the city,” said Ran.

  The chef sniffed. “They tell that to everyone who comes here. But don’t go around thinking this city is safe. It’s not. You mind yourself out there, friend. I’m sure you’ve already attracted attention from the likes of people you’d rather not.”

  Ran let his gaze soften and his eyes wander, but he could detect no real interest from anyone else around him. If it was a general warning, then that was just one Nehonian looking out for another. But if there was something more to it, Ran would have to watch where he walked around here. The last thing he needed was trouble.

  He left the noodle stall and wandered through the rest of the food stalls, but his hunger was sated for the time being. As he walked, he doubled back several times on his route, checking to see if anyone seemed to be following him. But the only person he saw more than once was a beggar dressed in rags holding a small tin bowl. Ran walked past him and heard the old man’s plaintive wails for food and drink. Ran was tempted to throw a few of the goran he’d gotten from the noodle stall into the bowl, but thought better of it. If anyone else saw him throwing his money around, word would spread fast that he might be wealthy. Regardless of the two swords he wore at his side, greed could drive people to attack him for his money.

  He turned down a side street lined with weapons shops. He heard the clang-clang of the blacksmiths working in their forges. Ran smiled at the thought of what they might turn out. He hadn’t heard many good things about Chugal blades, believing that the blades that were produced in Nehon were the finest in the world.

  At the end of the street, he saw another beggar huddled in the alcove of a small temple devoted to one of the Chugal gods. Ran stopped and pretended to be looking at the signs on the wall. He could smell the increased salt in the air and knew that the harbor was close.

  But the harbor wasn’t what concerned him. It was the presence of the beggar at the end of the street. Ran was certain it was the same beggar he’d passed back during his trip through the food stalls. How had he managed to get ahead of Ran so fast? To do so, he would have had to run the entire way. Yet the beggar looked as though he had been sitting there the entire day.

  Ran couldn’t turn around without tipping his hand, so he resumed walking down the street, letting his left hand fall to his scabbard ever so slightly. As he drew closer, the beggar started up his plaintive wails.

  “Please, good sir, a moment of your time for a wretched soul. I beg of you for a small coin with which to eat and drink my fill.”

  Ran frowned. “I’ve nothing for you, old man. Leave me be.”

  In the blink of an eye, the old man’s hand darted out and grabbed Ran’s wrist. The action was so smooth and quick, Ran didn’t even have time to react before he felt the crushing grip as the old man smiled at him with a toothless cackle. “Now, now, my friend, surely you can spare me some help? I only ask in the name of all the hidden gods.”

  The words hit him like a punch between his eyes. Ran nearly stumbled back in disbelief, but managed to keep his composure as the old man removed his hand and let it fall back into his lap.

  The words the beggar had used marked him as a fellow shadow warrior.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Before Ran could recover himself, the old man spoke quietly. “At the end of this street, you’ll find an alley running west. Take it to the end and you’ll see an alcove. Above the alcove is a chalk mark. Wait for me there.” Then resuming the stature of a beggar, the old man hobbled away singing to himself and rattling some coins in his bowl.

  Ran watched him go for a second and then resumed his travel down the street. At the end, he saw the alley and veered into it. The buildings on either side closed in and gave the alley a very tight feeling. It would be difficult to fight anyone in the tight confines of the alley, which made Ran more than a little apprehensive. While the old man had said the right words, could he truly be trusted? Ran had never run into anyone from his clan in the outside world. The novelty of the experience made him feel like an acolyte all over again.

  He saw the alcove and the chalk mark above it. The interior of the alcove smelled like festering urine and excrement, and as the horrible stench assailed his nostrils, Ran wondered how long he would have to wait for the old man to arrive. He certainly didn’t seem to be in very good physical condition.

  Ran sighed and counted away the minutes. After a half an hour, Ran was almost ready to leave. Then he felt a tap behind him and nearly shouted in surprise.

  In the dim light of the alcove, a toothless grin greeted him. “Sorry I’m late. Had to make sure we hadn’t attracted any followers.” He held up a finger. “Follow me and stay low and quiet as we go, all right?”

  Ran nodded, still marveling that the wall at the back of the alcove wasn’t a wall at all, but a hidden door. The old man waited until he had passed through it into the tunnel beyond before once again closing and locking it. He smiled in the darkness. “The smell usually keep most people away. But the lock ensures they don’t discover my tunnel.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace where we can talk without being overheard,” said the old man. “Now, low and quiet, like I said.”

  With that, he took off down the tunnel. He didn’t use a light, and Ran had no need of it anyway. During the training, all shadow warriors learned how to best see in the darkness. It was practiced so often, it became a natural instinct anytime lighting conditions were less than ideal. Since they operated frequently at night, the skill was essential.

  The old man took a turn, and Ran could hear voices all around them. But they kept walking, careful of their footing. At times, the tunnel led up and then down again. It bent, twisted, and turned. Ran spotted several options going left and right as they went, but the old man kept them in the main tunnel the entire time. If he’d been down here by himself, Ran surely would have gotten lost in the maze of tunnels. He supposed that was the point. If anyone discovered the old man’s secret, they’d have a hard time locating him in here.

  Finally, after twenty minutes of travel, they drew up to a wall, and the old man pressed a brick near the top of it. Instantly, the wall slid back to reveal a modest apartment appointed with a bed, kitchen, and dining area. Bookshelves lined the wall, including the one they now stepped out of. The old man waited until Ran had cleared the entry and then pushed a brazier. The entry disappeared behind another bookcase. Looking at the wall he’d just come through, Ran wasn’t even sure he could pick out the outline of the secret door.

  “Impressive.”

  The old man shrugged. “We can talk here. No one lives around me. I’ve taken steps to make sure I don’t have any pesky neighbors.” He headed toward a basin of water and pulled off the nasty hair as he did so. As he bent over the bowl, Ran watched him splash his face repeatedly until all the grime disappeared. Wrinkles vanished as well. When he stood upright again, the face belonged to a much younger man than the beggar who had greeted Ran earlier.

  “It’s always so nice to get out of the disguise.”

  Ran pointed. “Your teeth.”

  “Ah, always forget them.” He coughed and spat a set of fake teeth from his mouth and set them down on the table. “Nasty buggers, those.” He smiled again at Ran. “I’m Tanka.”

  “Ran.”

  Tanka nodded. “Been expecting you.”

  Ran eyed him. “You have? No one at the clan knew where I was heading.”

  “Tozawa knew you were going west. There are only so many routes you could take. I was told to be on the lookout for you. Glad to see you’ve made it here safe and sound. That�
��s always a promising start for newly minted Shinobujin.”

  Ran removed the swords from his belt and set them down on the table before sitting. “What news from home?”

  Tanka shrugged. “Not much of interest. I don’t get much in the way of gossip. Although I did hear you made quite an impression on the clan elders after you took care of that evil sorcerer to the south. What was his name?”

  “Seiryu,” said Ran. “I couldn’t believe the clan had allowed him to stay in power as long as they had. The things he was doing in his tower couldn’t be tolerated.”

  Tanka sat down opposite Ran and nodded. “You’ll get no argument from me there. But you did just ruin the graduation exercise for the next class of operatives.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Tanka grinned. “Seiryu. He was the graduation exercise. For years. I had to recover that damned sword ten years back.” He chuckled. “Glad to know that someone finally gave that old coot the what for.”

  Ran shook his head. “That would mean that the clan elders were allied with Seiryu.”

  Tanka held up his hand. “Now, don’t get crazy thoughts. They tolerated Seiryu as long as he agreed to play along. I don’t think anyone expected you to actually go back and confront the man. You were just supposed to get the sword back and that was it. You would have graduated. But then you took it one step further. I don’t think the clan elders really gave a damn about Seiryu as much as they’ll now need to find a new test for aspiring graduates.”

  “I had no idea,” said Ran.

  Tanka smiled and slapped him on the back. “To be expected. You’d only just graduated, and the final test is as tough as they come. No doubt you were feeling all cocky. That’s completely natural. We all feel that way after the final exam. Like we could go out and set the world on fire with our confidence. Am I right?”