by Eric Lewis
The dead man had drawn a small crowd now, and Corren even halted the staff drills he’d been running to come see. He noted the hairstyle. “No indeed. Thazovi. Hired man by the look. Scout maybe? Courier?”
Allard produced a purse he’d taken off the body. “He was worth something, certain. Had this. A lot of these coins aren’t ’Vani nor Bergovan.”
“And this,” Corren added, pulling something out of the saddlebag. A red leather packet, folded and sealed against wear and weather. “What do you make of it?” He handed the packet to Alessia, who opened it to reveal a single page inside. “That writing….”
She scanned the paper and its spidery, flowing script running from the top of the page to the bottom. “It’s Bhasan.”
“Bhasans,” spat Crander. “Those ruddy busybodies are always sticking their hooked noses where they’re not wanted.”
“I picked up a little Bhasan when I was young, never could read any. Can you?” asked Corren.
“No. I learned some of the letters as an acolyte but not the language….” She held the document closer to the firelight, mindful of how much more easily paper burned compared to parchment or vellum.
Alessia squinted, strained to make out the lines. They were not written in a steady hand. “Hash…mekhvot daqla…pellovastolani quath…rtabrznes….”
“Wait, what was that last word?”
Alessia blinked. “Umm, rtabrz—”
“Artabarzanes.”
“You think this is something to do with the Bhasan emperor?” asked Crander.
Corren shrugged. “Not necessarily. Official letters coming through Fort Nostrado had ‘Gods Save His Grace King Pharamund’ somewhere between the beginning or end and were nothing to do with the bastard. Read on.”
The dead Thazovi was forgotten now, and the crowd encircled Alessia and Corren as they tried to decipher the exotic document. “Gimme some space,” said Alessia. “It’s hard to…yes, this is the letter for…hhezmet shafla kenitya zesheen vahn angar-u-wa zethisht…lashkeef vahn toricos. That’s the end of that line.”
Corren frowned. “Vahn is a word for a highborn leader. The Bhasan name for this whole peninsula is ‘Western Kingdom’. Barg-o-Vahnii.”
“These words after that – angar-u-wa. Could that be Engwara?”
“A spy,” Crander said, “on his way back to court in Sarpoor. He must’ve thought we’d winkled him out. But wouldn’t it be safer just to take a ship?”
Corren shook his head. “Engwara’s got the whole southern coast blockaded. This fellow had something to hide.”
Sally nudged her way to the center of the circle, newly dressed in her ‘men’s clothes’ like some other women of the band. “Does it make any mention of Pharamund? If it talks of plans, troop marches or something, maybe we can better avoid them.”
“Um,” said Alessia, “let me see. It’s been a while, you know. Not much call for Bhasan outside herbalist catalogs….” She ran her finger down and up the script, looking for something that might approximate the sound of the Bergovan king’s name. “This maybe? Fa-ram-khunt. It says geh ixtaml nequuthe vahn fa-ram-khunt—”
“That cunt part sounds about right,” said someone in the crowd, producing laughter.
Corren wasn’t laughing. “Ixtaml? Are you sure that’s the word?”
Alessia looked again, nodded. “Yes, it’s these two characters here. Why?”
“I sure as hells know that word. When the Bhasans sealed off Vindis after the Gray Plague hit, them that spoke the tongue wailed it across the walls, screaming themselves hoarse until the plague took them. ‘Tlaf, tlaf, ixtaml’a tal?’ Why, oh why have you betrayed us?”
“What are you saying? That someone intends to betray Pharamund?”
“Or already has,” said Corren with another shrug. “The tense is ambiguous without context.”
“That’s no news,” said Sally. “Lords switch allegiances like partners at a barn dance.”
Crander shifted his feet nervously, jerking a thumb back at the cold body. “But that Thazovi was keen to kill Allard. Panicked when he saw him. I’d say he was desperate to deliver this. There’s something more to it I think.”
“We need to get a proper translation of this,” said Alessia, frustrated.
“But who do you know that’s fluent in Bhasan?”
Alessia set her jaw in anticipation of an argument. “The nearest? That’d probably be a temple father…in Lenocca.”
* * *
“Lenocca!” Ulnoth nearly dropped the sack of beans he carried. “And here I thought I was the crazy one. You didn’t maybe notice that roughly, oh, all our problems are coming from that general direction these days? About the most damn fool thing I ever heard of.”
“The fighting’s moved further up the valley. When I make it there—”
“If you make it you’re a mouse in a snake pit.”
“But—”
“All to translate some mail ain’t got nothing to do with—”
“Stop interrupting me!” Alessia eyed the sack with suspicion. “Where’d you get that, anyway?”
Gant held up another like it. “Donation to the cause,” he said with a grin, “from a cart what mysteriously broke a wheel on a divot in the road. Bad luck, that. Only kind I believe in.”
Alessia sighed. “Dammit….”
“Calm down,” said Ulnoth. “Tail end of a private supply train contracted to the greens. Nobody even got hurt, just a fright’s all. ’Course, once Dannek gets to lighting his farts after some o’ these—”
“Fine, fine. I guess that’s progress. Anyway, Lenocca. I’m going. Something tells me it could be important. You’ve been to the city?”
Ulnoth nodded. “To the market fair. You want me to draw you a map? It’s just a straight shot along the river—”
“I want you to come with me.”
“Well, I was wrong. That’s the most damn fool thing I ever heard of.”
“If I go alone and get killed, you’ll have to take care of all our people by yourself. Can you set a bone or bring down fever? And you’ll have to deal with Corren without my expert mediation….”
“That’s weak, Lessi, even for you. Why should I—”
“Please?”
That took Ulnoth off guard. Commands, arguments, cajoling – all these he was used to. He glared at her and chewed his lip as though she’d used an unfair move in a castra match. “Some days I really hate you, you know that?”
“Thank you,” Alessia said simply.
“But there’s something I need you to make for me first.”
* * *
“Wait, I’m coming too!” Nandine came jogging up to meet the horses as Alessia and Ulnoth made ready to depart. Her face still bore the grotesque slash, stitched and bound over with linen but no longer bloody.
“No, Nan,” said Alessia, “you’re still healing. Getting there, but I don’t want to risk reopening the wound.”
“But—”
“I’ve left Emony my instruments – she knows what to do to keep it clean, and to take out the stitches when it’s time. Listen to her.”
Ulnoth screwed up his face in irritation. “Wait, didn’t you just tell me that—”
“I lied. But you’re already all saddled up, so let’s go.”
“Some days I really hate you….”
Corren handed Alessia her careworn rucksack, the strange letter hidden under clothing at the bottom. “Stay off the roads, out of sight for two days at least. After that it’s one more to the city. Should be undisputed territory by then.”
“We’ll hurry back as soon as we can. Don’t be too hard to find.”
Corren smiled. “No worries, we’ll find you. Expect us no further north than, say, Firleaf Ford.”
Firleaf. She’d avoided going near the place in fact and in thought fo
r fear of what they’d find there. Or not find. “All right,” she said. “May the gods light both our paths.”
Corren nodded. “And darken our enemy’s.”
Chapter Twenty-One
On the Town
When the wind died down and the swirling fury of frosted leaves settled, Lenocca lay splayed out before them like a murder victim in the street. The pair gazed down on what was left of the city from above, where the highway began its steep descent. Alessia imagined that in kinder days the view may’ve been picturesque, breathtaking even: rows of houses and guildhalls and taverns of red brick and gray slate arrayed along the arrowhead of land formed by the converging rivers whose waters burned with sunglint. Markets and stalls crammed between them, fairs where merchants, thieves and whores alike plied their trades. Wharves and boats all askitter with souls beneath a dozen solid bridges where a legion of pilgrims flowed to and from the temple citadel that dominated all from the center. Once, it may have been so.
All that life and vigor was gone. Now the bridges were all but collapsed, the buildings reduced to rubble, piled together in pathetic attempts at ordering chaos while here and there the skeleton of a tower or steeple hinted at former grandeur. Refuse floated in the fouled waters, forming little islands of filth that not even the pigeons cared to plunder. Vast swathes of ash mud clogged the streets, and if you looked closely you could still see movement in them. Solitary figures, picking their way over the garbage looking for who knows what while others looked on as they jealously guarded their own patches of nothing. But it was the silence of such a great place that unnerved Alessia the most. How many had called it home? Where had they all gone? She shivered.
“Yup,” said Ulnoth, “that just about sums it up.” From their vantage point they could see the temple alone remained untouched, its wall a barely visible ring of gray outlining the ugly complex that had once been a castle. “At least we won’t have to ask directions – it’s just about the only thing still standing.”
“I don’t think there’s anybody left to ask,” said Alessia, wondering how she could still be shocked after all they’d seen and done. “Except for them.” A military camp perched on the edge of the city was the one place of activity, the lines of tents standing out stark white among the gray waste.
“It’s mostly greens,” Ulnoth agreed. “Best we avoid standing out. I doubt they’d believe we were temple pilgrims, given the, er, political situation. We should stow the horses up here, hide our iron, and try to blend in with that sorry lot of scavengers down there.”
“Never thought I’d say this, but I think we’ll have to make ourselves dirtier to pull that off.”
There were dozens of tiny rivulets draining into the river basin, and after a short search they found a place to hitch the mounts where they could drink and graze on the scant greenery that still poked through the early winter carpet. They swaddled their knives and bows in clothes and rubbed mud into their faces, then proceeded down toward the one surviving bridge.
It was more wood than stone – a hasty patch-up job to restore minimal function but little confidence. After negotiating that rickety terror they were confronted by a hungry-looking man holding a rusted halberd. “Hold,” he drawled, the word a hard apathetic shell concealing a core of sadness. “What business in Her Majesty’s city?”
“Pickers,” said Ulnoth, pointing toward the nearest pile of destruction. “Heard we might go through the leavings, try to find—”
“Fine,” the guard replied, impatient to return to the relative warmth of his tollbooth post. “Go on. Army gets half of whatever you find. Stay outta trouble.” He waved them by.
“Thank you,” Alessia muttered.
“Hey, don’t you fuckin’ thank me. You get yerselves shanked in there it’s on your own heads.” The guard turned back to his booth.
“Did you hear that accent? He’s ’Vani. Western,” Alessia said when they were out of earshot.
“Of course,” Ulnoth replied. “You don’t use locals to invade their own country, gotta bring ’em in from afar. Lot easier to plant a boot on the neck of someone you don’t know.”
They went through the motions of searching through garbage, tossing piles of clay, charred wood and junk to mimic the desperation of people who would do so day after day in hopes of finding some scrap of metal or utensil only to surrender half of it for the privilege of leaving alive. A few genuine pickers gave them nasty looks as though their territory was being invaded, but none made trouble. “How many people you think,” Alessia wondered, “didn’t make it out of here before it fell to ruin?”
“No idea,” replied Ulnoth, “but with all this ash you can be sure you’re breathing in some of their remains.”
Alessia coughed.
When they were reasonably certain that no one was watching, they made their way toward what had once been a fortress but was long ago donated to the Polytheon and converted to a temple. Green grass still grew only inside the wall. Ulnoth stood before a stretch of stonework about four feet high and shook his head. “Amazing. Castles and cities fall all around us but this little row of pebbles holds ’em back sure as a mountain. I shoulda run off to be a rober.”
“I doubt you could handle the discipline,” said Alessia. “Anyway, that’s the power of the Polytheon. Neutrality has its benefits. Sometimes.”
Ulnoth smirked. “You don’t believe it’s the power of the gods themselves what do it, like they preach?”
“I know for a fact it’s not. Besides, it’s inner doctrine that the gods don’t generally take much interest in human aff—”
The theology lesson was cut off by a sharp cry of pain from somewhere within the temple grounds. Ulnoth and Alessia leaped over the wall, dislodging some of it in the process. Running toward the moans, they came upon a young man pinned to the ground under a collapsed section, his legs covered by fallen stone blocks.
“Help!” he screamed, arms flailing. “Help me!”
“Hold still,” Alessia commanded as Ulnoth flung stones off of the boy. “Careful, don’t make it worse. If a bone is broken—”
“Aargh!”
“It’s broken. Calm yourself, brother. What’s your name?”
“U-Uwen. Brother Uwen. I was – ah! Checking the mortar…pushed on the stones….”
“Are you alone out here?”
“Brother Bendicca…he was just here.”
“Ulnoth, go find him. Find anyone.” Alessia finished clearing the blocks off Uwen’s legs and saw one lying at an unnatural angle. “You’ll be all right.” How many men have I told that who were dead minutes later? She took a handful of the novice’s robe and dabbed sweat from his pale brow.
“See here,” growled a new voice from somewhere behind them. “Who do you think you are? You rabble know you’re not allowed – Uwen!” The older brother ran to where the boy lay. “Gods curse it all! I knew this was a stupid idea.”
“His fibula’s fracted,” said Alessia. “Is there something we can carry him in on?”
“Wha— There’s a wheelbarrow I think, in the shed.”
“Then kindly fetch it.”
“Aye – wait, who exactly are you anyway? Women aren’t permitted in—”
“Just get it!” barked Ulnoth. The brother jumped then scurried to obey. “Another thing I don’t miss about civilization – foolish questions.”
Alessia and Ulnoth helped Uwen onto one foot then laid him into Bendicca’s wheelbarrow. “Gently, keep it elevated. Do you have a physic here?”
Bendicca shook his head. “We had a chirurgeon, but he was old. He died and we haven’t been able to send to Artamera for a replacement.”
“Then you’ll have to let me inside. This bone needs to be set.”
The brother visibly blanched. “Inside? B-but…I don’t think that’s—”
“I’m sure the Polytheon would make an exception,” Ale
ssia said. Something I don’t miss about civilization.
“And,” said Ulnoth with a grin, “if you get in trouble just tell your bosses I forced you. At knife point.” He produced a blade from the bundle of rags on his back and casually laid a hand on the pommel.
With a nervous gulp Bendicca hefted the wheelbarrow across the grounds, trying not to jostle the novice too much and mostly failing. He led them through a small side door and down a dark hallway. “We’ve an infirmary, but without a physic it’s become a bit of a mess….”
“Let’s go then,” said Alessia.
They passed through a gaggle of brothers congregated outside the refectory. “Make way,” bellowed Bendicca. “Out of the damned way! Brother Fento, find Father and bid him come to the infirmary.” The men glanced first at Uwen, then stared at Alessia.
“Is…is that a wom—”
“Fento! Now! Rest of you, find something to do or I will!” They scattered as the wheelbarrow barreled through the complex. They turned a corner and light burst upon them once more as they approached the inner courtyard.
“Big place for so few of you,” remarked Ulnoth.
“We were once more than we are,” Bendicca countered with a sigh. “The gods call few to their service in these bloody days… Here, the infirmary opens into the courtyard for light.”
“Good,” said Alessia. “Put him onto this pallet.” She opened a window shutter and the room lit up to reveal a sorry sight indeed. Supplies, what were left of them, littered the floor, piled in corners, poured from overturned canisters. “Ugh, what have you done?”
Bendicca shrugged. “As I said….”
“Right.” She hiked Uwen’s robe up to expose his broken bone. She ran her fingers carefully across the purple, swollen wound, probing. “Skin’s not punctured at least.” Uwen grimaced in pain, and Bendicca averted his eyes at such an indecent act. “I have to set this. Um, it’s going to hurt.”