by Cheryl Dyson
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TARGO
Redwing took his sweet time preparing for the journey, so it was not until nearly mid-afternoon that they left the Temple and headed for the docks. It seemed silly to leave so late, but Davin explained that they would spend the night in Targo, which looked to be a journey of perhaps thirty minutes, considering it sat just across the river and up the steep cliff from Kaneelis.
They bid goodbye to a tearful Verana and stopped in to see Alyn before leaving. She rested in a small room whose floor to ceiling windows looking out on a huge expanse of green grass. She smiled languidly at them from the cushioned couch.
“This place is excellent. The baths are amazing – I spent the entire morning there. After that I was massaged with fragrant oils and then had a meal with foods I’ve never seen before.” Alyn laughed, a sound that made Toryn blink at her in surprise. He could not remember her ever laughing in sheer delight. “I may never leave.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. We’re leaving Kaneelis today,” Toryn blurted.
Her eyes narrowed. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”
“Well… yes, of course.” Toryn was confused by the question, uncertain what she meant by it.
“Excellent. I will stay here until you return.”
Toryn looked at Redwing helplessly, but he only grinned and leaned over Alyn. “Enjoy your stay and be well.” He stepped forward and kissed her on the forehead. She looked at Toryn and arched a brow, but he merely bowed in her direction and followed Redwing out.
“I think she wanted you to kiss her,” Redwing commented.
Toryn snorted. “If I kissed her, she would want more and more and we would never get out of here. Better I don’t tempt her while she’s healing.” Toryn was somewhat surprised that Davin did not enter Alyn’s room, but instead lurked in the hallway waiting for them. Perhaps he had already said his goodbyes to her.
The three of them collected their horses and made their way through the city. As they neared the docks they watched the ships come in from the Corolis Islands, G’Neel Across the Sea, and Silver. Sails billowed and fluttering flags proclaimed the origins of the vessels. They even saw a ship from Redol. Toryn watched it longingly for a moment and thought about sending a message home. He met Redwing’s fathomless eyes and grinned. It would be difficult to explain to Morgyn that he now traveled with the same Falaran he had set out to kill.
They continued through the city until they reached the bay, where the sea met the large river that flowed from the Abyss. Toryn’s eyes followed the river’s path into the huge chasm that cut the continent in half. The canyon was a formidable barrier. At the river’s bank they hired a ferry to take them across to the Penkangum shore, which was not much more than a small spit of sand at the base of the towering cliffs with a couple of makeshift docks jutting out. Several small stone buildings were clustered near the cliff bottom. Davin explained that those were the homes of the ferrymen and tax collectors.
A long climb up a steep cliff path led to the top of the Penkangum plateau. Even with the horses to ease the journey it was nearly dusk when they finally reached the summit. Penkangum looked to be a bleak land populated with low brown hills and thick, spiny shrubs. Targo was a squat, sprawling city perched atop the cliff. Toryn thought it looked down upon the graceful jewel that was Kaneelis like a ravenous vulture. The heavy iron gates that led into the city looked more symbolic than functional, as the Targans were already aware of all who traveled up the cliff. By the look of the gates, they had rusted open long ago. Redwing muttered under his breath about lax security. The city entrance was not even guarded.
“Unfortunately, there is no way to bypass the city,” Davin said. “They built the walls to the edge of the cliffs in order to force travelers to enter Targo. You could travel into the Abyss, of course, but no one has discovered a way to scale the steep sides. To the south, the cliffs run all the way to the port city of Tanoo, which is just as bad as Targo. Worse, actually; once you’re in the city, there is no way to avoid the market sector.” The hooves of the horses clopped noisily as they rode along the street of broken cobblestones. “They planned the city that way.”
They rounded a corner and were suddenly converged upon by what appeared to be a howling mob. Fang reared and Toryn fought the reins, but the crowd was undaunted. They surged forward shouting and waving arms full of goods, though two of them went down beneath the mare’s hooves. Redwing doubtless would have stopped to help the downed people, but Davin shouted at them to keep moving. The cacophony swelled around them.
“Stuffed quail! Bodorii silk! Leather vests! Spiced oranges! Gold medallions! Silveran tea! Velvet lined boots!” It went on and on until it was a jumble of sound. Toryn was afraid the crowd would pull them from their horses. He paused when an intricately decorated tunic caught his eye. Without glancing back, Davin yelled, “Don’t stop! And don’t buy anything!” His words brought an angry murmur from the crowd and the barrage lessened for a moment and then increased tenfold as they entered the marketplace. Toryn had never seen such a chaotic mass of humanity in his life. He felt decidedly claustrophobic and Redwing had a similarly panicked expression.
The sheer volume of goods being peddled was mind-boggling. It seemed that anything which could be bought, sold, or traded had been brought to this village at the edge of nowhere, largely to supply the trade-dependent city of Kaneelis. Toryn and his companions fought their way through the multitude, an act that seemed to take an eternity. Once they left the central square, the clamor receded and most of the merchants left them. They rode down twisted side streets until they reached a nondescript tavern. The sign above the door was weather-beaten into illegibility.
When they dismounted, the few tenacious peddlers who had followed them waved assorted goods under their noses.
“Go away!” Davin snarled in the most authoritative tone Toryn had ever heard from him. The merchants grumbled, cursed, or made rude gestures, but they slouched away.
Toryn stared at Davin. “Is this city always like this?” he asked.
“Penkangum is always like this,” Davin replied. “Penks live by trade.”
Davin shouldered his way into the tavern and chose a table near the door. Toryn looked around warily. The place was nearly deserted—a welcome change after the marketplace. The exception was a small crowd of urchins that rushed over and thrust various trinkets at them. It seemed every single resident of the city had something to sell.
“Buy or trade, kind sirs?” they asked and jostled each other with grubby brown elbows. Davin waved them away, except for one that he gripped by the wrist.
“Our horses,” he ordered and held up a silver coin. “Watch them and you will have this.” The youth’s eyes lit up greedily and he pattered outside.
“Would anyone steal them?” Toryn asked worriedly.
“Unlikely, this far from Tar-Tan. They would be easily spotted and Akarskan hunters watch this city very closely, just in case someone manages to snatch a horse out of Akarska. Better to be safe, though.”
A barmaid finally wandered over to them, seeming bored until she caught sight of their silver-haired companion.
“Davin!” She gasped and stared at him as though seeing a phantom.
“Lena,” Davin said in an even tone.
“We thought you were dead,” she said breathlessly and clutched the wooden tray in her hands so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“I am certain you did,” Davin replied mildly with a bitter smile. “But what is easily sold might not be so easily disposed of.”
Lena paled and looked as though she might bolt. She shot a glance toward the door behind the bar and her tongue moistened her lower lip for an instant.
“By all means, rush off and tell Whitey that I’m here. I did not come for revenge—I came for a meal.” She gave him a doubtful look, but hurried away.
“Do you feel as though we missed something?” Toryn asked Redwing mildly. Redwing looked at Davin penetratingly and the
silver-haired man actually shifted under the gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Davin said. “I had meant to avoid this place, but I could not seem to stop myself. I trusted that bastard Whitey and he betrayed me. I want him to know that he’d better watch his back, because he’s going to turn around one day and I will be there.”
Redwing sighed. “Why do I have the feeling my life has just acquired another complication?”
Toryn laughed. “You thought this Quest of yours would be a placid little trip.” He chuckled.
Redwing groaned and rubbed his temples. “I would settle for an hour of placid at this point.” The curtain across the doorway flew aside and a giant of a man stepped through. Whitey, obviously. His name was likely due to the thick white hair that framed his face and trailed halfway down his back. He strode to their table with the frightened barmaid trailing behind him. The man loomed over their table.
Toryn frowned and Redwing stared up at him with something like apprehension. Whitey was a mountain. His stained leather shirt was stretched over muscles that looked hard as granite. His arms were the size of beer casks and he flexed them as he neared. His stomach was board-flat and Toryn wondered if the man lifted oxen for pleasure.
“You want him to know you are behind him?” Toryn choked quietly. “Are you mad?”
Davin looked perfectly calm as Whitey leaned on the tabletop with his huge hands. The wood creaked alarmingly.
“Davin,” he said pleasantly in a deep voice. “I had not thought to see you again.”
“No doubt,” Davin replied dryly.
Whitey grinned and showed perfectly white teeth. “I always knew you were resourceful,” he said.
“Try not to forget it.”
“What brings you here, Davin?” Whitey asked as his smile disappeared.
Davin leaned back in his chair and spread his arms in a gesture of innocence. “Why, food, of course! I assume you still make the best mussel stew in Targo?”
Whitey straightened. He looked at Davin closely, as if trying to determine his intent.
“In the whole Concurrence. You aren’t here to cause trouble?”
Davin snorted. “Let the past fall where it lies, I always say.” He grinned.
Whitey’s gaze sharpened. “I thought you followed the ‘eye for an eye’ philosophy.”
“I’ve mellowed,” Davin said with a disarming smile. Whitey studied him for a moment and then shrugged and grinned. He turned to Lena.
“Bring chowder and wine. Corolis wine,” he ordered. He hooked a nearby stool with one foot and dragged it over before seating himself. He rested his elbows on the table and then turned his attention to Redwing.
“Questing, Falaran?” he asked. Redwing shrugged noncommittally. Whitey smiled a secretive grin and said no more to him. His gaze went to Toryn.
“You’re no Falaran.”
“That is quite an observation,” Toryn said dryly, liking man no better than Redwing did. Whitey smirked, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm.
“It pays to be observant.” Davin snorted. The girl returned with a wooden pail full of stew and three bowls. She ladled the chunky mixture into the dishes and Toryn looked on approvingly. The creamy chowder was stuffed with shrimp, clams, mussels in their shells, and several varieties of fish. Lena brought loaves of hard bread and poured goblets of wine before disappearing into the back room. Whitey said nothing and allowed them to sample the food in silence.
Toryn tasted it carefully and then looked at him with reluctant admiration. “It is good,” he said grudgingly. Redwing admitted it was exquisite, which Toryn thought was somewhat excessive.
Whitey accepted the compliments with grace. The wine was delicious.
The white-haired man watched them eat for a time and then looked at Davin. “You’re wanted in Paragor,” he said absently.
Davin glared at him. “You should know. You won’t find me an easy mark if you try to sell me out again.”
Whitey sat back with an expression of surprise. “Davin! You wound me! Last time was only a jest! I knew you would escape.” Davin stared at him and his strange violet-grey eyes turned nearly red.
“A jest?” he repeated quietly. Whitey slid his stool back, seeming almost nervous. Toryn watched curiously and wondered what the huge man feared in Davin.
“Well, perhaps I was a bit upset at you that night after you won the tenth game of Talons. And drunk! Was I drunk? I hardly remember what I did to you that night. In fact, I went to find you and bring you back, but they had taken you from the city. Ask Lena!”
“That sounds like a poorly-rehearsed tale, Whitey,” Davin growled. “I trusted you.”
Whitey stood up and kicked the stool back to where it had been standing. “Damn it, Davin. I apologize! Is that what you want?” Whitey swore loudly. Davin stood up and leaned close to the man even though he stood a full head and a half shorter.
“No, Whitey, that is not what I want. What I want is tax free exit from this city, for three horses and the three of us. You owe me,” Davin said in a low, cold voice. Whitey sucked in a breath and his brows drew down.
“Tax exemption?” he hissed and glanced around furtively as if he feared to be overheard. There were only three other patrons; a young couple with clasped hands who murmured dreamily to one another and a grizzled old man that snored drunkenly next to his empty glass of ale. “For three? And for horses? Are you insane?”
“If I do not have it by tomorrow, I am taking my revenge out of your bloody hide and selling the remains to Tar-Tan,” Davin continued. Whitey’s face reddened and for a moment Toryn thought he would strike Davin with one of his clenched ham-sized fists. Beside him, Redwing tensed.
“Do it, Brydon,” Toryn goaded in a whisper. “You can take him!” Redwing threw him a quelling look.
“It will take time!” Whitey protested.
“I have faith in you,” Davin said confidently and clapped the big man on the shoulder.
Whitey swore again. “I should not have sold you,” he muttered. “I should have killed you.”
“You can’t,” Davin replied and shrugged. “I’m worth too much. We will take the Rose Room. Don’t bother to try anything; we sleep in shifts.”
“You ask for too much, Davin, but I will get what you want. In return you will never show your damned face in here again.” Whitey spun on a heel and stalked out. Davin sat down and resumed his meal.
“Tax exemption?” Toryn asked.
Davin looked around quickly, mimicking Whitey's nervous movement. “Not so loud,” he warned. “Those words are enough to get you arrested here. Penkangum has no industry, no agriculture, and no resources. Basically, it’s a scrubby scar on the land and damned lucky to be a part of the Concurrence. Penkangum exists by trade alone. Trade and taxes.
“If we try to leave Targo, they’ll search us and tax everything we possess. First, there is the import tax for bringing anything tradable into Penkangum. That includes clothing, weapons, utensils—nearly everything we own. The tax on horses is almost half their value with an additional amount tacked on as ‘hazard tax’ in case the horses turn out to be stolen and are deported by Akarskan hunters. We would have to sell one just to pay the tax on the other two. You both would face another tax for being foreigners. The only way to avoid it is to remain in the city for five days, which naturally would cost more than the tax. Finally, we would have to pay the gate tax and the road tax, which were originally used to finance the city gate and road repair. It made so much extra income for the city that they decided to keep it even though the gate was paid for long ago and the roads are now maintained by Ven-Kerrick. Taxes are Penkangum’s life blood.”
“I have never heard anything like it,” Toryn said with a whistle. “We have no taxes at all in Redol. Who rules this city?”
“The Council of Merchants in Paragor. Locally, the Merchant’s Guild. They control the City Council.”
“Merchants?”
“Penkangum has no king. If you have enough money, y
ou can buy your way on to the Council of Merchants. The Council then selects a member to sit on the Concurrence Advisory Council in Ven-Kerrick. The Paragor Council decides who sells what and which taxes are to be levied. They send a representative to each city and town, with a well-paid band of mercenaries, to make certain the laws are enforced. The representatives, called Constables but known more collectively as Council Dogs, then choose a City Council and decide what additional taxes they can impose. In some places, they charge you for drinking water.”
“It’s beginning to look like we aren’t going to make it out of Penkangum with a single coin,” Toryn said gloomily. “Can’t we slip out of the city?”
Redwing nodded. “From the look of the city gate, that should not be too difficult.”
Davin shook his head with a wry grin. “That is what they want people to think. The Sea Gate has been left in disrepair because it’s not needed. There is only one way to leave from there—down the cliff to the ferries. Before you board a ferry, your taxes are due. That is why the tax collectors live on the beach.
“The Eastern Gate is a different story. It has high stone walls topped with broken glass, two guard towers, iron-bound gates, portcullis, double shifts of guards, and tax collectors. It’s almost impossible to sneak out and if they do catch you, it’s instant dungeon time and confiscation of all of your possessions. Tax evasion is a serious crime here. Similar to treason, elsewhere.”
“Then how do we get out?” Redwing asked.
Davin lowered his voice even more. “Bribery. Normally, we would have to bribe a City Councilman, or someone else who could get us the proper documentation. The right papers will grant us tax-exemption and get us through the gates hassle-free. Whitey will get them for us.” The last portion of his statement was made with iron in his voice.
Toryn looked at Brydon with a gaze that clearly questioned their reliance upon a somewhat unstable Davin and the hulking Whitey. Redwing shrugged, silently implying that they had little choice. They finished their meal and Davin led them up a dark staircase to a small but comfortable room. It was obviously designated the “Rose Room” due to the large tapestry of a red rose that hung from one wall, somewhat faded with age.
“Who gets the bed?” Toryn asked. “I’m too tired to fight anyone for it.”
“I will take the first watch,” Davin offered. “I really don’t trust that bastard Whitey.”
“You can have the bed, Toryn,” Redwing acceded.
Toryn grinned. “I knew you would say that.” He hopped onto the bed and kicked off his boots, but left his clothing on; ready for trouble if it came. He placed his unsheathed sword on the bed and rested his hand on the hilt. “I’ll take the second watch,” he mumbled around a yawn.
“I’m taking the horses around the corner to a place where they’ll be safe,” Davin said. Toryn was not sure he should go alone, but Davin slipped out before he could suggest otherwise. Redwing rolled out his bedding while Toryn studied the room. There were no windows, which ruled out the possibility of assassins entering by that route.
“This is a strange place, eh Toryn?” Redwing asked.
Toryn shut his eyes, thinking it unnecessary to reply.