by Kel Kade
“Wait,” Reaylin said. “You said another consort.”
“Yes, it is not uncommon for a woman to claim more than one consort, but more than three is frowned upon, and they are usually of varying stations. A woman attempting to claim too many high-ranking men would be considered greedy. She would lose the support of her peers, which, as we have said, is vital to her staying in power.”
“What if a man wants to claim a woman?” Malcius said.
“It is not permitted. If he has a good relationship with his matrianera, he can request that she approach a woman to determine her interest, and they may negotiate a contract in much the same way as is done for betrothals in Ashai. A dowry may be offered on his behalf. You must keep in mind, though, that if a woman does not desire a man who belongs to her, she may sell or trade him to someone else. The women in lower society often claim many men to use as workers. A woman is expected to provide for her men, though, and his quality of life should be at least equal to his station.”
“But we are not Leréshi,” Malcius protested.
“Foreigners are not exempt from their laws, Malcius, just as they are not exempt from those in Ashai. There are certain agreements, though, to keep the peace. Foreigners can be claimed, but they cannot be forced to stay in Lon Lerésh. Men who are already married in another kingdom are exempt, since their wives are not present to accept the challenge. Also, sailors and travelers cannot be claimed so long as they stay within the designated dock area. It does not matter your station, if you do not satisfy those conditions, you may be claimed. The only exception is royalty. A member of a foreign royal family may not be claimed.”
“So that is why you can go,” said Malcius.
Rezkin glanced at Shezar and Farson. “Perhaps.”
Malcius said, “What do you mean? What is the problem?”
Shezar said, “Lon Lerésh has not recognized his claim to Ashai or Cael. They may not grant him the royal privilege.”
Frisha said, “But he is the son of—”
“That is not common knowledge,” Farson said with a pointed look.
Frisha crossed her arms and said, “Well, why is Wesson unconcerned? Are mages exempt?”
“Um, no,” Wesson said. “It is just that, from what I have heard, I am not their type. They prefer men like the strikers or Rezkin. You see, the women are concerned with status, and the strength and masculinity of their men is most important. I do not exactly fit the profile.”
“Men like Rezkin?” Frisha said. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Fine. If the other women are going, then I am too.”
“You cannot go,” Malcius snapped. “I am your escort, and I am not going to be claimed by anyone! You are staying on the ship with me.”
Yserria looked at Malcius and said, “I am sure you have little to worry about. You heard the mage. You are not their type.”
As the conversation devolved, a thought occurred to Rezkin. He turned to Farson and said, “Why did you return from scouting so quickly?”
Farson watched the heated exchange between Malcius and Yserria, which was shortly joined by Frisha and Reaylin who tried to drag Mage Threll into the fray. He shook his head and said, “Because we are surrounded.”
Rezkin nodded. “Surrounded by what?”
Wesson had taken refuge from the argument by moving to join them.
“Vuroles,” said Farson.
“Lord Malcius is either brave or stupid,” Shezar muttered as he watched the drama unfold. He turned to Farson and asked, “How many?”
“Perhaps fifty. They are difficult to see in the dark. It could be a hundred.”
“Do you think we can wait them out?” Wesson said. “Perhaps they will lose interest.”
“I doubt it,” Farson replied. “They look hungry. Also, something is strange with their eyes.”
“Are they black?” Rezkin said.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“In Gendishen, the ukwa driving the drauglics had black eyes. It seemed unnatural, and the way he threw them against us made no sense.”
“Why did you not say anything?”
“Rule 3.”
Farson sighed. “That does not apply when the information may be important to the group.”
Rezkin shook his head. “It was not important until now, and now it has been revealed.”
Shezar surveyed the darkness outside of the glowing ward, but the light made it difficult. “You think they are being driven? They are enchanted?”
“The Adana’Ro?” said Wesson.
Rezkin said, “I do not believe it is the Adana’Ro, but I do think they are under someone’s influence.”
“What makes you think that?” said Wesson.
“The cat at my feet.”
The others looked down to see Rezkin’s cat sitting patiently as it watched the women berate Malcius. The young lord was not backing down.
“What is your cat doing here?” Wesson said in alarm.
Rezkin looked at him and said, “It is not my cat.”
All of them eyed the creature warily.
“That is the same cat that appeared when the drauglics attacked,” Farson said.
“And I saw it at the plantation, too,” said Wesson.
The cat flicked its tail and blinked up at them without concern.
“Is it a familiar?” Shezar said. “Have you bonded with it?”
“Not as such,” Rezkin said, “but I do believe it is warning us of the impending danger.”
The cat looked up at him, licked its lips, and then ran through the ward into the darkness.
“We should engage them now while we are awake,” Shezar said. “The mages may drop the ward if they become too tired or run low on vimara. If we fight the vuroles now, we will be able to recover while we sleep.”
Rezkin motioned to the group that looked to be ready to draw swords and said, “Very well. It is your plan. You get to break that up and prepare them.”
The attack came swiftly after Wesson and Nanessy dropped the ward. Dozens of dark shadows shifted in the moonlight, their claws and fangs glinting brightly as they attacked. Wesson released a stream of flame at the front line, and then Nanessy followed it with a trail of water she had wrestled from the stream. When the water met the fire, it turned to boiling steam that cooked and blinded their attackers. The two mages tossed fireballs and caused rocks to explode in the densest gatherings, but the vuroles were fast and agile. They appeared as a mix between a wolf and a large cat with black and grey fur and sharp fangs that extended below their lower jaws. Moving with feline agility, they blended with the dark rocks around the party until ready to pounce. They attacked in numbers with several creatures jumping on a single person.
Malcius crashed into Frisha as a vurole jumped at him. He was trapped beneath the beast, and Frisha beneath him. Suddenly, Lus appeared above the creature. He drove his sword down through the back of the creature’s skull. Frisha screamed as the combined weight of Malcius and the massive creature threatened to crush her. Lus shoved the monster off them and then leapt over their heads to fend off another. Yserria reached down and grabbed Malcius, helping him to his feet.
She said, “Stop lying around, you lazy oaf.” She raised her sword to slash the abdomen of a leaping vurole, and Malcius ducked beneath her to score a second across its face. Then, Brandt charged in from the other side to stab it through the ribs.
“If I were lying around, it would not be with one of these things,” said Malcius.
“I have seen you lay with worse,” said Brandt.
“I told you to stop fantasizing about me,” said Malcius.
“Look!” said Yserria, pointing to a shelf where several vuroles were gathered, ready to pounce en masse.
Wesson shoved his way between them and thrust his hands forward as he released a spell that streaked through the air like lightning. It struck the base of the shelf, sending vibrations through the rocks, causing them to fracture. The shelf broke away from the cliff, the back s
ide dropping first so that the front collapsed on top of the creatures.
Malcius said, “I am glad you have a steady countenance, Journeyman,”
Wesson did not reply but rushed away to lob fireballs at several more creatures.
Shezar leaned over Malcius as he stabbed a vurole through the eye. “You should take a lesson from him and learn some control.”
Malcius leapt forward when he saw Brandt go down. One of the vuroles raked its massive claws across Brandt’s torso. His screams seemed to excite the beast to a frenzy. Malcius lopped off its tail and then its jaw when it turned on him. By the time the battle was over, everyone had suffered deep punctures and lacerations from teeth and claws—everyone except Frisha, who was curled beneath a small, personal ward that Wesson somehow maintained while also engaging the beasts. While Reaylin did not overtly complain about performing her duties as healer, her voice still held an edge as she politely asked people to hold still. Brandt’s injuries were by far the worst, and Reaylin was fairly drained by the time she had finished with everyone.
“Why were there so many?” Malcius said as he attempted to tie the tattered pieces of his tunic to cover himself.
Wesson took a long gulp from his water skin and said, “They are believed to be vimaral creatures—a hybrid species created by mages long ago. Vuroles live in small packs in the desert. They will attack a lone man but usually avoid groups. Vimaral creatures are often attracted to vimara, though, so they were probably drawn here in number by the ward we were using to protect ourselves from the Adana’Ro.”
A heavy rumbling reached their ears, echoing through the canyon from an unknown distance. Rezkin turned his gaze to the stars. Those directly overhead were now obscured by a filmy haze, the more distant lights having disappeared. In that empty darkness, the black silhouette of clouds appeared and disappeared as light crackled within them. He sighed and turned to his companions.
“No sleep is to be had tonight. We must vacate this canyon before we are washed away.”
Despite the protests of his companions, he grabbed his pack and began the hazardous walk in the dark. Nanessy set tiny, floating sparks like fireflies hovering over the trail to light their way while Wesson set a weak ward to trail them, claiming it would at least prevent a stray vurole from pouncing on his back.
“But it isn’t raining yet,” Reaylin said as she crunched and stumbled over the scree.
“Not here,” Shezar said, “but it is out there on the higher ground. The rain will fall afar and flood through the canyon in a torrent.”
Reaylin said, “I hate Ferélle.”
Malcius snagged his pant leg on a horrid, spindly plant with thorns longer than his thumbnail. He hissed as one of the spikes dug into his calf. “For once, you and I are in agreement.”
Chapter 9
The trip to Kielen, the capital of Lon Lerésh, was not much better than their previous voyage. The autumn storms were terrible, and the Bay of Bourdony was particularly choppy as it was stirred by inundations from its multiple tributaries. The rain had waned for a short time as the ship approached port, and the travelers could see, even in the gloom of the overcast sky, that Kielen was a rich city, awash in vibrant colors. Unusually tall buildings sometimes reached five or six stories, as if they were competing to touch the stars. They were painted in brilliant crimson, indigo, and purple, and every sill, frame, and ledge of even the smallest hovel appeared gilded. Most of the windows had no glass, and the shutters were left open to the cool sea breeze. In these open portals, colorful, sheer curtains pranced on drafts over streets and alleys, and beside them, vines clung to the façade from rooftop gardens overgrown with flowering plants and trees.
The Gendishen often claimed that Lon Lerésh had intentionally appropriated everything garish to spite their neighbors, but the Leréshi philosophy was to express passion in every aspect of life, from art and décor to business and war. The docks were no different. Every worker wore a uniform to indicate his or her position, and the ground was marked in colored paint to indicate the appropriate paths for the movement of people, goods, and animals. While most ports tended toward organized chaos, the Leréshi ports had a militaristic order that Rezkin could appreciate.
He turned from the view and entered the cabin where Yserria, Reaylin, Mage Threll, and Wesson were waiting. Malcius stood by the door watching for the signals. Rezkin collected a small box from one of his trunks, removed its contents, and then stopped in front of Yserria. He held the item up for her to inspection. “You will wear this,” he said.
The sunlight streaming through the porthole glinted off a gold and silver torque. Yserria’s eyes widened as her gaze traced the brilliant gold setting that wrapped around a massive tourmaline. On either side of the central stone were smaller sapphires and amethysts. “It-it’s beautiful,” she said.
As he fastened it around her neck, Rezkin said, “It once belonged to Matrianera Gereldina. It is considered to be a famous work of art, both for its beauty and the story it holds. I stole it from the Adana’Ro. It is now yours.”
“What?” Yserria blurted. “Why would you give me something stolen from the Adana’Ro?”
“Yes, Rezkin,” Malcius said angrily. “Why are you giving Yserria expensive jewelry?”
Rezkin close the box, returned it to the trunk, and then turned to Yserria to explain. “Matrianera Gereldina was the head of a powerful house during the last reign. The torque was stolen by her consort, who used it to pay the Adana’Ro to kill her, but Gereldina found out about the plan and killed him and his male children, both her own and those from a previous matria. The Adana’Ro killed Gereldina anyway and kept the torque as payment. You will let it be known that the torque was a gift from me, which serves two purposes. Bestowing knighthood on you demonstrated that I value your skill and accomplishments, but gifting you this torque shows that I value you as a woman. Appearances are important to the Leréshi. A worthy male will make his appreciation known by gifting luxuries to his woman.”
“But she is not your woman,” Malcius exclaimed rather too quickly. He appeared discomfited when everyone turned to stare at him. He shook his head and added, “I mean Frisha …”
“Is not my woman either, Malcius, nor will she ever be. The betrothal was canceled. You need to accept that.”
“What?” Reaylin, Nanessy, and Yserria all cried at once.
Rezkin was surprised by the group outburst. He said, “I thought someone would have mentioned it, since everyone is so eager to discuss my marital status.”
Yserria cleared her throat. “Y-You said there were two reasons for the torque?”
“Yes, the second being that the Leréshi will know I acquired it from the Adana’Ro. Queen Erisial is aware that her daughter desires to join them, and she will likely make the connection. It gives my cause legitimacy.”
“What if the Adana’Ro take exception to your stealing it?” said Wesson.
Rezkin shrugged. “If they did not wish for me to take the torque, they would have done a better job of holding on to it.”
Wesson said, “You were not there for long, and I do not imagine they allowed you to roam around looking for things to steal. How did you find this treasure?”
Rezkin shook his head as he went to his desk. “It was not difficult. The great mother was wearing it.”
“The great mother?” said Wesson.
Rezkin looked up at him. “Their leader.”
Yserria tugged at the torque. “You stole this from the neck of the leader of the Adana’Ro?” She tugged at it again, but it would not budge.
Rezkin told her, “Stop pulling at it, or you will hurt yourself. It is enchanted not to come off unless removed by the person who clasped it shut.”
“But you removed it from the great mother,” Wesson observed as he stood to examine the torque. “And you would have to have done it quickly, or she would have noticed.”
“She was rather distracted,” Rezkin replied.
Malcius seemed even more frus
trated when he said, “I recall that you were nude. Why were you so close to the woman, and how was she distracted?”
“Lord Malcius!” Mage Threll exclaimed. He appeared slightly abashed, until she looked at Rezkin and said, “Where did you hide it?”
A whistle, followed by shouts from on deck, signaled that the ship was about to be boarded. A smaller vessel had been escorting theirs since entering Leréshi waters. As soon as both were docked, a woman and two men boarded Stargazer without invitation, a privilege that was apparently reserved for female captains. The men were slight of build and wore loose, beige pants that tied at the ankles beneath matching smocks that fell to their knees. Their hair was shorn close to the scalp, and each held stacks of papers and a writing tablet.
The woman was a minister of the docks, tasked with inspecting foreign vessels and their cargo. She appeared to be in her late twenties and had straight, brown hair tied back into a tail that hung past her waist. Her eyes and lips were enhanced with powders and paint, and she had multiple rings piercing each ear. She wore a dark brown sleeveless overcoat that was fitted to her curves and crossed her chest to tie at one muscular shoulder. Her voluminous black pants gathered at the knee, leaving her lower legs bare down to her hard-soled slippers. The silky red sash that encircled her hips was tied at the side with the loose end hanging halfway down her thigh. At that moment, she also wore a scowl for the captain.
“I am telling you, it is a passenger vessel,” said Captain Estadd.
The woman glanced around the deck at the recently added weapons and modified rails and said, “It looks like a military vessel to me.”
Shezar approached, dressed in his formal black and green regalia. He smiled and genuflected as was appropriate for a man when addressing a woman of station. “Minister, may I have the privilege of introducing myself and this vessel’s occupants?”
The woman looked him up and down and smiled appreciatively. “You appear to be a worthy male. You may speak.”