“A moratorium? Against other thieves?”
“Who do you think pays the local authorities?” Sil went to open his mouth, but he hushed her.
She snickered to herself but kept quiet. They were nearing the next street and she could hear muttered voices, laughter, children singing, and the grinding and slushing of wheels on muddy pebbled roads —the usual bustle of a lively town. So strange to see it so lively, when she came here as a child, Sat’r was an all-business place, an industrial center lined with huge smoke chimneys from large smithies. Designed by Prince Advin, carriages would line up at one end of the smithies to the other, load up and charge out in such large-scale organized fashion, even people in the Holy City talked about it. Now, from the noises, it would seem a true town had sprung up.
Sil felt Markus’s hand slid between her arm and side. She went to pull away, but he held her arm in place. “Brother, sister or husband and wife,” he whispered. “We can’t draw attention to ourselves.”
“Let go of me or I will do something that will draw attention,” she seethed.
Markus let go. “Lord and Lady then, but Lords are supposed to have Ladies who act as ‘ladies.’”
“I am not a lady, I am a—”
“That’s true,” he said but before she could give him a snarky reply, Markus nodded across the intersection and down the opposite road. “That’s shop I was talking about. It’s down there. Let’s check it out first. Then we’ll go in tonight.”
The two came to the intersection. As busy as it was, everyone seemed to keep to themselves. Most wore dirty bland browns with worn leathery patches while the women wore long aprons over layered dresses obviously mean for laboring work. They hurried as though they were on errands with children scurrying around them. Buildings here were all red-bricked, old but well-cared for like those she remembered long ago, except they didn’t intimidate her as they once did. Compared to her dirty small town, this was a dirty large metropolis, a place she as a child could get lost in a matter of minutes.
The carriage and horse traffic cleared and the two crossed the street, joined by others in a pack: these were filthy men in sooty clothes she would have expected, but also a couple carrying a newborn in clean pink linens, out of place in the dirty and grim of the surroundings.
Sil spotted a beautifully varnished stagecoach that had been obliged to stop for the foot traffic. That’s what Sil first thought, but soon a well dressed man climbed out and a woman, both wearing clothes in a style Sil had never seen in some red and black theme. They vanished into the one of the building, not much different than the rest.
“What is that place,” she asked Markus, pointing to the building those two entered.
Markus grabbed her pointing finger and pushed it down. “It’s a trading station,” he said in a low voice. “As in, goods, services, exchanges for local coin.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Why would someone wear such expensive clothes just to buy goods?
“Sil, please. We’re trying to blend in, not stick out.”
When they reached the other side, Markus laid out a hand to help her over the streaks of black soot that had pooled against the curb from rainwater. She took his hand, appreciating the gesture, except that someone took noticed. A young man with a dirty face —no, it was a scraggly beard and he wore a light gray cap and midriff jacket. He leaned on an adjacent building and watching them as they entered the side road. He proceeded to follow them as she casted initiating magic in her palms.
“We’re being followed, I think,” she whispered.
“Yea, I know.”
“What should we do?” But she already knew what she wanted to do. After that blasted tavern experience, she had a hard time ignoring the heat radiating from her face. If he tried to rob them, she’d burn him alive! Justice be done on him. Maybe that was too much, but oh, how she grew angry at thought of predators preying on newcomers —She turned to Markus. His grin was gone, replaced with a tight frown as his eyes darted from both sides of the road. “Are you influencing me,” she asked.
“If you’d rather be afraid,” he said.
“I am not.” She paused. “Is he …dangerous?”
“I don’t know. And that is dangerous.”
They slowed their pace and behind them the man in gray slowed too, not making much of an effort to hide himself or his intention. “There,” Markus nodded. “That’s the building.” It was just another red brick building, a little more than a story tall, with a placard above the door, reading, ‘Royal Rares and Ancient Articles.’ “Don’t stare at it,” he whispered. “We’re just going to pass by. He could be one of MaCathy’s and word of us hasn’t reached him yet.”
They strolled by the building, taking only momentary glances to realize that it was indeed closed with no signs of lighting inside. The drapes were drawn but the shutters left open. The man in gray walked up to the door after they had passed and leaned against it, continuing his study of them.
“Yea, definitely one of MaCathy —hopefully.”
“You don’t sound confident.”
As they gained distance, his grin returned. “MaCathy might like gold, but his currency is in appearances. Power isn’t something you weigh on a scale, Sil. It’s perception of influence to these people. Maybe he’s not in as much control as he led me to believe.”
Sil chuckled. “Him? Lie? Oh, heavens what is the world coming to.”
“Go ahead, laugh. But him and I and a few others used to rule this town.”
“Funny, I don’t remember Sat’r being so bad.” But then again, she was a little girl too afraid to leave her father’s hand to explore the city.
Markus started for the right and she followed, making a bend around the corner into the next street. This one was more populated with dirty men, appearing tired with haggard gaits. Down the road stood taller buildings with upper wooden stories built above the first floor made of stone. At each of their entrances gathered crowds lounging about.
“You’ve been here before,” he asked.
“Yes, when I was young…. Oh Goddess, it had to be more than 15 years ago.” Seeing all the rough men with scraggly beards and dirty grimacing faces, Sil allowed Markus to hold her arm. He took it, his gaze flickering all around.
“I wasn’t even on this continent then,” he said. “When I came to Sat’r, the Brothers’ war was starting up, so I stayed here a few years, then left.”
“From tracking abductors to becoming a criminal to an imperial investigator? A rather incongruent career path.”
He gave her a sarcastic sideways glance. “Yes, Sil. I was searching for your sister then too. Thought the underworld here would help me. Didn’t. The war was on everyone’s mind. I got close a few times, though. Good enough for the empire to give me a job.”
She patted his hand on her arm with her other hand. “There, now I believe I know almost as much of you as you do about me.”
Instead of some testy reply, Markus furrowed his brow. “You see that place,” he nodded toward the first of the buildings with a crowd at its entrance. “Last time I was here, it was an inn for travelers. We’ll try to lodge there. Good idea to stay away from the locals as much as we can.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Yes, Sil. We’ll get separate rooms. The building’s made out of wood, so don’t burn the building down if someone walks in on you.”
“I can do more than just burn people who run a fool of me.”
“I haven’t noticed.”
Sil rose her chin. “As long as I have a bath and place to dress, I’ll be fine. Walking so much, my feet feel like they’re swollen watermelons.”
“Uh… yea,” Markus let out.
“No baths?”
“Look around, you see anyone of these workers clean? They probably do have baths, some communal arrangement, I’d bet, but there’s gotta be a reason they don’t use them. So, I wouldn’t either.”
Her heart sank. She had been looking forward to at least a bath. It could have been a cold ba
th; she’d warm it up herself. I’ll endure all for the Golden Lady.
When they reached the entry door to the inn, it became clear why there were so many men murmuring outside. The sign nailed to the door read ‘No Vacancy.’
“Should have guessed,” Markus whispered. “Come on let’s go—"
“Hey you,” one of the men shouted. Sil spun around but Markus pulled her away from the door and out into the street. The man followed, tall, muscular with dirt on his face in the shape of hand. Had someone slapped him? “I said, ‘Hey you,’” the man repeated, revealing missing or grimy teeth; Sil could hardly look at him long enough to tell.
“What do you want,” Markus asked.
“You looking for a place to stay,” the man said, his gaze sizing her up with suggestive grin. Sil frowned. How dare he! At least here there wasn’t a building to worry about. Sil swirled an initial spell in her free hand. Would it be fire? Or more wind? “This street’s for touring men only, but the girl can stay with us.”
Markus grabbed her casting hand. “Oh, a man’s only place? Well, I suppose not then. She’ll be fine, friend,” Markus said, spinning her around and walking –marching—away. “Damn, this place has sure changed. Like sleeping outdoors, Sil?”
“That man deserves to be punished for the way he looked at me,” she seethed, allowing her anger to smother in her stomach and throat, overwhelming her initial fear.
“Later, later—"
“Hey, I’m not done talking,” the man called from behind. He cannot speak to one of mine like that. Sil ripped herself from Markus and faced him. “Oh, you leaving him, girlie?” Three other men meandered their way from the closed inn and circled the brute, two on his right and one on his left. Sil felt a sudden surge of confidence —Or was it indignation?— within her. It didn’t matter. It didn’t even matter if she felt confident only because of Markus influencing her right now —though she’d scold him for it later. The Golden Lady was right; he couldn’t speak to a High Priest like that. She could take them down with two spell casts.
“What is it you want,” Sil demanded, chin up, shoulders square, two initiating spells in her hand. Fire was easiest for her, but maybe an icy wind this time. She’d try not to whiplash her shoulder either. “Speak up, brute!”
“Brute?” The brute displayed his palms. “Don’t need to be so angry. The inn is ours, you see. Forge Thirteen.”
“There’s others, we’ll try them,” she answered.
He laughed.
“What’s so amusing?”
Markus whispered, “they’re all the same, Sil. I made a bad mistake. We have to—”
“Pay up,” he said. “Or you sleep outside.”
Markus went for her hand. “Sleep outside, thanks—”
Sil sidestepped away from Markus’s grabbing hand. “How much do you want? Do you have baths?”
“For you girl, nothing. But your father there—”
Both Sil and Markus replied at the same time: “She’s not my daughter.” “He’s not my father.”
The brute creased his eyebrows together. “Whatever.” He opened his arms wide. “Ruf, Gep, Jon. Show them why they’re not leaving without paying.” Each pulled a weapon: large corroded tongs, a set of chisels, and a claw hammer. The brute wiggled his fingers back toward the inn when another man came hefting a large sledge hammer he could barely carry on his bowed back. The brute glided his fingers across the handle as if the hammer was his favorite tool and swung it easily upon to his shoulder.
“I’ve changed my mind,” the brute said, see-sawing the hammer. “We’ll just take what you have and let you, old man, sleep outside.” The three men advanced slowly when Markus stepped front of Sil. He straightened his back, his hands hung loose by his sides. “Out of the way, one-eye,” the brute said. “And you’ll live with only few broken bones. Make us work for it and—”
“How fulfilled would you say your life is, Mister….” Markus said, his voice resonating differently as if it carried more weight. She’s attention tore off the other men and fell fully on Markus as he stood there, relaxed and poised, reminding her of someone like the Doyenne: experienced, wise, and terribly skilled at magic, a formidable adversary to fight. Sil would have laughed, but she didn’t; she couldn’t because she was believing it. How little did she know about Markus?
The three men hesitantly eyed the Brute who lowered his sledge hammer, thudding in a splash of dust. “My name’s Bragrek.”
“Answer the question, Bragrek,” Markus answered, appearing taller now, refined, regal as though he were a noble, or like a military leader overseeing a great command. Even his clothes —they certainty hadn’t changed, Sil could clearly see— but they suited a master of warfare more than the arrogant imperial investigator she had been traveling with. She couldn’t reconcile her new perception of him, but there he was standing fearlessly before four foes —four armed foes— with the steely command of the warriors of the First Settlers.
Bragrek lowed his hammer. “I…well—”
“I’ll make it easy for you,” Markus cut him off before shouting to the other behind the four, his voice clear like a lightening bolt and terrible like rumbling thunder. “Easy for all of you! For threatening a Lord and his esteemed Lady,” He waved his hand behind him at Sil, and she could help but blush deeply. As ridiculous as she felt, she knew that he was just Markus, but as he continued, she joined everyone’s transfixed gaze on him and his words. What would he say next? What would he do next? “Among you, up on the house tops, behind each corner, are my legion: a force of my own warriors ready to put into account your entire life. You may think you can handle them. Trust me, my friends. They have been through hell-fire hotter than any furnace you’ve ever kindled.” Everyone shot their heads in all direction, trying to spot where these warriors could be. Despite herself, Sil searched too, her mind convinced of hidden dangers: silent arrow, darts, or maybe daggers thrown from the shadows. Swordsmen, spearmen, cannonmen, all clad in unbreakable armor. Just how many were there? Tens? Hundreds? Her heart hammered as her confidence failed. This is ridiculous, her rational mind told her, but she still clasped her shaking hands together, trying to steady them. She couldn’t help thinking, Surely, he wouldn’t harm me. Sil was the ‘Lady’ he was referring to, wasn’t she? “So I ask again,” his voice tore her attention again. “Have you fulfilled your life? If so, by all mean….” Markus outstretched his arms before them. “I won’t stop you. I won’t have to.”
The Brute, still searching the rooftops, flinched a few times before setting his sights on Markus again. He then looked to other three, their weapons shaking in their hands, and nodded for them to retreat. He waved his hammer around back over his shoulder. “You, you get out of here then,” his voice trembled. “And take your…warriors with you. Just leave us be, you hear?”
Markus nodded curtly, lowered his arms and spun before grabbing Sil’s arm and dragging her along with him.
Knocked out her daze, she asked, “What happened?” The illusion —Yes, it was an illusion— disappeared; Markus was…just Markus now.
He smirked, but it was a pained smirk. “Now that is manipulation.”
“How? You did that? You made them —you made me— believe you had people ready to rain death on everyone.” Markus shoved her into the closest alley. “Stop pushing me—”
“MaCathy wasn’t kidding,” he blurted, pacing back and forth. “This place is dangerous.”
Sil padded and fluffed her blouse and readjusted her brown mantle and veil. “Well, it seems to me you did just fine. And next time I’d appreciate it if you didn’t involve me with your blessing. It was all so ridiculous—”
“I didn’t have much choice, Sil,” he snapped, still pacing and fidgeting by pumping his fists and craning his neck. He then grabbed his forehead with his hand, lifting up his hat.
“What’s wrong? We’re safe, aren’t we?”
“Yes, I think,” he said, pain stretching across his face. “I…it’s nothing.”
He sat himself down on the stone ground, back against the wall. He lowered his head between his knees, his hat rolling off.
“Markus…. You’re not feeling well?”
“Give me a minute,” he voice cracked.
“I can seek help—”
“No, this will pass.” But he arched his back, further burying his head in between his knees. What could she do? She wasn’t a healer. She as a destroyer.
“Markus. You clearly need help. Don’t believe—”
“Priests,” he said, derisively. “Doesn’t your magic cost you anything?”
Sil blinked. “I…I suppose it does. We can overexert ourselves. You saw me with my shoulder incident.” She snickered, wishing she hadn’t brought it up. “Runic too. Alloyed with other metals can be dangerous. You’ve used it on me. Absorbs the closest magical energy and according to its purity and converts it to heat—”
“I’m not looking for a textbook answer, damn it...” he clenched his teeth, his whole-body trembling.
“What’s wrong, Markus? Tell me, please. I’m…I’m not really a healer if that’s what you need—”
“The King-Maker,” he said in a small timid voice. “That skill. Remember how I said I can influence emotions?”
“Yes.”
“I…when I overuse it like that…my body, my mind…it’s like balancing scales. I push too far one way on others, I get snapped back the other way on me. Nature’s way of making me accountable, I guess.” He displayed his shaking hands. “I…just can’t stop shaking,” he faked a laugh. “I’m…just…so damn terrified.”
Sil sat beside him, and after wrestling with herself, she placed her hand on his back. “You’re feeling afraid because it’s what you made that brute feel, isn’t it?”
“No,” he sniffled. “I’m feeling what I made you all feel.” He shifted away from her, sinking his head lower. “Just give me a moment.”
Sil went to comfort him, but then realized what he must being going through. He had made her —all the them— see him as a mighty leader and she was terrified by his supposed warriors ready to lay waste on everyone there in a moment’s notice. Now, he felt the world around him looming large and terribly dangerous, like a lion ready to pounce —like a hundred lions ready to devour him. He must be feeling what she felt: small and vulnerable. Was that also the price he paid for making her confident?
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 60