The Argument of Empires

by Jacob T. Helvey

  “Good,” Irrin said. “Can we move him?”

  Grith wanted to groan. Only just awake, and the bastard already wanted him on his feet.

  “Nothing is broken, High Lord,” said a new voice, female and young. “But he’s lost almost a third of his blood. Luckily, his body is shoring up its supply at an unprecedented rate.”

  “His ability,” Tain offered. “As long as I keep giving him the Broth, he should recover in a matter of days.” Broth, so that was what the liquid was called. It didn’t taste like any broth Grith had ever had.

  “I wish all the men were so lucky,” the woman said. She came to stand opposite Tain on the other side of the bed. She was a portly woman, perhaps twenty-five, with tan skin and sandy hair. She wore a smock that might once have been white, although its true color showed through only in spots. The rest was covered in a dry layer of rust colored blood. She had been hard at work through the night it seemed, tending to the wounded.

  “How are you feeling?” It took Grith a moment to realize she was talking to him.

  “G… good,” he managed through parched lips. Spirits he was thirsty.

  She gave him a tired smile and put a bottle to his lips. “Drink this.”

  Half-expecting more of the Broth, he took a few cautious sips of lukewarm water. It was slightly salty, like the water back home, but still, at that moment it tasted better than the finest wine. The surgeon took the bottle away after a few moments. He wanted more, but decided against asking. Right now, he needed answers.

  Grith levered himself up onto his elbows and laid his back against the headboard. He shook all over and his vision grew blurry as too little blood tried to fill too many orifices. For a moment, he thought he might pass out, but with time, his eyes cleared and he could look up at Tain and Irrin without the urge to vomit.

  The surgeon looked slightly surprised by his quick recovery. She sat the bottle on the bedside table and leaned over the mattress to check him. “Delvers truly are amazing,” she said as she brushed a hand over the wound on his chest, now tightly bandaged. She pulled up the sheet covering his nakedness and checked the wound to his thigh. Grith tried to pull the sheet back down. The Shaleese weren’t as prudish as their Mainlander counterparts, but dammit, he would have liked to keep a hold on a little of his modesty!

  “The bleeding has stopped,” she said, poking at the bandaged wound. He gasped with each touch. He might be a Delver, but he had been shot through the leg with flaming metal. That had to count for something. “Almost like the wound cauterized itself.”

  “It did,” Tain said. “He was attacked by an Ignean.” Grith frowned. He had never heard the word, but he could guess as to what his teacher was referring to. The Delver from last night, the one with the arrowheads. The one who had killed dozens of Irrin’s soldiers.

  “I tried to hunt her down,” Tain continued. So it had been a she who had tried to kill him. “Even came close, before she managed to give me the slip. But she didn’t leave me without a gift to remember her by.” He pulled up the sleeve of his doublet to reveal a blackened gash across his forearm.

  “Captain Tain,” the surgeon chided. “You should have let me look at-”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine. Give it a few days, and like most of my life it will be nothing but a scar and a few unhappy memories.” He turned his attention back to Grith. “Can you move?”

  “I think so,” Grith said. He shifted his legs back and forth beneath the sheets experimentally. “Give me a set of clothes and I might manage it right now.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Tain said. “But give it another hour. I don’t want to have to play the part of the dutiful husband and bear you out to your carriage.”

  “Are we that close now?” Grith asked, attempting a smile and failing.

  “Not yet, but I’ll have the vows prepared later.” He grinned, as Irrin and the surgeon looked on in confusion. “Until then, we’ve got more training.”

  “My cover’s blown then?” It was something Grith hadn’t thought about through most of the battle. When defending the life of the High Lord, secrecy hadn’t seemed like a top priority.

  “Some of the common soldiers saw you run past them last night,” said Tain. “And soldiers talk. By tomorrow, every pikeman, every crossbow-toting peasant, and every camp follower will know the High Lord has a new Delver.”

  “So what do we do?” Grith asked. Part of him was glad. He would no longer have to lug around a pike, or march in formation for hours on end. The other part, the more rational part, knew things were only going to get harder from here on.

  “We make a formal announcement when we reach Saleno,” Irrin said from the foot of the bed. “Tain publicly accepts you as his apprentice, and you join my retinue in the same capacity.”

  Irrin didn’t seem happy about the arrangement. Whether it was because Grith’s cover had been blown or because he would have to spend time around a man who only weeks ago had sworn to kill him, Grith didn’t know.

  “I’ll be able to train you in earnest,” Tain said. He sounded downright giddy about the new arrangement. “Teach you the things I wasn’t able to before.”

  “All of this talk is well and good,” Irrin said, stepping forward. “But first we need to reach Saleno.”

  * * *

  Saleno was a blessedly short day’s trip away. Grith—still recovering from his injuries and able to openly travel with Irrin at the front of the column—road in Tain’s cart with the cooking equipment and the Delver’s small arsenal of weapons.

  By evening, the roads had turned from dirt to cobble, and outside, Grith could hear the low thrum of activity only found within the walls—or in this case canals—of a city. Voices, hammer blows, and the smell of animals and their waste all mingled in the sticky evening air. After a particularly sharp turn, Tain jumped into the back of the cart. “We’re nearly at the docks.”

  “We’re leaving so soon?” Grith asked, raising his head from the sack of flour he’d been using as a pillow. He’d never gotten as far as Saleno in his travels. His mother had spoken fondly of the city. She had often called it “the most romantic place in the world.” It was quite a claim, and one that Grith had always wanted to put to the test.

  Saleno lay on an island at Toashan’s southern tip, where the land thinned until it was possible to see both the Bay of Tirrak to the west, and the Heran Sea to the east, from one of the city’s many temple spires. The island was connected to the mainland by three bridges that were each half a mile long and great wonders of the world in their own right. The city itself was nearly the size of Akiv, and as a trade hub, was filled to bursting with the riches of the four corners of the world. It was said there was a temple or shrine to every god in existence somewhere in the city, if only you looked hard enough, placed there by the far flung travelers that called the port a temporary home. The hundreds of holy sites were so famed, that they had even given Saleno its nickname: the City of a Thousand Gods.

  “The High Lord doesn’t want to spend any more time in the city than is absolutely necessary. I can’t blame him. As much as I love this place, I’m starting to feel the same.”

  “So he’s still set on traveling to Fanalkir?” asked Grith. He went up onto one elbow. His arms still shook slightly, but he forced himself to stay upright. He couldn’t afford to be weak, not now with world seeming to go to shit all around them.

  Tain nodded. “I’ve spent the last hour trying to talk him out of it. I told him he could take a ship back to Selivia. He’d be there in less than a week and we could spend the summer fortifying the city and finding out just what the fuck is going on behind the walls of the Imperial Palace.” He sighed. “But he won’t hear it. He still says that the safest place for him is in the south.”

  Tain poked his head out the back of the cart. “It’s about half a mile to the docks, if I remember correctly. Of course, my memory of the cit
y… may not be the most reliable.” He looked back at Grith and gave a grimace. “I remember some brothels and taverns and that’s about it.”

  “Drunk?” Grith asked.

  Tain nodded. “And worse. Have you ever smoked Black Vishin?”

  Grith shook his head. “It some kind of drug. Smugglers used to try and get it past the port authority in Akiv, before the war.”

  “Well, let’s just say that after I smoked my first bowl, I sat down in a chair and admired the ceiling… for three days.”

  Grith grimaced. “So you were here for the Vishin?”

  “I was here for the shelter. I…” He paused for a moment and pursed his lips. “Ran away from a place I shouldn’t have.”

  Tain didn’t elaborate. And Grith didn’t push him for an explanation. A man was entitled to his secrets, especially if those secrets skirted the realms of legality.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Tain pulled a flat package from behind a stack of swords. “Now that you’re not playing the part of a shit-kicking grunt, you can dress properly. I bought these for you at the first clothier I saw. I didn’t know your measurements, so I told him that I needed a suit of clothes for someone about six-foot-five and built like a coat hanger. I hope they fit.” He tossed the package to Grith. “Change into those while I find you a decent pair of shoes. What size are those canal boats of yours?”

  Grith shook his head. “Size?”

  “How big are your feet?” Tain gave him an exasperated expression. “I never thought my life would come to this: babysitting country bumpkins…”

  Grith rolled his eyes and pulled off one of his boots before tossing it to the Delver. “Take this.” Tain caught it and cringed back from the opening. “I’ve been marching in those things for two months,” Grith told him. “Did you expect them to smell like rose water?”

  He sighed. “No. No I didn’t.” Taking the boot, he jumped off the back of the cart, and was gone.

  Grith undid the knot holding together the packaging and pulled off several layers of crumpled paper covering a fine pair of dark green breeches and a thin jacket of the same color, along with a white shirt and stockings. Spirits! Tain had even bought him a matching cravat! Were they going on a dangerous expedition to Fanalkir, or a fine dinner party?

  Shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the whole ensemble, Grith threw on the clothing—as a whole, it fit surprisingly well—and searched through the various boxes and bags that filled the back of Tain’s cart. Tain had to keep a mirror somewhere. No one could keep their hair so well styled without one.

  He finally found the hand mirror, sitting under a bottle of hair oil and a set of combs in a small box near the front of the cart. In the poor light, it was hard for Grith to see his finer features, but the state of his hair was obvious. It hadn’t been brushed or washed since the last time the army had come to a river, and had started to form tangles that would be difficult and painful to remove.

  He used a wide-toothed comb as best he could, pulling at his hair and parting it down the middle so that it fell evenly to his shoulders. He took a cloth from another box and rubbed at his face, getting off the worst of the dirt and grime. For the first time in weeks, he looked more human than dog.

  Now if only he could get a decent bath…

  * * *

  “Shoes!” Tain announced as he climbed into the back of the cart.

  “That was quick,” Grith said. “You were gone, what, half-an-hour?”

  “I asked the cobbler for ‘big as fuck’ and he gave me these. Said some monster boy from up in Whitestone traded them in for a pair of boots as big as caravels.” He handed the shoes to Grith. They were thin with almost no sole, and buckled at the top. Grith slipped them on. They fit surprisingly well.

  “Those are duelist’s shoes. Even used, they cost me a pretty penny, so make sure you take good care of them.”

  “Do I get a weapon too?” Grith asked, holding up the mirror to get another look at himself. Spirits! I’m like a peacock. How had Tain ever learned to fight in an outfit like this?

  “Give me a moment.” Tain bent down and rummaged among the boxes along one side of the cart. There was a scraping of steel on steel and the clatter of wood as Tain produced a familiar spear.

  “You kept it!” Grith reached out his hand to grab the weapon, his body suddenly full of energy. The moment his fingers wrapped around the haft, he knew there was no mistake. This was his weapon.

  “That and your bow. They’re terrible weapons for a Delver, if I’m honest. But I thought they might help, even if it was just sentiment.” For the first time in what felt like ages, Tain sounded sincere. It was easy to forget that there was a depth to this man, even if he kept it well hidden.

  “The last time I saw this spear, it was nearly in splinters.” He ran his hand along the shaft. He knew the grain of the rattan, the shape of the head. His father might have called the spear a disposable weapon, but in this moment, the man couldn’t have been more wrong. This was his only connection to home, to his previous life.

  “I found a carpenter with the skill to fix it back in Galthegan,” Tain said. “He performed several minor miracles and assures me that it’s back in fighting shape.”

  Grith studied the weapon, only half listening to his teacher. After weeks of training with a pike, the spear felt so light in his hands, almost flimsy. He could see where glue had been spread to fill in the slices, and where pins had been used to shore up the construction. But they were only minor blemishes, like the scars on the face of aged warrior, adding character, rather than air of decrepitude.

  Grith raised his head. In the darkness, Tain was like a specter, dressed in his dark clothes, his green eyes twinkling in the light of the Sky Father that shafted through the back of the cart. “Thank you,” he said. “This…” he coughed, trying to hold back a tear. “This was my father’s spear. And that,” he pointed at the case that contained his recurve bow and arrows. “That was my mother’s.”

  Tain nodded and headed to the back of the cart. “We’re leaving within the hour. Come on.” The man had never been one for niceties and it didn’t seem he was going to finally find his heart after one act of altruism. As he had said weeks ago, he was not a good man.

  Grith threw the case over one shoulder and took up his spear. He found that with the weapons in hand, he felt better, stronger, as he slid off the back of the cart and onto the cobbles of Saleno.

  Tain had said they were close to the docks. But close, it turned out, was relative in this place. The city was a monstrosity, a snaking mass of streets and alleys, with every available square inch covered by shops, houses, tenements, and oftentimes all three. Akiv claimed to be larger, but it had never felt this packed, this crowded with humanity. Even at night, when most honest folk were in bed, and the lights atop the city’s hundred temple spires were dark, Saleno teamed with life, from lowly beggars, to street toughs and city watchmen. Perhaps the city simply didn’t have enough “honest folk” to go around.

  The crowds only grew thicker as they neared the docks. Here, Saleno never slept. Ships came and went at all hours. The bars were full to bursting with sailors, dockhands, and fishermen in equal numbers. Grith could hear half-a-hundred languages, from the familiar sound of Sasken, to the exotic tongues of Herana and the lands beyond, far to the east and west where the Sky Father didn’t fill the sky. Without the presence of the Eye and its storms, the lands there were dry and the seas so shallow it was said you could walk from one continent to another without wetting your knees.

  No Fanalkiri, however. Grith had heard that the people of the southern continent had once filled the docks of Toashini ports, but with the recent conquest of their homeland, trade between the two continents had fallen to less than a trickle.

  “That’s our ship,” Tain said, pointing towards a particularly thick pair of masts on the far side of the harbor. Grith cursed. There ha
d to be a mile separating them from the ship. Normally, he would have looked forward to a walk like that, but not today and certainly not in his current state.

  “We couldn’t have taken the cart to the damn boat?” Grith had already begun to lean on his spear for support. His legs shook, and he could feel himself growing slightly faint. No matter how strong he was, or how fast he healed, he had still lost a third of his blood only a day ago. He wasn’t ready for this.

  “The traffic’s too thick around the docks. We’d be left sitting here for hours while we tried to get through.” Tain rummaged around inside his coat and pulled out a small bottle of the Broth. “Drink some of this.” He handed the bottle to Grith. He drank it hungrily. It said something about his injury that he didn’t even care about the taste as he choked the liquid down.

  “What is this stuff, anyway?” Grith asked once he was finished.

  “It’s probably best if I don’t tell you,” Tain replied.

  Grith frowned. “Seriously. I want to know.”

  Tain started walking again, taking them past the front of a ramshackle tavern where three men lay slumped in pools of blood. Watchmen stood over their still forms, looks of amusement and pity mixing on their worn faces. Whether the unlucky men were alive or dead, Grith hadn’t the foggiest idea.

  “Did you know that we can’t be poisoned?” Tain asked once they had left the scene behind.

  “Why bring that up?” His eyes went wide and he looked down at the bottle resting in his hand and then back to Tain. “What’s in this stuff?”

  “Coffee, boiled marrow, rendered fat, and half-an-ounce of naphtha. There’s a few other trace ingredients, but-”

  Grith felt the sudden urge to vomit. “Naphtha!?”

  “I told you wouldn’t want to know!” Tain said, his voice rising.

  “Why naphtha?! Who would ever think drinking something like that is a good idea?!”

  Tain sighed and lowered his voice. “As I said before, we can’t be poisoned. A Delver’s body can burn almost any substance imaginable. You could live off of woodchips if you had to, although I imagine chewing them would be a problem.”