by Watson Davis
“I am too old,” Che-su said with a shrug, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “But you? You are young and strong and no one will believe a word you say. Maegrith’s will is strange but sound. You will take this child and you will run away somewhere no one would think to look for you. Not even me. You will raise this child and teach it as best you can. See that she grows strong and good and keep her safe from the Empress.”
“By Dispatro’s hell I will!” Ka-bes said. The collar around her neck discharged a bolt of lightning that stung her neck. She jerked back out of instinct.
“You have no choice.” Che-su lifted the child, holding it toward Ka-bes. “I have placed a geas upon you. Now, do as I have commanded.”
Ka-bes felt herself step forward, her hands out to receive the child, and she couldn’t stop herself; all she could think of was the net and her parents’ money in her purse.
RECTOR CHE-SU HOBBLED up the steps from the courtyard to the door closest to her office.
An orcan guard she did not recognize stood watch at the top of the stairs, his beady eyes following her approach. When she neared the top, he reached toward her and she cringed, looking up into his fierce face. He seized her arm at the elbow and with unexpected care and gentleness helped her up the last two steps.
She swallowed into a dry throat and nodded to him. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, madame,” he said in a rich basso, inclining his head to her. He resumed his menacing stance guarding the top of the stairs and surveying the courtyard.
Che-su scurried through the door into the cool darkness inside, and a sense of relief flooded through her, a sense of being home and safe, a sense of returning to her routine. The long wooden bench along the wall of her office sat empty save for old lady Shal-yi, a regular at Che-su’s door, a constant source of irritation and information, but today even she appeared subdued.
Che-su bowed before the old woman. “I apologize for my tardiness, but the streets are in chaos.”
Shal-yi shook her head and fluttered her hands. In a muted tone, she said, “I’ve been here over an hour.”
Che-su reached out to touch the woman’s bony shoulder. “I know.”
The door to Che-su’s office opened and Che-su jumped back, away from her office door, away from Shal-yi.
A man leaned out. The grin on his face exposed his fangs; his skin was a pale white, and his platinum blond hair fell over his ice-blue eyes.
Che-su’s breath caught in her throat.
“Well, well,” he said in an accented Nayen, “the misplaced rector returns. Please, do come in.” He bowed, and gestured with his hand for her to enter, like he was a servant and not an assassin.
“Gartan?” Che-su gulped and then bowed to Shal-yi. “I apologize yet again. I fear I have other business to which I must attend.”
Shal-yi nodded. “Maybe I should come back tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow would be better.” Che-su nodded, wishing she had the option to leave and come back the next morning. Instead, she bowed her head and walked into her own office with her shoulders tensing like a child preparing for a whipping.
Dyuh Mon, the Empress’s librarian, lounged in Che-su’s chair at Che-su’s desk, flipping through the pages of the book she’d been studying earlier. Without looking up, he said, “The success of the Quickening ritual delighted the Empress. You and your rectory should be proud.”
Che-su stopped her mincing steps at the center of the room, and she stood with her head bowed and her hands clasped before her. She blinked. A tear fell from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Such a difficult casting, so many random factors and variables, only two groups achieved the Empress’s goal.” Dyuh Mon leaned back in Che-su’s chair, shaking his head. “Even that was more than She’d expected. The gods smiled upon Her.”
Something brushed at Che-su’s neck. She jerked away, flinching. Gartan loomed behind her, his eyes narrow. He leaned toward her, placing his nose at her throat. She wanted to scream but braced herself, knowing better than to move.
“But two babies?” Dyuh Mon leaned forward, staring at her. “What made you think you could hide the second?”
“I didn’t—”
“She’s been casting,” Gartan whispered. “And she stinks of a stable.”
“Where is the second child?” Dyuh Mon asked.
“I don’t know,” Che-su said, her heart hammering in her chest, her nose stopping up with phlegm.
“She’s telling the truth, but the baby is still close,” Gartan said, placing his hand on her back, in between her shoulder blades. His nose touched her neck, and Che-su squeezed her eyes shut. He licked her and she struggled not to scream.
Dyuh Mon slammed the book shut and stood. “Where is the mother?”
“You don’t understand,” Che-su said, racking her mind for some strategy to buy Ka-bes and Sifa time to escape. “That’s not—”
Gartan’s fingers closed into a fist in Che-su’s hair, drawing her head back, bending her backward. “This is a waste of our time. Let’s kill her and search the city.”
“No,” Dyuh Mon said. “The Empress will want to speak with her.”
Che-su collapsed to her knees and wept.
Liars and Cheaters
“BUT WHY CAN’T I GO into town?” Sifa asked, throwing her shepherd’s crook into a spindly binka bush by the tent and plopping down on a red sandstone rock next to the campfire.
“No.” Ka-bes inserted her arm and head through a warn baldric. The battered shortsword dangled on her hip and she shifted it around, getting it comfortable.
“’No’ is not a reason,” Sifa said, drawing her legs up and crossing them, placing her thin forearms on her knees; her necklace dangled from her neck and the stone tapped against her arms. “I’ve watched the people, listened to them speaking, studied them. I know them like they’re friends of mine, but I’ve never met any of them. It’s not like I don’t understand the language. I understand just fine. I even know most of their names already.”
“No.” Ka-bes held her hand up, pointing her forefinger at Sifa. “Have you been sneaking out of camp and crossing the river?”
“I am the only person in all the known realms to never actually go into a town ever,” Sifa said. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Ever.”
“You were born in a town,” Ka-bes said, turning her attention to the two-wheeled cart loaded with wool from their sheep and slabs of salt they’d harvested from the deserted monastery. She checked the ropes securing their cargo, the knots connecting the arms of the cart to Kehseho’s—their camel’s—saddle. “I even took you to Basaliyasta once.”
“When I was six months old?” Sifa looked up at the night sky, at the blackness giving away to encroaching morning, turning a deep dark blue. The spray of the stars still twinkled, though part of the sky was blocked by the rocky wall of the box canyon where they’d camped. Her fingertips caressed the stone of her necklace. “That doesn’t count.”
A goat bleated from the stock pen against the rocks.
Sifa glared at him. “Shut up, Blackie. You’re just a goat.”
Ka-bes gestured with her thumb toward the animal pens. “Your job is to watch them and make sure they stay out of trouble.”
“They’ll be fine,” Sifa said. “It’s only for a few hours.”
“We don’t need to lose any more of our stock to scorpions or sandtigers,” Ka-bes said, raising an eyebrow. “You only nodded off for a few minutes last time, if my memory serves, and that cost us dear.”
“That was months ago,” Sifa said. “I can help you unload the cart. I can help you—”
“No.” Ka-bes mounted her camel and peered down at Sifa, the expression in her eyes softening. “Clean up your dishes. I should return a hand or two past mid-day.” Ka-bes touched her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss toward Sifa. “Stay safe and keep your wits sharp.”
Sifa harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding. “Yes,
your majesty..”
“And don’t you dare sneak away and spy on the townsfolk.” Ka-bes clicked her tongue and Kehseho plodded forward, swaying from side to side. Ka-bes waved, but Sifa ignored her, staring into the fire instead, even though she saw the wave from the corner of her eye.
When Ka-bes had become a speck in the distance, Sifa stood and stomped over to the plates and cups they’d used for breakfast. “I never get to do anything or go anywhere.”
She kicked at the dirt, knocking the dishes from the striped rug onto the sand. “It’s not fair. Life should be fair. I bet the Empress lets Dyuh Mon go into town to help unload the carts.”
From the pen at the far end of the camp, nestled up against the wall of the box canyon, Meany-Head bleated. Sifa raised her finger toward him and said, “No.”
Sifa picked the dishes up, blew the dust and dirt off them. “All I do is nod off on guard duty once and I never hear the end of it. I bet she nods off on guard duty all the time, but I just haven’t caught her. Yet.”
She juggled the dishes, throwing one up high into the air, then another, as she skipped over to their carrying case. She caught them and settled them inside, placing them with extra care—having broken one the previous day thanks to Meany-Head’s interference.
“And I would go up to the sad orcan boy whom nobody in Ehseaft talks to and I would tell him that I would be his friend.” She picked up a frail piece of wood and hurled it onto the fire, the wood spitting sparks. She scooped up another switch and swatted the air with it, stabbing with it like it was a sword and she a swordswoman.
Meany-Head bleated once more, twice more, this time hopping up and stamping his hooves on a flat stone by the makeshift gate, the other goats ignoring him and ignoring Sifa, munching on the hardy weeds and grasses hugging the rocks in the pen.
“Careful, villain,” Sifa said, aiming her switch at Meany-Head. “Or you will force me to banish your immortal soul to the netherest of nether regions!”
A breeze washed over Sifa’s skin, raising goosebumps, the breeze carrying with it a smell, a stink of sweat and urine. Sifa stopped where she stood, the wooden switch in her right hand, her eyes darting around, searching the rocks along the top of the canyon, her ears straining.
A pebble tumbled down.
Sifa spun, following the stone up to the rim of the canyon, pulling her hood up over her head to cover her horns. Two shapes crouched among the rocks; she sensed them and others. She dropped the switch and clasped the hilt of the knife on her belt. She cried out, “Who is up there?”
“Be you still, little missy,” a rough voice said. A humanoid shape rose from behind a tumble of rocks at the mouth of the small box canyon. “The older slave girl already gone?”
“Slave girl?” Sifa whipped the knife out, pointing it at the man—an orc with red skin and black hair, and tusks jutting up from his lower jaw.
The orc’s mouth pulled back from his teeth in a frightening smile. He strode forward, closing the distance between them. His eyes narrowed, studying her, his hands held out and away from the sabers on his hips. “I thought you were a slave girl, too. Silly me.”
“Stay back,” Sifa said, backing away from him as she held her knife out before her.
“Not very hospitable of you,” he said, sauntering up to her, stopping only when the knife touched the armor on his stomach. “You know, in the desert, hospitality is a thin veil between civilization and barbarity; hospitality is the only law save for the strength of your arms. All you got is that little pricker and here you are being all rude to me?”
“Go away,” Sifa said. Meany-Head bleated behind her and several of the other goats chimed in.
The orc looked up at the canyon wall. “Ain’t nothing to fear down here.”
Two orcs plunged down from the slope to her left, and a couple of human men from her right, sliding down with rocks and dust flying around them, hooting and hollering. From behind the orc before her, another man emerged leading a string of horses.
“Please.” Sifa gulped, her throat tightening with fear. She pushed at the orc. “Go away. We have nothing. We are just poor herders.”
“Everybody’s got something.” The orc knocked her aside with a swat of his hand.
Sifa stumbled to her knees and the orc swaggered to their yurt—a round tent covered with hide and felt and holding most everything they owned. She jumped to her feet, but rough hands grabbed her upper arms, the man behind her chuckling.
An orc and a human man pulled down the ropes fencing off their herd.
“No!” Sifa cried. She tried to wriggle free, to cut him with the knife in her hand, but she could not break the man’s grip.
“Oh, baby girl, fight all you want.” He picked her up and stuck his stinky, bristly face over her shoulder. One hand reached around to her chest and grabbed the stone of her necklace. “What’s this?”
Sifa dropped her head forward and then slammed it back, smacking him in the nose. He dropped her. She spun toward him, snarling.
He froze, staring at her, his fingertips touching the blood pouring from his nostrils, his expression one of confusion. “What the hell are you?”
She pawed at the ground with her foot, raised herself up, and as he bent to grab her, she launched herself at him as goats do, striking him in the face with her forehead. The man collapsed into a motionless heap.
Sifa dashed forward, the charge having gone much better than she had expected. She crept toward the tent, afraid the men would come after her with swords now, but wanting to save their belongings and drive these vagabonds away. She sheathed her knife and reached for her shepherd’s crook.
“The little girl was too much for old Turmin!” a man called out.
She snatched her crook from the binka bush and whirled. She held it ready to strike.
Everyone laughed. They laughed at her.
She backed away from them.
“Careful.” The man she’d head-butted stumbled to his feet, one hand against his forehead. “She ain’t human.”
“I’ll take care of the wee wench for you.” An orc strode toward her, reaching his hands out to keep her from darting to the sides.
She lashed out with her crook, striking the orc’s knee from the side, catching it in the hook and sweeping his leg out from beneath him. He dropped to the ground. She swung it once more, smashing him in the mouth.
“Hey!” someone called out.
Sifa turned and ran toward the horses. She leapt onto one’s back and, with her heart, begged it to turn and run.
It did.
“I SHOULD LEAVE NOW,” Ka-bes said, rubbing her hands together. Wooden stairs rose from the dusty main road of Ehseaft to a sidewalk and a bunch of shops.
“Bang’la, my dear, all good business deals should be sealed with a shot of nyok-no,” Thyu’fest said, patting Ka-bes on her shoulder with a wide smile on his face. He guided her up the steps to a half-door leading into the shadowy interior of a saloon. “Maybe it will loosen your tongue enough to tell me where you harvest your magical salt.”
Ka-bes stepped away from him, bowing her head. “That is a tribal secret.”
“Right, but you have no tribe save for that little girl you never bring to town.” He grabbed her upper arm with his left hand, his fingers clamping into her muscles. He winked. “Come on in. My treat.”
“Please, I don't—”
He dragged her up the stairs and through the door, plowing through them, slamming them open.
Her hand dropped to her purse and she whispered a chant, drawing power from a realm of air.
“Bebe!” Thyu’fest yelled, raising his right hand and waving it. “Two shots. One each for my friend and me.”
The woman behind the bar, Bebe, turned her head from her conversation with a few local merchants sitting around a table with cards in their hands and a pile of coins and jewels in the middle of the table, all of them in fine silk tunics that glimmered in the lamplight. The smile on the woman’s face faded when her gaze sh
ifted from Thyu’fest to Ka-bes.
Snatching a bottle from the shelf behind her, she swaggered along the bar, coming to a stop before Thyu’fest and Ka-bes. She slammed a glass in front of each of them, tipping the bottle to fill each one with a golden liquid. “I don’t like serving slaves without their masters being present, especially liars and cheats.”
“Ah, don’t worry about Bang-la,” Thyu’fest said, grinning and tapping his chest with his fist. “I’ll vouch for her. I’ll look out for her.”
“Yeah?” Bebe snorted. “Who’s going to vouch and look out for you?” She turned and walked back to the chuckling merchants.
Ka-bes blinked at the alcoholic odor of the drink, the hairs in her nostrils seeming to catch fire and burn from the stench alone. “I should be going. My charge will be worried. She's not used to being alone for so long.”
“Don’t be an old sourpuss,” Thyu’fest said, laughing. He took the glass before him, put it to his lips and knocked it back. His body stiffened and quivered. He growled and barked. “Yes. That is just what the physicker ordered, my dear. You visit us so rarely, and you never take the time to sample the pleasures of our fine city. You should relax, have a good time.”
Ka-bes stared at the golden liquid before her. Her fingertips brushed up against the glass.
“That’s it!” Thyu’fest slapped his hand on the bar. “You’re not out in the Ohkrulon's sands now. You can take a break, loosen your hair, shake off the dust, relax.”
“I can’t.” Ka-bes pushed the glass away, shaking her head. “I appreciate the honor, but please—”
“Are you refusing my hospitality?” Thyu’fest pulled away from her, a dangerous glint in his eye, his tone dropping to a harsh whisper. “I thought we were friends, or at least, I thought we could be friends. Perhaps I should give your salt back to you. Perhaps all that time out in the sand has ruined your judgment, missy. I’ve heard the Ohkrulon can play foul tricks with a person.”
Ka-bes lifted the glass and shifted it around until she held it between her hands in a semblance of a prayer. “Thyu’fest. Hear me. I appreciate your friendship.”