by K. G. McAbee
***
The trip from the wreck site took two days. Captain Zenobio was right again, his navigation skills as accurate as he'd promised. Late on the second day, the thickly settled shores of the trading capital of Lakazsh D'Nali came into view.
The city of Lakazsh, capital and main port of the mighty land, was as different from Karleon as it was possible for a city to be. Through its center, long broad streets paved with flat stones bisected the city into huge squares, thronged with elegant houses and tree-filled gardens. Near the bustling harbor, littered with ships, the streets were narrower, though still paved with the same wide block of gray stone. Nobles' carriages pulled by teams of matched horses shared road space with less elegant equipages hauling high-stacked piles of cargo to the great marketplace at the north end of the metropolis.
Madryn had been here before; it was evident. Val scrambled to keep up with her as she walked down a lane leading away from the harbor. They crossed streets, passed businesses, glanced at shops, and all the while Val thought how familiar was this city that he had never visited.
But he had visited it, he realized—only not as Valerik the slave. No, not he, but Lord Valaren Starseeker had once been a denizen of these teeming streets, these elegant houses.
Madryn paced on her long legs as if she were late for a most important appointment. Val kept up, though his equally long legs were soon aching, grown soft after their two lazy days at sea. He noted, with little surprise, that they were on their way to the southernmost gate in the city walls, the gate called Obsidian. Just outside Obsidian Gate, Val knew without quite knowing how, the caravan was gathered for its yearly trek to Rinidia and Catalafl, ending its journey at Zamorna in the foothills of the Janus Ridge, that range of mountains that faced and defended the barren icy wastes of the southernmost lands.
"I'm not forcing you to go with me, you know, Val," Madryn told him the day before, as their rescue ship sailed into view of the vice-ridden harbor of Lakazsh. "You've saved my life more than once. Anything I did for you, you've repaid. And this trip…is bound to be dangerous."
Val looked down at her clever brown fingers lying against the swollen wood of the ship. "You told me once that you had need of me," he pointed out, looking away from those fingers and out toward the fast-approaching city. "That cannot have changed, whatever I've done to help you. I won't leave you now."
No, he wouldn't…couldn't leave her now. Val had learned from his dreams many things about Lord Valaren Starseeker—and one important thing about himself. Living the life of a man used to commanding, Val realized that he had always had someone to give him orders. Now, when he at last had the chance, he would make his own decisions.
Madryn closed her fingers into a tight fist. "I will see that you get enough gold to take you wherever you wish to go," she continued as if Val had not spoken. "It will take some few days, as I lost most of what I had with me in the shipwreck. But it is the least that I can do. No one will look for an escaped slave here. You could set up as a merchant… or buy a gladiator school of your own."
"No," Val laughed. The very idea was ludicrous. "Not a gladiator school. Spare me that, at least."
"Something else, then," Madryn insisted. "I owe you."
"If you feel you owe me…then tell me where you're going, and why."
"I can't, Val," Madryn said with a helpless shrug. "I can't."
"You said before that you needed my help."
"No. I see now that it's something that I must do, but—"
"Then," he interrupted, "its something we both must do. I'm going."
Val tried to decipher the look that filled her eyes, before she hooded them and turned away.
He was sure he had seen that look before, but he could not remember where or when.
Chapter Eleven
They were lucky. They had made it just in time. The caravan would be ready to leave in two days.
"You cut your time very close," growled the caravan master as Val and Madryn walked beside him down the long line of wagons. Master Aubry's rust colored hair was tied into a multitude of plaits and shone with grease; his traveling robes were sleek and elegant, of the finest and thinnest silk, dyed in a blaze of contrasting colors. He strode along like a king, tossing comments to first one and then another of the travelers he passed, tapping all the while with the tip of a braided whip against the side of his bright red boots.
Madryn and Val matched Master Aubry pace for pace as he marched past the endless lines of horses and mules, camels and dromedaries, elephants and oxen, all staked out near the conveyances they would be dragging across the desert for the next four moons.
"We're leaving at dawn, day after tomorrow," continued Master Aubry in his low, gruff voice. "You have just time enough to arrange for horses or camels, but I seriously doubt that there are any decent ones left in the city. If you indeed cannot find any, perhaps there are some travelers that might have room for you in their carts. How far did you say you were going?"
"We didn't," said Madryn.
"Well, you'll go until you decide to stop, no doubt, as others do," said the master as he stopped to flick his whip against the back of a sluggard slave.
Val winced at the sound the leather made against bare skin.
"The cost to accompany the caravan is four gold pieces—each," continued Master Aubry.
Val watched as the master cast a faint, sneering glance from under his lashes at Madryn's fine but worn clothing, Val's nondescript attire, and their boots, all of which had seen better days.
"Payable in advance," concluded the master.
"That will present no problem, Master Aubry," Madryn agreed, "but, as you so rightly point out, horses and pack animals may. Perhaps you, with your widespread connections, might be able to offer us some help?"
Master Aubry shrugged noncommittally. "It is possible. But the prices for what decent animals remain, at this late a date, may prove to be a bit steep."
Madryn nodded. "Of course. But they do exist?"
"Almost anything can be had in Lakazsh, for enough coin," agreed the master.
Val cleared his throat, and the other two stopped to look at him. "What reports of bandits this year, master?" he asked.
A boy laden with a bale of cloth half his size scurried by, kicking up a cloud of gritty dust. A camel sneezed, showering all its neighbors with spittle.
Master Aubry eyed Val with the smallest possible increase in respect. He tapped one boot top with the tip of his whip. "Bandits are always a problem, sir," the master admitted at last. "Bandits or sand, which is thicker in the southern deserts, as the old saying has it. Why do you ask, lord?"
Val shrugged and cast a quick glance at Madryn, to see if she had taken note of his sudden advancement rank, before continuing. "Just that four gold coins is a large price to ask of two who can offer their swords to your own, no doubt, plentiful protection?" he inquired innocently.
Master Aubry looked at his two companions with consideration in his squinting eyes. A tall lean woman, with an air of competence. A taller muscular man, with a face that looked as if it had had its fair share of disagreements. And both of them with swords that hung ready at hand, and that they treated with quiet familiarity.
"An interesting idea, sir," said Master Aubry, rubbing his chin. "Let us discuss it at my inn over supper, shall we?"
***
The super was a long and wet one, floating on a sea of wine. Along with Val, Madryn and the Master, there were several other members of the caravan: stout merchants, sleek mercenaries and elegant nobles, all thrown together by their need or desire to travel south. Many bottles were broached, many bibulous reminiscences were shared, before the final toast was drunk and the revelers staggered off to their beds.
Val and Madryn wandered through the streets towards the minute caravanserai where they'd obtained a room. Already, there was a faint gleam in the eastern sky; morning was not far off.
"Very good work indeed, Val," Madryn said, sidestepping a hooded figure
huddled beside the roadway. "I was worried I'd have to steal enough to pay our way. Now that you've found positions for us, I won't have to be bothered, nor wait for some money to be sent, either. It would never arrive in time."
Val gave a short bark of laughter at the image of Madryn as a burglar.
"You may well laugh, sir," she agreed as they turned a corner. "It's been so long since I stole anything that I'd probably be caught at once. I could hardly go to…to Zamora with a slave collar around my throat, now could I?"
A tiny figure, unnoticed by either of them, paced them step for step, bare feet silent on the pavement.
"No," agreed Val, "you couldn't. But now you're a caravan guard, with your own tent and two horses and your way paid in full."
"And so are you," Madryn said, giving the coins in her belt a rattle; they gave back a satisfying clink.
Madryn was just the faintest bit unsteady on her feet—the wine had been as potent as it had been plentiful.
"You should be proud. You've gone from escaped slave to guard in…in…well, in quite a short time."
The figure behind them stopped, as if considering the words just spoken, then followed them in continued silence.
"Even I'm impressed," slurred Val, giving an answering clink of his own money pouch. "After this, who knows what else I can become?"
They wandered a bit further along the dark street.
"Val?" asked Madryn after a time.
"Yes?"
"We're lost, aren't we?"
"I believe," Val said, trying to stifle a burp, "that we are."
A rush of feet behind them pattered like rain across the cobblestones. An instant later, they were surrounded by an array of dark, dimly discernable figures. A glint of steel, the rattle of metal as daggers were drawn, then a soft voice said, "Give us your money and we'll let you live."
"Val," said Madryn, "I do believe we're being robbed." There was no trace of drink in her voice or stance.
Instantly sober as well, Val jerked his own sword into view.
"You said they were falling-down drunk," complained that same soft voice, pitched a bit higher this time.
"They were," whined another squeaky voice. "I've been following them all day."
"Your money, and we'll leave you in peace," ordered the first voice, careful this time to pitch itself low and menacing.
Madryn's sword appeared beside Val's, shimmering in the faint reflected glow of the sickle moon overhead. The two could hear a low-voiced argument all about them, as they set back-to-back, swords held breast high.
"What don't you understand about the term 'unarmed'?"
"I tell you, they were drunk."
"We'll have to take their money by force, then."
"Look at them." This voice was thick with dismay. "Look at those swords!"
"Well, you've got a blade too…don't you?"
"A blade, certainly, and it's quite as long as my hand, you great fool!"
Amazed, Val heard—and felt—Madryn laughing behind him.
"Llar Zhan?" she asked.
Val heard consternation all about them.
"What did she say?"
"She called the name, you fool!"
"Tell the world, why don't you?"
"Well, it is the name, isn't it? And she did say it, didn't she?"
"Yes, you booby, but it's not for such as she to say, is it?"
"Aye, look at her sword. She's no Llar Zhan, that's apparent!"
Madryn sheathed her sword. "Strike a light, gentlemen and ladies, I pray you," she asked politely.
After some further bits of bickering, a lighted lantern appeared from beneath a shrouding cloth. Its dim rays were almost as bright as daylight in the dark street; they illuminated a band of ragged urchins, ranging in size from waist high to Val, on up to nearly Madryn's lanky height.
"I thought so," Madryn laughed. "Llar Zhan, for all the world. What inestimable luck. I had no idea that the ancient order had spread as far south as Lakazsh. Where's your master, children?"
The tallest of the group puffed out his puny chest and replied, with the greatest dignity, "We are not children. We are here to rob you and cast your lifeless bodies into the ditches, for the streetcleaners to find on the morrow."
"Yes, I know," Madryn nodded. "You sound most impressive, and I'm very frightened, I do assure you. But you're Llar Zhan and I'd be pleased to meet your master."
A rustle of discussion rose like crickets on the night air.
"She knows of Llar Zhan!"
"Who in all the world does not, you great booby!"
"No one in Lakazsh, for starters."
"Doesn't this mean we have to kill them?"
"Kill them with what?"
"Enough," said Madryn, as the bickering showed no sign of conclusion. "Take us to your master. Now."
***
"How good it is to meet an old student of the great Llar Zhan," said the soft-spoken gentleman; he smiled at her as at a long-lost friend, his white curls bouncing in glee. He pressed Madryn's hands between his own, then released them and offered a frail hand to Val.
"Not at all, sir. It is an honor and a pleasure to be in your presence, lord," replied Madryn with a low bow. "If I had known that Llar Zhan was here in Lakazsh, I would not have been so concerned about affording a place in the caravan."
Val and Madryn had followed the ragged gaggle of children to a flimsy old collection of sheds and shelters on the outskirts of town, just outside one of the minor gates. Val tried more than once to ask Madryn what was happening, but they traveled so quickly—and so quietly—that he could not manage it. Now here they were, in this shabby residence in the middle of a slum, with a man who acted as if he were a king—and a group of grimy children who treated him as combination of god and grandfather.
"You need money for your passage, child?" asked the old man, beaming at Madryn.
Val's mouth dropped open in astonishment.
"Not now, sir," Madryn replied with a grateful nod. "My companion has arranged for us to be guards with the caravan, so our most pressing needs are cared for. Allow me to introduce him to you, sir. Val—Valerik, sir. Val…this is Llar Zhan."
The old man gave a stately bow, his hand on his breast. The man's threadbare jerkin was tucked into dirty breeches, and a pair of toes showed through the tops of his short boots, but he acted as if he were doing Val a great honor by receiving him.
Val gave a clumsy bow in response, hoping his confusion didn't show on his face.
A vain hope, it appeared; Madryn shook her head at his expression, and then took pity on him. "Forgive me, sir. I must explain these strange events to my friend."
"Only if afterwards you both will honor us by sharing our breakfast," insisted the elderly gentleman.
"It will delight us, sir." Madryn took Val by the arm and led him outside the musty shack.
"Who are these people?" Val asked as they settled on a dusty pair of stone steps that led upward to nowhere.
"In the distant past, there really was a Llar Zhan, it has been said," began Madryn.
"But you called him—"
"I know," Madryn held up a hand, clearly outlined in the ever-brightening light of morn. "I said that the old man's name is Llar Zhan. It is; he is Llar Zhan…in a manner of speaking. He may well be the hundredth, or the thousandth, of that name. And there may well be dozens more of the same name spread about the lands. Llar Zhan is the name given to a master thief, one who takes on children to teach them that time-honored trade. Some instructors are better than others, naturally, but all of them are offered the greatest of respect and admiration by their students."
"And they're all called Llar Zhan?"
"Every one," Madryn nodded. "The one who taught me was so old he had forgotten his original name."
Val couldn't be sure if it was the residue of last night's wine, or this new information, that made his head feel as it did. "Then you were once a thief?"
"Of course I was a thief," Madryn said, as if it w
ere the most expected of occupations. "Among other things, of course. Where did you think I got my money?"
Val shook his head. "I thought you were a noble, rich, powerful…"
"And now? Now that you've found out I was once a thief? Does that change your opinion of me?"
"Yes, it does."
Madryn's face fell.
"It increases my estimation…if that was possible. After all, anyone can be born with money. It takes talent to steal it."
"Much more than you may realize," Madryn said, relieved. "It's a pity you were born a slave, Val. You'd have been a damned good thief."
"Thank you," he said, well aware of the compliment he'd just received.
A covey of children descended upon them, all yelling at the tops of high-pitched voices.
"I believe, Val, that we're summoned for breakfast."
***
"Of course, you must have a servant on your journey," said Llar Zhan as the children removed empty plates and bottles with a loud clatter and a distressing resumption of their eternal squabbling.
"I think not, sir," Madryn replied. "We travel as caravan guards, you see. Our meals will be provided by the caravan master's cooks, and we have few possessions save our swords. Added to that, I'm afraid we have no money to pay a servant."
"But nonetheless, you will have one," said Llar Zhan, a twinkle in his pale blue eyes. "And I believe I have the perfect choice for your needs. Garet!"
A short skinny boy, his face as dirty as it was possible for a face to be, scampered up and squatted on bony haunches before the old man.
"Sir?" the boy inquired, grinning politely at Madryn as to a fellow initiate, and then casting a faint sneer in Val's direction, as to one undeserving of notice.
"I believe I heard you say that you were wishing for a bit of travel, to broaden your knowledge, my son?" said Llar Zhan in his tremulous old man's voice. "Now, what about a visit to Zamorna? That may well be the perfect thing for you, do you not agree?"
Garet set his face in a mask of solemn consideration, careful to keep his delight from showing. He stroked his nose with a filthy forefinger, and then nodded. "It might be quite bearable, lord." There was a thoughtful look hidden under the dirt on his face. "The mistress needs someone to look out for her, if she insists on traveling with that." Garet pointed with utter disdain at Val's broad chest.