The Court Of Stars (The Commonwealth Quartet Book 1)

by Malcolm Schmitz

  "When did she-" Sara broke her words off with an oath, and took a deep breath. It still seemed strange to Christian to hear words like that coming from a woman's mouth, and for a moment, it was almost strange enough to shock him out of the fog he'd fallen into.

  Sara stood, pacing the cabin.

  "I'm willing to accept that she may not be a demon," she said, slowly. She stood near one of the siege engines, running her fingers along its wooden frame. "She seems more interested in saving us than damning us. But... it's not a wild goose chase she's sending us on, it's a death march."

  "Maybe she doesn't know?" Christian frowned.

  "How could she not know?" Sara ground her teeth.

  Christian took a deep breath, trying to stay calm until he could get alone.

  "Miriet didn't know that people here can't... talk to each other over long distances," he said, trying to remember her explanation of what 'commtech' was. "The place that she's from is very different from here."

  "So one of us has to talk to her." Sara groaned. "That's going to be... enjoyable."

  Christian rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you rather I do it?"

  "...I'll do it." Sara frowned. "I have to have a reasonable conversation with her one of these days. In the meantime..."

  She pulled something from behind the desk and tossed it at him. It jingled as he caught it.

  "Five hundred king's heads," she said. "Get supplies for the journey. Water and such."

  Christian nodded.

  "...Please be kind to her."

  "I will, I will. You're dismissed." Sara gestured, waving him out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The bazaar stretched forth as far as Christian's eye could see, red and gold and green in the midsummer sun. Flags fluttered in the faint breeze, and scents of smoke and incense and cooking meat assaulted his nose.

  People surrounded him, a vast throng, in every size and shape and colour imaginable. They wore long loose robes, or strange wrapped garments, mostly in shades of white and beige and sky blue. They called to each other in tongues Christian didn't understand-the language of Jihrat, the language of Baphatha-and laughed and joked and fought, as people did.

  A few of the merchants he passed tried to shove their wares at him, thinking, probably, if they were close enough to his face, he'd see how marvelous they were. They were cheap things: crude little statuettes of some god or another, jewelry, trinkets made of gold or feathers or clay or plain dirt. Christian ignored them, and passed on, looking for a water-seller.

  Dust hung in the air from the path through the bazaar, kicked up by a thousand feet. Christian coughed, and wrapped the threadbare brown cloak around his shoulders. He pulled his hood down over his eyes to block out the blinding sun.

  He should have taken the crewman's offer of a bandana. It would have been useful as a face mask.

  Sara had suggested he go incognito, for his own safety. A foreign lord could fetch a kidnapper a large ransom. But because of the Solari, Christian had no family or friends left. There was no one who could pay to rescue him. If he were caught, he was doomed to a lifetime of slavery.

  Christian had decided that it would be best to avoid the problem altogether, and had borrowed some clothes from Mack, the ship's cook. They fit badly, and reeked of garlic, but they'd have to do. He was pretending, as best as he could, to be a sailor, dressed in the drab clothes of a peasant.

  He heard strange noises not too far behind him. They ssounded more like a Solari ship than the middle of a bazaar. He heard a crackle of static, and the sound of air rushing through pipes.

  Christian turned, hesitantly, and was greeted with an awful sight.

  There were three figures cutting through the crowd, as a knife cut through greenery. One of them was human-shaped, but he glowed with pearly light. He was flanked by two stubby, goblin-like figures, in dark blue armor.

  Some people in the crowd bowed. Others crossed themselves, or clapped, or cheered and shouted for joy. Christian's heart stopped.

  They were here. The Solari were here.

  It shouldn't have made him this frightened. After all, that meant that Miriet had been right, and they were one step closer to Linna and Mercadier.

  But the mere sight of them made his soul quake. He crossed himself, and knelt, trying to blend into the crowd.

  He heard a brief conversation in the Solari tongue, and the click of a gun poised to fire. Christian lept to his feet and ran, bursting through the crowd.

  People screamed. A few people swore, and he felt something sharp hit his back, skittering to the ground.

  "Akanor!" someone shouted at his back. He recognized that word all too well. He'd had it thrown at him during the Crusade. It meant 'infidel'.

  The word scattered through the throng, bouncing from person to person, until it was a chant like a mighty river. He kept running, barreling through a market stall, around a corner, and straight into a dead end.

  Christian cursed. They were moments away from catching up to him. He hadn't brought his sword Peasants weren't allowed to carry them, and it'd attract more notice. Even if he had, he couldn't fight off a mob this big.

  He was going to get ripped to shreds by fanatics and there was nothing he could do about itA length of rope dropped in front of him.

  "Climb up, quick!" The voice came from above his head. It was a young man's voice, with a slight accent.

  Christian didn't need to be told twice. He yanked himself up the rope. When he got to the top, he crouched, looking around.

  The rooftop was basically empty. A pile of bricks dried in the sun on one corner, and a young man stood by its edge, coiling the rope up.

  The young man's skin was the color of clay. Stray blonde curls poked out from beneath his green and gold striped headscarf, and a few faint hairs poked from his chin. He was, Christian realized, somewhere between boyhood and manhood; not much older than Linna, but not much younger than Christian.

  He looked down at Christian, and disappointment spread over his face.

  "You're not-" he began.

  "Not what?" Christian frowned. He hadn't expected this. His savior, in this moment, was a dhunni.

  He'd heard stories about the dhunni in Jihrat, before the seige. The dhunni were wild people, who came out of the desert. They wore colored scarves on their heads and rings in their ears, and they spoke a language no one else could understand, but understood all the languages of men.. They kept strange customs and worshipped strange gods, or-sometimes, people whispered-no gods at all.

  They certainly weren't Christians. People said they attacked travelers in the desert for no reason at all, and that they stole from men of every creed. They were as fierce and wild as the beasts of the field.

  The dhunni tilted his head to one side.

  "Not Dhareg," he said. "I heard the crowd and I thought..."

  He shook his head. "Never mind, it was a mistake."

  Christian frowned.

  "I owe you a debt. Is there anything I can do to repay you?" he said.

  "...Let's wait until the crowd passes." The dhunni sat down, cross-legged, on the rooftop, crossing his legs. His clothes, Christian noticed idly, were the color of sand, loose and flowing. "We're not safe until they leave."

  Christian couldn't argue with that.

  "Why were they calling me an infidel? I thought the men of Jihrat were Christians," he asked.

  "They found a new god." The dhunni cracked his knuckles. "That man came from the sky and said he was the great god Piyan. Healed the sick, raised a dead man..."

  Christian scowled.

  "The devil can appear as an angel of light," he muttered.

  "Everyone knows that, but..." The dhunni trailed off. Christian noticed he squinted often.

  "But?" Christian echoed, voice a little harsh.

  "Well... Piyan's miracles work. People like that."

  “It's because he's a devil.” Christian's hand tightened into a fist. He wished he had his sword; he needed something to gr
ab onto.

  “It's not my place to say.” The dhunni looked over at him. "You might want to sit down. We could be a while."

  Christian gritted his teeth and sat.

  "What's your name?" the dhunni asked.

  He considered for a moment. There was no question that seemed more innocent, but at the same time, names had power. Witches could use a man's name to do terrible things to him-and people said the dhunni were witches, didn't they? By the same token, saints could use the name of God to protect and help people.

  "Christian," he finally said. "My name is Christian."

  "I'm Daniel." The dhunni boy nodded, and smiled. "It's nice to meet you."

  "You, too." Christian glanced over the edge of the roof. The mob's cries were fading, but they still weren't gone.

  He cursed.

  "What's wrong?" Daniel looked down, over the edge.

  "We're like rats in a trap." Christian snorted. "Damn, is there another market in the city?"

  "Oh, there's lots. Why?"

  He couldn't trust Daniel enough to tell him the full reasons why, of course. Even if he weren't dhunni, Christian's story was so ridiculous that no one in their right mind would believe him. Flying ships? Talking lizards? It was like something out of a child's tale.

  "...I'm going on a journey," he said. "With some friends of mine. We need to outfit ourselves."

  "A journey? Where? Into the desert?" The boy's eyes widened. Christian saw that his eyes were the color of the sky in the early morning. It was strange to see such light-colored eyes, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

  Christian forced himself to take a deep breath. Maybe this boy was an angel, though he found it hard to imagine that an angel would take the form of a dhunni. Maybe he was a demon, or an alien. Maybe he was just an ordinary person. He wasn't going to trust him just yet, but whatever happened, he needed to stay calm.

  "Why are you asking?" he said, voice measured.

  "Oh, my papa is the world's best guide." Daniel's voice was brimming with excitement. "And he's making a desert journey soon, anyway. If you wanted to come with our family-"

  "Where into the desert?" Christian cut him off.

  "Do you know where the City in the Desert is?" The boy leaned forward, a little, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

  "The City in the Desert? I thought that was a myth." Christian folded his arms. "A ghost story."

  "Ghosts?" Daniel seemed confused. “It's not too far from the Great Rift."

  That made Christian's heart stop for a moment, and beat all the faster when it started again.

  "And you're travelling there?" His voice sounded all too high-pitched and frightened, and he folded his arms even tighter to his chest.

  "Well, yes. I take it you heard, then?" The dhunni sounded genuinely worried. That startled Christian.

  "No." He let his arms loosen a little.

  "There was a big earthquake out by the Rift." Daniel took a deep breath. "It was about... a week and a half ago, we think. Round about the solstice."

  "And?" Christian kept his voice carefully controlled. If what Daniel said was true, that would mean that Miriet's guess was spot-on.

  "Well, we got an aftershock like a week ago... but that's not the point." Daniel's voice grew high-pitched with worry. "The point is-it was the solstice."

  "What does that have to do with anything?" Christian was growing annoyed. His hand wandered towards his belt, and he tugged it away. There was no sword there, and he needed his hands free if this did come to blows.

  “Every two years, at the solstice, we Dhareg have an All Thing." Daniel tugged down his headscarf, so that it hung low, almost over his eyes. "And. It's at the City in the Desert. Where the. The earthquake. We think it hit the City hard."

  "...What in the name of God's dear Mother is an All Thing?" Christian's words, he knew, were harsh. His fear was getting away from him again, and disguising itself as bad temper. He needed to keep it under control.

  He mentally repeated a prayer for strength.

  "It's like.... All the different clans and tribes, we meet at the City in the Desert. We trade, worship, marry. Things like that."

  Daniel's voice was still nervous, and he tugged at the edge of his headscarf again.

  "And if there was a big quake, well... people might have gotten hurt."

  "Why weren't you there?" Christian frowned. His story seemed too good to be true, and he wondered if the boy was working as an agent of the Solari.

  "Mama's work would have kept us here until today anyway." Daniel tilted his head to one side, bird-quick. "She's a blacksmith, and she was working on something big. You know how it is."

  "Your... mother... is a blacksmith." It shouldn't have surprised him, after watching Sara fight like a man and Miriet think like a man. But a woman as a smith? They didn't have the strength.

  "Yes. She's one of the best."

  Christian frowned, but said nothing.

  “So...” he began, “You're willing to let me and my comrades travel with you?”

  “...I am. I'd have to ask Papa if he is fine with it. But if you've got your own supplies and you pull your own weight...” He shrugged. “Many hands make light work, no?”

  Christian nodded. “All right. ...I'll discuss things with my captain. We'll have to meet again.”

  He was oddly pleased at the thought.

  “All right. But if the godsmen are looking for you...” Daniel said. “We're going to have to meet in secret.”

  “That won't be necessary.” Christian was already beginning to form a plan in his head. If the dhunni let him go, it could be a set-up; he could ambush them with the aid of his kinsmen, or worse, the Solari. He'd have to prepare himself for it.

  “If you say so...” Daniel stood, grabbing a staff from the ground. He wrapped the rope around its lower half. “When can we meet again?”

  He sounded far too excited.

  “Do you know where the ships dock?” Christian asked him.

  “The harbor?” Daniel gave him an eloquent look. “Even a child knows that.”

  Christian snorted. “Do you know where the Tyreus is docked?”

  The Tyreus was docked close enough to the Polaris that Christian could walk to it, easily, from the ship. It had a very large and recognizable figurehead-a Moor with three eyes, wearing a huge red turban-so Daniel could find it easily. Added to all this, the harbor was full of strangers and foreigners, so neither Christian nor Daniel would stick out.

  “Yes.” Daniel slung the staff over his back. “Tomorrow night?”

  “All right.” Christian wrapped the cloak around himself. “...How do we get down from here?”

  “Oh, it's easy.” Daniel took his staff in both hands, and took off, running towards the edge of the roof.

  For one brief, horrible moment, Christian thought that he was going to leap to the ground, but he pushed himself over the gap with the pole. He landed on the roof across the street, and grinned over at Christian.

  “You just gotta find one with stairs down,” he shouted. “It's not that hard once you get the leap of it.”

  Christian frowned.

  “I don't have a staff,” he shouted back. He wished, for a moment, he'd brought the Solari stave, but he knew that that was foolish. Even if he hadn't run into their false 'god', he was sure that it would draw him the wrong sort of attention. Besides, jumping around like a mountebank with that staff was a sure path to disaster.

  Daniel frowned, thinking it over.

  “Hold on a second.”

  He uncoiled the rope from his staff again, and tied a loop at its top.

  “What are you doing?” Christian felt uncomfortably exposed. Here they were, shouting at each other across rooftops as though nothing was wrong in the world. What if the mob-or, heaven forbid, the 'god' himself-spotted them?

  “Hold out your arm.” Daniel stuck his left arm out, palm up.

  Christian was loathe to do what the dhunni told him, but it was his only way down.
He imitated the boy, sticking out his arm.

  Daniel took the rope and swung it, twirling it in a circle. He flung it over the edge of the roof. The loop he'd tied caught on Christian's wrist, and Daniel whooped for joy.

  “On the first try!” he shouted. “Okay, you can climb down.”

  “How do I get it back to you?” Christian pantomimed tossing it.

  “Keep it til we meet again.” Daniel grinned. He waved goodbye-like a young child, Christian thought, with no manners-and ran off, leaping from rooftop to rooftop like a young mountain goat.

  Christian took the rope and let it trail down the edge of the roof. He tied it to one of the bricks and piled a few more on top of it, to keep the rope from slipping. Then, he climbed down.

  He tugged at the rope, making it drop to the ground, and walked back towards the Polaris, keeping his head down.

  ★★★-

  "Wait, what?"

  Miriet cocked her head to one side, nostrils flaring. Her scales changed through all the colors of an opal, settling on a vibrant red.

  "I don't trust him, but I think he may be able to help us," Christian repeated. "Why is that so hard to understand?"

  "Why don't you trust him, that's what I'm not getting?" Miriet's tail twitched. "The Captain says it's a good idea."

  “He's dhunni.” Christian didn't see how this wasn't obvious to everyone. “They can't be trusted.”

  “Why not?” Miriet crossed her forelegs.

  “They're not Christians. They don't have morals.” Christian realized, too late, that he'd said something catastrophically stupid, but the words had already fallen from his mouth. He braced himself for Miriet's anger.

  “...You're saying someone who isn't your religion can't have morals? Oh, that's a new one.” She snorted. “Does that mean you don't trust me? Oh, wait, demon.”

  “I didn't mean it like that,” Christian said weakly. “...You're all right. You've saved my life. A demon wouldn't...”

  Miriet's nostrils flared, and her scales shimmered, turning yellow.

  “Well, thanks.” Her voice was dry as dust in a desert. “Glad to know I'm better than a monster of pure evil.”

  “All I was trying to say is that the dhunni don't follow... the rules civilized people follow.” Christian tensed, turning slightly to one side. It was a defensive posture, and he didn't even realize that he was making it until he saw the look on Miriet's face.