by Kat Ross
22
A Commission
The estates of Izad Asabana lay south of Samarqand on the western flank of the wide Zaravshan River. Olive and orange groves surrounded a palatial stone mansion with gracefully fluted columns, tall arched windows and massive twin pillars capped with statues of roaring lions. White lotus blossoms floated on the surface of a rectangular reflecting pool.
Drifting down from above in the Fravashi, Javid felt like a molting hen flapping into the king’s audience chamber. He’d done his best to polish her brass fittings and slap a new coat of paint on her hull, but the Fravashi still could hardly be mistaken for anything than what she was: a bucket of rust.
He guided the ship toward a flat stretch of ground, opening the valve at the top of the air sack to allow it to deflate. For all her advanced age, the Fravashi responded well to his touch and he landed with hardly a bump. As she ground to a halt with perfect precision next to an anchor peg, a servant rushed forward to seize the mooring line and tie it off. Javid leapt nimbly over the side, brushing dust from his coat.
“The master awaits you inside,” the man informed him with a bow just deep enough to be polite, but also to signal that he knew precisely what Javid’s station was.
Javid gave a small bow in return. He noted half a dozen other anchor pegs dotting the field at regular intervals.
“How many ships does the master own?”
“Five, but they’re all out on runs.”
The servant glanced at the Fravashi with a neutral expression. Javid had passed Asabana’s ships in the sky before. The wind sacks bore his sigil, a black swan. All were of the finest craftsmanship, with gleaming lacquered hulls and ornately carved prows.
“Please, follow me,” the man said.
They skirted the pool, whose flowers appeared as fresh as if they’d just opened moments before. In this heat, they had to be the product of magic, Javid thought. Asabana must be rolling in it if he could afford to waste spell dust on such frivolity.
They climbed a wide set of steps into the mansion. The receiving chamber was large and airy, with layers of thick overlapping rugs and silk cushions strewn on the floor. Statues of jade and ivory sat in niches in the walls. One side opened to a wide veranda overlooking the grounds.
“I present Javid of the Merchants’ Guild,” the servant intoned, then backed out the door.
A man with a long, dark beard and piercing black eyes sat in a heavy chair with gilded armrests. He wore leather gloves and a white tunic over voluminous trousers secured by a wide red sash. A cane rested between his legs, one of which looked oddly twisted. A young woman stood behind him, hands resting on his shoulders. She was small and delicate, with a guarded air. The pair had the same olive coloring and intensity of expression.
Javid sank to one knee. “I submit myself to your service, Lord Asabana.”
The man glared at him, his gaze sharp and predatory. Then one gloved finger twitched toward the veranda.
“He’s outside,” the young woman said.
A flush of embarrassment crept up Javid’s neck as he rose to his feet.
“A thousand pardons.”
He strode out to the veranda before he committed some other unforgiveable error. Truly, it was the servant’s fault for not clarifying matters, Javid thought angrily.
“Down here, kid!”
A man of middle years leaned over the balcony, which stretched the length of the mansion. Of course, this was Izad Asabana. He wore exquisite clothes and a ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg on a chain around his neck. He also had shoulders more suited to a tavern brawler than a noble.
Javid started to bend his knee, but Asabana waved him over impatiently.
“So you’re the one Savah sent me?”
“The same, my lord.”
“Excellent.” He propped his meaty arms on the balustrade. “Did you see my alchemist?”
“I did, lord.”
“A little scary, isn’t he?” Asabana laughed. “But Marzban Khorram-Din is the best. Does things with the power that would make your toes curl. That’s his daughter, Leila. He’s training her in the Art. A woman! It’s unheard of, but he says his sons are dolts and she’s the only one with an aptitude for it.” He shrugged. “What do you think?”
“If she is half as clever as her father, I am sure she’ll make a fine alchemist,” Javid said.
“Well spoken. Do you want anything to drink? To eat?”
“I’m fine, my lord.”
“Good.” He rubbed his hands. “Then let’s get down to business.”
Asabana might be a noble, but he didn’t seem to give a fig about protocol. Javid found himself liking the man.
“Savah says you’re his best pilot.”
Javid cast his eyes down. “A wild exaggeration.”
“And yet you fly the Fravashi,” Asabana said bluntly.
“It’s a temporary commission. Two months ago, I was sent on a delicate mission to—”
“I know all about your mission. And how it ended.” He stared hard at Javid. Then he grinned, flashing a mouthful of gold teeth. “You stuck it to the Pythia, that uptight fanatic. Delphi used to be a major market and I have her to thank for the loss. Good for you, kid. Good for you.”
Javid let out a breath. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Rumor has it she plans to close all land routes to the ports on the Cimmerian Sea. It would put a major crimp in my business with Tjanjin, but that’s not my main concern at the moment. It’s King Cambyses, the Holy Father praise his name.”
They both paused to make the sign of the flame.
“The Guild has decided it’s in everyone’s best interests if his eldest son takes the throne. That would also be according to law and custom. But the Queen has other plans. She’s been pressuring Cambyses to name his middle son the heir.”
“And what would happen to the eldest?”
Asabana shrugged. “Sent off to the magi, most likely. If he kicks up too much of a fuss, something bad might happen. An unfortunate accident.”
Javid kept his face smooth.
“I’m just telling you this so you know the lay of the land. These are uncertain times. We must tread carefully.” He paused. “You understand what my primary commodity is, yes?”
“You control the market for spell dust, my lord.”
“Indeed I do. Let’s say the King’s oldest son is an important client. Very important. And let’s also say he’ll do anything for dust, but the Queen doesn’t know about it. Have you been to court before?”
Javid had the feeling he already knew the answer. “I have, my lord.”
“There’s a delivery tomorrow and the pilot who used to manage it is…indisposed.”
Javid waited, hardly breathing.
“You seem like a man who knows how to handle himself, whether it’s some dog’s bunghole of a tavern or the blessed king’s throne room. That’s the type I’m looking for.”
He suddenly felt wary. Asabana acted amiable and easygoing, but that’s not what Javid had heard about him.
“I confess, I’m surprised you want someone who crashed his last ship,” he said cautiously. “Not to offend….”
The smuggler gave him a level look. “From what I understand, no other pilot would take the commission. You gambled and you lost. It happens. You know how many times I did the same? Too many to count, my son. But I never quit.” He turned back to the balustrade, waving an arm to encompass the rich lands before them. “You see all that? Well, I was born into a family of crows.” He studied Javid’s face. “You know the term?”
Javid nodded. Crows was what everyone called the people who lived in Bildaar, the worst slum in Samarqand. It sat next to the blacksmithing yards. A slightly higher class of workers dumped the waste from the forges there in huge mounds, like the diggings of some crazed beast. Crows would pick through it, searching for any usable scrap that had been overlooked. The soot stained their skin, thus the name, though even crows called themselves crows. Jav
id had been to Bildaar’s labyrinth of narrow lanes and passageways a few times. Ramshackle structures three and even four stories high that looked like they’d tumble over at the slightest breeze, with a dozen people crammed into a single room. Walk there after dark and you’d be lucky if all you got was a chamber pot emptied on your head.
“I’m not ashamed of where I came from,” Asabana continued. “Only a fool blames himself for the circumstances of his birth. I worked hard for what I’ve got, unlike those rich bastards who had everything handed to them.” He squinted at Javid. “My pilots are all smart and brave, but the things I value the most is loyalty, kid. Loyalty.”
“Most understandable, my lord.”
“Greed is fine. I applaud greed! The problem is when you’re greedy and dumb. That’s when we have a problem.” He gripped the balustrade. “I’ll be honest with you. The pilot who used to do the run for me, sadly, turned out to be exactly that unfortunate combination. He thought he could cut a few deals for himself on the side.” Asabana shook his head regretfully. “I don’t know what happened to him, but he hasn’t shown up for work in a few days now. You get my drift?”
“Quite clearly, my lord,” Javid said, wishing he’d asked for that cup of wine after all.
“So as long as you’re greedy and smart, we’ll get along great. Hell, I’m greedy, but I pay my pilots twice what the Guild does, plus bonuses. Sound good?”
Javid nodded. He had no intention of trying to steal from Izad Asabana. Not now or ever. And he really didn’t want to live at home with his mother and sisters for the rest of his life.
The merchant’s dark eyes weighed him. “Now the Archon Eponymos of Delphi. He’s a greedy man too. Greedy enough to snatch a prisoner from the dungeons and make it look like he escaped, if the price is right.”
Javid stilled.
“You’re the return on my investment, boy.”
“But…why?” he sputtered. “I’m nobody.”
“You were nobody. Now you’re my new pilot.”
Javid eyed Asabana warily. The man was as cunning as they said. It didn’t matter that the attempt to buy Javid’s freedom had failed. He was still in Asabana’s debt.
“If the delivery tomorrow goes well, we’ll talk about some bigger commissions,” Asabana continued airily. “I need someone who’s not afraid to fly north along the Gale. You’ll have to steer clear of Delphi for obvious reasons. I need access to the Cimmerian Sea. Tjanjin is a very large market and the price of spell dust has already tripled in the last month.”
Javid frowned. “Fly along the Gale? Why not head east and pass through the Umbra to reach the southern shores of the sea? I’m not saying the Umbra’s safe—I lost a ship there—but the Gale….” He shook his head.
“Too bad.” Asabana’s stare was flat. “Guess Savah was wrong when he said you were a bit of a daredevil.”
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t,” Javid put in hastily. “Only that it might be easier—”
“Am I hiring you to question my decisions?”
“No, my lord.”
“As it happens, I also have interests on the western peninsula above Delphi. But that’s in the future. Let’s get to know each other first. Will you take the commission tomorrow?”
The question was clearly rhetorical, but at least he had the decency to ask.
“With pleasure, my lord. Should I report to the Abicari?”
“No, come straight here. You can meet some of the other pilots.” He laughed, a picture of geniality again. “Stick with me, kid, and you might have a place like this someday. As a matter of goodwill, here’s an advance.” He tossed a purse into the air. Javid caught it in his palm. It felt pleasantly heavy.
“Thank you, my lord. I shall return first thing tomorrow.”
Asabana nodded absently. “See that you do, my son.”
Javid passed through the receiving chamber, nodding politely at Marzban Khorram-Din and his daughter Leila. He felt their eyes on his back all the way to the door.
That could have gone worse, he reflected, heading down the front steps and across the field where the Fravashi sat tethered to her mooring. He’d expected to be given low-level errands for a few months, or work as a deckhand to a more experienced captain. A delivery to the palace was a plum assignment. Javid didn’t particularly like being beholden to his new boss, but everyone in this city owed somebody. And there was no patron more powerful than Izad Asabana.
Javid took a pinch of spell dust from his belt pouch and blew it into the air, speaking the words to inflate the sack. He only knew a few. Someone like Marzban Khorram-Din must know hundreds, thousands even. Most nobles had a skilled alchemist in their retinue. It took years to learn the arcane language of spell dust, and years more to know precisely how much to use for the desired effect.
The sack swelled and the Fravashi rose into the air, higher and higher, Asabana’s palace dwindling below. Another pinch of dust set her on a course for the city. The ship ran with the wind, tugged along by invisible currents, and Javid’s heart grew as light as the wisps of cloud drifting above. If only he could stay aloft forever, travelling wherever the wind took him. The problems of the world always seemed small and insignificant from the vantage of a wind ship. He leaned over the gunwale as the ground sped past beneath, wrapped in a cocoon of perfect silence save for the occasional creak of a rope.
Barges plied the Zaravshan River, wallowing like fat beetles in the muddy current. Lavish estates—though none quite as lavish as Izad Asabana’s—dotted the countryside. Javid saw other wind ships drifting in the distance, but they were too far away to make out the sigils. From this height, he could clearly see the shadow of the Umbra to the east and the Kiln to the west, rocky scrubland fading into a sea of yellow dunes. The Gale would be at least fifty leagues beyond that, but he still felt a chill of unease at the thought of flying anywhere near it.
A line of unbroken storms, some of them the funnel-shaped whirlwinds every pilot dreaded.
Worry about it later, Javid chided himself. Ma always says only a fool tries to pick up two melons with one hand.
When he landed at the Abicari, Savah limped out to meet him.
“How’d it go?” he demanded as Javid tossed him the mooring rope.
“He gave me a job.”
“Good lad.” Savah seemed uneasy. “Listen, there’s someone asking for you.”
“Who?”
Savah raised an eyebrow. Javid felt a sudden surge of hope. Could it be Katsu?
“You’d best see for yourself,” Savah said neutrally. “And you’d best do it now.”
Javid hurried across the field and burst into his boss’s cluttered office.
A stone-faced woman with wild dark hair sat in Savah’s chair, long legs crossed at the ankles. Another with a cap of brown curls lounged against the wall, her arms ringed with bracelets of polished wood. Both had knives at their belts and more strapped to their boots.
“Captain,” the first said, rising to her feet. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Javid’s knew this person. She’d come out to the Kyrenia just before he left the darklands. His heart sank. They were daēvas from House Dessarian and they didn’t look happy.
23
Crossroads
Darius woke to a hand touching his shoulder. He surged upright, a scream clawing at his throat. Dazzling sunlight struck his face. For a panicked moment, he thought he was back in his cell. Then he felt Nazafareen’s comforting presence through the bond.
“You were having a nightmare.”
She sat on the edge of the narrow bed, brow creased in worry.
“I felt it. Are you all right, Darius?”
He drew a shaky breath, scrubbing fingers through sweat-dampened hair.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
She studied him with those amber eyes. “Don’t be sorry. And you didn’t frighten me. I’m just concerned.”
He forced a smile. Still contrary as ever.
>
“Well then, thank you for your concern. But I promise, I’m fine.”
Nazafareen looked at him doubtfully but kept her peace. He noticed a leather bag next to the door, her sheathed sword resting on top.
Darius pushed himself to standing and suppressed a groan. The journey from Delphi to Samarqand was like a fever dream, remembered only in bits and pieces. The temple guards had chased him, but he’d soon left them behind in the tangle of streets below the Acropolis. He vaguely recalled scaling a high wall and finding himself on a dirt road. From there, he’d simply followed the tug of Nazafareen’s cuff, snatching a few minutes’ rest when he could go no further. One of those times, he’d woken to a rough-looking fellow trying to pull the gold cuff from his arm. That’s how Darius had come by a pair of boots and a coat.
Later, a passing farmer offered him a ride in his wagon. Darius gratefully accepted, dozing fitfully atop a pile of turnips as the leagues rolled past. When they parted ways at a rutted track that led away from the main road, he gave Darius a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth and a full waterskin. A kind man. Darius was sure he’d seen the scabs on his wrists and ankles, but he’d said nothing.
May the gods see you safely to wherever it is you’re going, the farmer had told him with a grim smile. You’re wise to put Delphi at your back. He shook the reins. And don’t worry, son. If anyone comes asking, I never saw you.
By the time Darius arrived at the gates of Samarqand, finding Nazafareen was the only thing keeping him on his feet. The closer he came, the more he worried he’d find the cuff in someone else’s possession. He had no idea what he would do if that was the case.
But it hadn’t been. She’d been sitting there, looking achingly beautiful in a simple tunic and trousers, and it had taken him a long moment to find his voice and speak to her. Until she turned and looked at him, eyes lighting with recognition, he’d been afraid he conjured her up.
“You still look awful,” Nazafareen said briskly. “I think we must get some food into you before you do another thing. You’re making my stomach growl.”