He nodded. “It was brave of you to stay and watch, and intelligent to remain hidden. Yet—your dress looks Whitish. Why would a pair of Whitish women aid a Varrilan?”
“Those soldiers had no grounds to harass you,” Katrien said. “You were bold to counter them.”
“Or foolish.” Disregarding Katrien’s offered hand, the shopkeeper clambered to his feet and clutched the shop door. “Could I interest you in a spot of tea?’
“Thank you,” Katrien said. She was now worried that her years in Whitland had left her ignorant of the greater goings-on in the Kinship Thrones; perhaps this man could give her a better idea of what to expect when she reached Lostport. “Amadi, come inside!”
Hesitantly the girl approached, hands behind her back. Katrien wondered if she was wary of the first Varrilan she had ever met, or ashamed for having witnessed the beating without offering help.
Once Katrien and Amadi were seated about one of the shop tables, now cleared of its delicate glass lamp-globes and figurines, the Varrilan poured three mugs of tea and joined them.
“What is your name, if you don’t mind my asking?” Katrien asked, cupping the mug between her palms. “I am Katrien, and my maidservant is Amadi.”
“I am Tenori,” he said. “I have been living in Dardensfell for twenty-five years now, and it galls me to be treated as a foreigner.”
“Why are the Whitish soldiers behaving so cruelly?” Katrien asked. “I always thought they were unreasonable in some ways, but I have never seen them openly abuse a civilian.”
“They grow bolder by the year,” Tenori said grimly. “But it is worse than ever just now. How much have you heard of Whitland’s plans?”
“Not enough, clearly,” Katrien said. “I just arrived here from Whitland; you would think I’d know more. But—” she sighed and, after a moment’s deliberation, decided to tell this man the truth. “Escaped Whitland would be more accurate. We were placed under house arrest some spans ago, and found ourselves afraid for our lives. I am the wife of Faolan, King of Lostport, you see, and he has recently become a threat to Whitland. Supposedly he is after independence.”
“Your majesty!” Tenori stood quickly and clasped his fists across his chest. “It is an honor!” He resumed his seat and toyed with his mug. “Not all Varrilans would say so, of course. Whitland has recently begun sending large shipfuls of soldiers to Lostport; allegedly they are meant to help build this new Port Emerald, but there are rumors that High King Luistan is merely using it as a training regimen. The men will put in half a year’s work at the port and come out fit and disciplined and ready to march to war.”
Katrien clutched her mug tighter. “War with whom? Not Lostport, surely?”
“No, don’t worry. Your homeland is safe. King Luistan intends to conquer Varrival. After we have been independent for thousands of years, he thinks he can crush us into submission.”
“That’s terrible!” Katrien said. “Whitland does not need any more power than it already has. That’s the trouble—Whitish men grow up believing they are the most privileged, intelligent, morally correct members of the most powerful kingdom in the Kingship Thrones, and as soon as they are converted to soldiers, they feel justified in imposing their will however they see fit.”
“And what are we meant to do about it?” Tenori said darkly. “You were put under house arrest, and I could have been killed just minutes ago. We have no power, do we? If I speak up, if I continue to live here and sell my Varrilan glass, something will happen. I am no longer free to do as I wish.”
Katrien thought for a moment. “Faolan is in danger too, in that case,” she said. “He thinks the Whitish soldiers are there to help, when they are solely using his project for their own means. I wish there was some way we could build Port Emerald without involving Whitland.”
“I bet there are lots of people who don’t like Whitland,” Amadi said. Katrien and Tenori looked at her in surprise. “No one from Varrival does, right? And there are probably plenty of people who the soldiers have offended in Dardensfell. Can we ask them to come help?”
“That’s a lot to ask of someone,” Katrien said. “What sort of man would willingly abandon his home for a fanciful project that does not concern them in any way?”
“You might be surprised.” Tenori took a long draught of his tea and watched Katrien with a calculating gaze. “Any Varrilan living in Dardensfell will be in the same situation as me. Before long, Dardens might be encouraged to report our presence to the Whitish army. We will be rooted out like weeds.”
“How many of you are there?” Katrien asked.
“More than you might expect. Here in the Twin Cities, no less than five hundred. And there are more living elsewhere in Dardensfell. We mostly keep to ourselves, but I saw my people assemble in force when the Varrilan royal vessel came sailing past the Twin Cities a few years back.”
“But how many would be willing to leave?”
Tenori shook his head. “At this moment, only unmarried young men are likely to join us. But in half a year’s time, I would not be surprised if Varrilans were clamoring for the chance to leave Dardensfell. The promise of wealth and status in Port Emerald are temptation enough for many.”
“What are we going to do, then?” Amadi said. “Surely you’re not going to wait half a year?”
Katrien looked at Tenori. “No. We can take on any Varrilans who are willing to join us here, and afterward we will…” Here her plan failed her.
“How are you intending to travel south, my lady?” Tenori asked.
“Oh, I—” Katrien stopped short. If she wanted to bring a full force of Varrilan architects along with her, she could hardly find space on a simple merchant ship. “I suppose we will have to go by land. Unless you know someone who owns a ship.”
“No, hardly.” Tenori gave Katrien a fleeting smile, which looked sinister with the streak of blood still crusted against his chin. “If you ladies are not opposed to the idea, I suggest we ride south. There are more than enough Darden horsemen willing to stir up a bit of trouble. They are less friendly to Whitland than you might expect, and if you mention wealth and conflict, they will jump at the offer.”
“How does that sound, Amadi?” Katrien asked. “Would you be opposed to horse-riding?”
“Only if you are, my lady,” Amadi said pertly.
Katrien nodded at Tenori. “Then it is decided. You are certain you do not mind abandoning your home?”
“At this rate, I will not be welcome in the Twin Cities much longer. This was not the first run-in I have had with Whitish soldiers. The last time I received a shipment of glass from Varrival, I was harassed so much at the riverfront that I ended up paying double just to keep the soldiers from dumping my wares in the water.”
In the end, Tenori invited Katrien and Amadi to sleep on his couch in the hopes of saving the little money they had left. “You will need to spend it wisely, if you hope to equip yourselves for a cross-country journey.”
As soon as the sun rose the following morning, all three began readying themselves for a day in the city. First they would visit the Varrilan neighborhood at the rear of the Darden side, then they would see about arranging horses and an escort for the entire trip south, and finally they would begin assembling supplies.
“How much longer do we get to stay here?” Amadi asked as they headed out the door. The city looked much different in the daylight—the stone structures appeared fresh and bright, and the windows glinted in the hazy sunlight.
“Why?” Katrien said. “Eager to stay in the Twin Cities? As cities go, they are the nicest I have ever seen.”
“I was just curious,” Amadi said innocently. “I don’t know if I’ll like Lostport, since it’s so uncivilized and remote, but I do like it here.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but you are not allowed to stay here without my supervision. I would never feel right if I abandoned you.”
Tenori said, “We will leave as soon as the other men are prepared to. Hopefully
within the quarter.”
“We will have plenty of time to explore the Twin Cities,” Katrien added. “I cannot imagine anyone leaving their homes on such little notice.” On reflection, she realized that she had done this twice now, but it had not been a comfortable experience either time.
It was a longer walk than Katrien had expected to reach the Varrilan neighborhood. After many spans confined to her house and sitting aboard a ship, her stamina was pitiful; she was out of breath and sweating by the time they reached the top of the hill where the wealthiest buildings in the Twin Cities were perched, dwarfed by the Darden palace and the great cathedral. The sides of her feet quickly succumbed to blisters as they continued to the farthest reaches of the city.
At one point, Katrien and Amadi had to pause when the strap on Amadi’s shoe broke loose.
“I apologize,” Tenori said, slowing. “I should have realized your clothes were not meant for walking. We will find you proper riding outfits as soon as we have spoken to the Varrilans.”
Katrien nodded, feeling somewhat dazed. For the first time she realized what she had agreed to. When she had traveled between Lostport and Whitland in the past, she had ridden aboard ships the entire way. She had never mounted a horse in her life, nor slept outdoors, as this journey would surely require. It would be a trial for her, beyond anything she could prepare herself for. But no matter the circumstances, she would complete the journey. She had no choice. Besides, Faolan needed her; it was likely he had no idea of the extent to which Whitland was using him before its planned betrayal. She just hoped Amadi would be up for the challenge.
At long last, they drew in sight of the Varrilan neighborhood. Katrien recognized it at once for what it was—more than half of the people crowding the streets were dark-skinned, with a few half-Varrilans among them, and the open storefronts were crowded with glass objects.
“Why do you not live in the Varrilan neighborhood?” Katrien asked.
Tenori turned and gave her a lopsided smile. “Coming from anyone else, I would take that as an insult. Do you see how remote this neighborhood is? And how shabby? No one but Varrilans and others living in these impoverished parts visit the shops. It is not a proud image of Varrival; it is more of a slum, a refuge for those who tried their luck in Dardensfell and failed.”
“Why didn’t you fail?” Amadi asked. “Your shop is beautiful, and you’re in the richest part of the city. How come you succeeded when so many didn’t?”
“Not every glass craftsman is a good craftsman,” Tenori said. “Even if he is Varrilan. And even then, not every talented craftsman is a good businessman. I played to the right powers, offered free window installations to a few of the more influential families, and became so indispensable that the most logical step was to install me directly beneath those influential families.”
“And still the Whitish soldiers think they can harass you.” Katrien was nonplussed. Where would the Kinship Thrones be without Varrilan glass? Did Whitland think it could stamp out an entire race of people and escape the consequences of their vanished trade?
“Here we are,” Tenori said, stopping in front of one of the first buildings. No one was paying him any attention, since he was obviously Varrilan, though Katrien could tell that the cut of his clothing was far finer than anything she could find in this neighborhood. “Allow me to do the speaking. I cannot guess how you will be received.”
Though nondescript from the outside, the interior of the building was unlike anything Katrien had ever seen. The floors were carpeted in rich red and yellow fabric, the walls similarly decorated, and nearly thirty people were clustered about short tables, sitting cross-legged on cushions as they sipped drinks in tall vessels of brightly-colored glass.
“Where are the chairs?” Amadi whispered somewhat impertinently.
Tenori did not seem to mind the question. “Remember, Varrival is a desert nation. We do not have wood to spare for luxuries like chairs. Our tables are usually crafted from glass, and we sit upon cushions spun from imported silk or woven from sheep’s-wool harvested in the borderlands.”
“Save your observations for later,” Katrien said softly. She did not want Amadi to speak out of turn and spoil their chances of working with these people.
“This is our meeting-house,” Tenori added quietly, “where new arrivals can find community support and food until they are established, and where members of the Varrilan neighborhood meet to exchange news and gossip.”
Weaving his way deftly between the cushions, Tenori made his way directly to a man at the back of the room who was busy with a stack of papers. Katrien kept her eyes on Tenori’s shoulders, conscious of the stares that followed her. She wondered if they were the first Whitlanders ever to enter this building.
“Greetings,” Tenori said, kneeling beside the man with the papers. Katrien felt awkward looming over them, so she gingerly took a seat beside Tenori, hoping Amadi would follow suit. To her relief, the girl knelt just beside her, lips pressed together.
Looking up, the man surveyed them through narrowed eyes. “It has been several spans since you last paid us a visit,” he commented. “Business has been going well, I presume?”
Tenori nodded sharply. “Until yesterday, that is. The Whitish soldiers are growing more reckless.”
The man suddenly switched to the Varrilan tongue. Uttering a swift string of smooth, undecipherable words, he cast sidelong glances at Katrien and Amadi, who watched him attentively as though they could understand him. Tenori replied in equally swift Varrilan, though his speech continued for much longer. Katrien hoped he was explaining the presence of herself and Amadi; she wished she could add a few words to recommend herself, but she would undoubtedly sound foolish. Instead she folded her hands in her lap and admired the smooth make of the glass table, upon which rested three woven reed mats.
After a few more rapid remarks from the unfamiliar man, he switched back to Whitish. “My apologies,” he said. “Tenori says you are the wife of King Faolan of Lostport, and that you have escaped house arrest and abuse in Whitland. He also tells me that you stepped forward to help after he was assaulted by Whitish soldiers last night. I am much disposed to sympathize with you, my lady.”
Katrien inclined her head gratefully.
“But why have you come here to the Varrilan neighborhood? Surely we cannot help you return to your husband.”
“No, sir,” Katrien said. “I am afraid Whitland has duped and manipulated him into allowing their full military force to occupy Lostport through their involvement with the Port Emerald project, and I would like to do away with the Whitish troops.”
“Do you mean to fight them?” the man asked wryly.
“No! Certainly not.” Katrien glanced at Tenori. “But Tenori has expressed concern over Whitland’s recent treatment of the Varrilans living here, and has told me he intends to leave the Twin Cities. If enough Varrilans and Dardens were willing to accompany me to Lostport, we could make the Whitish soldiers unnecessary. If my husband can build Port Emerald without Whitish support, he will be freed from the military presence and unburdened by their duplicity.”
“You believe you can convince enough people to leave their homes here that Whitland’s help will be rendered useless?”
“Yes,” Tenori interjected. “I have three other Varrilan neighbors who have been treated just as poorly as I, and they would gladly remove their families to a safer place. And if I know the Dardens at all, many horse-masters would gladly accept the chance to make a stand against Whitland. Are there any within this community who would join us?”
Staring sideways at Katrien, the Varrilan scratched at his beardless chin. “Perchance. I would not willingly leave Dardensfell, but it is true that many here are dissatisfied with the opportunities they have found in the Twin Cities. If they were given honorable work and the chance at wealth and a good home, they might well be tempted away from here.”
Tenori nodded. “As I suspected. Will you help spread the word?”
&
nbsp; “Certainly. First, though, I will conduct a small test.”
Stiffly the man got to his feet and addressed the room. “Friends!” Immediately all eyes were upon him. Clearly the occupants of his tea-house had already been listening to the quiet conversation, trying to glean what they could about the newcomers. “This is the queen of Lostport seated before us. She invites you to help with the construction of Port Emerald so Whitland can no longer remain involved. Who would go with her?”
“When do you leave?” a tall, broad-shouldered man called.
“As soon as I can,” Katrien said. “In ten days, if possible.”
“I go,” a young man said in oddly-accented Whitish. “My brother also.”
“Lostport is a backward place,” a round-faced woman said, folding her arms. “If I wanted to travel south, I would return to Varrival.”
“My family never has enough to eat here,” a young woman said. “If my husband agreed, I would gladly join you.”
Katrien had not expected such a positive response. For the first time, she saw an inkling of hope. Perhaps she would not always have to live under the unsettled rule of Whitland. “Thank you,” she said, locking her fingers together. “I have to warn you, though, that Lostport is indeed a backward place in many ways. It does not have the comforts of a proper city, and the rains can be dramatic and unsettling. Though—” she looked at the young woman who had spoken before “—there is no shortage of food. You can live off the bounty of the forest and the ocean if you wish; no one goes hungry.”
The woman gave her a faint smile and told the shop-owner something in Varrilan. He laughed.
“That is decided, then,” the shop-owner said. “I will assemble anyone who is interested ten days hence. You and Tenori can look for us here, if you wish.”
“Thank you,” Katrien said. “A thousand times, thank you. I will be forever in your debt.”
The man gave her a funny sideways look. “Oh, and Tenori—” Here he switched back to Varrilan.
The Fall of Lostport Page 16