The Melaki Chronicle Volume II

by William Thrash

  * * *

  Adaris leaned on the pommel of his saddle and looked down at the Callacan capital city of Cilenn.

  Almost as grand as Cunei. Whereas his home capital was sprawling, Cilenn was cramped. Built high with tall towers on every paved street, the green and white washes on the buildings created a pleasing look to behold. Even at this distance, the brilliant blues of the clothing stood out.

  He resolved to purchase some Callacan clothing as soon as possible. His own brilliant green clothing might be looked upon with humor. He did not want to look like the wall of a horse stall. He had much invested in his clothing, though. Pity I must crate them for storage.

  He walked his horse down, in no rush to be at his purpose.

  This whole assignment is wrong. To abuse the trust of our only ally is to ask for disaster. It would have been better to come here exposing the real plan, but then the Callacans would doubtless refuse. They had their own problems. Why expose themselves to help Tartessan when Tartessan was not returning the favor? Adaris shook his head.

  A guard moved to stand before his horse. “Hail, he of Tartessan. Is this an official visit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please accept our invitation to enter.” He turned signaling to another who ran off. “The king’s steward shall meet you at the palace.”

  “Very good, my thanks to you, soldier, for the announcement.” It was custom to send warning ahead to the palace.

  The soldier moved aside and gave a short bow.

  Adaris rode in and wandered until he found a shop selling clothing. Idly considering the cheap wares and the better wares, he wondered if he could somehow influence the situation between Callacan and Tartessan more to their mutual benefit.

  CHAPTER 3

  Melaki blew out a breath of air in frustration. “I come here every month--”

  The portly man jiggled in officious arrogance. “We need to review your deeds here--”

  “You reviewed them last month.”

  “Certain procedures are required before pay can--”

  “Nothing has changed since last month. Sign off on the--”

  The fat man shook his jowls in negation. “I can not do such a thing. We must check--”

  “Check what? I have the receipts from previous months. Why the hassle for something you already know--”

  “I tire of your insolence.”

  Melaki's mouth dropped open. “What? You tire of my insolence? Are you serious or has the fat crowded out your puny brain?”

  The clerk frowned, raised his eyebrows lazily, and dropped Melaki's deeds to the side. “I believe I find I have no time for these right now. You may return tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Melaki's shout echoed through the halls of the administrative chambers. He normally suffered the clerk's self-importance by rolling his eyes for a couple hours and then left with his receipts and pay. Never had the process taken a whole day. The clerk was toying with him.

  Two guards, who had been watching from the door, snapped to attention. They stepped forward together.

  Melaki glared at them and then back at the clerk. He growled, but he turned and left.

  “Good day, wizard.” The clerk's voice held no sentiment that matched his words.

  Galli was waiting for him outside the office. “Master, perhaps you should allow me--”

  “Perhaps I should. But it would require more parchments bequeathing authority to you to handle the pay. I do not know that I could suffer it.”

  “If in the future Baramas decides to delay you again--”

  “Then I will blast a hole through the clerk and be done with him.”

  “You will do no such thing, master.”

  He sighed. “No, I would not.” But he wanted to.

  “I will arrange room here, then.”

  Melaki walked out of the building. He garnered looks wherever he went. He heard the talk. Was he a real Atlantean wizard? The people could not even pronounce Altanlean correctly. Had he stolen that robe? Had he donned it as fashion? If anything, less respect was given and more hassle.

  I earned it. I will wear it. On his way in, people had looked and stared, as they usually did. On his way out, his scowl chased away the looks. “Very well, Galli. Arrange us rooms. I will be in the nearest tavern.”

  “Of course.”

  He tried to calm himself to little avail. He entered the tavern, a quaint little place at once reminiscent of his favorite tavern in the Altanlean Empire, the Swaggering Swine. Yet it was also so very different. Here, the tables were more cramped, the fire smaller, and the interior completely whitewashed. Over the door was a goblet held up by a unicorn.

  Unicorns were becoming scarcer, being hunted for their horns. An aphrodisiac was made from the horn. Fewer and fewer unicorns were found. Someday there might be none left.

  “Hail, wizard,” said a woman from behind the bar.

  He grunted, still annoyed.

  A brash-looking man pushed himself off the bar from where he was leaning and intercepted Melaki. “If you are going to that table over there, that is my table and chair.”

  He stopped and looked at the man. The sneer, the look, the brooding brows, the swagger of his head reminded Melaki of Baramas the clerk and of Headmistress Renta from the Ruhka. He leaned in close, putting his nose close to that of the other man. He pointed at the table without looking at it. “See that table and chair you claim are yours?”

  The man bobbed his head like Talin had done.

  It infuriated Melaki more. “I am going to go over there and sit at it. Right now.” He kept his nose close, his eyes boring into the other man's eyes.

  Bully backed down. Shaking, the man leaned back against the bar.

  “Bartender,” said Melaki, “A jug of your best.” He held up two gold coins to show her. Then he turned and walked to the table.

  * * *

  Eliam eyed the so-called wizard as he entered. Dressed in Atlantean robes of a very high ranked wizard, the man did not have the features to go with them. The stubble on his pale face was dark. His eyes were dark. He had an aquiline nose and heavy eyebrows. A scar of three lines descended from his left cheekbone and then angled towards the corner of his mouth.

  Atlanteans were fair of hair and blue in the eye.

  Eliam saw Bendrah confront the man. “I might need to punch him,” he said to Hellea.

  “You would have my appreciation, but it still won't get you a free cup.” Hellea said. She wiped a troublesome strand of blonde hair out of her eyes.

  “Customers like him are not good for--”

  The so-called wizard faced down Bendrah. That caught their attention.

  “Bartender,” said the man, “A jug of your best.” He held up two gold coins.

  When he turned to walk to the table past Eliam, Bendrah made a lunge, blade in hand, for the man's back.

  Eliam stuck his foot out.

  Bendrah went sprawling.

  The man stopped, glanced back, and chuckled. Then he sat at the table.

  Bendrah was struggling to his feet, his face red. He turned to look just as Eliam's fist crashed into his face.

  “There is a nice tonic for you,” Eliam said. “Helps you think clearly.”

  Hellea laughed. Several patrons gave their muttered approval.

  Hauling the idiot up by his shirt and breeches, Eliam none too carefully charged towards the door. Bendrah's head smashed into it.

  “Oh, I am so sorry about that,” Eliam said. “Here, let me open that for you.” He dropped Bendrah down, face first. Door open, he hauled the groaning man back up and carried him out. Dropping him again onto his face on the pavement, he leaned down to speak into the bully's ear. “I believe it is time you find yourself another tavern. You are no longer welcome here.”

  Back inside, he grabbed the wizard's jug and mug from Hellea and winked at her.

  She gave him a smile and nod in return.

  He carried the man's drink over to the table and plopped down into the c
hair opposite him.

  The wizard looked up and sighed. “I suppose you think this is your table, too?”

  Eliam was taken aback but only for a second. He looked over the table and even lifted the jug to look under it. “I do not see my name carved into it. And I just saved your life.”

  A ghost of a smile crossed the wizard's face. “You did not save my life.”

  “I did.”

  “You did no such thing.”

  “I didn't see you whipping off your deadly spells of battle and slaughter.”

  The wizard nodded. “My thanks to you.”

  He looked at the robe. “You steal those robes?”

  “Earned them.” The response was weary.

  “Did you? You do not look Atlantean.”

  “Altanlean. No, I am not. But they taught me.”

  “Did you sail over there and bang on their door--”

  The wizard looked into his eyes. “They slaughtered my village. Took me. I am of the Meseditt Empire.”

  Eliam sat back. “That is far east of here--”

  “Indeed.”

  “What were they doing--”

  “Bypassing Iberia? I do not know. But their habit was to raid the Meseditt Empire. Perhaps it has something to do with them wanting to colonize Iberia.”

  He grunted. “Best not to antagonize the natives?”

  The wizard shrugged. “You steal those leathers?”

  He sat up straight.

  Hellea collected the two coins from the table and set down his own jug and mug next to the wizard's.

  “I earned them.” He was indignant. But he saw the eyes soften on the wizard.

  “You appear old, but not in your face--”

  “I served a full term in the Callacan Royal Army. I am three hundred and five.”

  “Too young for white hair. What is a full term?”

  Eliam raised his eyebrows at the ignorance, but the man in front of him asked with genuine curiosity. “One hundred years of service.”

  “As a soldier?” Disbelief in surprise, but not scorn.

  He grunted his assent and finished off his mug. He poured himself another drink while the wizard did the same.

  “Not very many soldiers with white hair--”

  “And I aim to make sure I grow older while keeping my white hair.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Eliam pursed his lips. “I have seen more than enough killing and had my fill of it. I am retired from the war.”

  “Ah, yes, the Asturjani troubles?”

  “Yes.”

  The wizard raised his cup. “I am Melaki, Wizard of the Ninth Ward.”

  He raised his cup in response. “Eliam, former Subcommander in the Callacan Royal Army.”

  They drank in silence for a moment. Eliam looked at the scars. “How did you get those scars? They appear unusual.”

  Something guarded came over the wizard's face. “I would rather not talk about it.”

  That is odd. “What? Every man loves to boast about his scars. The stories--”

  “Not this man.”

  “Must be quite a story.”

  The wizard waved his hand. “Some demon-thing did it.”

  Eliam raised an eyebrow.

  “I see you can detect the lie.”

  “I will not push you on the story if you feel you must lie to conceal the truth.”

  “No?” The wizard sat back.

  “No. Man has enough troubles. Enough fear. Enough war. Enough death. Let him keep his secrets.”

  “You do not approve of war? Relish it?”

  “Melaki, you would cause me to spit, and I would not dirty her floor.”

  The smile and laughter that lit the man's face was pleasant.

  A short, bald man with an intense air about him stood next to their table. “The rooms are arranged, master.”

  “My thanks to you, Galli. Sit and share a drink.”

  “I shall.” He turned his head before sitting to look at Eliam. “Did you steal--”

  He put his cup down, hard. “I earned them.”

  The bald man's eyebrows shot up and so did his hands to placate him.

  “I served a full term.”

  “No one serves a full term,” said Galli.

  Eliam sighed. “No one survives a full term.”

  The man blinked at the correction.

  Melaki leaned forward towards Eliam. “He hates being wrong.”

  Galli frowned. “I do not like being wrong, no. But better to be corrected than ignorant.”

  Eliam chuckled.

  “A full term?” Galli's voice was unsure.

  “I not only served but also survived a full term. Obviously.”

  “Such has not been done to my--”

  “I have done it and I am the first to do it.”

  Hellea came to the table. “Something for you?”

  Galli looked up at her and said, “A mug, if you please. I will share.”

  Melaki nodded to her.

  She gave a curt nod and walked back to the bar.

  “What do you intend to do now that you are retired?” The wizard seemed genuinely curious.

  “I do not know. The reward for a full term was denied me.”

  Galli gasped in indignation.

  “What was the reward?” said Melaki.

  “My own estate with land.”

  “Why did they deny you?”

  He shrugged. “They made some excuses. Not enough money. No available land. The promise was too old.”

  Galli appeared to be very angry, his hands balled into fists on the table.

  Hellea set a mug down in between the bald man's fists.

  Melaki shook his head. “The injustice--”

  “Makes me want to swing a sword through a bunch of the king's clerks--”

  “Oh,” said Melaki, “I am right there beside you on that one.”

  Galli snorted.

  Eliam said, “You have had recent troubles with clerks?”

  Melaki's eyes got large and he shook both his hands and head in negation. “Oh, no, no. Nothing like what you have been put through.”

  “Something vile enough--”

  “No, please. My issue is not even worth mentioning compared to your outrage.” Melaki appeared embarassed.

  Eliam sighed and drank another gulp. The burn felt good on his throat.

  “Galli...” said Melaki.

  “Yes, master.” A curt nod. Then he turned to him. “You have no plans then?”

  He shook his head. “I suppose I was just wandering.”

  “Have you ever farmed potatoes?”

  Eliam shook his head. “Though I did help harvesting here and there as a boy.”

  “Would you care to be taken on? We operate a lighthouse up the coast and I could use help in expanding my potato crop.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I do not know anything about potato farming, but I would be willing to learn.”

  Galli positively beamed. He nodded to Melaki. “Good call, master. He will do well.”

  Melaki raised his mug to Eliam.

  “Do I have to call you master?”

  The wizard laughed again. “No, friend. You do not. You can call me whatever you want.”

  Eliam raised his mug.

  CHAPTER 4

  Adaris walked beside the tall steward.

  “Will you require courier service?” the man said.

  He looked at the steward. The look on his face was familiar, as all stewards seemed to have seen it all, heard it all, and were supremely phlegmatic about their duties.

  Adaris gave a nod. “Until our own courier route is established.”

  “Courier's chambers are back there on the outer wall.” The man sounded as if he was going to fall over, asleep. “Here is your chamber.”

  He stepped into the chamber. It was not much bigger than a closet and was empty. A doorway led to an equally small bedchamber, also empty. “No furnishings?”

  “We assume diplomats despise w
hat we provide and bring along their own favorites.”

  He sighed. He would need to buy some simple furnishings. “Very well, this is satisfactory.”

  An eyebrow twitched on the steward. “We are so pleased to hear so.”

  “When will the king admit me?”

  “Now.”

  Adaris was shocked. “Oh? Oh, well, good then.”

  “He set aside his task to prepare for your reception.”

  That surprised Adaris. But he was no real diplomat. Perhaps kings always made such exception for diplomats. As a spy, he valued information, not the niceties of how to hold the fingers and how to purse the lips. I hope I give no offense; my task is hard enough. “I shall come now, then.”

  The interior of the palace in Cilenn was quite different from that of his home palace at Cunei. Whereas Cunei was all black marble, the palace here was less opulent. It was functional – the floors of well-worn flagstone decorated here and there with inlaid murals. Instead of silk tapestries on the whitewashed walls, the decorations were more inlaid murals – the tilework very cunning. Much time had been spent creating images that even showed shadows.

  Heavy brass doors, polished and shining, were opened to admit him.

  The steward stood taller, if that were possible, and announced him. “May I present my lord king Adaris Radek, Tartessan diplomat to Emperor Oolan.”

  The king raised his hand from his throne in a beckoning gesture. “Enter, Adaris, and be welcome.”

  Adaris stood halfway to the throne and bowed deep, as he had been coached to do. “I bring greetings from Emperor Oolan and the desire for lasting peace between our peoples.”

  “Of course,” said King Dosdaran. He rose from his throne. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, shall we retire to the council chamber to review our respective situations?”

  Adaris bowed his head. He liked a direct man. But that also made his task that much harder. He followed the king and a single guard beyond the doors and into a bustling chamber. Here the king's functionaries handled the business of the palace. Dominating the room and tended by two men was a very large table.

  What was on the table stunned Adaris. Depicted as a mural made up of multi-colored stones, the entire peninsula of Iberia was laid out before him. Even minor roads were depicted. Hills, mountains, forests, scrubland, farms, and cities and towns were shown. Placed here and there were clay markers. He saw troops, populations, supplies, food projections on farmlands.