All of these connections Trell revisited as he led his company through the ancient, narrow streets of Sakkalaah, finally arriving at the Inn of the Four Faces as the sun was setting in fiery splendor. He hopped off Gendaia while the others were dismounting and ran inside to find Krystos, hoping the man was there and not off on one of his wildly dangerous expeditions in search of ancient treasure.
As luck would have it, Krystos was in the cave he called his office. He was a tall man with the blue eyes and olive-tanned skin of the Agasi. He wore his long black hair pulled back in a thick plait and always carried a jeweled dagger at his hip, one of his many unearthed treasures.
As Trell barged in, Krystos looked up from the armillary he was studying, and his lean face split in a grin. “Trell of the Tides!” He leaped out of his chair and rushed around his desk with open arms, grabbing Trell up in a bearhug before kissing him on both cheeks. “Am I glad to see you!” He took Trell’s shoulder and dragged him around behind his desk. “Look, see what I’ve found. This text,” and he pointed to a dusty tome lying open on the desk reveal incomprehensible script, “is the foremost reference on the treasure of Amuth-Ra, which it is said was lost in the third century after the cataclysm when the palace of the Caliph of Ishtan was sacked by invaders from—”
“Krystos,” Trell cut in laughingly, “I want to hear all about Amuth-Ra, I assure you, but I’m here with others who are waiting with great patience after a long trek from the Bashir’Khazaaz. We need rooms, and a meal, and then you and I must talk of important things.”
Krystos shook his head and leveled Trell a reproving look. “What could be more important than the treasure of Amuth-Ra?”
“I will tell you soon. Have you any rooms for us?”
“Of course I have rooms!” Then he peered at Trell out of the corner of his eye. “How many rooms do you need? The Empress’s cousin, Dinar van Gelderan, is coming with his entire entourage in a week’s time, and—”
“We’ll be out of your hair by then, fear not.”
Krystos rubbed his hands together. “Good. I’m to make a fortune off of his Excellency’s visit—they want the whole tour, out to the Ashafani bridge and the Cyrenaic ruins and even the Temple of the Winds on the Faisal escarpment—but I must be able to accommodate them all under one roof or the deal’s off. Belloth’s balls, the man travels with an army of attendants—guards and cooks and stewards and footmen and practically a sheik’s harem of females. Have you met His Excellency, Trell?”
Trell was having a hard time keeping up with Krystos’ quick desert speech, all of it spoken with a horrendous Agasi accent. “No,” he managed. “Uh, when would I have met him?”
“He’s been in Duan’Bai since the summer solstice—the man’s braver than I, spending the hottest months of the year in the hottest city in the realm. His agent explained that His Excellency uses the heat to purge the impurities from his skin, and that’s how he keeps his youthful physique.” Krystos winked, elbowed Trell, and posed, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the host of wielders he’s got traveling with him, eh?”
Trell gave him a quiet smile. “The rooms, Krystos?”
“Oh, burn me, yes, you must be impatient. How many rooms did you say you needed?”
Trell negotiated the rooms and rate as they headed out of Krystos’ office and found the others waiting in the elegant courtyard. The Inn of the Four Faces was a four-story, four-sided establishment of limestone and marble built around a lavish courtyard where fountains sang their crystalline song among towering coconut palms, feathery ferns and lush pink bougainvillea. Low, cushioned dining settees were hidden among the fronds and shaded beneath the scalloped edge of wine-red draperies and quartz-paved paths wound through a maze of cobalt-tiled pools where bathing was not only permitted but encouraged—clothing being optional.
Krystos snapped his fingers for his staff, and Trell’s company was soon being whisked away to bed chambers and bath house and a special meal prepared in their honor.
Trell found his own accommodations more than generous, and he soon made his way to the men’s bathhouse and stripped down. He sank into the steaming water with a sigh. It had been half a year since he’d allowed himself such luxury. The mineral-rich hot springs quickly leeched the stiffness from his muscles, leaving him rejuvenated in both body and spirit.
He moved from the hot baths to the larger cooling pool and swam a few laps, the last length entirely under water. He surfaced at the stairs to find a pair of feet in his line of sight. His eyes flowed upward and he caught his breath.
“Aishlinn. You can’t be in here.”
The nymphae wore a white silk robe tied at the waist, the kind the staff handed out to everyone upon entry to the baths, and her pale hair hung loose around her shoulders. She began untying the knot as she descended the stairs, the soft robe billowing out behind her upon the surface.
Trell surged out of the water to stop her undressing. “You can’t be in here,” he urged in a low voice. He wrapped his arms about her waist and maneuvered her around, “and you most certainly can’t be doing that. Krystos might have a liberal sense of propriety, but there are some customs that must be observed.”
Aishlinn let Trell hustle her out of the pool, though she gazed at him all the while with a frown marring her fair features. “I do not understand you, Trell of the Tides,” she confessed when they were walking down the tiled hallway away from the pools. “Most men would—”
“Most men would bed you without question, I know,” he interrupted, “but I am not so quick to plant my seed—especially in a Wildling’s garden.”
She shook her head. “You could not impregnate me unless I willed it, Trell of the Tides.” She moved in close to him, her hands slipping around his bare waist, her bosom pressing against his chest. She whispered in his ear, “Have you no knowledge of the nymphae?”
Trell retrieved her probing hands from his naked backside and pushed her gently away from him. “And how am I to know that you don’t will it, Aishlinn? I seem to recall a similar conversation with your sister just two nights ago.”
“The Mother said Fhionna was not for you,” she insisted, “that doesn’t mean I can’t claim you—”
“I am not a prize horse to be claimed, Aishlinn.”
“—and after what you’ve done for Lily,” she pressed on, ignoring his distrustful tone, “it is only right that I offer you some reward.”
“Your thanks is reward enough.”
Three times shunned, she stepped away from him and wrapped her arms around herself. “Why do you resist me so? I can see your arousal, I feel your body’s response to mine. Is it so terrible what I propose?” She eyed him inquisitively.
Trell became suddenly aware of his nakedness, that and the truth that while he was refusing Aishlinn, he was also undeniably attracted to her. It wouldn’t do for the double doors to open unexpectedly and reveal him and all of his assets in bold delineation.
“It is not so terrible,” he admitted, because he owed her that much, “but even did honor not forbid it—which it does, for reasons I will not explain—a more pressing concern is that I don’t trust you, Aishlinn, and I make a point of never bedding a woman I cannot trust.”
She dropped her gaze. “I suppose that’s fair.”
Seeing her heartfelt disappointment gave Trell an idea. “If you will promise to leave before we’re caught here, I will share a secret with you,” he offered.
She lifted desirous eyes. “A secret? What kind of secret?”
“Your oath first, madam.”
Aishlinn looked injured at his impatience, but she finally replied, “I give you my word, Trell of the Tides. I will leave at once and vex you no more with my affections.”
Trell smiled. “Thank you.” He took her by the shoulders, turned her squarely to face the doors, and whispered into her ear from behind, “In a week’s time, the Empress of Agasan’s cousin will be staying in this very inn. You and Fhionna would have a hard time getting more noble t
han that.” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed open the door and prodded the nymphae through. Then he closed the doors and returned to the pools, this time for a cold bath.
Once he’d recovered from Aishlinn’s unexpected visit, Trell dressed in clean clothes and went to find Krystos again. His plan for Lily’s trip to Duan’Bai depended on Krystos’ generosity in using his contacts on her behalf, and he needed to secure Krystos’ agreement to help. More than this, though, he just wanted to spend some time with his friend. It had been two years since Trell shared Krystos’ company, and he wanted a few moments alone with him before dinner and the duties of that evening called them both away.
He found the Agasi embroiled in discussion with his head chef, a squat Bemothi with a jutting beard and narrow eyes. The chef spouted off something quick and fast in the South Bemothi dialect, one of the few languages Trell did not speak well, to which Krystos replied calmly in Agasi, “Then scour the markets for pomegranates—or pay the local witch to conjure some up, I don’t care how you go about it. They will be served chilleas nogada tonight.”
The Bemothi shouted a curse and shook his fist in Krystos’ face before spitting at his heel and spinning to shout at his staff instead. Krystos turned to Trell with a smile and a gleam of satisfaction in his sparkling blue eyes. “You will enjoy this dish immensely, Trell of the Tides,” he told him as he put a hand to Trell’s shoulder and walked him out of the kitchens. He kissed his fingers and added in Veneisean, “C’est savoueux!”
Trell chuckled. “I get the idea your chef will not enjoy making it so much as I will enjoy eating it.”
Krystos waved him off. “I do not pay the man to be cheerful. I pay him to create works of art with every meal—and I pay him out the nose to do it, believe me my old friend! But look at you,” he observed as his eyes swept Trell, “you must be two shades lighter at least!”
Trell smiled. “So what’s this about the treasure of Amuth-Ra?”
Krystos beamed. “Let me tell you!” And tell him he did, all the way back to his spacious and elegant apartments, where he served Trell a traditional Sakkalaah aperitif of apricot brandy and regaled him with the intricacies of his most recent treasure hunt and how he’d deduced its location. While Trell admired the numerous antiquities decorating Krystos’ luxurious apartments, the Agasi explained how he was using the armillary in tandem with several arithmetic equations he himself had developed to deduce the positioning of the stars in the millennium prior.
“Thus, you see,” Krystos finished as he reclined in a low-slung chair with his long legs extended and feet crossed at the ankles, “by calculating the exact position of the constellations during the last year of the rein of Mephistoles III, then the descriptions given in the Cyrene text can be used to decipher the locations on the map!” He downed the last of his brandy and gave Trell an exuberant smile. “To think, that map has been collecting dust because no one knew the coordinates of Adrennai’s Harp in the fifth century aF,” and he added with a wink, “until now.”
“You do seem to have found your true calling, Krystos,” Trell complimented.
The Agasi rose and walked to an ornate chest where his collection of liqueurs awaited. He refilled his glass and carried the decanter over to Trell to do the same for him. “But tell me, my good friend,” he began as he looked down at Trell with an affectionate gaze, “how is it you’ve come to me in the middle of a war…and with such unique companions?”
Trell had no doubt that by unique, Krystos was referring mainly to Fhionna, for the Agasi had barely been able to take his eyes off of her as he was arranging for their rooms.
“It was our success at the Cry that started it all,” Trell began, and over the course of the next hour, he explained the circumstances that brought him to Sakkalaah with the ladies in tow.
Krystos was an eager listener; he hung on Trell’s every word as he spoke of the disaster in the cave and then his time in the sa’reyth, and he groaned when he learned of the Nadoriin and the scene at their camp.
When Trell ended his tale, the Agasi came over, pulled Trell to his feet, and hugged him tightly. Pulling away, he said, “I thank the Creator you have finally embarked upon this path. Would that I could accompany you. It is the greatest of treasures that you seek.”
It was only then that Trell noticed they were speaking Agasi, and he smiled as he realized that he had no idea when the conversation had crossed over from the desert tongue. It seemed to hold an odd sort of significance to him, the ease with which he’d switched languages during conversation. He wondered if his new life would come so naturally.
Krystos cast him a keen sort of look. “You are always thinking, Trell of the Tides.” He shook a finger at Trell’s nose. “Sometimes too much, I think.”
Trell laughed. “You could be right, I freely admit.”
Krystos moved to pour them another drink. “I sent word to the Inn of the Lotus for the young Lily’s betrothed with orders to move him here—free of charge, of course.”
“No one can fault your generosity, Krystos,” Trell said by way of thanks. Glancing around, he noticed the deepening darkness beyond the windows and knew it was time to take leave of his friend. Motioning Krystos to walk with him toward the doors, Trell said, “There is one last thing I must ask of you,” and he outlined his needs on behalf of Lily and the sisters.
Krystos nodded as he opened the double doors for Trell. “But of course I will do this, my old friend. I would do anything for you.”
Trell suspected Fhionna’s enchanting beauty might also have played into Krystos’ easy declaration, but he thanked him all the same.
Then he was walking back to his own rooms feeling a warmth in his heart that he had not experienced since Graeme’s death.
Trell donned his best garments for dinner that night, knowing it would please Krystos to see him so, and he used the inn’s provided toiletries to neaten his beard and trim his hair, which had grown ever shaggier since he left Raku. So it was that he seemed a new man yet again when he arrived in the courtyard; in the least, he certainly felt a good deal cleaner.
The meal was set on a low, round table surrounded by velvet cushions. A four-poled tent had been erected over the circular seating, each pole hung with blood-red velvet draping from a peak into elegant folds on the marble floor. Inside, candles in ornate glass globes hung on chains, casting flickering lights in a myriad of colors upon the marble table where a host of delicacies had been placed to delight both the palate and the eye.
Trell found Lily already seated beneath the sanguineous hanging when he arrived, and beside her sat a youth of perhaps ten and eight, with longish dark hair and almond eyes so like Lily’s own. They both stood in honor of Trell’s arrival.
Lily was beaming as she held a hand to the man at her side. “Trell of the Tides, this is my betrothed, Korin Ahlamby.”
Trell clasped wrists with Korin. The youth had a firm handshake and held Trell’s gaze, though he seemed slightly in awe. “Well met, Korin,” Trell said quietly.
Korin did not immediately release his hand. “I cannot thank you enough, milord. Lily told me—” and he glanced at her, adding, “well, she told me much. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude and forever in your debt.”
Trell released his hand and took a seat across from them. “Lily is brave. It has been my honor.”
Lily blushed and Korin gazed wonderingly and Trell, made uncomfortable by their adoration, wished he’d had more of Krystos’ brandy to bolster his forbearance.
It was not long before the sisters arrived, minus the four Khurds, who’d chosen to spend the night carousing with the blessing of Trell’s coin. Aishlinn and Fhionna wore exquisite gowns in gold and silver, the silk worked all over with crystals that seemed on fire in the muted light. Each sister wore her hair atop her head in waves held in place with jeweled pins. They looked a vision of unearthly beauty.
Trell rose and made a gallant bow upon their arrival. “Those gowns have Krystos written all over them, my ladies,
” he murmured with a smile.
“You are correct, Trell of the Tides,” Fhionna replied. “’Twas a gift we found upon returning from the baths. I confess I cannot say why he felt compelled to such generosity,” and she added with a look at her sister, “for I have never properly met the man.”
“No doubt he thought you would look a vision in it,” Trell replied as he helped first Aishlinn and then Fhionna onto a cushion to either side of him and then retook his seat. “And I must say, save for our little Lily, I cannot remember ever having the opportunity to enjoy the company of two lovelier women.”
“Now you flatter us,” Aishlinn muttered, catching his eyes with her own as she adjusted her gown around her. “Now that you have my hard-given oath, that is?”
Trell smiled. “The lady is most perceptive.”
“You strike a hard bargain, Trell of the Tides,” Fhionna murmured. “I hope you do not live to regret your choice.”
Trell eyed her appreciatively, always conscious of her beauty. “So do I, madam,” he admitted with a sigh. “So do I.”
No sooner had they all been seated than Krystos’ watchful wait staff appeared to begin serving the meal.
Dinner followed in a pleasant affair of engaging conversation supplemented by a delectable menu. Roasted peppers were stuffed with beef and pork mixed with spices, raisins and almonds and smothered in a walnut-pomegranate sauce; lamb with potatoes and carrots was served smothered in a peppery golden sauce, and a baked dish of roasted eggplant with vegetables, dates and figs wowed them with its rich complexity. They picked from a host of side dishes, of course, and found a never-ending supply of warm, toasted flatbread and excellent wine.
Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One Page 51