The Chief Arbiter sniffed. “That… is about right.”
Brenna continued. “I came to know this because he was formerly a Tougere farmer just over eight months ago. He killed his master, fled, and thus, there is a bounty on his head. I have it in my pocket if you would be kind enough to allow me to retrieve it.”
“Go on.” The Chief Arbiter nodded, voice going impatient.
Brenna slowly lowered her hands and produced a folded square of parchment from her pocket. “Here you are,” she offered it to the Chief and watched as he unfolded it.
His eyes went wide. “The Shadow’s own misfortune. A man of criminal caliber in the Arbiters.”
“I encourage you to speak to a judge who can verify the veracity of my bounty. Most know who I am and that my trade is honest. I believe you, being the presiding authority, owe me three hundred marks for cleaning up your spoiled ranks.” Brenna flashed him her best smile. She lowered her arms and raked a hand through her hair, giving its rich layers a tussle. Lillian lowered her arms in kind.
The Chief narrowed his eyes and gave them a resigned nod.
Three
Shopping
The sands of Tigeria glowed like newly minted gold. Everything seemed to shine in a way Lillian had never noticed before. Maybe this was all here before, and she’d simply missed it.
She felt a new lightness in her body, as if being a slave to Brenna was somehow enjoyable. Perhaps it was the nutrition flooding her body after their supper in Varim. Either way, she was pleased to feel good for once. Even the interminable bouncing of her sore ass against the cart seat became tolerable.
The light made the shadows of solitary twisting rock formations stretch across the desert like the demons of uncharted nightmares. In the distance, wind-swept valleys crested to plateaus topped with solitary shrubs, verdant against the clear sky.
The road was graveled and wide enough for their cart to easily pass. Either side was flanked by swaying grasses that fed off the sparse rain that would follow the natural channel. It hadn’t rained in months, and the grasses were yellowed and dead.
The world was a trackless waste, making a deceptive approach by enemies an impossible feat. Lillian supposed that was the only good thing about this waterless landscape. Whenever there was a settlement, there was water, and when there was water, you had to stock up to survive. Brenna had at least six barrels filled to the brim, enough to last the pair of them at least two weeks as long as they only washed their nether regions.
The sun made its way down, hovering over the curling valleys and casting their recesses in blacks. They stopped at a crevasse of sand between two enormous boulders, each spanning about thirty feet in length and height. It was an enviable place to camp. The rock was enough to stop the night’s cold winds and block the light of their campfire. The crevasse was wide enough for a man to stretch out and sleep with a few feet to spare.
They were certainly not the first travelers to use it. The remnants of ash from a previous fire swirled in a makeshift firepit of collected stones. Piles of both human and Tigerian excrement at the far side of the fissure drew buzzing flies. At least they put it all in the same place. By Lillian’s guess, it hadn’t been more than a day since someone had last been here.
They set up camp. Stanley was fed, watered, rubbed down, and tethered between the protective confines of the fissure. A low fire crackled against the twilight sky, bathed in gradients of pink and violet.
A line of rope was drawn between the rocks, holding both Lillian and Brenna’s clothing damp with sweat. Both of the women wore billowy shifts in preparation for sleeping. Lillian hated to admit how wonderful the fine silken fabric felt against her skin. She feared Brenna’s life of luxury would make her too soft, but resolved to allow herself this comfort just once.
Brenna had laid a blanket over the ground where she stood, brushing out her hair with a comb that been fashioned from a Tougere’s canine. Strewn across the blanket in strict alignment were her weapons. There was a beautiful long sword, her murderous gloves, and eight throwing daggers. Lillian was willing to bet there was a blade or two hidden under her shift, strapped against a thigh most likely.
Lillian sat on a smooth rock about twenty feet away from Brenna, thankful for the space. How long had it been since she could go more than two feet without bumping into another wretched, unwashed human? Too long. She shook her head, a warm plate held in one hand while a fork stuffed cured boar meat and boiled oats into her mouth.
She felt Brenna’s eyes on her and looked up to find her smiling. How could someone always be that happy? It wasn’t natural. She was no longer a slave to Tigerians, and that meant she was almost free. She smiled back at Brenna, licking off an oat clinging to her upper lip.
“Glad you’re enjoying seconds. I was afraid we made too much,” Brenna chuckled.
“Not to worry. I won’t let any food go to waste.”
Brenna frowned as she worked her comb through a knot of hair. “This damned sand. Gets everywhere. Make sure you don’t eat too much too quick, or you’ll not have a fun time come morning.”
“Mm,” Lillian grunted over a mouthful of food.
“Once this is all behind us, what will you do?” Brenna asked as she started to collect her hair into a ponytail.
Lillian looked at Brenna, then down at the licking flames. “Find my partner, the man I came here with. He’s here, somewhere. A slave. I’ll buy him back if I have to. When you remove this,” Lillian fingered her collar, “I’ll burn those who betrayed us to ash heaps.” No, I’m still a caged animal.
Brenna smirked. “I didn’t know you had a partner. Didn’t strike me as the… loving type.” Brenna placed her comb beside her weapons, then started inspecting them.
“Well, you don’t really know me, do you?” She tried to keep the venom from her words but heard it dripping in her tone. It didn’t help that Lillian glared at the woman before quickly mastering her expression and putting on a placid face. Lillian scraped the last of the oats onto her fork, dragging them off with her teeth.
“Are you married?” Brenna asked, cocking her head at her.
Lillian shook her head. “A foolish convention in my opinion. One’s word, one’s honor is all the assurance I need. Don’t need some formal celebration, every eye in the Tower inspecting your marriage attire. Every gossiping hen speaking ill of your dress selection. No, that is not for me.”
“Does your… partner feel the same?”
“Doubtful. Baylan is a man of tradition. I’m afraid he follows the Tower law to the letter.” Lillian felt her eyes closing with the weight of exhaustion. As soon as the sun went down, she liked to sleep, then rise when it rose in kind.
She remembered the first time she set foot on the shores of Tigeria. A lush jungle surrounded the shoreline, a veritable sea of foliage. The sky was a crystalline blue, the salted water stinging in her nose. Had they read the map wrong? Tigeria was supposed to be a desiccated waste.
Captain Derwood had given them a hearty wave with a big shit-eating grin from the deck of the Warwick as waves lapped at its rotting sides. She hadn’t understood then why he was so cheerful. She followed his distant gaze.
She recalled being startled when figures emerged from surrounding wood brandishing weapons, camouflaged with vines and broad leaves. At first, there were maybe ten. Ten became twenty and twenty became thirty. She grinned at them, thinking they were locals from a nearby tribe. As they drew closer, she saw they wore rich garments that only denizens of Ashrath, the capital of Tigeria, might wear.
“An ambush?” she shouted up to Captain Derwood, who had already vanished from the ship’s deck. “You must be joking,” she laughed to herself, “and from this lot, no doubt.” She scoffed. A line of betraying sweat trickled down her temple and curled around her jawline.
Baylan eyed her uncertainly. “Wait. Don’t do anything rash. Let’s speak with them first. P-perhaps this is a misunderstanding,” he said, putting a staying hand on her forearm.
“I—” Sand filled her eyes as demons arose from the ground itself, glinting objects held in dirty fists.
Baylan gasped and staggered back with a yelp.
Something cold and hard latched around her neck. The Dragon was cut off as if an impenetrable wall had been slammed before it. She pounded at the wall, felt the Dragon beyond it, but could not reach its strength.
Hands wriggled between the metal about her throat, dragging it tight against her carotid arteries. A forearm pressed against the back of her head, strangling her. Looking around desperately, she saw tens of holes in the ground where the monsters had waited. She saw the hands of Tigerians brandishing Equalizer crystals, shining with pinks that made her guts churn. To be cut off from the god’s powers was worse than losing one’s favorite limb.
Every Equalizer was supposed to have been destroyed. The Tower ordered it so, and it should’ve been done, but in Tigeria, they were far from the Tower’s grasp. They were the only artifact known to have the capability of severing a wizard from the Dragon and Phoenix’s strength.
Lillian was rendered mortal. A Norm.
Her vision became pinholes as pelt-covered arms continued to strangle her. She raked at where she guessed its eyes might be, producing a screech and the arms locking down tighter. The world grew light and faded into oblivion.
She woke minutes later to a Tigerian kicking her in the ribs. She gasped with the force of it, her breath coming in choking, heaving gulps. She raised her arms, eyes going wide at the iron shackles at her wrists. She tried to stand and tripped against a force binding her ankles, but managed to twist onto her side before landing face first. She looked down at her ankles. Shackled, chained, and made a slave. No.
“No!” she breathed and searched for Baylan at her side. Gone.
She spotted a group of chained men and women stumbling into the jungle. Baylan was their latest addition, chained to the group at their rear. He staggered when a Tigerian viciously prodded him with the butt of his spear. He turned to look at her one last time before fading into the jungle, fear and desperation painted on his countenance.
“Lill!” he screamed.
“No! No!” She shrieked, rising up, and running for him. It felt like a hammer struck her in the back of the head. Blood washed over her eyes, and her vision became pulsing sheets of white. She blinked away the blood and willed her body to rise, but nothing responded. She saw through one parted eye as a leg twitched, merely rattling her chains. The last of Baylan faded into the green.
He screamed her name over and over, slicing at her heart. He screamed until his voice was lost in the choking jungle.
Three Tigerians flanked his chained group, all somewhat similar in appearance though with stark differences. Their coats were a golden yellow, but one had a notch removed from one ear, while another possessed a long scar on his neck, and a third was missing a hand. She sucked in all of it, inscribing the memory of their visage on her soul.
They would all know her wrath. Everyone and every Tigerian who had betrayed them would burn in her glorious fires.
“Care for some elixir?” Brenna asked as she poured herself a mug, drawing Lillian back into the present. Wisps of steam spiraled over her scarred hands. It appeared she did not lie about her former profession as a blacksmith. “Redbud beans. Paid a hefty fee to get this variety. The beans are special, only grow in Breden in the far west of Zoria. The aroma is marvelous.” She dipped her nose into her mug and took a long sniff.
Night had fallen, and the amber glow of the fire danced on Brenna’s cheeks.
“Never been.” Lillian gave a slight shake of her head, blinking away the painful memory.
Brenna produced a second mug from a stuffed sack, raising it to Lillian. “Elixir? Come join me at the fire.”
“Please, I’d like some,” Lillian answered and even managed to force a smile. She rose up on stiff legs and trudged over to the fire, sitting on another stone polished smooth from the scouring winds.
Brenna reached around the fire and handed Lillian the filled mug. She gave her a broad grin and met her eyes. “I do hope you enjoy it as much as I do.” Brenna inclined her head then sipped. “I’d like to hear more about Baylan, if you wouldn’t mind discussing him.” She sat on a low stone across from Lillian, forcing her knees up to her shoulders.
Lillian peered into her mug. The liquid swam with oily blacks and emitted faint aromas of cinnamon and vanilla. She sipped and couldn’t help but grin. It tasted like home. It had a touch of welcome bitterness, hints of chocolate and earth.
“You said his name was Baylan, correct?” Brenna prompted.
“Mhm. That’s right. Baylan Spear.” A pop rang from the fire and sparks swirled up to reach the stars.
Lillian remembered the first day they met. He introduced himself to her in Helm’s Reach, west of the Silver Tower when she was sent on an errand to fetch a rare herb. It was bold and unexpected.
She never voiced it, but she knew men found her attractive. She could see it in the way they wilted or nearly swooned under her gaze. Youths never thought she could hear their murmurs and gawking. She didn’t care. There was even some part of her that enjoyed the attention.
But none were ever bold enough to act on it. His eyes shone like cobalt and had a wise depth. His jawline appeared to have been chiseled from stone, skin richly tanned from too much sun. He offered his hand. “My name is Baylan. Can I help you find something? I spend far too much time here.”
“Lillian.” She found herself grinning at him as she let her hand be taken into his. She felt everything smile. She felt it in her heart, in her belly, and in her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She raised her head to peer at Brenna. “I’d rather not speak of him now.” She grimaced at the cutting loss, once again raking at her guts.
“Very well, we can enjoy the elixir and the fire.” Brenna nodded and thankfully left the scab unpicked.
They arrived in Spimourn by morning. The endless stretch of sand and scrub hemming in the village was bathed in the cool blue of the rising sun. A trio of birds of carrion trailed them from the campsite, waiting for them to collapse into the arms of the Shadow Realm. Their wingspans were at least six feet by Lillian’s guess, their feathers raven black, shadows flitting over the glowing sand. The birds gave up once they re-entered the remnants of civilization, squawking in frustration as they departed, searching for their next meal.
The village consisted of about eight buildings in immaculate condition and ornately constructed. The denizens were reputed for producing the finest clothing in the realm. Travelers came from all over for appointments with one of the four chronically overbooked families of tailors. Their appointment books were filled months in advance.
They did not discriminate between Tigerian and man as long as both were able to pay for their goods, though they were obliged to charge Tigerians less. Brenna had apparently forged a strong relationship with one of the tailors as they were ushered into his shop upon her arrival, despite her lack of appointment. The hunched-back Tigerian made his agitation known, mumbling a few times about the inconvenience of her arrival. The Tigerian’s upper back was so kyphotic, Lillian was impressed he could manage to walk upright.
They were alone in the Tigerian’s shop, given the courtesy of privacy while they selected what they would purchase from his supply room. The tailor had shuffled into his office and closed the door behind him.
The rumbling of carriages and clopping of hooves in the main street was all but lost in a sea of cloth lining the walls. The room was dimmed as clothing racks blocked the majority of the window light, though slivers of light still streamed in over their tops. Along one wall, hundreds of trousers hung from a long iron rod. They were arranged first by color and then by material. Adjacent to it was a wall of shirts, another of suits, dresses, and even fashionable sun hats. Lillian would have adored this room had she not been here under the auspices of enslavement.
Lillian scowled at the clothing. It wasn’t because
she didn’t appreciate the finery, but because of how most Tigerians were able to afford such items. It was all born on the backs of the enslaved. No plantation owner could manage vast acres of crops alone, and only an abundance of crops would yield the necessary funds to shop here. Everything was embroidered, filigreed, the fabrics rich, impeccably stitched and creased. She hated to admit that it was a lovely sight.
Brenna rubbed the shoulder of a silk plum colored dress between her fingers. “Too bright,” she muttered. She moved onto another a second later. “Too heavy. Not suitable for combat or this dreadful heat. Where does he keep the wares I like?”
“Why are we here?” Lillian asked from the center of the room.
“Is the answer not evident? Shopping, of course.” Brenna licked her lips, gripping the fabric of a shirt, and giving it a hard tug. It tore against her talons, and she dropped it with raised eyebrows. “Suppose I should have removed my gloves. Think he’ll notice?”
“You know what I mean.” Lillian folded her arms and gave Brenna an accosting stare, not that she seemed to care.
Brenna laid an arm over the top of the trousers rack. “When we get access to the Golden Hill estate, we’ll put on a little act. You’ll not be a slave but serve as my adviser. I’ll need someone else who can help me identify my next slave purchase, and who better than a former slave?”
“You’re insane. You think I’d help you with such an abomination?”
Brenna grunted and rolled her eyes as she strode over to Lillian. She placed her hands on her shoulders, the metal lining her fingers as cold as ice. She looked into her eyes. “Do you remember why I freed you?”
“But I’m not free. You were seeking the Kuro brothers. They were my t-taskmasters once. By the Dragon, I hate that word.”
Brenna patted Lillian’s shoulder with one hand, dropping the other and placing it on her hip. “That’s right. I need you to identify them for me and thus need you to travel with me. You need to appear as my equal, not my slave. This is why—”
Forsaken Hunters_Book Zero of The Age of Dawn_A Prequel Page 4