by Leigh, J.
Hatori snapped the tip. Crack! “Now.”
Jathen yanked with all he had. The shaft came free more easily than he had anticipated, causing him to fall backward.
Hatori tossed aside the arrowhead to clutch the next. “Next one. Hurry, please.”
They repeated the task, Hatori not making a single sound for all the pain.
“Spirit in Heaven,” Jathen murmured, fascinated by the closing of the wounds. He had missed the beginnings of the first one, which already had a scab, but the second clotted right before his eyes.
“If you are done staring at me,” Hatori said, sounding absurdly better already, “I’m going to need you to pull out the last one on your own. I can’t reach it.”
The scab fell from the first wound, revealing new, pink skin.
“Isn’t it better to push it through first?”
“Not with that angle. I don’t trust you won’t shove it up through the sangcordis. If it’d gone a little deeper, we’d not be having this conversation. Now, if you please, take that thing out before Jephue gets over here and sees this mess. I hear him calling.”
Jathen grasped the last arrow with both hands. He counted to three and pulled. After three jerking motions that had Hatori hissing and Jathen apologizing repeatedly, the thing was finally free.
Jathen held up the gore-covered arrow. This would have killed me. “You saved my life.”
A victory cheer echoed across the camp. Glancing at the tree line, Jathen saw the men returning from the woods, so he assumed the danger was past.
“And you mine.” Hatori slowly got to his feet. “So we are quite even.” He glanced over Jathen’s shoulder. “And just in time for Jephue.”
“Hatori!” Jephue skidded to a stop in front of the bloody Clansman. “Hatori,” he whispered, “what happened?”
“I’ll be all right. Nothing some rest and Feeding won’t cure.” Hatori raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right? No cuts or anything?”
Jephue lunged and locked his arms around Hatori in a desperate embrace. He blubbered a string of unintelligible words and muffled sobs into the Clansman’s bloody shirt.
“Oh, Jeph.” Hatori sighed, patting his hiccupping burden lightly on the back and shooting Jathen an embarrassed glance. “I’m fine! But for the love of Rhean, I had to step in front of a few arrows before you finally figured out you give a damn?”
“Shut up!” Jephue shrieked. “If you died… I wouldn’t… I couldn’t… so just shut up!”
For once, Hatori followed someone else’s orders and fell silent, returning the embrace.
“Right.” Jephue broke the hold, flicking away a few tears as he straightened. “Let’s get you Fed. Jathen, let’s get you cleaned up, all right?”
“Yes,” Jathen replied. Tossing the arrow away, he followed them across the camp.
They passed many people bent over the various wounded or dead. Half of the xeyme had been upended, while carts had been broken or trampled. The rest of the evening would be spent cleaning up and burning the few dead. Reaching their xeyme, Jathen saw it had about four or five dozen arrows lodged in it. Looks like a porcupine.
The inside was a shambles, everything trampled by their Msāfryan travel companions who’d taken cover in the fight. Nothing appeared to be missing, but nothing was where it belonged, either.
“We need to hire a better escort,” Hatori muttered.
For the first time in a long while, the three were in full agreement.
Chapter 19
They arrived.
Several days and another, far less dramatic bandit attack later, Jathen and his friends finally joined the ever-expanding Msāfryan city of Antqāl Mdynh. The vast blanket of banners and felt-lined homes nearly filled the wide plain cradled between the two rivers. More and more seemed to be erected every moment as the chosen of Bree gathered for socializing and trade. Hatori led Jathen and Jephue to the market areas, where they could bargain for supplies.
“We should just, just beat the rains,” Hatori said.
“Told you,” Jephue whispered to Jathen with the slip of a smile. Jephue had been far mellower since Hatori’s wounding, even going so far as to simplify his hair down to a single, dirty-blond braid. “Once he’s got his mind set on something, there is no stopping the man. So onward to Furōrin-Iki we go, and to the Pit with rain and danger.”
However, they had to secure transport first. Hatori’s mistrust of translators made that difficult, and by the second hour, everyone was becoming irritable from the heat. “Camels. Jml.” Hatori pointed at the tradesman’s livestock for the fifth time. “They’re made for desert terrain, yes?”
“Yes.” The white-robed Msāfryan nodded. “For go into Whydā Shrā.”
“I thought so. Would they make it if we took them along the road through Furōrin-Iki? In the higher humidity?”
“For Pilgrims’ Road, hsān better. Whydā Shrā, want jml… camels.”
“I realize that, but I want to know if the camels will make it if I take them through Furōrin-Iki, up to the Lu’shun Republic.”
The trader’s brow furrowed. “Camel feet for sand. Horse hoof for road.”
“I know, but I want to know if the camel can be taken through Furōrin-Iki.”
“Hsān, horse, to Furōrin-Iki.”
Hatori shook his head. “No horses. No hsān. I’ve got a Tazu, and there can be no horses.”
“Tazu?”
“Yes, Tazu. I need to put a Tazu on a camel. Jml needs to make it through Furōrin-Iki.”
“Tazu on jml, no hsān?”
“Yes! Can the camels be taken through to the Furōrin-Iki so the Tazu can ride?”
The Msāfryan stroked his beard. “Tazu fly. No ride.”
Hatori let out a stream of what were undoubtedly Clan expletives, while Jephue unsuccessfully tried to stifle a smile. Their argument caught the attention of a passing traveler. The man had the look of a solider or mercenary about him, as he sported leather armor and a large sword strapped across his back. He approached and said something in Clan.
Hatori responded, and they had a good-natured exchange, then the tones turned to probing, both men adopting serious stances. Jephue nodded along.
Jathen whispered to Jephue, “What are they saying?”
“Oh.” Jeph blinked and nudged the charm master. “Hatori”—he jerked his head in Jathen’s direction—“don’t be rude.”
“Oh, apologies,” the newcomer said, switching to Tar’cil. “I assumed all of you were fluent. Setsuken Daten of the Danamani is my name. I was just asking if you had any need of a mercenary escort to… I think I heard the Lu’shun Republic? My team and I are currently looking for work.” He chuckled. “As I was saying, most have been a little bit squeamish about an escort with two Clansman, two Msāfryan, and a Ki’ra.”
“And I was just saying no wonder with two Clansman to Feed,” Hatori added. “Throw me in the group, and no warm-blooded mammal will be safe. That’s a hell of an expense to offset.”
“We’re used to traveling in the wilds, so there isn’t a single one in my group who can’t fend for himself. Same as you.”
“How old are your crew?”
“Not old, but old enough to hold Feeding in check.” Setsuken held out his lean, muscular arms. “I’m the eldest at seventy-nine, and the youngest is twenty-two. He’s the other Clan kinsman.”
“Young,” Hatori said.
Jephue rolled his eyes. “Oh, everything under a millennium is young to you.”
“What does age have to do with anything?” Jathen asked.
“Speaks to experience,” Setsuken answered. “And the older Clan tend to be able to hold their Feeding in better check. Not to mention go longer without if necessary.”
“It also speaks to dick measurin
g.” Jephue snorted. “Puffed-up Clan peacocks trying to see who’s older and greater.”
Hatori glared daggers at Jephue, then said, “Aside from that, five mercenaries, two of which are Clan, for three travelers? Even with supplies, that seems like overkill.”
Setsuken shrugged. “All five of us have skills best suited for particular contingencies, as well as things above and beyond mere fighting. You might need only one of us in a journey, or you might need us all, depending on what we come across. I, for example, speak pretty fluent Msāfryan and happen to have transports that don’t take offense at a Tazu’s scent.” He tapped his nose, winking at Jathen.
“Still seems like an ostentatious expense,” Hatori countered, “to pay for someone we may or may not have use for.”
Jathen shook his head. “How many times must I tell you, Master Hatori? My Monortith name’s got deep enough pockets to care for a lot more than you give me credit for.”
Hatori raised his eyebrows. “Those pockets didn’t get deep by spending excessively, boy. Nor are all your resources anywhere near with us on the trip. How many times must I tell you, I’m not going to spend where there doesn’t need to be spending?”
“But weren’t you also complaining we were losing so much time because no one wanted to travel at night?” Jathen asked. “Setsuken’s group would be fine with nights, I’m sure.”
Setsuken laughed good naturedly. “I can see we might be able to help each other, but I’ll not impose. I’ve got a few smaller groups I’m trying to band together to make a trek up the road to Furōrin-Iki.” His pointed at a xeyme with a black-and-orange-striped flag peeking over the sea of canvas. “I’ll be there all afternoon, Rhean keep this heat. Cor’mon.” He saluted them and then was gone.
Hatori waited a few moments before turning back to Jathen. “Don’t go giving away information unless you have to. Spirit, didn’t you learn anything growing up in the damn Tazu court?”
Jathen smirked. “I didn’t think his possibly meeting our needs qualified as unnecessary information.”
“It does if he’s going to drive the damn price up because of it! Damn Danamani bloods, always, always finding a way to pad their bottom lines. Makes me sick.”
“Oh, don’t listen to him,” Jephue whispered in Jathen’s ear. “His mother was an actual Danal, clan Danamani’s First Family. The man thrives off the challenge.”
“Jephue, I can hear you.”
“Then stop moaning, wait an hour, and go back and hire those nice men like I know you want to.” Jephue waved him away. “Let Jathen and me go shop.”
Hatori pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you at least refrain from informing the world of your full name?” he said to Jathen. “I’ve told you before that there are things called bandits and kidnappers and all sorts of rot out on the roads. Hell, that Danamani could be one for all we know!”
“He had a Tar’citadel emblem tattooed on his elbow,” Jephue said haughtily. “Tesgree Path, masters of the bastard sword. He’s a legitimate Kubesh Walker.”
“Probably, but not definitely. I saw it too, you know. But it doesn’t mean anything until I ask around, and now he’s got Jathen’s name and all these expectations on what price he can ask, and well… gah!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Don’t you know anything about subterfuge?”
Jephue took Jathen’s arm. “Well, maybe you should teach him since you are always whining about it.”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”
“Yell at him until you got your way.”
“Eh-yah!” Hatori tromped off, muttering and cursing.
Jathen and Jephue wove through the cluster of bodies filling the market at Antqāl Mdynh. The Msāfryan seemed to be obsessed with bells. Nearly every piece of jewelry or stitch of clothing for sale had the little brass ornaments soldered or stitched onto it, and the air was filled with constant jingling.
Watching Jephue get caught up in the shiny baubles and delicate silken wares of the vendors, Jathen thought the man was the happiest he’d seen him in the entire journey. “Jeph, what is it about this trip that’s had you quite so upset with Hatori?”
Putting down an intricately carved comb he’d been studying, Jephue fluffed his blond bangs. “Oh my dear boy, have you been worried for me all this time? Hatori can be somewhat… backward at times with how he interprets the First Law. For example, he decided we were leaving the Nation, he decided how we would travel, he decided what he was going to do, and Spirit forbid I try to disagree because that would violate his right to decide for himself. But if I decide to come along anyway, well, then that was my choice, and I shouldn’t complain.”
“Then why did you come along?”
Jephue shot him a half-patronizing, half-pitying look. “Because I love that damnable bastard, Jath. Perhaps I’ve made him suffer a bit much for it over this long trek... and you, too, sadly. Spirit knows it wasn’t your fault we got stuck in a dirigible again.”
“Again?”
Jephue groaned. “Yes. It’s how we made the journey the first time, and that one crashed, too.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.” He laughed. “That’s how we got tangled up with Pallo’s father and Charmed Wind. The first crew we hired abandoned us with almost no luggage, no supplies, and no money—nothing but the clothes on our backs and what was in our pockets. And that sly bastard Hatori managed to haggle us into another dirigible ride on the promise of charm-engines. It took him a good two months to finish them once we reached Kidwellith.”
Jathen snickered. “That sounds like our Hatori Chann.”
“Yes. I know it must seem strange from your perspective, Jath, but he’s always been there for me, even when what I needed was to stop moaning and stand on my own two feet. He’s never abandoned me, no matter how silly or vain or back-stabbingly catty I’ve become. And in return, I’ve put up with his foul moods and hermit-like tendencies, while I ran his shop to make certain his genius wasn’t lost because he frightened the customers away. I’ve never loved anyone else, and I never will.”
“I’ve never loved anyone. Sometimes I wonder if I even can.”
Jathen was grateful Jephue did not nitpick his words by reminding him that he loved his sister and mother. Jephue just patted his shoulder, and Jathen knew his friend understood.
Even after a couple of hours of shopping, they still managed to beat Hatori back to the xeyme.
“Now, come on,” Hatori said when he returned. “We’ve got to get ourselves situated with these new guards you two conspired for me to hire.”
Jathen smirked. “So they aren’t vicious highwaymen out to abandon us and steal all our luggage?”
“I see you finally told him about the original trip, Jeph.” Hatori shook his head as he herded them out of the tent. “About ruddy time.”
Setsuken offered elefils.
Lazy and lumbering, the docile gray mammals were roughly the size of a full-grown tyrn. They were indefinitely ugly with their stocky legs, thick bodies, and single humps. Jathen still found something to admire in their long, seeking noses and spiraled tusks, but the latter, along with their height, made his heart flutter. They would be considerably more efficient in trampling him than a horse.
While Hatori and Jephue squabbled over how the luggage should be loaded, Jathen turned to Setsuken. “Are you sure they won’t have a problem with me?”
“Fairly certain, but we can always be more so. Come on.” He walked over to a large shape Jathen had initially taken for a pile of pelts. “This is my good friend Esop. We served together under Tar’citadel’s banner a few years back. Some warlords out of the Middle Lands learned the hard way not to attack this Kubesh Walker. Needless to say, he’s a good man to have around, despite being a Ki’ra.”
Jathen had seen a few of the Ki
’ra race from a distance when an emissary group had come to the Tazu court seeking trade and political ties. They had sleek and well-kept coats of fur covering their bodies, with fuzzy, displaced ears the only stark difference on furless, otherwise human faces.
Sitting atop a crate, Esop was almost a different creature. Jathen knew about the wide physical variations amongst the Ki’ra, but he was still taken aback by the actual degree when facing the Kubesh Walker. Almost as tall and broad shouldered as a Tazu, Esop was even stockier, especially with his thickly matted pelt, which Jathen didn’t think he could pull a rake through, let alone a comb. Padded paws with long claws held onto his massive battle axe, while his face sported an elongated snout with a black dog-like nose.
His intimidating mouth hung open, a great dark-spotted pink tongue lolling up and over thick yellow teeth as he panted in the heat. “Spirit curse the lot of you and yours,” he said between slurping gasps, though his tone held no actual threat. “Crazy Clansman dragging me out here into this boil.”
Setsuken smiled. “You came of your own accord. So I don’t want to hear it.”
“Pah! Me pelt’s not meant for this.”
“Then take a certain friend’s suggestion and shave yourself.” Setsuken laughed. “Seriously, can you handle taking our young Monortith around the elefils? I want to be completely certain they’ll not take offense at the Tazu blood.”
Esop groaned, rising from his seat atop some crates. “Elefils aren’t skittish like those damn hoofed morons your race likes breeding so much.” Hoisting his pleated skirt, he arranged it more evenly on his hips, the talismans and pouches looped around the belt clinking. He scratched at a matted tuft of chest fur and yawned. “If they are fine with me, no subtle-scented moot’s going to make ’em balk. No offense,” he added, turning surprisingly human brown eyes on Jathen.