by Brian Thomas
The young man gave a slight bow at Ronan’s effective confirmation of what he had surmised. “Most of it was seen with my ears, this is a magic we all have if only we would listen and interpret what we hear.”
Ronan gave a wry smile and gave a slight bow of his own. “What message do you have for me?”
“Zanwen will not be coming to Xian city. He asks that you meet him at Tanyel city instead.”
Ronan frowned. “There is a problem? I cannot leave my return home too late or I will miss the season to make the return trip. If Zanwen is unable to trade with me then perhaps I should remain where I am and trade with another in Xian city.”
The young man replied evenly. “Zanwen has gathered a great caravan but fears to enter the border lands without a larger guard than he has now. There is conflict in this area of the empire. Zanwen has said that he will meet you in Tanyel city and he believes you will be there to meet him when he arrives.”
Ronan thought of how long it would take to get to Tanyel city and though the message was delivered evenly with no hint of recrimination, Ronan nevertheless felt he was being judged by the man giving it to him. “How is it that Zanwen asked you to bear this message?”
“He knew I wished to travel the barbarian lands beyond the empire and thought you might allow me to accompany you for part of your journey.” The answer was not posed as a question, yet it hung in the air between them.
“I will go to Tanyel city and meet Zanwen but I cannot allow a Hansee citizen to travel with us.”
The young man gave a brief nod and showed no sign of disappointment at Ronan’s response, though Ronan thought he must have felt some. After he made no attempt to persuade Ronan further Ronan felt compelled to justify his refusal. “The emperor’s soldiers search for a Hansee man seeking to leave the empire and threaten any who aid him. I have responsibility for the caravan and the goods in it, which are not just my own. I will not place the caravan in jeopardy by attracting more attention than necessary or prompting an over zealous reaction from an imperial patrol.”
The young man bowed in acknowledgement, remaining completely neutral and making no attempt to press his un-stated request to join Ronan or place recriminations on him for his decision. Ronan knew his decision was the correct one but still felt uncomfortable and so added. “I am sorry.” and was immediately irritated that he felt obliged to apologise.
As Ronan sat frowning at the healer for making him feel awkward, the healer turned instead to Markurd. “Your wound troubles you. If you wish, perhaps I can help you.”
Markurd’s eyes opened a little wider, surprised the healer had detected his wound. He had been careful to show no outward sign of it and the weakness it left him in. “And as you can neither see nor hear a wound how do you know I have one at all? I noticed you did not deny using magic when asked earlier, do you use magic on us now without us knowing?” Markurd asked suspiciously and with no friendliness in his voice.
The healer showed no indication of being intimidated or offended by Markurd’s abrupt tone. Instead he maintained the same neutral voice as earlier, giving no sign of what he was thinking other than the words he spoke, making it very difficult to read his true thoughts. “I do not need eyes or ears to smell a corrupted injury, in a warrior and therefore most likely from an open wound. You have a temperature. I can feel the heat of it from here. I merely offer my assistance if you wish to receive it.”
Markurd sneered across at the man who offered his assistance. “You are too clever for your own good. I have heard how you have assisted others and will have no truck with it. I have received worse than this in the past and it will recover as they did, without any quackery.”
The healer gave a brief nod, showing no emotion. “As you wish.”
Ronan was surprised at the heat in Markurd’s reply, to what had been a generous offer in the circumstances. “Your message has been delivered and for that you have my thanks. I am sorry I cannot offer you passage with us but my mind is set.” With a curt nod of his head Ronan signalled Markurd to leave, rising to follow. Markurd ducked through the flap and he was about to follow when the healer signalled for him to wait.
Ronan was cautious but nevertheless waited as the flap dropped back and the healer asked, “This man who serves you is important to you?” Surprised at the question, Ronan hesitated before giving the merest nod, wary of what would follow. The healer looked him steadily in the eyes as he calmly stated, “He carries a wound which has become corrupted. Though he will not admit it he knows the truth and tries to conceal it from you. He will grow weaker as the poison spreads. In two days he will be unable to walk and in three days he will probably be unconscious. Come to me before the end of the third day and I may be able to save him, longer than that and he will die an undignified and unnecessary death. Leave for Tanyel city before I am able to treat him and he will die. Come to me after the third day and he will die.”
Ronan felt an icy dread at the young man’s words, all the more chilling for having been spoken so flatly. Pass the bread. It looks as though it might rain. Your friend will die in a few days. Ronan was suddenly angry. If this was an attempt to somehow convince him he should change his mind and allow the healer to go with them it would not work. “Perhaps Markurd is right and you are too clever.” Ronan ducked under the flap to follow Markurd.
The healer stopped him speaking with the same measured tone as previously. “I am merely educated, whereas you and your people are ignorant and superstitious. You will not like the treatment even though it has been proven to work many times in the past. It is well to know this, so that if you do come to me and seek my help you will know the treatment to be unpalatable; but it is the only help I can give.”
Ronan hesitated in dread at the image conjured by the healer’s words, before lifting the flap and leaving. He left the tent as angry as he had entered but the seed of concern had been firmly planted so that when Markurd queried irritably, “What was that all about?”
Ronan looked more closely at the light sheen of sweat which covered Markurd’s flushed features and his bloodshot eyes. “Nothing of importance.” Ronan replied, before asking in turn, “How are the wounded men? Are they up to travelling to Tanyel city yet?”
Markurd snorted derisively. “They are all fine and will feel my boot to help them along if not.” Frowning in suspicion he added, “And if that question was for me I’ve suffered a lot worse than this before. My mother died long ago and I have no need for another.” Turning away Markurd strode off for the city and Ronan had to follow quickly or be left behind.
Ronan thought for a while before stating firmly. “We will wait another few days anyway. We could all do with a rest and the horses need to put on weight to get the best price from Zanwen. We will take advantage of the feed and water here, no telling what it will be like on the road to Tanyel city.”
Markurd snorted again but said nothing.
Li Chin listened as they went, their conversation gradually fading along with the sounds of their footsteps. His nostrils twitched slightly, the large man with the wound had filled the tent with the smell of horse and his stale perspiration. Li Chin had braced against the assault on his senses when he had picked up the merest whiff of corruption. After that it was not hard to guess the rest. The injured man who looked as though he feared no one smelt of fear. He feared an enemy he could not see or fight. The man knew death was coming for him even if he would not openly admit it. The only thing he feared more than the thing killing him was his superstitious fear of cures he knew nothing about, beyond gossip and his wild imaginings.
Li Chin sighed. He would have to prepare for Ronan’s return, if he did indeed return. He smiled ruefully as he caught himself thinking of the prophecy he was supposed to fulfil. Li Chin wondered if any man would offer his life freely to someone who had saved a valued servant, least of all a king in waiting though neither of these two looked like kings of any description. At least not like any from within the Hansee Empire. Li Chin wondered id
ly on what level a barbarian king was comparable to Hansee aristocracy, even if they were comparable at all. He was probably doomed to continue offering good deeds to ungrateful barbarians until he died of old age, unless he could stumble across something more effective at binding barbarians to him in the meantime.
Chapter 37
Zanwen was occupying a table at the front of a tea house facing the town’s central square. The main trading market for the town it was bustling with activity. Trade was being undertaken at all levels, from the retail traders selling to the public out of their stalls to the bulk transfer of goods from one Great House to another as they reached the boundaries allowed by their trading licences. The retail traders with their stalls were confined to the edges of the square with wide aisles between them, the centre was kept clear for free passage of the large caravans with their escorts. The volume transactions were conducted in the taverns and tea houses on the square’s face not occupied by the small stall holders. It was one such tea house from which Zanwen now looked out at the busy square, as he had done for the last four weeks passing out enquiries for guards or mercenaries and waiting for a response.
A string of wagons heavily guarded by their House soldiers entered the square at its far end making their slow progress through the thronging crowds. Seeing the smart and well turned out escort Zanwen clenched his jaw in frustration at his own difficulty in obtaining the guards he needed. He had managed to add a few individuals to his guard but had disappointingly been unable to find anywhere near the quantity of men he needed. The markets were a buzz with the increased level of bandit activity in the area. Direct attacks had been made against even the well guarded caravans of the Great Houses, so perhaps it was not surprising sellswords weren’t available for hire in quantity. Only to be expected was the common wisdom in the tea houses, following the increased level of hostile activities between the Great Houses as they played the Great Game for political advantage. When the giants warred between each other it was the little men who get trodden on, went the saying.
Zanwen reluctantly turned to face the man sitting at his table. Chewyi had just introduced himself and offered his band as sellswords in service to Zanwen but Zanwen had taken an instinctive dislike to the man. Chewyi’s insincere flattery was trotted out like an afterthought, while his eyes implied a smug superiority leaving Zanwen feeling like a goose being assessed at the market rather than a prospective customer being wooed for employment. He did not trust this Chewyi further than he could throw him but was already late in setting out for Tanyel city. He would have to start the journey soon or Ronan would have no option but to trade with someone else and start his own return journey so as not to miss the season. Chewyi watched him patiently, fully aware of Zanwen’s dilemma to engage Chewyi who he didn’t entirely trust or make the journey without him knowing his caravan was inadequately guarded.
Zanwen had questioned a few people about Chewyi having heard he was in the area and seeking employment. Though none had said anything explicit they had been guarded in what they had said and anxious to change the subject or instead see to some urgent task. Zanwen had no choice but to take on the man and the realisation made him feel sick with worry. Bracing for the commitment he was about to make he got as far as taking a breath and opening his mouth to make the contract, when someone else joined them at their table uninvited.
Zanwen regarded the newcomer in surprise and interest. The newcomer’s clothes were simple and worn but he exuded a proud confident air, someone obviously used to command. The man reminded Zanwen of a childhood fairy tale of a great lord who dressed in peasants clothes to wander amongst his people without being recognised, to obtain their genuine opinion of him. In the fairy tale the great lord returned to behead anyone who had been ungenerous in their opinions. But in general the peasants recognised him for who he was even if they had never seen him before, not because of the clothes he wore but because of what he was. This man was a wolf in sheep’s clothing if Zanwen had ever seen one and sitting next to Chewyi as he did made Chewyi look even more like the snake Zanwen suspected he was.
The newcomer ignored Chewyi as if he were not even there, looking directly at Zanwen curiously and with an open self-assurance that Zanwen found comforting. “I have been looking for you. I believe we need each other.” The stranger stated confidently.
Zanwen raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “We do? I had not realised I had a need of you, what need do you have of me?”
The newcomer began helping himself to Zanwen’s green tea from the pot on the table without waiting for an invitation. “I bring five hundred guards with me to support your caravan, while your caravan sits paralysed for want of guards.” The stranger’s eyes positively smiled at Zanwen over the cup of tea as he sipped appreciatively. “But that is only the smallest part of it and not for the ears of others.”
Chewyi, who had been all confidence and oily charm so far suddenly showed a more vicious side as he spluttered. “You are too late. Master Zanwen already has a guard and needs no more. Now scuttle back under the rock you dragged yourself from, before I forget I am in a good mood and spill your guts over this table.”
The stranger didn’t turn to look at Chewyi, which only seemed to infuriate him more. Instead maintaining his steady evaluation of Zanwen he continued. “This man has a history of signing on to protect caravans which do not survive their journey, though he apparently does, frequently. It is rumoured half his men join the caravan and half attack it on route, the genuine guards being overwhelmed by attack from within as well as without. Cheap goods flood the markets and Chewyi and his men enjoy a raucous time for a while, before they have to seek a new employer.” The stranger raised an eyebrow of his own as he said casually. “From what I hear of Master Zanwen, he is too astute to be so easily taken in by such murderous foul mouthed scum.”
Chewyi leaped at the seated stranger, his knife out and slashing down before the newcomer had finished speaking. The attack was so quick that Zanwen at least had been totally unprepared for it, especially in such a public place. The stranger merely tossed the remains of his tea in Chewyi’s face as he rose with him, deflecting the knife aside before grasping the outstretched knife hand at the wrist, forcing Chewyi to turn away from him as he did so. Using his other hand the stranger pulled Chewyi off balance before forcing his knife wrist hard against the table’s edge sending the knife skittering free to rest against the tea pot with a muted clang. Almost casually the stranger picked up the knife and pushing Chewyi hard in his back to rest against a post, drove the knife through Chewyi’s hand to pin it firmly to the post high above his head. Chewyi gasped in shock as the blade thudded into the post through his hand. The stranger twisted Chewyi round by his shoulder so they faced each other. “Remove the knife before we finish our business and I will kill you. Open your foul mouth before we finish our business and I will kill you. Give me any cause before I leave, whatsoever, and I will kill you.”
Turning again to Zanwen the newcomer carried on as though nothing untoward had happened. “Shall we resume our conversation, in private now?”
Zanwen released the arms of his chair and let out a breath he had not realised he was holding. “Of course.” He rose and they both sat at the next table, Zanwen signalling for fresh tea while Chewyi gasped in pain his body almost suspended from his pinned hand, desperate to free it but afraid to try. In the meantime Chewyi began attracting quite a crowd of onlookers, none of whom seemed overly anxious to call the city guards to his aid.
The newcomer gave a slight bow as he faced Zanwen across their table, “My name is Zun.”
Zanwen raised an eyebrow in query remembering his previous analogy with regards to this stranger. “Not Lord Zun if you command so many?”
Zun frowned. “I am no-one’s Lord and Zun is enough.”
Zanwen gave a slight bow. “It seems you already know of me.”
Zun gave an appreciative smile. “Master Zanwen, whose champion slew the Guang champion unarmed in front of thousands
and who is since honoured by House Guang. Master Zanwen, the representative of one House buying restricted goods in this province but who represents another when selling the restricted goods in the next. Master Zanwen, well regarded and liked by all those he has traded with but about whom no-one seems to know very much. Yes I know of you and am pleased to have found you in person at last.”
Zanwen sat very still as he watched Zun. What Zun had said was enough to have Zanwen held and investigated with certain death when the truth of it was confirmed. There was, however, no sense of threat or intimidation from Zun as his eyes continued to smile at Zanwen while he allowed him to recover his composure. “It is very interesting you wish to contract with someone of the character you have described, what am I to make of someone who would deal with such an unscrupulous abuser of the imperial trading system?”
Zun waved the question aside. “You will make of it what you will but the facts are what they are and nothing is changed by me knowing. You need guards and I need a sponsor.”
Zanwen relaxed slightly. “And the other things you implied?”
Zun leaned forward, any humour now gone as he focused on something obviously important to him. “I can offer you a trading base from which you can operate without fear of being exposed. Operate from this base and I will provide as many armed escorts as you will ever require, you need never have fear of your goods being seized or your life and those of your people being forfeit while at this base.”
Zanwen blinked in surprise, totally taken aback by the offer and all it implied. “And what would such an offer cost me?”
Zun shrugged. “You will pay for your escort, as you would if they were sellswords but they will be more because they will be of the same community as yourself. You will pay a local tax while you operate from our town but no more than if you were in any other city, the difference will be that in our community you will be an influential leader of it. The invitation is to come and join us as an active and participating citizen, not just to use our town as a warehouse.”