by Martin Kee
“What did you want to see me about?”
“I’m sure you’ve overheard some of the political mumblings in the palace since you’ve been allowed to stay and advise. I’m moved to say that we’ll miss your wisdom around here.”
“I never intended to spend so much time indoors,” the poacher says.
“Yes, yes. That’s why my proposal may come as something of interest. It involves the retrieval of a certain animal. One you have experience with.”
“We had this discussion once before if I remember. I lost good men to that. And with the backing of the Tenders’ Guild…” He falls silent at Milm’s knowing expression. “What is it?”
“The Matron of the Tenders no longer poses an obstacle to our war.”
Ak’klin frowns. “Even poachers won’t dare to raid the temple.”
“Poachers weren’t necessary. It seems everyone has their price, including the Matron. Desperation makes for unique business opportunities.”
“I feel that I should be angry that the Matron has beaten me at my own business, though it is an unfair advantage. If I had stores of livestock, I’d be a rich man.”
Milm smiles. “The Tenders, what few of them are left, see the coming war. They understand that sacrifices must be made to ensure our survival.”
“Sacrifice for a profit is hardly a sacrifice,” Ak’klin says.
“Sacrifice nonetheless. She has been compensated for helping the kingdom and the Ameer has seen she is taken care of.” Milm points out a nearby window. “You see that house, up there on the hill? She lives there now. We’ve promised that once this war has ended and once we have secured the kingdom’s safety, she will be given a full restock of all animals available, more than before.”
“Council,” Ak’klin says, raising a hand. “I mean no disrespect to you or the Ameer, but there is no reason to lie to me. I have been in this business too long to believe a politician’s promise. The Matron Tender may very well be old, may very well be ready to retire. Perhaps you simply nudged her that direction. Or perhaps you simply slaughtered her along with her wards and cattle. Either way, I itch to be outdoors again, doing what I know how to do. You waste both our time by pretending to be some benevolent patron.”
Milm nods and leads him down a hallway. Great, thunderous sounds resonate through the corridor. The sounds grow louder as they approach the end, until Ak’klin can feel the floor shake with every thump and shudder. A bellow vibrates the doorframes, muted behind great slabs of iron and stone. Ak’klin knows the sounds almost as well as he knows the smell. His augmented olfactory glands, grafted from apex predators, form images in his mind.
“I assume I don’t need to show you what’s behind this door,” Milm says with a smile. “You’ve encountered these in the past.”
Ak’klin does his best not to show fear at the sounds and smells that make his bladder feel weak, his legs want to run. All the animals that live within him seek to flee from that noise, the horrible smell that is the source of so many terrible memories.
“And you think these doors will hold it?” Ak’klin asks. “I have seen these in the wild. They are far more cunning and far more dangerous than you realize. Just because you have one in chains does not mean it cannot escape. I have witnessed what they are capable of.”
“I assure you, Poacher, these animals are well subdued. Our Patchers have studied them for a time now, ever since their emergence here. We are fairly certain of what we can control.”
The low, moaning voice permeates through the dungeon, up the stairs and into the hallway. Ak’klin presses a hand to the door, feeling the vibration.
“Is this why you’ve brought me here? To show me how I’ve failed the Ameer?”
“Not at all,” Milm says. “The one we keep behind these doors was happened upon by accident. We feel they may be more valuable alive now that circumstances with the war have changed.”
“How so?”
Milm lowers his voice. “I suggest you head out to the courtyard. Get some rest. I must go and prepare the Ameer for his speech.”
Rest is the last thing on Ak’klin’s mind. The poacher watches the tiny man walk out through the stone columns, leaving him to listen to the slow, slobbering pant of the beast in chains beyond the door. It groans again and he feels the voice through the stone floor. Chains rattle in darkness.
Did the advisor honestly expect Ak’klin not to steal a glance at the captive? Ak’klin chuckles to himself. Of course they expect him to look. That’s the whole point. Milm simply didn’t want to be here when he did.
Pressing his face up to a small opening in the door, Ak’klin peers through. At first there is only darkness. Then the darkness seems to slide, sand-colored flesh shifts, filling the world. It bellows again, and Ak’klin jumps back, embarrassed by his own surprise. He still remembers what happened to his troop, how one of these beasts managed to kill so many. Not just the beast. That Tender had to intervene as well.
After the beast moves beyond the scope of his view, Ak’klin sets out to hear the Ameer’s speech.
From the back of the crowded city outdoor court, the Ameer seems tiny, just an insect atop a magnificent tower. Guards flank him, their bodies exploding with bone blades and piercing horns. They stand attentive as the Ameer prattles on and on, his high voice carrying over the stonework and echoing from the walls of distant buildings.
He speaks, of course, of war. Of the sacrifices that need to be made, how every resource must be used and how nothing must be squandered. He speaks of the attrition that is life, the zero-sum game that all creatures must live in. He also speaks, to Ak’klin’s surprise, of the coming Slumber.
It’s uncommon for kings and leaders not of the religious sects to speak of things so nebulous and prophetical, and Ak’klin feel an uneasy tension in his gut upon hearing the words.
“…for it is said that the world will end, and it is he who holds the last seed of the last fruit of the last tree, who will set the path for the New World once the Slumber has ceased. For we do not know when or how, for these things are forever forgotten. All we know for certain is that for a legacy to be secured, our enemies must not prevail.”
Scripture. Such an odd selection of words, and if the poacher didn’t know better, he’d say that the Ameer looked directly at him this time as the speech came to a close. Surely just my imagination. Too many days in these walls, making me paranoid.
Ak’klin waits under the shade of an archway for the crowd to disperse. People of all shapes, cultures, and constructs move past him, some giving pause as they notice the odd-shaped teeth and bones hanging from his neck and arms. Most regard him with curiosity. Only a select few recognize what beast his decorations come from.
As he turns to leave, he catches sight of a courier trotting in his direction, pushing between the flow of bodies. The courier stops, bows, extends a small, thin, grasping hand. A note in a plain envelope. No address. Ak’klin stares at it a moment.
“What is this?” he asks the courier.
Without meeting his gaze, the courier says, “A summons from the Ameer.”
Ak’klin regards the piece of parchment. Only now does the Ameer wish to see him, not months ago, not since his failure to bring the beast back from the Tenders. And now I am summoned, like some pack animal to be put to work.
When he had his own hunting troop, Ak’klin told them whom he wished to see, gave the orders, chose his time to speak and listen.
The courier gives the note another shake before Ak’klin snatches it from the courier’s chitinous hand. Ak’klin tucks it away and heads towards the palace where men in fancy robes cast wary looks at him.
I should leave. I do not belong here. This is a place for politicians and merchants, not hunters.
He flashes the note at the guards. Seeing them from a distance, they are impressive enough. Up this close they loom over him like bladed columns as they part, letting him through the door.
The foyer is empty. He clears his throat.
“This way,” says a voice. It could very well be the Ameer, spoken in a lower tone now that they are inside. The voice is familiar, but with no identifying call, it’s hard to know for sure.
A pair of ancient bark and stone doors block his way, and Ak’klin pauses a moment before knocking.
“Yes. Enter.” The voice is distant, from another room.
The royal chamber is as he remembers it from the last time he set foot here, back when he was fueled on ambition and greed. Now he is alone, practically a beggar. So why does the Ameer need to see him at all?
The Ameer floats before him, his feet several hand-widths above the floor. Ak’klin startles and jumps back, a low curse uttered from his mouth.
“Ah, I’ll be just a moment,” says the distant voice from the back room.
It takes him a long moment to realize the voice didn’t come from the floating Ameer. Ak’klin steps forward, inspecting the costume.
The Ameer dangles from the wall, a suit of perfectly preserved flesh and carapace, his black eyes staring straight ahead. The body hangs, empty, all the cartilage and bone removed, the skull formed into some sort of head gear. Mouth agape. Eyes open and glazed, preserved with lacquer. Limbs like empty sleeves. The work is exceptional, certainly better than Ak’klin or his men could have done—of course, Ak’klin was always in the provision business, not so much the preservation.
“It’s an impressive piece of work, is it not?” Milm says from the far end of the chamber. He steps out, cleaning glues and adhesive strips from his head and arms. “I admit, I feel almost undeserving of such a responsibility.”
The small man stands naked at the doorway, his body riding high on double joints that would normally be hidden under his robes. He smiles as he pulls a thin undergarment over his head, lowering his body to normal height.
“I’m sure you have questions.”
“So you are the Ameer,” Ak’klin says, nodding. “Why such a secret coup?”
“Believe it or not, it was at the Ameer’s—the former Ameer’s—request.”
“Explain.”
Milm sits on the edge of a bench, picking at something in his toes. It’s a casual posture. Avoiding eye contact, pretending to be submissive. He’s gotten through his whole life making people underestimate him.
“Am-Haab’tal, the Ameer as you knew him, was my friend. I served him devotedly for many years, and during that time, I knew my place well. The Ameer understood this. We worked well together, longer than any actual breeding pair.” He looks at the poacher, offering a small smile. “I suppose you could say it was a marriage of sorts, though not the traditional kind. Neither of us bothered grafting reproductive genitalia.”
Ak’klin is unable to hide his shock. “Never?”
The small man shrugs. “We had been so busy, and the Ameer’s death was so sudden.”
“So the Ameer had no heir.”
“I was to be his heir, but as you can imagine that wouldn’t go over too well with the barons.” Milm looks up at the skin suit with affection. “It was his idea, not mine, understand. It’s been a hundred days now and not once do I fail to miss his presence.”
“So until you find an heir, the Ameer lives.”
Milm stands, walks over to him, a hand on his shoulder. At first Ak’klin takes a step back, but then remembers who he is talking to. “What do you want with me?”
“The monster who destroyed your troop. It roams free,” Milm says. “It has killed the child of a local merchant, where you fought it last.”
“Murdered?” Ak’klin blinks. “They told me it was docile. A pet.”
“A dangerous pet. The mother of the child is the matriarch Pel’ch Me-Gashaar of the regional mercantile guild. The Lady of Meat and Bone, she is called by many. She offers a reward for the monster’s retrieval. Intact, not necessarily alive.”
Ak’klin looks at the walls lined with the parts of other animals, at the fine bedding, the hanging Ameer costume. “And the Tender in the town, is she aware of this?”
“She has also fled the village. We consider this evidence of her guilt and deception. She is an accomplice.The child was badly burned.”
Ak’klin cringes at the thought. So much waste. So much that could have been salvaged. And a child? So young.
“The giant flees, then the girl’s body shows up in her mother’s arms. The town reacted as you well might imagine—riots, threats. They are a simple people, and their emotions run hot when one of their own is attacked. The Tender fled shortly after the body was recovered, taking the town’s Preserver with her. Whether they fled out of guilt, for their own safety, or simply to recover the beast is unclear.”
“And you want me to track it?” Ak’klin asks. He already knows this is the case, but he needs to hear it.
“I want you to track her,” Milm says.
“Pardon?”
“The Tender’s guild is still valuable. A direct descendant of both the Ameer and the Tender’s guild would help us to secure further assets, resources by which we could push our advance against the Deep King.”
“What of the Matron? You showed me her house. Why not ask her?”
Milm shifts his weight. “The Matron is past her breeding age, and has taken on many new augmentations. It’s fair to say that there is no clear lineage with her, regardless of what her followers may still think—what’s left of them.”
“And why not simply take the resources yourself?”
Milm walks to the window. “Look at this city, poacher and tell me you do not think it deserves to have its legacy reborn with the world.”
Ak’klin makes the connection with the speech. “I never thought you the religious type. The speech was eye-opening.”
“And every word of it true,” Milm says. “Simply look at the world around us. Look at the Horns of the World, how they sprout like tumors, new ones every day. People have broken them off, burned them, tried to tear them down. The only people who seem unworried are the Tenders and their priests. Even those factions have their doubters, but it is undeniable we are approaching the Slumber.”
“And you believe that this Tender is key to preserving our way of life.”
“Certainly you don’t believe the Deep King is a future for this world. You would return from your ground journey to be captured and enslaved by him?” Milm barks a laugh. “The Deep King thinks only of control, of ensuring that he remains after the Slumber. If he destroys all that we have built, we may as well burn ourselves.”
“Is there time?” Ak’klin asks. “With the end approaching as fast as you say it is, is it really worth the time to track down this Tender and convince her as a prisoner to form a union with you?”
“Nobody said she had to be willing,” Milm says. “You are quite right. There is little time, which is why if she refuses, we will simply harvest the parts that matter to the kingdom.”
Chapter 31
“SO WE’RE lost?” Bex says. They’ve been sitting on the ridge for hours now, watching Veerh stare at the horizon.
“I didn’t say that,” he says, closing his eyes again. “I just… look. It’s him. He’s lost.”
“Who? Scoop?” She laughs. “I thought you said he was going to some—some sort of building.”
“He was.” Veerh turns in a slow circle in the canyon, disoriented. “I don’t know how else to explain. When I sleep, I see him sometimes, I see through his eyes. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes it’s murky. Sometimes you talk too much and it distracts me.”
Bex takes a breath. A muzzle presses into her back. “See, even Bindo knows we’re lost.”
“We’re not. Just give me time. They have to sleep. Then perhaps I’ll see better.”
Since leaving the guild hall, or what was left of it, Bex hasn’t been able to sit still. Despite the evidence, despite everything Veerh tells her, she can’t bring herself to accept that the Matron would have done something like this. Nothing left. Not a scrap of fur or skin or bone. She wants to blame someone, wants
to point a finger at a specific individual and say “Them! That’s the one who did all this!” It was so much easier with the poachers, with the clear path ahead of her. So much clearer before she crushed that stupid egg.
But then, a colder thought seeps into Bex’s mind. What if she hadn’t broken the egg? What if she instead, carried the Ward to hatching? Would it have been sold off just like everything else to the Ameer and his city? Would she? Would Bindo?
She strokes Bindo’s muzzle, thinking with a sick realization just how different things might have been. She’d never have found Scoop, never have met Veerh, never have learned firsthand the betrayal by the Tender’s Guild, turning its entire purpose and creed into a quick sale to the ruler of a distant city.
“I think if I just close my eyes a little, I can probably get a feel for where he is again,” Veerh says.
“Don’t bother.”
He blinks, eyes wide as he looks at her. “Must have misunderstood.”
“I said, don’t.” She takes a breath. “Maybe he’s better off. Maybe he’s simply found more of his kind to be with. He certainly wouldn’t be better off with me.”
The Preserver studies her a moment. He doesn’t say anything, but she can feel the questions bubbling up under that thick skull of his.
“What if we do find him?” she asks. “What do we do with him?”
“We take care of him. That’s what you do. That’s your duty as a Tender.”
She spits on the ground. “Don’t go telling me about my duty. Was the Matron doing her duty? Was she looking out for the guild?”
“Look,” Veerh says. “Maybe I read the signs wrong. I spoke without thinking when I made that conclusion.”
Bex shakes her head. “No. You were right. The Tenders did exactly what you said. Maybe not all of them, but enough of them that it mattered. What’s the point anymore? So what if we find Scoop? We can’t bring him to the town again. Not with things the way they are. They’ll just find some other excuse to kill him. Do we take him to the Matron? Never. She’d sell him to the highest bidder, like you said.”