“I’m so sorry, my lord. You and your lady mother must be deeply saddened with grief. I grieve with you also.”
He sighed. “I think that for the first time in my life, my mother feels more than I do.”
Juni frowned at that, and before she could ask why, Kalafar leaned over and started fondling her breasts, kissing her neck. “Kal, we shouldn’t do this.”
“You won’t have me wait any longer, will you?” Kalafar replied between kisses. “If I stop now, my loins are going to ache very much.”
“But we are not properly married. The Faith says that the love between man and woman is to be consummated only after they have been sworn to each other in holy matrimony. Wait a little longer, please. Besides, I’m still recovering from my illness.”
Kalafar nodded, wordless; and once again, he turned on his back – staring at the ceiling. Ah, religion. It’s not enough that you dictate the ties between gods and mortals. You also have to dictate the ties between man and woman. His arousal was plain to see, even underneath the thick blanket; but Juni ignored it.
“What did you mean by… feeling less than your mother?” She asked.
“My brother Arfaij is most likely dead. Yet, I don’t feel any true sorrow. Perchance that’s too strong a word. Mayhaps sadness is a better one, and all the same, I feel no true sadness either. I have only questions.” Kalafar grimaced. “I am the last Sodomis, besides my uncle. I don’t know what to think...”
He turned to look at her. “All I know is this…” Kalafar grabbed Juni’s hand and kissed each of her slender fingers. “What I want,” he whispered. “I want you, Weiyenor, and the Northlands… And fate has granted me all of these things.”
Juni’s brown eyes were warm and searching like nothing else. Her gaze made his blood run hot. If anything happened to her, I would damn my soul forever.
“What about the usurper’s war in the south? Have you heard any news of my father?”
Kalafar shook his head. “I’ve dispatched several scouts to bring me knowledge of the happenings down there. As I’ve told you before, the usurper’s landing was possible only by traitor’s hands in plots. I know the lord of Rivermark, Birus Mandon. He is an honorable man. And I hope that his stream lords are the same. If him and the lord of Rogfort are spared from betrayal… they should be able to defeat Soronius Mero. Though, it will take months of fighting to judge the war’s outcome.”
“Then… when your doubts have been settled,” she said in a wary voice, “you’ll call your banners and ride south?”
Kalafar nodded, and thought a dark thought. He gave voice to it. “What if my scouts bring word that your lord father has chosen to side with the usurper, for whatever reasons? What will you have me do, my lady?”
Juni’s eyes saddened with water. She looked at the fireplace – her hand firmly holding his own. With the other, she wiped away her tears and turned to him. “Your duty, my lord,” she said solemnly, and kissed him. “Your duty and nothing more.”
What duty is that? If only she knew that I mean to join the side most likely to win; be it Rovines or his brother.
The next day, Kalafar awoke at dawn with a sudden urge for a hunt. He took a piss, washed his hands, his face, changed his clothes. And slid into his crimson doublet of boiled leather. He sent word to the stables for his mount to be prepared; and word to the kennel master to prepare the hounds. The fair weather outside agreed with his wish, it was a good day to chase a stag. “After this, I will welcome boredom if it comes again.”
He broke his fast in the solar with lord Alghernon sharing his table – and all the while, Kalafar marveled at the northern blue sky and bright sun in the middle of autumn. Fengard and Wyrm, he reflected with pleasure. The dead under the shadow of Devil Mound took heed of our words and drops of red. And once more heated the frozen heart of this realm. While that notion sounded most poetic, his lord uncle was of the opinion that the Northlands were as green as they were ever going to get.
“A warm autumn heralds a harsh winter,” he said between bites. “And our granaries are nowhere near stacked with enough grain. With this damned usurper, who has put all the lords to march for war – it will only serve to drive up prices and create shortages. Soldiers don’t make food; yet they exhaust it with much haste.”
“Have faith, uncle. It just might be that this time the Three will grant us a mild winter, instead of a harsh one.”
“Mayhaps,” the lord steward grumbled. “But I don’t put much trust in the preternatural.” He said the word with disdain almost. “Star gods, sun gods, moons gods, wind gods, sea gods, rain gods, earth gods, river gods, ancestor spirits, prayers, blessings, curses, temples… It’s all pointless drivel, if you ask me.”
Nobody did, he wanted to say, even though he agreed in part. If the gods were truly so great as religion painted them to be, Kalafar wondered what interest such beings would have in the lives of mortal men? Do we humans look where we step? Do we care if we step on insects and crush them beneath our boots? Can we hear the words they use? Do insects pray? I think no. Huh, no wonder fate is cruel. “Dear uncle, will you join me afterwards? I have a mind to go on a small hunt in the nearby woods. Arrows and spears, hounds, wine, and words might improve our disposition after – ”
“After hearing that those bloody greenhorn sods, as well as Brax’s incompetent men failed to find your brother...” His lord uncle cut him off in a sharp tone. “I thought it would take more than a fair sky and a southern wench to make you forget your own blood so quickly.” Alghernon Sodomis rose from the table and gave a faint bow. “My... lord,” he said with contempt; then left to his business.
One of the grooms approached. “The kennel master is awaiting in the yard, sire.”
The ram considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “Tell the man I’ve changed my mind. And as not to seem rude, invite him in my solar. Tell him I’m in the mood for a good game of tabinet; wine and food included...”
Chapter XXIII: Sycarus
“Aye. We’re here, lad,” Alfidius the merchant said in a cheerful tone. “The western gate of Sand’s Port… Be sure to ask around the docks to see who goes where and when. I myself would take you gladly aboard my cog and give you a ride to the capital’s harbor. But I don’t stop there until I’ve finished my route – Zjialaa, Harpool, and Hallifex. Besides, I’ve come to know that a great conflict has broken out in your empire lands. The news I’ve heard spoke of another civil war – a war for the crown and throne. So you might want to delay your visit to the Old World, good lad, until you hear news of peace.”
After what he had experienced in these foreign lands, Sycarus was bold enough to return to the Old World all the same – war or no war. The caravan stopped before the city’s gates. They were large and black, quite fear-inspiring. He did not recall them being thus. Though to be fair, I only saw them from the inside. Upon the start of his journey, Sycarus had not turned back to look at the city for it was considered bad luck to do so. And with the great waste behind him now, Sycarus honored that superstition once more.
The door’s hatch opened, and the gatekeeper pierced through it, eyes squinting. “State your name, purpose, and guild, if you’re a member of one.”
“Alfidius Petronov, of the Free Merchants Association. I left with my caravan to trade with the desert tribes. Now, I have returned. And I’m looking forward to leaving part of my profits into the city’s coffers. You’ll find that my membership fee is paid.”
The gatekeeper removed his head from the hatch, and reappeared after a long moment. “Right, then. You’re free to enter the city. May the gods bring you fortune. Boys!” He closed the hatch, as he shouted to his men to open the gates.
Sycarus was wary. He had thought about it long and hard. There wasn’t much to do while traversing the great sand wastes, besides worrying about those wyvern fiends from his nightmares. And worrying about those bastards, so-called guides, who had left him in blood to die alone. Sycarus did not wish to be recognized, so he
wore a black hood and walked with his head lowered. He talked only when necessary, and he talked in a faint voice as well.
Alfidius was a tradesman, a lowlander from Hallifex. He gave the appearance of a calm old man. In spite of this, Sycarus did not trust him. He couldn’t trust anyone in Sand’s Port, not after what Manyo and Jodser proved themselves to be. Honest tradesmen by day and cutthroats by night. He would take no other chances. He would remain prudent.
Sycarus suspected Omir and Tread. It had been Tread who suddenly and conveniently developed a case of loose bowels, while the fat turban – the one who ought to know the city, everything and everyone in it – had approved of the two murderous guides. And both Tread and Omir had been aware of the chest’s content, of the emperor’s gold. Mayhaps not both of them betrayed me, but at least one of them did. I’m certain of it.
In the next moment, the great city gates swung open and the caravan proceeded inward. It was like entering a black maw – a maw with a very animated neck. Alfidius tossed a copper to the gatekeeper, and the man caught it in the air. “Next time you’ll remember me and you won’t keep me waiting for so long.” The gatekeeper grinned. And then they found themselves part of the busy cityfolk. The caravan stopped, and the lowlander merchant turned to him. “We’ve reached our destination, good lad. Now we part ways. Here, take this bag. There’s a skin of water in it and a half loaf of bread. I wish you safety and wellness, truly.”
Sycarus accepted the bag, and offered his most sincere thanks to Alfidius. With that said, they split up, and he was left alone amongst people of all colours, clothes, trades, and duties. Sycarus made sure his hood was low enough, and he walked – every step a thought. War or no war, how would he return to the capital? What would he tell the emperor? How would he explain the lost gold? After walking for several moments, trying to come up with answers for such questions, he found that he had no sense of direction and purpose. Also, his thighs were quite numb. Camel saddle be damned.
He looked for a less busy street corner, found one and sat down. He reached in his bag and pulled out the skin. The air was hot, not like the desert among the dunes, but hot enough that he needed a sip of water. Mayhaps even a bread bite or two. While chewing, Sycarus weighed all the possibilities and made his plan. Regardless of who the betrayer was, he would act like he did not know, like he did not suspect anyone. He would act perfectly content with the whole thing. He would not express any feelings of anger or frustration about his failed journey, about his failed purpose, about his stolen gold, not even about his near death experience. He would go to Omir’s house and ask him for a place on the first ship that would sail for the Empire of the Sunborn. The fat turban will grant me that much at least, without any delay or questions asked.
While convincing himself of the soundness of this new course of action, the piece of bread from his left hand had disappeared. Next thing he knew, the bag was gone as well. Two thieving jitters – children, a boy and a girl dressed in rags, had stolen them. They spared him at least the water skin. It seems that bread is more prized than water, even here in Sand’s Port. Sycarus didn’t feel like chasing after them, nor cursing, nor yelling out for the guards. What point is there? They’re just children. And they didn’t take any riches away from me. I have no riches. I’m even poorer than they are. Instead, he decided that this was a sign, a sign from the gods who had spared his life – a sign that favored the plan he had conjured up. He would follow it. Sycarus rose to his feet, and made for Omir’s house.
Once he got to the fat turban’s manor, he waited. No doubt, I’ll surprise him, he said to himself. Omir would rather expect me as a corpse or ghost, not alive and in one piece. And soon enough, I’ll be back home in Smalltown; after the emperor pardons me, that is… Old man Abelbrooke would surely defend his cause. It was not his fault that he was looted from and left for a corpse. If there would be need for more weight behind that claim, Alder Abelbrooke could always ask his liege lord, Birus Mandon, for support. After all, the lord of Rivermark enjoyed fair bonds with emperor Hagyai Rovines. Regardless, better not dwell on it now. There’s plenty a thought for it after I reach the Old World’s shores.
“By the gods, you’re alive,” the fat turban said with astonishment, when he finally returned home. “Haha, you’re alive!” He gave him a strong hug and squeezed him by the arms and shoulders, as if to make sure that he was real. “I thought you dead, my friend. Those bandits claimed they left you for dead.”
“What? You know of this? Of them? How?”
“My guards brought word to me that some men made a ruckus at the docks, on account of some commercial dispute. So I went there to see what the business was all about, and saw them. Strangely enough, they shied away from me – for good reason. After a moment or two, I told them to pull back their hoods and reveal their heads. When they refused, I knew something was wrong. Therefore, I instructed my guards to arrest them. When I uncovered their faces, there they were – the two guides you took in your employ. At first, I was eager to know what happened to you. Why they were back so soon and you weren’t? I questioned them separately to see if their words would match. They didn’t...”
Omir shook his head and shrugged. “It just so happened that earlier that day, your dwarfish companion decided to leave my manor. Once I discovered the two traitors and learned everything from their confession, I had my people search streets and docks for the devilish imp. But he was nowhere to be found; he must have left the city on one of the merchant ships. As for Jodser and Manyo, I had them slain in prison. After the torture they received, one might claim I did them a kindness. But there is something else you should know, friend.”
Sycarus swallowed loudly before he spoke. “I’ve heard the news about the war. I’ve heard of a usurper wanting the Imperial Crown.”
The fat turban grimaced. “While you were away, my friend, Hagyai Rovines announced the betrothal between his son and an Aharo girl, and threw a great feast to honor that occasion. Then the emperor’s exiled brother landed on imperial soil with a large army of mercenaries, bought with the coin of the harpoolian slaver houses. Many high lords turned their cloaks and joined the usurper’s side.”
“You knew I was entrusted to bring the Aharo girl for the prince, Omir. You must have realized the falsehood in that news. Didn’t you send word to the capital about that treasonous farce?”
“I dared not spread such rumors, false or no. My trade is not that of whisperer of tales, nor that of an emissary. The function of my office is to keep trade flowing, the goods and coin. I point no fingers; and in return no fingers are pointed at me – ”
“But – ”
“But nothing!” Omir frowned, and his voice was harsh. “Whoever claims the Sun Throne is no concern of mine. And it’s no concern of yours either. It’s just another civil war, my friend. ’Tis a fashion in the Empire nowadays, it seems. So stop troubling yourself about promises of gold and savage maidens. As far as the world is concerned, you’ve done your duty; and mayhaps the rule of Hagyai Rovines will be far shorter than what anyone predicted – save for those who organized the plot against him, of course.”
Sycarus nodded faintly and bit his lip. The fat turban had the right of it. In the wake of such terrible events, his part in the grand scheme of the gods seemed to have reached its end. His nightmares had stopped. And the knowledge he had learned from the wise woman – through her shamanic powers – had appeased his anxious thoughts. Now, he was relieved of what he feared the most. The fat turban wasn’t the betrayer. Sycarus wasn’t particularly skilled at reading faces or judging how words sounded; but he felt that Omir was honest in his reactions and honest about his tale.
“My friend, you’d do me a great kindness if you would allow me a bath.”
“There can be no debate about it. I imagine that after such adventures and long journey, the sands have managed to sneak into your most private parts, no?” Omir chuckled, then instructed his servants to prepare him the bath. “I wish not to incur the wrath
of the Twin Moons by leaving your stomach to growl. We will eat soon enough.”
After the bath, Sycarus was ready for meal and drink. Omir offered him a lavish plate and a fine vintage of dry white – sausages with fennel, roasted hen, pickled cabbage, apple tarts, brown bread, and table grapes. That meal was the best he had. And Sycarus enjoyed it as if it was the last meal of the rest of his life.
When they finished eating, Sycarus told the fat turban all about his adventures in the Desertlands and of the Aharo folk. He told him about their crops, their clothes, their brazen megaliths which resembled those of the Empire, and about the wyvern skulls. He told him of his talk with the chieftain, Umar son of Zahui. He described the chief’s long white hair, his stern features, his scars, his rough voice, and most of all – Sycarus told him of the chieftain’s armor of bleached warped bone.
But he didn’t tell Omir about Shali. Neither of the wise woman and her magical crystal eyes, nor of his nightmares, and what he had learned from them. That dreams were not to be trusted. That they were glimpses of fleeting wishes, passing breaths of remorse, reflections of unbegotten deeds... And once more under solid stone and roof, with wine and food in his belly, Sycarus willed against the preternatural. Omir and him stood talking into the long hours of the night, until finally retiring.
He went up the stairs and to his chambers – the ones he had previously shared with Tread, his betrayer. May the gods curse his fortune and his soul. When Sycarus opened the door, he saw the small servant girl feeding the fire with another hand of wood.
“My lord,” the girl greeted him.
At first, he replied with no more than a silent nod. But after seating himself on the bed, Sycarus looked at her with different eyes. “Sweet girl, come here,” he whispered, after she finished feeding the fire.
An Empire Of Traitors (Of Hate And Laughter Book 1) Page 27