Nothing about his childhood home had changed. Sure, there were more pillows, thicker rugs, new fabrics draping the walls. Even a couple of new wooden chests. But the feel of home was the same. Everything was the way it should be. Except for his mother.
She sank onto a pillow and gulped.
Blast. It must be bad news. Who’d died since he left? Several uncles were missing, but it was normal for men to wander this time of year.
He eased down to a pillow beside her. “What is it, Mama?”
“I need to tell you before Agrevod breaks his sworn word and announces my shame in front of the Tribe.” She closed her eyes and turned her face away.
His heart stuttered. Shame? Mama? Never. But the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.
She swallowed again. “Agrevod adopted you after his eldest son died. When his second and third sons died, leaving only you and Aramiel as his heirs, he grew bitter. Aramiel was never Agrevod’s idea of a good warrior.”
What could he say to that? “How appalling.”
She glanced at him.
“I agree with Agrevod about something.”
She snorted.
“Darienel?”
“Not Agrevod’s child. Nor are your sisters. I chose other warriors to father them.”
Which was normal. And certainly not shameful. Setoyans were more sensible about sex than the Zedisti. “So what’s the problem?”
“You’re not a full-blood. Your father was a slave named Xavien.”
The floor plummeted. The air in his lungs froze solid.
He was a slave? A half-blood?
His mother squirmed. “I meant to tell you the evening of your Knife Ceremony. Not before, I couldn’t risk destroying your confidence. But there was no afterward.”
Because Agrevod had dragged him away. Had kicked and mocked him. Stole his name and labeled him Outcast.
The carrion crow wasn’t his father. He’d had no right to do any of it. Not even to the tribe-born son of a slave.
He reached out and tapped his mother’s elbow. “I set him free.”
She jerked her head back. “What?”
“I set Xavien free. Snuck him into a caravan and paid them to take him somewhere safe.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “Thank you. Thunderer bless you. I thought Agrevod snatched him and fed him to the bahtdor.”
Had she really loved the man? Loved a slave? The thought boggled him.
He’d liked Xavien. The slave was a good teacher, patient yet challenging. He’d come to love learning because of him.
But his father? A slave?
Mama wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “He was tall for an Outlander, and fine-boned, and as blond as the girl outside. I guessed he had blood from some Tribe in him, and maybe some Meladi, too, but he said he came from Zedista. He said he was a sorcerer who wanted to walk the Wizard’s Route someday, as crazy as it sounds. But he was as innocent as your Zharyl. I did everything I could to protect him.”
She sniffled again. “He was intensely proud of you.”
His real father was proud of him. Viper tried to straighten his back, but he felt permanently hunched.
His real father was a slave.
It was a bone-deep relief that Agrevod was no close kin of his, but a slave? A humble, smile-at-the-mistress, teaching slave?
Blast. Of course he smiled at his owner. He was sleeping with her.
What would Trevor think of him? Forget about it. Trevor wouldn’t have cared; he’d simply look puzzled that anyone would fret over the relationship.
Tsai’dona would look at him in pity. And understanding. And gratitude, since he and Lorel had freed her from slavery.
What would Lorel think? His proud, unconquerable, unstoppable turybird of a Gyrfalcon. Would she look down on him? Would she hate him for being the son of a slave instead of the son of a warrior?
But he knew exactly what she’d say. She’d ask if he’d fallen off the Shuttle to even worry about such nonsense.
Except she wouldn’t say ‘nonsense.’ She’d say ‘crap.’
Did it really matter who his father was?
Yes. Praise the Thunderer, his sire wasn’t Agrevod.
∞∞∞
The wretched serdil cub raced around the camp, making a nuisance of itself. But dozens of laughing children scampered after it, and most of the adults were smiling.
The wagon was packed, the team was harnessed, and the horses were saddled. Viper wasn’t sure if he was glad to leave the tribe, or if he’d shame himself and cry.
Praise the Thunderer, Agrevod and his cronies didn’t bother to show up. Who wanted to say goodbye to him, anyway?
Aramiel stood beside the wagon and sulked, but he wore the broadsword strapped to his back. “I won’t ride inside that cage,” he announced to the tribe at large.
Everyone ignored him.
If he wouldn’t ride inside, he was welcome to walk. There wasn’t a chance he’d sit on the driver’s bench. Viper couldn’t stand being so close to him, not for five minutes, much less for the days needed to reach a city.
And all it would take to clear the sandcrab off was to invite Zharyl to start talking.
Somehow Lorel had managed to sell three dozen serdil pelts to people who never would never see snow. Praise the Thunderer. Her blasted furs took up way too much room.
Unfortunately, she’d nailed the abuelo snake’s headless skin on top of the wagon where the bahtdor hide used to be. The enormous, no-longer-stinky but perfectly-intact hide filled up the entire bottom trunk and spilled over the edges. Was she planning to make a tent out of the sandblasted thing?
All the bolts of fabric were traded away, as were the longest swords. He now owned a pile of gold, two bahtdor-bone spears with their hafts broken to a length a tall Zedisti could wield them (but with no explanation of how they’d managed to fracture the bone; he’d bet it was a good story, probably involving a wager), fifteen ancient bahtdor-bone knifes, and a big bucket of carved-bone buttons left over from Sahilaad’s former apprentices. He could only hope he’d find a market for the silly buttons.
Darienel stepped around Zharyl’s admirers and gave him a quick, hard hug around the shoulders.
His spine popped. The pain focused him. He freed his arm from the sling, grabbed his brother’s hands, and squeezed. “I wish you were going with me.”
“I would if honor allowed.” Darienel huffed, but his lips quirked upward. “Just to protect you from all those women.”
As if a twelve-year-old understood the problems of living with females who weren’t his sisters. Viper groaned in mock agony. “I’m going to need that protection. I can tell already.”
Darienel laughed. “Thunder travel with you, brother. Don’t let Aramiel bully you.”
If the sandcrab decided to join them. Unfortunately, he would. According to Tsai’dona, the carrion crow wouldn’t give up the broadsword now that he’d carried it a few days.
“If he tries anything, I’ll set my guards on him.” Viper waved his hand at Lorel and Tsai’dona.
Darienel laughed again. “He hasn’t got a chance, magic sword or not.” He touched Viper’s shoulder once again and walked away.
Carreida brushed an unnoticed tear from his nose. “I hope you plan to travel this way often. At least, don’t stay away so long.”
“I’ve faced all my demons, and conquered them all,” he whispered. Not entirely true, but close enough to reassure her. “There’s only one more task before we can finish the quest. After that, I’ll be free to travel as I please. I’ll be back eventually. May thunder travel with you, Mama. Lady Wind Dancer protect you.”
“Thunderer protect you, darling.” Carreida started to walk away, but she hesitated and turned back. “What is this thing you must do?”
“I’ve got to talk a wizard into helping us.”
“Thunderer, no!”
He tried to hug the stricken look from his mother’s face.
Chapter 24.
His turybird
pointed ahead and screamed a battle song she’d picked up from Drenfeg’s youngest son ten days ago.
Had it only been ten days? It felt like ten lunars. He really should have talked Darienel into coming along, just to keep him company amidst all these females. Aramiel still wasn’t speaking to him, and the sandcrab had never been good company, not even when he’d believed they were brothers.
Viper handed the reins to Bess and stood up on the driver’s platform, but he still couldn’t see anything. Wary of the sandblasted spines, he clambered up the wagon’s front and balanced on its curved, starfish-covered roof. Except for the overgrown trader’s road and miles of prairie, the only thing he could see was a big rock.
Not far behind them, Aramiel strolled in the wagon’s crushed-grass track. Too bad they hadn’t lost him. No, it was a good thing the turtle turd was still there. Going back to rescue the broadsword would have been annoying.
He was amazed Aramiel continued to follow them. Since the sand lizard still refused to ride in the wagon (which wasn’t surprising; no sane Setoyan would sit inside a box, especially not with Zharyl nattering on in his ear), and they didn’t have a spare horse the size of a dragon (which he would’ve refused to ride; Setoyans considered horses bahtdor-food-on-the-hoof), his crabby brother was forced to walk.
Had Kyri put a spell on the magical weapons that forced their bearers to join the quest? He hoped not. It smacked of mindbending. Could the serpent even do such magic? He shook the thought out of his head and examined his surroundings again.
Grass, road, rock. Everything looked normal. He glared down at the turybird. “What are you screeching about?”
“Veriz!” Lorel reined in her prancing gelding and whooped. “We’re finally out of this Loom-forgotten desert. That’s Veriz!”
She’d dropped her butchered Setoyan so quickly? Well, everyone here spoke enough Zedisti to communicate. He snorted at himself. As bad as their Setoyan was, even fractured Zedisti was a relief. Aramiel spoke enough Zedisti to make himself understood.
Zharyl crawled under the wagon door and nudged Bess to one side. She spread her skirts and seated herself.
Bess didn’t even sigh.
“It’s not desert. It’s savannah.” Why did he bother to correct her? They’d had this conversation so many times, it wasn’t worth trying to teach her anymore. He eased over the side of the roof (the blasted starfish spines regrew every time it rained, no matter how many he scraped off), slid to the driver’s platform, sat down on Zharyl’s skirt, and took the reins back from Bess. “What makes you think Veriz is near that rock? The whole coast is dotted with boulders.”
Zharyl huffed and tugged her skirt out from under his rear end.
“It don’t matter, kid. We’re near the coast. That’s plenty good for me.”
“I wager that rock isn’t part of the Veriz city wall,” Tsai’dona shouted.
“You’re on.” Lorel laughed and tossed back her braids. “A pitcher of ale in every tavern in town.” She kicked her horse into a gallop, heading toward the boulder.
Not a profitable wager, since Tsai’dona rarely drank, but her mare followed the gelding eagerly.
“Where is she going to get that kind of money?” Zharyl finger-combed her sleep-tangled hair and started to braid the thick blonde mass.
Bess rubbed her belly. “How are they going to drink that much beer?”
He snortled and jiggled the reins. His turybird would certainly try. “She’ll get the coin from me, I’m sure.” He sighed theatrically. “But she hardly ever asks, and I always forget to pay her.” Of course, the girl had opals from trading away her serdil pelts, but they wouldn’t translate into beer money until he sold the gems and recompensed her.
Zharyl tossed her head. Her half-formed braid unraveled. “Why should you pay her?” She gathered her hair and started plaiting it again.
“She’s my caravan guard, my bodyguard, a hunter, and whatever else she decides to do.” His turybird might be irritating, but she certainly worked hard. “She’s entitled to spending money. As are both of you.”
Bess’s jaw dropped. “Me? What for?”
“At the very least for cooking!” He had to laugh at the expression on the old woman’s face. “You’re a better chef than the rest of us put together.” By a considerable margin. The second best cook was himself, and after a year and a half of feeding two faultfinding girls, he was tired of the chore.
“How about me?” Zharyl demanded.
He had to think fast on that one. He didn’t want to admit he’d pay her to be quiet for an hour. Or to leave him alone for an afternoon so he could gaze at Jroduin without hearing any snotty remarks. “For cleaning and driving and entertaining Lorel.”
Zharyl rolled her eyes.
Bess coughed until she could barely breathe.
∞∞∞
Lorel and Tsai’dona were brushing their horses in the shade outside the city wall when the wagon caught up with them.
Just inside the city gates, two guards stood watching the pair, but not hassling them the way they would have in Nashidra.
Praise the Thunderer, the port of Veriz wasn’t under imperial control. He wouldn’t have any trouble with paperwork or taxes here. According to Rikstee’s Customs of Important Trade Cities – newly purchased in Melad and only thirty years old – getting into the city was a pleasant formality.
He could smell the ocean, even this far inland, and Veriz’s famous spicy food. He couldn’t wait to trade his wares for a new supply of spices. And for Veriz’s other famous commodity: amber.
Tsai’dona delayed until the wagon stopped in front of the gate towers. “Now I have witnesses. Pay up, Lorel.”
“What? Why?” Lorel scowled at her friend. “It’s the right rock.”
“It’s not part of the city wall. That was the bet.”
Lorel looked back at him in entreaty.
He shook his head and climbed down from the wagon to stretch his legs. “No way. This is your bet. You settle it.”
Bess chuckled and let him help her down.
Zharyl jumped to the ground and limped stiffly over to them. She stretched backwards, her long blonde braid dangling almost to the ground.
Three more guards joined the pair at the gate.
Lorel puffed out a breath. “I meant the city was right here by this rock. You’re just picking at words.”
“What made you think it was the right rock?”
“The kid was aiming us here. He gots maps in his head.”
“You thought he was using magic, then.”
Lorel nodded.
Tsai’dona crossed her arms. “That’s cheating.”
“You’re saying the words so’s I couldn’t never win.” Lorel hawked and spat on the stone wall. “That’s cheating.”
Both girls turned to him.
He promptly turned his back on them. No way was he getting in the middle of a wager. He’d wound up hiding behind Kyri the last time they’d disputed his judgment. Over whether or not it was disgusting to be unable to shave, if he’d understood them correctly. Why would girls worry about shaving? He certainly didn’t need to yet. But they both ended up mad at him. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t figure out what they were talking about.
Bess pretended to glare at the two girls. “Since you’re both in the wrong, you can split the cost of one pitcher of ale. In a cheap tavern, not a fancy one.”
Lorel held out her hand to Tsai’dona. “Fair?”
Tsai’dona laughed and grasped the turybird’s hand. “It’s fair. Next time listen to what you’re betting on. It’s a common trick. I thought you’d catch it.”
“And don’t count too much on the map in my head.” Viper shrugged ruefully. “I’ve been wrong more than once.”
Lorel huffed. “All the teachers I got these days.”
Zharyl giggled and sashayed toward the gate. “Has the Kyridon been scolding you?”
The eyes of half the men at the gate seemed glued to his nercat’s hips.
He really should explain the facts of life to the child. He’d asked Bess to, but it seemed she’d declined. Or been ignored.
Lorel leaned against her horse’s shoulder. “The slithering toad’s been out to teach me something, but I ain’t figured what.”
“Don’t call it that!” Zharyl spun on her heel and scowled. “Show respect for the Kyridon.”
“The toad and me got a deal.” Lorel snickered as she shook her head. “It don’t care what I call it.”
“Very much,” Viper muttered. At Zharyl’s inquiring look he added, “I get the impression ‘toad’ is better than ‘sweetheart’.”
Bess blushed. “It really dislikes it?”
Viper giggled, and choked trying to stop. Blast, if he started sounding as silly as Zharyl, it was time to drown himself. “I don’t think Kyri can decide whether it likes it or hates it.”
“Disrespectful,” Zharyl muttered.
“Look sharp, you cross-eyed tree lizards.” Tsai’dona nodded at the dozen guards standing at the city gate. “The city guards are getting edgy.”
Not surprising, if they’d sighted Aramiel. It seemed unlikely they’d be afraid of four bickering women and a stunted kid like him.
Bess tilted her head to one side. “They do look nervous. I wonder why. We certainly don’t look threatening.”
Well, two armed warriors, even as young as they were, could appear dangerous, but the starfish-covered should have them laughing too hard to worry. Except…
“Any group coming from the plains is a potential menace.” He stared at the ground while he tried to explain behavior he found shameful. “Setoyans raid here occasionally, and they’ve used some rotten tricks to get inside the gates. They view Veriz as a city of Outcasts, and consider the folk inside as less than human.” By definition, all outsiders were less than human. It was one way the tribes justified feeding slaves to the bahtdor.
The gelding stomped its feet and whinnied.
“How d’you know, kid?” Lorel patted her suddenly frisky horse. “More book stuff?”
He wished he’d only read about it. “Not this time. My mother’s brother’s tribe raided the city twice that I can remember. He bragged about it only a few lunars before I was Outcast.”
Alchemy's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 5) Page 34