City Under the Sand

by Jeff Mariotte

  “Come on!” someone called. “Let’s get him! Let’s get Pietrus of Thrace!”

  3

  Rieve was working with her sword, performing exercises Corlan had taught her, when she heard the commotion outside. Shouts and hands slamming against the outer walls. She hung the sword up on the wooden rack her father had commissioned just for that purpose and went to see what all the noise was.

  In the courtyard, she met her mother, father, and grandfather. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I just spoke to Bryldun,” her mother said, naming one of the family’s guards. Her cheeks wet were wet with fresh tears. “There are people outside, demanding that we send Pietrus out.” She buried her face in her hands. “They say he killed someone! They claim he killed Ta’ak Enselti, and some elf woman Enselti was with.”

  “But he didn’t! Of course he didn’t.” Rieve said. “Where is he?”

  “In his room,” her father said. “I just saw him there.”

  “Then what are they talking about?”

  Father reached over, touched her mother’s shoulder. His face was grim, his cheeks flushed with anger. “They’re just mistaken, that’s all. That’s what mobs are like, Rieve. They get an idea, never mind if it’s right or wrong, and they convince one another that it’s true. Then they become certain that this thing, this idea, is what they saw. They believe it. Even if it’s not true. By now, if Ta’ak really was killed, half those people out there probably believe they saw it happen.”

  Fear swelled Rieve’s heart, like a bladder too full of wine. She could barely swallow around it. “But, if they report it to the city guard, to the High Consort of the King’s Law, she’ll have to take action, won’t she?”

  “It’ll be fine, Rieve,” her mother said. “We’re in good standing with the Shadow King. We’ll simply explain that Pietrus was home with us the whole time.”

  “No,” Rieve’s grandfather said. “The girl is right. High Consort Djena has long hated this family, hated me. She would love an excuse to break us up, to enslave us. Only my relationship with the Shadow King has kept her from moving against us thus far, but an event like this? True or false, this will give her just what she needs. It’s not just this killing, there have been many over these past months, always human men in the company of elf consorts. They’ll blame Pietrus for them all, soon enough.” He stood solemnly in the center of the courtyard, regarding his family. “Pack what you can carry easily,” he said. “I hate to say it, but we have to leave. Within the hour.”

  4

  Rieve had seen the pain on her grandfather’s face when he told them they would have to leave. He had spent his life in Nibenay, built his fortune here. But one didn’t make a fortune without also making some enemies, and although her grandfather had tried to protect his family from it, she knew that it had often troubled him.

  He would go to any lengths to shield them, and running—much as he would hate it—would not disturb him as much as staying here and letting Djena tear them apart.

  She, however, was not ready to leave Nibenay.

  While the others packed, she took a candle and left the house through the secret exit. Every one of these cliff-built estates had one, a second way out, bypassing the Serpent Tower. The exits weren’t guarded, because no one knew where they were, and if they found one they wouldn’t know where it led. With the candle’s light, she followed a narrow, winding tunnel that gradually took her down and down.

  At the tunnel’s end was a heavy wooden door, barred from the inside. Rieve took down the bar and slipped through, pulling the door shut behind her. She came out in a dark cave. From here there was only one path, but it was a long one. Had anyone ventured so far into the cave, they would only have discovered doors through which they couldn’t pass.

  When she neared the cave’s opening, she blew out the candle and set it aside. She emerged a good distance from the Serpent Tower, out of sight of any of the cave dwellings. No one was there to see her. If Pietrus had really killed someone, wouldn’t he have returned the way she had left? she wondered. So that he wouldn’t be observed?

  But if a mob was chasing him, he might not have had a chance to. Any safety would have felt better than continuing to run, possibly being caught here in this unpopulated neck of the city. And Pietrus—well, he wasn’t like other people.

  She didn’t want to believe her brother was a killer. She didn’t understand the way he thought, though. He could demonstrate great cruelty, she had seen that. Emotional and physical cruelty, toward small animals, insects, birds. Her mother had told her that he was just trying to figure out the world in his own way, that he meant no harm. What if she’d been wrong?

  From here, it was fifteen minutes to Corlan’s home. She didn’t want to disturb his family, so she spoke to one of the guards at his front gate, who knew her from previous visits. “I need to see Corlan,” she said. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you why. And I know it’s late. But it’s very important.”

  The guard looked down at her, as if she were the crazy one. “You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

  Rieve resisted the impulse to remind him of her social status, to point out that for him to question her like that was the ultimate in bad manners. “Please,” she said. “Just fetch him for me. I’ll wait here.”

  The guard looked this way and that, as if she might be trying to make him leave his post so an invading army could sneak in. He gave a shrill whistle, and another guard hurried over to the gate. “Fetch the young master,” the first one said.

  “Corlan?”

  “Of course, Corlan!”

  “Right,” the second guard said. He dashed off into the interior of the Tien’sha estate. The first guard waited with her, not abandoning his post after all.

  A few cold minutes passed, during which Rieve paced impatiently, aware of time slipping away, and then the gate opened again and Corlan came out with a look of concern on his face. “Rieve? What are you doing here?”

  She took him by the hand and drew him away from the gate. “Over here,” she said quietly. “I have to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  When they were out of the guard’s earshot, she stopped and put her mouth close to Corlan’s ear. “I’m leaving Nibenay,” she said. “The whole family is.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s … it’s the most ridiculous thing. Someone claims to have seen Pietrus murder somebody. Ta’ak Enselti, the Merchant. They say Pietrus killed him and some elf he was consorting with.”

  “Consorting with an elf? That’s terrible!” Corlan said.

  “I know. Like I said, it’s mad. Pietrus would never harm a living soul.”

  “I … are you so sure of that, Rieve?”

  “What do you mean? You know Pietrus! He’s the most gentle person.”

  “Sometimes he is,” Corlan agreed. His face was crisscrossed with deep shadows, the ridges in his forehead and the planes of his drawn cheeks pronounced. “But you’ve seen him when he gets angry, Rieve. Those rages that beset him … they frighten me. I don’t know what he might be capable of. I don’t think you do either. He’s not right, you know that.”

  “Corlan, he’s my brother!”

  He pressed his hands against her back, trying to soothe her. “I know he is, Rieve. And I know you love him. But you can’t let that love blind you to the possibility.”

  “There is no possibility!” She recoiled from his touch, and he, sensitive to her mood, drew his hands back. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

  “I wish I could believe you, Rieve. It’s just … like I said, no one can know Pietrus’s mind. If there were witnesses …”

  “There were, but they lie,” Rieve insisted. “Or they’re wrong. They’ve got something against my family, I don’t know. But it wasn’t him.”

  “Don’t you hear yourself, my love? It’s all their mistake, their treachery. You’re not even considering the possibility.”

  “Because it’s not possibl
e.”

  “But it is.”

  Rieve whirled away from him. “No! No it’s not, Corlan! And if you don’t see that, then I must have been wrong about you all along. I must have been wrong about many things!” She broke into a run, heading back toward the cave. She had to get home before the family met to leave. She still had to pack.

  She was surprised that no tears stung her eyes, but instead of sorrow she felt the hot burn of rage. Anger at Corlan, for doubting her brother. Anger at the city for putting her family in this position. Anger at whoever had really killed that man.

  Behind her, she heard Corlan calling her name. He shouted it several times, then stopped. She thought she heard the gate guard say something, which might have been, “Let her go, son, she’s not worth it.” She didn’t know what Corlan said in reply, if anything. By then she was gone, out of hearing, on her way back to her home.

  Or to the place that had been her home, but would no longer be. Not after tonight.

  After tonight, the House of Thrace would have to find its way in some other city-state, under some other sorcerer-king.

  Nibenay was done, for them.

  XVI

  THE SMITHY ON THE SQUARE

  1

  In the distance, across a flat plain, a small village sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine. “Look!” Myrana called. “We’re saved!”

  “We hope,” Aric corrected. “Until we know whose village that is, though, we can’t be sure.”

  “Any village is better than none,” Myrana said.

  “True enough,” Ruhm added. He touched his stomach. He didn’t need to—Aric was as hungry as the rest of them. Since they’d escaped from the ambush site, they hadn’t dared spend any time hunting or gathering food. They had ridden the erdlus until the birds almost fell over from exhaustion. Aric decided to give his a break, and ran alongside, until hunger weakened him so much that he could do so no longer.

  They didn’t know if they were pursued, and if so, by whom, so they set their sites on the village, and crossed the plain as fast as they were able.

  Behind high stone-and-mortar village walls were tall trees, indicating that a spring or oasis lay within. As the five weary travelers approached, they saw villagers appear at those walls, standing on platforms no doubt, holding bows.

  “They’re alert,” Sellis said. “How do we look like we’re friendly?”

  Myrana laughed. “Maybe inside there is a pond, and if there is, we can all take a look at our own reflections. If I look as bad as the rest of you, then I’m sure there’s nothing we can do to appear friendly.”

  “We could not kill anybody,” Aric suggested. “That would be a start.”

  “If they don’t hurt us …” Ruhm said.

  “We’ve no reason to hurt anyone,” Amoni said. “Do we?”

  “No reason,” Myrana said. “Let’s just ride up to the gate and let them know that.”

  A few minutes later, a large blond man with a light, curly beard, hailed them from the wall. “Ho!” he called. “What is your business here?”

  “We’re hungry,” Aric replied. “We would like to purchase food. And someone might be chasing us. Raiders or thri-kreen, we’re not sure which.”

  For a long, difficult moment, the man at the wall, and the men and women around him, stared blankly at their uninvited guests. Then the big man broke out in laughter, and the others joined in. “You’ve interesting lives, it appears! Have you currency to pay for that food, or do you expect us to extend credit to five bedraggled strangers?”

  Aric still had some coins in his purse from selling the sword to Tunsall of Thrace. For the last several weeks he’d had nowhere to spend it. “We have currency,” he said. “And we’d appreciate shelter.”

  “Protection from those raiders? Or thri-kreen?”

  “Yes,” Aric said. “We … we sort of tricked them into battling each other. Whoever survived the fight might be angry.”

  The big man laughed again. “It seems I was mistaken. You’re not just interesting. You’re pure trouble.”

  Aric spread his hands. “I wish I could deny that.”

  “Enter,” the man said. “Gate!”

  The village gate, Aric noted, was made of iron, and in good repair. Two men swung it open, and the five travelers rode their stolen erdlus through. Inside were orderly rows of buildings, constructed of mud bricks or a similar stone and mortar construction to the outer wall. The big man jumped down from a platform that ran along behind the inside of the wall, about halfway up.

  “Welcome to the village of Yarri,” he said. He was a handsome fellow, with pale green eyes and a ready grin. “I am called Hotak Hedessi, once of Urik but no longer.”

  “We appreciate your hospitality, Hotak,” Myrana said. “Are you the …”

  “I’m the village smith,” Hotak said.

  Aric’s head snapped around. “You’ve a smithy here?”

  “We do.”

  “I would like to see that.”

  “That can be arranged,” Hotak offered. “But first … these raiders. Did they say anything about Fort Dunnat?”

  “Yes!” Myrana said. “They did,”

  “Hmm …” A shadow seemed to pass over the smith’s face. “Then we’d better begin our preparations right away. That’s a bad bunch. They leave us alone, for the most part, but if they’re after you …”

  “Perhaps we ought not let them in,” a burly, dark-haired older woman said, scowling at the newcomers. “Why antagonize raiders over these we don’t even know?”

  “Because they’ve coins to spend, Maja, and the raiders never give, only take.”

  “Aye, true enough. But—”

  “But nothing. You’re welcome, strangers. There’s a small tavern right down that road, on the village square,” Hotak said, pointing. “You’ll find food and beds there. There’s a livery nearby as well. I’ll be busy here for a while.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Aric said. He hopped off the erdlu, revitalized by the unexpectedly gracious reception and the prospect of a real meal and an actual bed. “We’ll go there, and we’ll spend some coins in your village, with pleasure.”

  He led the bird and his companions down the road Hotak had indicated. A few people emerged from buildings along the way, greeting them with reserved politeness. Others spread the word that raiders might be coming, and people rushed to the walls to lend their support. There were probably a hundred permanent structures in the village, Aric calculated. It wasn’t on any major trading routes, but with its contained oasis, it probably catered to travelers, which was why it had a tavern with rooms in the first place. He supposed it had some other industry as well: a quarry, a mine, or something. If it was like many villages he’d heard about, he would never be allowed to see that, and it might not even be spoken of in the presence of outsiders.

  The tavern was a single-story building that sprawled out in three directions, with smaller buildings tacked on after the original had been erected. Beside it was the livery, which was more or less a single barn with a few outside stables for hardier beasts. Both were quiet, but when they took the erdlus into the barn, a stable boy showed up, struck a deal for the care of the creatures, and took them to be fed and watered.

  Inside the tavern, an old married couple, he with a belly that looked like he was concealing several small animals under his shirt, she stooped over almost double, with but one tooth in her head and long, stringy white hair, agreed to feed them and offered them beds in a single room or several.

  Aric was more than happy to eat. The meal was almost silent, since they’d all had plenty of each other’s company but not enough, these last several days, to fill their stomachs. During it, his gaze kept drifting out the window to the smith’s shop across the square. It was bigger than his, with ironwork out front and someone moving about inside, even though he knew Hotak was at the wall.

  When they had finished eating, the old man showed them to two rooms, one Aric would share with Sellis and Ruhm
, and one for Amoni and Myrana. The woman was preparing a hot bath, which would cost another two bits of his dwindling supply, but sounded well worth the price. Aric left the others to relax and walked across the square to the smithy.

  The familiar smells struck him first, the tang of molten iron and the underlying aroma of the charcoal burned to heat the forge. These smells got into a smithy’s walls, and into the clothing and skin of the smith. Smelling them made Aric homesick for Nibenay, though at the trip’s start he’d been glad for the chance to see new sights and have new adventures.

  The doorway of Hotak’s shop was covered in a fine layer of black dust, as was the shop’s single window. Aric tried to see through it, but all he could make out were vague shapes, and back in one corner, the red glow of the forge. Evening was coming on, but warmth radiated from the smithy and standing outside it was comfortable.

  He didn’t know how long they would remain in this village. Not long, he hoped, but if the raiders or the thri-kreen were tracking them here, he didn’t want to go back out into the desert until they’d been dispatched.

  And the fact that he had lost his steel sword bothered him. The weapon had been too old, and too heavy for him, but for all that it felt better in his hand than any agafari-wood sword Nibenay could provide. He wondered it Hotak would mind if he used the shop to craft his own sword, something custom-made just for him, as he had made so many for others over the years.

  He was staring into the window, inhaling the pleasant smells and feeling the warmth, when suddenly a face appeared on the other side. It belonged to a man, short and heavily muscled, with a head completely bald but for a sprig of hair growing from the top, like a tuft of weeds in an otherwise bare field, and a few strands of sparse beard on his chin. His features were thick, with a low brow, a wide, flat nose, and full lips framing a wide mouth. A dwarf.

  “What do you want?” the dwarf demanded, his voice gruff. “Shop’s closed.”