Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1)

by H S J Williams

  Her mouth dropped open and her hand flew to her hair, though if in shock or offense or both, who could tell. “This has been my hair color since I was born! Chemas don’t have natural color, they reflect what they see or want. I don’t need to disguise myself so very much, the hunters haven’t even seen me!”

  “All right, all right, good point. Now go change up in the loft, thank you.”

  “What do I get to dress up as?” Tellie said, bouncing on her toes. Why, this was enough to forget all dangers, she hadn’t played with costumes since she was in the orphanage.

  “You and Kelm will be my cabin boys,” he replied. “I’ll be taking you down to the wharf.”

  She froze in the midst of fingering a silky veil hanging from the crate. She stared up at him, dismayed. “I—I’m a girl.”

  “Not today!”

  Kelm exploded into a snort of laughter, and she glowered at him. Trust men to have no feeling about this sort of thing.

  The captain gave them each a white shirt, brown breeches, and sturdy shoes. Sometime already that morning, he had fixed up packs with rations, a bedroll underneath, and water flasks for their belts. He slipped each pack into a brown burlap bag, calling them ‘cargo’ for the ship.

  “Errance,” Coren said, serious for the first time that morning so that every eye in the room fastened upon him, even Errance, who until then had not ceased in frowning and fingering his outlandish costume. Coren held a long and slender object wrapped in fine cloth. “You need a sword. I see you already were given a bow and a knife, but that won’t do you much good if you’re surrounded.”

  Errance stared. Faint color rose in his cheeks. “I haven’t held one since…”

  “I know. That’s why I thought it’d be best to give you one that’s familiar.” When the captain threw back the cloth, light gleamed off the blade in a flashing star. The metal shone white and curved from a silver hilt with the flow of water. There was something too unnaturally bright about the blade, as if it glowed from the inside.

  The same glow reflected in his eyes, Errance stepped forward, wonder upon his face. Running a finger down its surface, he murmured, “An elven sword. But wouldn’t it be—”

  “Mine?” Coren shrugged. “Yes, it would be, but I haven’t carried it since I entered this city. I’d be mugged or at least questioned for carrying this beauty around.” A twinkle lit his eye. “I doubt people will give it a second look on a high-class merchant.”

  Errance slowly accepted the sword, looking at Coren with a curious expression—almost a smile. He inspected the hilt and muttered, “The mark of lordship.” He looked up sharply. “You’re a lord?”

  With another flippant shrug, Coren laughed. “Runs in the family. Now, do you remember any of your training at all? Do you know how to fight with it?”

  “I can kill.”

  After a sober pause, Coren’s mouth tilted up in bitter understanding. “Then it should serve you well.”

  The ladder creaked as Tryss climbed back down into the room with a swish of soft cloth. When Tellie turned to look, she went nearly cross-eyed with jealousy. The young chema woman wore a filmy rose robe that wrapped and floated around her body like mist. A sheer veil of matching hue draped over her face and golden hair that, now undone, cascaded past her waist.

  “Oh,” Tellie breathed. “You look beautiful.”

  Tryss held the wafting veil back from her face with an impatient tug. “What exactly am I supposed to be?” she asked, a suspicious redness coming into her face that looked so different with the tribal paint oiled off.

  Coren had the good sense to look abashed. “Oh, ah, yes, you’ll be the merchant’s slave girl.”

  “That merchant?” Tryss jabbed a finger at Errance.

  “Yes.”

  “No,” Errance said. He said it with a will that had been forged by seventy years in the hottest fires and heaviest irons, not in the end destroyed, but strengthened.

  Coren’s smile reduced that will to the petulance of a child. “Yes. You don’t have the luxury of nursing your insecurities.” To the others, it seemed a strange thing to say in the face of such strong opposition, but Errance deferred to the captain in silence.

  “Don’t you have anything else I could wear?” Tryss demanded.

  “Nothing that quite matches his dress,” Coren said carefully. “You might not be his slave girl—you could be a favored wife!”

  Tryss let the veil fall back over her face in an attempt to hide the burning of her cheeks.

  “Never mind,” Tellie whispered. “You do look lovely.”

  “Trust it to be the attire of a slave girl.”

  After a short while of taking turns in the attic, they were all fitted in their attire. Tellie inspected herself as best she could, tugging fitfully at the white shirt and loose leather vest that fell over her. She patted at her head to make sure her brown hair was still bound up under the scarf that wrapped around her scalp. The dirt rubbed onto her cheeks itched, and she wished she could wash it off. “Are you sure you can’t tell I’m a girl?” she asked.

  “Not a bit!” Kelm said cheerfully, earning a righteous glare.

  “All right, then.” Coren bound a belt strung with a sheathed sword around his waist. “We’ll meet at the docks by the Flying Crane shop. I know a ship that will take you to the Dormandy port.”

  Tellie swallowed. Now that they’d come to it, the idea of sailing frightened her. Floating in the middle of a merciless world of water that swayed up and down and again. She trudged out after Kelm as they all left the shelter and stepped back into the world of bright sandstone.

  Already Zizain was leading Tryss and Errance down the street, chattering about who knew what, and as Tellie forlornly watched them go, a strange sensation seized her mind, a feeling that she ought not to let Errance leave her sight. Even having him obscured in that outfit was unnerving, giving her urges to run and see if it was really him under the hood and wrap.

  “Aye, my lads, we’re off,” Coren said, calling her back to reality.

  Lad. Thank goodness it was only for one day.

  Though Tryss had heard Coren’s claim that Daran’s men were indisposed, she could not shake the fear that hung as close as her shadow. If Errance was truly such a prize, wouldn’t the Darkness have sent more than a small company of human men to capture him? For all they knew, Daran was just a decoy, a false front. They had not even ventured far into the city, but she already felt as if danger watched them, seeing right through the ridiculous disguises, but whenever she’d turn to look for it, it couldn’t be seen. Sweat beaded her skin, whether from the heat or fear, she could not tell. She did not consider herself a coward, but how could she face an enemy that would not show themselves?

  She measured each breath she took, willing herself to remain calm, but alert. Trying to keep an eye on every person at once proved an impossible task. In the jungle, she was used to having her vision obscured, but at least she knew how to pick up threats from the nearby animals, the signs predators would leave in their area. Not here. Here everything was exposed…and more impossible to see.

  If Zizain, a supposed seasoned smuggler, had any such fears, she certainly wasn’t showing them. As if music echoed in her mind, she all but danced as she led the way through the streets, bobbing between stalls and exclaiming over wares with the sellers, yet still always managing to keep one step ahead of her followers’ steady pace.

  With every second that passed, Tryss regretted leaving Kelm and Tellie with Coren. They were smart children, but they trusted so readily. Even Errance trusted Coren more quickly than she dreamt possible. So Coren seemed to be an elf. What of it? Weren’t elves as capable of treachery as other beings?

  Perhaps, she reluctantly admitted to herself, her anger did not derive so much from Errance’s corporation with Coren, but from his distrust of her. What had she ever done to earn his continuing resentment? She felt it every day, every hour. She felt it even now as she walked close behind him. Though to be fair, she
wasn’t any happier about playing his slave girl then he was.

  Yet he’d taken the arrow meant for her. She glanced at him again, unable to detect any pain in the way he walked. Coren had not seemed concerned over his ability to move, but it seemed impossible that such a wound could have healed overnight.

  Her own wound, though only in the shoulder, was bothering her a great deal. They’d changed the bandages on it again and cleaned the deep scratches, but it still burned and chilled by turns, often sending her into waves of dizziness—

  A figure in the shadows. A dark cloak. A glint of steel.

  Tryss grabbed Errance’s sleeve and pulled him back. Cover. In such a crowded area, why wasn’t cover easier to find? There, a shop. Keeping a firm grip on the prince, she darted through the shop door. In a moment, Zizain bounded in after them.

  “If I knew you were so keen on shopping, pretty one,” Zizain said, “I could have showed you many a shop beside this one.”

  “I thought I saw one of Daran’s men,” Tryss explained in a whisper.

  Her fingers stung as Errance jerked his sleeve out of her grasp. He leaned against the open door and scanned the crowds. Tryss didn’t have to point the suspect out to him—after a second, he turned back and mumbled, “Not one of them.”

  “Easy to mistake,” Zizain said, seeming to see Tryss flush under the veil. “There’s plenty of clandestine characters hereabouts.” She glanced into the shop beyond. “We should probably keep going.”

  “Ah, so you are here, at last!” a rich voice rumbled.

  Tryss leapt back in surprise, only just remembering not to blend into her surroundings. She turned around, noticing the shop for the first time. A large round hole in the roof let in sunlight that revealed shelves of pottery and fine vases. And coming across the floor was a robust man with a golden sash encompassing his vast belly.

  “I thought you would never come!” he said, throwing his arms out wide as if he was going to embrace Errance.

  Errance must have wondered the same thing because he stepped back so fast he almost trod on her feet. She scooted out of the way, keeping a wary gaze on the wealthy man before them.

  The man frowned, taking in their defensive postures. “What is the matter? Have you not brought me what I asked?”

  Before Errance or Tryss could speak, Zizain bounded forward, dropping in a neat little bow with her hands pressed together. “Pardon me, Master Hathon,” she said brightly. “There has been a mistake. I am acting as translator for this foreign merchant and his lovely slave girl.”

  An understanding look crossing his bulbous features, Master Hathon nodded. “Forgive me, forgive me, I mistook you for a slave seller I was expecting. He had promised me a new slave-maid and he is three days late in arriving.”

  His gaze veered over to Tryss, and she looked away, suddenly feeling more exposed in this enclosed shop than out under the open sky.

  “Would the merchant be interested in selling his slave girl?” Mastor Hathon asked. “She is fairer than many I have seen.” His hand stretched out towards her veil, reminding Tryss of the talons of the crested eagle that would snatch monkeys off their branches. She took a step back, heart leaping.

  The edge of Errance’s hand smacked into the man’s wrist with a sharp crack. With a yelp, the merchant snatched his hand to his chest and looked at Errance, appalled. “What was that for?” he exclaimed. “He nigh broke my bone!”

  Zizain darted forward between them, hands upraised. “Ah, forgive him, forgive him.” She shook a finger under Hathon’s nose. “What have I told you about sticking your hands where they don’t belong? Maybe this teaches you a lesson, yes?”

  Clutching his wrist, the merchant glared at Errance. “He could have indicated in some other way he didn’t like his property touched. You had better explain to him manners, Zizain.”

  “Ah, but you did not understand your own trespass.” Zizain leaned in, cast a conspiratorial glance towards Errance and Tryss, and whispered, “You do not understand the power of love.”

  “Love?” His chin folded in confusion. “I thought you said she was his slave girl.”

  Zizain purred a knowing chuckle, and if possible, her accent deepened. “Ah, you base man. Yes, yes, true love between a merchant and a simple slave girl. Marriage would never be permitted, yes? So they have run far, far, far from their native home. He abandoned his home, his family, his fortune—for what?” She jabbed the merchant in the belly. “Love, Hathon! True love!”

  Tryss realized her mouth was hanging open and hoped the veil concealed it. How could Zizain stand there, such blatant lies rolling so easily off her tongue?

  The merchant shifted uncomfortably through this passionate prattle. Coughing, he gestured towards the door. “Yes, well, I would never be a man to stand in the way of true love. Were you here to buy something, hmm? No? Then perhaps, I should get on to my customers. Wonderful to see you, Zizain. May you and your friends have a blessed journey.” After nearly walking them out, he bobbed a bow and hurried back into his shop.

  “Poor man,” Zizain sighed a few moments after they’d left the shop behind. “His dear slave girl was spirited away by smugglers or so they say.” She flashed them a broad wink.

  The veil pressed against her lips as Tryss sucked in a sharp breath. “Zizain,” she muttered, “you’re absolutely—”

  “Brilliant?” Zizain gave a sage nod and continued trotting ahead. “I know, darling. I know.”

  Shaking her head again, Tryss cast Errance an apologetic glance, wondering if he felt as flustered as her.

  But he wasn’t there.

  She skidded to a stop, eyes searching back and forth wildly. “Zizain,” she cried, heart rising to her throat. He could not have fallen behind. In that costume he could not be overlooked. Where could he have gone? It did not seem possible that someone could have snatched him away without them noticing.

  With a sharp glance around, Zizain’s mouth curved down in a frown. “I see,” she said only. “He made a run for it then.”

  Not even fifteen minutes had passed and already Tellie panted in the morning sun and itched from the sweat that pooled under the burlap bag slung across her shoulder. Yes, it was just as she suspected—being a boy was not at all pleasant.

  “Pretend the bag is heavy and walk bowed over with your head down,” Coren had instructed her. “It’ll hide your…ah…gender better.”

  Pretend the bag was heavy? If he had any consideration for her gender at all, he wouldn’t have put so much in it! Had all the food and tinder boxes been put in her bag? Watching Kelm stroll briskly, she guessed the only thing in his bag was clothes.

  Coren abruptly halted in front of a colorful booth and flipped a few coins to the vendor. “Three iced lemon drinks,” he said, propping his elbows upon the counter and crossing a foot over his ankle.

  Exchanging a confused look with Kelm, Tellie bit back questions as the merchant poured a pitcher of yellowish liquid into three cups of crushed ice. Coren handed them each a drink and led them over to the side of a building where he comfortably settled down on the ground.

  Tellie sat beside him, setting her sack aside. “What are we doing?” she demanded.

  “Eh, lad?” Coren raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, and Kelm snickered.

  Blushing, Tellie realized how feminine her voice sounded. “What are we doing?” she repeated, trying to imitate Kelm’s voice, which made him chuckle even more. She bit her lip in frustration. “I mean, why are we stopping?”

  “You’re a wilting flower,” the elf teased. “You were practically falling over in the heat.” His eyes softened and he added, “Besides, I wanted you two to have some good memories of Oolum at least. I love this city.”

  Tellie cast an appraisal at the stirring crowd around them. “But it’s so noisy.” She caught sight of a slave train trudging through a crossroad. “And corrupt.”

  “That it is,” he agreed. “But I like the noise, the constant bustle. As for the corruption, it can become
discouraging. But Ayeshune brought me here for this very reason.” He heaved a gusty sigh. “I’m thankful for Zizain. And there are a few other people about who help us. Still. More support would be appreciated.”

  Tellie glanced down at her cup. She’d heard of lemons, a foreign fruit that grew in the east, but she’d never tasted it. It was said to be terribly sour and only good for flavor over dishes such as fish. Cautiously, she took a sip. An explosion of zesty sweetness burst inside her mouth, making her tongue tingle. She coughed in surprise, her eyes watering from the unexpected tartness. Yet it was sweet! So very, very sweet and cold. Delighted, she took another swallow.

  Coren smiled as he glanced both at her and Kelm as they gulped down their drinks. “Be thankful for the honey. Otherwise you’d be gagging.” Sipping his own drink, he said, “So how are you two coping on this journey?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied. There seemed little else to say.

  “It’s been swell for me, all sorts of places I’ve never seen!” Kelm said enthusiastically, but the sparkle in his eyes dimmed an instant later. “Except for those people pursuing us, I’m still trying to figure them out, and there hasn’t been much time to think or people who are willing to fully explain. What are they, an ancient kingdom of evil magicians? That man…that thing…that seemed to be charge…he was a nightmare!”

  Tellie squirmed, wishing she’d told him more, but then she wondered how much more she even knew. There was so much she was just taking as it came and still so much more she did not understand. In the presence of the enemy, evil was the only identity that mattered, and she’d been loath to question further since. Not with Tryss, who seemed to know little on such matters, not with Errance, who knew too much. But maybe with this man, who had charged the evil so fearlessly.

  “Oh!” For the first time, Coren looked disconcerted. “Oh, them. That. Thing. Yes. Where do I start? Um. Do you happen to be believers of Ayeshune?”

  “Sure.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  It was the only decent answer to such a question, after all.