Donn: Dylath-Leen

– 1 –

Donn slumped back on the bed and watched the Trooper’s Friend suck his blood.

It pulsated slowly, rhythmic bulges flowing down its mottled red-and-brown body from head to tail. It didn’t really have a head or a tail, just a slug-like body with a mouth at one end. Empty it was the size of a garden slug, only a few centimeters in length, but gorged with blood like it was now it was closer to a sausage. A very plump sausage, he thought wryly.

He held the burning coal close to his wrist where the slug fed, searing it until it pulled its little fangs out of his flesh, twitched one last time, and rolled off to fall to the floor with a soft, squishy plop. He resisted the urge to ram the coal into its body and incinerate it; he’d need it again another day.

He could feel the pain fading away already, transformed from the mind-deadening agony his leg usually inflicted to a distant crimson presence, hovering on the edge of his consciousness. He’d lived with almost constant pain ever since his encounter with that n’dara trap-door spider in the Parg jungle, and the Trooper’s Friend was the only way he could gain even a temporary respite.

They weren’t addictive, except in the way it pushed the pain away, but if you needed the full dose and let them suck until they were completely full—when they turned completely red, they were full—they could injected you with eggs, which would most assuredly kill you, and painfully at that. Only the pregnant female did that, of course, but who the hell could tell if a damn slug was pregnant? Plus which, eventually efficacy of the thing’s toxin would wane and the user would need two, or three, or more. At some point it was simply impossible to use that many of the damned things without being bled to death… so he rationed himself, partaking only when he absolutely could not bear it any longer, or when he needed to interact with other people without snarling in pain.

Like today.

Today was the day he would lose his son, Jasque of Penia.

It would not be a painful loss, though: far from it. Jasque was to marry Sadiki of Zretazoola, and Donn suffered the sting of the cursed slug without complaint to ensure he seemed happy and healthy to everyone. He was happy for the two of them anyway, of course, but it was hard to look happy when you were always gritting your teeth in pain and snapping at people.

Jasque was marrying into Sadiki’s family, taking their name and carrying on their lineage as an adopted son. No longer Jasque of Penia, he would become Djimon Jasque of Zretazoola. And Donn’s family and Sadiki’s family would share blood-bond evermore.

He put the Trooper’s Friend back in its box and wiped the tiny smear of blood off his arm with his thumb.

“Donn?”

It was Pensri, from the other room.

“Come in, my love,” he replied, shrugging into his black shirt. He was embarrassed to use the slug and she stayed away to save him that shame, but he could use her help getting dressed in these silly Dylath-Leen formal clothes.

She was already dressed in the formal clothing of her birthplace in Woth: a chakkri ensemble of white silk, with a simple white tube skirt topped by a sabai, wrapping diagonally across her chest and over her shoulder to trail almost to the ground, decorated with a gold-thread bird of paradise.

She proudly wore the triple-strand pearl-and-Princessa necklace he’d given her years earlier.

His attire was a black half-coat over a sleeveless black shirt, black pantaloons, and black slippers with their toes pointing up into their absurdly, plus a black hood-like hat. He’d violated a little custom himself by clipping the sides of the hat until it was entirely out of his view… over the years he’d learned to treasure his peripheral vision to warn him of all sorts of things.

She helped him on with his pantaloons. They might have been the proper formal wear for a gentleman of Dylath-Leen, but he hated them. They were hard to walk in, especially with only one good leg, but most of all they were ugly.

Once he was ready—hat, crutch, and all—she took his free arm in her own and they proceeded to the main room.

It was already quite crowded with members of Sadiki’s extended and very wealthy family, plus close friends and important guests. Around the walls of the room stood a dozen servants, ready to help anyone who signaled them.

The priceless wood floor, inlaid with ivory and rare woods, was almost lost in the riot of colors and designs as the rich and powerful of Zretazoola (and a few other places) tried to impress each other. The sun was not shining through the stained glass windows, but the sunstone suspended from the ceiling lent its brilliance to the occasion. Dressed in black as he was, Donn stood out perhaps even more than the magnificent gold-and-white of Pensri’s traditional garb.

They had wanted the whole family to be here, but it was simply too complicated to try to run the farm, transport a dozen people from Penia to Zretazoola, deal with the children and everything else in a city where few people spoke their language. As the founders and “elders” of the line family, it was decided that only Donn and Pensri would go.

Originally they had hoped that at least Mahelt would come with them, as she was Jasque’s biological mother, but she hadn’t left their farm for over a decade. She rarely left their house at all and had trembled in fear at the thought of leaving her refuge and travelling to distant Parg, even for her son.

Jasque understood, though, and suggested that he, Sadiki, her baby son Kandoro, and perhaps a few of her family, travel to Penia to meet Mahelt later in the year.

Donn was relieved to see at least one person he knew: Yunisar, Sadiki’s uncle.

He walked over at once, his arm still linked to Pensri’s, and joined the trader.

“Master Donn! Good to see you again!” smiled Yunisar. “And good to see that you’re walking freely, if with a crutch.”

“Thank you. Usually with a crutch, yes, but not freely, I’m afraid… my days as a trader are over,” replied Donn. “This is my wife Pensri.”

“Pensri of Penia,” she introduced herself, curtsying slightly.

“Yunisar of Zretazoola. A pleasure to finally meet you, Mistress. You are from Woth?”

“I was born there, but my mother raised me mostly in Zar.”

“Beautiful Moung silk… and perfect for such a beautiful chakkri.”

She smiled and gave another half-curtsy.

“This is a fellow trader, a close friend from years and years ago,” said Yunisar, gesturing toward the middle-aged man he’d been talking to.

“Dawoud of Oonai,” said the man.

“Donn of Penia,” replied Donn. “Oonai, you say… I visited there many years ago.”

“Oh? Trading?”

“Yes. Haven’t been back since, though…”

“I’m surprised! The lutes of Oonai are prized throughout the Dreamlands.”

“Yes. I, um, ran into a little trouble there and decided it might be best to avoid it in the future.”

“A little trouble, eh?” laughed Dawoud. “No doubt with the King’s men, I’ll wager. He’s gotten a bit quieter in his old age, but still as greedy as ever.”

Donn smiled noncommittally, and exchanged glances with Pensri. She shook her head the slightest bit, telling him to drop the subject.

Donn agreed.

“Many rulers are, I fear, but we manage to stay in business nonetheless,” he quipped, and the four of them chuckled, Oonai’s king forgotten for the moment. “One of our wives is from Khem. A small village near Meroë.”

“I’ve probably been there,” said Dawoud. “There are so many nameless villages scattered across the Stony Desert, and they all look alike.”

“Master Donn! And this must be Mistress Pensri!”

Donn turned to see Kalao, Sadiki’s aunt. She was wearing a deep blue robe with a wine-red diamond pattern, and an enormous malachite necklace.

“Mistress Kalao,” welcomed Donn. “I hoped I’d get the chance to introduce you.”

Pensri stepped up to his side.

“Pensri of Penia.”

“Kalao of Zretazoola. What a stunning chakkri!”

“Thank you, Mistress. It was my mother’s.”

“Oh, call me Kalao. All this master and mistress stuff is so stiff, don’t you think?”

She adjusted one strand on Pensri’s necklace, and then pulled her away from the men.

“Your wife and I have things to discuss,” she said, and vanished into the crowd with Pensri.

“One does not argue with Kalao,” grimaced Yunisar.

“Nor with Pensri,” Donn commiserated. “Fortunately we have little to argue about.”

A drumbeat interrupted their conversation, and together with the other guests they turned to face the front of the room, jostling to get a better view.

The double doors swung open to reveal Jasque and Sadiki. Behind her stood her mother, Zawati, holding squirming Kandoro, and on the opposite side was the priestess of Matar Kubileya, dressed in ceremonial robes and holding the sacred text. Two young acolytes stood behind her.

The room also held a large earthenware bowl.

Jasque was dressed in the same black ensemble as Donn, while Sadiki wore a multi-colored robe with long, flowing sleeves. Her head was bare, and she wore no jewelry except for the stones set into her cheek: the red carnelian to mark her first blood, the malachite to mark her position as a woman in the community, and another red stone—usually a carnelian, but in her case a ruby—to mark her male child.

The Godsworn stepped forward and chanted a prayer in Etruscan, very quietly.

“Jasque of Penia!” she called out, and Jasque stepped forward to stand in front of her.

“Jasque of Penia, do you give your life to this family willingly?”

“I do.”

Donn felt a lump in his throat. Their son’s voice hadn’t wavered.

The Godsworn drew a long, curved knife from the scabbard at her waist and held it up.

“With this blade dies Jasque of Penia,” she said, and touched the tip to his neck, pressing until a drop of blood ran down the blade.

Jasque stood without flinching, his eyes looking straight into hers, and stripped off his clothing, leaving him in a simple white tunic. He folded the discarded clothes neatly and placed them in the earthenware bowl.

The Godsworn stepped forward and wiped the knife on the discarded clothing and sheathed it, then picked up a small flask of scented oil and poured it over the garments. With flint and steel, she lit them on fire, and they burst into flame as she said a prayer in a voice too low to be heard, then, in a louder voice, asked “Who will claim the ashes of the dead?”

Donn and Pensri stepped forward, side by side, their hands outstretched.

“I am Donn of Dylath-Leen, and I claim his ashes.”

“I am Pensri of Penia, and I claim his ashes.”

The male acolyte knelt and picked up the earthenware bowl in his hands. He stood, and raised it to chest level, holding it out for Donn and Pensri to claim. The clothes had collapsed to smoking ash, incinerated in the sudden blaze. Donn and Pensri slowly returned to their former positions, their hands still on the bowl.

The Godsworn turned, face blank, and held out her hand, gesturing to Jasque to kneel, and accepted a small flask of water from the female acolyte. Jasque bowed his head low enough for her to sprinkle it on his head and both shoulders while praying, then hold out her hand to help him stand.

Sadiki was waiting with an all-crimson robe to wrap over his white tunic, and as she finished helping him put it on the Godsworn spoke again: “Djimon Jasque, son of Boto of the Motonga, is born to us on this day.”

Cheers burst from the crowd as they celebrated his rebirth as an adopted son.

Donn noticed Pensri was crying, and suddenly realized there were tears running down his own cheeks.

Their son was gone.

“Djimon Jasque of Zretazoola, do you join your destiny with this woman, come what may?”

“I do.”

“Partake of the Goddess’ blessing,” she continued, and held out a porcelain cup of dark wine.

Djimon drank it down in a single gulp and held the cup as she turned to Sadiki.

“Sadiki of Zretazoola, do you join your destiny with this man, come what may?”

“I do.”

She repeated the ceremony with the cup, and Sadiki held her own cup after it was empty.

“Kneel, Sadiki,” said the Godsworn, and took something from the outstretched hand of one of female disciples. Sadiki knelt in front of her, head lifted and jaw clenched.

The Godsworn reached forward, chanting something under her breath, and pressed a new gem against Sadiki’s cheek, in line with the other three along the cheekbone. There was a puff of smoke and Sadiki winced but remained silent.

The Godsworn pressed her hand against Sadiki’s cheek for a moment, then used it to raise the woman back to her feet. She was weeping and smiling at the same time.

“The blessings of Matar Kubileya upon this union,” said the priestess, and stepped back. “You may seal your vows.”

Sadiki and Djimon carefully placed their cups on the floor, joined hands, and stamped down on them with all their force, smashing them to countless shards.

The Godsworn turned to the watching guests.

“Djimon Jasque of Zretazoola and Sadiki of Zretazoola are one. Let none stand between them.”

The crowd cheered, and came rushing forward to congratulate the newlyweds, but before the first of them got there Djimon walked to Zawati and fell to his knees in front of her, Sadiki at his side.

Zawati, composed as ever, reached out and raised Djimon to his feet, then Sadiki, and handed her Kandoro.

Together, the four of them turned to greet the people pressing around to wish them well.

Held back by his crutch, it was a few minutes before Donn and Pensri were finally able to reach them.

“Jasque was a good son—live up to his name,” advised Donn as he hugged his son.

“I will, father.”

“Sadiki, Noor and Shurala will come later, and hopefully they can bring Mahelt as well. We all wish you health and happiness,” said Pensri to Sadiki.

“I wish I could go there once again,” said Sadiki quietly, looking down. The diamond freshly embedded into her cheek flamed in the light of the sunstone.

“Do not darken the day with thoughts of past evils; celebrate the new heir to your house, and your new husband!”

She smiled weakly.

“To the banquet, no time for this!” broke in Zawati. “We will dance your legs off!”

The Pargite festivities, with an endless flow of fine food and drink accompanied by music and dancing, continued until late, until finally Djimon and Sadiki were allowed to leave, followed by a cacophony of whistles and shouts.

Nobody expected to see either of them the next day.

>* * *

Most of the guests left within a few hours, replete with fine food and drink, and as the servants were cleaning the place up Donn and Pensri sat on the marble benches in the garden with Zawati and Yunisar. Aunt Kalao had left earlier to keep an appointment she couldn’t reschedule.

“Strange to think that I would be indebted to Garood, that foul master of Dylath-Leen’s underworld,” mused Donn aloud as he massaged his thigh. “Without him we never would have met Sadiki, or you…”

“We are indebted to you, Master Donn, and Mistress Pensri, not he. You and your family saved my daughter, and my grandson,” protested Zawati. “And you have paid a terrible cost.”

“My leg?” asked Donn, raising an eyebrow. “The pain of my leg is nothing compared to the loss of our Jasque.”

“But he is not lost at all,” said Yunisar. “He is a living bridge now between our families, and rather than losing a son you have gained brothers and sisters here in Zretazoola, and we have gained brothers and sisters in Dylath-Leen.

“I think we must visit Penia soon, to meet the rest of our newly enlarged family.”

“We would be honored to welcome you to our home,” said Pensri. “Now that the bridge over the Bawisi is repaired it will be much easier to make the trip, for both of us.”

“And safer,” added Donn dryly.

He leaned forward, toward Yunisar.

“We must also talk, you and I, about certain trading arrangements between us. With Jas… Djimon, of course.”

The merchant smiled and reached out a hand to talk Donn’s in a wrist-shake.

“Yes, I think we might have a few things to discuss,” he agreed. “If I may ask, what is your relationship with Factor Chóng Lán?”

“Chóng? Very close friends, I would say… We have cooperated on many things over the years, and helped each other in a variety of ways, but always as independent traders. Two monkeys scratching each other’s backs.”

“As you have been one of my competitors here in Zretazoola and Dylath-Leen, the Factor—or his agents—have been my competitors on other trading routes, especially on our route carrying Hatheg textiles down the Bawisi and across the Southern Sea to Thalarion and Zar, and across the Torrent to the cities of Theth.”

“Your ships call at Woth?” asked Pensri. “I have not seen it for so many years…”

“You were born in Woth, that’s right,” said Yunisar. “And you grew up in, uh, Zar, was it?”

“Yes, my mother took me to Zar when I was but a child,” she explained, looking down. “My memories of that city are not good ones.”

“Moung casts a long shadow in the south,” said Donn, and changed the subject. “I used to command a merchanter in those waters, often flying Chóng’s flag, across the southern rim of the world from Rinar in the east to Theth, and at times as far as Thalarion, or Oonai, but that was long ago.

“There are things I cannot tell you, things that Chóng has told me in confidence or that I have learned from him over the years, but as far as working with you in competition with him—there is no problem.

“He understands the meaning of honest competition and welcomes it. Of course, being Chóng, he very rarely loses at it, but that is a separate matter.”

“From what I understand you rarely lose at it, either,” pointed out Yunisar.

“We certainly had a very successful trading trip the last time we visited Zretazoola!” laughed Donn. “Tell me, brother Yunisar, did you turn a profit on that transaction?”

Yunisar pursed his lips for a moment before answering.

“We did not, exactly, lose money, but it was not, perhaps, as profitable as I might have wished. Then again, Zawati gained a son-in-law and I gained a brother!”

“As have I,” nodded Donn, and leaned forward, arm outstretched. “I would be honored to join forces with you.”

Yunisar reached out with his own hand, and they sealed the bargain with a wrist-shake.

“Perhaps you would join me in quiet cup, and leave the men to their plots?” said Zawati to Pensri, who smiled and stood. They left the two traders deep in discussion and went back inside.

>– 2 –

Donn and Hakim had been busy for weeks, arranging new trading routes and goods in cooperation with Yunisar. Now that they had direct access to the goods and the markets of Zretazoola, and through it most of Parg, there was tremendous opportunity for new trade in both directions. By working with Yunisar in a friendly relationship rather than an adversarial one, everyone seemed likely to make considerable profit.

As far as Donn could see, the only losers would be other traders working between Parg and Dylath-Leen. Unfortunately, that included Chóng and his local agent, Factor Sefu.

They’d worked with Chóng for decades and with Sefu for many years, but always as outsiders, never formally part of Chóng’s trading empire. They’d competed with each other time and again, but always honestly… Donn didn’t expect any problems this time, either, but it would make a big hole in Sefu’s accounts!

He chuckled to himself again, and his horse twitched its ears at the sound.

He rubbed its neck, earning a soft whinny in return.

It was a short ride from Penia to Dylath-Leen, and his horse knew the way well enough that he could really just take a nap. He could just enjoy the beautiful day because he was in no hurry.

Besides, once he got there he’d have to go see Factor Bertram, member of the City Council and effective ruler of the city. They had an agreement that in return for a regular contribution to his coffers, Bertram would see to it that Garood didn’t bother Penia too much, and that the guard turned a blind eye to any requests to help recapture escaped slaves. Every month or so he made the trip to Dylath-Leen with a bottle of his homemade wine and a wheel of House Penia’s famous cheese. He handed over the bag as a gesture of friendship with Bertram, and of course a bag of gold coins was inside with the wine and cheese.

He usually brought a second bottle for Tenuk, the captain of Bertram’s guards.

The Dylath-Leen guard protected the city and its immediate environs, but Penia was left pretty much on its own. As the master Dylath-Leen’s underground—and mostly criminal—economy, Garood could certainly muster enough toughs to burn Penia to the ground, although it would be a stiff fight. Since Garood’s base of operations was in Dylath-Leen and the majority of his power and wealth came from the city, though, Bertram could make life for him very difficult, and so an uneasy balance of power remained in play.

The situation could change at any time, of course—any one of the three could die, or Bertram could stop cooperating, possibly because Garood offered him something better. For now, though, Penia was relatively safe, and the more time it had, the stronger it would become.

Donn’s family home was located there, and after his father passed and he inherited, he began to invite fleeing or freed slaves to live in the valley, which had been still largely undeveloped at the time. Slavers were almost universally hated, and in spite of the propaganda put forth by the Sisters of Mercy, most people knew that their “orphanages” and “shelters” were nothing more than traps for the unwary, feeding slaves to be used for profit, or sacrifice in Moung.

Many slaves ended up as troopers somewhere, sometimes sold into service and sometimes entering it to escape their bonds, and many of them settled around Penia after they mustered out. As a result, the community boasted a large percentage of experienced veterans, most of whom hated the very concept of slavery—Garood would not have an easy time attacking Penia.

He soon reached the black basalt wall of Dylath-Leen with its angular towers rising above, and entered through the northern gate.

He rode directly to Factor Bertram’s estate, stopping well short of the guards at the gate.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen to pay my respects to the Factor,” he called out.

“Is he expecting you, Master Donn?”

“Not specifically, but he knows I’d be here around now.”

The other man relayed Donn’s name to another guard inside the wall and waited. It only took a few minutes for the OK to come back.

“The Factor’ll see you, Master Donn. Dismount and lead your horse inside; we’ll keep it for you, along with your weapons.”

“I’ve got a bad leg,” he replied, pointing to the crutch strapped to the horse. “Might be easier if I dismount closer.”

“I can’t really,…” began the man, hesitating, but another voice cut him off.

“Master Donn! Welcome, and come in! Yes, stay on the horse.”

The guards at the gate all stiffened as Captain Tenuk strode towards them.

“Master Donn is an old friend of the Factor,” he explained, grasping the horse’s halter. “I’ll help you.”

He guided Donn’s horse through the gate and up close to the entrance to the keep.

“You there! Give me a hand,” he ordered, and a nearby guard stepped forward to help Donn down off the horse.

“What happened to your leg, Master Donn?”

“N’dara bite. I was damn lucky to only lose my leg.”

“Nasty things. Parg?”

“Yeah… we had to take a detour upstream on the Bawisi after the flood took out the trading road bridge. Stepped in the wrong place.

“I just lost a leg but one of the guards—Frode Bjørnsson of Falona, one of Factor Sefu’s men—wasn’t so lucky. Had to leave his body there, but I gave him mercy first.”

Tenuk spat on the ground. “Poor fellow. Hell of a way to go.”

“Unusual for you to come to the gate to greet a guest, Captain.”

“We were just talking up there,” said Tenuk, pointing to an open window on the second floor, “and happened to hear you. As it happens we were just talking about you, among other people.”

“About me!?”

“Umm. Come inside, Master Donn, and let the Factor explain.”

He called to one of the staff inside.

“Master Donn can’t use the stairs, so I’m taking him to the Blue Room. Tell the Factor.”

The young man nodded and scurried off to convey the message as Tenuk helped Donn through the entrance hall and into a side room.

It offered a broad mahogany table surrounded by carved wood chairs, heavily cushioned and upholstered with Oriab silk. The walls, as Donn had guessed from the name, were a bluish-green color, glowing brilliantly in the light of the suspended sunstone.

Donn stopped in surprise at the door.

“Factor Sefu!”

Sefu, Chóng Lán’s agent in Dylath-Leen, was sitting in one of the deeply upholstered chairs, holding a large brandy snifter in his hand.

“Master Donn, good to see you again. Come in, sit!”

“Thank you,…” said Donn, caught off-guard. He awkwardly collapsed into one of the chairs, laying his crutch down on the floor next to him. “I came to see Factor Bertram… quite surprising to see you here!”

“Hmm, yes, well, surprising things are happening,” said the other. “I think Factor Bertram should be the one to explain, though.”

Donn raised one eyebrow, curious, but let it ride.

“I wonder if there’s another…” he stopped as Captain Tenuk approached with another snifter in his hand. “I’m sure the Factor would not begrudge you a glass of his fine Cydathrian brandy.”

“Thank you,” replied Donn, breathing in the rich fragrance of the dark red liquor. “I wonder if this is one of the kegs I sold him…”

“It is. I only buy from you,” said Factor Bertram, bustling into the room. He was an enormous fat, standing close to two meters tall, and looked fat at first glance. Donn knew just how strong he really was, how brilliant that mind was under the bald bullet-shaped head, and how much those tiny pig-like eyes saw.

He was no man’s fool, and for years had masterfully controlled the City Council, and through it, the entire city of Dylath-Leen.

Donn had a working relationship with Bertram which served both of their needs, but he harbored no illusions about his importance: if necessary, he knew Bertram would throw him to the wolves in an instant.

Bertram dropped into his own luxurious chair and leaned forward to rest his arms on the table.

Tenuk set another snifter of brandy on the table close by.

Bertram’s eyes, shining brightly from deep under protruding eyebrows, shifted between Sefu and Donn, impossible to read.

“I was thinking of calling you,” he said, looking at Donn. “Factor Sefu suggested you would be a valuable asset, and from what I know of you I agree.”

Donn stayed silent.

“Factor Sefu is not on the Council, although I know for a fact that he was invited to apply at least twice. Both of those times he declined, but in my opinion he would have been approved.

“He has played a very cautious game here, as would only be expected of one of Chóng’s best people. But he has always played an honest game, win or lose, and over the years I’ve come to trust him, as much as a man in my position can trust anyone.”

He took a gulp of brandy—no mere sips for this man.

“And I know of your position as well, not only as one of the few outside traders to work with Chóng, but also because of our arrangement with regard to Garood.”

Donn nodded.

That arrangement—regular payments to Bertram in return for keeping Garood and his men out of Penia—was certainly not known by more than a handful of people. Captain Tenuk knew, of course, but Factor Sefu probably didn’t. He saw no reason to fill him in now.

“Garood has been maneuvering to gain his own seat on the Council,” continued Bertram. “Normally this would not be a problem, and if it were anyone else in similar circumstances they would probably be approved. Unfortunately, he has offended too many of the Council over the years, causing them significant losses both monetary and social. That makes it almost impossible for him to dream of winning approval through the usual bribery, politics and whatnot—and instead he has turned to blackmail and other methods to win supporters.

“Blackmail is hardly unheard of on the Council, of course, but Garood has threatened several Council members, or their families, with death. Yesterday Master Kartensia, the head of the Shipwrights’ Guild here, was murdered by Garood’s men for refusing to join his cause.

“There was quite a battle, it seems, but regardless of the casualties on both sides, the end result was the death of Kartensia. And Garood has crossed the line.”

Donn clenched his fists.

Garood on the City Council would be bad enough, but if he managed to assassinate Bertram—one of the few defenders of House Penia, even if he only did so because it was profitable—his family and the whole community would be in terrible danger.

“He’s asking for our support, and for support from Factor Chóng, to help keep things stable here,” explained Sefu. “Garood has no interest in keeping Dylath-Leen quiet, or even in trade—he only wants gold, and no matter the cost.”

“I have avoided Dylath-Leen politics for years, deliberately,” said Donn. “Factor Bertram and I have continued our agreement because it is mutually beneficial. For me, at least, it helps preserve the status quo, and that is very important to me.

“House Penia also has specific reasons to fear Garood, as you both well know. We fight slavery; Garood uses it as another means to collect gold. He would love to see House Penia destroyed, and me dead.”

He thought for a moment.

“What exactly do you want me to do? House Penia has no troopers and little gold…”

“Information,” said Bertram flatly. “You have channels into the slave quarters, collecting information from every House, home, and hovel in the city.”

“Those channels are how I keep House Penia safe,” protested Donn. “I cannot…”

“I don’t want your channels,” said Bertram. “Just any information about Garood and what he’s up to.”

Sefu nodded.

“I will be helping Factor Bertram as well, but your network is unique here. If you were a less honest man it would be downright dangerous, I think, but it could make a real difference in curbing Garood’s ambitions and keeping things from getting out of control.”

“I see…” He took a sip of brandy as he thought, oblivious to its sensuous taste. “How long have you known of my network, if I may ask?”

Bertram smiled.

“My network is much older than yours, Master Donn. But I must admit that you have a much deeper network among the slaves and servants. That will be remedied eventually, of course, but we must deal with the situation as it is now. And at present your information would be critical.”

“I see. Factor Sefu, have you spoken to Factor Chóng about this?”

“No, but I’ve notified him of my intent. I have no doubt he’ll support me—keeping things peaceful and profitable is what I’m here for, after all.”

Donn thought for a moment.

“As far as I can see you’re asking me to keep doing what I’m already doing: working with the two of you, and trying to protect myself and Penia from Garood… I don’t see any reason not to join with you in pursuit of the same goals.”

“Good,” snapped Bertram, nodding his head once in affirmation that it was done. “Now then, I want you to start—”

“Uh, Factor, excuse me…” broke in Donn softly. “I said I don’t see any reason not to join with you,” he continued, “but you haven’t given me a good reason to join you. I would be continuing what I do already, but you will gain access to a new source of information that would be quite valuable, I think.”

Bertram sat still, eyes fixed on Donn.

After a moment he spoke up again.

“Surely you agree that stopping Garood would be in our mutual interest?”

“We are all merchants here, Factor.”

“Hmph. I see why Chóng likes you so much, Master Donn. What do you have in mind?”

“I would like to demand you ban slavery,” he began, and heard Sefu draw in his breath in surprise. They both knew how Bertram would react to that demand. “I realize that’s not possible. But if my intelligence helps prevent Garood from taking a Council seat, you will remove the orphanage and shelter from the Sisters of Mercy, and relocate them to Penia.”

“But the Sisters donate much to the city’s coffers!” protested Bertram.

“We all know what they really do, and where their money comes from. They feed Moung’s ravenous maw with human flesh, and the Dreamlands will be a fairer place once they and their foul God are gone.”

Bertram tilted his head slightly as he considered the possibilities.

“Relocating them to Penia would provide everyone with a safer, healthier environment. They would need a small detachment of guards for safety, of course but that’s a minor matter. I think it only reasonable that the city would pay a small sum each month to assist in their upkeep, and it would make sense for those funds to be collected and managed by the head of the Council. I’m sure the Council will see the need for that, and it would remove all their various complications from the city entirely.”

“The Council might be willing to do that, yes. And what would you think a reasonable amount for such funds?”

“I’m sure you would have a better idea of how much would be reasonable, Factor, and how much it would cost you to manage and disburse the money. It would only be reasonable for you to cover such expenses from the collected money.”

The Factor nodded, understanding the hidden suggestion: he could collect what he liked from the city, and keep as much of it as he liked.

“And what would you ask for?”

“We are allies, Factor Bertram, are we not? Surely one wouldn’t demand something from an ally,” chided Donn. “Although, given the amount of time and trouble the orphanage and shelter will need to relocate, and operate, I won’t be able to come and visit you here so regularly. I’m afraid you might have to buy your own wine and cheese, if that’s not a problem.”

Bertram knew what he meant: no more bribes from Donn.

Donn and Sefu suspected he received payments—bribes, if you will—from the Sisters of Mercy, but money would do him little good if Garood controlled the City Council, or assassinated him. And both possibilities were very real. As far as Donn knew, Sefu (and Chóng) were unaware of his own payments to Factor Bertram.

Donn had demanded that Bertram abandon both sources of income in return for his intelligence, which could be the difference between Garood on the Council, or in the ground.

“I have come to enjoy your wine and cheese, I must say,” mused Bertram. “It would be a pity to lose them… perhaps we could find a way to continue, say, the cheese alone?”

He was proposing a reduction in the amount Donn paid every month.

“I think that would be reasonable, yes. Or perhaps continue both but only every other month instead?”

“An excellent suggestion, thank you. Anything else?”

His voice was calm, relaxed. They’d settled one point, and it was time to deal with the next.

“No, thank you Factor. I will be delighted to work with you—with the two of you—to defeat Garood’s plans.”

Factor Bertram began to explain who he needed more information on, and Donn heard Factor Sefu let out a long-held breath as the tension ebbed. Few people refused requests from Factor Bertram and got away with it.

* * *

Factor Sefu said he had a few other things to discuss, so Donn rode out of Factor Bertram’s estate alone. That suited him just fine, in fact, because he wanted to make a visit to the Temple of the Unwanted, and then later to The Spitting Tabby.

The horse walked through the city streets at a leisurely pace: he certainly didn’t want to appear to be in a hurry, and in spite of the press of people and odors, it was still a beautiful day.

The alley grew quieter and narrower as he proceeded until it was barely wide enough for his horse, and after a final sharp bend it opened up onto the relatively spacious grounds of the Temple of the Unwanted.

The grounds and the small temple building were deserted, of course, but incense smoke was still rising from the low table, and the dish had a considerable number of coins in it.

Donn painfully dismounted and, leaving his crutch on the horse, hobbled over to the table. Unable to kneel easily, and unlikely to be able to stand up once again if he did, he merely bent over to light a stick of incense, and stood for a moment, head bowed and palms pressed together.

He raised his head and pulled out his wallet, pouring a handful of coins into his hand. He examined them, returned half to the bag, and poured again, adjusting the coins in his hand until there were enough—and there were exactly three of the strange pyramidal silver coins of Sona Nyl.

He gently poured them into the dish, cursing under his breath when one bounced off to fall to the ground. He checked to make sure it wasn’t one of the silver pyramids, then left it.

The horse munched happily on the weeds as Donn pulled himself back up into the saddle, then left the Temple to carry him to his usual inn: The Spitting Tabby.

The innkeeper, Rolf, helped him down off his horse and had one of his boys take it back to the stable, picking up Donn’s pack himself and welcoming him in.

They were old friends, Donn stopping here irregularly for over twenty years. Rolf was also one of Donn’s customers, buying mutton, wine, and cheese for at least half that.

“I heard about your leg, Master Donn,” he said. “Nasty things, n’dara. Never been bitten by one, but they got close once.”

“I’m lucky to be alive, Master Rolf, so I can’t complain too loudly.”

“Hurts like a bitch, I imagine…”

“That it does, Master Rolf, that it does,” agreed Donn. “I suspect a mug of your best ale would lessen the pain, though.”

“Sure you wouldn’t prefer some excellent Penia wine?”

“No, I drink quite enough of that at home,” laughed Donn. “Your ale, on the other hand, is one of the few things that makes my time in this smelly city at all pleasant.”

“One mug of my finest coming right up!” grinned Rolf as he helped Donn settle down into a vacant booth at the back. “The first one’s on me.”

“Thank you! Maybe some of your spicy chicken would go well with it, too.”

Rolf turned his head toward the kitchen.

“Mari! Chicken and rice for Master Donn!

“Let me go get your ale,” he added, and trotted off toward the counter. “Good to see you again!”

Mari, the woman who’d been working with Rolf for decades, trotted up promptly with a plate heaped with roast chicken, The Spitting Tabby’s famous spicy fried rice-and-greens, and a large mug of warm ale.

“Good to see you again, Master Donn. Sorry to hear about your leg,” she said, sliding the plate in front of him and setting the mug down with a thump. “If you need help later just ask.”

“Thank you, Mistress. You’ve been well, I hope? How’s the boy?”

She laughed.

“Not a boy anymore, Master Donn. He’s off on a ship somewhere; said he wanted to see the world. Couldn’t’ve held him back if I tried.”

“I was the same, and would’ve left on my own if my father hadn’t agreed to take me with him. Saw the world and came back here after.”

“I hope he’ll be back, Master Donn. Miss him, after all.”

“My son Jasque is married now, living in Zretazoola. Probably won’t see much of him anymore, either

“Married! Jasque! Well how about that… and in Zretazoola, you say. It’s not that far, but I never liked the jungle, all dark and buggy like that. The ocean breeze of Dylath-Leen is best!”

Donn laughed and raised his mug in agreement.

She gripped his arm and squeezed gently.

“Later, Master Donn.”

After she trotted off to serve someone else he sat and ate in peace, exchanging greetings with people he knew, and listening to fragments of conversation.

“Master Donn?”

A middle-aged man pulled a vacant stool up to Donn’s table.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Master Vinchanti! Of course, of course, have a seat, please.”

“Haven’t seen you for a while… been up around Laudonia and Lomar, carrying all sorts of cargo. Captain finally got tired of freezing her tits off and decided to come back here where its warm.”

“Still with Captain Morooka?”

“Yep. She’s a good captain, and a good ship. We aren’t rich, but we aren’t poor, either, and she takes care of us.”

“Good, good. I thought she’d be a good captain then, you know.”

“You mentioned it once before. That’s why you loaned her the money, right?”

“Well, that’s part of it… I prefer to deal with people I trust, and I felt I could trust her. She held up her side of the deal and proved I was right.”

“Glad you did, Master Donn,” he said and held up his hand with two fingers raised, catching the eye of a server. “Another round!

“This one’s on me.”

Donn raised his mug and drained it in one swallow before putting it back down on the table with his empty plate. “Much obliged.”

Years ago he’d met Mistress Morooka, then a sailor on one of Chóng’s merchant ships. She had been born a slave and Chóng had had a hand in emancipating her—Donn never did hear the whole story—before hiring her on one of his ships. She’d saved her pay and eventually bought her own ship with a few partners, continuing to work with Chóng and other merchants.

She’d asked Donn for a loan to purchase the ship, and had repaid it in full.

The server brought another round of ale, along with a plate of roasted, skewered fish.

Vinchanti held out some money but the server waved it away.

“Master Donn’s tab is to be settled up later, not now.”

Vinchanti shrugged and turned to Donn.

“In that case I guess I might as well pay you instead of him,” and held out his hand with the coins.

“If you insist,” replied Donn and held out his hand.

Vinchanti dropped his handful into Donn’s, and Donn glanced at it. It was mostly bronzes, but he could also see three silver pyramids: the coins of Sona Nyl, the same as he’d left at the Temple earlier.

They were well hidden by the cup of his hand and the general dimness of the inn, but he put them away in his wallet promptly.

“Thank you, Master Vinchanti. Allow me to pay for the next round, then.”

They talked of various things for a while, throwing in a joke every so often, and ordered new rounds of ale every so often, obviously enjoying themselves.

Donn threw his arm over Vinchanti’s shoulder and pulled him close, apparently to tell another bawdy joke.

“You overpaid me for that ale, Master Vinchanti,” he said quietly.

“The Captain said you left it at the Temple,” he responded in a low voice. “Said to give them back and find out what you needed.”

“Well, well, well… so you’re with us now, are you? Always thought you were a good man; now I know it.”

Donn broke away laughing as if he’d just revealed the punchline, and was joined a second later by Vinchanti, who slapped the table in his mirth.

A few minutes later it was Vinchanti who pulled Donn closer.

“Garood is trying to get a seat on the Council, through bribery and blackmail. Bertram and Sefu have asked me to help keep things stable. I need anything you can get on Garood’s activities, and what other Council members are up to.”

“They know about us!?”

“No, not at all. But they know I have spies throughout the city. Don’t trust either one of them, even Sefu.”

Vinchanti nodded and let his head drop as if commiserating.

“Well, Zretazoola’s not that far, you know. Hell of a thing to happen with that leg, though…”

Obviously he’d been talking to Donn about Jasque moving to Parg, or so it seemed.

The sailor drank down the rest of his ale and picked up the last skewer.

“Gotta go, Master Donn, or the Captain’ll have me scraping those damned crusty foulers again.”

“Good to see you again! Regards to Captain Morooka, if you will.”

“I’ll let her know you’re in town. How long’re you here for, by the way?”

“Leaving tomorrow morning, I’m afraid,” said Donn. “No problem. We’ll run into each other eventually. Safe voyaging, Master Vinchanti.”

“Safe journey, Master Donn.”

Donn had drunk quite a bit himself, and he figured it was about time to call it a night. He waved to the innkeeper, Rolf, and clumped upstairs to his room with his crutch, collapsing on the mats.

Tomorrow he’d head back to Penia, and wait to see what his spy network here in Dylath-Leen, mostly slaves and servants, might bring.

>– 3 –

It had been busy month.

There was always so much that had to be done on the farm, and unless Donn had been off on a trading trip, he’d done a lot of it. But not this year.

His bad leg made it difficult to get around and almost impossible to do any of the labor the farm needed—sheep, horses, wheat, the vineyard, cheese-making, and more. He thought it was getting worse, too, because he’d needed the Trooper’s Friend more often. He resisted it as long as he could, until gritting his teeth wasn’t enough to stop him from groaning with the pain.

He didn’t feel weak afterwards, so the continuing bleeding wasn’t enough to hurt him yet, but if his needs kept growing eventually it would. The slugs were always hungry for more, and he constantly yearned for the relief they brought.

Even without manual labor, though, he had plenty to keep him busy: he exchanged dragolet messages with Jasque and Yunisar several times a week, setting up their new trading routes and arranging all the buys and sells they’d have to make throughout the region.

He had hoped that Jasque would eventually take over as he and Hakim got too old, and indeed Jasque would be taking over, but not as Donn had planned.

Hakim was rarely in Penia anymore, instead accompanying Jasque or Yunisar, or sometimes setting out on his own journeys. He refused to enter Oonai, naturally, but he was familiar with most of Khem and the Stony Desert past Mount Hatheg-Kla and even to Ygiroth, and knew Meroë well.

Donn had told Yunisar a little of why Hakim avoided Oonai, but kept most of the details to himself. Yunisar knew there was more to the story, but was smart enough not to pry too deeply.

He also had to oversee the newly built shelter, dealing with a variety of problems.

Factor Bertram had agreed to move the shelter, which included the orphanage, out to Penia. House Penia had always been a haven for the helpless, especially escaped slaves, and a majority of the people living in the valley were either former slaves or their families. Garood and other slave-holders hated the whole valley, of course, but with Bertram’s protection they’d muddled through thus far.

As part of his deal with the Factor he’d also managed to get a small guard contingent assigned to Penia, ostensibly to protect the northern road through Penia to the city. It was also a major improvement in defense not only for the shelter, but for the entire valley.

He received his usual intelligence from his sources in Dylath-Leen, and spent considerable time deciding which bits should be passed onto Sefu and Bertram, and which bits he should keep to himself. Keeping Garood off the Council was crucial, but not if it meant revealing everything he knew to Bertram, or even to Sefu.

Already he’d discovered one council member who was deeply in debt to Garood after losing heavily at one of Garood’s gambling halls. Factor Bertram said he’d take care of it, but hadn’t explained what he planned to do. Paying off the debt would be the most direct solution, but throwing money at Garood might not be the best approach.

Two more members planned to support Garoods’s request to join the Council, but it wasn’t clear exactly why. In one case there was a rumor that the Council member’s daughter had been seen with Garood, but whether that was by choice or force was unclear. For that matter, it was yet unknown if the rumor was true or not.

Blackmail was certainly a possibility.

He was also getting a much clearer idea of where Garood was making his money, although Donn was sure there was a lot still hidden. Sefu and Bertram could interfere with some of them, and Donn could arrange for a few others to run into problems. There was one in particular that Donn thought he could steal entirely, taking over a very profitable smuggling route, without anyone even realizing he was involved. He hadn’t told Bertram or Sefu about that one.

It had also become clear that Garood was hiring. Some were ex-troopers, some merely ruffians, but they all seemed to be on weekly contracts and just waiting for orders.

He picked up his teacup again to take a sip, and frowned when he discovered it was empty.

He poured more from the teapot.

Cold.

Damn.

But it would hurt to try to stand, and hobble into the kitchen.

He drank the cold tea, grimaced, and turned back to his work.

Factor Sefu was coming to visit him later, and he had to get through the latest reports before he arrived.

A few hours later he was finally done, everything pigeonholed properly for Sefu, for Bertram, even one message for Chóng’s eyes alone—that would have to go out by dragolet.

He rubbed his eyes and grabbed his crutch, pushing himself up onto his feet to clump into the kitchen where Mahelt was peeling and slicing turnips.

“You look pale, Donn… are you OK?”

“Just the leg, Mahelt, as always,” he said, rubbing it. “Funny. I used to hate it when I sat too long and my leg fell asleep, now I wish it would stay asleep all day.”

She set his knife down and came over, kneeling at his side.

“Let me massage it for you, maybe that’ll help.”

“Thank you, Mahelt.”

He closed his eyes and let her take his leg in her hands.

Massaging it didn’t help at all but at least it sort of took his mind off the pain for a few minutes. Even if she couldn’t do anything to ease his suffering, he knew she wanted to try.

He kept his thoughts to himself.

“I think maybe later, after Factor Sefu leaves, I’ll use it again.”

“That disgusting slug!?”

“Disgusting, yes, but it takes away the pain for a while,” he protested. “I can’t ask you to massage my leg all day!”

“I still hate it,” she pouted.

“I hate it, too, dear Mahelt, but I hate this leg more.”

“Let me give you some rice and pickles,” she suggested, turning back to the stove. She scooped out a ball of hot rice and squeezed it between her palms, rolling and bouncing it until it was roughly spherical. The rice was still steaming but it didn’t seem to bother her.

In a few moments there was a plate with two slices of fresh-baked bread and a bowl of mutton stew in front of him.

She changed the tealeaves and poured him a cup of fresh hot tea to go with it.

As he was halfway through the stew when Pensri called from the front door.

“Donn? Donn? Where are you?”

“In here!”

She burst into the kitchen.

“What? What’s happened?”

“Donn, come quick. Let me help you,” she said, pulling him up and handing him his crutch. “It’s Sefu… he was ambushed on the road.”

“Sefu!? Ambushed?” He raced to the door, swinging his good leg and the crutch with abandon, ignoring the pain. “Where is he? Is he OK?”

“They took him to the Nest, with his guards. I don’t know—”

“Damn damn damn! This is Garood’s doing! Where’s my damn horse?”

Gangly Arthit, beginning to change from a child to a young man, came running with a pair of horses.

Only one of the horses was saddled, and Pensri helped him up into it.

She took the other one; there was no time to get it saddled, and they could all ride bareback anyway.

It was only a few minutes to the Nest, and Donn practically leapt off his horse, only grudgingly allowing Pensri to help him down.

Headmistress Kiarna was standing in front talking to a trooper he didn’t recognize.

“Headmistress! Where is he? Sefu?”

“Master Donn! They’re inside, this way!”

She scurried inside and he saw several people clumped around another lying on the wood floor. It was Sefu.

At the sound of his crutch one of the kneeling men turned.

“Master Donn!”

It was trooper Oltahm, who had been with him on that disastrous journey to Zretazoola.

“I just heard…how is he?”

Oltahm just shook his head, remaining silent as Donn dropped his crutch and collapsed to kneel next to him.

Factor Sefu was dead, with an arrow in his neck and two in his side.

“It was an ambush, and they set it up specifically to kill the Factor. Arrows, and as soon as he fell they fled.”

“Garood?”

“Of course, but no way to prove it.”

“God damn it! The Factor isn’t even on the Council! God damn Garood!”

He gently straightened Sefu’s tunic, drenched in blood, and closed his eyes, muttering a prayer under his breath.

“Headmistress, would you send someone up to the house and tell them to put out black and yellow blankets, please?”

Donn’s house was built on a hill overlooking the valley, and could be seen by almost all the other homes. Blankets of various colors were hung out on the second floor to warn the people of Penia of danger, natural threats like floods or bears as well as robbers or invaders.

The black and yellow blankets would put them on high alert for intruders, and warn that someone had already died.

“Trooper, I will ride with you back to Dylath-Leen, in the wagon. I must take his body to his family, and there are many people I need to talk to.”

“There are three of us now,” the trooper said, almost to himself. “Unharmed. And useless. We couldn’t protect him…”

“Nobody could have protected him, Trooper. At best, you might have sent some of them to accompany the Factor, but you could not have saved him.”

Oltahm nodded, unconvinced.

“We’ll get him ready,” he said dully, and sighed before he got up from the floor and walked over to the well to draw more water.

“I don’t think we’re in any danger, but I’ll get a party together to ride with us, and clear the road,” said Donn, pushing himself back up again with his crutch, one hand supported by Oltahm’s fellow guard. “Twenty minutes.”

A few of the people leaving nearby had already gathered at the Nest, talking among themselves quietly, and now one of them pointed up to Donn’s house, where the yellow and black blankets were being stretched out on the laundry poles.

Several of them broke off, returning home to fetch weapons or secure their farms and families.

His leg was hurting again, hurting bad, but he was so angry that he found the power to ignore it, channeling his pain into fury and determination.

“Factor Sefu of Dylath-Leen was ambushed on the way here,” he said to the growing crowd. “He was killed by arrows, by assassins sent specifically to kill him.

“I think we all know who was behind it.

“We will take his body back to Dylath-Leen, and I need some people to scout the way and make sure there isn’t another ambush waiting.”

Three men and a woman stepped forward immediately; Donn knew all of them. Two were former slaves, two were former troopers, and all four were experienced fighters.

“Thank you.

“I need to get some things from home first, but we’ll be riding light and fast.”

“We’ll get started right now,” said Arne of Thorabon, an older ex-trooper who had settled here half a decade ago. “Mistress Breda, you got your horn?”

The red-haired woman nodded. “Right here, trooper. If we see anyone I’ll blow a blast loud enough to be heard to the city, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” said Donn. “We’ll leave in twenty minutes.

“Give me a hand up, would you?”

Donn was back with Pensri and the wagon—they were in the small wagon, which was a lot faster to harness the horses up to, since there were only two of them—in less than twenty minutes.

Trooper Oltahm and the others had cleaned Sefu’s body up a little bit, and wrapped him in a clean banket for the trip. It wasn’t a proper shroud, but it was all they had at hand. His wife—no, widow, now—would take care of the funeral, if any. There were an awful lot of different cultures and traditions here, and they had no idea what she might want.

The least they could do was transport his corpse back to her with care and respect.

It was not a pleasant trip.

The three guards were subdued… after all, they were supposed to be there to protect the Factor, and they’d failed.

Oltahm kept feeling for his sword pommel, his jaw clenched, eyes searching the trees.

It was obvious he wanted to encounter the ambushers again, but they reached the gates of Dylath-Leen without incident.

After they passed through the gates, Oltahm pulled his horse up next to the wagon.

“I’ll take the Factor home,” he said, motioning to halt the wagon. “Take my horse and go on to the warehouse with the others. I’ll be along later.”

Donn shook his head.

“This was not your fault, trooper. He was my friend, too, and we will take him home to Oluhai, together if you wish. Send one of the others to the warehouse; we must tell Factor Chóng and Betsy, too.”

Betsy of Kadatheron was—had been—Sefu’s trusted second-in-command of the trading branch, and would no doubt become the new Factor once Chóng heard what had happened.

Oltahm sent one of the other guards off to handle that, but was silent thereafter. They reached Sefu’s home a few minutes later.

It was in one of the better sections of the city, but still far poorer than would have been appropriate to his station and wealth. After all, he’d been Chóng’s factor in Dylath-Leen, one of the major trading cities of the Dreamlands, for many years.

Sefu had always tried to stay out of politics, avoiding most of the constant infighting among the Council members, and those who wanted to join it. He’d played his cards behind the scenes, working with individual members and others to gain advantages in trade, or support various official and unofficial measures that would be beneficial.

Donn suspected it was his support of Bertram against Garood that had led to his death.

He wondered if Garood would try to kill him next.

He reined the horses in at the gate, and Pensri helped him painfully climb down from the wagon. Oltahm opened the gate and walked to the house.

He stood there, silent and immobile, waiting for Donn.

Donn, leaning on Pensri, finally limped up and grasped Oltahm’s bicep, squeezing lightly, then stepped forward to rap on the ornately carved wood door.

Oluhai, Sefu’s widow, was a dusky, plump woman, originally from Lhosk. He’d met her when he was still an apprentice trader working for Chóng, and they’d fallen in love almost immediately. She’d waited for him as he travelled the Dreamlands for Chóng, riding to become one of his trusted agents, and eventually the Factor for his operations in Dylath-Leen, one of the most important trading hubs.

They’d moved here then, and even though their children had already grown up to live their own lives—one as a trader for Chóng, in fact—she still kept the house warm and welcoming for both infrequently seen children and far more frequent guests and friends.

The door opened, and Oluhai’s face broke into a smile as she saw who it was.

“Master Donn! And Pensri! Good to see you again! And Trooper Oltham, welcome!

“I’m sorry, but Sefu’s not here… right… now…”

She slowed when they didn’t react as expected: something was off. She looked around to see why they were so quiet, and her eyes stopped when she saw the wagon.

When she recognized what was wrapped in the blanket in the back.

When she realized why they were silent.

Her eyes widened, one hand flew to cover her mouth. A whispered “Sefu…” leaked out.

“Oh, not my Sefu…!”

She took a step, eyes fixed on the wagon.

She began to keen, a high-pitched wail that went on and on as she collapsed to her knees, rocking back and forth in her anguish.

One of her servants came running from inside, then another, and another. The head housekeeper, an old Pargite, ran to her, kneeling next to her and trying to comfort her.

“I’m so sorry, Mistress,” said Donn. “He was on his way to see me, and was ambushed… there was nothing anyone could do.”

Pensri knelt next to Oluhai, hugging the sobbing woman tight in sympathy. They’d been friends for years.

The two men carried Sefu’s body inside, still wrapped in the blanket, and laid it in the main room. Oluhai waited, holding onto Pensri for strength.

“Thank you,” said Pensri as she comforted Oluhai. “Please tell Godsworn Hangaram for her, if you will.”

They let themselves out as the servants began to unwrap the banket. Oluhai knelt next to his head, eyes fixed on his face as she wiped it clean, Pensri at her side.

“I must inform Factor Bertram immediately,” said Donn. “Help me unhitch the wagon; I’ll take one horse and leave the other one and the wagon here.

“Will you ride with me? Or back to the warehouse?”

“I have little reason to go back to the warehouse now,” said Oltahm. “There’s something I need to check out, though…”

“You’re not going after Garood alone, are you?”

Oltahm smiled, lips thin, as he helped Donn up onto one of the horses.

“I’m not suicidal, much as I want to. No, I just want to talk to some of the city guards, and then back home.”

“Would you tell the Godsworn for me?”

“Of course,” nodded Oltahm. “Master Donn, be safe.”

“And you, trooper, and you.”

They exchanged a wrist-shake and set out in different directions.

– 4 –

Factor Bertram was not happy, to say the least, but he’d been sitting on top of the city for long enough that it didn’t seem to shake him that much. He was unhappy that Sefu had been killed, of course, but Donn got the feeling the Factor was more concerned about losing the assistance Sefu had been providing.

Sefu had been quietly building up support for Bertram behind the scenes, amplifying irritation at Garood, developing allies and more, much of it made possible thanks to Chóng’s gold.

Donn thought about the possibilities as he left Bertram’s estate and rode back towards Sefu’s warehouse.

It wasn’t Sefu’s anymore, but it would still be Chóng’s anchor in Dylath-Leen. It was actually a walled compound with several warehouses, a barracks housing both guards and a few staff, stables, a small kitchen and dining hall, and a few other things.

He guessed Mistress Betsy would be taking it over; she’d been working with Sefu for years and probably knew most of what she needed to know.

That was all Chóng’s problem, though, not his.

He would continue to make his intelligence available to Bertram, and forward intriguing bits to Chóng or Betsy as appropriate. Whenever Chóng appointed a new factor they could discuss details.

The warehouse was in an uproar. There were far more guards at the doors than usual, and none of them looked happy.

He dragged himself down off his horse and handed the reins to the stableboy.

“Has Trooper Oltahm returned?”

“Not yet,” said the boy. “Are you looking for him?”

“No, it’s alright,” said Donn, and limped over to the guards at the gate.

“Who’s in charge of the guards now?”

“That’d be Cap’n Und,” said one of the troopers. “She’s upstairs right now, I think.”

He pointed at the warehouse, with Sefu’s offices on the second floor.

“Thank you, trooper. If Trooper Oltahm shows up, would you get word me, the Captain, or Mistress Betsy?”

“Yessir, can do.”

“Uh, Master Donn, were you with him? When it happened, I mean?” asked the other trooper.

“No, I was in Penia. He was ambushed in the woods on his way to see me, Trooper Oltahm said. Arrows from the trees with no warning, he said. Straight-out assassination.”

“Yeah, we heard. Bastards. He was a good man.”

“We’ll settle the score, don’t worry.”

“When the time comes you tell us… we’ll be there.”

“Will do, trooper. And soon, too, I think.”

There was no guard on duty at the bottom of the stairs, and he decided to go up anyway. He could hear voices coming from the main office where Sefu could usually be found.

A dozen people were there, including Betsy, who had been Sefu’s trusted assistant and manager for years.

“Reciroh, take two guards and three of the warehouse staff with you, and get to Sefu’s home. Make sure Mistress Oluhai is protected, and give her whatever help she needs.”

The trooper shook her shoulders to settle her chainmail vest into place, and turned to leave.

“Master Donn!

Betsy looked up and noticed him for the first time.

“Master Donn, come in.”

She waved him into the room as people stepped back to give him room.

“How is she?”

“She took it badly, as you’d expect, but my Pensri is with her, and the servants. She’ll be alright, I think.”

“We already heard what happened. Where’s Trooper Oltahm?”

“He went with me to Sefu’s house, but said he needed to talk to some city guards before he returned here. I also asked him to get word to Godsworn Hangaram.”

“I already did that,” she said. “And I’ve notified Factor Chóng.”

“Thank you. I came here to do just that…. and to talk to you in private.”

“Right this second? Or can you wait half an hour or so? I’ve a lot to do right now…”

“Half an hour will be fine,” nodded Donn. “Where should I wait?”

“Uh…” She thought a moment. “The Factor’s office will be fine. He trusts… trusted you.”

Donn sat in one of the empty chairs in Sefu’s office, running his eyes over the various items on the shelves and recalling their years together. He’d never actually worked under Sefu, but they’d worked together many times.

He’d miss the man.

Below the mementos and bric-a-brac there were boxes and boxes of files. He made no move to read any of them, much as he wanted to… he and Chóng had been friendly competitors, often allies, for decades, and he had no wish to destroy that relationship.

That was all Betsy’s now. Or whoever Chóng put in charge, but Betsy was the obvious choice.

She walked into to join him some time later, and abruptly stopped in the middle of the room. She was looking at Sefu’s chair. Empty.

“Yes, I think you should sit in it, Mistress,” said Donn. “Until Factor Chóng says otherwise, you’re in command, and everyone needs to see you sitting there.”

She slowly walked over and sat in the leather-upholstered chair. She looked uncomfortable.

“I always dreamed of becoming a factor myself one day,” she whispered almost to herself, “but not like this…”

“We are rarely given a choice in the matter,” commiserated Donn. “You do what you have to when the time comes.”

She was silent for a minute, then “What do we need to talk about, Master Donn?”

Donn turned to check that there was no-one in the doorway, ten leaned forward closer.

“You know that Factor Sefu and I have been working closely together recently, right?”

“Yes, he told me about it.”

“And did he also explain who else we’re working with, and why?”

“Yes, I think so. Factor Bertram, Garood, the Council… everything.”

Donn gave a sigh a relief.

“Outstanding. That simplifies so many things.

“I spoke with Factor Bertram and assured him of my continued cooperation, but he will need to hear from you as well. And before you can say anything official, you need to hear from Factor Chóng.”

“I dispatched a dragolet earlier, but we won’t get a reply until the day after tomorrow, I think. And that’s assuming he’s in Lhosk when the dragolet gets there.”

“You don’t have a portal?”

“I wish we did,” she sighed. “No, Sefu wanted one and Chóng said he would look into it, but we’re still waiting.”

“You know there’s a portal in Rinar, right? I know there’s one in Celephaïs, and I’m pretty sure there’s one in Pungar-Vees, too. Strange that the other three major trading ports have them but Dylath-Leen doesn’t.”

“Yes, there is one in Pungar-Vees. We used it a few years ago.”

“Very strange…”

“Master Donn, the Factor told me he was taking you something. Trooper’s Friends. Did you receive it?”

“He did? No, it must still be in his saddlebag. The guards should have brought his horse back here when they came to tell you what had happened… must be downstairs now.”

He struggled to his feet. “I’ll go down and…”

“No, sit,” she interrupted, and rang a bell on the desk. “I’ll have them bring it up.”

One of the office staff came to the doorway immediately, eyes flicking between Donn and Betsy, noting that she was sitting in the Factor’s seat. The word would spread quickly, Donn knew.

“Factor Sefu’s saddlebags should still be on his horse, or in the stables. Bring them up here, please.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

He was back in a few minutes with the saddlebags, laying them on the desk before he left.

Betsy untied the flap and opened it. An apple rolled out onto the desk.

“…lunch…”

She set it aside and reached into the bag to pull everything else out onto the desktop.

In addition to his lunch there was also a sheaf of papers, a small charm from the Temple of Nath-Horthath here in Dylath-Leen, and the small box of Trooper’s Friends.

She handed it to Donn. He thanked her, and picked up the charm, rubbing it lightly.

“This didn’t help him much, did it?” asked Donn. “You should give it back to Mistress Oluhai, of course, along with all the personal items here.”

“I will go there later, after things are a bit more settled here,” she said. “He knew he might be killed one day, and we talked about how to handle it, but I never…”

A tear leaked from one eye; she swiped it away.

“Was there anything else, Master Donn?”

“No, Mistress Betsy,” he said, pulling himself up. “You have much to do. I’ll be at The Spitting Tabby tonight. I don’t know yet when I will be returning to Penia, or how long Pensri will stay with Mistress Oluhai.”

“Thank you, Master Donn. I’m sure we’ll speak again on the morrow.”

He borrowed a handy pole to serve as a cane, hobbling back to his horse, and rode to The Spitting Tabby. Pensri knew where to find him, but he was sure she’d be spending the night with Oluhai, helping her get through it all.

The innkeeper, Rolf, had already heard the news. Donn doubted there was anyone in the city that hadn’t, by now.

Factor Sefu had never been on the Council, and rarely made much of a splash, but he had been well-known and liked throughout the city for his openness and generosity. Like Donn, he was a frequent visitor to the Temple of the Unwanted, donating money to help others throughout the city.

“Welcome, Master Donn. Always happy to see you, ’though I wish it were for a happier occasion,” he said, greeting Donn at the door.

“Thank you, Master Rolf. Not a happy occasion at all.”

“Let me give you a hand there.”

Rolf took his temporary cane and offered a shoulder instead, helping Donn to an empty table. It was yet early in the afternoon, and the room was mostly deserted.

Donn collapsed onto the bench, and dropped his pack onto the table.

“Ale?” asked Rolf. “No, I think you need a nice, strong tea… let me get you some Eagle Claw.”

Eagle Claw, a black tea from Shiroora Shan, was a spicy stimulant. It took its name from the shape of the leaves, long and spiky like the curved talons of a raptor.

“That would be wonderful,” agreed Donn, and rested his head on his crossed arms, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”

As he was sipping his tea later, and feeling the tiredness begin to seep out of his bones, the door opened and Oltahm stepped in.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said, and sat down heavily across the table.

“Join me in some tea, Trooper? Eagle Claw.”

“An ale for me, Master Donn. Innkeeper! An ale!”

“Right away!” came the reply, and Oltahm leaned forward.

“I’ve been talking to a few trusted friends in the city guard,” he said. “A lot of them are in Garood’s pocket, but not these guys. I asked them if any skilled archers had returned to the city in the last couple hours, especially freelancers.”

“And?”

“And they didn’t know, but the gate guard changed. They said they’d look into it, discretely, and let me know.”

“So you’ve got nothing, then.”

“Now.”

“You trust these guards?”

“Absolutely. We’ve, um, worked together once or twice…”

Donn didn’t press for details, but had a pretty good idea that smuggling was involved, possibly with Sefu’s blessing.

“When will you hear more?”

“Probably tomorrow, I think,” said the trooper. “They’ll be able to hear all the gossip back in the barracks without even having to ask that many questions… they always talk about how boring their day’s been, and who came and went.”

“Have you already told Mistress Betsy about this?”

“Not yet. I thought you needed to know more than she does.”

“She’s your boss now.”

“I guess. I mean, yeah, she’s a good boss and would probably make a good factor, but dammit, Factor Sefu was my boss! Not her!”

“I know how you feel, but you work for Chóng, not Betsy. Or even Sefu.”

Oltahm scowled and took another drink of ale.

“Go on, trooper. Report it all to her, not me.”

He slugged down the rest of the ale and thumped the mug back down onto the table.

“You’re right, of course.

I’ll let you know when I hear more, but I should report back.”

“I’ll be here, at the warehouse, or at Sefu’s house tomorrow. Let me know.”

“I will. Stay safe.”

“You too, trooper.”

He finished his tea alone.

* * *

The next morning Oltahm showed up at the inn just as Donn was finishing breakfast.

“Morning, Master Donn.”

“Good morning, trooper,” replied Donn. “Tea?”

Oltahm sat down across the table.

“Thanks, yes. Haven’t had anything yet today.”

Donn turned toward the kitchen.

“Master Rolf! Fresh tea, if you please, and a breakfast for my guest!”

A muffled “Yo!” came out of the back and Donn waved down Oltahm’s polite refusal.

“Nonsense. Eat something while we talk.”

“Thank you,” said the trooper. “I am a little hungry, must admit…”

“So why are you here at the break of day?”

“I heard back from my friends in the guard, and he says Sombili of Zar came back to the city yesterday. He’s a well-known mercenary with a rep for arrows and murder; a little guy, black as a moonless night. He left the city early yesterday morning, and returned through the west gate in the late afternoon.

“He’s been here in Dylath-Leen before so I’m not surprised he’s here again, but the timing and his rep sure make me think he’s the one.”

“You never saw any of them?”

“Nah, bastards. Shot from ambush, and vanished as soon as they got the factor.”

He spat onto the sawdusted floor for emphasis.

“Is he still here?”

“They said he headed off toward the docks; my guess is that he went to report to Garood and get his reward.”

Donn nodded.

“And…?”

“And I talked to a few of the other troopers. We’re going to go have a little chat with this Sombili. You wanna come?”

“I’m pretty slow, trooper… you sure you want me along?”

“Yes, we’re sure. You can ride.”

“I’ll come. What about Betsy?”

“Haven’t asked her… if she’s going to be Chóng’s factor here it might not be a good idea…”

“Mmm. True, I guess, but I’d ask her anyway. Whatever happens it’ll affect her, too.”

Oltahm fell silent for a moment.

“OK, I can see that,” he agreed finally. “I’ve got some of the boys out looking for Sombili now. When they find him they’re going to meet me back at Chóng’s warehouse.”

He sloshed down one last gulp of tea and stood.

“You coming?”

Donn heaved himself up.

“Give me a hand, would you?”

With Oltahm’s help he hobbled to the door, calling to the innkeeper to bring his horse around.

Oltahm was on foot, but the warehouse was only a short distance from The Spitting Tabby. Half a dozen of the guards were gathered in the yard in front.

Betsy was with them.

“You’re in on this too, Master Donn?”

“Good morning, Mistress. Yes, Trooper Oltahm here came to tell me, and we came to tell you. I see you already know.”

“You condone this?”

“Condone it!? I have no say in the matter at all,” Donn sputtered. “As an interested party, though, I think I’ll ride along and watch it through, though. The Factor was a friend.”

“I can’t be seen to be taking part in this,” she snapped. “And I can’t let Factor Chóng get involved, either.”

She turned to the guards.

“Would it do any good to forbid you from going?”

They muttered amongst themselves, and shook their heads.

“I thought not…

“I’m going inside now. If you are not on guard duty now please leave, and what you do with your spare time is your problem. Make sure it stays your problem and not mine.”

She hesitated for a moment, shook her head, and turned to walked back inside.

“Make sure you do it right, Master Donn,” she ordered, in a voice too low to be heard more than a few meters away. “For the Factor.”

One of the guards followed her and the rest walked back into the street with Donn and Oltahm.

“So. Since we are free to use our spare time as we see fit perhaps we can go visit Master Sombili,” suggested Oltahm. “You found him?”

“He’s at The Gilded Bush, right near Garood’s place,” said one of the guards. “Meli is keeping an eye on his until we get there.”

More muttering. A few of the men double-checked their weapons.

The Gilded Bush was a small, fairly old inn just down the street from the well-guarded walls of Garood’s estate. They approached from the other side to avoid passing near the estate and stirring up Garood’s thugs.

Meli, the guard watching to be sure Sombili didn’t slip away from the inn, waved them over to where she was waiting. She was squatting on the paving stones, just watching and waiting.

“He hasn’t moved, as far as I can see…when I looked inside he was just eating breakfast,” she explained. “He might have slipped out the back, of course.”

Oltahm nodded.

“Karuch, why don’t you step inside and tell our little bowman that Garood wants to talk to him. See if he won’t step outside so we can have a little discussion.”

The red-haired man pulled his sword belt up a bit, and started to walk across the road. At the clatter of hooves he stopped and turned.

Half a dozen horses trotted up, and riders dismounted in front of the inn.

“Captain Tenuk!” called Donn, twitching the reins to move his own horse forward.

The captain, head of Factor Bertram’s guards, was already walking toward Donn and Oltahm.

“Master Donn, Trooper Oltahm. You’re here for the same reason we are, it seems…”

“Sombili of Zar.”

“Yes. The Factor sent us on behalf of the Council. Assassination is forbidden here in Dylath-Leen, and the Council would like a word with the archer.”

“As would we,” said Oltahm. “We want a bit more than a word, though…”

“Trooper, if the Factor—excuse me, the Council—wants to take care of it, why don’t we let them?”

Oltahm’s hand was on his sword, but he nodded at Donn’s words.

“Perhaps we’ll wait, then,” he agreed, “and have our discussion with him after the Council is done.”

“Thank you,” said Captain Tenuk. “A troop of the city guard is holding the rear of the inn for us. Would you care to join me?”

“With pleasure,” gritted Oltahm. “Much as it pains me to let the Guard get first crack at him.”

Captain Tenuk looked up at Donn, still mounted. “Master Donn?”

“I think I’ll just wait here… I’m not very nimble anymore, if it comes to that.”

The captain waved to two of his men to accompany him, and the four of them walked into the inn.

Shouting. Something large and heavy falling over.

Cursing, more shouts, the sound of a sword hitting stone.

Silence.

After a few seconds the door opened again, and Oltahm stuck his head out.

“Master Donn? All done. Come in, please.”

He clambered down off his horse and to the door. Oltahm grabbed his arm to support him, and helped inside.

The room was fairly dark, but his eyes quickly adjusted. The small, high windows let in plenty of light, even if it wasn’t as bright as the morning sun outside. Captain Tenuk was sitting on a bench facing a small, dark man held facing him on a second bench by Tenuk’s two guards.

Donn assumed it must be Sombili.

Behind him stood half a dozen city guards, no doubt via the rear door of the inn. In theory the city guards should be in charge, superior to Factor Bertram’s own private force, but they understood the politics of power here… and since Bertram was also the head of the Council they had a good excuse to let Captain Tenuk handle it.

“Donn One-Leg!? You?”

“No, Master Sombili. I’m merely an interested onlooker. You’ll have to deal with the Captain, there, I’m afraid.”

“You talk to me,” broke in Captain Tenuk. “The Council ordered me to come get you. They seem to believe you’ve assassinated someone in the city. That’s frowned on here, you know.”

Sombili stopped struggling and looked straight at Tenuk.

“I was not in the city yesterday; you have no hold on me.”

“Who said it was yesterday?” asked Oltahm. “Strange that you should already know what we’re talking about.”

Sombili glared back.

“So you claim I was in the city yesterday?”

“You were,” stated Oltahm flatly. “And you came back through the west gate evening last.”

“If I came back through the west gate, as you claim, then I clearly wasn’t in the city.”

“But you were,” contradicted Tenuk. “Dylath-Leen encompasses Penia, although it’s outside the walls. Garood really should have mentioned that fact to you.”

“Garood? What does Garood have to do with it?”

Tenuk grunted; Oltahm chuckled.

“We know who paid you to assassinate Factor Sefu, Sombili,” said Tenuk. “I’d think you’d be more interested in protecting your own skin. You upset the wrong people.”

Tenuk leaned forward, his face only a hand’s breadth from Sombili’s.

“You know, the Council gave me a free hand here… and the punishment for assassination here in Dylath-Leen is death.”

Sombili spat on the floor but was silent, glaring.

“You tell us who hired you, right here in front of everyone, and you could escape that fate,” continued Tenuk. “Or I could put a dagger through your heart right now, if you prefer.”

“I’d be happy to take care of that for you, Captain,” said Oltahm, eyebrows lowered and brow furrowed.

“No, no, let’s see what Master Sombili has to say first.”

The room was quiet for several breaths, and then “It was Garood…”

“Thank you, Master Sombili. We knew it, but it’s always nice to have it out in the open, especially in front of so many witnesses, don’t you think?”

“Let me go now.”

“Of course, of course,” said Tenuk. “Just one more little matter to take care of first.

“Hold his right arm out flat on the bench,” he ordered.

Sombili struggled and kicked, but the two guards forced him into a kneeling position on the floor, with his right hand atop the bench.

“Off with his middle finger.”

“Captain! No, please!”

Without his middle finger he would be unable to shoot a strong bow, and probably any bow at all… his days as an archer would be over.

“Master Oltahm? Would you like to do the honors?”

“With pleasure, Captain, thank you,” said Oltahm, drawing his dagger and stepping forward.

“Captain, if I may offer a suggestion?” said Donn quietly.

They turned to see what he had to say.

“Do you suppose we might offer him his fingers in return for a promise to never visit Dylath-Leen again, and to kill the man who hired him?

“He just said that’s Garood…”

“He might have been telling the truth, or he might have just said what you wanted to hear. But Master Sombili surely knows who hired him, and he does have a reputation as an assassin who keeps his word. Surely it would be better to condemn his employer to death than the assassin, who is merely a tool.”

The scowl on Oltahm’s face grew darker, but he slowly nodded.

Captain Tenuk turned back to the assassin.

“Master Sombili? What say you?”

“My employer… I would hardly be bound by any promise made under threat of death.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” corrected Donn. “I’d be happy to pay the usual rate, half in advance and half on completion. A perfectly normal transaction, yes?”

“…yes… a perfectly normal transaction…”

“And I think we’d have to stipulate that the deed be carried out within, oh, a dozen days, shall we say?”

Sombili nodded.

“Well then, I believe this will seal the deal,” said Donn, pulling out his wallet and pouring a handful of gold Celephaïs crowns onto the table. “Would twenty now and twenty later be acceptable? I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with rates…”

“Fine,” agreed Sombili shortly.

“Excellent! Master Oltahm, if you would be so kind as to sheathe your dagger. And perhaps Captain Tenuk’s guards could let Master Sombili up again?”

“What’s going on here!?” came a roar from the doorway as a dozen men pushed their way into the inn, knocking the assembled guards out of the way.

They all turned to see what the commotion was.

“Donn! And Tenuk! This is Master Garood’s inn, you know that!”

“Well, well, Master Bokorh. Rude and noisy as always, I see,” smiled Captain Tenuk. “We were just enjoying a little breakfast here in this quaint inn; we had no idea that it was Master Garood’s private facility.”

“What are you doing with Sombili there?”

“Master Sombili? Oh, so you know each other? How strange; I wonder why.”

Captain Tenuk stood to face Bokorh, and the three groups of fighters in the room shifted stance in case things got dangerous. Captain Tenuk’s force and the city guards were on this same team this time, and outnumbered Bokorh’s troopers, but a cramped inn was not the best place for a swordfight… and Garood’s headquarters was just a stone’s throw away.

“Just having a little chat,” said Tenuk. “Maybe we’ll be going now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He walked toward Bokorh, almost stepping on his toes before the ruffian finally gave way, letting the Captain and then his men leave the inn.

Oltahm and one of the other guards from the warehouse helped Donn outside, and up onto his horse.

A dozen more of Garood’s troopers had gathered outside, standing in the road but not attacking.

“Are we really done here?” asked Oltahm.

“I think so, yes,” replied Tenuk. “An excellent idea on Master Donn’s part, and excellent timing, too! Mount up, and let’s get back to the Council, shall we? Before Master Bokorh gets more upset with us.”

Bokorh and his troopers watched them ride back toward the center of town, leaving Garood’s slice of the city quiet once more.

– 5 –

Sefu’s funeral was held that afternoon, and of course Donn and Pensri were there, along with most of the people who had worked with Sefu at the warehouse. A number of other people were there as well: shopkeepers, merchants, a few ship captains and crew, Godsworn from a range of temples, and just common folk that he had helped in one way or another over the years. Many of the Council members had come, including Factor Bertram, he was happy to see.

He caught Bertram’s eye and they nodded to each other almost imperceptibly.

Godsworn Hangaram of Nath-Horthath and her acolytes had helped Oluhai cleanse and prepare Sefu’s body, and dress him.

Donn and Pensri passed through the marble gate, flanked by man-sized statues of lions on both sides, and into the temple courtyard. They looked up at the sheer wall of the temple rising in front of them, black basalt with streaks of a reddish rock running through. The lines of gold T’pictyl script running vertically down its face glinted in the afternoon sun.

The shelf just inside the gate was awash in flowers of every variety of hue.

They selected a few and carried them over to where Sefu lay.

He was lying on a bed of fresh reeds, surrounded by flowers of every kind, dressed in a long, multi-colored robe. Live, he had favored the clashing contrasts of traditional Pargite cloth, usually bold yellows and scarlets, but now he wore one far quieter: a gentle pattern of dark maroon and purple, tied with a black sash.

His eyes were closed, and he looked at peace.

The six acolytes, standing motionless guard around him at the apexes of a hexagon, each held a thick wood staff at an angle, leaning outwards, and from the top of the staff three chains held a dish-shaped censers of aromatic incense.

Donn laid his flowers atop Sefu’s chest, and stood silently for a moment with Pensri before turning to console Oluhai.

A gong reverberated through the courtyard and everyone turned toward the temple.

A black-robed woman emerged from the temple, clapping small wood sticks together and chanting a prayer in a tongue older than the Dreamands, placing one foot down deliberately, halting for a moment, than the other, and again, a solemn, sacred approach. Behind her followed Godsworn Hangaram, dressed in his formal dark red robe and half-black, half-white vest symbolizing Nath-Northath’s command of life and death. Another black-clad acolyte, a young man carrying a tray with a small hexagonal dish and a hammer, both of a silvery metal, brought up the rear.

They proceeded slowly until they reached Sefu’s body.

The Godsworn knelt and placed his hand on Sefu’s forehead, chanting a prayer as the censers at the four corners suddenly began billowing an acrid, black smoke full of ashes and grit.

The Godsworn’s chant rose louder and louder, and with it rose a wind, first gently caressing the flowers, but growing bolder and wilder with each passing second until it was a vortex, a thin whip of shrieking wind that danced and spat through the smoke and over the flowers, growing thinner and livelier, weaving and jumping as it tried to escape the invisible walls of the hexagon, spiraling and twisting up, up into the sky.

There was a flash of light from the reed bed, blinding the watchers for a moment, and when they opened their eyes again the Godsworn was kneeling alone on the paving stones: Sefu, the reed bed, and the flowers gone.

Donn felt something on his face. A wisp of fine ash. It fell around them in a faint mist, snow-white ash so fine it disintegrated when it touched the ground, leaving only the faintest trace of ozone.

Something sparkled on the ground in front of Hangaram.

Sefu’s soulstone was all that was left; the dross was gone, reclaimed by the Gods.

He reached out and picked it, cradling the milky sphere in his palm like something precious.

The young man stepped forward and knelt in front of the Godsworn, holding the metal dish in both hands, and Hangaram gently picked up the soulstone and placed it inside.

He stood, and turned to face Oluhai.

“Mistress Oluhai.”

Tear-tracks glistened on her cheeks but she walked forward bravely, and stopped facing the Godsworn.

“Mistress Oluhai, will you return Master Sefu to Nath-Horthath?”

If she used the orichalc hammer to shatter the soulstone Sefu’s spirit would return to the realm of the God of Life and Death.

“No, I cannot,” she said in a clear voice. “His death is yet unavenged, and I will need his assistance.”

“So be it,” said the Godsworn, and, taking the dish from the acolyte, held it out to her in his own two hands.

Donn had never refused to grant freedom to a soulstone. He had never really thought about the Gods in depth, simply accepting that they existed, and could sometimes be swayed and sometimes not. By shattering the soulstone, the soul of the dead could return to Nath-Horthath, to be reborn. To be trapped in a soulstone for all eternity seemed a fate literally worse than death.

And to die alone in the wild, or in battle and left for the ghouls meant that your soul was doomed to wander the realms forever, trapped between them and forever barred from oblivion or rebirth.

She accepted the dish, bowed, and stepped back, clutching the soulstone to her breast with both hands. Her children—Roth, her eldest, stood at her shoulder, not a tear on his taut face, while daughter Jessica hugged Oluhai from the other side, weeping with her.

Donn sighed.

Pensri took his arm to help him walk over to Oluhai, and he turned.

“Factor Chóng!”

The Factor was there with Gonville, with two quiet guards standing behind, eyes flashing left and right. Betsy, Sefu’s second-in-command, stood nearby.

“Master Donn, Mistress.”

“How did you…?”

“Airship, of course. Factor Sefu was a friend,” said Chóng, “I’m glad I was in time.”

He looked around at the thinning crowd, nodded to someone.

“Let me pay my respects to Mistress Oluhai, but we must talk.”

“Of course, Factor,” said Donn. “I’ll be at the warehouse.”

As the Factor walked over to Ouhai, greeting her as an old friend, Donn and Pensri passed through the temple gate. Pensri helped him up onto his horse.

“I’ll stay with Oluhai for now, Donn. Might be a day or two,” said Pensri.

“If she needs anything, just tell me and I’ll take care of it. And take care of yourself, too!”

“And you, Donn. And you.”

As Pensri returned to the temple, Oltahm walked up.

“Back to the warehouse, Master Donn?”

“Yes. Walk with me.”

“Glad to,” said the trooper, and grasped the halter of Donn’s horse, walking alongside. “She said she’d keep his soulstone until she had vengeance… is she going to get it?”

“Sombili’s a professional, right?”

“Yeah…”

“So if he breaks his oath, he’ll be pretty much out of work.”

“Well, yeah… except for lawless robbers.”

“You think someone with his sort of rep is going to risk that?”

Oltahm plodded in silence for a few paces.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And he’d certainly like to add Garood’s name to his list of kills.”

“That was my thought exactly,” agreed Donn.

“And what if he fails?”

“Well, if he fails I imagine Garood will take care of Sombili instead.”

“Hmm. We get at least one of them. I’d rather both, but yeah, I’ll take it.”

Once they were safely inside the walls of Chóng’s warehouse, Oltahm helped Donn off the horse and into the building.

His leg was so painful he abandoned the idea of going up and relaxing on the couch there, instead collapsing on a barrel of olive oil.

He massaged his leg but it didn’t help.

The box of Trooper’s Friends he’d received from Betsy was still in his bag. He pulled it out and set one of the ugly red-and-brown slugs onto his arm. It sensed the warm blood and sang its fang-rimmed mouth into the flesh immediately, pulsating as it sucked in Donn’s fresh blood.

The pain began to fade almost immediately, the sharpest pangs softened to until he could relax his jaw again. It never stopped, though, not any more… he’d need at least two of the disgusting bloodsuckers, maybe three, to stop feeling it entirely.

Not today, though.

Not after Sefu’s funeral.. it was painful to say goodbye to such a close friend as Sefu had been, and he just didn’t feel it would be right to deaden his feelings now, pushing that grief away.

He hated it, hated the grief and the loss and the death, but he needed to feel it to properly grieve, and honor his friend.

Maybe later.

He sat there for a few minutes, eyes closed, just enjoying the peace and calm that the Trooper’s Friend had brought. Without the constant pain gnawing and biting at him, he could think.

For Garood to actually start assassinating people… that was a big step. It would terrify some of the smaller councilors and might drive them to support Garood’s bid for admission, but at the same time the more powerful, well-established ones would increase their efforts to bring him under control and ensure stability in the city.

Nobody wanted a fight—it interfered with profits.

It was an opportunity, actually, because now that everything was in flux there was a good chance he could shake loose some of Garood’s supporters, and maybe even convince some of them to take action in response.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and opened his eyes.

It was Nels, the young boy who worked at the warehouse.

“Brought you some tea, Master Donn.”

He thanked Nels and picked the cup up from the tray.

“Are Mistress Betsy and Factor Chóng back yet?”

“Mistress Betsy’s up in the office; she got back a little while ago. I haven’t seen the Factor yet, though.”

“I suppose I must go tell her I’m here,” he grumbled, struggling to his feet.

“That won’t be necessary, Master Donn,” came Betsy’s voice. “I was just coming to find you.”

Swaying a bit, he turned to greet her.

“Please, sit,” she gestured. “We can talk here as well as upstairs.”

Donn sat down again heavily, and glanced at the Trooper’s Friends.

They were quite swollen now, and approaching the point of egg release.

“Do you have a taper handy? Or incense?”

“Of course,” she said. “Nels! Bring a lit incense stick.”

The boy ran off but was back before they even had a chance to settle down, Donn on the barrel of olive oil and Betsy on a nearby pile of rice sacks.

“Thank you, Master Nels.”

With the glowing incense it was a simple matter to remove the slug, and he dropped it back into the box.

Betsy made no effort to help.

“Disgusting things.”

“That they are, but even disgusting slugs have their uses,” he said. “Unlike my leg, which now is of no use whatsoever.”

She cleared her throat, looking away for a moment.

“If you need anything from me, Mistress,” he began, “just let me know. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent Factor.”

She looked at him and pursed her lips in hesitation.

“You should really hear this from Factor Chóng, but he’s asked me to become the factor for Baharna. He plans to ask someone else to take over here.”

“Is there anyone else who can handle the job?”

She just looked at him.

“That’s why I said you should really hear it from the Factor.”

Donn was silent for a moment.

“Me!? No, no, that’s just not possible. I have my own business to run, and I couldn’t possibly be a proper factor with this leg.”

“I think you’d make a far better factor than I would,” she said quietly. “You’ve taught me at least as much as Sefu did over the years, and you have a lot more connections here.”

“Oh, hush. That simply won’t happen,” he assured her. “I’ll be sorry to see you off to Baharna, but I’ve no doubt you can handle it. Factor Chóng will just have to find someone else here.”

There was a loud cough from nearby, and they both looked up.

Chóng and Gonville were standing there.

“I see you’ve already filled Master Donn in,” said the Factor. “I’m not sure the middle of a busy warehouse floor was the best place to do it, but it’s done.

“Instead of forcing you to use the stairs, though, suppose we just use my airship?”

He sent Gonville to signal the airship, and directed Betsy to clear a space in the yard for it to land.

“The airship steps are quite a bit shorter than the warehouse’s, and once we’re up we can talk in private.”

The airship took off a few minutes later, with Factor Chóng, Donn, Betsy, and Gonville on the main deck.

– 6 –

Chóng had been very convincing, and Donn agreed with him that the situation in Dylath-Leen was extremely important. The city was a key hub for Chóng’s trading empire, and on a more personal level it was where Donn and his family lived.

It had been a whirlwind week: learning all the details of Sefu’s business; making sure he knew everyone, including employees, customers, and suppliers; doing his best to protect Penia by officially moving into the city proper himself; and meeting with Factor Bertram several times to make sure they were coordinating their activities effectively.

He’d written two long, detailed messages and sent them back to Penia with Pensri, who would give one to Hakim, and send the other on to Djimon Jasque and Sadiki in Zretazoola. Among other things, he needed to get a network of dragolets set up between the three of them. That meant transporting male dragolets from mated pairs to each location—when released, the male would fly back to where he’d left his mate. It made it impossible to use them to fly messages anywhere, but where the destination was fixed they were an excellent choice, especially since the three locations were quite close to each other: a dragolet could fly any of the routes in half a day at most.

He’d also promoted Oltahm to sergeant, giving him command over the guard force. For whatever reason, Sefu hadn’t appointed a sergeant after the first one had been killed mysteriously one night on patrol, taking direct command himself. Donn was more than happy to give Oltahm free rein… he trusted the man, and delegating command would give him more time to spend on other things.

Betsy had been invaluable, helping him fill in the gaps in his understanding.

He already knew the trade, of course, and most of the customers and suppliers, but as he and Chóng had been, at times, competitors, Sefu had kept a lot of the details to himself. As he learned both sides of the story, he chuckled at how he had outwitted Sefu now and then, and laughed with delight when he found how Sefu how outwitted him.

Betsy was off to Baharna the next day, leaving him with a good idea of what he needed to knew, a somewhat hazy idea of how to best go about it, and a memory stick with a verbal lock.

Garood would have known soon enough that Donn had taken over, so he made a point of attending the next meeting of the Council, and introducing himself as Sefu’s successor, representing Factor Chóng. Bertram acknowledged him, of course, but the rest of the Councilors stayed icily polite and distant. He already knew many of them through long years of trade in the city, but Donn the trader was a very different person than Councilor Donn One-Leg.

Nobody called him One-Leg to his face, but he heard it now and again in conversation. It wasn’t the most flattering nickname, but at least it was true.

Still, he made the rounds, meeting and greeting every Councilor and stressing that he wanted to work with all of them to better Dylath-Leen, and incidentally their own profits. The ones that didn’t know him certainly knew of him, and he was confident he could start meaningful conversations with most of the them in the near future. He needed to get a better feel for what each thought about Garood and Bertram.

The Council Hall was an ornate stone building, built of the same black basalt as the city walls and many of its buildings, but unlike their stark, angular forms it boasted larger-than-life bas reliefs of various gods and heroes on its walls.

A spacious roofed area in front of the enormous double bronze doors of the main entrance made sure the Councilors would stay dry as they walked from carriage to Council Hall, or back. On one side of the roofed area Old Tormak’s shop offered a selection of fine food and drink for the Councilors or their aides. He pulled his tall cart there every morning, dropping one side to create a low shop counter, with his wares and a tiny kitchen inside.

Donn had been one of Old Tormak’s customers for years, and made sure to visit him again now that he was a Councilor. He had a few things they needed to talk about, too.

Back at the warehouse, he was exhausted and his leg throbbed with pain. He needed three or four Trooper’s Friends to banish it now, and when he was taut with stress and lack of sleep even they didn’t wipe it all away.

He picked up the memory stick once again, turning it over in his hands.

Sefu had stored something on it, but even Betsy didn’t know what. She suspected it was his most secret information.

It had been locked with a spell and would require the spoken key to open. Betsy, unfortunately, didn’t know the key.

It would be easy enough to have someone remove the lock, but more than likely that would also destroy whatever information Sefu had put on it. Donn decided to wait before taking that gamble, in the hope that he might guess the word to unlock it.

Nothing he tried worked. Betsy had tried, too, with the same result.

He wanted to ask Chóng if he had any ideas, but Factor Chóng had flown back to Lhosk the same day as the funeral, after they’d talked.

He wondered once again why Chóng hadn’t put a portal here in Dylath-Leen… it was one of the four major port trading cities, and the other three had them. Chóng had avoided answering, for whatever reason.

“Master Nels, would you get the sergeant for me?”

“Yes, Factor,” said the lad, and scurried out.

Oltahm came almost instantly; it was a short walk now. Donn had had a temporary office set up on the first floor of the warehouse, taking over what had been one of the guards’ rooms. The displaced guards had moved upstairs, taking over what had been the Factor’s office there. Oltahm was going to change a few things around to provide better protection, but at least he could do his work now without having to walk up and down those triple-damned stairs.

“Yes, Factor?”

“Sergeant, I haven’t been able to unlock this memory stick. Factor Betsy couldn’t do it either. I want to ask Oluhai if she’s got any suggestions; she knew him better than I did.”

“You want me to fetch her?”

“No, of course not! I want to go and ask her myself.”

“Sorry. Horse or carriage?”

“Just horse is fine, unless you think the carriage is necessary.”

Donn hated riding in the carriage. It was safer against arrows, to be sure, but he disliked being cooped up, and especially hated not being able to see anything.

Oltahm thought for a moment.

“Carriage, I think. I’d rather not lose you to an arrow, too.”

“And you might send someone to be sure she’s there, and let her know I’m coming.”

“I’ll take care of it, sir,” said Oltahm, and left.

The carriage and escort were ready to go in about twenty minutes. Oltahm handed command of the warehouse guards to Reciroh, whom they’d both come to trust after that ill-fated journey to Zretazoola. She had proven herself more than capable of handling the job.

Sergeant Oltahm on his own horse was joined by three other mounted guards, and another two guards the carriage. They all wore mail, of course. Oltham insisted that Donn wear it too.

Donn sat by himself inside the carriage, shades down, as the group moved out of the walled warehouse and onto the city streets, hooves clopping on the paving stones.

They left the wharf area and headed toward the wealthier eastern extent of the city.

Oltahm guided his horse up close to the carriage, speaking in a low voice that only Donn could hear.

“Sure enough, we’ve got a tail. Looks like Pailaro, but there’s probably more of them watching the warehouse.”

“Pailaro… he’s one of the three that came out to Penia searching for Sadiki, and stabbed by wife.”

“He stabbed your wife!? But…”

Don shushed him.

“We’re not in the habit of killing people if we can avoid it, even people like Pailaro. We called a Truthing, and it ended up with Reeve Brukah sentencing the three of them to death if they ever set forth in Penia again.”

“I’m sort of surprised he really cared what he was threatened with…” mused Oltahm.

“You’ve never heard about how House Penia protects itself, I gather?”

“Never really cared, to be honest.”

“You know most of the people living there are either ex-slaves or their families, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And a lot of them were troopers at one time or another. When something happens, everyone in the whole valley assembles. That’s a lot of big, strong people, and I’d hate to face them myself without a couple dozen troopers at my back.

“We’ve a gallows set up near the village square, too.”

“Hmm. I see. Like a hive of army ants.”

Donn chuckled.

“Not that many of us, but we’re bigger. We take care of robbers and such quite handily by ourselves,” explained Donn. “Garood is rather more of a problem because he commands considerable force, but Factor Bertram helps there. We’d have plenty of warning, at least, if not actual assistance.”

“Is that why you moved the shelter out there?”

“Part of it, yes. The shelter needs more space, and the people there will certainly appreciate the fresh air and food of the countryside. The old center is still here in the city for people working here, but most of the children should really be in Penia, where they’re safe.

“And having the Council assign some guards there helps, too.”

“Too damn bad they weren’t there when Sefu took that trip,” muttered Oltahm.

“The forest between the city and Penia is still dangerous,” said Donn. “We need regular patrols through there, and maybe even a guardhouse.”

“Have you talked to Bertram about that?”

“Not yet… too much to do right now, and I doubt he’s in the mood anyway.”

Oltahm snorted.

“He’s not one to take kindly to any suggestion he spend more money.”

“No, I don’t imagine he is. Factor Chóng, however, may be.”

“You think he might get directly involved in Council business? That’s a pretty big step.”

“He’s got his fingers in a lot more pies than I’ve got fingers; who knows?” said Donn. “But I think he’s been in close communication with Bertram about Garood, and no doubt other things.”

“That would stir things up in the city for sure.”

“That it would,” agreed Donn. “That it would.”

They fell silent for a moment, then Oltahm spoke up again.

“Factor Sefu’s home is just ahead. Excuse me.”

“Go ahead, Sergeant. I’ll be fine.”

Oltahm nodded briefly and cantered ahead to check that everything was safe at Sefu’s house. His widow, Oluhai, should be waiting.

A few minutes later Donn was kneeling in front of the family altar, his palms pressed together and head bowed in prayer. Smoke twirled up from the incense in a lazy spiral.

He finished his prayer and raised his eyes to the altar.

It was made ofs some dark wood, decorated with detailed carvings of plants and animals, with Nath-Horthath’s face looking down from the top. The shelf was covered with dishes full of all sorts of food and three porcelain cups—one of water, one of tea, and the last of Sefu’s favorite Cydathrian brandy. In the middle of the shelf, surrounded by the food and drink, was a small wooden bowl holding his soulstone, glinting in the candle light.

“Thank you, Factor Donn,” said Oluhai, helping him rise to his feet and hobble to the nearby couch. He collapsed with a grunt of relief.

“I miss Master Sefu deeply, Mistress,” he started. “He was a fine man, and a friend.”

One of the servants brought in a tea set and served them both a delicious Selarn broadleaf.

“He spoke of you often,” she replied. “And Factor Chóng, of course, but I don’t think he was ever as close to the Factor as he was to you. And dear Mistress Pensri.”

“I’m sorry she had to return to Penia,” apologized Donn. “Once a few things are cleared up, though, she’ll be able to spend more time with you here.”

“It’s alright, Factor Donn, she has her own life to lead. There’s no need to—”

“You’re a friend, Mistress. Of course we’ll help.”

“Thank you,”, she nodded, eyes glistening. “But you’re a busy man, and I doubt you came here just to comfort me.”

Donn sighed.

“Unfortunately, no. Sefu left a memory stick,” he said, pulling it out of his wallet. “I’ve tried every word I can think of and cannot unlock it… I was hoping you might have an idea. There is much that even Mistress Betsy did not know, and it would be enormously helpful if some of it were here.”

“Perhaps I can help,” she said, holding out her hand. “What will become of Mistress Betsy? I assumed she would become factor after Sefu.”

“Factor Chóng asked her to become factor at Baharna, and I think she’s glad at the chance. She already knows the territory, and will be able to develop it afresh, without concern as to what Sefu would have wanted.”

“You enjoy that same freedom, I note.”

“I do. But until I know why Sefu did some of the things he did…”

“I see…”

She turned it over in her hands, not really looking at it, but rubbing it gently.

“We lost our first child, you know,” she said softly, looking at a tapestry on the wall. “I was yet young, and she was born too soon. She died only hours later.

“Sefu and I were shattered, and it took years before we felt confident enough give it a second chance. There was Roth, and later Jessica, but we never forgot Rianna. And we never spoke of her to anyone else.”

She handed the memory stick back to Donn, then pulled a small cloth bag from inside her shirt. It was hanging around her neck on a cord. She opened it and rolled a soulstone out onto her open palm.

“She has been alone for so long,” she whispered, “but soon Sefu can finally be with her.”

She reached out and placed it on the same ornate stand as Sefu’s own soulstone.

“Her name was Rianna.”

He felt the memory stick grow warm in his hand.

“Thank you, Mistress Oluhai,” he said. “Sefu will have his vengeance soon, I promise you, and both may pass into Nath-Horthath’s hands.”

She swung her eyes back to capture Donn’s.

“Soon?”

“Soon,” he nodded. “Very soon.”

She nodded in return, then silently rose and left the room.

The maidservant showed them out.

* * *

Sefu had filled the memory stick with countless details of what secret deals he had made, what confidential information he had received and from whom, what payments had been made off the books, and everything else that only he would have known.

There were a few things that Chóng needed to know, but on the whole it was full of the sorts of things any good trader would be doing. Sefu kept better records than most, probably because he had nothing in particular to hide from Chóng if ever asked.

It turned out that he had been keeping an emergency fund, just in case something happened, together with Betsy. Donn quietly checked to see that the gold was still there, just on the off chance that Betsy might have taken it, but it was safe. He decided to mention that to Factor Chóng—she had been a big help to him once he took over, and reporting her honesty to Chóng was one way to say thanks.

Between Sefu’s spy network, mostly shopkeepers and merchants throughout the city, and his own network of servants and slaves, Donn now controlled what was undoubtedly the most extensive intelligence network in the city. He’d have to arrange to meet some of these people—he already knew some of them through his own business transactions—and reassure them that even though he had replaced Sefu, they were invaluable and still safe with him. Some of that emergency fund would probably be needed to reassure them, he thought.

He could fit together more fragmentary bits of information now, too, which would make it much easier to give Bertram what he needed. And knowing more about what everyone else was doing would pay off when it came to business, too.

Already he’d seen one place where he could make a healthy profit connecting someone who had a product with someone who was looking for a new supplier.

He’d sat down with Oltahm and they’d talked—argued, mostly—about how Donn could get out and meet everyone he needed to meet without dragging along a contingent of armed guards. Many people, not surprisingly, felt il at ease when a lot of big troopers with big swords were standing at their backs, and Donn needed their trust.

Finally they decided that Donn would just wear one of the reinforced mail shirts, with steel plates sewn into the front and back for additional protection. He was accompanied by Oltahm and one other guard, usually a young woman from Daikos named Frei. Even Donn had to admit she didn’t seem very dangerous, although anyone taking a closer look at her well-used sword and dagger would realize the truth.

Sergeant Oltahm dressed a little differently, too, at Donn’s request: he still wore mail, of course, but now it was mostly hidden under a cotton jacket. He looked quite a bit fatter and hated it.

Today he had to visit the Temple of the Unwanted.

He’d almost always gone there every time he visited Dylath-Leen, and he kept up the practice now that he was a Councilor. No schedule, but about once a week. Today was a little different, because he’d be meeting someone there.

The three of them—Donn, Oltahm, and Frei—rode out of the warehouse at a leisurely walk, riding through the passers-by on the wharf, and into the city proper. It was the early afternoon, and the streets were quieter than usual as many people relaxed after lunch, resting or napping. The horses still had to weave around pedestrians, street vendors, horses and raptors, and even a few deinos, but for the most part the riders could leave it all up to the horses, who were experienced enough to take most everything in stride.

They all dismounted at the small doorway that opened up to the Temple’s alley. It was the only way there, as far as most people knew, and Frei stayed there to see that no-one else went in until Donn and Oltahm came out again.

Oltahm and Donn walked down the narrow alley and around the bend to enter the Temple. The grounds were deserted except for a single man kneeling in front of the low table. He wore a grey-brown robe, straw sandals and a straw hat low over his eyes, hiding his features in shade.

Oltahm stayed by the gate as Donn limped over to wait his turn at the table

The kneeling man ignored Donn, lightning another stick of incense, waving it to extinguish the flame, and standing it up in the holder. He bent his head in prayer once again, and in the shadow of his hood, signed with his fingers.

I met with Old Tormak, and he’s accepted the payment. He’ll take a vacation for a few weeks, or until we tell him to come back.

Good, signed Donn, scratching his cheek. When will you be set up?

Noon tomorrow. Have to have lunch ready, after all.

The cart is ready?

Everything’s ready to go. Give me three seconds to grab the rope and they’re gone.

Anything else? queried Donn

Nope. Just the waiting, now.

Take care, Hakim.

You too, replied the man as he rose and left the temple enclosure.

Donn knelt in his place to light his own incense and offer a prayer.

He glanced into the donations dish. Three of the strange pyramidal silver coins of Sona Nyl glittered in the afternoon sunlight.

He dropped a handful of his own coins to join them and rose again, limping back to join Oltahm at the gate.

* * *

Donn was staying at the warehouse, in temporary quarters adjoining his office on the ground floor. The guards he’d kicked out had taken over the Factor’s office upstairs. He still dropped by The Spitting Tabby regularly, though, often with Oltahm.

Lately he’d begun taking young Nels, the office boy, with him. The lad lived with his mother and six siblings—there was no father, apparently. The boy took his pay, meager as it was, home for his mother, and was clearly underfed. Donn gave him a pay raise, bought him clothes, and took him out for a full meal fairly often.

Tonight was one of those nights, and Sergeant Oltahm and Trooper Frei were along, too.

Oltahm said that he tagged along because he was hungry, but Donn noticed the way he scanned the streets as they rode, and scanned the tavern when they got there. Frei laughed as easily and tousled Nels’ hair, but her eyes danced around as much as Oltahm’s.

The Spitting Tabby was lit by a number of oil lanterns, scattered about on the walls and tables.

There was one of Donn’s table, as there always was. Rolf, the innkeeper, always held it for him.

“Four meals, Master Rolf,” he called as they trooped in, “and four ales!”

“Evening, Master Donn. Right away!”

Nels was probably the youngest person in the tavern, but he was learning to drink with the rest. Donn figured he was about ten or eleven, and big for his age. Smart, strong, willing… he’d go far.

Rachel, one of Rolf’s waitresses, brought the ales right away.

“Here you go, Master. Your food’ll be along right quick.”

Oltahm grabbed two of the mugs, handing one to Frei, and Rachel handed the other two to Donn and Nels.

“Thank you, Mistress,” said Nels politely, bobbing his head.

The other three echoed his thanks, and Rachel was off to the next patron.

“Fine woman, that,” said Oltahm to nobody in particular, watching her walk away, then grunted in pain as Frei elbowed him in the side.

“Didn’t you say that the red-head over at Bell’s place was the love of your life?”

“Ah, she was, she was,” grinned Oltahm. “But that was last week!”

She snorted, and took a gulp from her mug.

“Too strong for you, lad?”

Nels took another small sip.

“No, Factor, just drinking it slowly.”

Donn smiled.

“No hurry, Nels. Or tea if you like.”

“I’m fine, Factor, thank you.”

The skewered fish and bowls of rice with spicy chicken-and-greens on top showed up shortly, and they fell to eating and chatting about the trivial things. A pair of redwings had built a nest outside one of the second-floor windows, revealed Nels, and talk turned to birds of city and country.

“Excuse me for a moment,” said Donn, rising to his feet. “Nature calls.”

Oltahm started to stand, but Donn waved him down again.

“It’s fine, Sergeant. Even Garood would not strike someone relieving themselves.”

Oltahm cocked his head but sat back down, and watched Donn’s progress across the room toward the rear door. It opened into the back alley and its rough latrine. There was a less fragrant one in the inn itself, but the alley was much closer than walking all the way to the inn side of the building.

It was cool outside, a scattering of stars visible in the sliver of sky left between protruding roofs.

He stood at the open latrine and relieved some of the pressure in his bladder.

A dark figure approached silently in the darkness, standing right next to him, and proceeding to follow suit.

“Garood has something planned for tonight,” the figure said. It was a man’s voice. “At the warehouse. Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”

“My thanks,” whispered Donn, and walked back toward the tavern rearranging his clothes.

The others were still talking and drinking, and the empty plates had been cleared away.

“I’m a bit tired, I think,” he said. “I hate to break it up but I think I’ll be off to bed.”

“Your leg again, Factor?” asked Oltahm.

“Yes. Would you give me a hand, Sergeant?”

“Of course,” replied Oltahm, and rose to support Donn’s arm. “Be back in a few minutes. Don’t drink all my ale!”

Frei laughed.

“Leaving me with the tab again, are you?”

As they left the tavern and entered the inn, Donn warned Oltahm what he had heard.

“Get back to the warehouse and get everyone ready. I’d expect fire, but there’s no way of telling what he might have planned.”

“Yes, Factor. But what about you? I’m sure he knows you’re staying here tonight…”

“I’m riding out the back gate the same time you ride out the front. Send Frei and Nels to the warehouse. You meet me at the public bath in front of the Potters’ Market. We can go back to the warehouse together.”

“I’ll get everybody moving right now, Factor,” said Oltahm. “Watch yourself.”

Donn motioned Rolf over and explained that he needed to borrow a horse, and asked him to look after his own steed for a day or two.

The innkeeper agreed readily, and in a few minutes Don slipped out the back and onto a waiting horse.

“The others just left. Seemed to be quite drunk, actually.”

“They’re not,” said Donn shortly. “Thank you, Master Rolf.”

He twitched the reins and clattered into the shadows toward the Pottters’ Market.

He met up with Oltahm without difficulty and they raced back to the warehouse.

The warehouse was buzzing, everyone up and alert. The torches were lit, guards posted, wood stable walls doused and dripping, and more.

“Should we get the horses out?”

“…I don’t know…”

He looked at Oltahm.

“We might need them, you know… if things go badly.”

“I agree,” replied Oltahm. “For now.”

“Go,” waved Donn. “I’ll be here.”

Oltahm left to check the defenses, leaving Donn alone in his office on the first floor.

The office staff was gone for the night, leaving only the guards, so they were ready quickly.

In a remarkably short time the warehouse facility was as ready as they could make it, and all fell quiet, listening.

Minutes passed, birds calling in the night, echoes of a distant lovers’ quarrel from the rooftops.

A clattering of hooves… a horse was approaching, and fast!

Donn stood, head cocked, listening as they approached.

Shouts from above, Oltahm calling out commands, a few archers running to the wall on that side.

The horse didn’t even slow down, but raced past the warehouse, down the alley, and away again.

There was a crash from upstairs as something flew in the window and smashed into a wall.

“Fire!” shouted someone.

Running feet, more shouts, guards hoisting buckets of water to rush upstairs.

More shouts, then everyone stopped running, low conversation.

“OK, everyone back to your posts,” came Sergeant Oltahm’s voice. “It wasn’t fire this time, but they might be back.”

He clumped down the stairs carrying a large object wrapped in a rice sack, and showed it to Donn.

“It wasn’t a firebomb, Factor, just a message.”

He tugged the rice sack and let the contents roll out onto the floor.

It was Sombili’s head.

– 7 –

They waited for the firebombs to come, but there was only silence, and after half an hour of tension they decided that nothing more was going to happen. Oltahm let everyone go except the regular night watch, and the warehouse buildings gradually fell silent once again.

Donn flew a dragolet to Penia immediately, warning the family that the situation in the city was getting tense. He’d already taken a few precautions to protect House Penia and the family, but it was impossible to tell what Garood might do, or when.

Surprisingly, he had a response in less than an hour.

From Noor, it was short and to the point:

I was just writing you myself.

Relieved you are safe. So are we.

More tomorrow.

Noor

Since dragolet notes could be intercepted and read, they were almost always written in code. This one was not, but the information it held was useless to anyone but him.

He wondered why she didn’t detail the “more” immediately instead of waiting for the morrow, but figured she just didn’t want to both with encoding in the middle of the night.

He sat down and took a sip of his now-cold tea, finally able to relax now that he knew everyone was alright.

As his adrenaline ebbed the pain came back. It seemed worse than ever, perhaps because he’d forgotten it for a few hours.

Gritting his teeth he reached for the box of Trooper’s Friends and pulled out a handful. By touch he flicked back the fat ones—the ones still plump with his blood—leaving only a few hungry slugs. If they were female and had already been fertilized, they began releasing eggs into the bloodstream after they were replete. And once they injected eggs into someone it almost always meant death.

He’d have to get more of the damned things, he thought. Too many were too well-fed, and he was beginning to have trouble finding hungry ones that weren’t dangerous. He needed more these days, too: it took four or five at a time now.

Already he could feel the pain receding, slipping away so he couldn’t feel it anymore. It was still there, but it was farther away, somewhere else… He gave a sigh and closed his eyes in relief.

“…Factor! Factor Donn!”

“Huh? Wha…?”

He snapped awake.

Someone was standing at the door. He squinted.

It was Reciroh.

Behind her the morning sun was shining in the high windows.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled, trying to snap out of his haze. “Just resting my eyes for a minute.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Been a long night,” he said, straightening his tunic. “What is it?”

“The Merry Widow is docking now, from Aphorat and Baharna. You said you wanted to be notified.”

“Ah, yes, thank you. I’ll be right there.”

He sat up and reached for his cup of tea.

The tunic sleeve fell from his extended arm, and he saw the row of angry, red sores along it.

The Trooper’s Friends!

Damn!

He’d been so exhausted he’d fallen asleep with them still on his arm!

They were lying on the table, fat and sated with his blood.

He collected them and dumped them back into the box.

They’d taken so much blood they fell off by themselves.

Had any of them been pregnant females?

Did he even now have fatal eggs flowing through his blood, searching for his liver? Had they already begun to build their little hidey holes there, eating into his flesh and condemning him to a slow death?

He rubbed his face.

Stubble.

Have to shave, too.

He felt weak, too weak to think properly.

“Nels!”

The boy popped up in seconds; he must have been waiting just outside the door.

“Nels, run down to the kitchen and get me some breakfast—eggs’d be good—and some hot spiced tea, will you?”

“Right away, sir!” came the reply, bright and bubbly, and he was gone.

A short while later he walked down to the wharf where the Merry Widow was just dropping her gangplank. Chóng’s double-crescent flag, his glyph in the center, flapped and snapped in the sea breeze.

The crew and longshoremen were already hustling cargo out of the hold, worked copper and brass from Cydathria, and smaller crates holding the delicate porcelain of Baharna and the fragrant resin of Oriab’s inner groves, perhaps with a few finely decorated glass bottles of perfume.

Captain Celi was watching the workers from the forecastle, keeping a careful eye on everything but leaving the shouting up to his first mate.

“Captain!”

Celi turned to nod at Donn, and wave him aboard. She hurried down to meet him.

“Factor Donn!” she said, helping from the gangplank to the deck. “Good to see you again!”

“And you, Captain. Safe voyage?”

“Fine, smooth sailing all the way. And with dolphins to keep us company, too.”

“Good, good.”

“So you’re the factor here now… And we’ve got a new factor in Baharna. Betsy seems to know what she’s doing, even if she is still learning.”

“She’s sharp, Captain. No worries there. Once she understands her suppliers and local demand I think you can expect some big changes out there. And big growth, too.”

“That’s fine with me. I’ve been around the Grim Forest so many times I’ve lost count, and I’ll keep doing it as long as the Cirque carries me.”

Donn scowled.

“The Grim Forest… I’m never going near that again if I can help it!”

Captain Celi raised her eyebrow.

“Something happen?”

“You know the Nausheen, under Yan of Rokol? We lost our rudder and the mainmast. Hakim, Katerina, Abbas, and I got swept overboard, and ended up in the Grim Forest.”

He stopped for a moment, eyes fixed on the ocean’s distant horizon, then shook his head slightly.

“Doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Here some pretty incredible stories about the Grim Forest,” mused Captain Celi, running her hand over her close-shaven head and checking that her single pigtail was still neat. “Don’t think I’d like half of them to be true.”

“Some of them are.

“But let me see your cargo list, Captain!”

She straightened up, the air cleared suddenly.

“Of course, Factor,” she said, and pulled a few sheets of paper from her pocket. “Please, sit, and let me tell you what I’ve got.”

They sat on a low bench to talk as the unloading continued.

* * *

Shu arrived in the early afternoon.

He was in the big wagon they often used to bring crops to market, but this time the bed was covered with corn stalks, a thick blanket of leaves hiding the load. Four Penia villagers accompanied him, one on the wagon and the other three on horseback.

They were all armed.

Donn heard the guards at the gate letting Shu onto the grounds and immediately limped outside to greet him.

As soon as Shu saw him he stopped the wagon and hopped off.

“Donn! You’re alright?”

“Fine, fine,” said Donn, smiling. “Just Garood trying to scare me, and that’s never worked very well.”

“Nope, you don’t scare. I wish you would, though, sometimes, instead of sticking your neck out all the time!”

“He’s just a petty thief with delusions of grandeur, no problem.

“Noor made it sound like something happened at home too…?”

The smile drained from Shu’s face.

“Yes, something did. We took care of it, or rather, Jasque’s family took care of it.”

He pulled some of the corn stalks aside to reveal that the wagon was full of bodies. Troopers, by the looks of them.

“What…?”

“Garood’s men. twelve of them came at night to torch the village and our house. They never made it through the forest.”

“So Jasque got my message, then!” smiled Donn. “Excellent.”

“The Motonga deserve their reputation. The poison they use on their blowpipe darts acts almost instantaneously, and the blowpipes themselves are very quiet. Thimba—he’s in charge of the Motongas—said they didn’t even have time to try to ride to safety. They were happy to repay part of the debt they owe you for Sadiki.”

“Who know who they are?”

“I recognized Bokorh. Glad he’s out of the way, at least. You might recognize a few others.”

“So Bokorh’s gone, is he,” said Donn. “Well, losing his whole twelve will certainly ruin Garood’s day. And Bokorh to boot!”

He turned to the guard standing nearby.

“Get Sergeant Oltahm, would you? And have a freight wagon brought—one of the old ones.”

The guard ran off and Donn sat down, heavily, on one of the wagon wheels.

“Are you really alright? You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, yeah, just a little tired, that’s all,” said Donn. “Lots of excitement lately.”

“How’s the leg?”

“Nothing serious, hurts a little once in a while.”

“Uh-huh,” mused Shu, unconvinced. “You still using Trooper’s Friends?”

“Yeah, sure, when I need them. Just sometimes.”

The conversation was cut short as Sergeant Oltahm walked up.

“Factor?”

“Sergeant, you know my husband Shurala Tokarra, right?”

“Master Shurala, good to see you again,” responded Oltahm. “Yes, we’ve met a number of times.”

“Last night a twelve of Garood’s men tried to torch the village and our home,” said Donn. “They failed.”

He waved his hand toward the wagon, and Oltahm stepped closer to peer inside.

“That’s Bokorh!”

“Yes it is.”

“What happened?”

“Like I said, they failed,” repeated Donn. “I’d like you to deliver them to Garood.”

“Deliver them?”

“I don’t think any message is needed. Just put them on that empty wagon your man is bringing up, and leave the wagon in front of Garood’s place. Or in front of The Gilded Bush, for that matter.

“He’ll know who it’s from.”

“All twelve? How many did you lose?”

“None,” said Shu. “None at all.”

“Damn! Garood’s gonna be pissed, to say the least.”

“To say the least,” agreed Donn. “Hopefully this will convince him to stop trying to kill people, but I doubt it.”

“Did you tell Factor Bertram about this?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

Oltahm gave a low whistle.

“Twelve, and no losses… you Penia people don’t play around, do you?”

“We can’t afford to, Sergeant. Too many people want us dead.”

>* * *

Two days later it was time for the regular meeting of the City Council. This would be Donn’s third meeting, once as a candidate and (soon) twice as a Councilor.

He expected Garood to make his play today, and Factor Bertram agreed. Between them they had a very good intelligence network in the city, and they’d heard similar rumors from multiple sources. Neither one of them had been able to get hold of someone in Garood’s inner circle, because he only trusted a very few close people who had been with him for decades.

“None of us are allowed to bring bodyguards or weapons into the Council Hall, Sergeant Oltahm,” he said, “but I’d like you to stay close and be ready to break in if necessary.”

“You’ve got the whistle?”

“Hanging around my neck right now,” smiled Donn, patting his chest. “Everyone’s ready?”

“There will be a dozen troopers waiting nearby; they can be there in a minute.”

“I hope none of this will be necessary, but Bertram and I both hear that something’s going to happen.”

“We’ll be ready, Factor.”

As they dismounted and walked toward the Council Hall, leaving their horses to the stable hands there, Factor Bertram and his Captain Tenuk rode up with a dozen. Donn stopped and waited for the Council head to join him.

“Good morning, Factor.”

“And to you, Factor Donn. How’s the leg?”

“Terrible, as always,” grimaced Donn, shaking his cane in emphasis. “But here I am.”

“Thank you. It might be an interesting day today, it seems…”

They walked to the door together, Tenuk and Oltahm walking behind them. The doors were enormous, made of bronze and covered in a bas relief of a phoenix covering both doors. Rather than open the heavy bronze doors, normally only used for very special ceremonial occasions, a smaller wooden door to the size was open.

Hakim’s stall was half a dozen meters to the side, turned so the display of food and drink was visible to anyone entering or leaving the Hall. Hakim caught Donn’s eye but they didn’t acknowledge each other’s presence. Hakim’s cart was quite tall, fitted with wooden doors and shelves all over.

“So nice of you to wait for me!” came a voice from the street.

They turned to see Garood approaching alone, a group of his ruffians standing some distance away.

“Just the two I wanted to see!” he continued. “Factor Donn, I wanted to thank you for leaving me such a fine gift the other day.”

Donn stood silent.

“We will not allow you to join the Council, you know,” said Bertram. “I know the Councilors well, and we can match any bribe you might offer.”

Garood smiled, seemingly genuinely pleased.

“Oh, I know that, Factor Bertram. I’ve known that for months!”

He walked closer, and Donn noticed his hand swing closer to his robe. It would be the perfect place to conceal a sword as long as he were standing… he moved to step between Garood and Bertram.

“Kill him!”

Garood yanked out his sword at the same time he shouted, and thrust forward at Factor Bertram.

Captain Tenuk, alerted by Donn’s movement, managed to parry with his sword in one hand while shoving the Factor through the open doorway with the other.

Garood’s men came rushing toward the Hall, followed shortly by Bertram’s guards.

Tenuk swung and thrust, forcing Garood back far enough for Donn to get to the doorway. Just as he was about to step through, leaving Tenuk and Oltahm to defend the narrow access, a sword plunged deep into his gut from behind.

“Oltahm…! Why…?”

Sergeant Oltahm yanked his sword out of Donn’s back and turned just in time to catch Captain Tenuk’s sword deep into his shoulder, slashing almost to the backbone.

Donn collapsed to the floor, and felt Bertram’s hands under his armpits, dragging him farther inside.

Garood’s men swarmed to the doorway, trapped there as Tenuk alone held them back from the narrow doorway until his own men could join the fray.

He heard a loud clunk from Hakim’s cart as the false panel dropped, revealing the loaded porcupines. Rope snapped, the whistle as three dozen arrows flew, thuds and screams and shouts from Garood’s men packed together, Tenuk shouting in surprise.

Men running, Factor Bertram’s voice, then nothing.

END