Donn first appeared in the Book of Richard, where so many of my stories canbe traced back to.

His early years are mentioned in passing, but the first story (so far) takes place when he is already an independent merchant, traveling the Western Continent,

The stories are all tagged with "Book of Donn" and have the following internal order:

1. The Iranon
2. The Search for Princessa
3. The Grim Tower
4. Fate
5. Laundry Day
6. Arthit and the Shadow
7. Sadiki
8. Dylath-Leen

Bent over under the punishing weight of the basket on her back, Lara paused as the sun was just breaking over the mountains. She needed to reach the market and set up her stall before the first customers came, and before the sun got too hot... the sun would spoil her fresh corn. Her basket weighed more than she did, though, and was heavy enough and tall enough to make walking a complicated trial in balance and strength.

She needed a quick rest, and a quick drink of water.

She sat down very gently on a rock at the side of the road, taking care to keep her load balanced, and let out a sigh of relief as the bottom of the basket came to rest on the rock, taking the weight off her back and legs.

She wiped her face with the towel hanging around her neck, and took a swig from her bamboo canteen.

What was that music...?

She listened, entranced.

It was a lute, of course—the lute was the traditional instrument of Oonai, and almost every house had one—but whoever was playing it was a master. The music carried her through the storm, crashing waves hammering her boat, to a serene sunset as the storm clouds passed, and an island of peace and warmth welcoming her from the tumult.

A man’s voice had begun to sing, a poem set to music, words that bypassed her ears and etched themselves upon her heart, bringing tears to her eyes.

A donkey brayed; she snapped out of it.

She’d be late!

She leapt to her feet and walked away hurriedly to the market.

Behind her, Lubayd the 42^nd Iranon continued to play and sing his latest work.

* * *

“Time for lunch, Lubayd,” called Basaaria.

The Iranon laid down his quill and twisted his neck back and forth to relax taut muscles, then stretched, arms high, fingers interlaced as knuckles cracked.

“Yo! Coming!” he answered, and rose from his kneeling position at the low table.

The table, a huge, slightly oblong cross-section of a monstrous oak, was strewn with manuscript, quills and inks, a flute, two deerskin fingerdrums, and two empty wine mugs.

He peered into the mugs to make sure they were really empty, grabbed the closest one, and walked out of the room.

His wife was just pouring tea, the children—ten-year old Eshan, with tousled hair and new bronze band on his tanned arm, and two-year old terror Nausheen, playing with the multi-colored beads woven into her braids—already seated. He took his place at the head of the table and waited for his wife to take her seat at the other end. Large serving plates were grouped in the center, with a small plate and utensils in front of each of them.

The plate in front of mischievous Nausheen was considerably larger, and (relatively) unbreakable. They all had teacups, of course, but he set the wine mug down next to his plate and looked expectantly at Basaaria.

“Lubayd, enjoy the tea, and leave your wine for the night,” she suggested. “I’ve some wonderful Pelin’gui tea that I know you’ll enjoy.”

“Bah! Tea is for women and children, wine for a working man!”

“But Lubayd...” she began.

“Wine, woman!” he demanded, cutting her off and waving his mug for emphasis.

She sighed and fetched a jar of wine from the kitchen, pouring his mug full. She made to take the jar back to the kitchen, but he grasped the lip of the jar, pulling it down to sit on the floor next to him.

“Leave it here, woman. I’ll need something to wash my meal down with, won’t I?”

Silent, she nodded and took her place at the foot of the table once more.

He lifted his mug to take a drink, but stopped at her voice.

“Lubayd! The prayer!”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he mumbled, and set the mug down again.

He stretched his hands out to grasp the hands of the children, who grasped their mother’s hands to complete the circle.

“Let us give thanks to the One for all that we have today,” he intoned. “Let all find peace under Her blessing. So be it.”

“So be it,” echoed the others.

“A most brief prayer,” said Basaaria, obviously displeased.

“Even the gods prefer brevity,” he replied, draining half the mug in one gulp. “Let us eat!”

He used his dagger to stab a few pieces of meat on the serving plate, pushing the slices off onto his own plate with a finger. He licked the finger appreciatively.

“Very good!”

He used the serving spoon to load a pile of stir-fried vegetables onto his plate, then cut off a smaller piece of meat with his dagger.

“Venison?”

“Yes, fresh from the market this morning.”

He nodded, poured another mugful, and then reached over to pour some into Eshan’s cup.

“No, not Eshan! He’s too young,” protested Basaaria.

Lubayd laughed, and picked up his mug again.

“Drink, boy! A little wine never hurt anyone! Drink!”

The boy made no move to pick up his cup, flicking his eyes back and forth between mother and father nervously.

“Lubayd, no, please!”

“Drink, boy!”

Helpless, the boy picked up his cup and raised it hesitantly to his lips.

He touched his lips to the edge of the cup and took the barest taste, quickly lowering this cup again.

“Thank you, father.”

“Not to your liking, eh?” laughed Lubayd. “It’ll come to you. Man needs his wine!”

Leaving his plate half-full, he staggered to his feet, jar in his hand.

“I’m off to the market to think. Can’t concentrate here with all this ruckus. Need to concentrate on my work!”

Basaaria, wiping goat milk from Nausheen’s chin and clothes, watched him stumble out the door.

* * *

The tavern was dark, as taverns usually are, but raucous as always.

Lubayd held court at his usual table, a half-empty mug on the table in front of him and a half-naked woman on his lap. The usual coterie gathered around, praising his skill and urging him to keep singing.

He drained the mug in a single gulp, belched, and gave the woman a pinch on the bottom that earned a far louder squeal than it deserved. She loved his company for the same reason almost everyone else did: he was fun to be with... and he paid for everyone!

“Ho! I see we have a visitor with us today!” he cried, waving his mug in invitation to the man. “Come, join us!”

The thin, weather-beaten man picked up his own mug from his table, and walked over, taking a seat on the bench facing Lubayd. “Donn of Dylath-Leen, a trader.”

“Come to buy our wine, have you?”

“The wine of your fine city is always in demand, Iranon,” said Donn. “I’m sampling your wares now!”

He raised his mug to show his sample, and the onlookers, pushing up to be nearer the Iranon, laughed with him.

“You’ll find the wine and light of Oonai more to your liking than the brooding towers of Dylath-Leen, I think!”

“Your wine and your music are spring water to a parched heart,” countered Donn.

“Oh, and a poet to boot!” laughed Lubayd. “Master! Fill Master Donn’s cup! Fill everyone’s cup!”

The tavern keeper and one of his serving girls came running with wine jars, refilling all the cups around the table and calculating the cost to be added to the Iranon’s tab.

He held out a new mug of fresh wine, from his special stock, to Lubayd, who hurriedly drank down what was left in his hand and exchanged the old mug for the new one.

“Thank you, Iranon,” said Donn, taking a sip from his refilled mug.

Lubayd didn’t seem to hear him, his head moving slightly up and down as he hummed a tune to himself, keeping time with the beat. He fingers tapped on the table lightly.

“Oh, yes... that’s a catchy ditty, that is...” he murmured, and looked up at the ceiling as he played with a new composition.

“Play for us, Iranon!” came cry from one of the women seated next to him, hand on his shoulder.

He took another drink of wine, then picked up his lute, the priceless instrument played by the Iranon himself, the first Iranon of Oonai, with orichalc inlay and the finest ghastgut, and strummed out a chord, drunken fingers slipping on the frets as he recited doggerel for the crowd.

"An heir, a son!" he cried
Proud yet graying,
And struggled each night
With wives by the dozen
And even a cousin.
Alas! That once virile member
Is now only an ember.

They roared with laughter.

No names, of course, but they all knew it was about the King of Oonai, now past his prime and still with no male heir to assume his throne. He had wed well over a dozen women, and taken several dozen more as concubines, but had yet to produce any child, let alone a male one.

Lubayd sloshed more wine into his mug, and raised it to his lips.

It collided with a mailed hand, spilling over his chest.

“An ill-chosen song, I think,” came a quiet voice.

The surrounding laughter stopped and suddenly his audience discovered they had urgent business elsewhere, melting away.

Lubayd stood to face Captain Björk of the guard.

“Ah, Captain... I, uh... It’s just a harmless ditty, sir. Not about anyone at all!”

He wobbled a bit.

The captain turned him around and pushed him toward the door.

“Time to go home, Iranon. And mayhap time to think of different songs to sing.”

Lubayd’s shoulder his the doorway, and he grabbed it for support, then staggered into the street, mumbling to himself as he went.

The tavern was silent behind him.

* * *

Someone was hammering on the door.

Lubayd opened one eye, squinting in the afternoon sunlight.

“Open! Open in the name of the King!”

He heard someone—Basaaria—run to the door and throw it open.

“Yes, my lord, what...?”

“Silence!” came a roar of anger. “Where is the Iranon?”

“My husband is resting, my lord. I...”

“Your sot of a husband is collapsed in a drunken slumber, as always,” said the other. “And the King commands.”

“Yes, my lord. At once, my lord!”

Terrified, Basaaria ran to him, shaking his shoulders to awaken him.

“Who...?”

“The King, Lubayd! The king is here, with the Guard!”

“The King...? Here?”

He sat up, head pounding, room spinning.

Two soldiers pushed into the room and grabbed his arms, frog-marching him barefoot and ragged, out into the street. They threw him down onto his knees in front of the King’s palanquin.

“Iranon!”

He looked up at the King, gold crown radiant in the sunlight.

“You are a drunkard, and worse, you have insulted me,” said the King. “You are no longer the Iranon, no longer Songmaster to the King, and you shall no longer mouth such words.”

He waved to the guards.

“Cut out his tongue.”

He gaped in disbelief.

Basaaria threw herself to the ground in front of the king.

“My lord, please forgive my husband! Flog us for our error, and banish us, but please, my lord, please do not take my husband’s song!”

The King twitched his chin at Lubayd once more, signaling the guards to proceed.

A guard stepped forward with dagger in hand, and she grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Kill her,” said the king.

The guard dropped his knife, catching it in his left hand and plunging it up and into her chest.

“My... Lubayd...”

Blood spurted from her mouth as she clutched at her belly and collapsed.

“No! Mother!”

Ten-year old Eshan, his own small dagger clutched in his hands, leapt at the soldier.

Taken by surprise, the solder lifted his arm in defense against the sudden thrust, catching the blade on his forearm. Training told, and his dagger thrust once more, into the boy’s chest.

He fell to the ground without a word.

Teeth clenched in agony, Basaaria reached out her hand to touch his head.

“After you cut out his tongue, torch it all,” said the king, and waved to his carriers. The palanquin rose and moved smoothly down the street toward the palace. “Oh, and bring me Iranon’s lute, of course.”

Lubayd screamed in agony and struggled to escape from the men holding him to the butcher’s blade.

* * *

Donn’s cart, pulled by two horses, was full of wine jars, each sealed with wax and marked in dark red paint. He walked alongside, making sure the horses stayed calm and the wine jars safe.

He had finished buying the wine that morning—quality wines that would fetch a good price in Hlanith or Lhosk—and had just picked up the promised jars. Each jar was huge, almost up to his shoulder, and far heavier than he could move alone. The trip back east would be a slow one, he thought, and wondered how many guards he’d have to hire this time.

It was nice of that musician—everyone called him The Iranon, some sort of traditional position, he gathered—to buy him lunch and a few mugs of wine, even if it was just tavern piss. He thought again of the lute the man had played... that must be worth more than a dozen trading trips!

He sighed.

Probably some sort of sacred treasure, and they’d skin him alive for touching it or some such nonsense.

Better stick to trading.

Just up ahead there was a crowd of people, smoke billowing up into the air... a fire!

Local residents had formed bucket brigades, pulling water from a nearby fountain and dousing a few houses—the houses standing next to the one burning! They ignored the conflagration, instead doing their best to stop the blaze from spreading.

In front of the burning house lay three bodies—a woman and a boy, lying together in a pool of blood, her hand resting on his face, and a short distance away, a finely dressed man covered in blood, still moaning and writhing in pain.

Donn hesitated.

It could be dangerous to pry into unknown affairs, even here in Oonai, city of wine and music.

But there was something about that man...

He stopped in shock.

It was the Iranon!

Should he help the poor man, or... ?

No matter what may come, he thought, I cannot leave him to die!

He ran to the man, and pulled him up.

The other made no effort to stand on his own, almost drowning in his own blood, face caked with blood, tears, and sand.

Donn half-carried, half-dragged him to the cart and dropped him in like a sack of potatoes, then grabbed the whip from the front and snapped it.

His horses, already nervous from the flames, broke into a trot, and Donn ran alongside, pulling them down an alley and away from the fire as quickly as possible.

He heard the wine jars bumping into each other and grimaced.

I might lose a jar or two, he thought, but what of it? Who would cut his tongue out, for Ech Pi El’s sake? And why didn’t anyone try to help him?

He looked back. Nobody was following them, nobody seemed to care.

He threw a blanket over the man and kept the horses moving, but slowed a bit to try to save as much of his investment as possible. There was already a wine-stained crack on one jar, and if he lost too many he’d not recoup his costs on this trip, let alone turn a profit.

He had to get out of Oonai and do something about that wound as soon as possible.

* * *

A little cauterization, some potions, and a minor spell from a local Godsworn were sufficient to stop the bleeding and get the Iranon back on the road to physical health, but it was months before he finally began to take an interest in life again.

He could still speak to some extent, but it was extremely difficult to understand him, and he generally found it easier to just feign being a mute, and communicate through gestures, or writing.

Donn learned his story, that he had once been an almost sacred poet and musician in Oonai, the 42^nd person to hold the name Iranon, and that his family had been killed and his tongue cut off because he lampooned the king.

He was no longer the Iranon, and wrote that he could no longer use his own name, Lubayd.

They decided that henceforth he would be Hakim.

Donn did make a profit on that wine after all, following the desert route south to Meroë instead of the more-traveled road east to Thran and Hlanith. And as they traveled his companion left more and more of himself in the past, and became dour Hakim through-and-through: mute Hakim of the panpipes, from some unknown hamlet in the Stony Desert.

He rarely smiled, except to children, and never wept. He never drank liquor again.

Over the years they even visited Oonai again, and silent Hakim kept his thoughts to himself as he noted a new house standing where his had once stood, and listened to market gossip about the king in his sickbed, and the epic battle between a wife and a concubine, both with sons they claimed were his.

* * *

It was freezing, and the wind from the Peaks of Thok cut through their furs like a knife.

Hakim huddled closer to the boat’s gunwale, trying to snuggle down out of the wind while keeping his body folded up as much as possible to retain the last vestige of warmth.

There was little shelter on the boat, and no point trying to warm themselves with a fire—the wind would carry all the heat away.

Donn, wrapped in furs without with only the merest glint of his eyes showing, sat square in the middle of the deck, looking as dead and immobile as the figurehead on the prow. Hakim knew he was watching their cargo, though, no matter the cold.

They’d traded their jade, wine, and dried fruit and meat for pelts in Sinara, and assuming the boat got them safely to onyx-walled Jaren on the coast, and they could hire a ship, they’d turn a good profit in Lhosk. Or even Celephaïs!

The road to Sinara had finally opened now that the siege was over and the besieging bandits from the mountains around Mt. Hatheg-Kla scattered.

They’d heard stories of the atrocities the bandits had wrought on the villagers of the region, and seen for themselves the crumbling fortifications and half-shattered gates of Sinara. The townspeople said it had been on the verge of being overrun entirely, after a long siege and continuous attacks, until Britomartis of Celephaïs had snuck into the bandits’ camp and killed their leaders, then attacked them from the rear with her troops while the defenders rode out on that final, famous sally that scattered the bandits for good.

Their shipment of food and drink had been the perfect choice for visiting merchants, and that jade sculpture from Ilarnek proved quite useful in settling on mutually agreeable terms with the lord there.

Rather than try to find more pack animals and pack sufficient rations to survive the snow-covered passes once again, they’d decided to hire a boat down the River Xari to Jaren. The ice was clear all the way, the rivermen reported, although still study enough to support a man’s weight along the banks. Unless the temperature dropped considerably, which would be quite unexpected for this time of year, they should be able to reach Jaren in about a month, they said.

A month was a long time to be floating down the river, but the boat would be stopping at villages along the way, or to replenish supplies, and it was certainly easier than driving a caravan through the drifts!

The riverboat was designed for the relatively shallow waters it navigated, equipped with a sail and oars for use when needed (usually when traveling upstream), but now just moving with the current.

After it flowed past Sinara, the Xari, fed by the countless streams flowing into it from the mountains, began to settle down into a powerful river, growing wider and deeper as it flowed to the sea. In the spring, as the snows melted or in the storms of autumn it turned into a monster, smashing boats and inundating riverside villages, but the snows were still crisp, and the river languid in the cold.

The captain—a grizzled bear of a man everyone called Rufe—pushed the tiller over, guiding the boat toward the starboard bank.

“We need more wood for the fire.”

“Hey, Rufe!” called one of the crew, “Maybe a nice fat deer, too?”

“Won’t find many fat deer this time of the year,” laughed the captain, “but we might as well stock up a bit if we can. Gettin’ tired of fish.”

The boat crunched into the ice shelf, splintering it up into thin plates of translucent cold.

The hull grated on the bottom; dry land was only a meter away, assuming there was indeed dry land under the packed snowbank overhanging the ice.

Gen and B’tolo jumped into the snow, bows in hand, and headed into the woods. Donn and Hakim joined Rufe and another crew, Jerem, with axes.

“There’s a likely one there,” said Donn,” pointing at a fallen tree.

He walked over for a closer look.

“Looks like it’s been down a year or more,” he said. “Don’t see any rot, either.”

The other joined him and looked more closely.

“Sure, looks fine to me,” agreed Rufe. “Not real happy about those claw scars, but the bear that made them is long gone.”

He turned to Jerem and Hakim.

“You two want to get started on the branches, and me and Donn’ll work from the bottom up.”

Jerem grunted assent, and began hacking branches off. Hakim waded through the snow toward the top of the tree, lopping off a few saplings on the way, and set to work there.

Donn and the captain squared off on opposite sides of the trunk and began chopping into it with alternating swings, settling into a repeating thud-thud-thud rhythm of axeblades. Chips flew.

After they were done with the trunk, hours later, they got out the wedges and began splitting it into more easily handled pieces. The stove on the boat could handle pretty big chunks, but it was a lot easier to throw in smaller chunks than a hundred-kilo log.

As they were sitting on their work and resting, they heard footsteps crunching through the snow, and looked up to see Gen and B’tolo trudging back to the boat. Gen had the body of a doe draped over his shoulders, but the stains on B’tolo’s furs made it clear they’d taken turns.

“Looks like we’re having venison tonight!”

“A good, healthy doe, captain,” said B’tolo. “We wanted the buck—a real prize, and a beautiful rack—but he took off as soon as we got close enough to spot him. The doe wasn’t so smart.”

“The doe ain’t as heavy, neither,” grumbled Gen. “Woulda taken both of us to haul that buck back here, even if we butchered him there.”

“Where do you want us to do it, Rufe? Shouldn’t take that long here, once we get a frame set.”

“It’ll be getting dark soon,” said the captain. “Let’s get back on board and push off again. Never can tell what might be waiting in these woods.”

“Yup. I’ll get a frame set up on the stern, then,” said B’tolo, picking up an armload of cut wood and walking toward the boat. “C’mon, Gen, get off your ass!”

Gen hefted the deer on his shoulders, settling the weight.

“Pity you don’t have muscles of a real man, B’tolo.”

“I got all the muscles I need right between my legs, which is more’n you can say!”

“Pity you only need that much!” retorted Gen, treading the beaten path to the boat. “Why, the last time I was in Lhosk...”

Their bickering voices faded into the wind.

“Best we get back to the boat, too,” said Jerem. She gathered her own armful and followed the pair.

The rest of them followed suit, and after a few more trips they were all back onboard and drifting with the current once again.

It was still freezing, and the wind from the Peaks of Thok still cut deep, but sizzling hot venison and tea helped.

* * *

By the time the onyx walls and towers of Jaren came into view the river was wider than they could see across. It split into numerous channels here, dotted with small islands that appeared and vanished again with the changing tides and seasons.

The river was quite deep where the quays of Jaren stood, and a stone breakwater made sure the worst of the current stayed outside. It was late winter, so there were only two other riverboats and three ocean-worthy ships moored. It took a good ship and crew to brave the northern seas at this time of year, and even river travel could be deadly for the inexperienced.

The captain swung the boat expertly up against the quay, and Jerem and B’tolo jumped ashore to tie up the hawsers fore and aft, pulling the boat up closer to the stones of the quay.

Three guards walked up to greet them as the finished.

“Welcome, Rufe. We didn’t expect to see you back until the ice melted,” said the older man, apparently in charge.

“Sergeant O’brina, good to see you’ve survived another Jaren winter!”

The guard chuckled.

“I expect we were warmer here with our hearths than you with you little stove!”

“Aye, I expect you were, Sergeant O’brina, I expect you were,” replied the captain. “These traders—Masters Donn and Hakim of Dylath-Leen—hired us to bring their pelts to port, and here we are.”

“Ice clear all the way to Sinala?”

“Was when we came through,” replied Rufe. “It’s getting pretty thin along the shore, too... If this weather keeps up I’d expect the spring floods to be starting up in a week, maybe ten days or so.”

“So you’ll be staying awhile, then.”

“Yup, ’fraid you’ll be stuck with me for a while. Not gonna row all that way against the floodwaters unless someone wants to pay me to do it!” said the captain as he handed over a small bag. “Harbor tax.”

The guard hefted it once. It clinked.

“Thank you, Captain. You’re free to enter the city.”

Donn stepped forward and nodded his head in greeting.

“Sergeant O’brina, Donn of Dylath-Leen,” he introduced himself. “Where would I find the captains of those merchanters?”

“That one’s from Inganok,” he said, pointed at an ugly black ship that made Donn’s skin crawl. “The other two, though, might be available. The one with the red pennant is an independent trader from Baharna and farther south who comes through every few years; the double crescent is, of course, one of Chóng’s ships.”

The black ship was difficult to make out clearly in the winter sky, a blob of darkness that ate the wan sunlight and shadows, hiding all detail. He’d heard tales of Inganok ships and their crews, and had little desire to find out that truth behind them. Strange men with long, narrow eyes, long-lobed ears, thin noses, and pointed chins, they brought most of the onyx used in Jaren.

Chóng, on the other hand, had an excellent reputation as far as he knew. An honest merchant who would scrupulously stick to the terms of the bargain, but never gave as much as a speck of dust away for free. Donn figured he’d rather have honest and tough than potentially deadly.

He knew nothing about the trader from Baharna, but why take the chance? Chóng’s reputation made him the first choice.

“Hakim, can you handle the cargo? I’ll try to arrange passage on Chóng’s freighter.”

Hakim nodded, and turned back to watch their furs being unloaded onto the wharf.

They could rent storage space in a shed if necessary, but it wouldn’t hurt the furs any to sit on the wharf for a night, either. As long as nobody stole them...

Donn hunched his shoulders into the wind.

Rufe had said today was warm and spring coming, but the icy wind slipping inside his coat sure didn’t feel like spring to him.

He couldn’t wait to arrange transport and head to the nearest tavern for some warm ale in front of a fire.

Chóng’s ship—the Blue Duck, it said—was a four-masted caravel with a square sail on the foremast and lateens on the other three. It was in good shape. Not new, certainly, and not especially clean, but Donn could see that everything was in the right place and looked ready for use. Damage from some collision—or battle—had been properly repaired, the rigging and sails were old but well-maintained and properly furled, and the watchman huddled on the stern deck noticed me immediately. Alert in spite of the cold.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen. Is the captain aboard?”

“Not likely in this cold!” he snorted. “He’s at the Scruffy Cat, drinking and warming his toes, I don’t doubt.”

“Thank you,” Donn replied. “I tell him to bring you a cup of something hot.”

“And someone cute and warm to bring it!”

Donn laughed and trudged back through the wind toward the town.

There were a few alehouses and inns facing the wharf, and the third one he looked at had a dirty sign reading “Scruffy Cat,” with a carved statue of a mountain lion next to it.

He pulled open the door and stepped in, slamming it shut behind him and standing for a moment to let his eyes adjust.

It was an average tavern, maybe a touch smaller than most... a dozen wood tables scattered across the sawdusty floor, oil lamps burning on the walls and stanchions, a few barrels and kegs lined up behind the counter, two dozen customers sitting at tables or standing in front of the stone fireplace, a serving woman with a platter, and a mustached old man behind the counter wearing a leather apron and a scowl.

I decided the old man was the best place to start, and plopped a coin on the counter to lubricate conversation.

“Ale, please.”

“We got two: light and dark. Which one ya want?”

“The stronger one.”

He cracked a smile, revealing that his scowl wasn’t a permanent facial feature and that he was missing a few teeth.

“That’d be dark, then. Warm ya right up, it will.”

He picked up a mug and held it under the tap on the larger barrel, filling it with a stream of black ale. He wiped it briefly with a rag and handed it over.

Donn was impressed. It was filled almost to the brim. An honest innkeeper!

He hoisted it in thanks, accompanied by a nod, then turned to survey the room.

“Where would I find the captain of the Blue Duck?”

The innkeeper pointed to three man eating dinner at a table off to the side.

“The one with the ferret on his shoulder.”

“Thanks.”

He walked over to the table, and caught the man’s eye.

The captain looked up, obviously wondering what he wanted.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen. I just got in from Sinala with a load of furs. I’m looking for transport to Hlanith or Lhosk.”

“Chow of Lhosk. You just asked about the Blue Duck, so you already know I work for Chóng. We’re heading back to Hlanith as soon as our load arrives, which should be tomorrow, weather permitting.”

“Hlanith would be perfect. We’ve a pretty big load... took up most of Captain Rufe’s boat.”

“You came down with Captain Rufe? If he trusted you, I think I can trust you, too. If it fit on his boat, it’ll fit in our hold. Just furs?”

“Just furs. Fleshed, stretched, and dried. Bundled without any frames.”

Chow nodded.

“Easy to handle, then... and in this weather, no pests hiding in the fur, either.”

“If they’re hiding they’ll be there ’til spring,” agreed Donn.

The captain waved his dagger, a piece of meat still hanging off the tip, at one of the other men.

“Qway, go down and see how much he’s got, will ya?”

Qway, a short, black man, didn’t look happy.

“C’mon, cap’n... lemme finish my food while it’s hot at least!”

The captain hmphed.

“Eat. And when you go why don’t you relieve Tom on watch, too.”

Qway almost snarled as he bit into a hunk of bread and tore off a mouthful.

Captain Chow ignored him and waved at an empty spot on the bench.

“Sit, Master Donn. Will you join us for dinner?”

“Gladly, Captain, thank you. My partner will be here soon, too... he’s arranging storage for the night.”

“Plenty of room.” The captain waved his arm. “Kinçalla! Some food for Master Donn here, and another on the way!”

Kinçalla—the innkeeper, as it turned out—called out a long “He–ya” and vanished into the back room.

Captain Chow lifted his own mug to Donn in a toast.

“To spring, may She come soon.”

“To spring,” echoed Donn, bumping his mug into the other’s.

They each downed a gulp; Chow slamming his now-empty mug onto the tabletop, and Donn holding his ready for seconds.

“Master Donn, you like goat meat?”

“Not my favorite, but I’ve had worse.”

“Well, tonight it’s goat meat, I’m afraid. Kinçalla only serves one dish, and tonight that’s it.”

“If it’s warm, I’ll eat it and be happy,” said Donn, taking another sip of the ale. “There aren’t a lot of inns to choose from when you’re on the road, and I’m always on the road.”

“A man after my own heart,” smiled Chow. “Kinçalla! Three more ales!”

He turned to the woman still quietly at the table, eating steadily while they talked.

“Alanna here hates goat, don’t you?”

She nodded, chewing steadily on something as she did.

“Alanna hales from down south.”

“You mean, like Baharna and Dylath-Leen? I’m from Dylath-Leen; spent a lot of time in the region.”

A serving woman appeared to drop a large plate of steaming meat and potatoes, drenched in some brownish sauce, in front of Donn.

He nodded, and pulled out a dagger, picking up the fork she’d handed him with the other.

“At least it’s hot!”

As he cut the meat he glanced at Alanna.

“So where’re you from? Tharalion? Zar?”

Alanna set her fork down, and abruptly stood. “Sorry, I don’t feel well.”

She turned and left Donn stunned behind.

He turned to Chow.

“What...? Did I say something wrong?”

“She’s not one for looking back, Master Donn. Might be a good idea not to mention it again.”

He stared into his mug for a moment, then took a slug.

“So you grew up down there, did you?”

“Yes... I travelled through the area with my father for years,” answered Donn, still wondering at the sharp reaction to an innocent question. “Like me, he preferred the land to the sea, but we visited Zar, Thalarion, and Baharna several times over the years. After he passed I continued his business, but rarely go to sea.”

“But you seek passage with us.”

“The routes to the south are impassible until spring, and I’d rather pay you to ferry my wares south now than wait here for the geese to come honking.”

Chow nodded, then looked up toward the door.

Hakim had arrived, and stood in the doorway brushing off snowflakes. He shook himself like a bear, his furs shedding caked snow easily.

Donn waved, catching Hakim’s eye.

He walked over to join them, shedding furs as he came.

“My partner, Hakim. He’s mute.”

Chow raised an eyebrow but nodded to Hakim as he approached.

“Chow of Lhosk.”

Hakim wriggled his fingers at Donn, who spoke for him: “Hakim of Dylath-Leen.”

He turned to Hakim and explained that Chow was the captain of the Blue Duck.

“Hakim says the furs are safe for the night, and we can load them any time tomorrow. Or even tonight, if you’re in a hurry.”

“Tomorrow’s fine,” said Chow. “Our own cargo should be here and loaded tomorrow, if all goes well. We can leave as soon as the cargo’s ready.

“Kinçalla! More ale! And another meal!” he called, receiving a muffled “He–ya!” from the back room in reply.

The serving woman brought over another mug of ale for each of them, and cleaned up Alanna’s leftovers.

The three of them turned to discussing the weather (colder than usual, but nobody had lost any toes yet), the Siege of Sinara and Britomartis, and the excellence of the ale—mostly Chow and Donn, but every so often Hakim would contribute something via Donn.

Hakim was dressed in browns and greys, and moved very quietly. He could make sounds, of course, but few people could understand him and it was generally easiest to just remain silent. Most onlookers assumed he was dumb in both senses of the word and tended to ignore him entirely. It was painful to be left out, but at the same time he’d picked up a lot of valuable information because it never seemed to occur to people his hearing worked fine.

They dickered over the charges, and reached an agreement that nobody was entirely happy with but everyone thought reasonable. The Blue Duck would sail to Hlanith, replenishing food and water somewhere on the jungled Kled coast a few times.

They arranged a room at the Scruffy Cat; it turned out that Captain Chow and his men were staying there, too, except for the poor soul on guard duty on the ship.

Later that night, they decided to check on their furs once more before retiring for the night. Captain Rufe had recommended that warehouse as trustworthy, but it never hurt to be sure. And being suspicious had saved them more than once already.

The skies were mostly clear, with a few ragged clouds scudding across the night sky.

The snow crunched softly underfoot and an unwary step could lead to a nasty fall, but at least it wasn’t snowing. Perhaps the weather would be good tomorrow after all.

The warehouse was only a few hundred meters away, and they could clearly see the warm glow of the firepit in front, and the silhouettes of the two guards on duty huddled in front of it. They looked cold, but no asleep.

They walked up quietly, and were pleasantly surprised when the guards noticed them before they got very close. Good ears, Donn figured. And apparently they took their jobs seriously, he realized, noticing that they both had their swordbelts strapped on over their furs, and there was no sign they’d been drinking.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen,” he called. “My partner Hakim was here earlier with our cargo.”

“Master Donn, Master Hakim,” replied one of the guards, taking his hand off his sword. “Bu-Cholis of Jaren. All is well here.”

“So I see. Our first time here in Jaren, and we just wanted to check.”

“No problem, Master Donn. Need to check inside?”

“No need. Thanks.”

He turned to Hakim, who nodded agreement.

The guards seemed to know what they were doing.

They walked back through the snow toward the inn.

Suddenly Hakim grunted and grasped Donn’s arm, pulling him into the dark shadow of a building.

Ahead of them, in the alley next to the Scruffy Cat, Donn could make out three blots of even darker shadow.

People.

They stood and watched for a minute—the three men were talking in low tones.

Donn could barely hear the rumble of their voices but could only make out a scattered word here and there.

He started to move closer but Hakim pressed his hand against his chest, holding him in place.

He glanced at Hakim, and saw that he was straining to catch every word.

The three decided whatever they had been talking about, and slipped silently away again.

Hakim let his hand slip, and took a deep breath.

“Paper,” he spit out, mangling the word that nobody but Donn could have understood.

“Let’s get inside,” said Donn, checking to be sure nobody else was lurking in the night. They walked back to the inn. There were still a few people at the tables, drinking, but not the three men they’d just seen.

Captain Chow and Alanna were gone. Donn thought some of the drinkers might be his crew, but didn’t know for sure.

They went up the narrow stairs, to their room.

As soon as they closed the door, Hakim whipped out his slate and began writing on it with the soft gray stone they’d found. It wasn’t very easy to read, but it was a lot faster—and cheaper—than using parchment and a quill every time. Hakim could no longer pronounce “slate,” so they’d settled on “paper” instead.

Slave catchers from Sisters, he wrote. He had to erase every so often to write new words, because the slate was so small.

The Sisters of Mercy... they ran orphanages throughout much of the Dreamlands, taking in children orphaned by war or disaster, or abandoned by starving families. And, in return for raising the children, they kept them as slaves. The practice of slavery was outlawed in a number of cities and kingdoms, including Celephaïs, but the Sisters were everywhere.

As were their brothels.

500 bounty for woman. Tonite. Alanna?, Hakim continued.

“They must be after Alanna,” said Donn.

Hakim nodded.

“Tell Chow?”

“Of course. We swore long ago to fight this,” agreed Donn.

He rose and stepped into the hallway.

There were several doors, and he had no idea which one belonged to Chow.

“Captain Chow!” he called. “There’s a small problem with our cargo, and I need to speak with you!”

There was a loud thump from the room across the hallway, and the door opened a crack.

After checking to be sure it was really Donn and not thieves, Chow stepped out, naked blade in hand.

“Master Donn.”

“Captain. Sorry to bother you, but we just went to check on our furs and there’s something we need to discuss.”

“Here? Now?”

“It’s quite important... Could you join us for a minute?”

Quite suspicious at the unexpected invitation at such a late hour, Chow looked into their room to see Hakim sitting unarmed on a bench, slate held up for him to read: Slavers. Sisters. Tonite.

Donn leaned close and explained what they had seen and overheard, in whispers.

Chow touched his hand to his brow as he nodded his head in thanks. He tapped on two other doors along the hallway, whispering to the crew who answered. Alanna and two other women were in one of the rooms. They moved to the captain’s room, with a few other crew in attendance, while four more went back downstairs wearing light armor and grim expressions.

Tom, the man who’d been on guard on the Blue Duck, snuffed all the lamps along the hallway, and they waited in the dark silence.

An hour passed before they heard a faint thump, the sound of a padded ladder hitting the edge.

Chow checked his men, catching their eyes to be sure they’d all heard it and were ready.

The shutters on the women’s room were suddenly thrown open and two men leapt in, swords raised to strike. The waiting crew met them with drawn sword and axe, killing one instantly and hacking the sword arm of the second to leave him sitting on the floor, gritting his teeth in pain and anger.

Another man jumped into the room Donn and Hakim were in, holding a long, curved knife in each hand. Donn, standing against the wall to the side of the window, stuck his dagger into the man’s ear and he collapsed on the spot.

Outside, he could hear the sounds of another short fight—Donn guessed the four men he’d seen earlier had circled around to see who might be waiting on the ground below. And found them.

In a short time the lamps were lit and the bodies counted.

They had no casualties, although one of the men outside had been hit by a falling ladder. Only one of the slave catchers was still alive: four men had broken into Alanna’s room and the rooms on both sides, plus the lone man on the ground was five.

Chow squatted in front of the survivor, who snarled “We have a slave warrant for Sasha, you bastards!”

“Perhaps you should have brought that up before you jumped into our rooms with weapons drawn,” countered Chow. “We know how to deal with robbers.”

“Nobody here named Sasha,” added one of the crew.

A slave warrant gave them flimsy cover to recover escaped slaves as missing property. Slave catchers were generally despised, but with a warrant they could usually count on the local guard to back them up, even if the warrant was issued elsewhere—as it almost always was.

“How many people in your party?”

“Only us four,” the man spat, and was rewarded with a fist to the face.

“Another lie and you’re a dead man,” said Chow. “How many?”

The man spit out some blood and growled, “Five.”

The innkeeper showed up behind them, looking into the room.

“Thieves?”

“Robbers broke in,” said Chow without taking his eyes off the bound prisoner. “We’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll bring some sawdust for the floor,” said the innkeeper. “I charge extra to get rid of bodies.”

Chow smiled. “The sharks’ll take care of it all.”

He turned back to the captive.

“Now, what are we going to do with you?” he asked.

Alanna, face still hidden in her cowl, sprang forward, dagger in hand.

Chow caught her arm, barely saving the fallen man’s life.

“Not now, not now,” he admonished. “Besides, his artery’s cut and he won’t last long. Let nature take its course, my dear.”

She struggled, but even as she tried to pull her hand from Chow’s grasp, the man on the floor slipped away, eyes rolling up into his head. Unconscious, and soon to be dead from blood loss.

“Dammit! I wanted to find out how he tracked us!” complained Chow. “Nobody should know who she is!”

Captain Chow stood, shaking his head.

“Well, we’d have thrown him in later anyway... pity, though. There might be more of these vermin about.”

“Master Donn, Master Hakim, perhaps some warm tea before we retire for the night?” asked Chow, holding his arm out in invitation. “Alanna, would you join us?

Donn agreed, leading the way back downstairs.

As they passed the doorway to the kitchen, Chow stuck his head in and asked for a pot of tea.

“That was more than three men. They didn’t mention any more?” he asked once they sat down.

“They didn’t say. There were only three then, but... there might be more watching even now!”

They scanned the few remaining guests in the inn. Nobody seemed to be listening, but on the other hand how many people were still sitting in an inn’s tavern this early in the morning?

Alanna watched them through the vapor rising from her cup.

“I despise slavery, too, although I’ve been fortunate to avoid it thus far,” added Donn.

“As do I,” agreed Chow, “But it is unusual for a man, a trader, to involve himself in their affairs. They are known for their long memories.”

“Some things cannot be stomached,” growled Donn. “Slaver or brigand, they’re all the same to us.”

“Thank you.”

It was Alanna, a soft voice on the verge of a sob.

“If they had taken me back to Zar... I would rather die!”

Donn laid his hand lightly atop hers.

“So you are Sasha, then? Well, they won’t take you back. Not while we’re here, at least.”

“Sasha is what they called me. It was never my name!” she said, face lifted to reveal eyes bright with tears.

The captain drummed his fingers on his teacup.

“I wish we’d be able to question him, find out where he got his information.” He thought for a moment, sipping. “I think we’d better plan on leaving as soon as possible.”

“We’ll get loaded at first light,” said Donn, glancing to confirm Hakim’s nod. “But they know where we’re headed, in any case.”

“Oh, they won’t bother us at sea. We can outrun or outfight vermin like that,” snorted Chow. “But they may be waiting for us in Hlanith.”

“No way to get word there in advance?”

“Not anymore... I used my last dragolet at Midwinter,” said Chow. “What I can do, though, is put a man ashore and stay at sea a day or two so he can make some preparations.”

“That sounds like an outstanding idea,” smiled Donn. “And if there is someone waiting we can give them a proper welcome.”

* * *

Chow posted a guard for the night, although there were only a few hours left until the pale sun crept up out of the ocean.

Donn and Hakim rose with the sun to find that the bodies had all vanished. Captain Chow just said he cleaned things up a bit and left out the details. Recalling his comment about sharks, Donn figured he didn’t need the details anyway.

The guard at the warehouse had changed, but the new guard was awake and alert, too... he was busy chopping wood for the firepit in front of the building.

“Morning to you,” called Donn, pulling an empty sledge behind him over the ice and snow. “We’re here to pick up our cargo.”

The guard rang the bell, letting the owner know they’d come—the owner knew their faces, and would let them in.

The three of them stood near the fire, warming their hands.

“Heard some slave catchers were in the Cat last night. That have anything to do with you?”

“Strange, I didn’t hear a thing,” said Donn. “We came out here late last night to check, and went to sleep right after.”

“Huh. Could’a sworn I heard swords.”

“Can’t imagine what slave catchers would be doing around here in the snow!” laughed Donn.

“No, me neither... strange, though...”

The owner trudged up, looking quite unhappy to be dragged out of warmth to the freezing warehouse so early in the day. He confirmed that Donn was indeed the man who had stored the cargo yesterday, and since he’d paid in advance (of course!) was free to reclaim his goods.

Donn and Hakim loaded the sledge with furs and hauled it back toward the waiting Blue Duck.

The crew was already hard at work, prepping the ship for departure and checking stores. Apparently Captain Chow had sent a messenger to the cargo hauler he had been waiting for, and had them break camp in the middle of the night to arrive early this morning.

Most of the goods he was loading were furs, too, and Donn noted that they seemed about the same quality as his own—or maybe just a bit worse.

He grinned in anticipation of the bargaining waiting for him in Hlanith, determined to sell his better furs for more than Chow could get for his selection!

They pushed off well before noon.

As soon as the city was out of sight five large bags, roughly man-sized and man-heavy, were dropped unceremoniously overboard.

* * *

The weather was beautiful, but even in the sunshine the wind slashed through Donn’s furs. There was ice on the ropes and rails, and it could be dangerous walking the decks. The cabins weren’t not much warmer, but at least you could get out of the wind.

That same wind caused a fair amount of chop, and as the boat rode the waves up and down and up and down and again and again, Donn recalled exactly why he preferred land routes. He wasn’t seasick, quite, but he wasn’t happy, either.

Hakim, on the other hand, seemed largely insensitive to the wind, legs dangling over the side of the stern castle, playing various sea chanties on his panpipes. His face and hands were exposed to the wind, red and chapped, but he played on... and in spite of the wind, his tunes carried clearly across the deck.

The crew knew the words, of course, and throughout the day often hummed or sang along under their breaths.

Even Captain Chow was in a good mood, and the freezing north wind billowed their sails, speeding them on their way.

Donn occupied himself by fishing off the stern, donating his catch, minor as it was, to the cook.

He was used to Hakim’s pipes, and often found himself humming along with tunes he knew. Although crew, Alanna often spent her free moments sitting nearby, listening or watching the waves. They gradually began to speak to one another, and discovered they both loved music, and sunsets, and the spicy rice cuisine of Zar, smothered in red peppers and octopus.

He’d spent some years in Zar in his youth and they talked of places they’d been or people met. They’d moved in different circles, but overlapped enough to have shared memories.

She revealed that Alanna was also a false name, chosen to help hide her from the slave catchers. She hesitated when he asked, but finally revealed that her real name was Pensri. She said it meant “maiden of the moon” in her mother’s tongue.

Donn thought to himself that with long, black hair framing her round, Asian face, the name was perfect. He kept his thought to himself, though.

A few idle days later, the captain turned the ship west, toward the Kled coast.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m getting tired of salt beef and fish. Some fresh game and fresh water would be right nice about now.”

Everyone heartily approved his opinion, and the rocky coastline came into view later that day.

The captain ordered the anchor and the longboat dropped, and let the crew select a party of six to go ashore. Neither Donn nor Hakim was invited, and so they watched the longboat plow through the whitecaps toward a tiny, stony inlet that offered some protection from the surf.

The crew left one man to watch the boat, and vanished into the trees.

Most of the crew took advantage of the stop to enjoy napping or fishing, noting that the captain himself was stretched out on the stern castle enjoying the sun.

When the lookout tried to clamber down from the crow’s nest, though, the captain warned him to finish his shift, without even opening his eyes. He was keeping a close watch on his ship even if he did seem to be napping!

In the late afternoon the men appeared with two deer, and pushed off to bring back the fresh-caught game.

They battled their way back through the surf to the ship, and the rest of the crew helped them climb back aboard, hoisting up the deer carcasses and the longboat. The cook had already set up a frame for the deer and got to work at once with his knives.

Qway, the short-tempered Pargite, had a bloody cloth wrapped around his head.

The captain looked concerned.

“Trouble?”

One of the other crew laughed.

“No trouble, Cap’n. Poor Qway here was so eager to get that buck he rammed his head into a tree!”

Qway stomped off below to laughter.

The anchor came up, the sails down, and the ship moved back asea as it caught the wind.

A few days later the crew began to spot farms on the coast, and Captain Chow ordered them to drop anchor. They were still well away from the harbor, along the settled coastline north of the city.

“Tom, I want you and Qway to go into the city and set things up.”

The crew encircled Chow, listening closely.

“We don’t know if those scum are waiting here or not, but damned if I’m going to help them. I could put her ashore here easily enough, but we just don’t know where they might be hiding, or how many of them there are.”

There was a rumble of agreement from the crew. A few of them had experience with being press-ganged, others with slavery, and as paid crew they hated slavery as much as they loved their freedom.

“Most of all, she’s one of us, and we protect our own,” he continued. “Don’t bother looking for them... if they’re there at all they’ll be doing their best to remain unnoticed. Go to our branch there and talk to Factor Raibel. If Factor Chóng is around, by all means get him involved. We’ll need a way to get Alanna off the ship to safety, because they will surely bring the guard and demand to inspect us.

“Raibel knows the city better than me, ask him what to do, and one of you come back here and tell me how he wants to handle it. If you aren’t back in three days I’m heading to Lhosk instead.”

Tom and Qway nodded.

“OK, get the longboat in the water, then,” he commanded, and half a dozen crew got the longboat loaded and launched.

He turned to Donn.

“Do you want to go in with them now, or come with us? I can even unload your cargo here if you insist, but I’d rather use the big wharf in Hlanith.”

Donn and Hakim looked at each other; Hakim wriggled his fingers.

“No reason to go to all that trouble, Captain. We’re happy to sit here fishing for another day or two.”

“Good.” Chow turned to the rest of the crew, still standing around and listening. “What are you all still doing here? Back to work! Get this all squared away, and make her shine! You know Raibel wants his ships neat and clean!”

They scattered to their tasks.

Two days later the lookout called down from the nest: “They’re back, Cap’n!”

Captain Chow pulled out his telescope and scanned the shore.

Qway was there with somebody else.

The other man pulled off his hat, showing his face more clearly.

It was Factor Raibel, the man managing the Hlanith branch of Chóng trading empire.

“Launch the longboat,” called Chow. “I’m going with you this time.”

The crew took the longboat to the pebbly beach, picking up Qway and Raibel and ferrying them all back to the Bue Duck.

Factor Raibel was a tall, thin, silver-haired man with drooping mustache and no left hand.

He greeted most of the crew by name as he came aboard, and stopped when he noticed Donn and Hakim.

“Raibel of Lhosk,” he introduced himself.

“Donn and Hakim, both of Dylath-Leen.”

“Captain Chow has told me what happened,” he said. “Thank you for helping avert a rather awkward situation.”

“Of course, Factor,” smiled Donn. “It is every honest man’s duty to prevent robbery.”

Neither of them mentioned the slave catchers or the Sisters of Mercy.

Raibel gave a slight bow and walked with Captain Chow up onto the stern castle, far enough away to talk without being overheard.

To avoid any suspicion of undue interest—and, indeed, they had none—Donn and Hakim walked to the prow to admire the clouds.

Chow called for some tea, which the cook brought promptly, and after about half an hour called for Donn and Hakim to join them.

He explained what they’d cooked up: they would sail for Chóng’s dock as usual, expecting that any slave catchers would see them and gather there. At the last minute the ship would turn and instead dock on the spit—a long, thin strip of land that served as a breakwater for the main harbor, and had its own wharves and warehouses. While it was only a short distance away by water, it would take anyone a considerable time to get there by land, even on horseback.

Raibel would make sure that all the available boats would be busy during that time, which would give the crew of the Blue Duck enough time to unload Donn’s cargo, with Alanna hidden inside a bale of furs. A waiting horse-drawn cart would transport them and their cargo to one of Chóng’s warehouses where Alanna could emerge safely.

Even better, Raibel agreed that he would purchase Donn’s furs at an excellent price, to repay him for his cooperation.

Donn thought about it, and spoke privately with Hakim for a few minutes. Hakim smiled and shrugged his shoulders, letting Donn make the decision.

“I’ve never dealt with slave catchers or the Sisters,” said Donn, turning back to Chow and Raibel. “What is the usual bounty on a recaptured slave? And who is in charge of buying and selling slaves for the Sisters in Hlanith?”

The two others bristled at his questions, but he reassured them.

“I have a different suggestion,” he said, and explained his idea. It only took a few minutes for them to agree, smiles all around.

“Take the factor back to shore,” called Chow to the crew. “Qway, go with him and make sure he gets back to Hlanith safely.”

He called out in a louder voice, “We’ll be sailing into Hlanith tomorrow morning. We’ll be mooring at Chóng’s dock as usual, but there will be some surprises this time.”

He called the crew closer so he didn’t have to shout, and explained in detail before regaining his usual captain’s voice: “All right, everyone back to work! Raibel was quite unhappy with those crusty foulers portside!”

The crew was not thrilled to be chipping barnacles from the hull, especially when still at sea, but they had ale and companionship to look forward to the next day. And since the ship was fully loaded, most of the barnacles were well underwater where they couldn’t be seen—or removed—without beaching or drydock.

When the longboat came back it brought with it enough mutton and fresh vegetables for the night, and Captain Chow ordered one of their kegs of ale opened.

* * *

The next morning everyone was up with the sun, and the Blue Duck picked up speed with the morning breeze, heading toward the towers and smoke of Hlanith on the horizon.

About half an hour later they were approaching the breakwater, and the captain all but one lanteen furled, cutting their speed to a crawl. The harbor was crawling with ships, boats, and houseboats, and Raibel (and Chóng!) would be most unhappy if they rammed somebody on the way in. It cost money, and more importantly, good will, and to a merchant the latter was perhaps more important than the former.

The docks were already swarming with sailors, longshoreman, merchants, guards, and layabouts. Raibel had opened up a space on the wharf, and Captain Chow’s sure hand brought the ship to kiss the wharf with barely a bump. The dock crew grabbed the hawsers and wound them up right around the bollards, but the ship had already burned most of her momentum and there was almost no need to snub her at all.

As soon as the Blue Duck was still, Donn and Alanna jumped ashore, together with half a dozen sailors. Hakim stayed with their cargo, helping the crew get started unloading the ship.

They walked down the wharf toward the city proper, and almost immediately were stopped by a group of armed men, accompanied by city guards.

“We have a warrant to reclaim stolen property, namely one slave going by the name of Sasha,” cried the bearded man at the head of the group.

One of the guards nodded. “The warrant is valid, I’m afraid, and he claims that woman is the stolen slave.”

Alanna dropped her hood, exposing her face.

“That’s her!” cried the man. “That’s Sasha! Look at this picture!”

He waved a hand-drawn picture of her, and it was indeed a close match.

Donn smiled.

“Yes, I know this is the stolen property,” he explained, standing between her and the slave catchers. “And as an honest man I am bringing her to the city guard myself, to hand her over and claim the bounty.”

He turned to the guard sergeant.

“Sergeant? May I ask you to escort us to the guard office to deliver her to the proper authorities?”

The sergeant, at a loss by the way things had suddenly changed—he had been expecting a fight, based on what the slave catchers had told him—nodded. “Of course, Master Donn... it’s just right ahead.”

“Hey, I have the warrant! That’s my bounty!” shouted the other man.

The sergeant pushed him aside; obviously he had no love for the slave catchers, and now he treated Donn with the same derision. “Master Donn has said he will turn the slave over, and that means he gets the bounty. Get out of the way.”

They marched down the street, making a strange procession with Donn and Alanna in the center, surrounded by multiple layers of armed men: first sailors, then city guards, and finally slave catchers straggling along behind, determined not to be left out of any payment.

“Captain? Master Donn here has recovered stolen property in accordance with the warrant issued by the Sisters of Mercy, and wants to claim the bounty.”

The captain, a scarred warrior who looked like he would rather be sleeping, looked at Donn, and Alanna.

“You are the slave known as Sasha?”

“I am,” she admitted quietly.

“And you deliver her, and claim the bounty offered by the Sisters?”

“Yes,” said Donn, and waved Alanna forward.

“Well, that’s that, then,” said the captain, and waved his hand at the slave catchers standing in the doorway. “Off with you now. Warrant’s done now.”

They left, grumbling.

The guard captain counted out ten gold pieces, told Alanna to sit on the bench next to his desk, and chained her leg to it.

“Sorry, girl, but there’s no helping it. The Sisters will be here to collect you shortly.

“And you, Master Donn,” he snapped. “Your business is done. I’ll thank you to get out of my sight now!”

“Ah, but there are still two small matters to take care of, captain...”

Donn handed back the ten gold, and reached into his shirt to draw out a small bag that clinked.

He counted out another ten, twenty, thirty gold coins, and added them to the growing pile on the captain’s table.

“I believe a slave may be purchased from the Sisters of Mercy for two hundred grams of gold—in this case, forty gold coins, I think you will agree after examining them—and the city guard has an arrangement with the Sisters that allows such transactions to be handled through the city guard, correct?”

The captain looked at him quizzically.

“Yes...”

“Then I now claim this slave as my own,” announced Donn. “Free her, please.”

The captain slowly freed the slave, then pulled out parchment and pen and began to write out a receipt. Donn handed him a rolled parchment: “Here, let me save you the trouble, captain. I have one already prepared.”

The captain took it and scanned it, then suddenly stopped and looked at Donn in astonishment.

Donn smiled.

“I stand witness,” stated the guard captain abruptly. “You have legally purchased this slave, and the Sisters no longer have any call on her.”

“Thank you, captain,” said Donn, pulling Alanna to stand next to him.

“And one final thing, if I may... would you be so kind as to witness my statement of emancipation?”

“With pleasure, Master Donn, with pleasure!”

“As legal owner of the slave known as Sasha and as Alanna, I hereby declare her a free woman, and no man’s slave!” announced Donn in a voice that surely must have carried to the Blue Duck.

The captain bowed to her.

“Mistress, it has been a pleasure to meet you this day,” he said, laughing at the astonishment and discomfiture of the slave catchers.

“I, too, shall stand witness,” came a voice from behind. It was Raibel.

“Factor Raibel! You’re part of this plan, too?”

“Yes, captain. Master Donn here is a friend,” said the factor, and stamped the receipt showing purchase and emancipation with his personal chop. 

Donn turned to Alanna, taking both her hands in his.

“One final thing I must ask,” he said, in a much lower voice. “Pensri, I would take you for my wife. Will you marry me?”

Her answer was distorted because she was trying to weep and kiss Donn simultaneously but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind what it was.

END

Chapter 1

“Come in, come in,” welcomed Chóng, inviting Donn and Hakim in with a wave of his hand. “Sit; let me pour you some tea.”

“Thank you, Factor,” said Donn, taking the bench to one side as Hakim sat on the other.

Chóng got out two more blue porcelain cups and filled them with an aromatic yellowish tea. He handed Donn a cup, then Hakim.

“It’s called Spice Nectar, comes from the Hills of Glorm. Nice, don’t you think?”

“Glorm? Up in Yann?”

“Close. Over the mountains west of Yann. I just got a few samples, and I think it’s wonderful. I’ve asked Factor Talurah to set up a large order.”

“Talurah of Dylath-Leen? Smart woman,” said Donn. “I hear her name every so often in the markets, usually when people discover she’s outwitted them in a trade.”

Chóng laughed.

“That’s why she works for me, Factor Donn,” he said. “In fact, that’s why you two work for me, too!”

Hakim waggled his fingers, and Donn translated.

“A mutually beneficial arrangement, he says. And I certainly agree.”

He took another sip of the tea.

“Cool and spicy, with a sort of minty aftertaste... quite refreshing!”

Hakim nodded, and held out his cup for a refill, which Chóng was happy to provide.

“So,...” said Donn, setting his cup down, “we came as soon as we got your message in Lhosk.”

Chóng picked up a small bowl on the floor next to him, and handed it over.

Donn looked inside curiously.

“Oh, my! Princessa!”

It was a small chip of Princessa, the fabulously valuable wood famous for its iridescent colors and ever-changing patterns, scattered with tiny crystals that captured the light to glitter like stars.

“May I?”

Chóng nodded his permission, and Donn carefully picked the chip up, holding it to the light to fully display its rainbow of color. He turned it a few times in admiration, that gingerly handed it over to Hakim so he could get a better look.

“A beautiful piece... must be about two centimeters long!”

Princessa was valuable not only for its beauty, but also for its extreme rarity. It came from a small shrub that grew in the southern climes, and had never been successfully cultivated. They were discovered in unexpected places quite by accident, often making their owners astonishingly rich before withering away, usually by being brutally harvested, or simply because they died so quickly.

They left no known seeds, and roots and branches all died rapidly no matter how carefully they were cared for.

Even tiny bits and pieces were treasured, and the largest pieces were no more than short twigs, usually smaller fragments like this one. It was traded and handled more like a gemstone than a rare wood.

Hakim deposited the chip back in the bowl and handed it back to Chóng.

“What would you say that’s worth, Donn?”

“Well, beautiful color, good size... I’d say somewhere between a hundred and, oh, about three hundred grams of gold or so. It’s a seller’s market, after all.”

Chóng nodded. “I’d say no less than two, but a pretty piece for sure.”

He reached down and picked up something. Thirty or forty centimeters long and maybe ten or twelve thick, it was wrapped in a silk cloth. Silently, Chóng held it out.

Donn cocked his head and took it with both hands.

It was quite a bit heavier than he’d expected, and felt rough through the silk.

Holding it in his right hand, he carefully folded back the cloth with his left.

He and Hakim gasped in unison.

It looked like a piece of firewood, the sawed-off branch of a tree.

And it was Princessa.

If that chip was worth hundreds of grams of gold, this would be worth... whole kingdoms!

He very carefully set it down on the table, and let his breath out with a sigh, staring at it.

“Gods! A whole branch!”

Chóng took another sip of tea.

“Yes, a nice, large branch. Quite obviously from a nice, large tree.”

Donn and Hakim exchanged a quick glance.

“A Princessa tree...” he whispered.

“A Princessa tree,” agreed Chóng. “And I want you to find it for me.”

Donn and Hakim exchanged glances again.

Donn picked up his cup and held it to his lips. Lost in thought, it took him a moment to notice it was empty.

Chóng stretched out his arm, holding the teapot toward Donn.

“More tea?”

Donn held out his teacup.

“Where did it come from?”

“You mean, who did it come from, I think... if I knew where I would’ve already sailed.”

“Yes, sorry. Here in Lhosk?”

“No, not here. Captain Bikal of the Celestial Whore says he got it from a local chief on a nameless isle in the Sunrise Shore, near Cydathria. Traded his longboat and two swords for it.

“According to Bikal, the chief found it in a shipwreck, something they found on the reef after a storm. He said there had been no survivors—although Bikal is pretty sure they’re cannibals, which would explain why there were no survivors—and he knew nothing more about it.

“Bikal went to look at the site of the shipwreck, but over a year had passed and there was nothing to see but some scattered planks. No idea what kind of ship it was, or where it might have come from.”

“That’s not much to go on, is it.”

“No, but the Captain has added comments to the sea chart of the area around the isle, and we know those waters well... ships sailing the Theth–Cydathria–Mnar–Thul route pass through there often.”

“Is Captain Bikal still here?”

“He’s in Rinar, and he’ll be there for at least another few days. He’s off to Dylath-Leen, Khem, and then up the Yann to Perdóndaris to meet Talurah.”

“A long voyage,” mused Donn. “I envy him the Yann, though... always a beautiful river.”

“Here’s the sea chart,” said Chóng, unrolling a sheet of parchment. “This is Aphorat on the right. These two large islands to the north are Tallawiggu, to the west, and Bokim; apparently none of the others have names.”

He tapped on one of the smaller islands, depicted with a narrow protected harbor.

“This is where Captain Bikal found it. He sent a party ashore for water and provisions, and gave the natives gifts to ensure his safety. Turned out the village chief liked drinking, and invited him to the village for a bout, which is when he saw the Princessa. It was on a little table to impress visitors.

“A little haggling and he walked away with it. He cancelled his planned voyage to Ilarnek and went straight to Rinar. That cost me some gold for lost contracts and spoilage, but it was the right decision.

“He and Factor Hernández used the portal to come here. Hernández says there’s been no gossip about Princessa or treasure down there.”

Donn and Hakim studied the chart.

“I’ve been through here many times,” said Donn. “My father traded all along the southern coasts, and I sailed with him for many years.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been to this particular island, though.”

Hakim signed something.

“Hakim’s right, of course... we probably don’t need to talk to this village chief anyway, unless he’s got something else from that shipwreck that might help pin down what ship it was, or where it came from.”

“Bikal said he checked that out pretty thoroughly. He offered the chief more presents if he had something else, and he and his crew went over the shipwreck site thoroughly.

“The chief said there was nothing else, and the ship, as I mentioned before, was already obliterated.”

Hakim signed something again, and Donn turned back to Chóng when he was done.

“How much of a hurry are you in? If we use the portal we’ll be able to talk to Captain Bikal, but our own ship will be stuck here in Lhosk.

“I’d prefer to either go there, talk to him, and come back here, if that’s possible, or just set up a meeting with the Captain somewhere along the way. Dylath-Leen, or Baharna, for example.”

“Use the portal, and come back after you’ve talked with Bikal and Hernández,” replied Chóng. “It might take weeks for you to meet up with the Captain somewhere else.

“Have you ever used the Rinar portal before?”

“No, we haven’t... why?”

“It can only handle one person at a time. No horses, not much freight. A raptor could go through, but not a deino.”

“Fine,” said Donn. “We just want to talk to them; we’ll leave everything here.”

“It will be a memorable experience, I think,” smiled Chóng. “Gonville!”

Gonville, Chóng’s mutton-chopped right-hand man, appeared in the doorway almost instantly—he’d obviously been waiting just outside.

“Yes, Factor?”

“Drop a message to Factor Hernández in Rinar and tell him that two visitors will be coming through.”

“Yessir. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get ready.”

Chóng nodded and Gonville vanished down the hall.

“Get ready?” asked Donn.

“It’s rarely a good idea to suddenly appear in a portal without sufficient warning,” said Chóng. “Hernández has arranged his defenses quite adequately, I think, but it would be best to avoid unpleasantries.”

“Of course, of course.”

Conversation turned to Donn’s most recent venture, a short trip through Carcassonne and the towns and villages of Sarrub. Chóng was most interested in what Donn and Hakim had seen during the trip, and if anything had felt different from past travels on the same route.

They were deep in a three-way conversation about the apes of the Sarrub jungle when Gonville returned.

“All ready, Factor.”

“Excellent,” said Chóng, standing up and gesturing toward the two traders to follow Gonville. “Tell me, Master Donn, are you afraid of heights?”

“Heights? No, why?”

“Good, good. And Master Hakim?”

Hakim shook his head as Chóng bared his teeth in a smile.

“Just curious,” he said. “Gonville, would you be so kind...?”

“Yessir, I’ll take care of it.”

Gonville led them to an iron-barred doorway, nodding to the guard there and opening the locked gate with his key. This wing of Chóng’s palatial headquarters had stone walls. The hallway was lined with doors and lit with torches, with two troopers on guard there although all of the doors were barred with iron and bolted shut from this side. None of them were labelled that Donn could see, but Gonville obviously knew where he was going.

He slid back the bolt on one door, seemingly identical to all the others, and ushered them into a small room with a low flight of stairs in the center. They climbed to about a meter and a half, with a platform at the top.

There was something blurry in the air in front of the platform.

“The portal opens vertically!?”

Most portals Donn and Hakim had used were like doorways that you just walked through... this one wasn’t.

“You just step into the portal from the ladder. And on the way back, your feet hit the floor here, and you have to duck under the portal.”

“I’ve never seen a portal like this!”

Gonville smiled.

“Factor Humaydah wanted it this way, and Factor Chóng—once he tried it out—loves it. He’s thinking of adopting the design in other portals as well.”

Hakim grunted, and Donn translated his signing: “Seems very inefficient for moving goods, he says. I agree.”

“Ah, but it’s not for moving goods. It’s for moving people, safely.”

“OK, whatever,” replied Donn. “Just up the stairs and step through?”

“That’s all!” said Gonville. “Oh, by the way, be sure to close your mouth when you go through.”

Donn glanced at the other to see if he was joking, but kept climbing the stairs. First Chóng, now Gonville, he thought. They’re hiding something...

He looked down into the portal... there seemed to be some sort of curtain, something of rough-spun cloth, blocking the view.

He glanced at Gonville again, who just gave him a big, toothy grin.

Donn shrugged, closed his mouth, and stepped off the platform.

He fell. He expected to fall, so that didn’t surprise him, but he also expected to land on the floor a meter or so below... and he didn’t.

Bright light, falling... he spasmed, waving his arms wildly, searching for something to grab onto, adrenaline pumping in panic.

And suddenly a rope smacked into his face, and more across his body, and outstretched limbs.

He felt the ropes give, stretch, rebound, and then plunge down a second time as Hakim fell to join him, his foot smacking into Donn’s head.

As movement gradually died out, he pushed Hakim’s foot away and took a look around.

They were in a net!

Hakim sat up.

“You OK down there, Master Donn?”

“No thanks to you, Gonville! You could’ve warned us!”

“What, and take all the fun out of it?”

“Fuck you, Gonville! You owe us beers.”

“Enjoy yourselves in Rinar, gentlemen! Safe voyage!”

The net suddenly twisted as two men pulled it over to the side.

“Welcome, Master Donn, Master Hakim. The Factor is waiting for you.”

They helped the two of them climb out of the net.

Donn stopped for a moment for a better look.

It was a clever idea... the portal was in the middle of a tower, with a movable net underneath to catch visitors. When no visitors were expected, they just pulled the net out of the way, and visitors fell to the floor... which was covered in spikes.

Presumably there was a higher level they could use to enter the portal from above, ending up in Chóng’s palace.

“Thanks for putting up the net,” he said to the two men as he pointed the spikes out to Hakim. “Damn near pissed myself.”

One of the men chuckled.

“Everyone tries it blind the first time. And yeah, a few do.”

“This was all Gonville’s idea, wasn’t it?”

“The drop? No, that was Humaydah’s idea. Now that Factor Chóng likes it so much, though, it’ll never change.”

“Anyone bite his tongue off?”

“Not off, entirely. One guy was spitting blood, though.”

Donn snorted, and followed the man down the stairs to meet Factor Hernández.

The Factor was a fairly young man, probably in his early forties, thought Donn. Must be a real go-getter to be Chóng’s factor in Rinar. The city was a major hub in Chóng’s trading empire, the principle gateway between Thul and Cuppar-Nombo in the east, and the rest of the Dreamlands. A lot of dealings with Mnar, too.

Clean-shaven, except for a thin mustache, black hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders... he was brimming with energy, and stood from his desk as they entered the room. About the same height as himself, he figured.

“Come in, Master Donn, Master Hakim,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “Factor Chóng told me you were coming.”

“Factor, thank you for having us. And for putting up that net!”

The Factor chuckled.

“Your first time, then? Sort of an initiation ceremony here... hope it didn’t bother you.”

It wasn’t an apology, Donn noticed, just a polite comment.

“You can go,” continued the Factor to the monocled man seated at the desk with him. “Finish up the calculations and I’ll get back to you later. And make sure they check each one, individually!”

“Yessir,” mumbled the man, apparently an accountant, as he hurriedly collected his paperwork and scuttled out of the room.

“Please, sit.”

The Factor waved them to chairs and poured four cups of tea.

“Captain Bikal will be here shortly; I sent a runner for him as soon as Gonville told me you were coming,” he explained. “He’s down on the docks getting his ship ready.

“I heard that you’re familiar with Cydathria and Theth.”

“My father was a trader all along the southern coast. Home was Dylath-Leen, but I got my sea legs about as soon as I could walk, and spent most of my youth at sea, with him.”

“And now you work for Factor Chóng.”

“Nominally I’m still an independent trader,” agreed Donn. “but yeah, pretty much just for him.”

“Why still independent, then?”

Donn shrugged. “We like it this way.”

“I see.”

Hernández took the hint and dropped the topic, turning to Hakim instead.

“And you are from Dylath-Leen as well.”

Hakim nodded.

“Any chance of the two of you telling me how you met?”

They exchanged glances, and Hakim shook his head.

“Ah, perhaps another time, Factor...” he said.

Just then the thud of boots echoed in the hall, and they looked up to see a scruffy sailor step in. Baggy blue pants, leather belt, stained linen shirt, red bandanna wrapped around this head, one gold hoop earring.

“Cap’n Bikal, sir, at yer service.”

“Come in, Captain, join us,” invited Hernández.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen, and this is Hakim, also of Dylath-Leen.”

“Bikal of Baharna.”

Hakim signed a greeting, as he always did even when the other person couldn’t understand him.

Bikal took an empty chair and accepted the cup of tea from Hernández.

“Factor Chóng sent us, Captain,” began Donn. “He showed us that Princessa, and asked us to find out where it came from.”

“Ain’t seen nothing like that ever before,” said the captain. “Knew the Factor here would wanna see it.”

“I certainly did, Captain Bikal,” said Hernández “You made the right call to come straight here.”

“We’ve got your chart,” said Donn, unrolling it on the tabletop for all to see, “but we’d really like to hear the whole story from you, if you’ve got the time.”

“Yeah, sure. Cullus’ll get the ship ready without me jus’ fine. Not much for me to do there anyway, just counting boxes and shit.”

Captain Bikal went over the story again, but there was little new information.

“Gorolka—he’s the chief, big, solid guy, ’bout my age—said it was a three-master, but that don’t mean shit. Awful lot of ships with three masts in those waters. And it had a figurehead, some kinda mermaid.”

“Again, not much help... every other ship’s got a mermaid on her.”

Hakim signed Donn briefly.

“Did he mention, was the mermaid painted or anything?”

Bikal thought for a moment.

“Musta been... he said it had blue eyes and red lips.”

Hakim nodded.

“That mean something to you, Hakim?” asked Donn.

Hakim shook his head, signing.

“He says no, just trying to get as much information as possible,” explained Donn. “I don’t see it making much difference either way.”

He pulled the chart closer and studied it.

“I haven’t been through these isles for a few years... you go through here regularly?”

“Couple times a year,” said Bikal. “Why?”

“Anything changed recently? New currents, whirlpools, pirates? There used to be a big Gnorri city over here,” replied Donn tapping the map. “They still there?”

“The Gnorri? Yeah, I always go through there... got a little deal going. Much obliged it if you’d not fuck it up, though...”

“No problem, no problem. I don’t intend to bother them at all.”

“Pirates, yeah... I hain’t run into any, but there’s been some rumors in the ports about ships going missin’ more’n usual.”

“Cydathria? Or just the Sunrise Shore?”

“All along the Cydathria coast, they says. Last time we was in Aphorat the Guard was all worked up, talking about armed patrols.”

“Aphorat? A navy?”

Bikal laughed.

“Shi-yut. Those fools couldn’ sail nothin’ bigger than a laundry tub!”

Donn laughed with him; even Hakim smiled.

“We haven’t lost any ships in that area for some time,” said Hernández, “but about half a year ago one of our smaller merchanters—the Bottlenose, under Captain Dirjaless—went missing and hasn’t been heard from since. It could have been pirates.”

“One ship in half a year doesn’t suggest pirates,” mused Donn, “but it certainly could be... have you heard anything from other traders passing through those waters?”

“Not much, and that includes a lot of the single-ship independents. There are rumors, but nothing we’ve ever been able to pin down.”

“So we have no idea whose ship that might have been, then. The one that carried the Princessa.”

“None. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the Bottlenose, though. She was only a brigantine: two masts. Assuming that villager was right about what he saw.”

“Well,” said Donn, “I guess we’re about done here. I’d hoped to get more information from Captain Bikal, but there’s just not much to go on, is there?”

“Sorry, wasn’t much help, was I?” said the captain. “I’ll be off, then. Gotta make sure they stack them crates proper.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Factor Hernández. “Safe voyage.”

Captain Bikal left, and the Factor turned to Donn.

“Captain? Back to Penglai, or will you join me for dinner?”

“We’d be delighted to join you, Factor, thank you,” smiled Donn. “Our ship isn’t ready yet either, back in Lhosk, and we might as well enjoy ourselves while we wait!”

Factor Hernández stood, and waved them toward the door.

“You know,...” continued the Factor thoughtfully as they walked “the Bella is here right now, and she could get to the Sunrise Shore a lot faster than your big ship from Lhosk. Fast, shallow draft, nimble... You’re welcome to use her instead, if you like.”

“The Bella? Don’t think I’ve heard of her before... who’s the captain?”

“That’d be Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris. Know him?”

“Know of him, but never met him,” laughed Donn. “That’s your smuggler, right?”

“Please, Captain,” soothed the Factor. “We don’t smuggle goods, as I’m sure you’re aware. The Bella is a fast courier for special deliveries, that’s all.”

“Of course, of course,” smiled Donn. “But if Captain Gunnarsson is willing, that’d be excellent.

“Hakim, you agree?”

Hakim made a few quick signs.

“He asks how big it is, and how many people it can handle. Good question.”

“He normally runs with a crew of himself and three, I believe. It’s big enough to carry another half a dozen people in relative comfort, or a couple dozen if they’re all friends.”

“Hakim wonders if we should bring along some troopers, and I’m thinking another sword or two wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“I can loan you a few convoy guards. Their pay’s coming out of Chóng’s wallet anyway!

“I’ll check with Captain Gunnarsson and see who’d be a good choice.”

Donn looked surprised: “Why would he choose the troopers?”

“He’s very secretive, as you might imagine. And with good reason, as I suspect you may come to understand.”

“I see,” said Donn.

Hakim snorted a little hmph in response.

* * *

Captain Gunnarsson showed up the next morning well after dawn.

His twin braids hung below his shoulders, ropes of blonde-and-grey hair twisted together with threads of different colors. His bristly mustache was more grey than blonde, but his pale blue eyes revealed no trace of age.

“Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris” he said brusquely, and looked straight into Donn’s eyes.

“Donn and Hakim, both of Dylath-Leen,” he replied. “Hakim cannot speak.”

“Heard things about you, Captain.”

“And I of you.”

“The Factor says you can be trusted. I trust the Factor, but can I trust you?”

Donn raised his eyebrows.

“Seems to me, since we’ll be on your ship, the question is whether I can trust you,” he said. “We’re here at the request of Factor Chóng himself, and if that’s not enough I guess we’ll have to use our own ship after all.”

“That’d be the Nausheen.”

“That it would.”

“Strange name for a ship.”

“Yes it is.”

There was silence as they locked eyes for a moment, and then Gunnarsson nodded.

“I’m not much on talking,” he finally said.

“I want a fast ship with a good captain, not someone to talk to.”

Gunnarsson smiled. “Bella is the fastest ship you’re likely to find anywhere.”

“And the best captain?”

“The Bella’s never been caught, and there are few ports we haven’t been to, one time or another.”

It was Donn’s turn to nod.

He stretched out his arm, and they exchanged a wrist-shake. Gunnarsson stretched out his other arm to Hakim for another.

“Well, now that you’ve worked all that out, sit down and join me in a cup of tea,” invited Hernández. “Captain Gunnarsson, Factor Chóng and I would like you to help Captain Donn here. A very large piece of Princessa turned up recently, and we want to find out exactly where it came from.”

“You don’t know where it came from? And you want me to run around looking for it?”

“Considering how much Princessa is worth, I think it’d be a good investment. So does Factor Chóng.”

“You know I’ve got some promises to keep over in Despina. Certain people there would be very upset if I had to put them off.”

“I know, and I’ll talk to them myself.”

“It’s that important?”

“Yes, we believe it is.”

“What’s the destination?”

“The Sunrise Shore.”

Gunnarsson sat up straight and suddenly looked interested.

“I see. OK, tell me more.”

The Factor didn’t seem at all surprised at his sudden change of heart, and they filled him in on the situation.

“I know those waters well,” said Gunnarsson. “Even met the chief, Gorolka, at a big festival on Tallawiggu. Never been to his island, though.”

“That’d be the harvest festival?”

“Yes. All the islands come to barter, drink, settle grievances, and seek brides.”

“I’ve heard of it many times but never been there. Should I?”

“Not much reason to, unless you plan on concentrating on the Sunrise Shore... It’s a good place to meet them all, but trading’s better if you visit the islands separately.”

Donn nodded.

“Do you remember what this Gorolka had to offer?”

“No,” said Gunnarsson. “And that means it was nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Hakim and I can defend ourselves but we’re not troopers,” continued Donn. “How dangerous are those islands?”

“Most of them are fine, nothing that can’t be handled with smiles and a few presents. There are a few cannibals, but they usually like presents, too. Safest to stay offshore until after we get some things sorted out with the locals.”

“Pretty much the usual, then.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” the other agreed. “Two or three troopers should be fine, I think. This is mostly a scouting trip, right?”

“Right.

“The Factor said you pick your own people. That’s fine with me, but when can you be ready?”

“This evening fast enough?”

“Excellent!” smiled Donn. “I figured it’d be tomorrow morning.”

“We’re moored on the east end, right near The Dancing Crow. I’ll let the crew know you’re coming.”

Donn pulled out his money pouch. “How much do you need?”

Factor Hernández pushed Donn’s hand back down.

“This is all on Factor Chóng’s tab. Gunnarsson, just let me know. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Factor.”

Donn put his pouch away again. “So, I guess we’re done?”

“Guess so.”

Hernández broke in with a quick word. “Take two dragolets with you. It’d take a while for them to get here and be to be able to do anything, but might be a good idea. One for me, one for Factor Chóng in Lhosk.”

“An excellent idea,” agreed Donn, and Gunnarsson nodded in agreement.

“Well then, we’ll be there before sunset,” said Donn. “That good?”

“That’ll be fine,” said Gunnarsson, and the two of them stood. Hernández stayed seated, sipping his tea as Gunnarsson left.

“Gunnarsson’s a good man,” he said. “A better sailor than I’ll ever be, and quite possibly a better trader as well.”

“There are a lot of stories about him and the Bella.”

“I suspect many of them are true,” agreed Hernández. “So you’re an independent trader, right? How come Factor Chóng sent you?”

“We—Hakim and I—have been independent for quite some time, and ran into Chóng’s people so many times that eventually it just made sense to work together. I found my first wife on one of his ships, as it happens.”

“Found your wife?”

“Long story. I hired the Blue Duck for a season’s worth of furs. And my Pensri was also on that ship... Captain Chow and Factor Raibel made it possible.”

“Raibel? Of Hlanith? I trained under him a few years ago!”

“Yes, that’s him. Very nice man.”

“He never struck me as nice,” snorted Hernández. “Efficient, yes, but not nice.”

“I was a customer, not a trainee, after all.”

“So you were, so you were... and I must admit, now that I’m a Factor with my own trainees I can’t fault him. Can’t fault him at all.”

Donn laughed.

“Did you train Hakim?”

“No, no. He and I, um, encountered each other on the road, and found it most convenient to join forces. We’ve worked together since.”

He glanced at Hakim’s flashing hands.

“He wants me to add that I saved his life,” he said. “That’s true, I suppose, but over the years I think he’s saved my life more times than I’ve saved his.”

Hakim waggled his fingers in negation.

“Yes, yes, I did save his life the first time we met, I admit it. Are you happy now, Hakim?”

Hakim flashed a grin of satisfaction.

“Factor Chóng told me to give you whatever you wanted,” said Hernández. “That’s quite a vote of confidence.”

“As I said, we’ve worked with him for quite some time now. We agree on a lot of things.”

“And even though you’re independents, you came through the portal from Penglai. That tells me more than his letter, to be honest... he doesn’t let just anyone wander around his network.”

“His network? He has so many portals that you call it a network?”

“Just a turn of speech,” smiled Hernández. “Perhaps best not to place too much import on it.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Donn set his empty cup down on the table and exchanged a quick glance with Hakim, who nodded.

“Thank you for introducing us to Captain Gunnarsson, and the excellent tea, Factor. If you’ll excuse us now, we must make ready for departure.”

“Of course,” said the Factor, rising from his chair. “Just ask if you need anything from me, and feel free to use my name in the market if necessary.”

“Thank you. We hadn’t planned on leaving from Rinar and will need a range of gear by this afternoon.”

“Safe voyage, Captain. Master Hakim.”

“Thank you, Factor. And to you.”

They picked up a few items from the Factor’s warehouse and then headed to the markets to purchase the rest. Fortunately, they had made contacts in Rinar over the years, and were able to obtain what they needed at reasonable prices.

 

Chapter 2

 

In addition to the usual gear—clothes, rucks, bedrolls, rope, cheap but brilliant gemstones as presents, dried rations, whetstones, an endless list of little things they always carried—Donn also made it a point to have a case of fresh fruit delivered to the Bella. Sailors always appreciated fresh fruit and vegetables, and in this case it struck him as a far better choice than a keg of ale.

Captain Gunnarsson apparently agreed, because as they slipped out of the harbor in the growing dusk, he handed each of them a ripe apple with thanks.

And, surprisingly, a cup of ale!

“You pass out ale regularly, Captain?”

“I trust my crew; the keg is always open. Never had a problem yet.”

“I trust my crew, too,” said Donn, “but it never occurred to me to open the keg like this... likely to disappear on the first day!”

Gunnarsson laughed.

“We’re a team here, and unless we can count on each other we can’t function. People die.

“None of us is in it for the money, although we’re all paid very well for our time. We do it for the thrill of the chase, the feel of the ship slicing through the waves, sails taut in the wind, tacking so tight we can lick the wavetops.

“We’ve no time for drunkards.”

“You never struck me as a poetic man, Captain Gunnarsson.”

“The sea makes poets of us all.”

They fell silent for a moment.

“You’re heading east... “

“We mentioned we had a shipment for Dothur, just in case anybody was listening... once we’re far enough out we’ll swing back towards Cydathria and the Sunrise Shore.”

“Good. I doubt anyone knows why we’re here anyway, but never hurts to be safe.”

“Nope. Especially in my line.”

“Captain, I noticed you have a windlass on the back deck... strange place for an anchor.”

“That’s a surprise,” smiled Gunnarsson. “You just keep on wondering for a bit longer. You’ll find out soon enough.”

A few hours later, with the half-moon close to zenith and only a few clouds blocking the stars, they changed tack, turning west toward their real destination.

They continued west through the night, and as the eastern sky began to lighten, Gunnarsson called out.

“Khairi! Time to get Shatrevar up! Thabit, Moswen, help him out, please.”

“Yessir!” responded Khairi, and hurriedly finished off his bowl of rice. “Shatrevar! Time to go!”

Khairi was a Pargite, a large man with a pale scar running down the side of his head. He as missing that ear. The two Khemite troopers Gunnarsson had brought along for the trip, Thabit and Moswen, had obviously worked with the Captain before, since he just used their names when calling them.

Shatrevar, on the other hand, was so slight that Donn had difficulty imagining he could pull his own weight, literally or figuratively, on the ship. He hailed originally from Pungar-Vees, and in spite of being at least in his thirties still looked to be on the young side of puberty.

Donn and Hakim followed them back to the stern, full of curiosity.

Shatrevar opened a locker and took out a bundle of sticks, and a blue cloth.

“Silk, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Spider-silk, from Moung. Light and strong, and so’s the rope,” answered Khairi, tapping the dull grey rope wound around the windlass drum.

Thabit helped Shatrevar put on a spider-silk harness, and Moswen was helping Shatrevar snap rods together, and fit them into reinforced pockets in the silk cloth. As they progressed it gradually expanded, growing into a rectangle four or five meters tall.

“It’s a kite!”

“It’s a kite, and I ride it,” agreed Shatrevar. “Assuming the wind’s right, I can see one hell of a lot farther than the crow’s nest. And usually any ship I can see can’t see us, because we’re below the horizon yet.”

Donn’s jaw dropped.

“Incredible! Everyone knows wyverns and airships fly, but nobody expects to find them on a ship! That’s how you slip past patrols so easily!”

“If we can do it far enough away not to be spotted ourselves, yes. That’s why it’s blue, of course, and my clothes break up my silhouette to make it even harder.

“The hard part is getting up there, though. The ship has to almost sail into the wind, and a pretty strong wind at that, before I can risk it. If I can’t lift I end up in the sea, and the kite is shredded.”

“And you drown.”

“Well, not yet, but it can get pretty dicey,” laughed Shatrevar. “They’ve got a rope on me, but once the kite hits the water it’s just an enormous sea anchor... if I can’t cut myself loose, I’m dead.”

Donn nodded. Now he understood why such a small, light man as Shatrevar was a crew member... he had to be, to get aloft.

Shatrevar shook himself once, settling the framework on his body.

“Left thigh’s pretty loose, Thabit.”

Thabit knelt down to retie the cords on his left leg, tugging here and there to check for tightness.

“Anywhere else feel funny?”

Shatrevar shifted on his feet, swung his arms.

“No... feels pretty solid, thanks.”

He turned and walked over to the edge of the stern castle, unusually high for such a small ship.

“You ready?” asked Moswen, and at Shatrevar’s nod he called out to Captain Gunnarsson.

“Ready, Captain!”

“Let it go, Khorsed!” called Gunnarsson, and Khorsed, the third crew member, manhandled the boom over. The sails cracked, the ship swung and bucked, and suddenly they were heading almost into the wind.

Moswen and Thabit both had their feet braced, pulling on ropes to keep Shatrevar in place on the stern castle. Shatrevar adjusted the angle of the kite to better catch the wind, almost pulling them off their feet.

“Now!”

At Shatrevar’s shout they released the ropes, and he leapt into the air, catching the wind and jumping up a dozen meters in a heartbeat. The windlass clacked and spun as the spidersilk rope fed out, a ghostly gray line connecting kite and ship.

It was already hard to make out the contours of the kite, and the rope had faded into invisibility... it was difficult to tell just how high it was flying, but certainly higher than any crow’s nest.

“How does he communicate?”

“He’s got a bunch of colored weights. Just clips one over the rope and lets it slide down,” said Moswen. “Limits what he can say, but it’s usually enough because nobody can see us.”

“And you two crank him down?”

“Yup. Can be pretty tough when the wind’s gusting, but he can move his arms to change the size of the kite, and his drop.”

“Ever had to cut him loose?”

“Not yet; hope we never have to...”

“You’re both from Khem, I see.”

“Born there,” said Thabit. “Little village near Meroë. Ever been through there?”

“Meroë, of course. We usually trade out of Lhosk or Dylath-Leen, and we’ve been across the whole continent one time or another,” replied Donn. “Ever been to Oonai?”

“Yeah, we went there to sign up as troopers for the King.”

“The King, eh?”

Donn shot a glance at Hakim, who was apparently disinterested in the conversation, watching the whitecaps. Donn noticed his knuckles were white on the railing, though.

“That didn’t work out, I gather?”

“Well, we don’t mind a little playing around now and then, greasing a palm or something, but the King, well... he was running that city like his private playground, and everyone a slave. Didn’t sit right.”

Moswen spat over the railing.

“And never going back, neither. Meroë, maybe, but never again to Oonai.”

“I see... We haven’t been through Oonai for some years.”

“Don’t bother,” said Thabit. “Be better if the desert just swallowed it up.”

“Pity. Heard some beautiful music there last time I went...”

“Not anymore. If it’s not praising the King, it’s not allowed.”

Hakim slowly let go of the railing, prying off one finger at a time as if they were stuck to it, and walked away toward the prow.

“How long will he be up there?” asked Donn, pointing into the sky.

“Probably only twenty, thirty minutes, but we’ll see.”

“Well, if you need an extra pair of hands on the windlass, just call,” said Donn, and followed Hakim.

“Thanks,” said Thabit, pulling out a pipe and tobacco pouch. “Should be fine.”

He joined Hakim at the prow, placing his hand gently on Hakim’s shoulder, and they watched the waves together for awhile in silence.

“Coming down!” came the shout from the stern, and Donn looked back to see the two Khemites slowly cranking the windlass, reeling in the kite.

The ship was no longer running into the wind, and Shatrevar was approaching from the port side. He could only make out the faintest outline of the man, and only that because he could see where the rope was pointing, and could guess where to look.

He was essentially invisible.

He approached the stern castle, jerking up and down slightly as the wind wavered, and suddenly folded his arms up tight, collapsing the kite and dropping to the deck.

He missed the stern castle entirely, but Donn guess it was by intent because nobody seemed surprised, and he landed neatly on his feet. His hair had a slight coating of frost, already melting.

Moswen and Thabit detached the spidersilk rope and began unbucking him from the harness.

“Anything?”

“Absolutely nothing. No ships, no islands, not even any whale spouts. Just empty sea as far as I can see.”

“Good,” said Gunnarsson from behind them. “Maybe we can get to the Sunrise Shore without any prying eyes.”

“You expect people to follow you?”

“No, not really, not this time, but I don’t like surprises, and if nobody knows where I am it’s a lot less likely they’ll surprise me.”

“A man after my own heart,” said Donn. “I suspect it’s a lot easier to follow us on horses than you on a ship, though.”

“I suspect you’re right,” agreed Gunnarsson, then turned to Shatrevar. “Thank you. There’s hot tea and food for you in the cabin. Rest.”

“Thank ya, Cap’n. Don’t much feel like flapping my wings right now, and a couple’a eggs’ll go down right nice.”

The Bella sailed on, keeping a steady pace to the west, and as they got closer to the Sunrise Shore, Shatrevar went up a second time.

Gunnarsson knew where they were, of course, with his sextant, but he wanted to know if there was anyone waiting for him as he entered the isles.

Half an hour later he had his answer.

“Nothing that I could see, Cap’n,” said Shatrevar. “Lots of places a ship could be hiding, of course, but I couldn’t find any.”

“Good. We’ll approach closer at dusk,” decided the Captain. “Have to take it slow and keep off the reefs, but Khorshed’s been through these water so many times he could probably do it in his sleep. Eh, Khorshed?”

“I think the Captain would be rather upset with me if I slept at the helm,” he laughed. “I much prefer to let him sail the ship while I watch the mermaids slip by.”

“You have any Gnorri girlfriends out here who can guide us?” called Thabit. “How does that work, anyway?... I mean, kissing is fine, but, you know, doesn’t that fishtail get in the way?”

“Unlike you, Thabit, I don’t make love to fish!” retorted Khorshed. “Those scales’ll make a eunuch of you!”

Gunnarsson furled most of the sails and let the ship drift, adjusting the heading every so often to keep it safe from the waves, and they waited for darkness.

The Captain used the sextant to check the position of the Bella once again, and measured carefully on his sea charts. Donn noticed they were quite a bit more detailed than his own, and covered with cryptic notations on wind, currents, and the isles themselves.

“Judging from your charts you’ve been through these waters many times.”

“A few. These are more detailed than most... don’t need much detail for the deep.”

“I’ve been through here a couple times, but always on the way to somewhere else,” mused Donn. “Never had a chance to see what’s here, really, except food and water.”

“Never been much here,” agreed the captain. “At least, not that I’ve ever found.”

“So why are you so familiar with these waters?”

Gunnarsson was silent for a moment.

“Years ago, when I was a rigging-monkey on an old indie trading ship, we came through here, stopping here and there to trade with the natives, picking up odd furs or gems along the way, and met someone at the harvest festival. An island girl. And I fell in love.

“Things got complicated, and I never saw her again after the festival. Never found out where she was from, or where she went. Only her face and her name—Lotarra.

“I’m still searching for her, silly as it sounds. I know I’ll never find her, and it’s been years and years since we met. She’s no doubt a village woman now with a horde of brats swarming around her.

“But it doesn’t matter. I’ll keep looking.”

“So that’s why you suddenly decided to bring us here. I wondered why you changed so abruptly when Hernández mentioned the Sunrise Shore.

“I met my first wife on one of Factor Chóng’s ships, you know... turned out she wasn’t who she said she was, and everyone had been lying to me about her name and everything else, and it made no difference anyway. She’s my first wife now, although we don’t quite have a horde of brats yet. Four doesn’t make a horde.”

“First wife?”

“Of three. And a husband.”

“Hakim?”

“No. Hakim and I are business partners.

“He was married once, with children. Ended badly, I’m afraid.”

Gunnarsson sighed. “Seems you’re the only lucky one here.”

They fell silent for a moment, Donn at a loss for what to say.

Captain Gunnarsson stood up straight, brushed off his tunic.

“Well, about time to get under way again,” he said, looking up at the heavens. “The moon and stars should be enough if we take it slow.”

“Where are we heading?”

“For now, to the isle where Bikal found it. I want to check the wind and seas there, maybe I can get a better idea of where that ship came from, and where it was going.”

“Three masts and a figurehead suggests it was a trader heading to sell the branch, I think.”

“That’s my guess, too. But where would he go to sell it?”

“He’d want to sell it direct, which means nobility, or at least the very rich. Unless he already knew someone, that means one of the big cities. Dylath-Leen, Lhosk, Rinar, maybe even Celephaïs.”

“You think he found it here?”

“Nobody’s ever mentioned anything that big. I think it must be some relatively unknown, untouched region, and the Sunrise Shore certainly fits.

“If it were on the southern coast they could have taken it directly to Aphorat, or shown it to King Kynaratholis.”

“True. Given the size of that branch, that tree’s been around for many years. If it were anywhere reasonable it’d be found and famous by now.”

“Looking at the map here, you know,” continued Gunnarsson, “I think you’re right about it being here in the isles. If I found something like that I’d head for the open sea and the biggest city I could reach, not chance ending up on the rocks of the Sunrise Shore.”

“As that ship did.”

“Aye, as they did.”

“So maybe we should ask the natives here, then, if they’ve seen it before, and where.”

“It’s our best chance,” agreed Gunnarsson. “And we can start with Gorolka, assuming he remembers me.”

“I got some presents that might help with that,” suggested Donn.

The ship moved slowly through the night, weaving between rocks and reefs to reach Gorolka’s island, and by dawn they had slipped into the narrow harbor.

Gunnarsson warned everyone to stay on the ship until the natives came, and avoid making the first move.

“If they think we’re slavers or raiders they’ll attack and probably kill us all,” he said. “But if we just sit still and wait for them to come have a look, I can get them to take me to Gorolka. Hopefully I can convince them not to kill the rest of you, too.”

“That would be nice,” nodded Donn. “I’m not terribly interested in becoming someone’s stew.”

“Might not be a bad idea to keep your sword close at hand, though. Just in case.”

They stood at the rail and waited.

Some time before dawn, as the eastern sky began to lighten and the first traces of orange appear on the horizon, Thabit noticed they were being watched.

“Up on top of those three rocks there. Just to the right of that single palm,” he called quietly. “Two, maybe three people.”

“Yeah, they’re watching us,” said Donn. “There’s another on the other side, too, a few meters to the right of that big blue patch of seaweed on the beach.”

“I am Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris! I come bearing gifts for Chief Gorolka!”

He stood on the castle in plain view, hands empty.

There was no answer, but shortly a large outrigger set forth, carrying about a dozen people. In the prow stood a single man wearing a bright red cloak over his shoulders.

They stopped paddling as they got closer, and let the boat drift to the Bella.

Moswen threw down a rope, and the cloaked man swarmed up the side, leaping over the railing to land neatly on the deck with a thump, sword drawn. He was followed shortly by two more men, also armed with swords.

“Gorolka knows no Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris,” he growled, but his sword was pointed down, at the deck.

“Think back to the harvest festival on Tallawiggu,” said Gunnarsson, still standing with empty hands. “I gave you the gold torc with a bull on it, the one you wear around your neck even now.”

The native stood for a moment, then burst out laughing, and sheathed his sword.

“I am Gorolka, chief of my people, and I see you, Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris.”

“May we talk, Chief Gorolka?”

“We will talk. Come.”

Gorolka waved at his waiting outrigger, and Gunnarsson stepped forward to join him as directed.

“I’m going over to talk to the chief,” he said. “You can come if you insist, but I’ll have to ask you to remain silent, Donn.”

“I’ll come. Unarmed?”

“No, but for Ech Pi El’s sake don’t draw it unless you really need it!”

“I won’t. Don’t think a sword would help much anyway if there’s only the two of us.”

Gunnarsson handed over a long box, saying it was a gift and to hold it straight at all times.

Donn looked at it curiously: it was a simple wood box, fairly long but quite narrow.

Khairi held the rope for them as they climbed down into the outrigger.

The paddlers dug into the waves and the boat shot forward. The three of them—Gorolka, Gunnarsson, and Donn—all kept their balance, pretending to each other that it was a simple feat.

Gorolka leapt out as the longboat crunched ashore, then spun to face Gunnarsson and Donn.

“This is my land, and you are welcome, Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris, and your servant.”

“Thank you, Chief Gorolka! It is good to see you again,” replied Gunnarsson, exchanging a double wrist-shake with the Chief. “Allow me to present you with this gift!”

He waved Donn forward with an insolent gesture, and Donn took the hint. Like a good servant he kept his head down and bowed as he held the box out.

Gunnarsson took it from him without a word, waving him back again, then turned the box to the opening would face the Chief as he opened it.

“Ohh!”

Gorolka’s face broke into a broad smile. He reached forward and picked up the flashing sword from inside. Polished to mirror perfection, it was almost blinding with reflected sunlight. Gems on the pommel shone like colored stars as he swished it through the air a few times to get the feel.

“A worthy weapon!” he enthused, and stuck it in his belt.

“Worthy of a chief,” replied Gunnarsson, closing the box and holding it behind himself for Donn to take, and whispered “Walk a few paces behind me.”

The Chief and Gunnarsson walked side by side into the woods, the Chief admiring his gift and Gunnarsson smiling and praising him. Donn followed, trying his best to look suitably impressed, and the Chief’s guard fell in at the rear. Donn could hear them muttering amongst themselves but between the unfamiliar language and their mumbling he couldn’t guess what they were saying.

They didn’t seem angry or upset at anything, that he could tell, just shooting the breeze as soldiers do.

It was a short walk to the village, a collection of wood and bamboo huts running along the boundary between forest and beach. They were built on short columns, standing maybe half a meter off the ground.

Donn had been through the Sunrise Shore many times over the years, and most of the islands had very similar tribes and houses. Generally small communities that lived on a combination of fishing, hunting, and farming. Villages were often closer to clans, with everyone linked by blood or marriage, and the annual festival on Tallawiggu was generally the only place they met, exchanging products and welcoming new blood in the form of husbands or wives.

Almost all conflict was internal and handled by the local chief; the chances of something happening to stir up trouble between two islands were slim. The Council of Chiefs could select a High Chief to settle such problems—or lead them in war, if necessary—but it was quite uncommon.

There were maybe a dozen people in sight, turning now from their work to watch the Chief return with his new sword, and stare at the guests.

The Chief strode through the village with barely a glance at any of them, and up the small hill to a larger, elevated structure. It was built of wood, with columns of stone, and looked considerably sturdier than the numerous family dwellings. Obviously the center of the village, and where the Chief ruled, if not lived.

The Chief barked something and several people dropped what they were doing and scurried off somewhere.

The hall was imposing, large trees forming the pillars framing the entrance. They were carved with countless animals, flowers, fruit, and more, and painted in a dazzling array of colors.

There was no door, just stone steps.

At the entrance two young women stood waiting, dressed in light, colorful skirts, with flowers in their hair. They bowed to the Chief, and stayed with heads down as he passed into the dark coolness of the interior followed by Gunnarsson.

As Captain Gunnarsson walked up the steps he signaled briefly with his hand for Donn to stay outside.

That made sense, Donn thought, since he was supposed to be a servant.

He had been through the region many times, either with his father or on his own, and he knew he was supposed to go to a nearby hut, where (hopefully) they would give him food and a place to sit.

He stepped to the side and glanced toward the guards who had accompanied them from the shore. One of them, a darkly tanned man with graying hair—he seemed to be in charge of the guards, or at least ordering them around—waved him over.

“You can wait over there,” he said, pointing at a tiny hut off to the side of the village. It wasn’t decrepit, but it was pretty clear that nobody lived there. Donn sighed to himself, smiled, and thanked the other.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen,” he said, hoping to break the ice.

“Arioreiyu of Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha,” replied the other, smiling.

Maybe this won’t be that bad after all, thought Donn.

“Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha,...” he mused. “Tuo-Rasha means two mountains, doesn’t it?”

“Ma means deep harbor,” explained the other. “And there are the twin peaks, our guardians.”

He pointed inland, where Donn could just see the tops of two mountains above the trees. One was a jaggedly pointed spire, the other almost flat on top.

“The Spear of Raunamoko, and the Table of the Gods,” continued Arioreiyu, pointing first to the pointed peak, and then the flatter one.

“Raunamoko... the god of earthquakes,” said Donn.

“Yes, may He remain at peace.”

“May He remain at peace,” echoed Donn, recognizing the prayer as one common throughout the Sunrise Shore.

“You are not a barbarian,” said Arioreiyu. “You know somewhat of our ways, in spite of your ship and your clothing.”

“My father was a trader in these waters for many years. This is my first time to visit Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, though.”

“And you’ve learned a few words in our language.”

“I speak Cydathrian; that helps a little.”

“Cydathrian! A sad excuse for a language!” laughed Arioreiyu. “How many words do they have to describe the waves, or the foam, or the currents of the deep? To know the sea you must know our tongue!”

Donn nodded.

“And your knot-maps.”

“Ah, so you know of those, too?”

“Of course, but to read them is a different story.”

“We do not read them, Master Donn, we listen to them, and guide our outriggers as they reveal.”

“One day, perhaps, I shall learn their secrets.”

“Perhaps,” said Arioreiyu. “Perhaps not. They are, after all, our secrets.”

He stopped, thought for a moment.

“Master Donn, come, drink with us. That hut will be sad and lonely tonight.”

“I would be honored, Master Arioreiyu.”

Arioreiyu laughed again, and smacked him on the back.

“I hope you like yaqona!”

“I love it!” smiled Donn, truthfully.

Most of the guards had already left, but one of them—another sun-bronzed man named Iarolu—walked with Arioreiyu and Donn toward one of the several firepits burning in the village.

Arioreiyu sat on a log near the fire, and gestured to Donn to sit nearby.

The fire was banked down, mostly coals, but still fiercely hot. A tripod made of soot-blackened poles was erected over the fire, but there was no pot there. Too early yet, he guessed.

“Iarolu, you’ll join us today?”

“We have plenty of gifts,” replied the other. “No need to fish or gather today.”

Donn understood his use of “gifts”—the gifts of the sea and the forest: food, mostly.

The people of the Sunrise Shore lived close to Nature, accepting its bounty and protecting their islands and its environment in thanks. In their world, the islands themselves were gods, generous to those who respected them, yet ferocious when roused. Daily prayers, regular offerings, and the occasional sacrifice kept them quiet, and the villager’s world peaceful.

“You get something to eat, and I’ll fetch the yaqona,” said Arioreiyu, standing. “Be right back, Master Donn.”

Yaquona was a shrub found throughout the Sunrise Shore, and along parts of the Cydathrian coast. When prepared as a tea it induced mild euphoria, a sense of calm and relaxation without any loss of cognitive function. Those who drank it still felt and thought normally, but for the most part were content to lie down and enjoy the sensations rather than take action of any sort.

Effects varied, but usually wore off within an hour or two.

Donn looked forward to a leisurely day in an idyllic village, and decided to stop worrying about Hakim or the Bella.

Arioreiyu was back first, with a few brownish roots and a bowl. He pulled over the cone-shaped coral grindstone that had been sitting next to the first, and began grinding the roots down into a paste. He added only a few drops of water, but liquid seeped out of the roots quicky.

As he was grinding Iarolu returned with an enormous platter of fruit and several small fish, which he spitted and stood up facing the fire. He poured water into the iron pot and hung it on the tripod.

When there was enough yaquona paste, Arioreiyu scraped it into the bowl with his fingers, and poured water in. He handed the bowl to Donn, who nodded his head in thanks, then dipped his fingers in and flicked a few drops into the fire.

“For Raunamoko!” he called as the droplets hissed and steamed, and then he quickly took a drink, and passed the bowl to Iarolu. The yaquona was fresh and pungent... it would take effect shortly.

Iarolu also flicked a few drops into the fire and repeated the ritual before drinking himself, then passed the bowl back to Arioreiyu.

They shared the various fruit Iarolu had brought, and as the yaquona began to take effect their delicious flavors became exquisitely, sensually alive.

Donn was vividly aware of the breeze as it caressed his skin and sighed through the trees; the dance of the waves on the shore and the receding foam as it popped and hissed, flowing back into the sea; the fragrance of the fruit in front of him, its brilliant red and oranges delighting the eye; the slow crisping of the skewered fish, the aroma tickling his nose; the grittiness of the sand under this feet; the sky wheeling above... everything was brilliant, beautiful, fresh, calm.

He felt Raunamoko looking down from his peak, and he was one with the god of the island of Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha.

They lazed there for a few hours, eating the fruit and fish and talking, until the euphoria wore off.

In the afternoon the villagers began returning from their daily work, whether fishing, farming, or hunting, and the village came to noisy life.

“Tonight we will have a feast for our valued guest,” announced Gorolka as he and Gunnarsson emerged from the Chief’s hall.

The biggest events would feature a roast pig, but that took most of the day to prepare and it was obvious they didn’t have one ready, thought Donn. Which meant it would be a simpler feast, with a variety of fish, meats, vegetables, fruit, and some fermented alcohol, probably something sweetish.

He preferred that to the more ornate roast pig, much as he enjoyed the succulent pork dripping with spice and honey. The simpler menu usually meant that everyone was more relaxed, and could concentrate on enjoying themselves rather than worrying about whatever the ceremony demanded. He was here on a mission, but no reason he couldn’t enjoy himself while doing it!

Gorolka had left his red cloak somewhere and wore the same simple cloth skirt as all the other villagers, men and women. The climate was warm all year round here, with little seasonal change, and most of the people of the Sunrise Shore wore little to no clothing. Gunnarsson had left his sword and wallet in the Chief’s hall, apparently, and was dressed only in his light tunic.

He and Donn stood out from the villagers, not only because they were the only two people wearing tunics, but also because the colors were far too quiet for the boisterous hues of the island. The villagers seemed to vie with one another to wear the brightest, most vibrant, clashing colors possible, bizarre combinations of scintillating pink with chartreuse spots, a crisscross pattern of sky-blue and orange, one all black with flying fish embroidered around it in silver thread... every one was unique, and each more colorful than the last.

Donn and Gunnarsson looked positively drab: Donn in a dark blue tunic and the Captain faded maroon.

Multicolored ground cloths were spread out around the elongated firepit, and some log seats moved around.

The Chief and Gunnarsson got a fancy ground cloth with a picture of a flying vulture on it, and Gorolka waved the Captain to the empty log set to the side of the Chief’s ornately carved chair. Two women took up their positions in front, pouring wine into his goblet, and then into Gunnarsson’s, before filling up plates with delicious food for the two of them.

Donn had to fend for himself, but he was quite happy sitting with Arioreiyu and Iarolu, passing around a jug of sourish wine and loading up on fresh-cooked food. As a trader Donn could eat almost anything, but he had no trouble at all helping himself to the feast this time.

The men sat closest to the fire, which was mostly glowing coals instead of leaping flame, with the women and children farther away, on the outside. Every so often a woman would approach the fire and fill a large platter with roast meat or fish, taking it back for the rest of the women and children to eat. Once a young boy, probably eight or ten, scuttled up to the fire and reached for a skewered fish, only to be swatted back by one of the men lounging nearby.

He ran back to safety, but escaped with a skewer in his hand as the men laughed at his feat.

The only servants were the two women plying the Chief and his guest with food and wine. Gunnarsson seemed to be enjoying himself, and Donn noticed that he was spending an awful lot of time laughing at everything the Chief said. Probably not drinking enough to forget how to butter up a customer, Donn figured.

The feast went on for hours, villagers eating, socializing, snoozing as they saw fit, and many of the younger children began to disappear, carried off to their huts to sleep, no doubt. Donn wasn’t much of a drinker, but he had been drinking steadily since late afternoon, and even with the healthy helping of food to soften the blow, things were still getting a bit blurry.

He rose, staggered slightly, and began to toddle off to his hut.

“Uralorea, tend to our guest!” Arioreiyu called to the women in the gathering darkness, and a young girl—about twelve or so, guessed Donn—jumped up and took his arm, supporting him.

She said something Donn couldn’t understand, but it was clear she was leading him to his hut, so he followed as she led. He wasn’t as dunk as he’d thought, in spite of staggering a bit when he got up, but he’d certainly sleep well tonight.

The floor of the hut was woven reed, and the mattress some rough cloth stretched over leaves, he guessed from the feel.

Uralorea helped him lie down, then brought a cup of fresh water and set it down by his head. The hut was dark, but the opening faced the fire, and a stray beam flashed on something hanging around her neck. He looked closer—it was a small mirror, oval and set with some gemstone, hanging on a dark metal chain.

Certainly not local manufacture; she must have gotten it in trade from the mainland, probably at the festival on Tallawiggu.

He pointed to it and smiled. “It’s very beautiful!”

She smiled back, bowed her head, and dropped her skirt.

Donn’s smile froze.

She was only twelve!

He couldn’t do this!

Maybe it was how they honored guests here, but he had no sexual interest in children! He felt repelled by the very thought.

There was only one thing to do.

He pretended to feel sick, and lurched up to stumble out of the door, pretending that he was about to vomit.

He made appropriate noises in the undergrowth, waited a few minutes to see if she would leave, and when she didn’t lurched back into the hut and collapsed on the floor, only half on the mattress. He faked drunken slumber until the real thing overtook him, but was still awake enough to notice when she snuggled up close to him in the darkness to join him in sleep.

When he awoke she was combing her hair with her fingers, still naked.

He groaned theatrically and held his head as if he had a hangover, and gingerly walked out of the hut to pee. He didn’t have to fake that part.

When he got back, still holding his head in apparent agony, he handed her her skirt and motioned her outside.

She smiled, a big, beautiful, radiant smile, and eagerly put her skirt back on, then slipped outside to join the other women in preparing breakfast.

As she left he took another look at that mirror. It was decorated with a frame of tiny red stones, probably garnets, he thought. That many rubies would be pretty pricey to find on the Sunrise Shore.

Strangely enough, his hangover vanished almost immediately.

He watched the villagers starting their day, preparing the morning meal, taking care of children, or eating a quick and simple meal before heading out to sea, or inland to gather food, or farm.

Gunnarsson and the Chief appeared shortly, both looking actually hung-over.

He stepped outside so the Captain could see him, and waited to see what was happening.

Gunnarsson noticed him, and waved him over, walking a little ways away from Gorolka for privacy.

“The Chief is going to show us where they found the wreck, after he eats. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Drank too much last night keeping the Chief happy. Feels like a wyvern or two is thumping around up there,” complained Gunnarsson, holding his head. “Go eat and leave me alone.”

Donn chuckled as he wandered over to join Arioreiyu, who was working on a bowl of some meat and rice mixture.

“Got any more of that?”

“Sure, Master Donn,” the other replied, and turned toward one of the nearer huts.

“Hey! Another bowl for Master Donn!”

A woman’s head appeared briefly in the entrance, and a few seconds later she came trotting out with another bowl.

It must have been leftovers from last night, Donn figured... rice, fish, vegetables, a little meat, all cooked up into a delicious stew.

He slurped it down.

Arioreiyu drank his cup empty, shook it once, and poured in more tea, then handed it to Donn.

“Tea’ll help you wake up,” he said. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks, Master Arioreiyu.”

It was new to Donn, bitter and aromatic. Almonds? He couldn’t quite place it, but it was good, and he felt the lingering traces of sleep evaporate.

Half an hour later, the four of them—Chief Gorolka, Gunnarsson, Arioreiyu, and Donn—set out.

Arioreiyu led the way as they trudged up the steep slope of the ridge encircling the bay.

“It’s a lot easier to just walk around, along the coast, but this is much faster,” he explained.

Donn didn’t mind the exercise, and it was more hiking than mountain climbing, but apparently Gunnarsson was still not in the best of moods, and was mostly silent and grumpy.

Chief Gorolka, on the other hand, was happy and cheerful, pointing things out along the way: flowers, fruit, a small fox. He even commented on the Bella, now a tiny ship in the harbor below them.

Gunnarsson glanced at it, as if to make sure it was still there, and then concentrated on climbing again.

Once they reached the crest it was a long, gentle slope down the ridgeline, and after about half an hour Arioreiyu guided them onto a trail that headed down toward the sea.

Donn could see shallows stretching out over a wide area, with outcroppings of coral here and there interwoven with darker blue waters.

Gorolka stopped at a convenient outlook, and explained that they came here to hunt for certain fish and shellfish that lived in the reef, as well as collecting coral for trade. Every so often the tide would bring the other treasures as well, such as the shipwreck that had launched this adventure.

“The tide?” asked Gunnarsson. “You find things brought by the tide here often?”

“Yes, quite common, although a lot of it ends up on the outer reefs and never makes it close to land,” said Arioreiyu.

“So that ship could have drifted here, then, from somewhere else.”

“Where was the shipwreck when you found it?”

The Chief pointed toward the sea.

“See those three trees there? Look behind the one on the right, see that patch of dark water? With the large, almost circular coral behind it?”

Donn and Gunnarsson followed his finger.

“Yes. And something green just behind it,” confirmed Gunnarsson.

“Yep, that’s it. It was half on top of that coral, and flotsam scattered around in the water nearby.”

“No survivors, no bodies?”

“No bodies,” replied Gorolka. “As far as we could tell the ship was empty.”

“Strange...” mused Gunnarsson. “Maybe they abandoned ship? But surely they’d have landed here if so...”

Donn nodded in agreement, and glanced at the sun, already well above the horizon.

“If the sun rose about there,” he mused, pointing, “then this reef is roughly on the east-northeast coast. Might have drifted here from somewhere, if there was no crew aboard. We’ll have to check the charts when we get back.”

“You want to go down and see the reef yourself?” asked Gorolka, speaking over Donn.

“No, this is all I needed,” said Gunnarsson. “I thought the ship went down here, but it looks like maybe not, now. I can check the currents and see where it might have drifted from.

“I’ve seen what I needed to see,” he continued. “Thank you, Chief, for leading me here. I am in your debt.”

The Chief smiled, and they turned to retrace their steps toward the village. They were still on the ridgeline, so there was very little climbing involved, and the fresh breeze had invigorated Gunnarsson.

They made good time.

* * *

They returned to the village shortly before noon, and the party broke up.

Arioreiyu and Chief Gorolka had their own affairs to attend to, while Gunnarsson and Donn were eager to return to the Bella and check the sea charts.

Gorolka offered to have some of the villagers take him out, but the Captain said he didn’t want to take up any more of the Chief’s valuable time, and shouted to the crew to come get them.

He wrist-shook the Chief one more time, and thanked him again, while the Chief in turn handed him two jugs of their wine.

The ship’s longboat was already in the water, left there after bringing back provisions and fresh water to replenish the ship’s stores. Khairi, Hakim, and the two troopers brought it up close to the shore a few minutes later, and Donn and the Captain climbed aboard from the gentle surf.

“Back to the Bella, Khairi. I think we’re done here,” said Gunnarsson. “Have to see those sea charts.”

“You two seem to have had quite a party last night,” grinned Khairi. “Looked like an awful lot of people having a fun time around that fire.”

“Strictly business, I assure you,” denied the Captain, waving his hands. “Hated every minute of it.”

“Yes, I can vouch for the fact that it was all business,” Donn chuckled. “Especially the attractive women and the wine, very businesslike indeed.”

“Speaking of wine,” continued Gunnarsson, “I happen to have two jugs of their finest right here, and I think we’ll have to inspect them to be sure they haven’t spoiled. Perhaps later, though.”

“Always happy to help with inspections, Cap’n!”

They soon reached the Bella and climbed aboard.

“Hoist up the longboat, Captain?”

“No, not yet,” he answered. “Let us see those charts first.”

Donn explained to Hakim how the current carried flotsam to that stretch of coast, and how they thought that ship might have drifted here from somewhere else, since nobody had mentioned any survivors or bodies.

In the ship’s chartroom Gunnarsson pulled out the charts of the Sunrise Shore and vicinity. Donn and Hakim joined him, poring over the hand-written notations.

“The strongest flow through the Sunrise Shore is the Cirque, twisting back westward past Mnar and Cydathria,” said Gunnarsson, tapping the chart. The Torrent flowed up into the Southern Sea between Theth and Zar, splitting into two major currents, one turning west toward Khem and the Basalt Pillars of the West, and the other heading northeast toward Sarrub and the Cerenarian Sea. That eastern current split again, one branch heading south along the Mnar coast, then circled back west through the Sunrise Shore before returning to the Torrent once again in an enormous circle: The Cirque.

“So it could really be anywhere along the Mnar coast, then,” said Donn. “Or even farther north, Ooth-Nargai or the Isles of Nariel.”

Gunnarsson pursed his lips.

“Not impossible, but my guess is that the ship would founder long before it was carried that far, if the crew abandoned her... or the wind would drive her into the Grim Forest.”

The Grim Forest was the enormous patch of kelp and floating debris that collected in the relatively dead waters at the center of the Cirque, roughly midway between Oriab and Mtal. The wind itself, it was said, avoided the Grim Forest, and ships trapped there were often unable to escape.

There were countless rumors about what lived there.

“I’m thinking something much closer,” continued Gunnarsson, “like Mtal.”

“Mtal?” Donn considered the idea. “But nobody goes to Mtal! At least, nobody has ever come back to tell the tale.”

“Precisely. Which would explain why nobody’s ever reported Princessa trees there.”

“And the crew?”

Gunnarsson shrugged.

“No idea what happened to the crew. Could have been plague, or some monster, who knows? Pirates are unlikely, I think, or they would’ve kept the ship.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s as good a plan as anything, and I certainly don’t have any better ideas. Hakim? What do you think?”

Hakim signed back quickly.

“He suggests we approach very carefully, and use your kite to see what we’re getting into.”

“An excellent idea,” agreed Gunnarsson. “I’ve never gone there myself, either, and to be honest I’d rather not go now, given its reputation... but I think it’s our best option.”

“To Mtal, then.

“To Mtal,” agreed the Captain, standing. “I’ll go tell the crew.”

They set sail about an hour later.

 

Chapter 3

 

It was not far from the Sunrise Shore to Mtal, but the current was to the west, against them. They instead angled north, where the current weakened closer to the Grim Forest.

Donn had heard tales of the wrecks and denizens of the Grim Forest, and no desire to encounter them personally. Fortunately, Captain Gunnarsson agreed, although he was reticent to reveal his own experiences, and so the Bella began to head eastward, toward Mtal, once the current slowed. 

As they approached Mtal the wind strengthened, and they were able to pick up speed as they continued north, until the current once again began to flow southeast along the Cirque, around Mtal and down toward Thraa and Mnar before it turned westward to the Sunrise Shore.

Captain Gunnarsson was finally able to guide the Bella as he wished, controlling helm and sail masterfully to bring the ship to a position upwind of Mtal.

They could see the very tops of the mountainous island, but before they could see the shore, or any nearby ships, they would have to approach closer... or use the kite.

Donn helped Shatrevar get strapped in as the others got the windlass set up, and when everything was ready the Captain turned close to the wind, and Shatrevar leapt into the air. The wind grabbed him, shook him, and threw him high into the sky.

He swooped, soared, slid about, and finally settled down to a gentle swaying motion, as the pull of the tether balanced the push of the wind.

Two color-coded weights came sliding down, and Khairi read them out: No ships in sight, but multiple campfires. He suggested that probably meant a village, since it would be unlikely to find an army camped out here.

About half an hour later another message came sliding down: Pull me in, it said.

Donn and Khairi cranked down the windlass, reeling the bucking kite closer and closer until finally Shatrevar stood on the deck, breathing heavily from the exertion.

The Captain handed the helm to Khorshed, and joined them on the stern deck.

“Looks like one small village, Captain,” reported Shatrevar. “Something strange going on, though... I couldn’t see a single fishing boat out, and only one person ashore.”

“But you said multiple campfires.”

“Yes, at least four, maybe five. That’s about right for a small village this time of year, but there should have been people fishing, tending the garden—looked like a pretty extensive garden, probably vegetables but it was too far to see well—or doing everything else.”

“Siesta?” suggested Donn, relaying a quick sign from Hakim.

“Could be,” agreed Shatrevar. “That’s why I stayed up that long, to see if anything changed. And it’s getting a bit late in the day for a siesta.”

The sun was well past zenith, and while dusk was yet some time away, afternoon was well advanced.

Captain Gunnarsson, Donn, and Hakim talked later in the Captain’s quarters.

“If there are no other ships, I think the best thing to do is just go ashore and try to find out more,” said Donn. “Should be safe if it’s almost deserted.”

“The question is: why is it deserted,” said Gunnarsson.

“Mmm. Good question,” agreed Donn. “But only one way to find out...”

That night the Bella crept closer to shore, just around a promontory from the village, and the longboat launched toward Mtal. A short time later Donn, Hakim, and Moswen, one of the troopers, jumped off and waded ashore as the longboat began the long trip back to the ship through the darkness.

They slowly worked their way down the coast, staying hidden in the underbrush along the edge of the forest. It took them about half an hour until they could see the village from their hiding place, and they settled down there to see what awaited them.

As dawn came they expected to see villagers about their business, preparing the morning meal, perhaps setting out for the first fishing of the day, children fetching and carrying, but there was almost nothing.

A boy, perhaps in his teens, sat in the doorway of his hut, staring vacantly at the sea.

Donn trained his telescope on the boy—he was crying!

And he had a chain attached to his leg!

A hand entered his field of vision and he quickly shifted the telescope upwards: a woman, perhaps in her thirties or forties, had stepped up out of the darkness of the hut to join the boy. She, too, had a chain on her ankle.

She carried a plate of something, obviously urging the boy to eat, but he shook his head, and continuing to sit, dejectedly staring into the waves.

The woman—his mother?— sat beside him, the plate left on the ground, and hugged him close.

“They’re chained up,” whispered Donn. “There’s a boy over there with his mother, and they’re chained up like slaves. Can’t leave the huts at all, it looks like.”

“So how’d they get the food, then?”

Donn shrugged.

“There must be slavers about, I think. Should we risk it?”

Hakim shook his head, signed.

“Hakim says we should wait until dark,” explained Donn. “I agree. What do you think, trooper?”

Moswen nodded. “Yeah, and I think we should find a better spot to watch from, too. I don’t want to risk getting caught by slavers.”

They slowly worked their way deeper into the forest. The ground began to slope uphill toward the mountains that formed the center of the island.

“Maybe swing around a bit, see if we can find a place to look down from above. Forest’s not that dense,” suggested Moswen.

They trudged uphill, trying to find paths between the trees that were free of underbrush. In a few places they had no choice but to use their swords to lop off a few branches, but for the most part they moved in silence punctuated by occasional whispers.

Moswen, leading the trio, suddenly held up his hand to halt, and dropped to a crouch.

Donn craned his neck to see what might be up ahead, and snuck up to join Moswen, bent over to stay low.

There was a fairly broad patch of open ground, mostly bare rock. It stretched several dozen meters, and they had a choice of going around, which would take them farther away from the village, or crossing it and risk being seen.

“What do you think?” asked Moswen.

“We haven’t heard or seen anybody yet,” replied Donn. “I say go for it.”

Moswen nodded. “Island’s practically deserted!”

Moswen stepped in the clearing, looked slowly around, then ran across, keeping low. Donn stood at the edge of the forest watching him.

Three men suddenly appeared to his right, and two more right in front of Moswen.

“Halt!”

Donn crouched, but it was too late.

“You there! In the trees! Come out or your friend dies!”

Donn hesitated, then stepped out of the forest.

Two of the men to his right had bows, arrows set to bowstrings. The rest had swords, one at Moswen’s throat.

He stopped, unbuckled his sword, and waited.

“Just you two?”

Donn didn’t hesitate.

“Just us.”

“Drado, Cosmere, check it out. And get him tied up,” ordered the slaver. Surely, they must be the slavers, thought Donn.

The men from his right walked over to Donn, two of them slipping into the trees behind him and the third tying his hands together behind his back with a leather cord.

Hakim must have slipped away before they noticed, Donn thought. Good. At least one of us gets out of this.

The slaver pushed him forward, toward Moswen, and tied the two of them together with another leather cord around their ankles. It was short, preventing them from running, forcing them to shuffle their feet.

“Well, two more healthy slaves,” laughed the leader. “Where’re you from, slave?”

“Donn of Dylath-Leen.”

“So you’re Donn? Huh,” said the other. “Heard of you.”

“Then you know I can pay your ransom.”

“Hah! I don’t need your ransom, trader! I need you!” he said punching him in the chest with one finger for emphasis.

“Me?”

“Rich, poor, whatever: doesn’t matter. You’ll do just fine.”

“Do? For what?”

The two men who had entered the forest came out again.

“No sign, boss. Looks like it really was just the two of them.”

“OK, let’s go, then.”

“Hey, wait! That’s my ship out there! I can pay your ransom!”

The slaver turned to look down at the bay. They had a perfect view from this high, and Donn could clearly make out a large ship bearing down on the Bella, in the open sea just outside the reach of the bay.

“Maybe you do,” said the man. “And if you do, it’ll be ours soon enough.”

He yanked the rope around their necks, pulling the two of them away, into the forest, and they could see the Bella no longer.

* * *

The slaver camp was, strangely, farther inland. Donn had expected it would be on the shore to make it easier to load slaves onto the ship.

It was a very simple camp, and obviously not designed to hold slaves for very long. Or at least not in any comfort. There were half a dozen bamboo cages, tiny and dirt-floored, with a dish on the ground full of muddy water. No food that he could see.

They threw the two of them into a filthy cage.

Donn slowly picked himself up. He wanted to rub the mud off his face, but his hands were still tied behind his back. He struggled and panted, and finally managed pull the rope over his legs so his hands were now tied in front of him instead of behind.

Moswen was trying to do the same thing.

Donn smiled at his success, then froze—they weren’t alone!

In the back, hiding in the shadows, was a young boy—a teenager, Donn thought—huddled in rags. He was holding something, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark shadows after the brilliant sunlight of the clearing, he realized the boy was holding an even younger child, nothing but their terrified eyes shining in the darkness.

He kept his distance for now.

“It’s alright, lad,” he said quietly, sitting flat on the dirt. “We won’t hurt you.”

The boy said nothing, blinked.

“Do you understand me?”

There was no sign he did.

Donn tried some other languages, bits and pieces of speech he’d picked up over the years, but without any luck.

“Moswen, you know any more?”

Moswen, who had sat motionless while Donn was trying, shook his head.

“Sorry, I can get around the Eastern Continent pretty well, but not down here.”

Donn gave up. Either they had no language in common, or—more likely—the boy was simply so scared he couldn’t move.

He decided to just wait and see, and sat down, sitting to face the door to their cage. He left his back exposed to the boy, making it clear that he wasn’t a threat.

They sat in silence for several hours, changing positions or whispering to each other.

A pirate walked past every so often, glancing at them briefly to be sure they weren’t trying to escape.

The shadows began to grow longer in the late afternoon, and suddenly Moswen cleared his throat, and pointed at the boy.

Donn turned to see what he was pointing at, and saw the boy signing toward the trees... there! In the shadows! It was Hakim!

He was deaf! Or at least spoke sign language.

Donn motioned Moswen to stay silent, and tried to follow what the boy was saying, but most of it was meaningless... he was signing a different language. Still, he had a pretty good grasp of how signing worked, and even without the language there were a lot of gestures that meant similar things... like, death.

Hakim got more, and after a moment let Donn know what he’d learned with their own signs. Apparently they were all going to die. Soon. It was impossible to tell clearly what the boy was trying to say. Something about mother, and trees, but mostly about dying.

“He knows signs, but he speaks a different language,” whispered Donn. “Hakim says we’re going to die.”

“Die? Slavers don’t kill people, though.”

“No, but if they were slavers, why did they bring us here instead of down to the village?”

“Yeah, I wondered about that myself,” agreed Moswen. “Maybe we should take a chance on escaping now after all. Any of those bamboo stakes look loose to you?”

Donn and Moswen quickly checked the cage, but unfortunately everything was solid. The stakes were dug deep, and the whole thing woven together with rope—a lot of rope—that would take a long time to get through without their daggers.

Donn had no doubt that their captors would be back to check on them long before they could.

Donn scooped a leaf out of the water dish, wondering if that was what they’d have to live on until... until they died.

He’d already mentioned ransom, and they’d shown no interest at all. And the Bella! What had happened to the Bella?

If the Bella was still free they might have a chance, but without the ship... but Hakim was still free!

Donn smiled.

Hakim was very, very quiet when he wanted to be.

“What the fuck are you so happy about?” whispered Moswen.

“Wait until dark,” whispered Donn, “and stay quiet.”

Moswen nodded, and they both sat on the ground, heads slumped as if they’d given up hope entirely.

After a while the boy slid a little closer to Donn, who smiled and patted the ground next to him.

The boy hesitated, then slowly joined him. He jumped a bit when Donn’s hand touched his, then relaxed and grasped it in his own.

The child on his lap, probably four or five, Donn guessed, slithered closer, their head—her head? Donn thought it might be a girl—finding a resting place on his leg.

They waited.

A few hours later one of the pirates came and looked inside the cage.

“Hold up yer arms! Let me see those ropes!”

Donn and Moswen both held their arms up so the pirate could see their ropes were still secure.

“Don’t try nothin’ or yer gonna regret it,” he said as he rattled the cage bars to be sure none was loose. We can see this cage just fine from where we’re sittin’ and I’d hate to hafta break yer arms for trying to get out.”

Donn nodded.

“Maybe some food? We’ve been here all day...”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. Depends what the cap’n says.”

“The captain? Who’s the captain?”

“None of yer business. The cap’n wants ya ta know, he’ll tell ya.”

He spat and stalked off again.

A few hours later it was quite dark, and Donn moved to the side of the cage closest to the forest, his back against it.

As he’d hoped, he felt a tap on his side. He opened his hand and felt the haft of a dagger pressed into it, then a second.

He sat still, not turning to look at Hakim.

“How many?”

Six taps.

“Six.”

One squeeze.

Moswen nodded, listening closely.

“More prisoners?”

Squeeze.

“Lots?”

Squeeze.

“Free them now?”

Hakim’s hand moved back and forth across Donn’s. No.

“Wait until tomorrow?”

Squeeze.

“Can you give them weapons?”

No.

“Thanks. We’ll wait for your signal tomorrow.”

Squeeze, followed by the slightest rustling of leaves as Hakim slipped back into the darkness of the forest.

“He says there are many prisoners—I’d guess the villagers—and he doesn’t want to free them yet. I don’t know why, but he said he didn’t have any weapons. Anyway, we wait for his signal tomorrow.”

He handed Moswen one of the daggers.

“Saw most of the way through the ropes, so we can break them when the time comes.”

Moswen nodded.

“Good man, Hakim. Not too thrilled with ending up in the pot, or as a slave. Now we’ve got a fighting chance.”

“More than a chance, I think. Hakim’s a very good man.”

Donn was dead tired but spent the night holding the children, hoping that he could save them the next day.

* * *

Donn snapped awake when the boy moved, and glanced around.

Dawn.

Nobody yet.

The two children walked over to the smelly side of the cage and relieved themselves. Donn didn’t stare, but there really wasn’t any privacy. And that younger child was definitely a girl.

Moswen was awake, too, watching to see if anyone was approaching.

A few minutes later one of the pirates walked up, and once again told them to show their hands.

They held them up clearly—they’d cut most of the way through the ropes, but it was hard to see. The pirate didn’t.

“Come on out, you two, slowly,” he ordered, standing back from the cage door with sword drawn. “Hey! Kid! You too!”

The four of them bent down to pass through the small doorway, and stood quietly. Donn and Moswen did their best to keep their ropes hidden under their tunics, but it was impossible to hide them all the time without being obvious. And the boy insisted on holding one of Donn’s arms, making it even harder.

“Walk, that way,” said the pirate, gesturing with his sword. “If you try to run I’ll gut you like a fish. And you can’t run none in those hobbles anyway.”

They meekly walked down the trail as directed.

The path turned right, uphill and into the trees.

Only a short distance beyond they crested the hill, and looked down into a small valley.

It was almost perfectly round, with steep walls... An old volcano, maybe, or a meteor crater, Donn thought. He was more interested in what was in the crater, though: he thought they might be trees at first, but their branches—tentacles?—were waving through the air gently. They had no leaves at all, but glistened in the morning sunlight with all the colors of the rainbow.

Princessa!

Enormous trees of Princessa!

Princessa wasn’t a wood, then, but some sort of creature. Like an anemone. Alive.

He gaped in astonishment, trying to make sense of it all.

Suddenly there was a scream and a naked man fell into the crater.

A pirate had pushed him in!

The man landed on his feet, scrabbling wildly on the exposed rock wall, mad with fear as he tried to escape.

One of the tentacles bent down, gently sliding through the air to approach the man, who continued to try to scale the wall, oblivious. The tentacle hesitated for a moment as if taking aim, then shot forward with an audible woosh, wrapping around the man’s thigh and yanking him off his feet.

He shrieked in pain and fear, hammering on the tentacle with his fists, to no avail.

It dragged him back toward the trunk, where half a dozen other tentacles descended to encase the man almost entirely. One slapped down across his face, abruptly cutting off his screams, and then there was a muted squishing noise, and, mercifully, his struggles ceased.

The tentacles swirled in color, patches of iridescence dancing across their surface with new vitality.

The Princessa... it ate him!

There were about a dozen villagers standing there, along with Donn’s group, and the pirates stepped forward, swords drawn, to force them into the valley.

Hakim stepped out of the trees and slashed one across the neck, pivoting to stick a second in the back.

They were taken completely by surprise, not expecting an attack from their rear.

“Now!”

Donn yanked his hands and legs apart, tearing through the few strands of rope they’d left, and yanked his dagger out of hiding under his tunic.

He leapt onto the closest pirate, catching the briefest glimpse of Moswen doing the same.

At the sudden battle, the villagers turned, tackling the two pirates herding them with their bodies and teeth, even though their hands were behind their backs. One villager fell, then a second, but the pirates were overwhelmed, and Hakim’s sword finished the job.

It was all over within a few minutes, and soon the villagers were freed.

The pirates, two still living, were unceremoniously dumped over the edge.

“Give me a hand collecting dry brush, will you?”

Moswen nodded at Donn’s request, and together with Hakim began collecting brush, leaves, and other debris from the forest.

There was an argument among the villagers, and then one woman turned her back on the rest of the villagers, and strode over to help collect brush. A second followed, then the rest.

They dumped it all into the crater, and Hakim handed Donn a burning branch taken from the pirates’ campfire.

The pirates were all dead now, whether by the fall or the Princessa, Donn neither knew nor cared. He was glad he didn’t have to burn anyone alive, though, as he dropped the flaming branch onto the pile of brush.

Silent, he watched the flames grow into an inferno, and the tentacles whip frantically through the air in agony.

The Princessa whistled as it burned, collapsing slowly into death.

Donn just sat and watched. Moswen sat next to him, and the two children, and the rest of the villagers.

It burned hot, and there was nothing but a fine gray-and-white ash left an hour later.

* * *

By the time Donn, Hakim and Moswen reached the village the remaining villagers had already been freed. People were greeting each other with tears of joy at seeing their loved ones once again, or tears of sorrow at the ones gone forever.

The village chief was long gone, killed by the pirates when they first came, but he gradually pieced the story together from the survivors.

The Princessa had always been here, small shrubs that only grew in that single crater, living off frogs and other small creatures. The pirates had come to the island originally as slavers, and one of the villagers had escaped, running into the forest to hide.

They’d found him, but during the search one of them slipped into the crater, and they discovered that the Princessa, whatever it was, grew vastly larger and more colorful on human flesh.

Princessa was worth far more than mere slaves, and so they decided to use the villagers as food instead. Dozens had been killed, possibly even more from other villages on the island.

“Well, it’s all gone,” said Donn. “It may grow back someday, but every one of those damned things is ash now!”

“Yeah, sort of a pity, though,” said Moswen. “We could have made a pretty penny off that much Princessa!”

The villager they were sitting with looked at them quizzically.

“You wanted that opal-wood?”

“Yeah, that’s why the pirates came here, and why we followed,” said Donn. “It’s very valuable.”

“You saved our lives,” replied the other. “If it’s worth that much to you, take it, with our thanks!”

He pointed up at the ceiling of his hut, and there, set into the woodwork high on the wall, was a single board made of about two dozen small twigs, carefully cut and fitted together into a single panel of exquisite color.

“All of our huts have these,” he explained. “They are beautiful, yes, but not worth anything to us... take them! Take them all!”

He stood and pulled the panel from the wall and handed it to Donn.

Once the word got out, the villagers quickly brought dozens more, until Donn had large pile by his side. More than he could carry, certainly, and worth far more than he could imagine, he suspected.

He was almost speechless.

Then he realized... if he couldn’t carry it, and the Bella was gone, what use was it?

Where was the Bella?

He walked down to the shore and scanned the ocean... not a sign.

No debris, which was good, but also no sign of the pirate’s ship.

The last sight he’d had was the Bella under attack... what had happened?

He sighed, and trudged back to the village.

Hakim motioned him to a stop, and pointed up into the sky.

Donn turned, squinted... a kite!

It was the Bella’s observation kite!

He shouted with delight and pounded Hakim on the back as the villagers stopped what they were doing and turned to watch.

Half an hour later the Bella hove into view, slipping quietly into the harbor and dropping the longboat.

Captain Gunnarsson stepped into the surf and waded ashore, leaving Khorshed and Thabit to manhandle the longboat up onto the sand.

“You’re alive!” said Donn, grasping the captain’s wrist.

“You, too, it seems!”

“How did you escape that ship? What happened to it?”

“Any time I can’t escape a fat old ship like that, full of fat old fools, it’ll be time to retire,” laughed the captain. “They’re all dead, most of them.”

“Dead?”

“The Bella’s got a very, very shallow draft, Master Donn. I led them on a merry chase, letting them gradually close the gap between us, and slipped right over a reef well out from the shore.

“Their ship was quite a bit bigger than mine, and tore itself to pieces, poor fools.

“Only two of them managed to make it to the Bella, and we didn’t let them onboard.”

Now it was Donn’s turn to laugh.

“I should never have doubted you, Captain Gunnarsson.”

“It’s a common mistake,” he revealed, “and you may be one of the few who lives to tell the tale.”

“Speaking of tales, we have one of our own,” said Donn. “And a little cargo for the Bella...”

He pointed at the pile of Princessa panels.

“My, my, my... yes, that will pay for this trip quite nicely, I think. The Factor may even give us bonuses!”

“It would be appropriate to bring a shipload of cattle, a couple dozen bolts of cloth, various other gifts, to thank the villagers for their help. Think the Factor’ll go for that?”

“When he sees this pile he’ll spring for another ship if I ask him!”

“I think I’d like to sail that ship back here myself, Captain. Or join you, if you come. I’d like to stop by Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha again, and give Uralorea—the girl they gave me for the night—a gift. I think she may have been hurt because I didn’t sleep with her.”

“And sleep with her?”

Donn grimaced.

“She’s just a kid. But she seemed pretty lonely, and I wanted her to have something nice in her life.”

“Fall in love, did you?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s not like that at all. She’s just a sweet kid. Kept holding onto her mirror, like it was something really important to her, something sad.”

“Mirror?”

“Yeah, a little oval mirror with garnets around the rim. Real nice. I thought it was a pretty strange thing to find on that island.”

Gunnarsson froze.

“Oval? With garnets around the rim? Why do you say garnets?”

Donn shrugged.

“There were a lot of little red stones; garnets seemed likely. Never saw it up close.”

Gunnarsson was looking out at the horizon as he whispered “Those aren’t garnets... they’re rubies... I gave that mirror to Lotarra.”

He grabbed Donn by the shoulders.

“How old was the girl?”

“I don’t know... about twelve or so, I’d guess...”

“Lotarra! It must be her! Her daughter... my daughter.”

The Bella set sail within the hour.

 

END

They had done well at Baharna, selling many of the wares they had brought from Dylath-Leen: bolts of multi-colored cloth woven of Ulthar wool, iridescent textiles from Hatheg, apples from Sinara and Jaren, Dylath-Leen’s own rubies and more, traded for the fragrant resins of Oriab’s inner groves, the delicate porcelain fired by the artists of Baharna, and herbs and spices unique to the island.

They replenished food and water, and the Nausheen set sail for distant Poltarnees, riding the Cirque current eastward. The Torrent swept into the Southern Sea from unknown origins, far south of Zar and Theth, splitting into two great currents, the Cirque flowing eastward toward Ophir and Poltarness before circling around past Cydathria, through the Sunrise Shore and back to Theth once again, and the Black Current, flowing toward the Basalt Pillars of the West, past Thalarion and the mouth of the River Yann before crashing over the Cataract at the Edge of the World to fall for eternity, oft carrying hapless mariners to a fate unknown.

They certainly were not the only ship on this route, but they saw no others once they’d left the bustling harbor of Baharna behind.

It should have been a simple voyage, and a profitable one.

Donn set the course to north-northeast, toward for the Isles of Nariel, hoping to avoid the Grim Forest in the center of the Cirque, between Oriab and mysterious Mtal. The ocean current there slowed to almost nothing, and vast stretches of kelp and other seaborne vegetation made it almost impossible for a ship to escape once trapped.

Countless rumors told of ships pulled into the Grim Forest, trapped there forever, crews eaten by the nameless monsters of the kelp forests. It was true that ships sometimes did go missing, but that happened on every ocean, and who was to say if it was more or less common near the Grim Forest?

Donn had seen the vast stretches of kelp floating on the sea, and vague shapes deeper in, hidden in the constant fog. He thought he had even seen a ship, once, but it was impossible to tell for sure—a back shadow in the fog that vanished again even as he looked closer.

He’d decided years earlier that he’d stay well away from the area even if it did cost him an extra day or two. Better late than dead.

The Nausheen was a good ship, a three-masted merchanter of common design. The deck was quite steep fore and aft, the prow with its forecastle and the foremost mast, while aft was the half-deck with ladders up and down, and the helm and its minimal protection, followed by the tiny poop cabin at the stern. Between them was the ship’s waist, roughly as long as it was broad, packed with all the varied dunnage needed by a ship that sails out of sight of land. In addition to the longboat and a spare mast lashed to one side, the cargo hatch and crane were also found there.

She sailed with a crew of about twenty, many of whom had sailed with Donn for a decade or more. Over the year they’d sailed most of the seas, from Dothur in the East to Sona Nyl in the west, from Zar in the south where the Torrent begins to Inganok and Lomar in the twilight of the frigid north. They knew and trusted their ship, old as she was, and their captain as well.

Donn had been with them through it all, leading them through dangerous situations where lesser captains would have failed, and never forgetting to split the profits (and he was always profitable) with the crew.

As soon as the outline of Mt. Ngranek slipped into obscurity, Donn handed the helm over to Yan of Rokol, a muscular man in his mid-forties who had been at Donn’s right hand for years. It was a bit surprising for a man from inland Rokol to exhibit such an intuitive knowledge of the sea and how to sail, but he’d proven his skill countless times over the years. He had no love but the sea, and his weathered face was always turned to watch the wind and the waves.

Hakim, as was often the case, was relaxed on the forecastle, playing an idle tune on his panpipe in the hope of attracting a dolphin or two to frolic alongside. So far they’d only seen one whale, silently breaching the surface to blow and slip out of sight again, far in the distance.

They were still some ways from the Grim Forest, and the Cirque was strong and fresh here—there should be plenty of fish, and plenty of dolphins to eat them.

Rinshallah of Dylath-Leen, a woman almost as old as Yan but was equally trusted by Donn to helm the ship, relaxed nearby. She was napping, half listening to Hakim and half catching up on her sleep in preparation for taking the night helm later.

Donn retired to the poop cabin at the stern and sat down with the list of goods. Yan would have made sure the cargo was packed properly, with the goods destined for Poltarnees in front for easy unloading, but he wanted to refresh his memory as to what they carried, and what changes they’d made in Baharna: cargo delivered or sold, new cargo bought or accepted on consignment.

All the fruit was gone, of course—it wasn’t worth hauling it to Poltanees to face local competition even if it was possible to keep it fresh on the voyage—but rubies were good everywhere, as were Ulthar wool and the iridescent woven Hatheg cloth. And now they carried a good supply of aromatic resins from the trees of Oriab, and a wide range of prized spices from the islands.

He’s also picked up a few cases of the delicate Baharna porcelain, each piece carefully wrapped in straw to prevent breakage, but those pieces were always a gamble: if a rich noble or merchant happened to see and like them they could be immensely profitable, and if not they were hardly worth the trouble. Trader’s luck.

He’d already deposited much of the gold he’d received in payment with Chóng Lán’s factor in Baharna, keeping a reasonable amount on hand for possible purchases in Poltarness, and emergencies. He and Factor Chóng had an excellent working relationship that brought the Factor all of Donn’s skill and intuition as a trader (not to mention a healthy share of the profit) while Donn retained his freedom.

“Captain!”

It was Yan, calling back from the helm.

“Wind’s picking up a tad and I don’t like the look of those clouds,” he continued.

Donn put the papers back into the oilcloth bag and walked toward the helm.

“Wind seems about the same to me,” he mused, “but those clouds are a bit dark, aren’t they? Expecting a storm?”

“Don’t rightly know, yet,” said Yan. “But the wind is changing and those clouds just don’t look right to me.”

“What do you think?”

“Hmm... might not come this way, but if it does it’ll be a big one, I’m thinking,” replied Yan. “Wait a bit longer to make sure, then get set for some rough weather, I’d say.”

Donn nodded. He trusted Yan’s weather forecasts, proven again and again on the high seas, and even though he couldn’t feel anything different about the wind, or see anything especially unusual about those dark clouds on the horizon, he had no doubt Yan was right.

The only question was whether the storm was headed for them, and a few hours later it was unfortunately very clear.

They were in for a rough night.

The crew got the Nausheen ready for the battle, lashing down everything they could, checking the rigging and sails, preparing safety ropes and pumps, securing the hatches, and more. They all ate while they had the chance, because the galley would probably be impossible to use once the stormwaves started hitting.

The ship was already bucking, climbing up the incoming waves to crash through and slide down the other side, again and again in a repeating cycle that shook them all to the bone and had the Nausheen shivering and groaning.

Though it was still afternoon, the gloom was illuminated only briefly by lightning strikes, lighting the crashing waves and the roiling clouds.

Donn joined Yan at the helm as Rinshallah stayed midship to keep an eye on the sails—now almost all furled—and masts. The ship heeled crazily, waves smashing into the crew, soaking them in cold brine, sweeping them off their feet.

Young Timothy of Celephaïs, who had joined the crew in Dylath-Leen only a month earlier, screamed in terror as he was swept overboard, no rope around his waist. It had either broken or, more likely, he simply hadn’t knotted it tight enough.

They were at least a day away from the nearest land. He was gone.

Donn and Yan pulled on the wheel, striving to keep the ship heading into the wind. If they got hit broadside by those waves it could shatter the ship to pieces.

“Klaus! Help Yan!” shouted Donn to one of the old-timers, a sailor from Daikos. Another trusted crewman, he’s been with Donn for years, too.

At his call Klaus pulled himself along the deck rail to the helm, tying himself there on a second safety line.

Once he had taken over, Donn began working his way up the length of the ship, checking on damage and making sure the crew weren’t injured.

In addition to poor Timothy, two other crewmembers were missing, probably swept overboard.

The bulwark looked undamaged, but the railing around the forecastle was mostly gone.

Hakim had tied himself to the foremast, and despite the battering of the waves and the never-ending shock of the bow as it rose and fell, was staring forward as if challenging the ocean herself.

“Hakim!”

Donn shouted, but Hakim showed no sign of having heard.

He struggled forward, almost toppled by a wave that swept over them both as the ship’s prow dug into the next wave before rising once again.

He pulled himself up and grabbed Hakim’s leg.

Startled, Hakim looked down, and reached to help him to his feet.

“You’ll drown!” Donn shouted. “The forecastle is too dangerous!”

Hakim bared his teeth in what might have been a smile, and signed “Join me?”

Donn shook his head and pulled Hakim again. “Come!”

Hakim pursed his lips for a moment, then loosened his safety line. He’d had enough.

They turned to work their way back toward the middle of the ship, only to find they were not alone.

Moksh and Katerina, both old-timers, were hanging onto the bulwark, looking up at the foremast rigging, and one of the new crewmen, a Khemite named Abbas, was getting ready to climb up to help cut a torn sail loose. Katerina was ready to go, her safety line already in place, waiting to show Abbas how it was done.

“Can the two of you cut it free?” shouted Donn, trying to make himself heard over the storm.

The woman nodded, patted the long dagger sheathed at her side.

Moksh checked Abbas’ knots and swatted him on the back. He was ready to go.

The ship plunged into a towering wall of water, the prow tilting up as the ship groaned under the stress, and there was a terrible shudder as the rudder tore loose, or free entirely.

The Nausheen shivered, and veered ever so slightly off course, turning her portside to the pounding waves, and that was enough for the angry sea. The next wave smashed into them like a battering ram, snapping the mast like a toothpick, broken rigging cracking and flying like whips through the air, the fury of the storm at last unleashed.

Donn felt a rope hit him... somewhere... his head?... he lost consciousness.

* * *

He heard voices. He was wet. His head hurt. His lips were salty. It was hot where it wasn’t wet.

A flood of sensation assaulted him, and he realized he had survived.

He groaned, gingerly opened one eye.

The sunlight was blinding.

“Well, I see our captain is back with us again!”

He squinted.

“Katerina?”

“Yes.”

He opened the other eye, slowly sat up.

“Welcome to your new ship, Captain. We call her the Foremast.”

He looked around as he mapped out the contours of the bump on the back of his skull. No blood but it still hurt when he touched it.

He was draped over part of the foremast, along with pieces of rigging and sail and a few boards that he shared with Katerina, Abbas, and Hakim.

“Hakim! You’re alive!”

Hakim signed back: Wet.

“What about Moksh? And the Nausheen?”

Katerina shook her head.

“We haven’t seen them, or anyone else. We could have been swept far away in the storm.”

Nobody mentioned the other possibility, that the Nausheen had sunk.

Katerina had dragged him to the mast, and Hakim and Abbas had managed to grab it themselves. She said that earlier she had seen a floating body, but as it was face-down in the water she’d left it there. There was a little flotsam, but only a little—Donn was hopeful that the ship had survived.

“You managed to drag me up here by yourself?” asked Donn.

Katerina laughed.

“I’m from Euxodia, remember? You’re a lot lighter than a horse that doesn’t want to move.”

“Well, thank you. I am plump, but it’s nice to know that I’ve yet to approach a horse in size.”

He turned to the others.

“Abbas, Hakim? Are you both alright?”

“Busted arm,” said Abbas. He was holding his right arm, wrapped up in a piece of sailcloth with a fragment of spar as a splint, close to his body. “Would’ve had a hard time climbing up here if she hadn’t pulled me up like a fish.”

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Donn. “Hard to see anything from this low, but at least the sea is calmer now."

"Thank goodness for that much,” agreed Katerina. “But take a look over there,” she added, pointing to one side.

Donn turned to look.

The waves were much lower there, as if something was floating on top... Donn suddenly realized what he was looking at.

Leaves.

Giant kelp leaves spreading over the surface of the ocean as far as he could see in that direction, until... until... until it vanished into that wall of mist.

The Grim Forest!

“And the current is taking us in that direction, I’m afraid,” she added.

Donn lifted his face to the sky, feeling the air.

“No breeze even.”

“Hasn’t been any since the storm blew over,” said Abbas, spitting into the water. “We can paddle with those planks or just wait. And I’m not very good at paddling with one arm.”

Donn stood up, balancing precariously on the broken foremast. He only had one sandal.

“Can’t see anything at all...” he murmured, scanning the horizon. “No ships, no birds, no nothing... except that mist waiting for us.”

Hakim signed something.

“Hakim says we should still be able to see in the mist, for at least a dozen meters or more. I agree, especially with this sunlight. It should burn off some of that mist by the time we get there.”

“And what do we do once we get there?” asked Katerina. “No food, no water, no shade, no boat.”

“We’ll have to worry about that when we can. For now, we just wait.”

They did what they could to cover themselves from the sun. The water would keep them cool enough, of course, but it was salt water, and eventually they’d need something to drink.

They were still all exhausted from the storm, and the heat and humidity sapped what little energy they had left. They drowsed, lulled by the gentle waves.

Donn opened his eyes.

Something had changed.

He levered himself up on his elbows and looked around.

Hakim and Katerina were awake as well, looking equally curious.

The mast was moving through the kelp, leaving a slowly narrowing path of open water behind it as it pushing through the leaves.

Donn glanced at Abbas. He was still sleeping, and looked like he’d developed a fever. They needed to find some water for him soon, and shade if possible.

“Can you see what’s pushing us?”

The foremast was sliding through the water stump-first. The broken-off mast was several meters from where they had been lying, on the spars, and he carefully walked down the mast toward its base to get a better look.

There was something in the water under the stump. Several blobs of greenish-gray moved, about the size of a man, he thought.

“There’s something there pulling us,” he whispered to the others. Hakim and Katerina stayed where they were, on the spars, to help keep the mast steady. If it should roll they’d all end up in the sea again, and if there was something down there pulling on the mast that might not be a good idea.

They were in the mist now, and as Hakim had predicted, it was not opaque. They could see several dozen meters, Donn estimated although it was difficult to be sure with nothing but ocean and leaves stretching off into the distance.

The sun was still shining, somewhere up in the sky, and there was ample light, but the light was dispersed in the mist, leaving everything unusually bright and glistening.

“Can you see what it is?”

“My size,” he answered, shaking his head. “Gray or green.”

“Sharks?”

He shook his head again, and slowly retreated to rejoin them.

“I can’t see clearly, but it looks like they have two legs, kicking instead of swimming like a fish,” he explained. “The water’s not clear enough.”

“They seem to be dragging us deeper in,” said Katerina. “At least we’re out of the sun!”

Hakim signed to Donn that they could get water from the mist easily, too, and Donn translated.

They wrung out their tunics to squeeze out what they could—a surprising amount—and dripped it into Abbas’ mouth. He needed it more than they did, for now.

Their mysterious swimmers, whatever they were, kept up the pace for hours, and finally as the sunlight began to dim slightly as the invisible sun began to dip toward the horizon, they saw something begin to solidify from the curtain of mist.

Donn nudged the others.

The prow of a ship protruded from the kelp to their left, planks splintered and partially covered in some greenish-white mold. Wood, ropes, flotsam of all kinds floating sullenly between, on, or under the giant kelp.

The leaves, a dark green in color, were enormous, usually lying flat on the turgid waves, but buckled up here and there to reveal yellow undersides.

There were more ships, ships of all sizes, visible in the mist, ghost-ships abandoned to the mist of the Grim Forest, still afloat here even as they rotted away.

“Look! Over there!” said Katerina, pointing.

It looked like a wall, mostly gray but with blotches of various colors showing here and there. Odd bits and pieces of timber and less definite objects stuck out of it without rhyme or reason, as if built into the wall itself.

When the wall was only a few meters away the mast drifted to a halt, and the mysterious swimmers vanished into the darkness of the sea.

Hakim gave a low cough to attract attention, and pointed to a large shape emerging from the mist.

It looked to be another merchanter, probably bigger than ever the Nausheen, thought Donn.

It was level on the waves, and seemed almost free of the unpleasant mold they could see covering almost everything in sight.

“It looks safer than where we are now,” said Katerina.

“Plenty of rope,” agreed Donn. “Let’s do it while we can!”

The three of them collected what rope they could, quickly knotting it into a longer piece.

“Think you can make it, Hakim?”

Hakim nodded, hefted the javelin-shaped piece of spar in his hand.

Donn tied one end of the rope to it, and stood back.

It was impossible to run on the mast, so Hakim stretched back and then swept his leg and upper torso into the throw, hurling the spar into the air with a grunt and a thud as his foot slammed back onto the mast.

Donn grabbed his arm to prevent him from falling in, and they watched the spar arc up onto the ship’s deck.

He pulled it back slowly, checking to see if it had lodged on something or would fall off.

It stuck.

Ever so gently, they pulled their mast closer to the merchanter, until they were snug under its bulwark, the rope stretching up above.

“Katerina? You’re lightest, I think. You go first.”

She pulled on the rope to check it once again, then walked right up the side of the ship with ease.

A moment later her head appeared over the railing.

“OK, come on up. I tied the rope up so it’s secure now,” she said. “I’m going to find something to put Abbas on.”

Hakim signed that it might be better to wait and get Abbas up first, and Donn agreed.

Katerina was back in a few minutes.

“You still down there?”

“Thought we’d stay here and get Abbas up safely first.”

“Ah, good idea,” she agreed. “OK, I thought a chair might be ever better than a board. Sit him down and tie him on; what do you think?”

“Should work. You have enough rope up there?”

“Loads! The ship’s deserted and looks sound!”

The chair, probably from the captain’s cabin, came over the railing a few minutes later, with two ropes tied securely to it.

It looked sturdy enough to hold Abbas and not fall apart when they hauled it up again.

They tied him on—he was still hot with fever and unconscious—and waited for Hakim to climb up the rope to join Katerina on deck.

Between Donn holding him steady from below and the two of them pulling from above, the job was soon done.

Donn pulled himself up and got his first good look at the ship.

It was a beauty of a ship, at least half again as large as his own Nausheen. Most of the sails were furled, although one was hanging in tatters. It didn’t look like storm damage, he thought.

He glanced at the helm and stopped in shock at the emblem mounted there.

It was the red dragon of Ys! One of fabled tribute ships! He looked closer, and confirmed the ship’s name carved below the emblem: Syraxal.

The Kingdom of Ys was a dream within a dream, a vast kingdom said to have dominated almost the entire southern coast from Woth and Tor in the west to Cuppar-Nombo in the east. Some said it was merely a legend, a tale spun for enjoyment, others claimed that Ys had been erased by a dreamquake, a massive disruption to the Dreamlands that only a few talented Dreamers realized had happened, let alone remembered.

His father had told him tales of Ys, and how the entire land had sunk beneath the waves in an instant, leaving only the dark waters of the Grim Forest where once gleaming towers of jade and amethyst had risen.

And now he was standing on the <i<Syraxal, proof that Ys was not merely a tall tale after all.

He walked back to the others.

They had Abbas lying more comfortably now, and Katerina had even found an open cask that had collected water, either mist or rain. It was none too clean but it wasn’t saltwater, and more to the point, it was all they had.

“Ever heard of Ys?” he asked.

Hakim’s head snapped up in surprise. He certainly had.

Katerina cocked her head.

“Some tall tale for winter nights, wasn’t it?”

“This ship is from the Kingdom of Ys,” said Donn. “Take a look at the emblem.”

“But it’s just a legend!”

“It’s the red dragon emblem. I think we should have a look around while we’re here, and find out. We need to find food and water, too.”

Hakim shook his head and pointed out toward the wall they had seen earlier.

Its shape could be seen more clearly from the higher deck. It looked like a giant pipe, about twenty meters in diameter, sticking up out of the sea. The top edge was not flat, but rather traced a shallow spiral, gradually rising up out of the sea to climb about two or three meters around the circumference of the pipe. Where the highest point and the lowest point met, the wall was covered with dozens of greenish-gray creatures, scuttling about in and out of the water, sliding over and under each other in their hurry.

They were constructing the wall, steadily raising the lowest part to match the highest edge, extending it a little more around the circumference in a never-ending spiral.

“What are they doing?” breathed Donn. “And what are they?”

“I don’t understand... did they just start building?” asked Katerina. “Unless we got here at exactly the right instant, they should be well above sea level by now...”

Hakim made a sliding motion with his hands.

“Moving!? Hakim says the tower is moving!”

They looked closer, and Hakim was right: ever so slowly, the tower was dropping deeper into the sea. It would be totally submerged in a matter of days, perhaps sooner, unless the creatures managed to build the wall higher in time.

The creatures... they were vaguely human, with two arms and two legs, but that was about as far as the resemblance went. Hands were broad and webbed, with stubby fingers protruding beyond the webbing, and feet were long and flat, ideal for swimming.

Their heads were wide and pointed in front, with mouths stretching the full length of their jaws. Lizards! Or more accurately, frogs, Donn thought.

The creatures ignored them completely.

“Look! Over there!” said Katerina, pointing to another small group of creatures swimming toward the wall. They were pushing a pile of timber, mostly planks and indeterminate fragments, and as they approached the wall they began to pull off individual pieces, and push them against the surface of the wall.

Donn watched closely to see what was happening.

The pieces stuck when they were placed, and began to melt into the wall, absorbed by it somehow. Their substance became the wall, for the most part, with a few rough corners or forgotten protrusions left hanging.

Nearby, another one of the creatures placed a huge seashell, long and fluted, on the wall, and it, too, began to melt and flow, absorbed. Or eaten.

Donn took his telescope out and looked closer.

The wall was made up of all sorts of materials, their remnants etched into the surface. Planks, rope, a few chains, shells, a fish, a... a man’s face?

Donn looked closer.

Yes, it was a man!

He blinked, grimaced.

He was alive!

“There’s a man there! Alive!” Donn said to the others, and pointed.

He looked closer.

He could see the man’s head and shoulders, and one arm, and couldn’t see any wounds. But why was he lying down so close to the waves? His chest, his... wait, where was the rest of him?

From the chest down, his body had been absorbed into the wall!

No belly, no legs, just reddish-grey wall! And him growing out of it like some obscene flower!

“He’s in it... a part of the wall,” he choked. “It ate him, just like it ate the planks!”

He handed the telescope to Hakim so he could take a look.

After a few minutes Hakim handed it to Katerina, commenting that the creatures were ignoring the half-absorbed man completely, even when he used his single arm to try to hit one. Unable to use any force, his blow slid helplessly off the creatures slimy skin, and it continued swimming past with no sign it even noticed.

The man screamed in frustration. And agony?

“Maybe we can rescue him,” wondered Donn. “They seem to be ignoring him completely. And us.”

Katerina handed the telescope back to Donn.

“To end up like that... half alive, half dead, trapped here in the Grim Forest by these things...”

“Why don’t the froggies stick to it? They’re touching it all the time!”

“It must be that slime they’re covered with,” she said. “Whatever it is, it must protect them.”

Hakim signed again, pointing toward the stern.

“Ship’s boat? I don’t notice one, but maybe,...” said Donn, and they went in search.

The ship’s boat was still there.

It was a small single-master, but still seaworthy.

“Shall we try it?”

“If the boat touches the wall it might stick,” warned Donn. “We need some slime.”

“Should be easy enough to kill one of those things if they keep ignoring us, but I wonder how the others will react if we do... I’d rather not have to fight off a couple dozen angry froggies.”

“There should be some spears aboard, maybe a bow,” suggested Donn. “Keep an eye on things and I’ll go have a look.”

He left the others and slipped below.

He wondered what had happened to the crew... there was no sign of a struggle that he could see, and although things were a bit dirty and dusty, everything looked perfectly normal. And deserted.

He found a bow and arrows in the crew’s quarters, snooped around a bit more, and then headed back to the deck.

“Found one. I’m a pretty good shot, unless you want to try,” he said to Katerina. “I figure if we put an arrow or two into one of those frogs we’ll find out how they react, one way or another. And I think we need to know before we get in that boat.”

Hakim nodded.

“You know,” said Katerina, “if this works we might be able to get out of here after all.”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Donn. “Here’s hoping.”

He nocked an arrow and aimed at the stern, let fly.

It struck into the aftermast neatly, just a touch off-center.

Donn grinned.

“Still a good shot even if I am starving,” he said, and turned back to the wall. “Let’s see now...”

He nocked another arrow and watched the creatures toiling away on the wall for a few minutes. At last one stood alone atop the wall, fairly close to the Syraxal, and he shot.

The arrow flew true, sinking into the frog’s chest up to the fletching.

The creature staggered, swiped at the arrow ineffectually with its clumsy hands, and fell into the sea. One leg kicked once, and again, then it was still.

There was no commotion, no shouts of rage, no sudden host of angry frogs... nothing. The creatures totally ignored the sudden death of one of their own, as they had ignored Donn and his companions.

“I say let’s go get some frogs, then,” said Donn. “Are you with me? Katerina, or will you stay and watch Abbas?”

“We can’t do anything for Abbas anyway,” she sighed. “and you’ll need help with the boat.”

Hakim signed he’d come, too, and together the three of them got the boat into the water.

They quietly rowed to where the dead creature floated and pulled it onboard, taking care to stay far away from the wall itself. It was covered in slime, difficult to grasp or pull, but they managed.

“I think we’ll need another two or three to get the boat covered,” said Donn.

“There’s one coming close on starboard now,” said Katerina.

The boat shook.

It had grabbed the boat and was beginning to push it toward the wall!

Donn drew his dagger and plunged it into the thing’s head with a soft, squishy sound, killing it instantly, and they dragged their second carcass aboard.

“I think we’d better get back to the Syraxal while we can... here come a few more.”

Hakim pulled on the oars and the boat shot away, toward the abandoned ship. As soon as they were more than a few dozen meters distant the frogs lost interest and turned toward another piece of floating debris.

“What do you think? One more for good luck?”

“I think we’ll need another one, Captain,” said Katerina. “Let’s just wait for our chance.”

They spun the boat around, watching the creatures and the wall for another loner, and their patience was rewarded after about ten minutes.

A single frog came swimming toward them, probably looking for more flotsam to add to the wall.

Donn shot an arrow at it, but it glanced off its skull, leaving a greenish furrow in the thing’s flesh.

He shot again, and this time it struck home, and it began swimming in a circle, pawing at its head as it tried to dislodge the arrow.

They rowed closer and put it out of its misery, adding it to the growing pile.

“That should be enough, I think. Let’s get out of here while we can!”

They were back on the Syraxal, and the boat raised back up to the safety of the deck, a few minutes later, their prizes stretched out nearby.

They left the boat hanging by the ropes, and used their hands to slather the hull with slime from the dead creatures. It stung, and their hands began to turn red, so they worked even faster, and then washed themselves off with seawater.

“It burns, dammit!” said Katerina, scratching one hand with the other.

“No help for it. Either this works or we’re frog-bait.”

They carefully lowered the boat again, this time with unconscious Abbas lying in it.

Hakim took the oars again, and they slowed rowed over closer to the embedded man.

“My God! You’re... You’re human!”

His voice was a raspy, breathless whisper, but it was human.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen. What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter. Kill me, please! Kill me!”

He was weeping in desperation, his lone arm stretched out toward them.

“We can’t get you out of there?”

“It’s gone, it’s all gone... my legs, gone. It’s eating me, and it won’t let me die! Please!”

Donn looked closer... his body wasn’t embedded in the wall, it was an integral part of it... no seam between them, flesh melted to the stony wall without any border, as if a living man had been carved from the same unyielding material as the wall itself.

“But I can’t just...”

Donn hesitated.

“Please! Kill me!”

Katerina couldn’t stand it, and leaned closer to the man, dagger in hand.

“Your name, man! Tell me your name!”

“Corte-Real, Gaspar Corte-Real of Genoa,” he moaned. “Please, for the love of God!”

She reached to grasp his hair, tilting his head back to expose his throat to her dagger.

The boat rocked violently as one of the creatures grasped the stern, knocking Katerina off balance.

She screamed as Donn reached for her, and she instinctively reached out to catch herself against the wall to stop from falling... and her bare forearm touched it.

She screamed again, her forearm frozen against the wall as tiny tendrils shot forth to wrap around it, pulling it tight against the surface. She toppled from the boat, her body slamming into the wall to be stuck like a fly in honey.

Corte-Real reached up with his hand and snatched the dagger from her hand, ripping it across his own throat without hesitation, screaming in fear and pain and release.

Katerina struggled, screaming, and the boat rocked again.

“Katerina!”

Hakim abandoned the oars, striking the creature at the stern again and again until it let go, and drifted off, squirming in silent agony.

Donn drew his own dagger, weeping.

“Katerina... Mistress Katerina...”

She fell silent, the side of her head pressed against the wall, unable to move. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Captain... do it! Don’t leave me here!”

Donn froze, unable to do what he knew he must.

Donn screamed, and plunged the dagger into Katerina’s heart, and again, and a third time, until she slumped lifeless, suspended by the wriggling tendrils slowly enveloping her body.

He collapsed into the boat as Hakim put his back to the oars, pulling them away from the wall with powerful strokes, away into the mist, and the kelp.

The slime-covered boat slipped away unnoticed, sliding over the giant leaves smoothly, the wall and its hideous inhabitants vanishing into the mist once again.

* * *

“You’re damned lucky we found you, Captain,” said Yan. “We found the bodies of two crewmen and gave them proper burials while we were getting a rudder fixed up, but no trace of you until you suddenly come drifting along, all three of you dead to the world.”

“How’s Abbas?”

“We had to cut that arm off, I’m afraid... it was beginning to rot. I think we got it in time, though. His fever is down, and he’s resting quietly.”

“Thank you.”

“Just the three of you, then...”

Donn hesitated, glanced at Hakim.

“Katerina was with us, but she... didn’t make it.”

Donn fell silent for a moment.

“Yan, can you get us away from the Grim Forest? East, west, it doesn’t matter, just get us as far away as you can.”

“The rudder, such as it is, is working well enough for the time being, and we’ve got enough sails and rigging left... We’re closer to Baharna than anywhere, and should be able to make it there without any problem. We can get her fixed up proper there.”

“Baharna... yes, that would be fine. Please, at once.”

“There may be other poor souls floating yet...” protested Yan.

“Now.”

Donn glanced at Hakim again, who signed in response.

“This is the last trip for Hakim and me, I think... from Baharna we’ll return to Dylath-Leen, and I think we’ll not sail the sea again.”

“Captain Donn, abandon the sea!?”

Yan was shocked.

Donn shivered.

“I hope to never see these waters again...” he whispered.

Yan stared at him in disbelief for a minute, then spoke up quietly.

“And the Nausheen?”

“It’s yours, free and clear,” said Donn.

“I couldn’t accept...”

“And to ensure that she gets repaired properly, Captain Yan, allow me to make a contribution to your profits for the trip, and to the crew for their service.”

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a handful of gold coins and gems, and dropped it into Yan’s hands. He stared at it.

“How did...? What...?”

“Never mind where or how, Yan. I would not have others go seeking what we found,” said Donn. “But Hakim and I have more than enough for our needs, and I feel it only just to repay you for saving our lives.”

“Captain...!”

“No, I am Master Donn now, and you are the captain of the ship, Captain Yan.”

Yan was speechless, a few tears appearing at the corners of his eyes.

“I... Master Donn, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I can never...”

“Don’t, Yan. Take it and prosper with our thanks. Just get us back to solid land!”

Yan hurriedly stuffed the treasure into his own wallet and walked to the door, turning to bow once more, then hurried up to the deck.

“Klaus! Back to Baharna! Get those sails up!”

Donn reached out to Hakim in a wrist-shake, silently weeping.

The ship canted, the sails boomed as they caught the wind, and they were on the way home.

 

END

It was good to see House Penia again after all this time.

He stopped to savor the view.

The road from Dylath-Leen turned downhill from here, through scattered groves and fields and houses to the river, branching off here and there, before reaching the village proper.

The waterwheel was turning, driving the millstones and the irrigation system, and he could see people at work throughout the valley, farming, herding, at peace.

The Nest was open, as it should be, and he could even see a handful of children playing in its courtyard.

He followed the road a bit farther, across the stone bridge, and up the hills on the far side, until he found his home, a collection of small buildings stretched out along the hillside, overlooking the thriving village. In the middle stood the white-washed house, time-darkened beams clearly visible, slate roof fully reflecting the sun where it wasn’t covered in moss.

He couldn’t see anyone there, but there was no wash hanging on the upstairs lines. All was well, it seemed.

He turned to his companion.

“Home again, Hakim. It’s been too long.”

Hakim smiled, and signed “A bottle of your wine would go down very smoothly, I think.”

Donn laughed.

“Oh, by all means! And perhaps with some smoked ham and cheese, I think!”

He raised one eyebrow, and at Hakim’s invitation, snapped the reins. They cantered down the hill.

“Master Donn! Welcome back!” came a call from one of the paddocks they passed. Donn waved back to the young man watching his dog watching the sheep.

“Good to be back, Master Thom! All is well, I hope?”

“The wheat is strong and tell, four new lambs, and I’ve got one on the way myself.”

“Another one? He’ll be helping you out on the farm in no time! When is she due?”

“Not until the fall, Master Donn.”

“May all be well with you, Master Thom.”

“And with you.”

They exchanged brief greetings with a number of people as they approached the village, slowing as they passed the Nest.

Headmistress Kiarna was sitting out front in a rocking chair, holding two babies. A few of the brindle pack were lounging in the sun, one eye on the children and one on the road. They saw him immediately, of course, but recognized he was not a threat.

“Afternoon, Headmistress.”

“Afternoon to you, Master Donn. Brought more young’uns with you?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid. You seem to have your hands full already!”

“Always somethin’ needs doin’ when there’s chill’un around.”

“Perhaps these will help,” said Donn, dismounting and walking to the packhorse he was leading. “I picked up a few things along the way.”

He pulled out three large bundles, and set them down on the porch next to her.

“Oh, Master Donn, you already give so much... no need to...”

“Hush. There is always need, and would that I could help even more. Take it, please.”

She bowed her head and pressed her palms as if in prayer, thanking him.

“Thank you, Master Donn. Blessins of the gods ’pon you.”

“And to you, Headmistress, in all things.”

He remounted, nodded his head farewell, and they cantered on.

The Nest was a combination nursery, school, and temporary shelter, especially for children new to House Penia. He and Pensri had started it shortly after they wed, gradually building up his ancestral home and nurturing the local community. Many of the people living here now had come to House Penia in years past—over a decade now—as escaped slaves, orphans, battered and abandoned women, people of all sorts.

Here they found, at least, a place they could rest and start to heal; for many, it was a safe home and the discovery that they were not outcasts anymore.

Donn was a free trader working for Factor Chóng Lán, and while he worked for the Factor because they shared a vision of what the Dreamlands should and could be one day, the reason he worked so hard was to make House Penia even better than it was now, and save even more people.

While he was on the road, which was most of the time, his family and much of the whole House Penia community were run by his first wife, Pensri. A former slave, now purchased and emancipated by Donn seconds before he asked for her hand in marriage, she was passionate about freeing slaves, especially children. The rest of his line family supported her, of course, but second wife Noor spent most of her day keeping the house running, and the children safe. She was helped in part by third wife Mahelt, but Mahelt had never fully recovered from her torture as a young girl, and refused to venture outside of the safety of the house.

His husband, Shurala Tokarra, ran the farm together with Mahelt’s son, eighteen-year-old Jasque, and help from the others as needed. Of late, Pensri’s twelve-year-old son Arthit had been helping out quite a bit, growing into a responsible young man.

He and Hakim dismounted at the front gate, and led the horses to the stables.

Jasque was shoveling manure and didn’t hear them approach.

“Master Jasque! That looks hard work for a summer’s day!”

The teenager turned, and his face burst into a smile as her recognized them, and there was a chorus of barking as a half dozen brindle dogs came racing, ears pointed at the sound of his voice.

“Donn! You’re back!”

Jasque carefully leaned the shovel against the stall and walked over to greet them. Donn smiled: no doubt the lad wanted to run as the dogs had, but that would be unbecoming in the young adult he was striving to be.

Donn wrist-shook him, then pulled him in close for a quick hug, arm around the shoulders. After a moment, Donn knelt to greet the brindles and suffer their slobbering, and Jasque turned to Hakim.

“Master Hakim, welcome back.”

They shared a wrist-shake. Hakim poked him in the bicep, signing that those muscles were getting pretty big.

Jasque just grinned.

“Let me help you with the horses.”

They got the saddles and harnesses off, and turned the horses loose into the paddock to rest. There was plenty of grass to eat, with water in the trough, and later they’d get a proper feedbag.

“Unload the packhorses here, or at the main house?”

“Might as well do it here,” said Donn. “Nothing really heavy this trip, and I expect we’ll have plenty of helping hands as soon as word gets out...”

“Papa! You’re back!”

“Like I said,” laughed Donn, turning just in time to catch twelve-year-old Arthit as he came flying into his arms. “How are you, boy?”

He hugged the child, and set him down again, still holding one hand but leaving the other free to hug Noor as she came walking up with three-year-old Donnal on her hip.

“Master Donn, welcome home.”

“Good to be home, Noor, good to be home. And how are you, Donnal?”

He tickled the boy, who squirmed and tried to pull away, managing to jump out of Hoor’s grasp and half-jump, half-fall to the ground. Unhurt, he screamed with laughter as he hid behind her skirt. 

Donn reached into his ruck and knelt down, holding out his hand to the boy.

Donnal peeked out from behind Noor, staring at Donn’s closed fist, and slowly crept closer.

“I brought a little present for you, Donnal,” said Donn, moving his fist a little bit. “You want it?”

Donnal nodded, eyes wide and fixed.

“You have to take it, Donny,” said Noor, pulling him out and pushing him toward Donn. “He won’t bite you!”

Donnal hesitated, holding onto Noor’s skirt with one hand, and holding the other close across his chest. Donn slowly reached out, and relaxed his finger a bit to show something red inside, and Donnal’s hand crept forward to touch one finger.

At his touch, Donn’s hand opened to fully reveal a hand-carved wood toy, a red dragon with little wheels and a rope to pull it with.

Donnal grabbed it, his fears forgotten, and immediately held it up to show Noor, then ran toward the house happily trailing his new toy behind.

The whole family helped carry his load up onto the porch, effusively greeting both Donn and Hakim. Hakim was embraced by everyone as well, as the oldest and closest friend of the family. Uncle Hakim, the children called him, and he played the uncle well every time they came.

Donn—cellar-chilled wine in one hand—slowly unpacked, pulling out one piece at a time, keeping the children in suspense. Once the children were settled down with “Uncle Hakim,” he pulled out the more important gifts: a dagger of the finest Ogrothan steel for Jasque; an ivory landscape set with trees and animals of semi-precious stones for Mahelt; and to Noor a vial of perfume from Oriab and a bottle of skin cream from the markets of Celephaïs.

He embraced Pensri, his first love, and held out her gift, wrapped up in a small piece of cloth. She tilted her head quizzically and at his enigmatic silence slowly unwrapped it to reveal a small sheet of white paper with curling script written across it in gold, and a piece of white string.

“Sai Seen,...” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. “From the Great Temple of Wat Luan in Woth!”

“For you, by name, from Luang Por Hridyanshu himself.”

She carefully folded it up again in the cloth, and put it inside her tunic, then embraced Donn once more, almost weeping with happiness.

“Thank you, my Donn, thank you.”

A bit abashed by her reaction, he hugged her back and stroked her hair, then looked around at the rest of the family.

“Where is Shurala?” he asked.

“He’s up in the high field today, but he’ll have seen you, and be back soon with Hafsah,” explained Pensri.

“Hafsah? How is she?”

“Very happy, and with child already.”

“With child? Is she wed, then?”

A quiet fell and Pensri’s eyes grew larger.

“You never got the letter...” she whispered. “I’m so sorry; I thought you knew. We wed Hafsah in the spring. Your fourth wife.”

Donn’s face paled.

“Donn? What is it?”

He quickly rallied, forced a smile, and pulled out another package.

“Nothing, nothing. Just a muscle cramp, that’s all... I’ve a gift for Shurala, of course. And I must have heard of my new wife from the spring breeze, because I just happen to have a gift for her as well!”

Pensri frowned slightly, wondering if he was hiding something, but Hakim began to play his panpipe and the children quickly gathered around him, calling out the names of songs for him to play.

Donn was all smiles again, and she put it out of her mind.

Shurala Tokarra came riding up a bit later, Hafsah riding behind, arms around his waist.

“Donn! Welcome home!” he called, lifting the woman up and setting her down on the ground before nimbly hopping off himself. His hand smacked into Donn’s wrist and they shook firmly. “It’s been far too long.”

“It’s good to be home again, Shu.”

Donn turned to Hafsah, arms open.

“Welcome to the family, dear Hafsah,” he said, and embraced her. “I remember you coming her so many years ago as a child, and look at you know... a woman, and my wife! I am so happy that you are part of the family now!”

She had been with them for about ten years, growing from a terrified orphan just escaped from slavery into a confident, attractive young woman that everyone liked. Noor had taken her under her wing, nursing her battered spirit back to health, and teaching her how to be a woman. And now she was more than just another lost child, or helper for the farmwork—now she was part of the family.

He was used to forcing smiles, and no one but Hakim could tell it wasn’t genuine, and Hakim was silent.

“A small gift for you, Shu, which I believe you may enjoy,” he said, handing over a fairly large package. It looked like a brick wrapped in cloth, and must have been fairly heavy, judging from the way he and Shurala handled it.

His husband slowly unwrapped it, and gave a shout of delight.

“Mondath Longleaf!” He rubbed the compressed leaves with his fingers, and inhaled the fragrance. “Mondath Longleaf, the finest tobacco in all the Dreamlands.”

“And I have a gift for you as well, dear Hafsah. Forgive me for not being here for the Joining, but perhaps this will in some small way begin to make amends.”

Another small package changed hands, but it was soft, pliable, unlike Shurala’s tobacco.

She gave a small squeal as she unwrapped it to reveal a woven fabric of shimmering green and blue and gold, changing colors and hues in the sunlight as she touched it.

“What is it? It’s so beautiful... so soft.”

“Spider-silk, from Moung.”

She clutched it to her breast, bowing, but Donn reached out and pulled her upright once again.

“I am your husband, Hafsah, not your master. Stand tall!”

At his command everyone there stood taller, prouder, more confident... it was Donn’s mantra, a summation of his personal philosophy, and the foundation of House Penia: stand tall, together.

Gift-giving complete, they gradually returned to their various tasks, leaving Donn, Hakim, and Pensri on the porch, with a few children scattered about close at hand.

“We thought you’d be home for Year’s Turning,” said Pensri. “Your letter arrived about a week later.”

“I replied as soon as I received it. We were traveling through the Lispasian Mountains on the way back from Thaphron, and the Factor couldn’t reach us until we reached Ygiroth.”

“No matter,” smiled Pensri. “Now that you’re home, safe and sound.”

He wrapped an arm around her.

“I think you had better get your incense and say a proper prayer for that Sai Seen,” he suggested. “I don’t think it’ll spoil, but the Luang Por doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Thank you, Donn,” she smiled. “Tonight we must complete Hafsah’s Joining.

“Arthit, go and ask the Truthsayer to join us tonight for the Joining. Tell her Donn has returned. And don’t forget to take two of dogs with you!”

She smiled, and stood, slipping off to her altar to say a prayer for her family and herself before putting the sacred Sai Seen on her wrist. Blessed by Luang Por Hridyanshu, the Abbott of the Great Temple of Wat Luan in Woth, her birthplace and the home of her mother, it would surely protect them all.

Once she left Hakim signed a question: “What’s the matter?”

Donn sighed, and glanced around.

None of the children knew much sign language, and he and Hakim had evolved their own special shorthand anyway.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a tiny sheet of paper, holding it out to Hakim.

“This,” he said, and then switched to sign.

“Remember when we were in Poltarnees years ago? That time we sold the lacquered tigers with the ruby eyes?”

Hakim unfolded the paper, nodding. He remembered.

“I made an offering at the Temple there, for a safe journey, and the seer gave me that.”

The paper read, You shall be mourned by four wives.

“I was determined to never marry a fourth wife,” Donn continued. “but it never occurred to me that they might marry in my absence... I am doomed.”

“We’ve been doomed many times over the years, Donn, yet here we are,” countered Hakim. “Nothing has changed; we have always known we might die, and certainly will die, someday. Did you hope to live forever?”

“No, but... I wanted a little more,” replied Donn.

“You have done so much good here, and have so much more to do. Why stop because someone reminds you that you are mortal after all?”

Donn was still.

“Papa!”

Young Donnal ran up to him, pulling his new red dragon after. “Papa, look! Fido is following me around!”

“Fido!? You named your dragon Fido!?”

“No, papa! It’s his name, I didn’t give it to him.” He held it up proudly. “Say hi, Fido!”

Donn smiled and patted both boy and dragon on their heads.

“Hello, Fido. Welcome to my home.”

Donnal gave an enormous smile and ran off again, no doubt to show his new dragon to somebody else.

Donn took advantage of the interruption to stand, and with his ruck and another bundle in hand, headed off toward the pantry: “I guess we’d better get this cleaned up.”

Hakim lifted his own ruck, and headed for his room in the rear of the house. Donn had offered to build him a house of his own, several times, but Hakim refused. He only wanted a roof over his head, and needed nothing more: he owned almost nothing except what was in his ruck, although his room was decorated with a range of hand-made figurines, paintings, pretty rocks, and other gifts from the children he’d befriended here and elsewhere.

One wall of the room was taken up by his workbench, where he made musical instruments and toys, usually by himself but often with the “help” of eager young children.

He unpacked his gear carefully, as always. He didn’t have much, and most of what he had was worn with time and use, but they all had one thing in common: they did what they were supposed to do. He had no use for gold chasing or gems, a simple steel blade was all he needed, and easiest to part with should the time come.

Perhaps the most important thing he carried was his panpipe: he could make another one easily enough, and often made them as gifts for others, but he’d carried this one for long enough now to feel an attachment. It had taken his years to learn to play well without a tongue, and this panpipe, perhaps more than any of its many predecessors, seemed to be helping.

He was hesitant to allow any connections in his life. After the loss of Basaaria, and Eshan, and Nausheen, and all that had been bright in his life, he had no interest in “connections.” He treasured Donn’s friendship and the warmth of his family, but they could never fill the sadness in him, no matter how much love and laughter they shared.

A roof over his head was more than he needed.

He was worried about Donn, though... it was unusual to see him so pessimistic, so afraid of dying. They’d faced certain death many times, or so they’d thought, only to find a way through, a way to come home again. Donn never gave up, and he’d dragged Hakim out of his own suicidal thoughts so many times, way back when they first met in Oonai. Way back when he’d lost everything that mattered. Donn had brought him back from the edge, shown him the good in the world, had made life worth living again, if only to bring a little joy, a little hope, to others even less fortunate.

And now Donn needed help.

Hakim was determined to be there for him, but he didn’t know how. Yet.

* * *

That night was the ceremony of Joining, when a new member was welcomed into the family through birth, marriage, or adoption. Old family bonds were ritually severed, and each member of the family swore they would love, honor, and protect the new one as their own. There were times when personalities clashes and someone would have difficulty swearing, truthfully, to love the new person, and so it was also acceptable—but far less appreciated—to swear not to harm them directly or indirectly.

Donn’s family had grown slowly over the years, mostly through birth and marriage, and thus far no one had elected to avoid the “love, honor, and protect” oath.

The Truthsayer, Aninagria of Aletheia, ensured that the oaths were honest. A Truthsayer would carefully prick the finger of each member of the family, and while touching that drop of fresh blood judge if the person themselves believed what they were saying was true, or false, or a little of both. Oaths were precisely worded to eliminate possible doubts, because usually any half-truth detected by the Truthsayer was due to a poorly worded question, not a lie.

The Goddess Aletheia had no temples, no rites, no special symbols or sacred books: she could appoint anyone a Truthsayer at any time, often completely uprooting someone’s life with new responsibilities. They bore no mark of their calling, but anyone who claimed to be a Truthsayer and was not would be cursed by the Goddess, losing all powers of speech and hearing.

The punishment was well-known and more than sufficient to prevent false Truthsayers.

“Truthsayer Aninagria, we welcome you to our home,” said Donn, inviting her to step up and into the house proper from the entrance. He walked with her toward the main room of the house, where so much of the family’s daily life was concentrated.

Like much of the house, the floors were of reed mats, but this room had a large firepit built into the floor, with a flue built into the ceiling to guide smoke and ash away. An iron chain hung from one of the black rafters, with a time-aged iron pot suspended over the coals.

This was the social center of the family, and where close friends and guests were invited. It was also, however, where the family shrine was located.

The family shrine stood against the rear wall, an imposing structure of reddish wood, polished by generations of Donn’s ancestors, decorated by inlays of silver and mother-of-pearl. A small table stood in front of it, with an incense holder, while the shrine itself held nothing but a wood box, small enough to fit into one’s hand.

All of the adult members of the family had seen the bones inside, the right index finger bones of Kwea, the founder of the line, over a dozen generations ago. It may have had magical properties—there were a variety of tales told and retold in the family—but nobody knew for sure. What they did know was that it was a symbol of a family that had existed here for far, far longer than they had been alive, and that they were integral parts of continuing the honored tradition.

The family was gathered and waiting, the children quiet with the single exception of Donnal, cranky at being awakened from his nap. Pensri shushed him.

Normally Donn would lead, as first husband, but since this Joining was for him and Hafsah, it was Shurala who knelt in front of the shrine and lit the incense sticks.

He stuck them into the small bowl of sand there, and raised his head to look at the casket.

“Kwea, Founder of our Family, we ask you to witness this Joining today, to extend your protection to this new member of our Family, and this house.”

The assembled family members, with the exception of Hafsah, echoed his words.

The Truthsayer, a middle-aged woman from down in the valley, wife of the village baker, approached to stand directly in front of Donn.

She removed a glinting needle from the small embroidered bag she carried, and held her hand out.

Donn placed his hand in hers, looking her in the eyes as she grasped his index finger and gently pricked it, squeezing out a single drop of blood.

Although the Truthsayer was prepared to ask the question and judge Donn’s answer, Donn was ready. Hafsah was already his wife, like it or not, his fate set. He wished it could have been otherwise, but he did not wish her any harm.

“I, Donn of Dylath-Leen, welcome Hafsah into the Family as our wife, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect her.”

“He speaks truth,” said the Truthsayer, but held onto his hand for a moment more. He fully believed in what he said, unquestionably, but his blood spoke of a... misgiving? ...a doubt? No, a worry. He was worried for a future he feared.

She held her peace, as he fully believed his words: he had spoken truthfully, and well.

She turned to Hafsah, who repeated the words she had already spoken to the Donn’s husband and wives at the first Joining: “I, Hafsah of Khem, join into the Family freely and of my own will, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect them.”

“She speaks truth.”

And it was done.

The Joining complete, the doors were opened and they began preparing for the welcome feast to come.

That evening a host of villagers from the valley come to pay their respects and celebrate the occasion. Reeve Brukah was there, of course, with her husband and several of their children, and Headmistress Kiarna. Healer Chimalmat came from the local Temple of Panakeia. Even Mahelt stayed long enough to greet the first guests, although she soon slipped away again from the noise and crowd.

The enormous room was packed, with farmers enjoying an unexpected break in their week’s work; children excited to be able to run around “with the big people;” people bringing platters of food from the kitchen, some cooked there, others brought by guests; Hakim and a few others playing local tunes; and a whole barrel of Donn’s own wine from the cellar for all to drink.

Donn smiled and laughed with the rest, drinking toast after toast and seemingly enjoying every minute of it, but Hakim noticed he never left his seat to circulate, talking and joking with everyone, offering toasts of his own, or pulling little gifts or candy out of his pockets for the children. They came to him, and when he was alone for a time he sat, just drinking.

Pensri must have noticed, he thought, because she sat by his side, talking to him quietly as their guests permitted, or asking a child to bring him a delicious treat from one of the platters.

Noor caught her eye from the kitchen, one eyebrow raised, but returned to her domain at Pensri’s tiny headshake, too small to be noticed in the excitement.

Hours later it was done, guests sent home with gifts of thanks in their hands and sleeping children on their backs. The room was  already clean and neat—the people of House Penia always helped each other—and the family headed toward the bath. Noor had fired up the boiler earlier and the water was already hot.

The children were first, of course, and Donn joined the rest of them in bathing and drying the exhausted children and getting them to bed. Tonight there was no need to tell them tales or ask Hakim to play a song; they were asleep before their heads hit the pillow.

Pensri knelt next to Donn, scrubbing the grime of the long ride from his back. Shurala Tokarra and their new bride, Hafsah, were already soaking, Shurala with yet one more cup of wine resting on the bath’s edge.

Mahelt and Noor were joined by young Jasque, who had only recently reached a maturity that allowed him to join his parents here. Mahelt had come to them at a very young age, heavy with child and with nowhere to go, and young Jasque had been born right in this very house. He was eighteen now; Mahelt had been a child of only fifteen when he was born.

Donn had drunk more than enough, and should have been well on his way to singing and dancing, but remained quiet, his responses short and his attention obviously elsewhere.

“No new scars, I see,” said Pensri as she rinsed his off. “I always worry that you’ll come back missing an arm or something.”

He grunted, stood to walk to the bath and join Shurala and Hafsah, Pensri close behind.

The rest of the adult family joined them a few minutes later, soaking in the hot water together.

There were a few minutes of silence.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been myself,” Donn said. “This last trip was tough, and I lost a good friend on the way. It made me realize how short our lives are, how fragile... and how much I love you all, and our children.

“Perhaps I’m getting too old for all this, and should stay for good, dispensing wisdom and kisses as a proper patriarch should.”

Shurala reached out and wrist-shook Donn, pulling him closer for a hug, and Pensri and Noor embraced them both, followed a moment later by Mahelt.

Unexpectedly, it was withdrawn Mahelt who broke the silence this time.

“Donn, you have meant so much to so many. To me, to Jasque, to countless mothers and children and ex-slaves, most of whom have stayed here and found new lives in this valley.

“Please, stay here. Stay with us.”

There was a sudden babble as everyone agreed, pressing him to give up his trading life and settle down.

He smiled and nodded, and said he’d give it a try.

“In the meantime,” he added with his usual twinkle, “why won’t anyone give me a cup of that wine!”

Pensri pushed his head under water and things seemed to go back to normal, but she still wondered if that was really all.  

* * *

Summer gradually gave way to fall, and the second corn crop was almost ready. Chestnuts and pears were on everyone’s table, and while there were very few apple trees this far south, there were enough for everyone to enjoy one or two. It was getting a bit chilly in the mornings now, with thick fogs hiding the hills and pastures until the noon sun burned it off to reveal the changing hues of autumnal leaves.

Dylath-Leen, warmed by the Cirque as it swept past the city and on toward Ophir and Poltarness, rarely saw snow, but their little valley, nestled in the Sarrub Hills as they sloped up toward the snow-capped mountains and distant Carcassonne, was no stranger to snow. The storms would come sweeping down from the north with the burdens of snow, and drop it all here on House Penia before they blew themselves out in the southern warmth.

It was usually only up to a man’s knees, but every once in a while it would snow over a meter. This year seemed likely to be a cold one, everyone agreed, and they stocked up on food, on firewood, and on fodder for the animals.

Donn was true to his word.

He sent word to Factor Chóng that he was taking a rest, and received a bottle of aged Cydathrian brandy, a dark, reddish amber delight, taken from the Factor’s own cellar, with a note congratulating him of his well-deserved rest, and wishing him even more grandchildren and great-grandchildren to bless his days.

He asked Hakim once again to marry into the family, and once again Hakim refused, happy to share in the community’s warmth while remaining true to his own memories.

From Hakim, he learned how to make kites, and soon every child had a unique and colorful kite of their own, and every day they came asking him to help them fly, or repair, or retrieve one from a tree it had lodged in.

Fenrir, who he had raised from a puppy a dozen years earlier, died that fall of old age, surrounded by his own children and grandchildren, and with his beloved Master Donn at his side, stroking his head to soothe the pain. Donn buried him personally in the pasture that had been his workplace for so long, so he could continue to watch over the sheep in his slumber.

He even learned how to shear a sheep, and eventually became quite proficient at it, but hated it nonetheless. Even he had to admit, though, that the sweater he wove from that wool was warm, even if the sleeves were not of the same length.

Shortly after the first snowfall of the year, a light powdering that was only enough to delight the children and turn everything muddy that afternoon, a visitor came calling.

“Captain Gunnarsson!”

He turned to the young woman accompanying him and suddenly recognized her.

“Uralorea! I almost didn’t recognize you!”

He had met her a couple years earlier, on Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, when he and Captain Gunnarsson had traveled together in search of Princessa.

He invited them inside, offering spiced wine to warm themselves with.

“It’s been, let me see, about three years now? Tell me what’s happened, Captain.”

“Uralorea is indeed my daughter, and thanks to you we found each other.”

“And her mother, um, Lo...”

“Lotarra,” said Gunnarsson. “Lotarra died of fever when Uralorea was only eight, leaving her with no family. But for me.”

“I’m so sorry, Captain... I wish that you could have found her.”

“At least I can give my daughter a better life. Her daughter.”

“There are few things more important,” nodded Donn. “You know what House Penia works for.”

“Yes, you told me, years ago. That’s why I’m here.”

Donn raised an eyebrow.

“Master Donn, I am a sea captain, at home with the waves and the wind; a ship like mine is no place for a young girl. She needs a real home, a real family, and the warmth that you can give her.

“Master Donn, you earned my trust and my respect on Mtal,” he said, and looked Donn straight in the eyes. “I would ask you to take her into your family, to raise as your own daughter.”

Donn was speechless.

“I bring you her dowry, to use as you see fit to raise her, or for her to wed one day.”

He set a heavy-looking bag on the table; it clunked dully.

Donn lifted the bag.

“This is quite a sum, Captain,” he said, hefting it. “I would feel ill at ease taking it, I fear.”

He reached out and set it down in front of quiet Uralorea.

“It is her dowry, to use as she sees fit.”

He turned back to Gunnarsson.

“I accept Uralorea into my family gladly, and will protect and raise here as my own daughter. I accept no money from any man to raise my daughter, however, and by the friendship we share would ask that you not mention it again.”

He turned his head toward the interior of the house.

“Pensri! Noor!”

Noor stuck her head in immediately—she had been in the kitchen—and Pensri appeared only a moment later from one of the back rooms.

“What happened, Donn?”

“Call the others, please. Mahelt and Hafsah—is Shurala nearby?”

“Hafsah and Shurala are both in the tanning shed,” said Noor.

“Send one of the children to fetch them. It’s important.”

In a few minutes they were all there.

Donn introduced them to the Captain, and to Uralorea, explaining the Captain’s predicament.

“The Captain and I worked together many years ago, on the Bella, and we’ve helped each other out now and again, here and there. He has asked us to accept Uralorea as our own daughter, and I have accepted.”

“Uralorea, welcome to our home. Donn has told us your tale”

They surrounded her, enfolding her, and Hafsah began crying just seconds before Uralorea did.

Captain Gunnarsson sat at the table, an outsider unsure of how to act, and feeling the pain and the weight of what he had just done.

Donn laid his hand atop the Captain’s, and Shurala placed his hand atop theirs.

“Have no fear, Captain Gunnarsson. We will love and protect her as Family, with our lives if need be.”

The Captain, blinking in a vain attempt to stop a stray tear, nodded.

“Thank you, Master Donn, Master Shurala. For her sake, and mine, thank you.”

“Pensri!” said Donn loudly. “It’s not every day we get a new daughter!

Shurala pulled Captain Gunnarsson to his feet.

“Come on, Captain. The women are going to have their way with Uralorea, and it’s time for you to bathe, and shave, and get ready for tonight’s celebration.”

The Captain looked around, confused, and saw the women surrounding his daughter, leading her out of the room with giggles.

“Celebration?”

“A Joining. Welcoming a new daughter into the family is no small thing!”

They walked out with the Captain, leaving the room empty.

* * *

The Joining that night was much the same as the joining of earlier that year, when Donn formally welcomed Hafsah into the family, except that this time the family was joined by a single outsider: Captain Gunnarsson.

Truthsayer Aninagria started with Donn, who swore that he would accept Uralorea into the family, to love, to honor, and to protect, and then asked his wives and husband to swear the same oath.

Next it was the Captain’s turn, and she asked him if he gave his daughter freely to the family, to be raised as one of their own, and affirmed that he spoke truth at his simple “Yes” in response.

Finally she turned to Uralorea herself, who had stood silent throughout.

“Mistress Uralorea, do you join into the Family freely and of your own will, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect them?”

“Yes.”

“You have reservations, my dear... please, what are they?”

Uralorea hesitated, looking at Gunnarsson and Donn in turn.

“I... My mother died years ago. I was alone until Master Donn led my father to me. He has been good to me, and I believe we have come to love each other as man and daughter should. I am a hindrance to him, and I understand his intent, that bringing me here is a sign of how much he loves me.

“But it hurts! I have only just gained my father, and now to lose him again...”

Donn stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Dear Uralorea, you will not lose your father. He will always be your father, and you will never lose his love. But you will gain a family, and we will gain a daughter, to share our love and our lives together.

“If you are willing, join us, and you will always be with family no matter where you ride.”

She looked into his eyes for a long minute, then turned to look at Captain Gunnarsson, who nodded.

Another minute passed.

Her back straightened and she looked the Truthsayer in the eyes.

“I, Uralorea of Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, join into the Family freely and of my own will, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect them.”

“She speaks truth.”

The women broke into excited laughter mixed with tears, and hugged their new daughter. Tonight they would get to know each other, weaving new bonds of friendship that would, hopefully sooner than later, finally turn to bonds of love.

After dinner and a conversations with the Captain, Donn walked out into the garden, and found Hakim looking at the stars.

The torchlight was dim here, but there was enough light to sign by.

“The stars are bright tonight, Donn.”

“The moon is young, and winter is coming.”

“Congratulations on your new daughter. Gunnarsson is a smart man to find such a good house for her.”

“Yes,” signed Donn after a moment, watching the stars. “A new daughter, a new wife, a new grandchild to come... the family is healthy, and growing.”

“...and?”

“And I feel old, Hakim. My fate is upon me.”

“Because you were told you were mortal? We are all mortal, Donn. Most of us, anyway.”

Donn merely stood, hands hanging at his side until he trudged back inside under Hakim’s worried gaze.

* * *

It was a cold winter this year. Year’s Turning was still more than a month distant and already they had half a meter of snow on the ground.

The Sarrub Mountains were blanketed in white, with veils of snow whirling around them searching for a place to come to earth.

They had laid in a good supply for the winter, of course: food, fodder, and firewood, as the saying went, but the winter wind was still cold.

In spite of their preparations, though, the unexpected came calling.

In the darkest part of the night the brindles had seen something in the pasture, and set up a howling that woke them all, and probably half the village to boot. The sheep were safely in the barn to protect them from the falling snow, but anything that drove the dogs that wild might well smash through the barn doors.

While not common in the hills around Dylath-Leen, creatures of all types lurked in the Dreamlands.

Armed with swords, bows, and torches, and surrounded by the pack of brindles, growling, hackles high, teeth bared, scanned the fields and pastures, staying close to each other as they scouted. They relied on the dogs to warn them of immediate danger, and the dogs took their duties very seriously.

The barn was undamaged, the sheep disturbed more by their torches and dogs than by whatever had excited the watchdogs so badly.

“Here’s the trail!” called Shurala, waving his torch to signal the others.

“Never seen anything like it,” mused Donn as he examined the glistening track.

It looked like something had been dragged along the ground, pushing aside the piled snow, something covered in a thick slime. Something soft, boneless…

“Ever seen anything like it?”

Shurala shook his head and held his torch up high again.

“Guard!”

The dogs obeyed their training, spreading out to surround the party, facing outward toward any possible threat.

The trail came out of the rough to the west, crossed over their fields and pastures, and continued on again into the forest to the northeast, leaving behind its slime and several destroyed fence sections. It changed course in the middle abruptly.

“What do you think?” asked Donn. “If it’d gone on straight it would have reached the barn.”

“I think the brindles scared it off,” suggested Shurala. “And if we didn’t see it when we got out here, it must move pretty quickly.”

“Dangerous?”

“None of the dogs got hurt, it looked like, shrugged Shurala. “But…”

He pointed at a bush growing near the thing’s track: it was half melted, as if by some strong acid.

“Let’s make sure it’s gone, then,” suggested Donn. “And tomorrow Jasque and I will get cut some trees to replace those fence sections. Gonna be hard work to fell good trees and fix that fence in this cold, but it’s gotta be done.”

“I’ll go with you,” suggested Shurala.

“No, I’d be happier if you stayed to keep an eye on things here. OK?”

“OK, but be careful out there.”

“We will.”

After dawn he and Jasque harnessed up two of the draft horses. The horses would have little trouble with only half a meter of snow. He debated bringing one or two of the brindles along, but the snow would make for tough going for the dogs, much as they’d love it, and he really wanted them guarding the family.

“We’ll be back in a couple hours,” he said to Noor. “If we see some good fallen trees on the way it might even be sooner.”

“Safe journey!” she called, and they set forth.

The sky was a sullen grey, clouds heavy with snow, the air crisp and punctuated with a few flakes of snow now and then. It didn’t look like it’d snow until later, probably that night, and man and beast both knew the road even if it was hidden under another dozen centimeters.

The road dipped down from the hilltop the family’s farm was built on, and then up again toward the forests of the Sarrub Hills.

“That looks like a nice birch over there!” called Jasque some time later, pointing to a snow-covered tree lying on the open ground a dozen meters from the dense trees of the forest.

“Roots are torn out of the ground,” said Donn. “Must have been that big storm we had in the fall. Yeah, let’s take a look!”

This picked out a path approaching the birch, carefully leading the team over the rough ground. Once the tree had been limbed they’d tie one end up between the two horses, and drag the whole things home that way. It’d be a lot easier to chop it up there.

“Pretty big! Must be thirty-five, maybe forty centimeters thick!”

“And birch burns clean and hot... perfect,” agreed Donn.

He stripped off his coat and started lopping off branches with one of the axes.

“Gonna be a heavy load for the horses. Maybe we should have brought four?”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Donn, glancing at the clouds overhead. “Let’s see how it goes.”

They chopped and sawed until the trunk was revealed, excess branches stripped off to lighten the load and make it easier to handle.

Donn pulled the yoke down—a simple affair with a leather harnesses for the horses holding a study pole between them. Once it was hooked up all they had to do was secure the base of the tree trunk on top, and walk the horses home.

The hardest part was levering the tree trunk up onto the bar, but they’d done it before, many times, and it wouldn’t be a major problem this time, either, they figured. Until they saw the wolves coming out the trees.

It must be a pack from the Sarrubs, Donn thought, driven south by the unusually cold winter, in search of game. And he and Jasque were here, out in the open... He looked around quickly.

There!

A relatively young tree, an oak perhaps. It was the only one close enough; the wolves were already spreading out, heads low, eyes fixed on their prey. Not big enough for both of them, but for Jasque...

The horses began to whicker nervously, shuffling their hooves in the snow.

Donn grabbed Jasque and they ran for the tree, Donn listening for the sound of crunching snow behind him.

No time.

He grabbed Jasque and pushed him up the trunk, practically throwing him into the air. Off-balance, the boy grabbed the branch, slipped, and finally pulled himself up to safety.

So this is it, then... to love, to honor, and to protect... I shall be mourned by four wives, he thought.

“Donn! Your hand!”

There was no time for Jasque’s entreaty.

He drew his sword as he turned to face his death.

The gray shadows of the wolves raced through the snow toward them, silently, and past, with only a glance before they raced on, eyes fixed on the small herd of deer just ahead. White tails flashed as the deer fled, two of their number staining the snow with crimson as the wolves gathered for their feast.

Donn fell to his knees.

He was alive!

The wolves hadn’t been hunting them after all, but the deer... the plump, juicy deer of the forest, far safer than facing the steel swords and daggers of Man.

He was alive!

He threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“I’m alive!” he screamed into the wind, screamed to the brooding mountains.

 I am mortal, but so are we all. When I die, whenever and wherever, I die knowing that my family is safe, four wives to mourn me. And until then, by the Gods, I will live!

Jasque dropped down out of the tree, staring at Donn.

“Well, son, what are you waiting for?” he laughed, clapping the boy on the back. “We’ve got some fence trees to fetch, and then we have to plan out our route for next year! You’re coming with me on the road; time to show you the ropes!”

END

Noor sat with the twins and three-year-old Donnal, waving goodbye, until Shurala was out of sight on the road down to the village. He was off to Dylath-Leen with a group of villagers to sell the year’s wool, along with a few lambs that had been born a bit early and were now big enough.

He’d be back the next day unless something unusual happened. Donn and Hakim had left on their trading route, taking young Jasque with them, so there would only be women and children here until he returned: Pensri, Noor, and new Hafsah, and the children in their care. Mahelt was there, too, of course, but she rarely left the house at all, even though she was an enormous help inside with cooking, washing, watching the children, and other tasks.

Pensri whistled the dogs to get the sheep moving, herding them up the hill to pasture. Barbi and Scamp knew the job well, having done it almost every morning for years, and the sheep knew better than to try to cross the dogs.

When they weren’t on sheep duty the dogs were free to roam the vineyard, too, which covered most of the south-facing slope. The ducks took care of most of the insects that came to eat the grapes, and the dogs kept larger pests under control.

Lush spring grass, young leaves on the trees, blue sky, and brindle dogs herding the freshly sheared sheep—it was a beautiful pastoral day, and she loved it.

Uralorea was with her, still learning how things worked here. Recently adopted, she had settled in with only a few minor problems now mostly taken care of, and was maturing into a happy, beautiful young woman. Pensri walked close to the sheep to keep an eye on them and command the dogs as needed, with Uralorea walking well behind, holding hands with twelve-year-old Arthit.

She opened the gate, and the dogs chivvied the sheep through into the high pasture where they’d spend the day. Leaving the dogs to watch them, the three of them walked the fence, checking it for fallen or loose poles. There were one or two that might need replacing later in the year, she thought, but everything looked safe for now.

On one section the bones of mountain were laid bare, and it was impossible to erect a fence. Donn and the others had built a stone wall there instead, a relatively low wall that only served to keep the sheep from wandering off. While the stones had been fitted and angled, they were not cemented into place, and the winter storms had dislodged a number of them.

The three of them fixed the wall up as well as they could, but in several places some stones seemed to be missing entirely, and although they searched the area diligently, they couldn’t be found.

“It must have been a stone ogre,” said Pensri.

Uralorea looked at her in surprise.

“Stone ogres? What are stone ogres?”

“Oh, they’re just horrible. They are all made of stone and they come at night and eat little boys!”

She jumped at Arthit, hands outstretched like a ravenous monster, and he screamed with laughter as he ran away.

There may not be any such thing as a stone ogre, she thought, but there are wolves...

They were rarely seen around here in the spring—the generally roved further north, in the Sarrub Mountains up to Mt. Sidrak—but the high pasture still needed a shepherd on watch. Barbi and Scamp would do their best, but a full-grown wolf could weigh sixty or seventy kilograms and their dogs only about thirty... plus which, wolves usually hunted in packs. An armed shepherd was really needed to be sure, rare as it was.

The dogs would keep the sheep under control and let her know if wolves—or anything else—approached, so once she was done checking the fence she could sit with Uralorea and Arthit and teach them more about the sheep, the dogs, and just running the farm.

They talked for about an hour or so, and then they heard distant barking.

Pensri glanced down at the house.

A carriage had come up from the village. She thought it looked like the Headmistress... which might mean a new one had arrived.

“Uralorea, can you handle this for a little while? I have to run back to the house and see what’s happened.”

“Of course, mama,” replied the girl. “We didn’t have any wolves on Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, but the rock lizards are about the same size, and certainly as dangerous. If any wolves show up we’ll take care of them, won’t we, Arthit?”

“Yeah, if Scamp and Barbi don’t get ’em first!”

“You keep an eye out now, boy!” she warned, and nodded to Uralorea. “If I’m not back by then, make sure you bring them all back down well before dusk.”

“Yes, mama, we will.”

Pensri left the basket with lunch—bread, cheese, a few of the very last strawberries of winter, and water—and strode back down the road to the house, her own bow in hand.

One look at the carriage told her it was indeed Headmistress Kiarna, as she had thought. She quickly entered the house to see why she had come.

The Headmistress was sitting in the main room sipping tea, and next to her sat a young woman, perhaps eighteen or twenty, with a babe to her breast. She was wearing a mud-stained and torn tunic, and a glance at her legs showed she’d been through the woods, and probably brambles.

“Another runaway from the city,” explained Noor. “Garood’s place.”

Garood was one of the more unpleasant whoremasters of Dylath-Leen, buying slaves to service his clientele. Slaves were cheap, and it was more profitable to use and discard them than to invest large sums into keeping them healthy. A pregnant slave was usually forced to abort; this woman obviously hadn’t.

“She showed up half an hour ago, came stumbling out of the woods. Garood wanted the child for some reason, and she fled rather than give it up.”

Pensri sighed.

This was a common occurrence here at House Penia, and it always meant danger.

“The Sisters?”

The Headmistress nodded, her eyes still fixed on the window, looking for pursuers.

The Sisters of Mercy ran shelters and orphanages in many of the major cities, accepting abandoned children or women and ostensibly offering protection. In fact, as Pensri knew from first-hand experience, they were merely slavers by another name, renting or selling their helpless guests to others.

She had been an escaped slave herself, many years ago, until Donn had bought her contract and freed her. That was why they had founded House Penia here, in Donn’s ancestral home, and over the years had watched it grow from a home and scattered homesteads to a thriving village mostly populated by the people they had helped, or saved.

When possible they would buy out the contracts of runaways to minimize troubles with the Dylath-Leen guard. The guard, after all, was supposed to honor warrants to recover stolen property—which in this case meant slaves—and although many of them agreed with Donn that the practice was an abomination, it wasn’t always possible to look the other way.

Garood had some very wealthy, very well-connected backers who would surely make it impossible this time, too, if Garood pressed the point. And depending what he’d wanted the baby for it might not even be possible to buy their contracts.

“What is your name, child?” asked Noor.

The woman replied in a voice so soft they could barely make it out: “Sadiki.”

“Sadiki was taken in Parg,” explained the Headmistress, “about five years ago. She says they killed her father and kidnapped her.”

“Bastards,” spit Pensri. “And the Sisters sold her to Garood?”

“She thinks so. She was moved around a lot.”

“How old is the babe?”

“Only a week. His name is Kandoro.”

“Do you know what Garood wants with him?”

She shook her head and clutched the baby tighter.

Hafsah came in with a fresh pot of tea and a plate of cakes and fruit, and set them on the table. Her own baby was sleeping in a basket in the corner.

“Here is a clean tunic,” she said, “and some diapers for the babe.”

Sadiki bobbed her head several times in thanks but made no move to take them.

Pensri rose from the low table and motioned the Headmistress to join her. Hafsah and Noor were only a bit older than, and Hafsah had birth her own firstborn only a few months earlier, and Pensri thought that perhaps they would be able to help the poor woman better. It must have taken incredible courage, and strength, for her to flee alone from Dylath-Leen and come this far.

Ten-year-old Eshan walked alongside Pensri, holding his mother’s hand.

They returned to the Headmistress’ carriage.

“How close do you think they are?”

“No sign of pursuit yet,” said the Headmistress, “but they could be anywhere. Sadiki could have fled anywhere, though, too, you know.”

“Of course, but we’re the obvious place to look first. Goodness knows we’ve had slave catchers through her enough in the past.”

“I’ll do what I can, but...”

“I know. Thank you, Kiarna. I do wish Donn and Shu were here, tho...”

The Headmistress climbed up and snapped the reins.

“They’ll be back on the morrow, I’m sure.”

“I hope. Try to send me a runner if you see anyone, will you?”

“Of course. Good luck, Mistress.”

“And safe journey to you.”

Pensri stood watching the Headmistress drive down the road back to the village, until Eshan tugged on her hand.

“What is it, Eshan?” she asked, turning... and stopped in surprise.

Three men on horseback were watching her from the edge of the trees.

Garood’s men!

She whistled, and a handful of dogs jumped to the alert, noticing the distant men and barking up a racket in warning. The barking would alert Noor and Hafsah, too.

The men cantered toward her, and she stood her ground, waiting for them to approach.

“Name yourselves!” she commanded, a perfectly reasonable demand of unknown visitors. The dogs fell silent at her command, but continued watching the men warily.

They stopped a couple dozen meters distant, and the older man replied, indicating himself first and then the other two younger men in order, “Pailaro of Dylath-Leen, Tal of Dylath-Leen, and Ilman Tuk of Hlanith.”

“Pensri of Dylath-Leen,” she replied.

“Never knew Dylath-Leen extended this far out in the hills,” he said, looking around.

“The village is known as House Penia.”

“Penia... goddess of the poor and weak,” laughed Tal, a young blond strapping a long sword. “Well, this valley certainly looks the part!”

Pailaro waved at the other man to stop talking, and turned back to Pensri.

“May we trouble you for some water, Mistress Pensri?”

She hesitated.

She wanted them to leave as soon as possible, but it was custom to offer travelers water, even food and rest if necessary. Refusing them with no good reason could lead to all sorts of problems... but with an escaped slave in the house...

Noor and Hafsah had heard the dogs and the man’s request, and Noor knew what it meant. She jumped to her feet and pulled up one of the mats next to the firepit.

“Quickly, Mistress Sadiki! Down the ladder! There is no torch, but the tunnel is smooth and straight... just follow it and wait at the other end.”

The woman hesitated, looking down into the darkness.

“There is no time! Garood’s men will be here soon!”

“Trust us, Mistress,” said Hafsah, lifting her own baby out of its basket and holding it in her arms. “We will protect you, and your beautiful Kandoro.”

Sadiki glanced at them once again, then hurried down the ladder, her baby in one arm.

Noor dropped the mat down again, and dragged Hasfah’s baby basket on top. Hasfah promptly sat down on the floor and began rocking her baby, which was beginning to cry at being awakened.

There were numerous caves and tunnels around the main house, used for aging the wine and cheese Penia was famous for. And not surprisingly, given the village’s reputation as a safe haven for escaping slaves, it also had a lot of secret tunnels and hiding places. Noor and Hasfah had no worries about Sadiki being discovered as long as she stayed quiet.

A few minutes later Pensri came in, the men behind her. They’d left their swords on the stand at the entrance, as was custom, but of course still had their daggers.

“Please, rest here,” she said. “Noor, could I trouble you to fetch some tea for our guests? They’re just passing through.”

Noor nodded and left the room, returning almost immediately with cups and a pitcher of wheat tea on a wooden tray.

She knelt on the floor and poured the cups, handing each of the men the cup and a small towel, the minimum custom demanded.

The women were silent, obviously on edge.

“A very nice house,” said Pailaro, sipping the tea.

Tal slurped his tea and put the empty cup down on the mat, then wiped his face and neck with the towel.

The third man, Ilman Tuk, drank his tea quietly, his eyes on Hafsah and Noor. 

“So you’re here alone, then?”

“My husband is on the slopes and will be back soon,” said Pensri, trying to avoid unpleasantries.

“I see.”

“Pretty baby,” said Ilman Tuk to Hafsah. “What’s his name?”

“Nelchaka,” replied Hafsah quietly. “He just woke up...”

“He’s beginning to cry... maybe he needs feeding?”

Hafsah turned her back to the man and brought the baby to her nipple.

“Oh, no need to be embarrassed,” he said, smiling. “Motherhood is so beautiful, after all. And your breasts are so big with milk...”

“Ilman! Cool it!” snapped Pailaro.

“If you’re finished with your tea,” suggested Pensri, “we have work to do, and I’m sure you need to get back to your journey.”

“Oh, I don’t think we need to hurry that much,” said blond Tal. “Where’s the other woman?”

“Other woman? What other woman?” asked Pensri, tilting her head.

“There’s nobody else here,...” said Hafsah. “Nelchaka just woke up.”

The men looked around the room... certainly nobody else there.

“We saw her go in! Where is she?”

Pensri moved to stand between them and Hafsah.

“She is not here, you can see for yourself. Now go; you are upsetting the children.”

Attracted by the noise, Noor’s six-year-old twins Behzad and Leila stood the doorway, while Eshan was hiding behind Pensri, peeking out at the intruders.

Pailaro stepped forward, standing so close as to almost step on Pensri’s toes.

“We have a warrant,” he grated pulling out a small scroll and waving it. “I want them. Now.”

“I don’t have them,” said Pensri, glaring up into his face. She turned to the other women.

“Noor, take the children and go upstairs.”

“No, I think she’ll stay right here with us,” said Pailaro. “Isn’t that right, Ilman?”

Ilman Tuk, drew his dagger and pulled Noor close, while Tal was disturbingly close to Hafsah.

“Eshan!”

Pensri knelt in front of her son, and hugged him.

“You’re the man of the house now, Eshan. I have a very important task for you, Eshan, can you do it for me?”

Eshan nodded seriously.

“I want you to take the children upstairs, and, um... oh, yes, I’ve forgotten to hang the blankets out in the sun. Go upstairs, Eshan, and put the blankets out to air!”

Eshan nodded.

“The red blanket, Mama?”

She tousled his hair.

“Yes, Eshan. My red blanket. Now go.”

She spun him around and gave him a little push, and everyone watched the children march off to the stairs.

“She is not here, you can see that,” said Pensri, turning back again.

“Then we will search every room of this house, and tear it down if need be, until we find her!”

“You shall not!”

“They’re lying, Pailaro. We saw the bitch go in, she’s here. Maybe if I stick her a few times they’ll remember where she’s hiding...”

Ilman waved his dagger in front of Noor’s face.

“Let her go!” commanded Pensri. “It’s me you want to talk to, not her.

“And just why should we do that, Mistress?” asked Pailaro. “Give us the girl. Or...”

He gestured toward his partner, still holding his dagger and Noor.

“She is not here!”

Pailaro nodded, and the dagger tip sank into Noor’s arm.

She screamed in pain, and tried to pull away.

Ilman just laughed, and pulled her closer.

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun together,” he said. “A little pain makes it feel so much better, you know. You’re gonna love it.”

“Hey, Ilman, cool it. We’re here on a warrant.”

“Screw that,” spit the other. “Let’s do ’em, find the stupid slaves, and burn this dump.” He looked over at Hafsah, holding her baby tight. “All three of ’em.”

He ran the tip of the dagger over Noor’s breast, leaving a thin red line on the tunic.

“You entered on a warrant,” said Pensri. “I told you that those you seek are not here, truthfully. You stabbed Noor, and have threatened us with rape and murder.”

Her voice was clear and strong.

Behind her the door slid open, and three villagers stepped in, two women and a man. They were unarmed except for their ever-present daggers, and just stood in the doorway for a moment.

Pensri whistled, and there was the sound of claws scratching across wood floors. A dozen brindle dogs, teeth bared and ears flat, burst into the room. They spread out around the room, bellies low to the floor as they stalked, and lay down, tails still and eyes fixed on the intruders.

Pailaro grabbed Pensri, and held her with a knife to her throat, backing up slowly toward the other two, who held their own hostages. They stood, back to back, facing the pack.

“Surrender now,” commanded Pensri. “You have broken your oaths, but there is still time.”

Five more villagers entered the room from a different door, silently spreading out against that wall.

“Shut up, bitch,” snapped Pailaro. “We’re walking out of here or you die with your mutts.

“Everyone, back the fuck up! And get those dogs back, too!”

She was silent, and he held the knife closer, touching the sold edge to her throat.

“Do it!”

She whistled, and the dogs, crouched low with eyes fixed on the men, slowly retreated.

Another door slid open as more villagers entered.

They were all armed with something: daggers, of course, but a few swords, some firewood axes, even one hoe. None of the daggers or swords were drawn, but they could be.

The three men retreated toward the firepit, surrounded on all sides by silent villagers. There were about two dozen of them now, and footsteps made it clear more were coming.

The dogs crept backwards, but only as far as the wall of watching villagers. Pailaro half-carried, half-dragged Pensri toward them, and toward the door.

Ilman Tuk was just behind him with Noor, and Tal with Hafsah.

The villagers didn’t move, blocking every exit from the room.

“What is this...? Back up, all of you!” shouted Pailaro. “Or I’ll slice her!”

Pensri, her head tilted back to expose her throat to the knife, held up her hand.

“You can kill me, and they will kill you. Or you can let me go and walk out of here. Which will it be?”

Hafsah’s baby began screaming.

“Shut up!” shouted Tal, and slapped Hasfah across the face. She dropped to her knees, bending over the protect her child, and the villagers are took a few steps forward, daggers suddenly appearing in many hands.

“Let them go,” said one of the encircling men, dressed in nothing but a loincloth, and holding a half-meter long machete.

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll not leave here alive,” he said quietly. “You don’t look as stupid as those youngsters.”

Pailaro glanced around at the throng of surrounding villagers and slowly released Pensri. She stepped away from him, turned, and held out her hand for his dagger. Grudgingly, he held it out hilt first.

She took it, holding it with the point down toward the mat, and looked toward the other two men.

“We allowed you into our home, showed you the hospitality due a traveler, and this is how you treat us?”

“Give us the slaves and we’ll leave!” spat Ilman Tuk.

“There are no slaves in this house, as you can see. Now decide.”

He licked his lips, looked at the villagers, then slowly released Noor as he slipped his dagger back into its sheath.

The villagers took one more step forward, this time their attention focused on the third man, Tal, who was standing over huddled Hafsah, his eyes darting about, searching for escape.

A middle-aged woman stepped closer, unarmed but jaw set, and Tal spun to face her, dagger slashing through the air in a threat. At his movement, Hafsah pulled away and scuttled away into the crowd. Tal was left standing alone, surrounded by dozens of silent villagers and half that many daggers.

“Tal, give it up, boy,” called Pailaro. “It’s not worth getting yourself killed for a little gold.”

“She’s worth fifty gold pieces!”

“Won’t do you any good if you’re dead, lad.”

Tal spun around again in a crouch, waving his dagger, slashing at the villagers to keep them away.

They retreated in front of him, but those behind him took one more step closer.

“Tal! Put the dagger down!”

Tal’s face was twisted in a snarl.

“But we know she’s here!”

“There are no slaves in this house,” repeated Pensri clearly. “Now put down your dagger, and go.”

Tal roared in rage and threw his dagger into the floor mat, sinking it almost to the hilt in the reeds.

The villagers pressed forward, and herded the three men out of the room and back outside.

Reeve Brukah was there with Headmistress Kiarna, and another two dozen villagers. More were coming up the road from the village, on horseback or on foot, and from other farms scattered across the hillside.

Healer Chimalmat went to Noor and applied a poultice to the wound in her arm.

Pensri looked up at the second floor, where a red blanket was draped over the windowsill, flashing a crimson signal that could be seen from almost anywhere in the valley.

Above it, in the open window, she could see Eshan’s worried face.

She waved, then turned back to the Reeve.

“Reeve Brukah, I demand a Truthing.”

The Reeve nodded, and looked around the gathered villagers.

“Truthsayer Aninagria? Has anyone seen the Truthsayer?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Leg doesn’t work as well as it used to since that boar,” she grumbled, as she walked forward between the villagers.

She stepped in front of the two slave-catchers, bound kneeling in the dirt.

“A Truthing has been called. Mistress Pensri, step forward.”

Pensri walked forward to stand in front of the Truthsayer, and held out her hand.

Aninagria took out her pin and drew a drop of blood from Pensri’s finger.

“Mistress Pensri?”

“These men said they were slave-catchers, and claimed to have a warrant. They insisted on entering to search, claiming they had seen her enter, and I told them that no such woman was in the house. They then took us hostage, stabbed Noor in the arm with a dagger, and threatened to rape and kill us.”

“Is there a slave in the house?”

“There is no slave in the house.”

“She speaks truth,” said Aninagria, and turned to Noor.

“Your finger, mistress.”

Noor stepped forward and held out her finger for the pinprick.

“Is what Mistress Pensri said truth?”

“Yes.”

“She speaks truth.”

The Truthsayer turned to Pailaro.

“What is your name?”

“I am Pailaro of Dylath-Leen, and I have a warrant! You cannot hold me, Reeve!”

“Mistress Noor has blood on her arm that suggests we can, Master Pailaro. That is why the Truthsayer has come,” said Reeve Brukah, standing some distance back to give the Truthsayer room.

The Truthsayer held out her hand, and Pailaro held his finger out.

“Is what Mistress Pensri said truth, Master Pailaro?”

“We saw the woman enter the house!” he shouted, and pointed at the Headmistress. “That woman brought her here in her carriage, and she went in!”

“Answer my question, Master Pailaro. Is what she said truth?”

“Yes, it is truth, but...”

“He speaks truth,” she said, cutting him off.

“Ask her where the woman is!” shouted the slave-catcher, but the Truthsayer ignored him, turning to face the Ilman Tuk.

“What is your name?”

He just spat on the ground.

“She is a Truthsayer. You would do well to answer,” advised the Reeve.

Grudgingly, “Ilman Tuk of Hlanith.”

“Master Ilman Tuk, is what she said truth?”

“Yes. And what Paisaro said is truth too!”

“That is a different matter; this Truthing is on your actions, nothing else.”

He spat again, and Truthsayer Aninagria stepped to the third man.

“What is your name?”

“Tal of Dylath-Leen,” quietly.

“Tal of Dylath-Leen, is what she said truth?”

“...yes.”

The Truthsayer nodded.

“Reeve Brukah, you have heard the truth. Judgment is yours.”

The Reeve stepped forward and slammed her staff of office into the ground.

“I find that Pailaro of Dylath-Leen, Ilman Tuk of Hlanith, and Tal of Dylath-Leen have violated their oaths as slave-catchers, and as such are not protected from punishment for their actions. I find that you have broken the code of hospitality. I find that you have stabbed, without cause, Noor of Dylath-Leen. I find that you have threatened three women with rape and death. I find that you have taken three women hostage.

“The punishment is death.”

“Death!? You can’t do that!” he shouted. “We have a warrant!”

“Your warrant is meaningless,” replied the Reeve, unmoved. “You invalidated it by your actions.”

“But what about the girl?”

“What of her? This Truthing is on your actions, not anyone else’s.

“However, as you did not in fact commit rape or murder, the punishment of death is hereby held in abeyance, and you are exiled from this village. You are never to return, or the punishment will be carried out.”

“What about our side of the story? We saw that girl! And we have a warrant for her!”

“You can’t do this!”

“I can, and I have,” she said, striking her staff on the ground once more and turning away.

The villagers surged forward, manhandling the three up onto their horses. They were escorted to the end of the valley, and the road to Dylath-Leen.

Pensri bowed to the Reeve and Truthsayer Aninagria.

The Reeve nodded her head in response, then turned to the Headmistress.

“It worked out this time, Kiarna, but if they hadn’t hung the red blanket outside upstairs it would have ended differently. We must be more careful next time.”

The Headmistress hung her head.

“I’m sorry. The poor girl was in such a state I just...”

“Mistress Pensri, you had better get that signal down before Master Shurala returns or he’ll have a fit. Is the girl alright?”

“Yes, Reeve, she’s fine. She’s down in the tunnel, waiting for us and at wit’s end.”

“Well, get her cleaned up and we’ll figure out what to do next. Lucky thing there weren’t more of them.”

“Nobody here will say anything; we all know the Sisters of Mercy and their ilk all too well. But we’d better stay alert for another week or so just to be sure... they know where slaves run to.”

“Someday they’ll come in force: the Sisters, or Garood, or any of those monsters.”

“Someday they will, and we’ll be ready for them.”

“I don’t think Shu will mind if open a cask of wine for everyone... will you join us?”

“With pleasure, Mistress Pensri. With pleasure.”

And she did.

END

Tonight was the summer solstice. And the summer solstice was the day of the Festival of the Horned God, one of the most important days for House Penia, which relied almost entirely on farming for its livelihood. They grew wheat, barley, corn and several other grains, a range of vegetables and fruit—especially grapes—and livestock including cows, hogs, and sheep, and a bad harvest could mean a deadly winter for both man and beast.

The valley was also home to the Dylath-Leen shepherds, medium-sized dogs that served as sheepdogs and guard dogs. They were almost always brindle, their fur a pattern of brown and back blotches, but every few years one would be born with stripes.

Today twelve-year-old Arthit was watching the sheep in the high pasture with “his” dogs, dogs he had spent almost every day with since they were puppies: Scamp and Barbi. Barbi was stretched out on the grass getting a belly rub while Scamp sat on a nearby rock, keeping watch on the scattered sheep while hoping that one of Arthit’s scratching hands would drift his way.

Mama Pensri and Mama Noor and Mama Mahelt were busy getting ready for the Festival, baking and cooking the food for the celebration, and Mama Hafsah was busy with her baby and the other young kids, but she’d brought him lunch a few hours ago.

Most of the valley would gather at the Nest, where the men of House Penia were building the bonfire. Arthit wished he could go and see the bonfire... last year he could see the firelight and the silhouettes of people dancing, but he wasn’t an adult yet and the Festival was only for adults.

He wondered what they did down there that they wouldn’t let him see.

Scamp gave a small bark and jumped off his lookout, racing toward a lone sheep trying to climb the stone wall running across one part of the pasture’s edge. The bones of the mountain showed there, making it impossible to erect a fence, so they’d built a stone wall instead to stop sheep from wandering. Every so often a sheep would try to climb it, and every time one of the dogs would cut it off, and force it back to the flock.

Barbi rolled over the watched what Scamp was doing, prepared to race to help him fight off a wolf or other predator if necessary. Scamp had the situation well in hand, though, and forced the sheep away from the wall and back to the center of the pasture without any difficulty.

Arthit noticed a shadow out of the corner of his eye and glanced up to see a red-tailed hawk soaring over the pasture, head turning back and forth in search of prey. He knew there was a family of fieldmice over in the fence, but the hawk sailed past without diving, leaving only its plaintive cry behind.

He looked down at the Nest again... the wood for the bonfire was ready, it looked like. Branches and relatively small saplings had been leaned against the central pillar, a huge straw structure standing on the empty ground in front of the Nest. It was in the shape of a man with horns.

When the full moon rose later they’d light it for the Festival.

Most of the other gods had temples, or at least Godsworn—Truthsayer Aninagria had been chosen by the goddess Aletheia, but Aletheia had no temple. The Truthsayer said she had no temples anywhere. Arthit wondered how you could worship a goddess with no temple.

The Horned God didn’t have any temples, either. Everyone said he disliked fire and buildings, preferring to spend his time in the fields and the forests. Some people said the Horned God was a woman, not a man, but nobody seemed to care much either way. The pictures and carvings he’d seen usually showed him with the upper body of a man and the legs of a goat, with curly ram’s horns on his head. Once a trader passing through the valley had a scroll with a picture like that of the Horned God with his thing real big, and a women bent over in front of him. That was a man for sure, he thought.

They said sometimes the Horned God visited the high pasture... Arthit wondered if he’d ever see him. He thought those horns were amazing, and wished he had a set on his own head.

He plucked a few long stalks of grass and folded and tied them up into a little Horned God doll: two arms, two legs, and a head with two ends sticking out like horns. They weren’t curled like his, but they still looked pretty good, he thought.

Arthit slapped a mosquito that landed on his arm; a splurt of blood. He had a range of insect bites and scratches over his arms and legs, and scratched them absent-mindedly every so often. Some had half-healed scabs, some had been torn open again by a careless fingernail.

He paid them no heed, for the most part, but they really itched right after the mosquito bit him and it swelled up like that.

He scratched it again, then made another doll, and looked at the sun. It was already dipping toward the horizon, and it’d be time to get the sheep back down to their pen in another hour or so.

He was a little excited because tonight he’d be left in charge of the house and the kids. At twelve he was the eldest—not counting eighteen-year-old Jasque, of course, who was on the road with Donn and Hakim—and they’d judged he was responsible enough.

Of course I’m responsible enough, he thought. I’m twelve!

He touched his dagger again, just to be confirm that it was still safely in the sheath, on his belt.

I’ll protect them tonight! I’m a big boy now!

He wished he didn’t have to take care of the babies, though... as much as he loved his siblings he hated it when they ignored him and started doing dangerous stuff. At least Mama Hafsah was taking Nelchaka, the new baby, with her, so he only had to worry about his siblings Eshan, Aerlie, and Donnal, and Noor’s children, the Terrible Twins: six-year-old Behzad and Leila.

He thought Uralorea should have stayed, because she was only fourteen or fifteen, but they said she was a woman already. She sure looked the same to him, though. Whatever. Mama Pensri said she’d have to drink a lot of wine.

Arthit grimaced.

He hated wine.

A few hours later he whistled the dogs to get the sheep moving down the road, back to home and their pen for the night. Papa Shu said there were all sorts of scary creatures that liked to eat sheep, and he’d seen the remains of a slaughtered horse last year, all shriveled up like an empty bag with bones in it... Papa Shu said it had probably been a Dark Young passing through. He said they weren’t common around here, but you could never tell when you might run into one.

They brought all the livestock down close to the house every night, in pens or in the barn.

Tonight it’d be just him and the dogs until real late.

He’d made half a dozen of the little Horned God dolls, and decided to bring them back to the house for the kids to play with.

Scamp and Barbi chivvied the sheep down the road, keeping them in a tight flock and not allowing any to drift more than a few meters. About half an hour later all the sheep were safely in the pen, and he went inside.

The sun was pretty low, and Mama Noor was cleaning up Donnal now. The other kids had already eaten, and the young ones bathed. Arthit’s dinner was sitting on the ledge around the firepit.

He sat down cross-legged and picked up his plate: stew, bread, tomatoes and a stack of greens. She’d given him that green tea that tasted funny again; he’d chuck it and pour himself some of that apple tea as soon as she was out of the room.

“We’ll be leaving soon, Arthit. If there’s a problem send one of the dogs down, OK?”

“I’ll be fine, Mama. I’m a big boy!”

“We know you are, Arthit,” she said, pulling him close for a hug.

“I put some apples and raisins in a bowl over the oven, for later,” she whispered into his ear so the other children couldn’t hear.

He nodded, happy to keep the secret.

“You share it with everyone, hear?”

“Yes, Mama Noor.”

“Time to go, Noor,” came Pensri’s voice from the entrance.

Arthit looked and saw Mama Pensri waiting with Uralorea and the others. Mama Mahelt was wearing a shawl, hiding her face almost entirely, like she always did, and Mama Hafsah had her baby in a sling across her chest.

Mama Noor released Arthit, wiped Donnal’s face once more, and stood. She took off her apron, and laid it on the shelf next to the entrance as she slipped into her sandals.

“We’ll be back soon, Arthit!” called Pensri, and Behzad and Leila, holding hands as usual, give their mother Noor one more group hug before they let her go.

Barbi and Scamp took up their positions at the entrance, appointing themselves guardians of the house and leaving protection of the livestock pens to the other dogs.

They soon vanished from view in the dusk, heading down the road toward the village and the Nest, where torches and villagers gathered.

Arthit put more charcoal into the firepit, and stirred it a little with the tongs, watching the cloud of orange sparks swirl up into the chimney.

“Eshan, slide the doors shut.”

“Why me?”

“Because I said so.”

Eshan pouted, but was unwilling to rebel against his older brother. Eshan would probably grow into a bigger man than Arthit, but right now, with a two-year lead, Arthit outweighed him considerably. Besides, it was getting a little chilly.

Arthit brought out the Horned God dolls he’d made that afternoon and started playing with them. Aerlie, his eight-year-old sister, grabbed one immediately, and Donnal, who always wanted to do whatever his older siblings were doing, picked one up himself.

“That’s the Horned God,” explained Arthit. “He’s got these big horns on his head, see? And his legs are like a goat!”

“Is the Horned God coming to the festival tonight, too?” asked Aerlie.

“Of course! It’s his festival!”

“I want to go, too!”

“You can’t go, Aerlie. You’re still too little.”

“So are you!”

“They put me in charge of the children tonight.”

“Uralorea went, and she’s only fifteen, right?”

“Mama Pensri said she’s a woman.”

“I’m a woman, too!”

“You’re a girl!”

“Girls are better than boys!”

She stuck her tongue out at him and turned her attention to the doll.

There was a shriek from the firepit, and Arthit jumped up to see what had happened.

Behzad was sucking his fingers, crying in pain.

“What happened, Behzad?”

“The fire burned me!”

“Well, don’t stand so close, silly!”

“But we’re cold!” he wailed, and twin Leila nodded agreement, her shoulder pressed against his.

Arthit didn’t feel that cold, but he laid his palm on the floor to see how it felt. It was covered with thick mats made of interwoven reeds, worn by feet or charred by sparks in places. Every couple years Papa Shu or Mama Pensri would have new ones made down in the village, and the room would smell amazing for a few days until the fresh reed fragrance faded.

Usually they slept on beds in their rooms, but tonight they’d been allowed to sleep in the main room instead, around the warmth of the fire. Thick, padded sleeping mats were already spread, but Mama Noor had only left out thin blankets, and the twins wanted something warmer.

“Go get some blankets, then,” he ordered. “You know where they are.”

“They’re too heavy!”

“Why do I always have to do everything,” grumbled Althit. “Eshan, come with me.”

Arthit slid open the door to the rear of the house, where some blankets were kept for cold nights. The hallway was black, only a little light seeping in from the firepit behind them.

“I’m scared...”

“Baby!” said Arthit, but he was scared, too. He couldn’t show it to his little brother, though. “The blankets are right on that shelf there. C’mon.”

He stepped forward into the darkness but Eshan didn’t move.

“C’mon, Eshan! Help me carry ’em!”

Eshan shook his head.

“You go get them. I’ll wait here.”

“Fine, I’m not scared of the dark,” he said, and stamped his feet harder than usual as he walked into the dark.

The closet was only a few meters down the hallway, and now that his eyes had adjusted he could see the outline of the door flickering with reflected firelight.

He slid it open and reached in, grasping a few blankets, and pulled them out.

They were too big and too heavy to carry all at once, but it was easy to drag them back down the hallway to where Eshan was waiting.

He and his brother dragged the blankets into the room, and slid the door shut again. The hallway was pretty cold; it always got cold quickly.

He took one blanket over to the twins, who quickly threw it over themselves like a tent and began whispering to each other. Donnal, only three, toddled over and pushed his head inside to join them, and they expanded their fort to include him.

Eshan handed one of his blankets to Aerlie, who was still playing with the Horned God dolls, leaving two. He and Eshan kept one each.

Between the firepit and the blankets everyone would be comfortably warm, Arthit thought, and the little ones would probably fall asleep soon.

He scratched his arm again, and looked at his finger curiously. Blood.

If he got blood on the bedding Mama Noor would get angry again.

He wiped it off on the grass doll.

He wondered what the Festival was like.  

That was funny... the grass-stalk horns on his doll were curling up, just like a ram’s horns. Grass curling wasn’t very surprising, but it was weird they both curled up the same way so fast.

There was a scratching at the door—the dogs wanted in.

He ignored them because Barbi and Scamp both knew how to slide it open with their noses, and a few seconds later they stalked past him to walk around the room, sniffing here and there. They both ended up under the northeast window, sniffing and growling.

Scamp was scratching at the reed matting, acting pretty excited. Barbi stood a little behind him, between him and Arthit. She was tense, too, eyes fixed on whatever Scamp had found.

Curious, Arthit crawled over for a closer look, but Barbi blocked him just like she’d block a sheep trying to go the wrong way.

“What is it, Barbi? What’s there?”

He stood for a better look, and saw a black stain on the mat.

It grew bigger as he looked, tiny little streaks of black stretching out from the center to stain the mat’s reeds.

His hand drifted to his dagger.

He wished Mama Pensri was here.

A black line suddenly shot forward from the biggest blob, reaching Scamp’s paw, and he jumped back with a yelp. He started barking in alarm, and Barbi joined him, barking and growling. Their shoulders dropped lower, fangs out, hackles erect.

“Everyone, wake up!”

Eshan was already sitting up, watching Arthit, and he jumped to his feet at Arthit’s shout, blanket still around his shoulders.

“What? What is it?”

“Everyone back, move back!” he ordered. “Get to the other side of the fire!”

The black stain had spread to a second mat now, and the dogs were slowly backing up, keeping their distance as it grew.

Scamp was walking on three legs; it must hurt to put his weight on his front paw where the thing had touched him.

There was a scrabbling from the half-open door, and Arthit turned to see half a dozen more dogs race into the room: the dogs who patrolled the pens.

None of them was barking anymore. They were all growling, ready for a fight—but there was nothing to fight against, just a growing blackness on the floor.

It approached his sleeping mat, and suddenly split into two... it flowed around it, avoiding it.

The doll! The Horned God doll he had made!

The thing was staying away from it!

Something funny... he threw another few sticks on the fire to see better.

The doll was surrounded by grass or something! Green shoots were popping up all around it, leaves bursting open as he watched, flowers blooming. And in the middle, standing on two grassy legs, his doll faced the stain, rippling like a wind was blowing.

He looked for Eshan’s doll... where was it?

It was already in the black, half melted in the corruption!

Why only his doll? Why did the blackness eat Eshan’s... blood!

He’d wiped his blood on the doll!

“Give me your dolls, quickly!”

He snatched up the other dolls and rubbed them on this scabs. He tore the scabs off, but only a little blood seeped out. Not enough.

His dagger!

He pulled his dagger and stared at it.

He knew what he had to do, but... he couldn’t.

He knew he had to pray to the Horned God with the sacrifice of his own blood, but... he’d have to cut himself.

He put the dagger on his hand and froze.

The dagger blade shone red in the firelight.

“Arthit! My blanket!”

It was Aerlie.

She pointed at where she’d been sleeping, and Arthit turned to see her blanket turn black, decaying into slime before their eyes.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the dagger across his palm, and then screamed and dropped it in pain.

Tears burst from his eyes. He couldn’t see anything.

It hurt!

But he could feel the dolls with his other hand, and he picked them up one at a time and rubbed his dripping palm over them, painting them in blood.

He picked up his original doll again, and wiped his hand over its body, too, then sat with his back to the edge of the firepit wall.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and his vision began to clear.

The reed mats were turning green, a flood of plants and flowers bursting from the mats, growing and spreading before his eyes.

The Horned God dolls stood like guards between the stain and the children, stood on their own legs, glowing green and gold in the firelight.

Roots and tendrils snapped forth into the blackness, tearing at it, shredding it to dust, driving it back, back, until they reached the wall, and the blackness was gone.

The scent of honeysuckle filled the room, and Arthit heard the trilling of countless birds, birds so exquisitely beautiful he forgot his pain and his fear and the waves of awe and wonder swept over him like the dawn.

“Arthit?”

“What is it?”

“What happened?”

Shouting from the entranceway as his parents rushed in, summoned by the dogs’ howling.

The children all turned, eyes huge with the thrill of the sacred beauty they had felt, and all fell silent.

Behind them, the firepit shone on a wall of greenery, flowers of every variety exploding in all the colors of the rainbow, a glorious backdrop to the tiny grass dolls that lay scattered across the room, shriveled and brown.

END

“Kandoro sure likes flowers, doesn’t he?” laughed Hafsah. Kandoro and Nelchaka, playing side by side on the blanket, burbling happily at the little wildflowers waving in the breeze, or crawling after the occasional butterfly that wandered by.

The two baby boys were about the same age and size, although Nelchaka was mostly pink and tan while Kandoro was almost black. Nelchaka, born to Khemite Hafsah and Surala Tokarra of Dylath-Leen, was currently most interested in putting things into his mouth—fingers, rocks, grass, and teacups, especially—while Sadiki’s child seemed to prefer furry things. Since a whole pack of dogs roamed the house and land, he never had trouble finding one to snuggle up to.

The dogs didn’t mind, of course... they suffered the babies of the family without complaint, content to serve as babysitters, herders, or guards, as the situation required. As the babies grew older, the dogs enjoyed the rough-and-tumble as much as the children.

Sadiki was enjoying the early spring, too... after escaping from her slave master the previous year with her newborn infant, she had fled to House Penia and Donn’s family for safety, trusting her life and baby’s life to the rumors of hope that circulated among the slaves.

She’d been lucky: she somehow managed to reach House Penia on her own in spite of pursuers sent by Garood, her former master, traveling unknown paths through the forest between Dylath-Leen and the valley of House Penia. Pensri and the whole village had protected her then, and she had gradually relaxed and recovered in the quiet of the valley.

Many of the villagers were ex-slaves or their families, and the whole valley came together to protect slaves from pursuers as needed. They’d all come to protect her that day.

It wasn’t home, though...

The winter had been hard on Sadiki. Her homeland, Parg, was mostly hot and jungled, and she’d never even seen falling snow until she’d been kidnapped by the slavers and dragged off to Dylath-Leen. Mountains and snow and broad pastures full of sheep were lovely, she had to admit, but it simply didn’t feel like home.

She sighed again, and ran her fingers over the single carnelian set into her cheek. It was given to her in a ceremony held by women only, on her first blood. She would have gotten her second stone only a week or so after she’d been kidnapped, marking her acceptance into the sisterhood as an adult, marriageable woman. And now she should really have a third, for childbirth, at least. If things had turned out differently she might even have a fourth for marriage, but that was all a distant dream now.

“You miss your family?”

Sadiki nodded.

“They killed my father, of course, but my mother and sisters and—well, and my whole family—they’re all still there, in Zretazoola.

“You saved us, and I am more grateful than I can put into words, but this is not my home, try as I might.”

Hafsah silently laid her hand atop Sadiki’s, squeezed gently.

“Donn and Hakim are discussing their trading trip now, you know. They say they’ll take Jasque with them this time... maybe they can escort you back to Parg?”

“Oh, do you think so? That would be so wonderful!” Sadiki clapped her hands in excitement. “I mean, you have all been so kind to me, and it is so peaceful and quiet here, but...”

“I know. But this is not home,” reassured Hafsah. “Let’s talk to the others tonight.”

“Are you sure it’s alright? I don’t want to...”

“Yes, I’m sure. You must choose your own path, Sadiki.”

Sadiki nodded, then hugged her.

They talked about it at the evening meal that same day.

“Parg?” said Donn. “That’s one of the places we’ve been thinking of going on this trip. We don’t usually spend much time there because most of the profitable trade is locked up by Pargite traders, and we can only deal with the small entrepreneurs, which means lower volume and less money. Still, it’s easy enough to visit Parg first on this journey.”

“Have to be careful getting Sadiki and Kandoro there, though... Garood is still hunting her, I’m sure, and probably the Sisters, too.”

“And we can’t depend on the Dylath-Leen guard to protect us outside the city...”

Hakim signed something.

“What? Hafsah?” said Donn. “Hmm... that might work.

“Hakim says we might leave with Hafsah and Nelchaka, and expect to be stopped. After they verify that we don’t have Sadiki with us, then she switches places with Sadiki somewhere.”

“If you take her to Dylath-Leen first to pick up your goods they’ll all follow you,” said Pensri. “I can take Sadiki up north and ford the Skai, then cut down and meet you somewhere between the Skai and Mt. Thurai, say.”

“That would work,” agreed Donn. “Hakim, what do you think?”

Hakim nodded agreement, and signed again.

“He suggests we meet at Poranto, because he knows the villagers and they hate slavers as much as we do.”

“I’ve only been there once,” said Pensri. “Shu?”

“Yeah, I know the way, I can go with you,” he nodded. “Figure a two-day trip, I think, if nothing goes wrong, but pretty long days in the saddle.”

“Sadiki, are you up for a long ride with Kandoro?”

“If I can return to my family, I can ride all week,” she smiled.

“Let’s do it, then! Everybody?”

Nobody dissented.

“Hakim and I will go over the goods later, and we’ll ride into Dylath-Leen to check with Chóng’s factor. The usual goods are salt, Baharna porcelain, and Oriab silk. They deal direct with Ulthar and Hatheg so there’s no point in taking any of their textiles with us, except to trade off later... what else?”

He looked at Hakim’s flying fingers.

“Oh, yes, of course. Apples, if there are enough, and our wine!

“Might be quite a load... the wine in particular is a heavy, awkward load.”

“Where would you go from there?”

“Into Khem, I think,” replied Donn. “Pick up a load of ivory in Parg, along with ebony and some fragrant woods... another heavy load. Might have to hire some help in Parg.”

“So you’ll be gone until summer, at least, then,” said Pensri as she poured everyone another cup of tea. Donn pulled his teacup back to stop her from refilling it, and poured himself another cup of wine instead.

He looked at Shu and raised an eyebrow, but he declined. Hakim, on the other hand, held out his cup for more.

* * *

A few days later everything was ready.

Donn, Hakim, and Jasque would lead a team of twelve packhorses, loaded with trade goods, and accompanied by Hafsah and baby Nelchaka, a total of sixteen horses. Sefu, Chóng’s factor in Dylath-Leen, would partially underwrite the venture, sending two guards along to safeguard it as far as Zretazoola, the largest of the several city-states in Parg.

Once they reached Zretazoola, the two would collect Sefu’s share in ivory and take it back to Dylath-Leen, leaving Donn and the trading party to fend for themselves. Donn and Hakim had been through Zretazoola and a number of other cities in Parg, and had found them no more dangerous than most other places in the Dreamlands... they were used to it.

Sefu had assured them that the two guards could be trusted. Donn didn’t mention that they’d be meeting up with Sadiki during the journey, and that she was an escaped save, and Sefu didn’t ask, but he’d worked with Donn and House Penia long enough to know that if Donn said they needed guards who could keep their mouths shut, he had a good reason.

The three of them—Donn, Hafsah, and Jasque—would visit Chóng’s warehouses in Dylath-Leen, and a few of their own suppliers, arranging to pick up wares for sale or trade in Parg, or in Khem later. Donn and Jasque would bring horses from their own farm, load them up here with goods from the city and ride west toward the River Skai. Hakim, meanwhile, would load up his own group of packhorses with their wine in the tough, heavy barrels their winery used.

To prevent the wine from spoiling in transit due to microbial action they always made offerings and prayers to Mycelia the Spore-Mother and goddess of fermentation, beseeching her to protect the wine as she had helped make it from grapes in the first place. As the goddess in charge of fermentation and all sorts of microbial action, Mycelia was very important to the wine and cheese output of House Penia, and over the years had almost become the family’s patron goddess.

In smaller quantities Chóng was already bottling wine in glass bottles with corks, but glass bottles were time-consuming and expensive to make, especially in quantity. Wooden barrels were a perfectly satisfactory answer, as long as the wine was protected from unwanted microbes.

Cheap wine was still sold immediately after harvest, but for those with a bit more gold to spend, Donn’s wine was famous for both its taste and the fact that it didn’t turn to vinegar in a month.

At last, everything was ready.  

“Safe journey, Donn,” said Pensri, giving him a kiss as he leaned down from the saddle. Everyone was there to say goodbye with the exception of Sadiki and her son, who were hiding inside, and would remain there until it was time for them to sneak out with Shu and Pensri. Mahelt had even left the house for the first time in days to see her son off.

“I’m so proud of you, Jasque!”

She was tearing up as she hugged him. “You’ve grown into such a tall boy... No, you’re a man now, aren’t? Pay attention to Master Donn, and come back safely, you hear?”

“Yes, mother,” he replied, trying to look cool and collected. “I know. I’ll be safe!”

“I have a gift for you, Jasque,” she said, handing him a heavy-looking leather bag. He took it hesitantly.

“Well, go ahead,” said Donn. “Open it!”

He carefully loosened the cord and pulled it open, then pulled out the small wooden case from inside, marked with the rose insignia of King Kuranes.

“Is this...?”

Donn and Pensri beamed as he opened it to reveal a small scale and a set of standard weights. Every professional trader had a set, to check weights of gold and silver against the standardized weights set by King Kuranes. Not everyone used his standard, but in almost every transaction buyer and seller would check each other’s weights to be sure they were close enough. The precious metal content of the most common coins was known, especially the newer gold “crowns” and silver “tiaras” that the King issued, making it possible to set prices in grams of gold or silver rather than coins of unknown value—the Dreamlands, of course, was awash in coins from every era that ever was, and quite a few that never were.

“Treat it with care, Jasque. You’ll need it,” cautioned Donn.

His eyes shining, Jasque nodded, and hugged Pensri.

“Thank you, mama! I... It’s beautiful!”

He turned to Donn and gave him a hug, too.

“You bought that, didn’t you?”

“Me? Nonsense! Entirely her idea,” he denied, and turned to the side. “Hakim, we’ll meet you at Yig’s Bane the day after tomorrow. “If you get there first, go ahead and cross, and we’ll meet you on the other side.”

Hakim nodded. He would load up the barrels of wine, and a few kegs of brandy, and ride directly to the River Skai tomorrow. One of Sefu’s guards would come to the house tomorrow morning and ride with him, while the other would meet Donn and Jasque in Dylath-Leen when they loaded up the other packhorses.

Hafsah was sitting on a chestnut mare next to Donn, with baby Nelchaka in a sling across her breast. She was dressed in the Pargite style: loose robes in bold, clashing colors, with a hood hiding most of her face and hair.

Garood would find out that Donn and some Parg woman had left House Penia, and no doubt send slave-catchers immediately to bring his escaped slave—Sadiki—back.

The idea was that his watchers would follow Donn and Hafsah, and if they left anyone behind that person would no doubt follow Hakim and the wine, making it possible for Pensri and Shurala to escort the real Sadiki and her baby over the hills and through the back ways to reach one of the less-used fords of the River Skai upstream, and then to the village of Poranto.

With luck, Sadiki could join Donn’s party there safely, on the edge of the Pargite jungle, and only a few day’s travel from Sadiki’s home in Zretazoola.

“Pensri, you be careful, too,” cautioned Donn. “It looks like Garood’s only got two men watching us, but you might run into other dangers along the way.”

“We’ll be riding light on fast horses, Donn,” she replied. “and Shu’s been over that route countless times. I’ve been as far as the ford myself many times. We’ll be fine.”

Donn looked to Shurala, who nodded. “Safe journey, Donn.”

“Safe journey, Shu.”

He snapped the reins and rode through the main gate, where Sefu’s guard was waiting. Donn knew him from previous encounters.

“Good morning, Trooper Oltahm.”

“Morning, Master Donn, Mistress Hafsah” said the guard, a Khemite with weather-worn bronze skin and thinning salt-and-pepper hair. He had a longsword hanging from his saddle, and a shield on his back.

“Good to see you again, Trooper Oltahm,” said Hafsah. “Good weather for a ride.”

“That it is, Mistress. Who’s the tyke?”

“My Nelchaka,” she said. “His first trip out of the valley!”

“You hang onto him, and let me and Master Donn worry about the trip.”

“Nelchaka always comes first for me,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

“And this is Jasque, one of our boys,” broke in Donn. “Jasque, Trooper Oltahm is one of Factor Sefu’s most trusted guards. We’ve worked together, oh, must be over a dozen times, I’d guess.”

“Jasque of Penia,” the young man said, possibly for the first time in his life.

“Oltahm of Dylath-Leen,” said the other, and they cantered off, down the road toward the village center, toward Dylath-Leen. They were leading half a dozen packhorses; Hakim would use the other six to carry the barrels of wine.

With no loads to carry, they’d probably make Dylath-Leen in the late afternoon.

They rode through the village, exchanging greetings with people they knew. The main street was rarely straight, winding around houses, fields, or big trees, but of course it ran past the Nest. They couldn’t see Headmistress Kiarna, but as usual there were several children playing in the open atrium. A combination nursery, school, and orphanage, the Nest was built as a hollow square enclosing an open ground in the middle, protecting the children while simultaneously preventing them from running off somewhere. Many of the families of House Penia brought their children here, some just when they were busy, others every day, but the Nest was the social center for everyone who lived in the valley.

“Off again, Master Donn?”

“Good day to you, Master Obuje,” nodded Donn. “It’s spring and time to get back to work, I’m afraid... getting bored watching sheep every day!”

“Never could understand what you find so interesting outside the valley,” said the other, shaking his head. “Me, I’m happy right here.”

“We’re all glad you are here, Master Obuje. Village’d be lost without a master smith like you.”

“Where’s Hakim?”

“Jasque and I are off to the city to pick up some trade goods, and we’ll meet up with Hakim later, down by the river. He’ll be packing wine, and it’s just too heavy to lug all that way and back again.”

“So Master Jasque is going with you this time?”

“He’s tired of counting sheep, too... it’s about time for him to see what the world’s like out there.”

“He’s what, seventeen? Eighteen? Stay here, find a nice girl, raise a family... the world out there’s not fit for man nor beast.”

Jasque laughed uncomfortably.

“I’ll be back, Master Obuje. The valley is home.”

“Well, safe journey to you both.”

“Thank you, Master, and to you.”

The buildings grew fewer, the fields broader, and the trees thicker, until they finally were in the forest entirely. The dirt road was fairly well-traveled, and packed hard enough to defeat most of the weeds, but Donn knew it well enough to walk it blindfolded anyway.

“Jasque, why don’t you ride up here next to Hafsah and me.”

“Shouldn’t I stay in the middle to keep an eye on the packhorses?”

“Trooper Oltahm is bringing up the rear. I want you up here with me for a while.”

Obviously curious, Jasque rode to join Donn at the front.

“Why?”

“I expect we’ll be having some visitors soon enough, and it’d be safer up here for a bit.”

He turned back to look at Oltahm, who nodded and settled his shield into a more comfortable position on his back. Not only was it easier to carry that way, it helped protect him from arrows.

The road would run through scattered forest and grassland for several hours. A few lonely homesteads spotted the way, hardy pioneers who preferred the wilderness, even with its dangers, to the more populated areas closer to Dylath-Leen.

Donn knew a few of them, and waved greetings as he rode past their fields or pastures.

They were riding fairly slowly to save the horses, even though the packhorses carried little or no loads. They were not in any special hurry, and the road was unlikely to be very dangerous this close to the big city. They’d need their strength tomorrow when they were loaded up with salt and the other cargo.

After a few hours Donn called a halt, and they stopped for lunch near a small stream.

They roped the horses to nearby trees so they could reach both lush spring grass and running water, and sat down to enjoy their own lunch—bread from the village baker, home-made cheese, cold roast mutton, and a few apples for dessert.

After everyone had rested a bit, they got ready for the rest of their ride.

The road would begin to wind through small villages and towns now as it approached the big city, and they’d be sharing it with other riders, or carriages.

“Everyone ready?”

“All ready,” replied Hafsah, adjusting her sling one more time.

Then they heard horse’s hooves from ahead.

Donn held up his hand and placed his hand on his sword as Oltahm cantered up to join the others at the head of the string of packhorses.

“Master Donn, I see you’re on your way to Dylath-Leen,” came a man’s voice.

“State your name!”

“Bokorh of Dylath-Leen,” the other replied, and rode his horse out into plain view. Behind him were three others, two men and a woman, all armed.

“We have a warrant to recover stolen property,” said Bokorh. “A slave by the name of Sadiki, with a baby.”

“I own no slaves,” retorted Donn. “Let us pass.”

“Not with that slave.”

“That is my wife, not a slave!”

“This warrant says otherwise.”

Donn turned to Hafsah, whose face was hidden in her hood.

“Hafsah, would you name yourself to these ruffians?”

She drew back her hood, revealing her Khemite complexion. She was obviously not the Pargite they were looking for.

Bokorh spat.

“And the babe?”

Hafsah silently held up her boy, revealing that he was not a Pargite, either.

“Now may we pass?” asked Donn sarcastically.

“We’ll get her, you know,” said Bokorh. “Garood wants his property back, and we aim to get it for him.”

“I have no slaves,” snapped Donn, and kicked his horse into a trot.

The others followed suit, and the four slave-catchers just sat on their horses and watched them ride away toward Dylath-Leen.

They’ll get word to Garood well before we get there, thought Donn, and they’ll be watching the house. Then they’ll follow Hakim tomorrow, expecting Sadiki to be hidden in one of those wine barrels... by which time she’ll be safely over the mountain with Pensri and Shu.

I hope.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

It had worked so far, thank goodness. He’d been worried that Garood might just set up an ambush looking for Sadiki, but it seemed Garood—or at least his man Bokorh—was unwilling to stir up that much trouble this close to the city.

“Now you can fall back, Jasque. It should be safe from here on.”

“You expected them?”

“I knew they’d stop us somewhere. I’m just glad it ended as well as it did.”

“And Sadiki?”

“Hush, boy. No need to talk about her at all until we’re back home again.”

* * *

They reached Dylath-Leen in the late afternoon, riding through the northern gate and into the walled city.

Built mostly of basalt and surrounded by a forbidding, black wall and thin angular towers, the dark streets of Dylath-Leen were not very inviting, but it was one of the four major trading ports together with Celephais, Pungar-Vees, and Rinar.

He knew a great many people here and would be meeting a number of them that night or the following day. The most important was, unquestionably, the current ruler of the city: Factor Bertram.

He was one of about half a dozen immensely rich traders who ran the city as the City Council. In theory the Council discussed and set policy as equals, but in fact things were always controlled by one person, or occasionally, one clique. They constantly fought amongst themselves, usually only with words and money, less frequently with swords, and the nominal ruler could change without warning as one trader or another assumed control.

Chóng’s man here, Factor Sefu, had never been one of those chosen few, but instead maneuvered around on the outside, helping or hindering the top traders to advance his own agenda. Garood was also not one of the controlling traders, but as undisputed ruler of the city’s foul underbelly he held his own power.

They headed for the inn Donn always used: the waterfront Drunken Mermaid. Donn and the innkeeper, a Kiran-born man named Kōji, had known each other for many years, and worked with each other often. As an ex-slave himself, Kōji did his best to help slaves escape the city, helping them reach House Penia and relative safety.

“Master Donn! It’s been too long! Come in! And Mistress Hafsah with little Nelchaka... and who is this splendid young man with you?”

“Jasque of Penia. I’m journeying with Master Donn this year.”

“Master Jasque! But you were just a little boy last we met!”

“They grow, you know,” smiled Donn. “Jasque, you can trust Master Kōji. Completely.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Just one night, I’m afraid... Can Hafsah stay here with you for now? Jasque and I have some people to see, and goods to purchase.”

“Of course, of course,” laughed Kōji. “Sachiko will be delighted to see the baby. We’ll take good care of her for you.”

Donn and Kōji exchanged a wrist-shake, and then they got back up in the saddle and rode to meet Factor Sefu.

“Trooper Oltahm, there won’t be any problems here in the city, especially now that they know Sadiki’s not with us. Can you meet us back here tomorrow morning?”

“I have to see the factor anyway, so I’ll ride with you that far.”

“Things went a lot smoother than I expected, back there. Glad you were along, though.”

“Always nice to settle things peacefully,” agreed Oltahm.

The factor was located on the waterfront as well, but behind the warehouses of the biggest traders. He worked for Chóng, not for himself, and was content to remain one of the smaller players in the rough-and-tumble politics of the city. Working for an outsider as he did, he enjoyed the advantage of being able to move in many different circles, but simultaneously the disadvantage of never being fully trusted.

He and Donn got along excellently, however, and most of Donn’s trade goods were already waiting for him when he arrived.

“Master Donn, glad to see you made it safely,” said the factor, greeting them at the door.

The floor of the warehouse was bustling as always, with carts of goods being moved in and out by Sefu’s people. Sefu had been arguing with somebody trying to deliver a cartload of ale barrels; it seemed the number of barrels on the cart was one short.

“Betsy, take over, would you?” said the factor, leaving the settlement to one of his seconds and walking with Donn.

“Come upstairs, Master Donn, so we can talk in private. This is your boy?”

“Yes, Jasque.”

“Sefu of Parg.”

“Jasque of Penia.”

“So you’ll be heading to Parg first. I’d like to go back myself one of these days, but...”

“Are you from Zretazoola?” asked Jasque.

“No, no, just a little village out in the jungle,” he laughed. “Zretazoola was the enormous city we were in awe of... and now look at me! Dylath-Leen!”

Oltahm took his leave and headed for the barracks, while Sefu led Donn and Jasque upstairs.

His office was in the center of the floor, surrounded by rattan screens that provided partial privacy but also made it possible to see if anyone was unduly close and might be listening. Different factors had different ideas about secrecy and how to preserve it, and as long as their ideas worked, Chóng was happy to leave it up to them.

He waved them to a wide, very low sofa, and sat in the short-legged wooden chair himself. Seconds after he sat down a boy, probably a teenager, Donn thought, came in with a tray holding spiced wine, cups, and some sweetcakes. He knelt and silently poured each of them a cup of wine, setting them on the table, each with a sweetcake on a plate beside it.

“Thank you, Nels. That will be all for now,” said Sefu, and the boy half-bowed and left.

Sefu picked up his cup and invited Donn and Pasque to help themselves.

Once Nels was far enough away, he set his cup down, picked up a sweetcake, and sat back in the chair.

“Oltahm tells me you met Garood’s men on the way. All went smoothly, I gather?”

“So far, everything’s going as planned,” said Donn. “Some thug named Bokorh and three of his friends, but once they saw I had Hafsah with me, they stopped. I’m sure they’ve told Garood by now, and he’s certainly watching the house.”

“He’s a dangerous man,” mused Sefu. “but of course you already know that. Hard to tell what he might do, but he has quite a reputation for hurting people who steal from him. And from his point of view, you—or at least House Penia—have stolen from him.”

“We’ve crossed swords several times over the years, figuratively speaking, but he’s not really any worse than the usual robbers we meet on the road. And here in Dylath-Leen we’ve got protection from Factor Bertram.”

“Bertram’s still in charge, and as long as he’s in charge you’re safe,” said Sefu. “I haven’t heard of any serious plots against him, but who knows what the other factors might do.”

“You’ve never thought of moving up into that group?”

“Goodness no. I couldn’t afford to hire all those guards and tasters!”

Sefu handed over the list of trade goods.

“We’ve got it all waiting for you downstairs, but I wonder if I can ask you to add another packhorse for me? I got a special request for a Moung spider-silk robe some months ago, and it arrived just yesterday.

“Things being what they are, I’m thinking maybe I could just add another guard instead of paying you the usual commission...”

Donn turned to Jasque, who had been sitting silently absorbing the conversation.

“He has to pay his guards whether they do anything or not, so sending a guard with me costs him nothing extra, but paying me commission would cut into his profit directly.”

Sefu just grinned.

“Deal?”

Donn nodded. “Deal. This time’s special, though so don’t get used to it!”

Sefu picked up a tiny bell from the table and rang it once.

Nels was there in seconds.

“Tell Oltahm to pick another guard to accompany Master Donn to Zretazoola. Oltahm remains in charge of our people.”

“Yes, Factor,” nodded the boy, and ran off.

“Good kid. Smart, knows when to shut up and when to speak his mind. I picked him up off the street a few years ago after I saw him talk his way out of arrest down on the wharf. I also saw him steal the goods, but he kept his wits about him, got the stuff hidden fast and proper, and gave the guards a positively masterful story. They believed it, and I snagged him when he came back for the loot later.”

“So never a slave, then.”

“Probably not. Never knew his parents, but he’s got no brands and he’s been roaming the wharfs for years. Just another abandoned kid, as far as anyone knows.”

Donn looked up from checking the trade goods.

“Looks good, Factor, thank you.

“About that extra horse, though... make it two. I’d like to run them in pairs, and it won’t hurt to have a spare packhorse along, just in case.”

“That’s easy enough. You’ll send them both back from Zretazoola?”

“Yes, with Trooper Oltahm and your ivory.”

“Excellent,” said Sefu. “To another successful journey, then!”

“To a successful journey,” echoed Donn and Jasque, and they drank down their wine.

They left the packhorses in Factor Sefu’s warehouse and headed toward the city center, where the buildings grew higher and fancier. Donn had a large ruck on his back.

Donn had to call on Factor Bertram, the most powerful man in the city, and reaffirm their “close friendship,” which actually meant passing him a healthy bribe. In return for bribes at regular intervals, Bertram made sure that the Sisters of Mercy and Garood didn’t do anything rash about House Penia, even when slaves escaped and fled there. As long as House Penia didn’t interfere with Dylath-Leen, Dylath-Leen wouldn’t interfere with them, and any fleeing slaves would have to look after themselves.

If Bertram were ever toppled things might change abruptly, and for the worse, but they’d been making plans for that eventuality, too. For now, in any event, paying a visit to Factor Bertram was the right thing to do.

“Bertram’s estate is heavily guarded, as you might expect, and they’ll search us. Just stay silent and stay close.”

Jasque nodded, ill at ease.

This was not only his first trading journey with Donn, but also his first time to meet the movers and shakers.

Bertram’s estate was surrounded by a three-meter basalt wall with guards walking the perimeter, and up on top as well. They were a cut above Bokorh and the rest of Garood’s thugs, armed and acting like professional soldiers, which no doubt they were. The gateway was open, the steel portcullis raised to allow easier passage, but four guards at the gate and more inside made it clear any intruder would have a tough time getting in. The rope holding the portcullis could be cut in a few seconds as needed, too.

Donn walked straight up gate, and stopped before the guards there even had to order him to.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen to pay my respects to the Factor. I bring my son, Jasque of Penia.”

“Master Donn, Master Jasque,” said the man in charge. “Does he know you’re coming?”

“No, I don’t think so, not this time.”

“Hold while I find out.”

The man turned to look at the men inside the estate, and shouted to one: “Donn of Dylath-Leen and son to see the Factor.”

One of the guards there waved, and trotted off toward the dark keep.

She was back a minute later, and whistled to attract the gate-keepers’ attention. When they turned, she waved Donn and Jasque in, and the guards at the gate let them pass.

As soon as they were inside they were searched and their weapons taken, to be laid on a nearby table. She looked in his ruck and chuckled as she handed it back.

“You know the drill... pick the gear up on the way out,” said the woman. She was still armed, of course, sword and dagger.

“Thank you, uh, Cyndara, wasn’t it?”

“Cyndaria, but close enough. And thank you!” she said, smiling. “This way.”

She led them through a fairly small gate into the keep, and down a short hall to a room with carpeted floor and stunning tapestries on the walls. The window was only a tiny arrowslit, but a sunstone suspended from the ceiling made the room as bright as day.

Cyndaria bowed and left. The lock on the door clicked when she closed it.

“A sunstone!” breathed Jasque.

“Yes, a sunstone, now be quiet.”

Jasque stopped gawking and tried to copy Donn’s stance... he was standing facing the door, hands clasped in front, just waiting.

The door rattled and squeaked, and another soldier stepped inside.

“Master Donn. Good to see you’re still hale.”

“Captain Tenuk. Another year, another trading journey.

“This is my son, Jasque of Penia.”

Jasque gave a half bow, and the soldier responded with “Tenuk of Oxuhahn.”

“Captain Tenuk is the Factor’s right-hand man. Sometimes both hands.”

“I just try to let the Factor enjoy his days without undue interruptions,” Tenuk chuckled, “but he should be here shortly.”

“So I’m unexpected but not undue, then...”

Tenuk was about to reply when the door opened again and Factor Bertram stepped in.

“Donn. How nice to see you again,” he said, rather mechanically.

“Factor Bertram, thank you for making time to see me. I appreciate how busy you are, but wanted to introduce my son, Jasque.”

“Jasque of Penia,” he said, bowing nicely.

“A pleasure,” said the Factor, instead of the more polite form of self-introduction.

“Since I stopped by I thought you might enjoy a bottle of wine, and a wheel of our best cheese, Factor. I brought them from House Penia this morning.”

“Ah, thank you, Donn. Yes, very nice,” said the Factor as he accepted the bottle of wine and the cloth bag holding the cheese. He glanced inside the bag and then put it down on the table with the wine.

“Well, if that’s all...”

“Of course, Factor, my apologies for bothering you unexpectedly like this. Thank you for making time to see us!”

“No, quite alright, quite alright,” the Factor replied as he left the room again.

Tenuk waited until the sound of the Factor’s footsteps had receded down the hall before speaking.

“Well, that went well. This time.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Donn. “And here’s a little wine for you as well, Captain Tenuk.”

He pulled out a second bottle identical to the first. Glass bottles were all handmade, and thanks to Chóng’s use of corks to minimize spoilage, the wine was delicious.

“Always a pleasure, Master Donn,” smiled Tenuk. “This way.”

He led them back to the gate, where they recovered their weapons and left the estate.

As they walked down the narrow road, Jasque couldn’t restrain his curiosity any longer.

“I thought he was quite rude back there... are they all like that?”

“Don’t say that, don’t even think it very loudly,” chided Donn. “When you wield that amount of power you can be as rude as you like. Or as polite, depending on circumstance.”

“What did the Captain mean when he said it went well this time?”

“If the Factor is in a bad mood, meetings can be... unpleasant. And especially if he’s upset by something I was involved in.”

“But he still appreciates our wine and cheese!”

Donn chuckled.

“I doubt it, although he might drink the wine. He was more interested in what was in the bag with the cheese.”

“What was in the bag...?”

“There were a hundred gold crowns in there, Jasque.”

“A hundred...!”

“Quiet, lad!” shushed Donn. “We have a deal: he gets a share of the profits, and House Penia gets protection from Garood and other slave-catchers.”

“But they still came to take Sadiki, and met us on the road!”

“He can’t control everything, but he makes sure that House Penia isn’t attacked or burned to the ground. I consider that a good investment even if we do have to take care of Garood and the Sisters of Mercy by ourselves.”

Jasque was silent for a moment as he digested this information.

“Do they really hate us that much?”

“Oh, they don’t hate us at all, Jasque. They just make too much money off slaves to want to ever give it up, and we’re in the way, that’s all.”

As they continued down the narrow, twisting street, Donn suddenly stopped at a small doorway in a wall.

The doorway opened up onto an even narrower alley, which ran for a few meters than turned out of sight.

They walked down the alley, and around the bend it opened up into an open space with a temple.

It was deserted, as far as Jasque could see, but there was a small, low table in front of the temple with an incense stand, and several sticks of incense still smoking.

Donn knelt in front of the table, lit a stick of incense and stuck it upright into the burner ash, and bowed his head in a silent prayer.

When he was done he pulled out a handful of coins, checked them briefly and removed two small ones, and dropped the rest into the dish. He rose and waved Jasque to do the same.

“What is this place?” asked Jasque after he was done.

“Look inside,” suggested Donn. “Don’t go inside, just look.”

Jasque stepped around the incense table and looked into the gloom. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust, then he suddenly jumped back in surprise.

“Skulls! Piles and piles of skulls!”

“The skulls of dead slaves, of discarded women and children, of debtors who paid for their poverty with their lives. This is the Temple of the Unwanted, where we pray for those we never knew.”

“There must be thousands of them...” Jasque whispered.

“Far more,” said Donn. “Under the Temple stretch catacombs, with the skulls of centuries upon centuries of the Unwanted.”

“Who cares for them?”

“Everyone, and no-one. Those who know, and care.”

“Who pays for the incense?”

“People bring incense, or leave money on the table. There are no Godsworn, no gods, just the memories of the dead.”

“Nobody steals it?”

“Not even Garood would think of stealing that money.”

“I... can I leave some money, too?”

“Of course, Jasque. As much as you like.”

Donn waited while Jasque returned to the table to light another stick of incense, and drop a few coins of his own.

“Thank you, Jasque. They appreciate it,” he said, clapping the boy around the shoulder. “And now back to Factor Sefu’s for dinner!”

A few minutes later they were back at the Factor Sefu’s warehouse.

“The woman is in the barracks,” said the guard at the gate. “Evening meal’s at the Hour of the Monkey.”

“Thanks, I know,” said Donn. “Been here many times already.”

They walked to the barracks where most of Sefu’s workers stayed, and found their room. They’d be sharing it with a few other people, mostly women. Modesty was not a very common trait, and sharing a room didn’t bother them—or the women—at all.

After checking that Hafsah and the baby were alright, Donn and Jasque returned to the warehouse to check that the horses had been properly taken care of, and the trade goods to be loaded up in the morning were ready.

As they were checking the packed goods against the list, Oltahm walked up with another guard, a thin blond man.

“Master Donn? Since you’re here, I thought I’d introduce you now.”

“Donn of Dyalth-Leen,” he said, sixing up the other man. Short, thin, armed with a similarly long, thin sword and several throwing axes. Maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, he thought. Looked capable.

“Frode Bjørnsson of Falona,” responded the other.

“You’ve been to Parg before?”

“Several times, lately for Factor Sefu. And years up north, around Jaren and Sinara.”

“We often go through that region, too,” said Donn. “You know Captain Rufe, running on the Xari?”

“Rufe? Yeah, up and down the river a couple times with him, or Captain Falanga.”

Donn had ridden Falanga’s river boat a few times, too.

“Throwing axes are pretty uncommon down here...”

Frode smiled.

“Not unusual up in Lomar, and they give me a little surprise before the bad guys get to within sword range. They’re always surprised how far I can throw ’em.”

Donn chuckled.

“With luck we won’t need any this trip, but good to have them around.”

“We’ll be back first thing in the morning, Master Donn,” said Oltahm, and they left again, Oltahm singing the praises of a certain tavern he was taking Frode to.

“We’ll leave with two guards, and join up with Hakim and the third guard at the river,” said Donn. “Three guards plus the four of us should be enough to keep the little robbers away. Might even scare off real bandits, if we’re lucky.”

“You expect bandits?”

“Not really. At least, not this side of the Skai, anyway... Dylath-Leen has patrols along main roads to Parg, Ulthar, and Carcassonne, and keeps them pretty much under control. In theory Zretazoola has troops patrolling the road to the far side of the Skai, but that’s a long ways for them.”

“Zretazoola’s the biggest city in Parg, right?”

“Well, yes, but there are several other very big cities and a lot of jungle villages that don’t follow anyone’s standard. Zretazoola often has its hands full with other things, and traders from Dylath-Leen get the short end of the stick sometimes. Their own trade caravans are usually well protected, though.”

Jasque finished tying the last bag shut, and dripped wax onto the wire holding it closed before pressing his seal into it. The wire and seal wouldn’t stop anyone would stealing the goods inside, but at least they’d know immediately if anyone had tampered with it. It was a common ploy to steal expensive cargo and replace it with something worthless, but of the same weight and size, and hope that the merchant didn’t even notice until later.

With Sefu’s guards of duty it was unlikely they’d have any problems anyway, but Donn made it a point to do things right every time.

They stopped by their quarters again to pick up Hafsah, who went with them to the mess with little Nelchaka in his sling across her chest.

The mess was mostly empty, only a few scattered people eating their evening meal of soup, roast chicken with some unknown, bland sauce, bread, and rice. Donn noticed a box of tomatoes in the kitchen and asked for a few; the cook was happy to hand them over, saying not many people ate them.

They settled down at an empty table and ate a quiet meal. It was not the tastiest food they had ever eaten, and Donn wondered if he should give the cook a little spice to make his chicken at least somewhat interesting.

“Normally I eat at The Spitting Tabby,” explained Donn. “I’ve been going there for years, and the master knows what I like. Good place to listen to the street talk.”

“But not tonight?”

“Not with a baby, I think... I doubt either the baby or the other patrons would enjoy it.”

After dinner they walked to the closest public bath, which had separate baths for men and women. They left Hafsah at the door to the women’s bath and entered the men’s half, placing their belongings in the locker and keeping the key.

The lockers were made of wood, but they were secured with steel locks and reinforcements, and could be seen clearly from the bath. There was also an attendant at the front, but he was often busy collecting fees or otherwise dealing with patrons, and really couldn’t be trusted to watch the lockers.

Several of the men using the bath were wearing nothing but daggers strapped to their bodies: thighs or arms, usually. Donn and Jasque didn’t bother, and just left everything in the locker.

After a quick scrub the hot water was heavenly, followed by a quick dip in the cold water bath, and they were done. They waited for Hafsah outside, and she joined them shortly.

“Might be our last hot bath for a while,” cautioned Donn. “I hope you made the most of it!”

“It was very nice,” she said. “Not as pretty or clean as our own bath, but nice.”

“Let’s head back, then... we’ll be on the road all day tomorrow, and we’ll need our sleep.”

“I hope Nelchaka heard you!” chuckled Hafsah. “I’ll try to keep him quiet, but...”

“Babies don’t need excuses,” said Donn. “They’re what we’re here for.”

* * *

They rose at dawn, although Nelchaka was up even earlier, followed almost immediately by Hafsah. She managed to keep him mostly quiet, but when he was hungry he wanted everyone to know.

“Run down to the kitchen and make sure they’ve got our lunch, Jasque. Five people.”

“What about breakfast?”

“Go ahead and eat if you like... we’ll be down and join you in a bit.”

Donn helped Hafsah feed and change Nelchaka, and got their gear ready. The majority was still packed, waiting to be loaded up onto the horses again; they’d only taken the minimum with them since the barracks had most of what they needed.

The mess hall was packed and noisy as all sorts of people started their day: clerks, freight-handlers, guards, what looked like a whole ship’s crew, and an assortment of people that Donn couldn’t easily place.

They came in all shapes and sizes, and while everyone was making noise of one sort or another, Donn didn’t see any arguments or fights... Sefu had them well trained, he thought. An inn out in the city would no doubt be as noisy, but also likely to see at least a fight a day.

About half-way through breakfast—a bowl of rice with chicken, eggs, and onions on top, washed down with hot tea—he realized that Sefu was there as well, sitting at a table to one side with a number of his assistants. They were deep in conversation about something, daggers and chopsticks waving through the air as someone emphasized a particular point.

Sefu finally nodded, said something, and stood, catching sight of Donn. He came walking over as the people he’d been sitting with left the mess to get started on the day’s work.

“Factor Sefu,” said Donn, standing to greet him.

“Everything all set?”

“I think so... we checked the goods last night, and met the new guard, Frode. Looks to be a good man.”

“He’s been with me for a few years now. I think you’ll find him quite useful in spite of his small stature... or perhaps because of it.”

“I’ve never learned how to throw an axe properly,” said Donn. “Seems somehow strange...”

Hafsah laughed. “If you want to learn, Donn, I can teach you.”

“You know how to throw axes?”

“It’s not something I need at House Penia much, but yes, I’m pretty good. Maybe this Master Frode and I should have a little competition?”

“Anytime, Mistress, anytime,” came a voice from behind her.

“Ten says Frode wins,” laughed the Factor.

“I’ll take that bet,” replied Donn. “I trust Hafsah.”

“You didn’t even know that she could throw!”

“Doesn’t matter.” Donn shook his head. “If she says she pretty good at it, that’s all I need to know.”

“Now or later?”

“We really need to get started, Factor,” said Donn. “Maybe we can let them work it out when we get to the Skai?”

Factor Sefu shrugged.

“Sure, I’ve no problem with that. Just don’t forget to bring me those ten crowns!”

“Hah! Next time we meet I’ll be collecting, not paying!”

“Safe journey!”

“Thank you, Factor.”

They parted ways, the Factor heading upstairs and Donn and his party to the warehouse, where their horses were waiting.

They checked the seals on the loads and the warehouse workers helped them get the heavy bags of salt balanced and secured on the packhorses. The rest of the freight was much easier to handle, and although the load of Baharna porcelain was large and awkward, it was not terribly heavy because most of it was just straw packing.

Hakim would have the heavier load by far, with all that wine.

The two guards Oltahm and Frode, were waiting, their saddlebags already packed, and horses ready to go.

“How was that tavern, trooper?”

“Very nice, Master Donn, thank you. You should have come along!”

“Maybe next time,” he replied. “You can sleep all day but I have to stay awake!”

“We young don’t need as much sleep as you oldsters.”

“Young!?” broke in Frode. “You’re both so old I’m surprised you can still walk and talk!”

“You’re pretty snippy for a little boy,” said Oltahm, chuckling. “Maybe you forget that arm-wrestling match last night?"

Donn left them to it and finished checking the rest of the loads, the horses’ hooves, belly cinches, and all the countless other things that had to be done properly. Jasque went through it all with him, doing much of the work himself under Donn’s watchful eye.

At last they were all ready.

Donn ran his eye over the small caravan once more: He and Oltahm leading, followed by the eight packhorses—six of his own plus the two from the Factor, with Jasque and Frode Bjørnsson bringing up the rear.

Hafsah would ride up front with Donn for now, but move to the safer center later, after they met up with Hakim at the river.

The road was stonework to the river, laid down centuries ago by one of the many rulers of Dylath-Leen, but on the other side of the bridge a hard-packed dirt road ran through the jungles of Parg. They’d make good time on the stone-paved road, and should be able to meet up with Hakim and get to the village of Poranto well before nightfall.

Pensri, Shu, and Sadiki should already be there.

“The Skai is close to the sea here, and broad and swift,” explained Donn as they took a rest. “There are some fords upstream, but the spring foods often make them impassable, and the only way across is Yig’s Bane.”

“The bridge!”

“You’ve never seen it before, have you?”

“I’ve never been beyond Dylath-Leen before! Yig’s Bane! We’re going to cross it!”

Donn laughed.

“It’s not raining, so it should be a simple ride... just watch your step, and stay away from the edge. If you fall off it’s a long ways down.”

Jasque nodded, already looking ahead, eyes searching for the legendary bridge.

An hour later he could finally see it with his own eyes.

The road had been gradually climbing upward, and ahead of them he could now make out a mass of white bones thrusting up into the sky.

It was the skeleton of a giant snake, lying across the chasm spine-down, ribs sticking up like a picket fence, curving above. The bones shone in the sunlight.

As they got closer he could see the ribcage enclosed the road, made of logs cut and fitted into a relatively flat surface that ran the length of the vertebrae. It was only about two or three hundred meters across the gap, and while the snake’s skeleton ran fairly straight, it sagged in the middle, downhill to the center and then uphill again.

A large fort stood near the foot of the bridge, manned by city guards from Dylath-Leen.

“They keep the road repaired and make sure everyone keeps moving. In theory they’re supposed to defend Dylath-Leen against any invaders, but I can’t see this few really being able to do much if an army came.”

“They could destroy the bridge if they had to, couldn’t they?” asked Jasque.

“Nobody can destroy the bridge. A lot of people have tried to break off pieces of opal—you’ll see why in a minute—and nobody has even made a scar. It can’t be destroyed, or even damaged it seems.”

“Where’d it come from?”

Donn shrugged.

“Who knows? You’ve heard about the head, I assume?”

“Yig’s Head!” His eyes lit up. “Is it here?”

“On the other side. You’ll see it soon enough,” laughed Donn.

One of the guards approached.

“Master Donn! Haven’t seen you here for some time.”

“Good day to you, Sergeant. Still guarding Yig’s Bane, I see.”

“I prefer it to the city, to be honest... volunteered last year. It’s good, clean work out in the air, no city filth to contend with.”

“City filth meaning sewage and people both, I gather.”

“Dylath-Leen has too much of both,” replied the other, smiling.

“My boy Jasque,” said Donn, gesturing.

“Larkuy of Dylath-Leen.”

“Jasque of Penia.”

“I don’t think you’ve met my wife yet, have you?”

“Hafsah of Penia.”

“A bit younger than I remember...”

“You’re thinking of Pensri, my first wife. Hafsah is my fourth.”

“That’s right, you’re in a line marriage, aren’t you? I’d forgotten.”

“We call it an inflorescence, sort of a communal group. But how’s your own son these days?”

“Jien? Fine, fine... he’s a trooper now. City guard. Steady pay, but can’t say too much for the job.”

“It’s kept you in ale for a long time!”

“There is that!” he laughed, and ran his eye over the string of packhorses. “Zretazoola?”

“Yes, and them on into Khem. Be a couple months at least.”

“Oltahm! Is that you back there?”

“Larkuy. Yup, just as far as Zretazoola, though, and then back again with some goods for Factor Sefu.”

“Who’s the new guy?”

“Frode Bjørnsson of Falona,” said Frode, introducing himself.

“Larkuy of Dylath-Leen. You’re riding with a good man, trooper. You can trust Oltahm with anything but your ale.”

“Has Hakim crossed already?”

“Yeah, he went over about an hour ago. Said he’d be waiting for you on the other side,” said Larkuy. “That’s pretty good wine you’re hauling...”

Donn chuckled. “Slipped you a little, did he?”

“Thinking of making it a toll bridge, I am.”

“Why, you do that and I’d have to just make my own bridge!”

“Got your own snake?”

“Plenty of snakes in Parg,” laughed Donn. “Might have to hunt a bit for one this big, though.”

“Good luck with that, Master Donn.”

“So, OK to cross, Sergeant?”

“Yup, should be fine. Road’s dry and almost no carts today. Safe journey!”

“And to you, Sergeant,” said Donn, and turned back to the others.

“Listen up, Jasque, Hafsah! We’re going to dismount and lead the horses across. It’s only about three hundred meters or so, and the road is planked. It slopes down about halfway, then turns up again, but it’s not very steep either way.

“There aren’t any rails to stop you from falling off, so walk carefully! We’ll put blinders on all the horses, but if anything happens, get out of the way of the horses! If they panic they’ll almost certainly go over the edge; be sure you don’t go with them. OK?

“It gets bigger in the middle—probably where the snake’s belly was—and if we meet a cart that’s where we pass. Other horses can just walk past us, the road’s wide enough for at least three horses without touching, so just stay calm and keep your eyes open.

“Any problems?”

Oltahm and Frode were already putting blinders on the horses; they were ready to go in a few minutes.

Oltahm caught Donn’s eye, and gestured silently toward three men standing next to the entrance to the bridge.

Garood’s men.

Donn quickly checked Hafsah to be sure her hood was down, and her face clearly visible. It was.

As long as it was obvious they didn’t have Sadiki with them, Garood’s men wouldn’t bother them. Especially since Donn had just demonstrated he was friends with the sergeant.

The party started across on foot, studiously ignored the three men.

The wooden bridge was as immobile as solid ground, although sometimes the wooden planks creaked and warped under their weight. The grade was slight, and there was no worry about anyone slipping into the river far below, a storm of black rocks and white spray.

Jasque stared at the upthrust ribs as they passed.

In the sunlight they were a bleached white in most places, but he began to see patches of color here and there.

“What’s that?”

“Opal, Jasque. The bone’s turned into opal,” said Donn. “Many, many people have tried to pry a piece of that opal out, and nobody’s done it yet. A piece that big would make a man rich for life... they say the whole thing will collapse if anyone takes a piece, but who knows?”

Jasque gingerly reached out to touch one of opalescent patches. About two-thirds of this rib was shimmering in brilliant greens and reds, flashing in the sun. He reverently reached out to touch it.

“It’s cold...”

“It’s not a skeleton anymore, just rock,” said Donn. “Don’t get so excited you forget where you’re walking, now!”

“I won’t,” replied Jasque, eyes still big with wonder.

They reached the central platform without any difficulty, and Donn held up a hand to wait for a minute as a string of horses approached from the other direction.

“Mistress Wang! Donn of Dylath-Leen.”

“Master Donn! A strange place to meet old friends.”

“Indeed. You’re from Parg, I gather?”

“Left Zretazoola this morning, hope to be in Dylath-Leen by dusk.”

“All clear up ahead, should be an easy ride,” said Donn. “What about Parg?”

“The bridge over the Bawisi is out, I’m afraid. Flood,” replied the old Asian woman. “Have to travel upstream to one of the fords.”

“Thanks for the warning.

“I wonder if I might ask a favor of you, Mistress...”

“A favor, Master Donn?”

“Some of Garood’s men have been following us, and I wonder if you could, hmm, walk slowly and block the way across. Just gain us a little time to get down the road, maybe lose them completely.”

“Garood, you say,” she nodded. “Yes, I think one of my horses is a bit lame. Have to walk her slowly or it might get much worse.”

“Thank you, Mistress. I owe you one.”

“No problem at all, Master Donn. I’ll collect it, never fear!”

He chuckled.

“I never doubted you would, Mistress. Safe journey!”

“Safe journey, Master Donn.”

They passed each other, and began the walk up the gentle incline to the other side. Donn glanced back to see that Mistress Wang had arranged her horses three-abreast, making it impossible for anyone to pass them on the bridge.

“You know a lot of people, Donn,” said Hafsah.

“You meet a lot of people when you’re on the road all the time,” said Donn. “Most of them are good people, but there are a few...”

“How far out of our way is the ford?”

“Well, we’re headed north, to Poranto, and won’t be using that road anyway,” explained Donn. “Have to meet Pensri and Shu.”

The cliff on the far side approached, and they finally crossed from the serpent’s bones onto solid rock. Yig’s Bane ended abruptly, a clean break where the skeleton was cut off... literally. Some meters distant lay the skull of the serpent, as large as a house.

It was half crushed, as if a boot had smashed it into the earth.

Jasque stared at the head, then back at the bridge.

“They cut off the snake’s head, and crushed it under their boot!” he whispered.

“A bit too large for me,” said Donn, nodding to Hakim as he approached from where he’d been waiting. “I’ve done the same thing myself to a snake, now and again. Don’t mind them if they don’t mind me, but sometimes things just don’t work out...”

“But that skull...!” breathed Hafsah. “It’s enormous! Who could possibly...?”

“That’s why they call it Yig’s Bane,” said Donn. “I don’t think anyone knows the true story, but if I have to meet a snake this big I’m glad it’s this one and not a hungry one!

“Hakim, any problems?”

Hakim shook his head.

His packhorses were waiting placidly in the shade of some trees, huge barrels of wine strapped to their backs. They were used to the weight and didn’t mind, as long as nobody was in a hurry.

“Let me light some incense, and then we can get started. Mistress Wang said the bridge was out on the Parg side, so we’ll have to head up to one of the fords. You hear anything more?”

Hakim signed no, and added a comment.

“Sure, come along. I have to show Jasque, too. The horses will be fine with the troopers,” said Donn, and waved his son and Hafsah over.

“Come with me for a minute. See that shrine over there? It’s tradition to light a stick for those who lost their lives crossing, and to give thanks.”

“Give thanks to who?” asked Jasque.

Donn shrugged.

“Don’t know that, either, but if a stick of incense will improve my chances, it’s a good investment.”

The shrine—a small rock with time-worn characters carved into it, standing upright near the serpent’s skull—had a pottery dish full of ash in front of it.

Donn pulled out a few sticks of incense, handed one to each of them, then lit his own from the smoking stick lying on the ash. No doubt Mistress Wang had left it.

Once it was lit he waved it through the air to extinguish the flame, and placed the smoldering stick on the ash. He put his palms together for a moment, eyes closed and head down, then stepped back and motioned Hafsah forward.

She repeated the process, then Jasque. Hakim had given his own prayer earlier.

They walked back to the horses, and told the three guards they were welcome to give their own prayers. Hakim’s guard, a woman named Reciroh of Dylath-Leen, didn’t bother to get up, but the two men who had come with them from the city walked over and gave incense.

Shortly thereafter they started again, north along the Skai.

The river gradually grew quieter as they headed upstream, splitting into multiple tributaries, and they kept following the riverbank northwest toward Mt. Thurai.

Cultivated fields appeared once more, small homesteads surrounded by rice paddies dotting the land. As they passed the saw a few farmers in the distance, bent over their crops.

“That’s Poranto right up ahead,” said Donn. “Hafsah, pull up your hood and make sure its visible. I want you to go inside the hut immediately, and change clothes with Sadiki. Tell her to stay there for now. Got it?”

She nodded, and adjusted her clothing so the colors and pattern would be clearly visible.

“I haven’t seen any sign of them following us, but it never hurts to be careful,” said Oltahm.

“That’s why we’re doing this,” agreed Donn. “Pensri and Shu are hidden in that hut and they’ll stay there with Hafsah until we’re out of sight, and the villagers make sure there’s nobody watching. Then while we take Sadiki to Zretazoola, they can head on back to home.”

“Hope it all works out.”

“Yes, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?

“Well, here we are...”

Donn dismounted and walked up to greet the village chief.

“Chief Korolo! May the Goddess of spring bless your fields.”

“Master Donn, welcome. And may the God of journeying bless you and yours.”

“This is Hafsah, my wife, and Nelchaka.”

“Hafsah of Penia,” she said, loud enough to be heard by anyone who might be listening to their conversation. She made a point of pulling back the baby’s swaddling to show, revealing his pale skin.

“Korolo of Poranto. A beautiful child indeed!” He pointed toward the hut. “My hut is yours.”

She thanked him and vanished into the dark interior.

Hakim unstrapped one of the smaller barrels of wine, and carried it over.

“I thought you might enjoy this, Chief,” said Donn as Hakim set it down nearby.

“Can you stay tonight? As it happens I’ve just received some excellent wine!”

“No, no, we must be back on the road again. On to Zretazoola, as soon as my Hafsah is done in there,” said Donn, gesturing toward the hut. “Babies, you know. Always complicate things.”

“I know, I know,” laughed Chief Korolo. “We have a few on the way here, too. Should be along any day now. It’s spring!”

A woman dressed like Hafsah stepped out of the hut, the baby quiet in her sling. Her hood was up, making it impossible to see who it was. Her hands, supporting the baby, were out of sight in her robe.

“Hafsah, ready to go?”

Without waiting for an answer he helped her up into the saddle, and then mounted his own horse.

“My apologies, Chief. I hear that the bridge over the River Bawisi is out, and we’ll have to try the fords. If we don’t hurry we won’t make Zretazoola by nightfall.”

“Next time, then. Safe journey, Master Donn! Master Hakim!”

“Until next time, Chief Korolo. Enjoy the wine!”

Donn caught Sadiki’s eye as they rode out of the village, checking that everything was okay with her and the baby.

With luck, Hafsah and the others would be home by nightfall, too, after crossing back over the Skai upstream and taking less-traveled roads.

* * *

The air smelled different on this side of the Skai.

Once they’d left Dylath-Leen and the scents of the city behind, they spent the morning walking through mostly open fields or forests, natural scents of trees and earth, accented with occasional whiffs of manure.

Parg was jungle... the sun was split into a million tiny gems of brilliance, sifting through the branches, and often lost entirely into the leafy canopy. The air smelled of rich wet dirt, of flowers, of the profusion of green all around.

The sounds were different, too... gone were the songbirds trilling happiness on fenceposts and the lowing of cattle, replaced by an incredible cacophony of sound that left Jasque breathless with amazement. Squawks and cheeps and grunts from birds and animals unseen; he wondered again and again if some sound had been made by a bird, or some unknown animal.

He caught sight of a monkey once, sitting on a branch to watch them past, absent-mindedly scratching its bright orange fur.

The road was clear, mostly dry mud and old wheel ruts leading between the trees.

The road was even narrower and darker than before, but beams of sunlight still shone through every so often, and weeds were sprouting up in the ruts already.

About half an hour later they could hear the sound of water, and a small river came into sight. The water was almost still, and didn’t look deep.

“Maybe take a rest for a bit before we cross,” suggested Oltahm. “Might be more mud on the other side; wouldn’t hurt to rest the horses a bit first.”

“Good idea,” agreed Donn. “There’s plenty of space here.”

They tied the horses loosely and let them graze, although they left their loads in place.

Frode walked off toward the trees, shifting his sword to the side as he prepared to urinate.

Just before he reached the edge of the clearing the grass exploded up into the air, and long, thin arms whipped up, wrapping themselves around his legs and yanking him backwards and down, down, into the ground.

“N’dara!” shouted Donn, drawing his own sword and leaping forward. “Get back to the river!”

Sadiki grabbed Jasque and pulled him back toward the water.

She was from Parg, and knew the n’dara, the trap-door spiders that lay in wait for unsuspecting prey. Living in burrows as they did, they were rarely found close to open water.

The other two guards, Oltahm and Reciroh, were right behind Donn, racing to save their comrade, but Donn was closest. He rammed his sword into the almost-invisible edge of the plug sealing the thing’s lair, and tried to lever it up.

The guards were at his side in seconds, adding their strength to his, and suddenly it popped open, and the giant spider leapt up and out of the hole, determined to win or die. Swords flashed, lopping off legs and it toppled to the ground, mandibles snapping and seeking flesh only to fall back again as cold steel plunged into its body again and again.

Donn jumped down into the hole and lifted Frode up off the floor, arm around his shoulders.

He was still alive, and grabbed Donn’s tunic in his fist.

“It’s too late... my stomach...”

Donn looked down at his abdomen.

There was a hole through his tunic. The spider had already laid its egg, and it would hatch within hours, producing a grub that would eat Frode alive from the inside out, finally emerging as a new n’dara.

He could cut it out, but then Frode would die anyway, from that wound.

Oltahm landed next to him.

“Frode! Frode!”

He injured man had already drifted into merciful unconsciousness.

Oltahm draw his dagger, tears dripping down his face.

“I’m sorry, Frode. Forgive me.”

He lifted the dagger slowly, reluctantly.

“Let me,” said Donn, pulling the dagger from his hand. “He was your friend.”

He knelt next to Frode and with a single thrust rammed the dagger into his heart.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until a shadow reminded them of the outside world.

Donn glanced up to see Reciroh looking down.

“You alright?”

They slowly stood.

“Yeah... we’re alright,” said Oltahm. “Frode will be staying here, though.”

Reciroh knelt on the lip of the hole and held her hand down to pull Oltahm up.

Donn gently closed Frode’s eyelids, and turned to take her hand when the wall next to him collapsed and a small n’dara, no larger than one of his dogs, burst out and sank its fangs into his leg.

Donn threw himself backwards in shock and fear, but the thing held on. He swung again and again until it fell, slashed and battered into a bloody mess, and then Donn fell next to it as the poison overwhelmed him.

“Get him out of there!” shouted Oltahm, and jumped into the pit again.

Ignoring chitinous scrapings from the walls he grabbed Donn around the waist, lifting him up high enough for Reciroh to grab hold of an arm, and between them they pulled him up and out. She rolled Donn away from the pit’s open mouth as soon as she could, and threw herself down on her stomach to reach down and grab Oltahm’s wrists, yanking him up to safety.

Jasque stood some ways back, still in shock, but when he saw a black shape begin to emerge from the pit he leapt forward, skewering it to the ground with his sword.

It scrabbled for a moment, then died, but there were more black shapes swarming up the walls.

Oltahm pulled Donn up onto his back and began staggering toward the horses, Reciroh and Jasque helping and keeping an eye out for pursuing spiders.

“Get out of here! To the ford!”

Hakim and Sadiki were already undoing the ropes holding the packhorses from straying, and at Oltahm’s shout they began leading them toward the river. Oltahm and Jasque managed to get Donn up atop one of the horses, and they fled.

They raced across the ford, not taking time to check for danger, and collapsed on the far side of the river, panting.

The horses were still nervous, nostrils flared, snorting and pawing the ground, but now that the stench of the spiders were gone, replaced by running water, they began to relax.

They laid Donn down on the grass.

He was barely conscious, face tight with agony.

His leg was already swelling, turning black and ugly as the poison did its work.

Oltahm drew his dagger and slashed Donn’s leg open around the wound, and bent to suck out as much poison as he could, spitting the foul green stuff to the ground.

Sadiki watched for a second, then turned to look at the surrounding jungle. She was searching for something.

“Hold him!” she commanded Jasque, and handed him the baby, running upstream all alone. Jasque automatically accepted the squalling infant and stood there, gaping.

She dropped to her knees in front of a stand of dark-green plants, and slashed at it with her dagger, collecting a handful of leaves. As she came running back he saw they were large, almost circular leaves with tiny purple flowers running all along the edge.

“Bind his leg with these,” she panting, handing the leaves to Oltahm. “They will absorb more of the poison.”

Oltahm hesitated for a second, then nodded and wrapped Donn’s leg in them. He tore off a strip of tunic and tied it around the leg as a bandage.

“We have to get him to a physician as soon as possible,” he said. “Hakim, I figure we’ve got another three hours or so to Zretazoola, and that’s too long. Someone has to take him, now.”

Hakim nodded, then pointed to his mouth.

Hakim couldn’t speak, he was saying, and someone who could speak would be needed. It had to be one of the guards, or Jasque.

“Right. I’ll take him,” said Oltahm. “Reciroh, it’s up to you and Jasque now.”

Jasque handed the baby back to Sadiki and stepped forward.

“No, I am going with you. You’ll need help getting Donn there safely. We have spare mounts, and if we switch off later we’ll be able to make very good time.”

“No. If he doesn’t get the right medicine quickly he will die,” said Sadiki. “I have to go, because I can get it.”

She handed the baby to Hakim.

“Kandoro is the most important thing in my life, but I owe Master Donn my own. Care for him, Hakim!”

Hakim nodded, and clutched the baby to his chest.

“Sadiki and I will go,” announced Jasque. “Oltahm, we’ll get a message to you at the inn.

Oltahm looked Jasque in the eyes for a moment, then nodded.

“Right. Help me get him up on his horse. We’ll have to tie him on.”

They manhandled the unconscious man onto his horse, tying his feet into the stirrups and his torso flat on the horse’s back.

“We’ll leave a marker at every ford we start across... and if we can’t get across and have to come back, we’ll mark which way we went instead.”

“Safe journey!”

“Safe journey!”

Jasque kicked his horse’s flanks and they set out at a canter: three horses carrying riders, and two spare mounts.

Oltahm, Hakim, and Reciroh began preparing for their own journey: slower, but perhaps more difficult because now it was only the three of them for almost two dozen horses.

The baby kept wailing in spite of Hakim’s best efforts.

* * *

Sadiki took the lead, trailing the two spare horses, with Jasque close behind. He rode with Donn’s horse next to him, holding both sets of reins, so he could keep a close eye on his father.

Sadiki was unfamiliar with this part of Parg but at least she knew its dangers. Jasque had never been here before, and indeed had never been to so dense a jungle before... the trees were different from what he’d grown up with, the animals hiding in the jungle were unknown, and he’d just watched his father attacked—perhaps fatally—by something that looked like a giant spider.

He didn’t know where he was going, or what to do when he got there, or even if he really trusted this woman, but he did know one thing, and he held onto that thought with all his heart: Donn must live!

They raced down the empty road toward distant Zretazoola, ducking under low branches and batting aside hanging creepers as they ran.

“How far is it?” he shouted.

“I don’t know, exactly, but we should start to see border stones, and then we’ll know.”

“Zretazoola stones?”

“Maybe. Might be Zoon; they’re farther north than Zretazoola.”

“Is Zoon any closer?”

“I doubt it, and I don’t know anyone there anyway... Zretazoola’s our best chance!”

They concentrated on riding for a while until Sadiki suddenly pulled her horse to a stop.

“What? What’s wrong?” Jasque asked, riding up closer.

“I don’t like the looks of this ford,” she said. “The ones we rode through before were shallow enough I didn’t have to worry, but this one looks a lot deeper in the middle. Crocodiles.”

Jasque looked at the smoothly flowing water.

“I don’t see any...”

“That’s the problem,” she explained. “You don’t see them until they pull you off your horse.”

“So what do we do now?”

She bit her lip.

“We’ll have to try upstream and hope for another place to cross...”

Jasque pulled Donn’s horse closer and felt his father’s pulse.

He was still alive. Unconscious, but alive.

He looked at the river.

“We don’t have time. I’m crossing here,” he said, and drew his sword.

He kicked his horse, yanking Donn’s to follow, and they entered the water.

“Jasque!”

“It’s the only way!” he called back, eyes on the water.

Sadiki cursed something under her breath and followed.

They walked most of the way across, the water gradually getting deeper and deeper, until it reached about halfway up the horse’s chest, soaking the riders to the thighs, and their pace slowed down.

There was a swish of water, and Jasque slammed his sword down into the river, twisting it out again with a splash of blood. A long, grayish-green tail slammed the water and something huge and hungry twisted away underwater.

The horses panicked, and began to push through the water with even more speed, eyes white, snorting in fear to each other.

Sadiki’s mount suddenly reared up, tearing the reins out of her hand and dumping her on her back into the water, as a long, pointed jaw clamped onto its haunch, dragging it screaming and bucking down into the river.

Sadiki grabbed hold of the spare mount’s saddle, trying to pull herself up and over to the far side of the horse. The horse bucked again, her grip began to slip.

Jasque could hold his sword, or he could help Sadiki... without a second thought he grabbed her arm as his sword slipped away into the water, dragging her up high enough for her to get a firm grip, and pull herself fully onto the horse’s back.

Sadiki’s horse screamed once... froth, bubbles, waves, swirling water, and finally the horse’s terrified eyes slipping out of sight underwater.

It was gone.

Seconds later the river bottom began to rise and the horses picked up speed, hooves splashing as they burst up onto dry land, away from the ravenous jaws of the river crocodiles.

Sadiki was holding onto the saddle with both hands, running alongside her horse with giant jumps, trying to keep pace, and finally managed to pull herself up, getting a foot in a stirrup.

Jasque managed to slow his own horse down to a trot, soothing it with his hand and voice, and trying to keep Donn’s mount under control.

Sadiki rode up beside him, keeping her own jumping mount barely under control.

“You’re damn lucky,” she panted. “And I’m lucky you’re lucky.”

“And we’re here,” he panted back. “And look! Over there! A border stone!”

She looked where he was pointing.

“Only a few kilometers to Zretazoola, Jasque! We’ll make it!”

The horses were pretty winded, but with only a few more kilometers to go... they forced the horses into a trot, and the horses were as glad to get away from the river as they were.

 A short time later the jungle ended and open fields began, the massive walls of the city rising ahead. They were featureless, built of enormous blocks of dark grey stone, with towers around the perimeter. About a dozen troopers were grouped in front of the gate.

As they approached one of the troopers moved to block their way, raising his hand.

“Hold! State your name and business in Zretazoola!”

“Sadiki of Zretazoola with two merchants from Dylath-Leen,” she said. “He’s been bitten by a n’dara; we need to get to a physician immediately!”

He briefly glanced at Donn’s leg—it was obvious she was telling the truth, and without any more questions he waved them through.

“Follow me, Jasque!” she called, riding through first. She knew the way now. “My father’s shop is close by.”

She began shouting something in Pargite at the people blocking her way, and they stepped aside long enough for them to weave through. Jasque couldn’t understand what she was saying, but he caught her name, and “n’dara” a few times. He guessed everyone was willing to make room for a man bitten by one of the damn spiders.

Sadiki yanked her horse to a sliding halt in front of a little storefront and ran inside with a “Get Master Donn down!”

Jasque started untying the ropes holding Donn’s limp body on the horse’s back, and jumped up when he heard someone start screaming. Sadiki?

He ran around the horse and looked inside.

Sadiki was hugging an older woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties, tears streaming down both their faces. They were talking over each other, the older woman rocking back and forth with grief or joy, he couldn’t tell. Her cheek was set with almost a dozen gems, more than Jasque could count, several linked with gold filigrees. Two more faces watched from the rear doorway.

Sadiki pulled herself free and turned to Jasque.

“My mother. She thought I was dead.”

She turned back to her mother, grabbed her shoulders and shook her, talking to her emphatically.

Her mother looked up, saw Jasque, and saw Donn’s body still half-tied to the horse outside.

She jumped to her feet, shouted something to the watching people. One of them, a boy not much younger than himself, ran out the door, past Jasque, and down the street.

“He’s gone to get the healer,” explained Sadiki. “Let’s get Master Donn inside.”

They managed to half-carry, half-drag his unconscious body into the shop, and laid it down on the floor. Sadiki’s mother fetched a bowl of water, soaking a cloth in it and placing it on his forehead. She dribbled a few drops into his slack mouth.

Jasque opened his father’s tunic. He was still breathing, shallowly.

Sadiki pulled off one of the leaves she had wrapped around the wound. The leg stank of rotting meat, black and ballooned up to twice its usual size, and it was dripping a dark purplish liquid instead of blood.

The messenger came running back in, followed closely by a much older man; the healer, no doubt.

He knelt down next to Donn and immediately started issuing orders to Sadiki and her mother, in Pargite. Jasque had no idea what they were saying or what he could do, and just moved back to stay out of their way.

“Master Jasque,” said Sadiki, seeing his distress, “tend to the horses. They need water.”

He slowly nodded, torn between the need to care for the animals and his worry for his father.

“There is nothing you can do here. Trust the healer,” she said, and squeezed his arm.

He stepped outside, and the horses kept him busy enough for a while.

When they were watered and their trappings taken off, he stepped back inside the shop. A leather worker, apparently... saddles, bags, chaps, whips, all sorts of leather products. And now he could smell the salt and acid from the tanning shed, no doubt right behind the shop.

The healer was still kneeling over the wound, but Donn looked much better. A little color had come back to his face, and he seemed to be breathing more easily.

“How is he?”

Sadiki, wringing out the cloth before placing it back on Donn’s forehead, looked up.

“The healer says most of the poison is gone now, thanks to the leaves, and Donn should wake up probably tomorrow or so. It will take days for the fever to go down. But he also said...”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Master Jasque. He said Master Donn will never be able to use that leg again.”

Jasque knelt next to his father, taking his hand is his own, silent.

The healer finished wrapping the injured leg in a long bandage, and began putting his things away in his bag. He picked a jar of some dark brown powder and picked up a pinch, spreading it out on his palm to show Sadiki as he spoke.

She translated: “He says Master Donn must take this much twice a day, and drink plenty of water or tea. He will be in pain for days, maybe longer.”

“Tell him thank you,” said Jasque, pulling out his wallet. “Let me repay him for his skill, and his medicine.”

The healer smiled and waved his hand back and forth.

“No, no, Master Jasque. You have brought little Sadiki back to us, after all this time... we owe you more than we can ever repay.”

“You speak common!”

“Healers usually do,” said the other. “Tarka of Panakeia.”

Jasque suddenly stood up straight.

“Jasque of Penia. Thank you, Healer Tarka!”

“No, thank you, Master Jasque, and Master Donn.”

Tarka turned to Sadiki.

“Now that things have settled down a bit, perhaps you could find some tea? I’m a bit parched here, and it looks like you and Master Jasque could use a little rest.”

Sadiki’s mother, who apparently didn’t understand common at all, saw the healer move his hands as if drinking a cup of tea and shot to her feet, vanishing into the back rooms.

“Your mother thought you were dead all these years, Sadiki, you and your father.”

“They killed father when they kidnapped me. He tried to fight them, but strong as he was he was no warrior.”

“You and your mother have much to talk of, Sadiki. And Master Jasque brought you here?”

“There are others coming, with the trade goods. We came ahead with Master Donn.”

“He’s the trader?”

“Yes, Master Jasque’s father, and head of the family that saved me when we escaped.”

“We?”

“Kandoro and I. My son.”

She put her hand to her mouth in astonishment. “You don’t know!”

She jumped to her feet and ran after her mother shouting something.

Healer Tarka sat still, listening.

“A grandchild, then... happy tidings indeed! Where is he?”

“Hakim—Donn’s partner—is taking him to the Silk Panther with the packhorses,” explained Jasque. “I have to go tell him where we are... where are we?”

Tarka laughed just as an explosion of more laughter and tears erupted from the back. Sadiki and her mother, faces streaked with tears and wrinkled with smiles, came back with trays of tea and cups and fresh-baked cakes.

“She wants to see Kandoro right away,” said Sadiki, teacup in one hand and spice cake in the other. “She says you must go fetch them, and you all will stay here instead of at the inn. She insists.”

“That’s really up to Hakim,...” said Jasque, looking troubled.

“Come with me,” said Sadiki, stuffing the remains of the cake into her mouth. “I’m going to get Kandoro now!”

“But Donn!”

“Healer Tarka will watch him, right Healer?”

“Of course, child, of course. Go!”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the store and down the street, weaving between people with a skill that country-raised Jasque could only envy.

Around a corner, down an alley, another turn... Jasque was lost, and let himself be dragged along until suddenly Sadiki opened a wooden door with “Silk Panther” written on it, and pulled him inside the inn.

The inn was dark inside, but as their eyes adjusted they saw the large room was mostly empty—and no sign of Hakim or the others.

She turned back and stepped outside again, eyes searching.

With perfect timing Olatahm stepped into view down the street, leading his horse, and behind him came the packhorses, and the others.

“Kandoro!” she shouted, dropping Jasque’s hand to run to her baby, sleeping peacefully in Reciroh’s arms. .

“Mistress Sadiki! Jasque!” said Trooper Oltahm as they ran toward him. “How is Donn?”

“We were in time,” said Jasque. “But the healer said he couldn’t save the leg.”

“He’s alive?”

“He’s alive. Sleeping, and a fever, but alive.”

“Thank Panakeai.”

“Thank Mistress Sadiki!” corrected Jasque. “Without her we wouldn’t have made it.”

Sadiki, holding a slurping Kandoro to her breast, in turn corrected Jasque: “I just brought the spare mount; Master Jasque saved us all, slashing that crocodile and leading us to safety!”

Hakim was all smiles.

“Master Hakim, we have been invited to stay with Mistress Sadiki’s mother. She insisted,” said Jasque. “I told her the decision was up to you.”

Hakim nodded, and turned to Sadiki with an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Master Hakim. We insist.”

Oltahm nodded, too.

“If Mistress Sadiki insists, it would be impolite to refuse, wouldn’t it?”

“I’ll lead you there now,” continued Sadiki, taking the reins from Oltahm. “Follow me.”

Without a second glance she began walking, leading Oltahm’s horse with her.

Jasque hesitated.

Hakim laughed and shrugged.

They turned away from the inn and into the alley, following Sadiki and Kandoro.

* * *

Sadiki’s mother, Mistress Zawati of Zretazoola, ran one of the larger tanneries in the city, and behind the relatively small shop was a large lot packed with processing sheds emitting a variety of foul stenches. Behind the processing sheds, however, was a thick row of trees, and another lot with a spacious, elegant house... Zawati’s home.

Sadiki and her mother—now beaming with delight and bouncing her new grandson in her arms—led them all through the tanning plant and into the privacy and quiet of their home. Zawati, her attention focused on the baby, called a few workers to get the horses unloaded and cared for, and welcomed them all inside.

A variety of servants scurried about preparing cushions, tea, and fruit, and ushered them to the bath to wash off the dirt and fatigue of the journey. They also carried Donn there on a stretcher, and laid him in the main room so they could keep an eye on him.

Jasque washed himself and soaked in the large bath, just thinking and trying to relax from the events of the day. He suddenly woke when his head slipped under water and sat up coughing.

Oltahm laughed.

“Been a hard day, Master Jasque, but you did good. You saved his life, you know.”

“Sadi... Mistress Sadiki knew the way, and how to get help. Without her it would have been too late.”

“Nonsense,” came Sadiki’s voice. He looked up through the steam to see that she and Kandoro were in the bath, too. “I told them about the crocs and the way you bulled your way through, cutting hours off our journey. That choice, right there, saved his life. And you saved mine.”

“I... Mistress Sadiki...”

“You did good, kid. You deserve your rest,” continued Oltahm. “Maybe a little food first, though?”

Now that he thought of it, he was starving! They never did eat lunch...

After they dressed in clean tunics, they returned to the main room to find a meal waiting for them on the table.

“After you’ve eaten and relaxed a bit, Master Jasque, why don’t you take Sadiki to the market. She needs some clothes,” said Zawati. “Sadiki, you need proper clothes for you and Kandoro. Go see Kalao.

“And buy some decent clothes for Master Jasque and Master Donn, too.”

“Yes, mama.”

Jasque began to refuse, but stopped immediately when Sadiki elbowed him.

“Will she be safe?”

“Dear boy, this is Zretazoola. She could walk the streets at midnight and be safe!” laughed Zawati.

A short while later Sadiki led him through Zretazoola, the largest city in Parg.

While the defensive wall was as strong and high as the wall around Dylath-Leen, and built of dark gray stone rather than black basalt, they were quite similar to one another.

Inside the walls was a different world entirely.

There were far fewer horses here, the streets were thronged with raptors and deinos instead. While Dylath-Leen was a diverse medley of people from all of the Dreamlands, the population of Zretazoola was largely black Pargites and bronzed Khemites, with a smattering of other peoples.

The local costume was a long flowing robe, generally of a light cloth than allowed the rare breezes to blow through, colored in every shade under the rainbow, and often embroidered with patterns or pictures. The men usually wore a small round skullcap; sometimes it matched the robe, more usually it was just a single color, often beige.

The marketplace was a riot of color and sounds, at heart not much different from the markets of Dylath-Leen. It was also full of people, and he couldn’t get the hang of slipping so easily between them, while Sadiki seemed to do it effortlessly.

She dragged him deeper and deeper into the crowd, finally coming to a halt in front of a large shop with hanging tapestries and rugs on the ground.

“Mistress! Mistress Kalao!”

At Sadiki’s call an older woman poked her head out from behind one of the tapestries.

“Who...? Sadiki!? Sadiki, is that you!?”

She came running, one slipper missing, and hugged Sadiki to her.

“Sadiki! We thought you dead all these years! You’re alive!”

“It’s so good to see you again, Mistress Kalao.”

“Oh, shush, girl, call me Kalao, like always... and who is this fine gentleman I see here?”

She looked up at Jasque inquisitively.

“This is Jasque of Penia,” introduced Sadiki. “He saved my life, and brought me home.”

Wanted to avoid another elbow in the side, Jasque merely nodded and smiled rather than insisting otherwise.

“Saved your life!? Well, come in, young man, come in, both of you!”

She turned to the girl standing at the counter.

“Don’t just stand there, girl! Go make tea!”

“Yes, Mama Kalao,” she said, and ran off into the back.

“Come, sit, sit with me, Sadiki,” she invited, leading them to a low couch and table. “You’ve grown up.”

“Thank you, Mistress Kalao, Yes, I have. I’m an escaped slave, and a mother, among other things...”

“Is the baby...?”

“Oh, yes, Kandoro’s fine... Mama’s taking care of him while I get some shopping done.”

“I must go and see your Kandoro! What a fine name!”

“First I need some proper clothes for myself, and for Master Jasque, and for his father, Master Donn, who saved me from slavery.”

“Dear, dear Sadiki... you will have our finest!” said Kalao, and rapped on the table. “Keisaburō! Come out here and measure this gentleman, will you please?”

An old Asian man, back bent with age, stepped out of the back and shuffled over to the table.

“Well, stand up, Master Jasque!” said Sadiki. “They can’t measure you sitting down!”

He hurriedly stood up and allowed the tailor to measure him. Pargite robes were quite adjustable for girth, but the length had to be close or a sash would be necessary. In Parg, perfectly fitting robes were a sign of wealth, and sashes were never seen among the upper classes.

While the tailor was measuring Jasque, turning him this way and that, or asking him to hold his arms out, Kalao and Sadiki were talking a mile a minute to each other in Pargite.

“All done, Mistress,” said the tailor, and vanished into the back room once more.

Jasque sat down again and took another sip of tea, listening to the tail-end of the conversation.

“And you’ll need clothes for Master Kandoro, of course,” said Kalao, ignoring Jasque. “How old is he?”

“About eight months now, Mistress Kalao.”

“I’ll have a selection of clothes for all three of you delivered to Mama Zawati before sundown,” she said. “Accept them, please, as my gift to welcome you home again.”

“Oh, shangazi uzazi, thank you!” cried Sadiki, and took the older woman’s hands in her own. “For the clothes, and your welcome, and... and everything! It’s so good to be home again.”

“Stay home now, child, stay here with us, where it’s safe.”

Sadiki nodded, biting her lip to stop from crying.

“Shangazi uzazi means aunt. She is sister of my mother, and I’ve known her all my life.”

Kalao looked up at Jasque.

“You take good care of this woman now, you hear?”

“Uh, I... yes, Mistress, yes, I will.”

“Good, good...” she said, nodding.

“Mistress Kalao, we must leave. Master Donn is ill—n’dara poison—and resting at Mama’s. Please, come as soon as you can! We have so much to talk about!”

“N’dara! Have you called a healer?”

“Of course. Healer Tarka came yesterday, and will be back today. He is getting better, but n’dara...”

“I’ll bring your robes later today, Sadiki. And for Kandoro, and for you and your father, young man.

“Here, take this,” she said, reaching into her robe to pull out a handful of coins. “Buy Master Jasque here some dibondo on the way home.”

“Thank you, Mistress!” Sadiki hugged her aunt again, and they left, Jasque in tow once more.

“What’s dibondo?”

“Palm wine,” answered Sadiki. “There should be a chilled seller somewhere...”

She was looking about the thronged marketplace, searching, and suddenly pointed.

“There!”

She grabbed his hand and dragged him off through the crowd once more, weaving expertly between people until they reached a tiny street stall. It was built as a cart, with wheels, and a raptor resting in the yoke made it clear that it moved.

Sadiki handed the man some coins and accepted a cup of palm wine.

The cup was glazed pottery, and it was cold.

He sniffed the wine, sipped a little.

Grimaced.

“You can’t live in Zretazoola without drinking dibondo, Master Jasque!” she laughed, and pushed the cup up towards his mouth once again.

He took a deep breath and slugged it down.

It was thick, sweet, and cold, and delicious in the heat and humidity, waves of coolness seeping from his stomach throughout his body.

She held the cup to her lips for a moment, draining out the last few drops, and handed it back to the vendor, then took Jasque’s arm once again.

“Now to home again, shall we?”

“How does he make it cold like that? Some spell?”

“They all—all the dinondo vendors—work for a magician named, um, Clubonto, if I remember correctly. He renews the frigidity spells every morning, and charges all the vendors for his services.”

“Interesting idea. Might be worth looking into…” he mused. “You know, that dibondo’s actually pretty good once you get used to it...”

They walked back through the market talking to each other, largely ignoring the crowds and hawkers until she clenched his arm and turned to bury her face in his chest.

“What? What is it?”

“That man! He’s the one!”

She turned her head a fraction to look to the side, and pointed with her chin.

“That man with the beard and the white hair, and the scar across his cheek? See him?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s the man who killed my papa!”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive! I will never forget that face! The man who killed my father, and sold me into slavery!”

Jasque stiffened, and reached for his sword, only to remember that he had none. He put his hand on his dagger and started to draw, but her hand pressed it down again.

“You’re unarmed, save your dagger,” she whispered. “He has a sword, and a friend with him... maybe more. Let me.”

She turned and waved her hand, and a couple miraculously appeared from the crowd, a man and a woman. Both were armed with swords, Jasque noticed.

“Mistress?”

Sadiki explained who the white-haired man was, and the two conferred for a minute in quiet tones. The man turned back to Sadiki.

“I’ll stay with them, and Kindala here will escort you back to the estate. We’ll take care of it, Mistress.”

“Thank you,” said Sadiki, and pulled Jasque away. The woman—Kindala—walked right behind them.

“Guards? I thought your mother said Zretazoola was safe!”

“It is, but Mama trusts herself more than she trusts the city guards... and lucky for us that she does.”

They reached home soon, and found the entire estate bustling with servants and vendors. Arrays of flowers, colorful carpets on the floors, tables piled high with food and drink, the sound of musicians tuning their instruments.

Kindala, their guard, immediately sought out Sadiki’s mother and the two of them soon left, deep in conversation.

Jasque looked into the side room to see Hakim spoon-feeding Donn soup.

“Father!”

Donn had a pillow at his back and was sitting up, but his tired face lit up with a smile when he saw Jasque.

They exchanged a hug.

“I hear you saved me, Jasque, and Sadiki,” he rasped, and coughed. “Your first trading trip has turned out to be quite an adventure.”

“I... How do you feel?”

“Terrible, but I’m alive and that’s always a good start.”

“Your leg?”

“Healer Tarka tells me I’ll never be able to use that leg again,” replied Donn. “I still have my right leg, though. I’ll manage.

“Sadiki tells me you need a new sword, by the way. I already spoke to Oltahm, and he will be bringing a few for you to look at later. Pick one or two you like, to thank you, and congratulate you on your first successful trading trip.”

Jasque looked down.

“Father, the weights and scale set you gave me...”

“The set Pensri gave you.”

“Yes, the set Mama gave me... I lost it.”

“You lost it!?”

“The river... the crocodiles... I lost my whole pack, and by the time I noticed...”

“You’re alive, Jasque! You can always buy a new set!”

“But those were from you and Mama!”

“Yes, they were, but you made the right choice, Jasque.” Donn pulled him closer. “You chose life over mere things, and that is always the right choice.”

Donn fell back again, and signed something to Hakim, who rose and left the room for a moment.

“Jasque, you need a new sword, because there are always crocodiles, but you will also need a new scale and weights set, because there are always thieves and scoundrels.”

He reached out his hand to Hakim, who was walking over with something in his hands.

“Take mine,” said Donn, handing over a well-worn leather case. “It has served me well for years, and I know it will serve you as well.”

“Your set! Father, I couldn’t...!”

“Of course you can. I can trade no more. Take it, and use it wisely!”

Jasque slowly reached out to take the case, touched it. He lifted it and held it in his hand for a moment, then very deliberately set it down next to himself and leaned over to hug Donn once again.

“Thank you, father! I shall treasure it!”

Donn nodded, content, and closed his eyes to rest.

Jasque looked around.

“Umm...”

“Sadiki’s in the kitchen with her mother,” said Donn, eyes closed with a smile on his lips. “Go on! I’m just going to take a little nap.”

Hakim placed a new, cool towel on his forehead.

Jasque rose, and followed Hakim’s pointing finger toward the kitchen.

Sadiki was there, Kandoro snuggled on her back, and when she saw Jasque she came to give him a bit of fresh papaya and a very energetic kiss.

Just as his arm was beginning to rise to clasp her tight, he noticed her mother watching from the corner of his eye, a big smile on her face. He froze, blushing, and Sadiki pulled his head closer to give him an even more energetic kiss before slipping away.

“Now go sit with Master Donn and I’ll bring you something to eat.”

In a few minutes she brought in a large plate of mixed vegetables and chicken, stir-fried in something that smelled like sesame, and began serving it to smaller plates for the three men.

There was a commotion at the entrance and Sadiki’s mother entered with an older man.

“Master Jasque, this is my brother,” said Zawati, introducing the grey-bearded man. He was wearing a brilliant purple robe with dark blue patterns, and a round, close-fitting cap to match.

“Yunisar of Zretazoola,” he introduced himself.

“Jasque of Penia.”

“We owe you so much for bringing my niece back to us safely, thank you.”

“Really, it wasn’t just me. Master Donn and Master Hakim and...”

Hakim slapped him on the back, laughing, shaking his head. Obviously he agreed with Yunisar.

Yunisar introduced himself to Hakim, and Jasque quickly explained he was mute.

“Master Hakim is a trader, correct?”

“Yes, he and my father are in charge of the caravan. Now that my father is injured, Hakim is in charge,” explained Jasque. “My father is still sleeping, but I can wake him...”

“No, no, no need. We can talk later if necessary,” said Yunisar. “Master Hakim, I have never dealt with you or Master Donn, but I would be honored if you would allow me to purchase your salt and wine.”

“Uncle Yunisar is one of the biggest merchants in the city,” interjected Sadiki.

“Oh, hush, girl. I’m just a struggling businessman.”

She snorted.

“I’ve seen where you live, Uncle. Far from struggling, I’d say...”

He shrugged, turned back to Hakim.

“Name your price.”

Hakim pursed his lips, and traced a number on Yunisar’s outstretched palm.

“Is that all!? Far too little for all you have done!” said the merchant. “I think eight hundred grams would be far more reasonable.”

“That’s more than double what we had expected!” breathed Jasque.

Sadiki elbowed him in the side. “Shh!”

Hakim and Yunisar negotiated a little more in silence, this time Hakim trying to lower the price and Yunisar trying to refuse.

They finally settled on six hundred grams of gold, to everyone’s apparent satisfaction.

The Dreamlands had no large nations, no common currency, and was awash in coins from an infinitude of known and unknown histories. In general there were three types of coins: gold, which was usually a little gold alloyed with baser metal; silver, another alloy; and finally copper. The standard exchange rate was thirty coppers to a silver, and twelve silvers to a gold, which worked out neatly to three-hundred and sixty coppers for a gold coin.

The problem was that different coins had different gold or silver content, and while the actual value of the widely used coins was known, simplifying commerce, there were many unfamiliar coins. It was not uncommon for merchants to simply refuse to accept unknown “gold” or “silver” coins in payment.

Traders faced this problem often, and always carried their own set of “standard” weights and a trusted scale. When making a deal, it was expected that the parties would compare their weights on both scales, making sure that weights matched and scales were weighing similarly.

King Kuranes had been working to improve the system for years, minting his own coinage that could be trusted, and selling sets of standardized weights: crowns of gold, tiaras of silver, and laurels of copper.

Unusual coins, or coins made of rare metals such as orichalc or platinum could be used, but their values fluctuated wildly—any transaction involving such coins was usually closer to barter than sale.

His belly finally full, he realized he was dead tired, and just as he was thinking he might be able to slip away for a nap, Aunt Kalao appeared with two assistants and a packhorse piled high with bundles. She promptly dragged Sadiki and Kandoro off to examine the new clothes with Zawati.

They shut the door in his face when he tried to follow.

“If you will step this way, Master Jasque, I have your robe here,” came a man’s voice, and Jasque turned to see one of Kalao’s assistants pointing toward another doorway.

Helpless, he followed her into the other room, where she stripped him down and gave him a quick haircut and shave with a long, very sharp set of scissors and a straight razor. She dressed him in a dark green robe decorated in gold-and-silver pheasants, with a matching skullcap on his head.

He was ready to go in about half an hour.

He looked at himself in the mirror and barely recognized who he saw. He looked like nobility!

As he returned to the main room he wondered how they managed to walk without always kicking the front of their robes. While he’d been gone he saw that Donn had changed, too, and was now wearing a beige robe with a dark brown pattern of intersecting circles, like raindrops rippling on the water.

Donn was awake, and looked at his son with undisguised admiration, and Jasque, embarrassed to be wearing such finery, sat and poured tea to hide it.

The door opened and in walked a Sadiki he had never dreamed of, dressed in a high-collared ivory-and-forest-green robe, rings and bracelets adorning her arms. A delicate silver tiara was half-buried in her tight-curled hair, mounted with a brilliant purple amethyst. They scintillated in the brilliant light of the sunstone suspended from the ceiling.

He gasped in wonder, and returned to reality with a splash and laughter as he spilled tea all over his leg.

Sadiki twirled, her robe flaring out gently, swishing across the reed mats.

“Not quite suitable for milking the cows in Penia, but quite attractive, don’t you think?”

“It’s... You’re beautiful!” he said, his voice a little off.

“Thank you,” she smiled, and sat down elegantly on the low stool her aunt skillfully swung into position.

Mama Zawati knelt next to her carrying Kandoro, swaddled in a red-and-brown blanket and chewing on something that made little chimes and jingles every time he moved it.

“You make a very handsome man, Master Jasque!” said Zawati. “Sit, please.”

She slid to the side to make room for him to sit next to Sadiki, and again Aunt Kalao deftly slid a stool into place under him, then took her own place at the foot of the table.

Perhaps her sitting down was the signal, but immediately servants began bringing more food and drink into the room.

Zawati pressed her palms together and bowed her head to Donn and Jasque.

“I welcome you to Zretazoola,” she said. “I welcome you to my home. I welcome you to my heart.”

“We thank you for your welcome, for your peace, and for your friendship,” replied Donn, completing the ritual.

She poured Jasque a cup of dibondo, and a tiny sip for Donn, and they drank it off. Donn shook his cup dry and poured more dibondo, handing it back to Zawati, who drank in turn.

Jasque shook his own cup empty, filled it, and held it out to Sadiki.

Donn frowned for a second: he should have offered it to Zawati, not Sadiki! He shot a glance at Sadiki’s mother and saw that she was watching them, smiling, and decided all was well after all.

Sadiki accepted the cup and drank slowly, her eyes on Jasque’s, then handed it back.

“That’s a Baharna cup, young man,” broke in Kalao. “Do try not to break it.”

Jasque blinked and hurriedly set the delicate porcelain cup down on the table.

A set of sliding doors on one side of the room opened to reveal a trio of musicians and a dancer wearing a semi-transparent robe of gossamer. She began dancing as they played an intricate piece on two small woodwinds and a seven-stringed lute.

The dinner went on for hours, each course more exotic and delicious than the last, served in tiny portions designed to stimulate the senses and whet the appetite. The dibondo was joined shortly by some of Donn’s own wine, and even a little dark, reddish Cydathrian brandy.

He was reeling with exhaustion, and the innumerable cups of liquor weren’t helping.

Sadiki caught him when he staggered, and led him deeper into the house, where his bed was already prepared.

He collapsed on the mattress, and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Sadiki lying down next to him, with tiny Kandoro. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer before drifting off.

* * *

When Jasque returned to the main room the next morning he was astonished to see how beautiful it was... the sun was shining in the stained glass windows, leaving colorful shadows across the parquet floor, an intricate design of various woods with ivory inlays.

Benches—backless sofas—cushions upholstered in Oriab silk, were positioned tactfully around the room, along with a few larger, more ornate chairs with backs and armrests. The enormous head of a panther was mounted on one wall, eyes of ruby glaring down at him.

He tore his eyes away and looked to see Donn already awake, signing with Hakim. Jasque knelt at his side.

“Hakim says you sold the salt and wine for six hundred,” whispered Donn. “That’s one hell of a deal!”

“That wasn’t me! Hakim did that!” Jasque protested, but Hakim shook his head, signing.

“Yunisar didn’t mention it, but he’s one of the larger traders here in Zretazoola. They’ve always declined to deal with us directly, preferring to run their own caravans and run their own trades. Being able to meet and deal with him directly is an enormous step. No telling where it might lead.

“And like Hakim says, you made it all possible by saving Sadiki. You saved me, too, I might add.”

Jasque’s response was interrupted by Sadiki, who brought in a tray of fresh-baked bread, eggs, broiled chicken, cucumbers, and fruit, setting it down in front of Jasque. She was followed by a servant who placed a similar tray in front of Hakim, along with a rich rice-and-chicken broth for Donn.

Sadiki plumped Donn’s pillows so he could sit up enough to eat, then demurely knelt at Jasque’s side as he spooned up some of the broth, tongue-checked it to make sure it wasn’t too hot, and held it up to Donn’s lips.

Donn slurped it down, a little dribbling down his chin.

Jasque wiped it off with his hand and readied another spoonful.

“Let me do that,” said Sadiki. “You eat your breakfast.”

She ignored his protests and pried the spoon from his hand, waving him to the table to eat with Hakim.

Jasque hesitated, then surrendered and pulled up a bench to eat, but not before pouring a cup of tea for Donn and placing it where Sadiki could easily reach it. After a moment, he poured a cup for her, too.

Donn ate most of the broth, and lay back again, content.

As the servants were cleaning up, Zawati called to Jasque from the doorway.

“The bath is hot, Master Jasque, and I’ve had fresh clothes laid out.”

“Oh, there was no need,...” he started to say, rising from the table.

“Of course there was a need! You lost all your clothes in the river!” she interrupted, and gestured toward the bath. “Now go.”

He went, and after bathing discovered that “fresh clothes” meant a Zretazoola-style robe. Made of some light fabric that allowed the breeze to blow through delightfully, it was embroidered with a geometric pattern of hexagons and turtles done in red and silver thread on a background the color of a bluebird.

He realized it was probably worth more than his horse, but after admiring himself in the mirror he had to admit it made him look mightily impressive.

Sadiki coughed lightly from the doorway, and he spun around, cheeks reddening.

“Sadiki! I didn’t see you there!”

She giggled.

“You make a very handsome gentleman, Master Jasque! That robe suits you.”

“I’ve never worn anything this fine,” he protested. “A tunic suits me much better.”

She drew closer and quickly adjusted the collar and the overlap at his chest.

“There. Perfect!”

She slipped her arm through his and they walked back out into the main room, where Zawati was waiting.

When she saw them she nodded, smiling.

“That robe belonged to my Boto—my husband—Master Jasque, but it is perfect on you. Please, accept it as a gift.”

“But it’s too much! Really, I couldn’t...”

Sadiki elbowed him into silence, then pulled Jasque’s arm so she could whisper into his ear: “Say thank you, you idiot!”

“I, uh... thank you, Mistress Zawati. I shall treasure it!”

Zawati smiled and nodded.

Jasque sat down at the table once more, relieved that his father was looking so much better. His color was almost normal now, his eyes alert. The pain must have receded.

“Slavers know better than to take slaves here in Zretazoola, or near any of the big cities... if the guard catches them the penalty is death. But out in the jungle there are no guards,” said Zawati, continuing her conversation with Donn.

“Why were they out in the jungle?”

“Boto was of the Motonga people. He was going to a funeral for a relative, with Sadiki, and was ambushed on the way.”

“Who are the Motonga?” Jasque had never heard of them.

“A tribe in the northern parts of the Parg jungle. They avoid the cities, for the most part, and are far more traditional than we here in Zretazoola,” explained Zawati. “He visited his home there several times a year; Sadiki has been there many times.”

“The Motonga hunt with blowpipes,” added Donn. “I’ve never been to a Motonga village, but I have seen them use their blowpipes, and their poison. Silent and deadly, and perfect for the jungle.

“Speaking of weapons, Trooper Oltahm dropped those off for you earlier,” he continued, pointing to three swords lying on the floor nearby. “He wasn’t sure of how heavy a weapon you were used to. Pick the one you like best and later, when you go to have a proper one made to fit you, you can give the other two back.”

Jasque picked them up and hefted them one at a time, and after a few experimental swings finally chose a simple short sword with leather sheath and sword belt.

“I must thank him!”

“No need,” said Donn. “He’s busy taking care of Factor Sefu’s spider-silk robe and his return cargo. He and Reciroh will leave tomorrow, back to Dylath-Leen.”

“Will I have a chance to meet him before he goes?”

“He may drop by later, but I doubt it... he has other work to do.”

“I’d like to thank him properly, if I can,” he said, hefting the sword. “This is almost the same as the one I lost, maybe a little lighter... I wish I’d had it with me before!”

“No need,” smiled Zawati. “That will all be taken care of shortly.”

“What? Taken care of?”

“I dispatched a messenger to Boto’s brother. He’ll collect the debt.”

“Your husband’s brother... the Motonga!”

“Yes,” she agreed. “More tea?”

“They will never be seen again,” said Donn. “It’s done.”

He took another sip of tea.

“Obviously I can’t go with you, Jasque. You and Hakim should discuss your route, and purchase whatever goods are appropriate; I’ll be happy to help in any way I can, of course.

“I’ll return home as soon as I’m able.”

Hakim pursed his lips and signed.

“Yes, we could sell it all here, of course,” nodded Donn. “We have already turned a profit on this trip, thanks to Mistress Zawati and Master Yunisar.

“Jasque, what do you think?”

Jasque slowly turned the cup on the tabletop with his fingertips for a moment.

“Father, I would like to stay here in Zretazoola, and handle trade here on your behalf.”

Donn and Zawati exchanged a quick glance.

“And would your plans to stay here in Zretazoola, perchance, have anything to do with Mistress Sadiki?”

Jasque blushed, and in a very small voice admitted it.

A second later he was knocked sideways as Sadiki yanked him into a hug.

END

- 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