KNITE:
We headed north before we cut east. The southern edge of the capital island saw too much traffic for my liking, and cutting across its midlands held other unwelcome irritants, so my guards and I suffered the craggy hills of the northern coast as we traveled to Snowliar. Our journey there was a lesson in why people flocked to The Muds or sold their souls to the rulers of free cities. Sentient floras, evolved beasts, and roaming marauders ran amok in the wilds of The Islands.
The floras, deadly to the untrained but a tiresome nuisance to us, were a persistent annoyance. They hounded the horses as we rode, disrupted sleep when we camped, and altogether pestered us at every opportunity.
The evolved beasts were a more pleasant encounter. We’d only come across one group of any note: a pack of wolves, their fur a deep brown, the smallest of them my weight and half again. Their leader came to our camp with his eyes averted, his head hanging low, and his tail tucked between his legs. He lay bare his stomach at my feet. I do not know what allows beasts to gauge danger. It is likely the same instinct that keeps them away from the cities and sanctioned caravans. For his part, the wolf’s actions had saved his pack that day; I had the urge to hunt prey.
Fate answered my call.
We met with two bandit parties after we met the wolf pack. The first was a disappointment. I’d sensed their hideout a little ways off the northern coast, a lagoon of land hidden by tall rocks on all sides, a small crevice acting as an entrance to their lair. They were weak and plentiful and entirely too cowardly to be any fun. We left those who’d surrendered to those they’d held cooped up in cages. From the screams that bid us farewell, I counted them all dead. From the smile on Helena’s face, so did she. Roche insisted we provide them safe passage to the nearest free city. I insisted he went about his whims alone.
The second lot met us closer to the Snowliar. They thought flying a house flag justified their actions and saved them from being bandits. I disabused them of the notion. Helena robbed their gold and killed all but the children—Sanas refused to allow Pinmoon to taste blood so young.
It took us five days to reach the northern coast of the capital island and the city that sat there. It's ironic they called it a free city. It was ironic they called any free city ‘free,’ but more so for this sinkhole of liberty; the place would’ve long ago fallen without the commerce of slavery. It was, therefore, fitting for its hard and callous nature to be reflected in its appearance. Built upon one of the rare flats of the capital island’s northern coast, Snowliar was a place of stone and metal, with no colors, barely any wood, little in the way of flags or decoration or any form of art, and without the usual sounds of life. The outer walls, by far the tallest of their structures, were made of large slabs of crude stone, giving the city the air of an oversized prison.
We approached the southern entrance, one of only two—the other was linked to the harbor and reserved for those who came by ship. Archers watched us from barred arrow slits high on the wall, the sun in our eyes and to their backs. The wooden portcullis, covered in sheets of metal and wide enough to allow six battle steeds to pass side by side, creaked open as we approached. Behind it stood a squadron of soldiers dressed in studded leather armor. From among them, an unpleasant woman with thin eyes stepped forward.
“Name?” she asked Sanas, who, clad in robes of scarlet, sat to my right atop a stallion of pure white seventeen hands high.
I kicked my horse forward—a black mare as pure in color and as significant in stature as Sanas’ stallion. Delightfully aggressive, she strained to snap at the guard's face. I pulled on her reigns and ran a hand down her dark mane.
“Some know me as Merkus,” I said, knowing it was a popular name for commoners and godlings alike. “I would like to charter passage to the city of Halor for me and mine.”
The guard turned her snarl my way, then smiled. Her snarl was ugly, and her smile uglier. “You and yours?”
“Yes, me and mine.”
The ugly woman nodded at Sanas. “She has the look of a godling about her.”
“And?”
“How is it a commoner comes to claim ownership of a godling?”
“How is it of any import.”
“No banner?”
“None we carry.”
Her smile grew, and it did not surprise me to find her more hideous for it. “Then you’re a free citizen?”
“For today.”
“And tomorrow?”
I shrugged.
“Are you traveling for trade? What city do you hail from?”
“No, and none.”
She shook her head. “You are fraying on my nerves. Are you or are you not free citizens?”
“As I said, we simply want to charter passage to Halor.”
“Fine,” she said. “But it is late, and no more ships will depart today. A silver each will get you into the city.” More like a town, I thought. You could fit twenty Snowliars into Halor, the smallest of Evergreen’s capitals. “Another will find you a room in the inn.”
“The inn?”
“We don’t often entertain travelers.”
“What of slave traders and island delegates?”
“The former have estates within the city, and the latter are invited to stay in the castle.”
I reached into my cloak and threw her a gold coin. They cost me nothing. I’d long ago learned how Grono produced Evergreen’s currency. “I assume that is enough for entry and an escort to the inn. I will pay them another for the rooms we’ll need.”
The head guard turned and headed into the city without ceremony. We followed. With a wave of her hand, the soldiers—all women—lined the deep, stone passageway beyond the gate.
What little we saw of it, the free city of Snowliar was much the same inside as it was outside, which is to say it was abundantly grey. Walls of grey brick, cobbled streets of grey stone, roofs of grey shale. No building had more than four stories, and the tall city walls loomed in every direction, melding with the sky so that even it looked grey from within the city’s confines.
Our destination was a mere fifty paces from where we entered. The head guard turned to me as we came upon the place.
“The name’s Sishal.” She took out and fingered the gold coin I’d given her. “If you need anything, mention my name to any of my guards, and they will bring you to me or me to you.” She was a dedicated liar. I hated liars.
I ordered Helena to take our horses into the adjoining stables while Sanas, Roche, and I headed inside. The inn was empty of guests. None who saw the place would wonder why. The rough-stone floors were filthy and stained, the wood of the tables and chairs half rotten, and the air conquered by a stench of mold and mildew too entrenched to ever be deposed. Worst of all was the barkeep. She was one of the most revolting creatures I’d ever laid eyes upon, the Painting of a fair maiden she covered herself with useless against my sight. She was a blubbering, pustule-ridden, toothless thing with beady eyes and patchy, short-cropped hair. Admittedly, she was a rather talented Painter; only Roche and I noticed her true self.
“Welcome,” she croaked as we came in. Sanas and Helena enjoyed a cheerful melody; Roche and I endured a guttural slobbering of words.
“I am not staying here,” Sanas said.
Roche put a hand on her shoulder. Without the deep wrinkles, paunchy weight, stooped back, or slow mannerisms of his disguise, he looked barely past his prime. Though, like so many of the Named, his stark white hair lent a little to his appeared age. “A quarter-century in the crypts of The Bridge, and within days, you’ve reacclimated yourself to your lofty standards.”
Sanas’ eye twitched. Roche’s busy mouth tended to run ahead of him at times. We all knew he meant nothing by it. Only one other cared for Sanas more than he.
“The rooms are much better,” the creature explained. “My regulars have ruined my tavern with their nightly antics, but they seldom have reason to go upstairs. You will find the sleeping quarters clean and in good repair.”
“We’ll see,” Sanas said. She flittered across the room and bounded up the stairs two at a time, one hand over her mouth and nose, the other pulling at her robes to spare them the greasy muck staining the floors. Roche followed close behind.
I turned to the creature and placed a gold coin on the counter. “Four rooms for the night.”
“Lord,” Helena called from behind me. “The horses are secure. Should I put Merkon in with you for the night?” The boy was slung across her shoulder. He’d yet to wake. Only my nightly suffusions of sensus were keeping him alive.
“Yes,” I said. “Then you may retire.”
***
They attacked an hour before dusk, long after the last of their rowdy patrons had left, long enough to think the lullaby of silence had sung us to sleep. I suppose they meant to take us straight to their docks, chained and gagged and ready to be sold.
I had other ideas.
I got up from the desk where I’d been preparing letters, grabbed my twin swords, and left the room. Merkon was still in hibernation. Roche slept fitfully. As did Helena. I could hear her slow and heavy breathing through the walls. She always did find the sound of rain soothing. Sanas was still crying, muffling the sounds as best she could. I did not comfort her. Like myself, she despised lies, and I knew only lies might soothe her pain.
Their shuffled feet as they entered the inn. Twenty-two of them all told. For assaulting a group of ordinary folk, it was excessive. For four warriors of some repute, it was prudent. For me and mine, it was suicide. In truth, even with my true strength shackled by prudence, I could guarantee their deaths by myself. But then again, they didn’t know me or mine, and thankfully, nor did they know of the promissory fetters I bore, which were altogether more restrictive.
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I descended the stairs. A soft glow faded up the walls, one or two of the lanterns in the tavern still lit. Five persons clad in dark clothes crept by the door leading to the stables, taking pains to soften their footsteps. Another five were by the main entrance. Both groups had the same number standing outside. Waiting. Listening. They stilled as I stepped into the glow of the lanterns.
Sishal sashayed in, her movements the infernal inevitability of death—all ugly and sure and dangerous. “How did you know?” she asked, cheerful arrogance lacing her every word.
“Your questions,” I said.
“That’s it? A few questions, questions any of the gate guards at any free cities would ask, and you suspected our intent.”
“And the rooms were too clean.”
“Too clean?”
I nodded. “I imagine grime and dust are unavoidable casualties when scrubbing away blood.”
She smiled in amusement. “Anything else?”
“Too empty.”
“Too empty?”
“Will you be doing that often?”
“Doing what?”
“Repeating my words back to me in the form of a question?”
“Ah, how delightful. Once all is said and done, I think I’ll keep you.” She brushed and pulled loose strands of damp hair from her sharp face, retying them into her short tail. “So, too clean and empty. Anything else?”
“In a city full of slavers, any man who isn't owned would, as a matter of course, be perceived as a potential slave.”
She vibrated with excitement. “I’m going to enjoy you. It's always fun to break the smart ones.”
I salivated, imagining the feast of fear and pain I could wring from her soul. Black as it was, my promises remained quiet at the thought. Hunger flooded my mouth with anticipation. I swallowed. Hard.
“Afraid?” She asked. A similar hunger glinted in her cold eyes. “Where is the reckless bravery that allowed you to run into a trap you saw coming?”
Unleashing my soul was out of the question. Whoever felt it would have to die. Though the prospect was endearing, I would not kill them all; there were those among them too innocent to find death by my hand. It's funny how the soul can tell apart obligation and cruelty, even when the act itself is evil, even when the mind confuses one for the other. Patience, I told myself, taking a deep breath. My feast will come.
“Seeing as you hold the city’s entrance,” I said, “I presume you carry some device that allows you to converse with the city’s ruler?” There was no need to presume. I could feel the threads of sensus.
Sishal furrowed her brow. “What of it?”
“And seeing as your mistress’ dealings account for a notable portion of Halor’s slave trade, I presume the device can communicate more than sound?” Again, there was no need to presume. I could feel the matrix of Meaning on the device and smelled my brother's hand in its creation. A commendable acquisition on their part. Grono never sold his wares. What need has a god for money? No, his creations were far more expensive than mere coins, especially since gold was never more than a pulse of sensus away from him.
Sishal’s furrowed brow evolved into anger. “I am beginning to find you more tiresome than telling. What’s your business with my master.” My amusement must have been apparent because her sword slid out, the metal silent against the hardened leather of its sheath. “You think yourself in a position to be amused?”
“A slave who owns slaves is an amusing paradigm, don’t you think? So yes, I find you quite amusing. And yes, I find I’ve not been struck so witless by your attempts at intimidation to let the irony go unappreciated.”
She was a natural Vapor; her namat needed no matrix for the fingerbreadth of wind that sprang to coat the edge of the sword she swung at me.
I covered the tips of two fingers in sensus and pushed against the flat of her blade, dispelling the wind matrix and deflecting her swing to my left. Her surprise at my skill didn’t slow her next attack. She went low and used the momentum to rotate and bring her leg around in a low sweep meant to take my legs from under me.
I stepped back. A sound choice on my part.
A controlled gale aided her into a second rotation, and she swept her sword up from my left. Dinding me sure-footed and ready did surprise her, and the wave of shock rippling through her aura was sweet. She’d planned for me to jump, meaning to cut at me while I was airborne and unable to evade. A kick to her wrist put a stop to her scheme. Momentum stolen, she landed hard and prone.
I don’t think she expected to lose. I don’t think her underlings did, either. They watched me, calm and assured, waiting for their leader to reveal her embarrassing fall to be nothing but a ploy. I think they were used to her playing such games because, with a soul like hers, I knew she enjoyed toying with her victims as much as I enjoyed feasting on mine.
The three weakest attackers fainted when the raw tentacle of sensus I lashed at them broke through their aura and bruised their souls. I took another four out of the fight with the small knives I threw at their feet. The blades dug through flesh, bone, and stone, pinning them where they stood. None looked ready to pull it out and face me.
The innkeeper was next. A small blade through her right eye took her life. She had to die. The black of her soul permitted her death. And a good thing, too, since she’d heard Roche’s comment about Sanas’ imprisonment. Her illusion shimmered out of existence as she slumped to the ground. Rows of shelves followed, jugs, bottles, cups, mugs, and bowls crashing to the floor and shattering into shards.
The doors roared open, and reinforcements streamed in.
“Do you want your guards slaughtered for the chance at such meager sums?” I asked.
Sishal looked up at me, a cruel lust in her eyes. She’d shifted into a crouch, ready to pounce and deliver her violence. “One clash, and you think yourself the victor?”
I looked down at her. “Quiet, child. I’m trying to have a conversation.”
“Your slow death will bring me untold joy,” she said. “So slow you might die of old age.” Excitement rolled off her. Mine tried to rise in response, but I pushed it back down.
“You’d best speak up,” I said. “I can’t keep from decimating their number for much longer.”
Just as Sishal meant to spring into action, a voice came from a green gem pinned to her collar. “Stay your hand.” The womanly timbre of the voice—for the voice was distinctly feminine—crackled with age. Everyone froze. “Dear guest, I invite you to my humble abode, whereupon your arrival, I will offer you my deepest apologies and, if you allow me to be so arrogant as to assume myself capable, provide you sufficient compensation for the error I’ve made and the mercy you’ve shown.”
“Master,” Sishal screamed. “I want him! He’s—”
“Bring my guest to the grand hall,” the voice said, cutting off her protest.
“No,” I said. “As I’ve explained to your hound, we only require passage to the island of Halor.”
“Very well,” the voice said. “I will send an escort within the hour. They will lead you to the docks and provide the funds for whichever ship captain you find an agreement with. Again, my apologies for the disturbance.” As if the stone could direct the voice at a target, her following words fell on Sishal. “Return to the gate. By my order, no harm or insult is to befall this man and his party.” Then the voice, somehow a physical presence of its own, left.
Sishal went red with the effort to follow her orders. I’d caught her unaware, and she was teeming to prove she could take me. To her, such an insult pained her far worse than a sword to the gut. Above all, whether she knew it or not, she lusted after a chance to break apart my sanity and reaffirm her own. Better foes than you have tried, I thought. I wished her the opportunity and relished how she’d fracture when her efforts bore no fruit, for I could not be broken. Lucky for her, I hadn't the time. Not yet.
Fear was what moved Sishal in the end. I could see it dig through her desire, strong as it was, and make its way to feed her obedience. Her master must've been a fearsome woman. She would have to be. Sishal was a Named.
The bloodthirsty hound of a woman lingered by the door, the last to leave. Her hand gripped the doorframe, and the wood splintered under her crushing hold. “Another time,” she promised.
“I look forward to it,” I said, and I meant it. Evil like hers was a rare delicacy.
***
The captain was from the far eastern lands we knew so little about. Like most of her people, she was religious about wearing as little as she was allowed to get away with; only propriety and her love for profit clothed her in the loincloth and chest wrap she wore. I found I didn’t much mind her nakedness.
“A half-gold each,” she said, waving and directing her crew as they tugged and prodded chained men into the ship’s hold.
“Each?” I asked, amused.
The short captain craned her neck to look up at me. “For the risk of bringing in three free men, yes, a half-gold each.”
“And our horses?”
She shook her head. “Five. Each.”
“And how, pray tell, did you come by that estimation?”
“I hate horses. They’re bulky, flatulent, and entirely too fond of shiting where they stand. Besides, I’ll have to leave behind some of my merchandise, and since I’ve already purchased them, they’ll cost me twofold in storage and late fees.”
“Fine,” I said, shrugging.
“Five horses and five persons, then?”
“Just the one horse. We’ve already sold the others.”
She nodded. “Seven golds and five silvers, then?”
I waved over our escort. The woman, her skin cracked like dry earth, stalked over from beside the wide stairs leading up to the city.
“Eight, according to the captain,” I told her.
“Silver?”
I shook my head.
The escort regarded the captain with the same wooden expression she'd worn since she’d collected us from the inn. “For a cargo of five?”
The tanned captain looked between the soldier and me like a child about to be reprimanded for some act of mischief. “And a horse.”
“Reestimate the cost, Captain Jule. Remember, this fare is being commissioned by Mistress Stone herself.”
The captain sighed in defeat. “I suppose it is only proper to count my trading rights as payment enough.”
The escort nodded and turned to me. “I believe my duty is done. On behalf of my mistress, I bid you farewell.”
Within a quarter turn, we’d embarked and set sail. I think the captain had planned to put us in the hold. Because of Sanas’ adamant refusal, she’d given us use of the berth deck, forcing her disgruntled crew to bunk with the slaves and horse. Roche found their complaints amusing and, being who he was, felt the urge to make his amusement known. The man would be more trouble than he was worth if he wasn’t worth so much.
Half a day into our journey, in the calm of night, Merkon awoke dazed and confused. He barked incoherent ramblings and swung at anyone who tried to nurse him. When he tired, we gave him water and fed him fish, which troubled his constitution. He dripped with sweat for hours and spewed back all we’d fed him. Finally, deep in the night, overworked by his mental and physical woes, he fell asleep. When next he woke, late the morning after, his fever had broken, and his mind had shaken off most of its deliria.
“Why?” he asked.
Roche, Helena, and I turned to the boy. Sanas was on the upper deck. She had refused to come down. I think the berth reminded her too much of The Bridge. From how she hugged herself, rocking back and forth, the upper deck, with its view of the Dead Sea, wasn’t much better.
“Why?” Merkon repeated. He stared at the ceiling and made no move to sit up from his sweat-stained bedroll.
“Because you were unlucky in birth,” I said.
Tired, stricken eyes searched my expression. I could see the boy weighing my words, a slow dance of meanings working their way across his thoughts, transforming confusion into understanding. “My parents—”
“Are not your parents,” I said.
Merkon stiffened. His emotions did the opposite. I decided to comment before his anger bubbled to the surface and gave thought to the assignment of blame.
“Their child died in his cot. They did not know. In place of his corpse, I gave them a strong, dutiful son. I gave you a doting family when you would’ve had nothing but a torturous childhood. I think all but Lorail should thank me for the kindness.”
“Lorail is…” He choked on the thought.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Then I am…”
“A Fiora.”
“And you took me from—”
“The hardship of her attention.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you already have the answer to that question?”
“No,” he said. “You told me why I should accept your actions with gratitude, not why you chose to play righteous god with my life.”
I smiled. I knew I liked the boy. Roche, lying on a hammock and carving a flower from a block of pale wood, tittered in agreement.
“Why am I here?” Merkon winced as he shifted into a sitting position. “I am a mere guard—an inexperienced, weak guard at that. Why am I not dead?”
“You underestimate yourself. You mightn't have any worthwhile training in sensus, but your martial skills are laudable. Nevertheless, it was not your skill but who you are that has placed you in these circumstances. What is it you last remember?”
“Our duel, then… the rush of water.” Shadows of fear crossed his face. “I tried to fight it, but the water was dense. Too dense. I knew I was in the Dead Sea. No matter how hard I pushed and pulled and clawed at the water… Eventually, the water… I tried to cough it out. I remember the bubbles brushing against my face, blinding me. Then darkness came, and I knew no more.”
I looked over at Helena. She sat crosslegged, crushing herbs in a small mortar and pestle. She had enough wherewithal to avoid my gaze.
“I apologize for my incompetent servant,” I said. Helena bristled. If nothing else, she’d long been a proud woman. I could not hold it against her; I gave her the source of her pride. “Her mission was to orchestrate your death so others would think me gone. She’d taken some liberties with how she went about the task.”
“How could my death help you disappear?”
I got up and kneeled beside him. A hand to the back of his head, a brief flash of sensus, and the mask he never knew he’d always worn crumbled away in a mass of facial twitches. I had deactivated the disguise before my arrest so his supposed death put an end to my alias, reactivated it when we left the city so others would not take note, and eradicated it now because we were far enough from any who knew this version of me that it didn’t matter.
Merkon’s fingertips explored the unfamiliar contours of his face. “What have you done to me.” Features I’d worn for the last eighteen cycles gazed back at me. The hair remained light brown, though its soft curls straightened to dangle down to his nose. His eyes, now a little closer to his hooked nose, had brightened from umber to tawny.
I took out a small mirror and handed it to him. “As the price for the death I spared you, I borrowed something of yours. This is me giving it back.”