Although Jasper and Ihra were the only two invited to the meeting with the Namurru elders, Jasper had learned his lesson after the ambush at the temple of Nahrēmah. There was no way he was going there without some backup. Just in case. As much as it pained him to give up a measure of freedom, getting killed was a worse alternative.
Therefore, when he and Ihra finally thundered down the twin bridges that guarded the flanks of S̆addānu, they were accompanied by Annatta and a small detachment of guards. He figured that even if the Seraphs wouldn't let them join the meeting, they wouldn't be able to stop them from hanging around the general vicinity.
As they followed the river’s course, it wounds its way inland. Soon, the pleasant breezes that wafted off the lake were quickly behind, replaced by stagnant air thick with the heat of the dying day and the nearly suffocating clouds of dust their mounts kicked up from the parched plains.
The terrain reminded Jasper a bit of the savannah, or at least how it had looked on tv; he had certainly never had enough money to visit it for himself. While the banks of the river were lush and verdant, completely overgrown with all manner of strange plants, once one rode beyond the river’s reach, the land quickly became dry, filled with grass, shrubs, and the occasional gnarly trees. The only breaks in the dusty plains were the occasional farms that dotted the countryside, whose crops were fed by shallow troughs that channeled the river’s water wherever it was needed.
Dusk was fast approaching when they finally spotted the meeting place. A small sea of large white tents that Jasper could only describe as yurts dotted both sides of the Yaddām's banks. A few hundred people were milling about the encampment. Children raced up and down the streets, chasing hoops they hit with sticks, while men and women cleaned up their work of the day.
There were no guards posted outside the village, so they rode in unhindered, but that didn’t mean they felt welcomed. The villagers turned to stare at them as they passed. Their eyes were hard and unfriendly, and mothers scurried into the streets to pull their children away. No one spoke to them until they neared the center of the camp.
Small groups of men were scattered around a large campfire, trying their hands at a game of dice. Their gazes were friendlier than those of the other villagers, and as they drew close, one of the men, a colossal hulk of a Djinn rose to meet them. “What brings y’all to our camp tonight?” he asked, flashing a pearly white smile at the pair.
Yanking the letter out of his bag, Jasper showed it to the man. “We were invited to meet with some of your elders,” he explained.
The man barely glanced at the letter before his eyes focused on the seal. “Yep, that looks like their insignia all right.” He tossed the letter back to Jasper. “The elders’ tents are just on the other side of the river, but I can show you the way. Follow me.”
“Thanks,” Jasper replied, nudging Dapplegrim into a gentle canter.
As they left the group of men behind, venturing back into the crooked streets of the tent village, Jasper was again struck by the unfriendly stares of the Seraphs. He didn’t ask the guide, not wanting to unnecessarily give offense, but the Djinn must have noticed something in his expression.
Dropping back a few paces, he sidled up beside the pair. “Don’t mind the others,” he said, in a low voice. “They aren’t the most welcoming bunch, but once you get to know them, they’re really not that bad.” He shrugged. "Well...mostly.”
Jasper allowed himself a faint grin. “So it’s not just my imagination, then. I was starting to get a complex.”
The Djinn snorted. “Believe me, it’s nothing personal. You familiar with the history of our people?”
“Not really,” Jasper began, then cut himself off, remembering the story the Fey woman had told him. The story of how the Seraphs had been trapped in servitude for centuries by a contract with the Children of St. Martin. “You mean what happened with the Fey?”
Their guide winced. “We don't generally talk about it quite so casually but, yeah, that’s what I meant. If you're familiar with the story, I'm sure you can understand why there's not a whole lot of trust amongst Seraphs for strangers.”
Jasper frowned, surprised by the man's admission. Abnu and his contact at the temple had seemed normal enough.
“But you’re not like them?”
The Seraph shrugged. “Those of us who have left the clan for a while tend to feel differently. Me and most of the men I was hanging with served in the king’s scouting corp. I've been all over this province and met lots of great people." He winked at Ihra. "Lovely, too. We know outsiders aren’t some kind of boogeyman, but convincing some of the more traditionally minded among us is, well,” he hesitated for a second before continuing with a wry grin, “let’s just say it’s a task for someone considerably more eloquent than me.”
“Anyways,” he paused at the foot of the river, whose waters rushed past at a surprisingly swift pace. A series of stakes raised their head above the waters, marking the path to ford across. “The elders’ houses are on the other side. Just show your letter to the guard, and they’ll take you where you need to go.”
He hesitated a moment, shuffling his feet, and Jasper started to reach into his bag, thinking the man wanted a tip.
“You belong to the Royal House, don’t you?” the Djinn suddenly blurted out.
“I guess so,” Jasper agreed. Truthfully, he felt like an imposter, but it was technically true, and technicalities were the best kind of truth.
“You ever meet the king?” The Djinn asked.
Jasper’s mind flashed back to the almost god-like ruler. A little tremble passed down his spine - not of fear, but awe. “Just once.”
The man studied his face for a moment, nodding in satisfaction at whatever he found. “I thought so.” He rubbed his arm absentmindedly. “You got that same skin tone their nobles get. I'm guessing you’re a mage too, aren’t you? Don't look strong enough to be a warrior, no offense.”
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Jasper nodded, and the man grimaced. “Damn. Listen, a word of advice then. Our people follow a strict code of honor but what we consider honorable is not always fair to outsiders.”
“Oh?” Jasper asked, feeling a chill. So they are planning a trap for me?
The man stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’ve heard rumors that the elders have reluctantly agreed to allow someone to challenge you to a duel. Something about a blood debt?”
Jasper’s brow darkened. Damn it, S̆arrābī.
“So I'll turn it down. Why should I agree to it?”
The former scout shrugged. “I don’t know what you want from the elders, so I can’t tell you if the duel's worth the risk or not. Guess it depends on how desperate you are. What I do know is that if you don’t agree to honor the tradition, they won’t make a deal with you. For the elders, tradition is everything. Point is,” he continued, “if you get challenged to a duel, they’ll probably offer to make it ‘no weapons allowed.’ Sounds good, right?”
“Let me guess, there’s a catch,” Jasper ground out, between gritted teeth.
The Djinn nodded. “Indeed. Most of us are warriors, with no ability to use magic. Pretty much all of us, though, can shift, and since everyone can shift, in our traditions, shifting is not considered to be using a weapon. Claws and teeth are ‘natural,’ after all. But if you try to use your spells, that will be counted as using a 'weapon.'”
“Why? Pretty sure magic’s just as natural as shifting,” Jasper objected.
The Seraph shrugged. “Perhaps, but as I said…”
“Your rules aren’t fair to outsiders,” he finished for the man.
“Just don’t agree to fight without weapons.” The guide insisted. “Do that, and assuming you're a half-decent mage, I'm sure you'll have no problem defending yourself.”
Jasper smiled tightly. “Thanks for the tip. I probably would have fallen for that.”
“Don’t mention it,” the Djinn replied. “Like I said, I served the king for quite a few years. Without him, the other tribes would have forced us to settle down and stop roaming their lands long ago.” He offered Jasper a lopsided smile. "Wouldn't want to see him pissed off because you lost your head. The elders may be bound by tradition, but some of the rest of us have a bit more perspective. Take care now." With that, their guide said his farewells and headed back into the now-dark streets.
Ihra cast a worried glance at him. “You still sure you want to meet with them? Doesn't exactly sound like these elders are exactly negotiating in good faith.”
Jasper sighed. “Nope, I definitely don’t want to do this, but what are my other options? Kas̆dael wants me to investigate this dark brotherhood, but I can’t get close enough to them to investigate. Somehow, they know exactly who I am and, even if they didn’t, now that I got roped into the nobility, it’s kind of hard to move around without being noticed. If these Seraphs have anything that can help me complete Kas̆dael's quest, then I’ve got to take that chance. Otherwise, I am going to have to go along with her brilliant backup plan of serving me up on a silver platter as a poisoned sacrifice.”
She offered him a wry grin. “Not a fan of that plan, I take it?”
He laughed. “You could say that.”
“Alright then, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.” She shot him a teasing glance. “Lead on, O fearless leader.”
Chuckling, Jasper spurred Dapplegrim into the river. The rushing water was colder than he expected. Though the glaciers that capped the mountain peaks were some distance away, their runoff was cold enough that even in the sun-scorched plains the water remained uncomfortably frigid. Maybe there’s some sort of magic involved? he hypothesized, remembering the spirits that had haunted the forests in Sapīya. But despite the cold, the crossing was easy enough, as the stakes charted a safe course through the rapids.
A handful of guards was waiting to meet them on the other side. “You Jasper?” One of them yelled, and he could only nod, half-surprised not to hear the increasingly familiar “lord” in front of his name. “The elders are waiting for you,” the guard said, and led them up a mild slope to one of the largest yurts in the village. Unlike the other tents, this one wasn't starched white. Instead, its broad panels were decorated with vibrant scenes of hunting and combat, though Jasper couldn’t tell if they were depicting scenes from everyday life, or simply narrating a story he was unfamiliar with.
In any case, the guards gave him no chance to examine the panels. After tying up Dapplegrim and Kheresh outside, the group ushered him and Ihra into the tent.
A woven reed rug covered the floor, died a deep red color that he hoped wasn’t from blood, and on the far side a group of heavy wooden chairs was arranged in a semi-circle. The rest of the tent, though, was largely empty, save for the sides of the tent where a collection of furniture was piled up on top of each other. They cleared it away for the duel, he realized.
Seven men and women occupied the chairs. Two of the elders' appearances fit their name. With greyed hair and wizened faces, they perfectly matched the image of the wise, older leader. The others though certainly didn't look old or, if they were, they hid it well - as Jasper had quickly learned, age in Corsythia was not so easily guessed as it was on Earth. A few other Djinn stood around the rim of the room, including Abnu, but the room was largely empty.
As he entered the tent, the elder - one of the two that actually showed their age - occupying the center seat rose to meet him, beckoning him forward with an unexpectedly friendly smile. She wore a simple robe, stained with the same dark red as the floor, and had a crop of unruly white hair that was cut shorter than most of the women he had seen in Corsythia - shorter even than most of the men.
“I see you decided to accept our offer, Jasper of Earth.”
Jasper completely forgot what he was going to say, as her words sunk in. Of Earth? Where did she hear that name? Sure, Kas̆dael had called him that a time or two, but he doubted the goddess had snitched on him - so where did the Seraph’s information come from? “Who told you where I came from?” he demanded.
The elder smiled enigmatically as she took her seat. “You’re not the first of your kind we’ve met,” she explained.
He started to ask more, but she cut him off. “There will be time for questions later but, for now, we have business to discuss. We are most grateful for the aid you provided to Abnu, and hope you appreciated the information we gave you in return.”
Jasper suppressed the urge to shrug. In truth, the information they had given him had not been nearly as useful as he had hoped, but there was no point in starting off the conversation on the wrong foot.
The Seraph flashed a smile. “Good. Now, we are open to further collaboration, but before anything else can be negotiated, certain other matters must be attended to.”
As she spoke, one of the onlookers stepped out of the crowd. Jasper had thought Abnu was huge, but this Djinn made Abnu look like his annoying kid brother. Nearly ten feet tall, with shoulders as broad as an ox and arms as big as logs, his size alone was enough to give Jasper pause - and that was before Jasper saw the axe the Seraph was wielding.
There was nothing ceremonial about the weapon. A tarnished silver color, dulled by years of hard use, the axe had a savage simplicity to its two twin blades which, each as wide as Jasper’s torso, sprouted from the unadorned staff. The man stepped forward, dropping the shaft of his weapon on the floor with a heavy thud, and Jasper gulped as he realized the axe was nearly as tall as he was. Damn, that’s a big boy.
The elder scowled at the Djinn. “I didn’t ask you to step forward yet, Abdīlū.”
The Djinn rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck with an audible pop. “Didn’t need to,” he grunted. “I know my rights.”
With one hand, he lifted the colossal axe and pointed it straight at Jasper. “And I have the right to blood.”