Sapling: The Blade of Ahtol Page 5

  “He’s been asleep for a while,” Firah noted of the form in the back of the waggon. Their third companion became still and the sound of slow breathing was barely heard.

  “Well, he certainly earned it, the good man.” Tohm considered the early day’s events. It was now well toward dusk, many hours after the ambush upon the road to the city. The battle was pitched and furious, at times uncertain … at least Tohm felt in his own case. Zyr was truthful when he stated that no harm would befall Firah. How grateful Tohm was to the strange Ashori, who did for her what Tohm could not. His heart sank when he realized that he could not protect her sufficiently. If Zyr had not been there …. He chose not to dwell on it; the thought of Firah coming to harm was unbearable. “Let him sleep as long as he needs.” Firah nodded grimly in understanding. Both were grateful beyond words.

  "I wonder how he did all those things?" Firah mused out loud.

  "I don't know much about it," Tohm replied in straightforward talk. He could never fathom why the clarity of his speech improved when it came to certain topics. Perhaps it was a reflection of his rational mind overcompensating from the pain of the past. Maintaining control of the beast was sometimes difficult. Tohm checked his thoughts and came back to the conversation. "Years ago there was a place spoken of where people like Zyr gathered. It's rumoured that they swore oaths and dedicated themselves to the strictest training. Perhaps he came from there."

  Firah nodded in response. "What training could help somebody do what he did? I mean, you saw him lift that tree. Such a weight would have taken several men!"

  Tohm gave her a shrug. "I don' know darlin'. He's full of mysteries. All I know is that to move like he did takes work, whether he has tricks to do amazin' things or not. Wouldn't surprise me if he slept through into morning. I’m not sure yet, but we may all have to camp out here tonight and wait for entrance into Khyvla tomorrow.” Tohm considered the line ahead. It spanned for a way and movement was slow.

  The barkeep was unaware of any festivals or holidays, events which impacted upon the planning of his city supply runs. While the massive rainstorm had necessitated the trip be ahead of schedule, he was fairly certain that he was still between festivals. Those were times that any wise merchant would either plan to come beforehand or not at all.

  The city only had so much space and the population was monitored closely. An innovative signal system from either end of the city walls was incorporated, thus maintaining incoming and outgoing traffic. Tohm felt sure that they would be fairly close to the merchant’s entrance by sundown when the gates were locked. He stared over at the main entrance where the rest of the folk entered. That entrance was taxed as well, but the process time so much faster. Only a few persons waited outside the gates that he could see, most likely peddlers.

  Firah smiled. “I guess I’ll just have to wait then.” She rested her elbows on her knees and leaned her head onto her hands. He had known her long enough to know she wasn’t in any hurry to go inside that stone cage. Yet her body language declared that waiting was tiresome. Tohm knew that any movement would be welcomed by her even if it meant cramming along inside city streets.

  “Do you really wish to see the city?”

  Firah jumped in her seat while Tohm whipped around instinctively. Zyr stood high upon the tops of the empty ale barrels, shielding his eyes from the setting sun as he gazed to the city entrance. His brown over-cloak tossed gently about in the wind. He looked down at Firah with that cool gaze which always unnerved her. Yet, she no longer mistrusted him.

  “I’ve seen it,” she replied. “It’s just that I’m getting bored sitting around and Tohm and I have talked each other blue in the ears.” She stood up from the passenger seat and stretched again which caused Tohm to shudder.

  The monk was placid as he spoke. "There is nothing to be gained by entering the walls tonight. I recommend waiting outside until morning." There was something deep and troubling in his eyes which was nearly missed by the others.

  "Stay out here 'til morning?" the girl’s voice was mixture of shock and whining antipathy. Tohm's senses shuddered under the thought of an endless night of complaint and woeful angst.

  "The city has its diversions which will keep even this one occupied," Tohm replied thumbing toward Firah. "She'll avoid any trouble with the City Watch close a’ hand. I have no misgivin's 'bout it."

  Firah was visibly ruffled. "Like I need either of your say in this. I'll make my own decisions, thank you."

  Tohm cast a wary glance at her. The earlier events of the day were still near the surface.

  "It seems my counsel is overruled," Zyr sighed in resignation. "I understand your wishes, perhaps more than you realize. Even so, please permit me to accompany you." He looked to Tohm, "trouble will not avoid the unwary."

  Firah piped up at his request. “I trust you, Zyr. You should know that. I accept your offer." Her face drifted from a sincere cast to a more mischievous variety. "As for Tohm, I don’t think that we should leave him here in line by himself. It could be dangerous.”

  Tohm looked at her squarely. “Darlin’, your absence might allow me to think without all the chattering.” He grinned smugly and winked. “Be off with ye! I’ll be fine here, besides it’s of no use wearing two holes in this bench when you could be doin’ something productive. Shoo! Shoo!” Firah mocked a confused and perplexed look, but jumped off quickly with a grin at the sign of Tohm’s hand being raised. Zyr was waiting below to help her down but she cleared his head and hand with a leap, landing softly into a crouch.

  “It appears your energy and movement are fully restored. Shall we?” He started towards the main road at a brisk walk.

  “Bye Tohm! I’ll head to the merchant gate in the morning, okay?” Tohm’s head wagged in affirmation as she glanced over her shoulder. She stepped into a trot beside Zyr. He had raised his hood once again and was staring intently at the banners upon the towers. His eyes narrowed slightly and his pace picked up considerably.

  “Hey wait!” Firah shouted. She had to work to keep up to the pace of the healer.

  Above, the wind tossed the red and black banners to and fro, as if intent on dislodging them from their supports. The blade emblazoned banners resisted the wind’s every attempt. The sun slowly sank low on the horizon.

  ***

  Deep within the confines of the central tower, the sun gave way to candlelight which cast dancing shadows upon the walls of stone. Tapestries were freshly hung about the halls, displaying a silver blade against distinct red and black patterns, masterfully woven from the best silk. Silent cloaked figures moved about from room to room, heads bowed in submission. They moved up and down the tower steps in pious cadence. Occasionally, through openings in the stone walls, they would peer down into the streets below and all throughout Khyvla.

  The entrance to the tower was guarded by massive Blackstone sentinels. They seemed a part of the tower masonry, except for the shade of the rock from which they were hewn. The midnight black hue contrasted with the grayish tower stone and yet details were difficult to discern in the figures. They resembled grotesquely twisted human forms, towering over the door; as such their presence was enough to keep most curious folk at bay. The remainder of the people avoided the doorway, due to stories they had heard about unfortunate curious folk who walked where they should not have. In addition to the sentinels, the door itself was quite sturdy and was capable of resisting almost any attack. From the door frame, the tower’s smoothly joined stone flowed upward, making an ascent all but impossible. In general, the tower was an effective fortress against all enemies of the cadre which inhabited it.

  Echoes of approaching feet sounded across the cobblestone. People walking past parted quickly, making way as a procession of dark cloaked figures approached the entrance. The sentinels seemed to leer down upon the silent visitors as they paused in front of the massive door. Slowly, the front most member of the group lifted his hand toward the door. The door slid open silently and the group moved through the entra
nce. It closed with a solid clunk echoing up through the spiralling structure. The figures slowly but steadily ascended the stairs without stopping to interact with others. A profound silence prevailed within the tower, only broken by the sounds of padded feet upon stone. The hooded visitors halted their climb at the highest floor in the tower. Again, they stood before a solid wooden door. A gesture released the lock and admitted the cloaked party. The room was lavishly decorated and sweet smelling fragrances lingered in the air. From deep within, a lone form sat in the confines of shadows. The party moved into the room and assembled into a broken line near the entrance, heads bowed. All was silent for several minutes.

  “Where are Murghath and Alsyr?” A voice called out, sweet, exquisite and alluring. It echoed with soothing tones and yet it commanded fealty. All who heard the voice were enticed and fearful in the same moment.

  The foremost member, who had opened the passageway, replied in a suppressed voice, “Alsyr had not returned from her search to the east into Tamers Reach. As for Murghath, he remains hidden still, my lady.”

  “Alsyr’s absence is forgiven. No doubt Murghath heard of the attunement at Jandor. At first, I assumed his prolonged absence was for the purpose of gathering information; however, his cowardice has been unveiled.” The woman moved silently into the soft candlelight. Her beauty was intriguing to the unaware. However, none of the men present had ever remembered having lustful considerations, or making them public in any event. Lady Nuril was considered exalted above the base passions of the rank and file. Her demeanor simply carried a guarded and venomous warning, one no reasonable man dared cross. With the limited speculation that prevailed in the halls, no one knew if she ever had possessed or entertained the thought of a companion. Ultimately, she was the cadre master and such matters were beyond their concern.

  The mistress moved around a black obsidian table centered in the room and slowly toward the waiting subordinates. She moved down the line, brushing each member gently with a silky shift that trailed behind her. Her hair was lustrous ebony, which was pinned up into an intricate weaving by long and slender stiletto daggers. A thin black veil was fastened within her dark locks and fell across her face, shadowing every feature. Her shift was crimson red and woven intricately with black symbols and patterns, leading all the way down to the hem of the garment. Her skin seemed creamy white against the blackness within the room. Her skin’s whiteness glowed in the candlelight. As she passed each of her bond-servants, her scent floated just behind, capturing each of them within her web. She stopped in front of the vacant space in the line and stared intently into the void. All present felt trickles of sweat form and trace down their faces. No one stirred as she stood motionless. Finally, the cadre-mistress spoke.

  “Each of you are linked to me by oath, by bond, by blood.” She raised a slender hand and withdrew one of the shining blades from her hair. She raised her arm above the gap in her solemn line of servants, where Murghath would have stood. Slowly, she drew the knife across her arm, letting the blood flow in tiny streams, dripping through the vacant air upon the floor. She then began to chant a haunting chorus of guttural sounds and moved her hand in a slow rotation in the air at about the height of a man’s head. A strange luminous glow pulsed from her hand to the floor, dancing along the falling droplets of crimson. Once, twice, thrice her arm circled in the air. Following the last rotation her hand clenched to a fist and she jerked it back with one swift, violent movement. She stopped chanting and lowered her hand. The greenish glow faded. The shift slowly concealed her elegant but bloody arm as it returned to her side. “The departure of Murghath is irrelevant." She turned and slid gracefully towards her sitting chair. As she took her place, beneath the veil a small smile touched upon her lips. “The prize, our key to success, is near. The Jazyn smelt her at midday approaching the city. She is young, perhaps seventeen years of age. Each of you is a weave in the net we cast tonight. Begin at your starting points and collapse the search upon her. Do not arouse suspicion. Go now and fulfil your oaths to me.”

  “Yes, mistress.” Ebyn chanted in unison with his blood brothers. The lesson was plain and the message was clear to them all. The price of failure and betrayal was deep and final. It was disturbing imagining an enemy writhe in pain from this curse and find only death as a comfort. The curse was fuelled by the terrifying pact they had solemnly sworn. While somewhat disturbed at this dark form of punishment, he felt that for the time being, he had the confidence of his Lady. Nuril was a terror, of near-infinite power in the art of Nexism. Occasionally, she would unveil sweet morsels of her knowledge to him. He intended to stay close to her, and outwit these other buffoons for the position of First Seat. Now there was one less to compete with. He turned toward the door, and his heart raced in anticipation. His ascension was so close! Now, he must be the one to find the girl and return to the cadre-mistress with the prize in chains. The target was being drawn to them by subtle forces and all they needed to do was collect her. The reward for faithful service would be beyond comprehension. Ebyn smiled quietly as the group descended the long winding stair.

  ***

  The serving maid at the Three Quarters Inn checked the door to the room again. It was still locked and no one had come in or out for days. It seemed that the occupant had skipped out of paying overdue fees of service. Grimacing, she dreaded the cleanup that was coming. It was likely that the room was in shambles and completely unsanitary. It was usually that way with dead beats. Grumbling to herself, she raised the spare key to the lock.

  Absently, she opened the door, which ground out a slow, steady squeal upon rusted hinges. The room was dark and musty. She raised her candle to the blackness. Suddenly, the candle tumbled to the floor and the maid collapsed in a stupor of fright. The fading flickers of light illuminated the form of a man lying upon the wooden floor. His mouth was open in an expression of pain. The pale eyes betrayed the look of horror. All of the exposed skin was marked by tiny pinholes from which blood had escaped. His neck had traces of scars from some sort of strangulation, but no weapon could be seen. The room was pooled in blood, which shone in the fading light. The flame ceased, and the maid’s gentle sobs carried into the early night air.

  ***

  “Citizens all! Hear my words!” Firah watched the city crier project his eloquent voice among the thronging mass. “This is the last news of the day! Hear ye!” Zyr deposited some coins into the hands of the gate collector and stepped over to Firah. She looked at him inquisitively. He was strange. He had nearly sprinted to the gates and, despite being physically fit, she was hard pressed to keep up. Even now as she steadied her breathing, he seemed calm as a summer’s morning.

  “Where to now?” she enquired. He held up a hand, signalling for her to wait, and then pointed it toward the crier. She nodded slowly, folded her arms and leaned against the near wall. With the teeming masses, compounded with the disgusting odor from the sewage troughs along the road, she was reminded of her distaste for city life. Glancing upward she saw one maid deposit a tub of excrement out of a second floor window into the street, which scattered folk nearby. ‘Disgusting’ she thought. The city was a haven for disease and vermin. She looked toward the young crier, whom Zyr had focused his attention upon. His voice rang out clearly for all in the vicinity to hear. Some continued on their way ignoring the crier, whether informed or not. Other interested folk gathered round to listen to the news.

  "Lend your ears! The season of the governance has turned again. The Red Watch are no longer stewards of the province of Mehnin. All hear! The laws and governance of the province, under the direction of the King - May he live - will be conducted under the High Chancellor with consultations with ‘The Blade of Ahtol’, who have acquired the One Seat this very week. All hear! The code of civil conduct for Khyvla remains firm with the addition of these terms. A twilight curfew is in effect and will be enforced with great diligence and harsh penalty. Religious gatherings will not be tolerated within the walls of the city. Personal grievances
will be dealt with judiciously, with all higher appeals being settled by the High Chancellor. That is all.”

  Firah glanced at Zyr, who stood as still as a mountain. Dislodging herself from the wall, she walked toward him, slowly circling him until she could peer past the hood and into his face. His expression was peculiar, one she had not seen nor expected from the man. His lips were tight and his eyes narrow, his gaze upon the highest tower. His mouth moved but no words escaped. A great sadness was palpable in his demeanor. Suddenly, his piercing eyes flashed to Firah, who twitched under the shifted gaze. He seemed unaware of all else and seemed to look beyond Firah, but not necessarily through her. After a long moment of silence, he closed his eyes slowly. Upon opening them, his typical expression was back, non-confrontational and unassuming. He nodded to Firah and touched her shoulder gently. She felt a warm sensation flow through her at the touch of his hand.

  “I suppose you will be passing up the tour of the city?” He asked quietly. She stared at him puzzled. He was strange, no doubt about it.

  “Yes, but never mind that. What was with the serious expression earlier?” She placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head a little. His gaze caught her eyes momentarily, then slipped away. ‘What is he thinking?’ she wondered.

  “We can chat on the way to an inn. We need to secure lodgings before this new curfew sets in …” Zyr shifted his faded cloak and hood and lifted his gaze to the heavens as he finished the thought. “Which should be just outside of an hour or so.” He looked down the main street and then a side street. Pausing briefly, he observed the pathway, buildings and alleys, and then motioned her to walk with him down the smaller cobbled thoroughfare. As they walked, Zyr surprised his young charge by commenting on her attire. Firah felt he was making small talk and avoiding the previous subject, until he made an unnerving enquiry.