"Over_9780307446138_oeb_c12_r1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jeffrey Overstreet - Cynderes Midnight)12 CAL-RAVEN’S BARGAIN
A top a wind-blasted hill in the Cent Regus wasteland, three vawn riders in ragged skins and feathers rode up to a crescent of ten tall stones that stood like worried watchmen. King Cal-raven of Abascar dismounted, handed the reins to his guardsman, Tabor Jan, and spat out the bitterleaf he’d been chewing to keep himself awake. He surveyed the stones and the uneven blocks of an ancient platform that supported them. “This will do.” “I don’t like it, my lord.” Tabor Jan also took the reins of Jes-hawk’s vawn as the archer jumped down to join Cal-raven. “They might recognize us. Better to stay invisible. We hunt so we don’t have to trade.” “We trade because there’s nothing to hunt.” Trying to appear nonchalant as he shouldered a saddlebag, Cal-raven narrowed his eyes and watched the three strangers on the other side of the platform. Two merchants—blond-braided and scribbled with tattoos—wedged wooden blocks around the wheels of their wagons, while a white-wrapped giant stared at the Abascar riders who had hailed them. Then Cal-raven smiled broadly, and falsely, waving as the strangers fitted feedbags to the noses of their horses. “And we have an advantage,” he added. “They don’t know our secret.” “You’re a stonemaster.” Tabor Jan smiled. “And that’s a stone foundation.” “If they threaten us, they’ll sink knee-deep in molten rock.” Cal-raven nodded. “Scharr ben Fray’s favorite trick.” “So long as we can keep them on the platform,” said Jes-hawk, reaching over his shoulder to count the feathered ends of his arrows. “And what if they have armed help hiding in those wagons? It could go badly.” “Or”—Cal-raven shrugged—“what if the wagons are heavy with valuable cargo? No, we watched them all night. There are only three. It’s a fair fight, whatever happens. And this is Cent Regus country. I’ll bet they want to get out of here as much as we do. Picking a fight would attract attention. And vultures.” He did not want to be here. Hungry Abascar survivors were hoping the riders would return to the Cliffs of Barnashum with a substantial catch. He had brought his two most resourceful hunters. Together they had moved north to the Cragavar forest and skirted its western edge through what was once Cent Regus farmland. Here in the haze and stench, the riders had hoped to catch small scavenging animals. Instead they found the trail of this caravan. Surprised that anyone would lead horses through such a perilous region, Cal-raven decided to investigate, in hopes of making a trade or some other helpful discovery. When the merchants stopped for the night, Cal-raven kept his company a safe distance behind them. Just before daybreak an unexpected prize stumbled into their camp. Now that prize was wrapped securely in a bundle on the back of Tabor Jan’s vawn. “If we play this game carefully,” he told his companions, “we may go back with wagons, horses, cargo, and the merchants as well. Let’s find out what they’re doing here.” “You’re not going to tell them who we—” “It’ll be just like the last time. You hold back. Stay in the saddle. We’re just desperate Abascar hunters hungry for a trade. Do your best to look…you know…” “Dangerous.” The standing stones, once supports for some Cent Regus fortification, provided no protection from the elements. The wind prowled around the hill’s crest, whispering news of an advancing snowstorm through the sea of brambles. The decorated strangers, a man and a woman too young to be seasoned merchants, stepped onto the twig-strewn foundation and introduced themselves as a husband and wife—Fadel and Anjee Tod. They appeared simple and unthreatening, despite their secretive glances. But the giant—a pale traveler wrapped in winding white rags like burial clothes—did not follow them onto the stone dais. Instead he sat down on the dead grass, leaning against a wagon wheel. His unblinking eyes were fixed upon Cal-raven. The Abascar king shivered. Surely he would not be recognized here, so far from Abascar, clad in this primitive hunting garb of skins, feathers, paint, and leaves. Nevertheless, he felt exposed. Borrowing names from the list of Abascar’s honored dead, Jes-hawk introduced himself and his companions as Staub, Spohr, and Gregor. He declared that they were frustrated hunters seeking goats and deer for Abascar survivors. The merchants showed little interest, quietly spreading their ware-cloth on the stone blocks and eying the saddlebags on the Abascar vawns. Jes-hawk laughed. “We have only a few treasures to offer in trade. But they are valuable indeed.” Cal-raven quickly tired of the display. His people had no use for precious stones, vawnskin boots, or bejeweled bracelets. Abascar needed food, supplies, and strength. But his mind began to drift when he caught sight of the sculpted stone ring on the young woman’s hand. The ring distracted him for reasons that his present company could not guess, kindling memories of a ring he had given to Auralia, that mysterious orphan girl in his father’s dungeon. By Abascar tradition, the ring had represented a pledge of protection. But nothing could have saved Auralia from the Abascar cataclysm. He would never see her again. The woman noticed his stare, and twisting the white beads in her long braids, she elbowed her partner. “Fadel. Husband. I don’t think they want what we’ve got. Fold up the goods. Time to go.” But the man pressed on with forced friendliness, desperate to win a trade. “You like Anjee’s ring? You can have it for a price.” That set the woman to ranting. Cal-raven gestured to the black clouds bearing cold cargo across the Cragavar forest. “You can see what’s coming,” he said. “Winter’s not over. I’ll go straight to our offer: Come with us. Join the Abascar survivors. King Cal-raven offers safety, shelter, food, and work. We’re growing strong. When winter’s done, we’ll set up a proper house again. All we ask is that you contribute your wagons, your food, your horses, and your service.” The merchant woman smiled, amused. “Fadel and I have no desire to plant ourselves in some unknown house. Nor to bear the burdens of desperate people.” “Our honorable passenger,” said the man, “has promised payment enough to keep us safe and warm for many seasons.” “Ha!” The sharp laugh from the bizarre stranger slapped Cal-raven to attention. “These dimwits have already forfeited half of what I promised them. And their compass is faulty. They’ll lose the rest if they don’t deliver me to Tilianpurth before those storms arrive.” “Tilianpurth?” Cal-raven’s confidence faltered under the giant’s hot, penetrating gaze. “That old Bel Amican bastion? Isn’t it falling to pieces?” “Come find out, why don’t you?” The giant spoke oddly, as if unaccustomed to his own tongue. The corners of his smile quivered with effort, cracking the bone-white paint that caked his skullish face. “Where’d you find such inspiring company?” Jes-hawk asked the merchants. The man grimaced, and the woman explained. They’d found him wandering near the Cent Regus wilds on foot, and his story was suspicious. Returning from House Jenta on horseback, he had narrowly escaped when a powerful tentacle of some subterranean Cent Regus beast sprang up from the ground, seized his horse’s leg, and snapped it. Fleeing on foot, he wandered into unfamiliar territory. “Or so he says.” The woman’s upper lip twitched. “Whatever the case, we saved his life. And trouble’s all he’s paid us for it.” Nevertheless, they had agreed to carry the disgruntled giant to Tilianpurth, cutting across these Cent Regus lands, for his promise of a generous payment upon arrival. “For two days he’s complained.” She clearly wanted sympathy. “And why? We’re Fadel and Anjee Tod. The Tods have a long tradition of secure passage and reasonable trade. We’re not the Fast Jandies.” “No, we’re not the Fast Jandies,” the man agreed. “Jandies would get you where you want to go, sure as there’s water in Deep Lake. But they drive their horses so hard you’d be bruised from head to toe. And they don’t stop for meals or rest. What sense do folks get of the country when they travel with the Fast Jandies, we ask ourselves?” “They get no sense of the country,” the merchants agreed in two-part harmony. “A sense of the country?” the stranger hissed, his harsh smile never faltering. He pulled a bottle from his sleeve, sniffed vapors from it, sighed, and concealed it again. “What good is that if you make me late? And if my belongings disappear along the road?” “It’s rugged ground, old man.” The woman waved her arms. “Bags fall out of wagons. And the birds in this wilderness are thieves.” “What have you lost?” Jes-hawk gestured to the vawns. “We’re hunters and trackers. We find all kinds of things in the wild.” “Find my belongings.” The smiling giant gave the order as if these were his servants. Then he buttered his tone, as if testing another sort of persuasion. “If you can restore them to me, I’ll repay you with more rewards than you’ll find in a hundred hunts.” Seizing his polished walking stick, he rose and looked down on them all, wobbling on legs that seemed new to him. “You have the word of a Seer from House Bel Amica.” Yes, of course. The eyes. He had seen the Seers when they visited House Abascar as ambassadors from Bel Amica. They always arrived in elaborate costumes and detailed makeup, not these white shreds. But they stared with the same penetrating gaze. The Seer stepped up to a tumbleweed and produced a crystal vial from his ragged wrap. With the curling black nails of his spindly fingers, he withdrew the cork and let one drop, red as a ruby, fall. The tumbleweed sparked into flames. The crackling tangle surprised the merchants’ horses; all five whinnied into their feedbags and took anxious steps forward so that the wagon wheels strained against their blocks. “A Seer of Bel Amica!” Tabor Jan shouted from the vawn. “What luck! Seems we’ve been bargaining with the wrong people. House Abascar would thank us if we brought back potions like that.” “I’m not a Seer of Bel Amica,” said the painted man through his manic smile. “I am a Seer in Bel Amica. Seers do not belong to any house. We go where our counsel is valued. House Bel Amica listens well, and Queen Thesera thrives.” He clucked his tongue. “House Abascar didn’t listen, and it’s a shame what happened after we were sent away. Perhaps we can offer counsel to Abascar’s new king.” Furious, Cal-raven almost came to his feet, but Jes-hawk reached out and grasped his arm. Tabor Jan answered in haste. “Abascar’s last king lacked good counsel, it is true. But Abascar has a new king now. This king has a vision all his own. It has saved him from despair and rash mistakes. He has united a people once divided and given them hope. I’ll tell him of your eagerness to help. Tell me your name.” “My name?” The Seer hesitated. His large eyeballs swiveled to fix upon Cal-raven. “We Seers keep our true names to ourselves. But in the order of the Seers, I am called Pretor Xa.” He pronounced the name as if casting a spell, exaggerating the last syllable for effect—kZAH. Tabor Jan played the part of the high-ranking hunter all too well. “Honorable Pretor Xa, if you provide House Abascar with help, we would be in your debt. We can offer you gratitude in advance. Let us tell you something about your colorful escorts.” The merchants, folding up their ware-cloth, looked up in surprise. “These merchants—they’ve lied to you. They have not traveled these lands for many years as they claim. Nor are they husband and wife. They’re deserters from Abascar.” In the stunned silence that followed, both merchants drew their weapons. The merchant’s face went red as a rash. “We’re not Abascars, Anjee and me!”
“Generations,” the woman blasted. “The Tods have spent generations on this road.” “You think we don’t recognize you?” Tabor Jan dismounted and strode forward. “Fadel and Anjee Tod are musicians, alive and well among Abascar’s people. You’re Damyn and Lira, son and daughter of two notorious Abascar thieves. I arrested your father, Filup, myself and cast him to the Gatherers years ago. When Abascar fell, you were seen with him, looting and making off with all you could steal.” Damyn dropped to his knees. His dagger clattered to the ground. He clutched his chest, wheezing. “Have a care!” shrieked his sister, running to kneel beside him. “Damyn’s breathing is a mess.” Cal-raven nodded. “I’m sure. Many took in too much smoke and dust when House Abascar collapsed. You stayed in the rubble too long.” Damyn’s face purpled with rage, but he could only cough out feeble objections. The Seer scowled. “I’ve searched the wagons. My precious belongings are nowhere to be found.” “Listen to them,” sneered Lira, clinging to her brother as if he were a piece of wreckage in the sea. “Abascar’s last king poisoned our great house. Vision? It was all lies. And now they’re trusting his son?” She turned to the Seer and pointed at the Abascar vawns. “Search their saddlebags. I’ll bet they stole your precious jewels. While we were camped.” “We may not be rich in resources,” said Tabor Jan. “But we are rich in honor. Why bother stealing when it’s so much more fun to catch thieves?” He reached to the heavy bundle on the back of his vawn and untied the rope that bound it. “Here’s something you might recognize.” The bag fell open. Another blond-braided man tumbled out. Tabor Jan hoisted the rope-bound captive onto the stones and rolled him like a fire log toward the merchants. “Father!” Lira leapt to her feet and ran forward. “You’ve killed him!” “Oh, Filup’s very much alive,” laughed Tabor Jan. “Last night, thinking he was getting away with the treasure, he stumbled into our camp, startled the vawns, and got his face smashed by…that.” He gestured to his vawn’s clubbed tail. The reptile snorted. “And there, beside him. That’s what fell from his hands.” An ornamental wooden box lay beside the vawn’s foot. Glittering, crystalline crumbs spilled out. The Seer hissed through his grin. He seemed even taller now, and Cal-raven flexed his fingers as the giant stepped up onto the stone foundation and stalked across it, his eyes on the box. “They probably plotted this trick before approaching you.” Tabor Jan scowled down at the captive. “They sent this fellow on ahead in the dark.” “The stones, the dust…we don’t know what they are.” Cal-raven watched the Seer carefully. “They’re cold as ice, but they don’t melt. They’re important?” “They have…sentimental value.” As the Seer knelt to scoop them up, the hostage woke and struggled against his restraints. “They’re from my homeland. A long story, actually.” Standing, he addressed Tabor Jan with a gentleness more unsettling than any snarl. “You’ll have an extravagant reward.” As if this were some ceremonial vow, he struck the platform with the polished silver ferrule on the end of his staff. The shiny metal cap sparked against the stone, and Cal-raven was surprised to feel a ripple of power spread through the ground beneath his feet. “In twelve days,” the Seer announced, “on this very hilltop, I’ll bring House Abascar a caravan full of supplies. Your people will call you heroes.” Cal-raven held his breath when the Seer turned that broad, bright grin toward him and spoke with the gloating tone of someone who has gained an advantage. “Take these words of counsel back to your king. Bring all the wagons you can. I will provide all that you can carry back to your hideaway. And bring your best defenders. It’s beastman country. We’re bound to attract attention.” “Why must we meet here?” asked Jes-hawk. “Why not meet where we—” “Done,” Tabor Jan forcefully declared. “It’s only wise to keep our refuge secret for now. Further, we know this place. We’ve tested it.” Cal-raven scowled. His guardsman was enjoying this too much. But he played along, worried that the Seer had already seen through their charade. “Well said, master.” Then he walked to the merchants, who were crouching beside their fallen father. “The Seer’s right. This wilderness is harsh. It can ruin people. Turn them into animals. But King Cal-raven’s ordered us to show mercy, even in this forbidding land. The world has given House Abascar a second chance, and so we’ll extend a second chance to you. You refused our generous offer. But if you deliver this Bel Amican to Tilianpurth as you promised and join our meeting here in twelve days, we’ll make you the offer again. We’ll bring you home.” The white-wrapped giant licked the perfect teeth of his smile. “Forgiveness for such deserters will not help Abascar survive. But I still need what these monsters can give me.” “Surely you won’t travel with them now,” laughed Jes-hawk. “Oh, they won’t harm me,” said the Seer. His confidence was frightfully convincing. “Now that I understand them, I’m sure that I can provide proper motivation.” Tabor Jan climbed back into his saddle. “In twelve days then. Here, on this hilltop. We will meet you and—” “And,” interrupted the Seer, turning to Cal-raven, “invite your King Cal-raven to make the journey with you. I’ll make it worth his while.” Tabor Jan scowled. “Our king would never risk such a journey. But…what are you offering?” “News. News for his ears and no one else’s.” The Seer’s smile expanded. “News about what he has lost.” “In Abascar’s calamity,” Cal-raven murmured, “our king lost more than he can measure.” “Oh, this loss wounded him long before Abascar’s calamity.” The Seer turned and tapped his staff against the ground. “I must give my attention to these three now if I am to reach Tilianpurth before the storm breaks.” With each touch of his staff, the stone foundation quaked with otherworldly power. Cal-raven watched the caravan depart, paralyzed, the Seer’s words ringing in his ears. 12 CAL-RAVEN’S BARGAIN
A top a wind-blasted hill in the Cent Regus wasteland, three vawn riders in ragged skins and feathers rode up to a crescent of ten tall stones that stood like worried watchmen. King Cal-raven of Abascar dismounted, handed the reins to his guardsman, Tabor Jan, and spat out the bitterleaf he’d been chewing to keep himself awake. He surveyed the stones and the uneven blocks of an ancient platform that supported them. “This will do.” “I don’t like it, my lord.” Tabor Jan also took the reins of Jes-hawk’s vawn as the archer jumped down to join Cal-raven. “They might recognize us. Better to stay invisible. We hunt so we don’t have to trade.” “We trade because there’s nothing to hunt.” Trying to appear nonchalant as he shouldered a saddlebag, Cal-raven narrowed his eyes and watched the three strangers on the other side of the platform. Two merchants—blond-braided and scribbled with tattoos—wedged wooden blocks around the wheels of their wagons, while a white-wrapped giant stared at the Abascar riders who had hailed them. Then Cal-raven smiled broadly, and falsely, waving as the strangers fitted feedbags to the noses of their horses. “And we have an advantage,” he added. “They don’t know our secret.” “You’re a stonemaster.” Tabor Jan smiled. “And that’s a stone foundation.” “If they threaten us, they’ll sink knee-deep in molten rock.” Cal-raven nodded. “Scharr ben Fray’s favorite trick.” “So long as we can keep them on the platform,” said Jes-hawk, reaching over his shoulder to count the feathered ends of his arrows. “And what if they have armed help hiding in those wagons? It could go badly.” “Or”—Cal-raven shrugged—“what if the wagons are heavy with valuable cargo? No, we watched them all night. There are only three. It’s a fair fight, whatever happens. And this is Cent Regus country. I’ll bet they want to get out of here as much as we do. Picking a fight would attract attention. And vultures.” He did not want to be here. Hungry Abascar survivors were hoping the riders would return to the Cliffs of Barnashum with a substantial catch. He had brought his two most resourceful hunters. Together they had moved north to the Cragavar forest and skirted its western edge through what was once Cent Regus farmland. Here in the haze and stench, the riders had hoped to catch small scavenging animals. Instead they found the trail of this caravan. Surprised that anyone would lead horses through such a perilous region, Cal-raven decided to investigate, in hopes of making a trade or some other helpful discovery. When the merchants stopped for the night, Cal-raven kept his company a safe distance behind them. Just before daybreak an unexpected prize stumbled into their camp. Now that prize was wrapped securely in a bundle on the back of Tabor Jan’s vawn. “If we play this game carefully,” he told his companions, “we may go back with wagons, horses, cargo, and the merchants as well. Let’s find out what they’re doing here.” “You’re not going to tell them who we—” “It’ll be just like the last time. You hold back. Stay in the saddle. We’re just desperate Abascar hunters hungry for a trade. Do your best to look…you know…” “Dangerous.” The standing stones, once supports for some Cent Regus fortification, provided no protection from the elements. The wind prowled around the hill’s crest, whispering news of an advancing snowstorm through the sea of brambles. The decorated strangers, a man and a woman too young to be seasoned merchants, stepped onto the twig-strewn foundation and introduced themselves as a husband and wife—Fadel and Anjee Tod. They appeared simple and unthreatening, despite their secretive glances. But the giant—a pale traveler wrapped in winding white rags like burial clothes—did not follow them onto the stone dais. Instead he sat down on the dead grass, leaning against a wagon wheel. His unblinking eyes were fixed upon Cal-raven. The Abascar king shivered. Surely he would not be recognized here, so far from Abascar, clad in this primitive hunting garb of skins, feathers, paint, and leaves. Nevertheless, he felt exposed. Borrowing names from the list of Abascar’s honored dead, Jes-hawk introduced himself and his companions as Staub, Spohr, and Gregor. He declared that they were frustrated hunters seeking goats and deer for Abascar survivors. The merchants showed little interest, quietly spreading their ware-cloth on the stone blocks and eying the saddlebags on the Abascar vawns. Jes-hawk laughed. “We have only a few treasures to offer in trade. But they are valuable indeed.” Cal-raven quickly tired of the display. His people had no use for precious stones, vawnskin boots, or bejeweled bracelets. Abascar needed food, supplies, and strength. But his mind began to drift when he caught sight of the sculpted stone ring on the young woman’s hand. The ring distracted him for reasons that his present company could not guess, kindling memories of a ring he had given to Auralia, that mysterious orphan girl in his father’s dungeon. By Abascar tradition, the ring had represented a pledge of protection. But nothing could have saved Auralia from the Abascar cataclysm. He would never see her again. The woman noticed his stare, and twisting the white beads in her long braids, she elbowed her partner. “Fadel. Husband. I don’t think they want what we’ve got. Fold up the goods. Time to go.” But the man pressed on with forced friendliness, desperate to win a trade. “You like Anjee’s ring? You can have it for a price.” That set the woman to ranting. Cal-raven gestured to the black clouds bearing cold cargo across the Cragavar forest. “You can see what’s coming,” he said. “Winter’s not over. I’ll go straight to our offer: Come with us. Join the Abascar survivors. King Cal-raven offers safety, shelter, food, and work. We’re growing strong. When winter’s done, we’ll set up a proper house again. All we ask is that you contribute your wagons, your food, your horses, and your service.” The merchant woman smiled, amused. “Fadel and I have no desire to plant ourselves in some unknown house. Nor to bear the burdens of desperate people.” “Our honorable passenger,” said the man, “has promised payment enough to keep us safe and warm for many seasons.” “Ha!” The sharp laugh from the bizarre stranger slapped Cal-raven to attention. “These dimwits have already forfeited half of what I promised them. And their compass is faulty. They’ll lose the rest if they don’t deliver me to Tilianpurth before those storms arrive.” “Tilianpurth?” Cal-raven’s confidence faltered under the giant’s hot, penetrating gaze. “That old Bel Amican bastion? Isn’t it falling to pieces?” “Come find out, why don’t you?” The giant spoke oddly, as if unaccustomed to his own tongue. The corners of his smile quivered with effort, cracking the bone-white paint that caked his skullish face. “Where’d you find such inspiring company?” Jes-hawk asked the merchants. The man grimaced, and the woman explained. They’d found him wandering near the Cent Regus wilds on foot, and his story was suspicious. Returning from House Jenta on horseback, he had narrowly escaped when a powerful tentacle of some subterranean Cent Regus beast sprang up from the ground, seized his horse’s leg, and snapped it. Fleeing on foot, he wandered into unfamiliar territory. “Or so he says.” The woman’s upper lip twitched. “Whatever the case, we saved his life. And trouble’s all he’s paid us for it.” Nevertheless, they had agreed to carry the disgruntled giant to Tilianpurth, cutting across these Cent Regus lands, for his promise of a generous payment upon arrival. “For two days he’s complained.” She clearly wanted sympathy. “And why? We’re Fadel and Anjee Tod. The Tods have a long tradition of secure passage and reasonable trade. We’re not the Fast Jandies.” “No, we’re not the Fast Jandies,” the man agreed. “Jandies would get you where you want to go, sure as there’s water in Deep Lake. But they drive their horses so hard you’d be bruised from head to toe. And they don’t stop for meals or rest. What sense do folks get of the country when they travel with the Fast Jandies, we ask ourselves?” “They get no sense of the country,” the merchants agreed in two-part harmony. “A sense of the country?” the stranger hissed, his harsh smile never faltering. He pulled a bottle from his sleeve, sniffed vapors from it, sighed, and concealed it again. “What good is that if you make me late? And if my belongings disappear along the road?” “It’s rugged ground, old man.” The woman waved her arms. “Bags fall out of wagons. And the birds in this wilderness are thieves.” “What have you lost?” Jes-hawk gestured to the vawns. “We’re hunters and trackers. We find all kinds of things in the wild.” “Find my belongings.” The smiling giant gave the order as if these were his servants. Then he buttered his tone, as if testing another sort of persuasion. “If you can restore them to me, I’ll repay you with more rewards than you’ll find in a hundred hunts.” Seizing his polished walking stick, he rose and looked down on them all, wobbling on legs that seemed new to him. “You have the word of a Seer from House Bel Amica.” Yes, of course. The eyes. He had seen the Seers when they visited House Abascar as ambassadors from Bel Amica. They always arrived in elaborate costumes and detailed makeup, not these white shreds. But they stared with the same penetrating gaze. The Seer stepped up to a tumbleweed and produced a crystal vial from his ragged wrap. With the curling black nails of his spindly fingers, he withdrew the cork and let one drop, red as a ruby, fall. The tumbleweed sparked into flames. The crackling tangle surprised the merchants’ horses; all five whinnied into their feedbags and took anxious steps forward so that the wagon wheels strained against their blocks. “A Seer of Bel Amica!” Tabor Jan shouted from the vawn. “What luck! Seems we’ve been bargaining with the wrong people. House Abascar would thank us if we brought back potions like that.” “I’m not a Seer of Bel Amica,” said the painted man through his manic smile. “I am a Seer in Bel Amica. Seers do not belong to any house. We go where our counsel is valued. House Bel Amica listens well, and Queen Thesera thrives.” He clucked his tongue. “House Abascar didn’t listen, and it’s a shame what happened after we were sent away. Perhaps we can offer counsel to Abascar’s new king.” Furious, Cal-raven almost came to his feet, but Jes-hawk reached out and grasped his arm. Tabor Jan answered in haste. “Abascar’s last king lacked good counsel, it is true. But Abascar has a new king now. This king has a vision all his own. It has saved him from despair and rash mistakes. He has united a people once divided and given them hope. I’ll tell him of your eagerness to help. Tell me your name.” “My name?” The Seer hesitated. His large eyeballs swiveled to fix upon Cal-raven. “We Seers keep our true names to ourselves. But in the order of the Seers, I am called Pretor Xa.” He pronounced the name as if casting a spell, exaggerating the last syllable for effect—kZAH. Tabor Jan played the part of the high-ranking hunter all too well. “Honorable Pretor Xa, if you provide House Abascar with help, we would be in your debt. We can offer you gratitude in advance. Let us tell you something about your colorful escorts.” The merchants, folding up their ware-cloth, looked up in surprise. “These merchants—they’ve lied to you. They have not traveled these lands for many years as they claim. Nor are they husband and wife. They’re deserters from Abascar.” In the stunned silence that followed, both merchants drew their weapons. The merchant’s face went red as a rash. “We’re not Abascars, Anjee and me!”
“Generations,” the woman blasted. “The Tods have spent generations on this road.” “You think we don’t recognize you?” Tabor Jan dismounted and strode forward. “Fadel and Anjee Tod are musicians, alive and well among Abascar’s people. You’re Damyn and Lira, son and daughter of two notorious Abascar thieves. I arrested your father, Filup, myself and cast him to the Gatherers years ago. When Abascar fell, you were seen with him, looting and making off with all you could steal.” Damyn dropped to his knees. His dagger clattered to the ground. He clutched his chest, wheezing. “Have a care!” shrieked his sister, running to kneel beside him. “Damyn’s breathing is a mess.” Cal-raven nodded. “I’m sure. Many took in too much smoke and dust when House Abascar collapsed. You stayed in the rubble too long.” Damyn’s face purpled with rage, but he could only cough out feeble objections. The Seer scowled. “I’ve searched the wagons. My precious belongings are nowhere to be found.” “Listen to them,” sneered Lira, clinging to her brother as if he were a piece of wreckage in the sea. “Abascar’s last king poisoned our great house. Vision? It was all lies. And now they’re trusting his son?” She turned to the Seer and pointed at the Abascar vawns. “Search their saddlebags. I’ll bet they stole your precious jewels. While we were camped.” “We may not be rich in resources,” said Tabor Jan. “But we are rich in honor. Why bother stealing when it’s so much more fun to catch thieves?” He reached to the heavy bundle on the back of his vawn and untied the rope that bound it. “Here’s something you might recognize.” The bag fell open. Another blond-braided man tumbled out. Tabor Jan hoisted the rope-bound captive onto the stones and rolled him like a fire log toward the merchants. “Father!” Lira leapt to her feet and ran forward. “You’ve killed him!” “Oh, Filup’s very much alive,” laughed Tabor Jan. “Last night, thinking he was getting away with the treasure, he stumbled into our camp, startled the vawns, and got his face smashed by…that.” He gestured to his vawn’s clubbed tail. The reptile snorted. “And there, beside him. That’s what fell from his hands.” An ornamental wooden box lay beside the vawn’s foot. Glittering, crystalline crumbs spilled out. The Seer hissed through his grin. He seemed even taller now, and Cal-raven flexed his fingers as the giant stepped up onto the stone foundation and stalked across it, his eyes on the box. “They probably plotted this trick before approaching you.” Tabor Jan scowled down at the captive. “They sent this fellow on ahead in the dark.” “The stones, the dust…we don’t know what they are.” Cal-raven watched the Seer carefully. “They’re cold as ice, but they don’t melt. They’re important?” “They have…sentimental value.” As the Seer knelt to scoop them up, the hostage woke and struggled against his restraints. “They’re from my homeland. A long story, actually.” Standing, he addressed Tabor Jan with a gentleness more unsettling than any snarl. “You’ll have an extravagant reward.” As if this were some ceremonial vow, he struck the platform with the polished silver ferrule on the end of his staff. The shiny metal cap sparked against the stone, and Cal-raven was surprised to feel a ripple of power spread through the ground beneath his feet. “In twelve days,” the Seer announced, “on this very hilltop, I’ll bring House Abascar a caravan full of supplies. Your people will call you heroes.” Cal-raven held his breath when the Seer turned that broad, bright grin toward him and spoke with the gloating tone of someone who has gained an advantage. “Take these words of counsel back to your king. Bring all the wagons you can. I will provide all that you can carry back to your hideaway. And bring your best defenders. It’s beastman country. We’re bound to attract attention.” “Why must we meet here?” asked Jes-hawk. “Why not meet where we—” “Done,” Tabor Jan forcefully declared. “It’s only wise to keep our refuge secret for now. Further, we know this place. We’ve tested it.” Cal-raven scowled. His guardsman was enjoying this too much. But he played along, worried that the Seer had already seen through their charade. “Well said, master.” Then he walked to the merchants, who were crouching beside their fallen father. “The Seer’s right. This wilderness is harsh. It can ruin people. Turn them into animals. But King Cal-raven’s ordered us to show mercy, even in this forbidding land. The world has given House Abascar a second chance, and so we’ll extend a second chance to you. You refused our generous offer. But if you deliver this Bel Amican to Tilianpurth as you promised and join our meeting here in twelve days, we’ll make you the offer again. We’ll bring you home.” The white-wrapped giant licked the perfect teeth of his smile. “Forgiveness for such deserters will not help Abascar survive. But I still need what these monsters can give me.” “Surely you won’t travel with them now,” laughed Jes-hawk. “Oh, they won’t harm me,” said the Seer. His confidence was frightfully convincing. “Now that I understand them, I’m sure that I can provide proper motivation.” Tabor Jan climbed back into his saddle. “In twelve days then. Here, on this hilltop. We will meet you and—” “And,” interrupted the Seer, turning to Cal-raven, “invite your King Cal-raven to make the journey with you. I’ll make it worth his while.” Tabor Jan scowled. “Our king would never risk such a journey. But…what are you offering?” “News. News for his ears and no one else’s.” The Seer’s smile expanded. “News about what he has lost.” “In Abascar’s calamity,” Cal-raven murmured, “our king lost more than he can measure.” “Oh, this loss wounded him long before Abascar’s calamity.” The Seer turned and tapped his staff against the ground. “I must give my attention to these three now if I am to reach Tilianpurth before the storm breaks.” With each touch of his staff, the stone foundation quaked with otherworldly power. Cal-raven watched the caravan depart, paralyzed, the Seer’s words ringing in his ears. |
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