by Erik A Otto
Paulo walked down the gangway and the crowd became a thing of action; some scattered to their tents, some debated among themselves. Many questioned him, but he didn’t answer them. He’d said enough. They would have to make their own decision.
“Purveyor, what of this man? What of the Jawhari?” A guardsman called out to him over the noise.
Paulo sighed, turned into the crowd and broke through the empty circle where Zahir still stood, now surrounded by three guardsmen.
“Did you get what you wanted?” Paulo asked.
Zahir smiled. “Yes, Purveyor. Thank you. And I only had to kill two men. You are easier to convince than the princess.”
“I will do what I can to help the princess and stop the Cenarans at the Old Keep, even though it is folly, but you must do something for me.”
“No, I come with you.”
Paulo paused, then spoke slowly, his eyes holding Zahir’s. “Listen, Zahir. You told me your mission was to bring Hella to safety in Pomeria. You did what you could. Now it’s time to return to Jawhar so you can help us. From the latest reports, it sounds like a Jawhari civil war is brewing, and we Fringe can’t afford the pro-Cenaran faction to win.”
Zahir was obstinate, shaking his head. “No, I must escort Hella back to Pomeria, back to rightful hands.”
Paulo clenched his fists and showed his anger. “Listen, you maniac. There are no more rightful hands. The general who holds her prisoner may be the only hope for her, but he believes us all to be lunatics. Given that I know with certainty that you are a lunatic, you will not help by coming with me. In fact, it’s more likely you will jeopardize our objective.”
He still looked unwilling to agree.
Paulo had had enough. He sighed and said, “If you do not comply, I will have you killed where you stand. You are only useful if you can help us in Jawhar, Zahir. In Belidor you will make my mission more difficult. And Zahir, besides all of that, I must say, I can’t be certain that you won’t kill me on some whim of yours. I think that’s a reasonable concern.”
Zahir looked down for a moment, contemplating the situation. He looked at Paulo, then at the guardsmen surrounding him, testing their resolve. He smiled. “Okay, I will go to Jawhar, but we will be back.”
Paulo rolled his eyes. “I certainly hope not, at least anytime soon. If you don’t stop the Cenarans in Jawhar, we may all be doomed, so concentrate your perverse energies there, please. And then when you do come back, please come in strength. All we have is a band of infidels and naustics against hundreds of thousands.”
Zahir nodded slowly. There was a hint of a maniacal grin on his face. He was still enjoying the outcome of his power play.
Paulo gestured to the guardsmen. “You three, take his sword, and escort him to the Jawhari border. If he resists in any way, kill him immediately.”
As Paulo turned about and left, he heard Zahir call after him. “You know, Purveyor, you’re learning. Not bad for a heathen bone chucker.”
Chapter 12
The Commander
“Preposterous. I will not accuse Mr. Veckio and Mr. Pontrain of any such thing,” the king said when Aisha had finished explaining. He gestured with an open hand toward Nala. “We cannot let vagabonds such as these sway us or have us running scared. You say yourself that this one has been cavorting with infidels and has been cast out as a naustic, whereas Veckio and Pontrain have been loyal servants to Pomeria for their entire lives.”
He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Aisha, I’m sorry I had to remove your command, but maybe this isn’t your calling. And perhaps it was premature to place you in such a challenging position without more training. Your mother is so convincing that I sometimes find myself doing her bidding and regretting it later. This is one example, and it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have let you take command.”
He nodded as if to reassure her. “You needn’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. I have my personal guard constantly watching my back. I would be much more worried about the Jawhari across the Deep Well, our historical enemies, than I would noblemen like Veckio and Pontrain. They have been pressing to have the meeting on the Jawhari side of the Deepwell—for us to stay overnight on the other side as a gesture of goodwill—but I’ve been against it. So you see, Aisha, I’m being cautious. There’s no need to cause alarm with these false accusations.”
It seemed hopeless to Aisha. There was no more evidence she could provide. Father still saw her as an ignorant child.
“There has to be some way I can prove it to you,” Aisha said.
“I’m sorry. There’s no proof here, just the words of this naustic girl.”
“If I can find a way to prove it, will you listen?” Aisha pleaded.
“Of course, Aisha. If there’s strong evidence, we should act on it.” He was just placating her. She could tell he didn’t believe she would find any. “Please Aisha, I need to get back to the nobles. We have important things to discuss.”
The implication that what she was saying was unimportant seemed to be lost on her father. Aisha had to let him go. She bowed her head while he left his tent to head back to the boisterous noises coming from the communal marquee.
Aisha and Nala left Father’s tent moments later. Darkness had descended, but Matteo’s moon shone brightly, casting a pallid light over the tents and buildings scattered on the ridge on the Pomerian side of the Deep Well. They walked over to the lookout point and ventured up to a wood railing. To her right, Aisha could see the Pomerian access to the bridge just down the side of the ridge, marked by two huge Matar-bone gateposts with foundations of petrified wood. The bridge cast out into the darkness over the Deep Well and disappeared into the night. The only things visible on the Jawhari side were a few faint punctuations of light marking the parallel Jawhari encampment on the other side of the bridge.
Only a few feet ahead of her was the Deep Well trench. The ravine ran almost a mile deep, but at this late hour, all she could see of it was a boundless gloom. She thought she could almost feel the chasm in front of her, pulling her in. With a stiff breeze or a quick push she would be lost in the blackness forever.
One question kept circulating in her mind.
“I don’t see how we can prove to Father that Veckio and Pontrain are traitors,” Aisha said to Nala, who stood beside her. She was also staring into the pitch. “The only thing I can think of is to publicly challenge them, but if I do, what if I’m right? My father has ten men here, and I have nine, but Veckio and Pontrain have at least a hundred between them. If they’re pushed, they’ll simply kill us all and blame it on the Jawhari.”
“Can you outrun them back to Pomer City?” Nala asked.
“No, we can’t outrun that many men. They all have good Pomerian steeds like we do.”
“Can we get help from the Jawhari across the Deep Well?”
“No, I suspect these Jawhari are in league with Veckio and Pontrain. They are probably working for this man Sal Habib you referred to, just waiting for the right time to initiate a Jawhari attack on Pomeria.”
Aisha kicked at the dirt near the cliff, then watched a few stray pebbles roll over the lip beyond the railing.
“Do you think the Snail Mountains would be as steep as the Deep Well?” Nala asked. Her thoughts were apparently elsewhere.
“I don’t know much about the Snail Mountains. I hear the sides are impossible to climb, made of smooth, uncuttable stone. If you ascend by climbing the spiraling slope, it’s possible—even without rope—but the route is long, some say longer than the width of the Great Ocean. No one can survive such a journey, especially at the top where the snows blow.”
“So nobody has ever made it?”
“Not that I know of. No one has passed over the impassable mountains either. My great-uncle once tried to climb the Deep Well wall, if you can believe it. He made it all the way down, but on the way up, the earth loosened, and he fell to his death. It amazes me that men should attempt such folly.”
Aisha was so
self-absorbed that she forgot that Nala had told her about her relationship with the Truthseeker. She quickly backtracked. “I’m sure Sebastian will turn around, Nala. Some die, but most turn back in the face of such a perilous obstacle.”
Nala nodded but didn’t look comforted. If this Truthseeker was as mad as many made him out to be, perhaps he wouldn’t turn around.
“I guess it must have been the same for the Deep Well before they put up this bridge,” Nala remarked. “People wouldn’t dare to cross it,”
“Yes, I…” Aisha paused.
It was a fledgling thought at first, but then with a moment of consideration, Nala’s words sparked an idea.
“Come, Nala,” Aisha said, her idea taking shape. It would require some planning, but it could be a way of showing Pontrain and Veckio’s treachery.
Aisha hobbled rapidly over to the communal marquee, followed by Nala. The sounds from the tent grew louder, which meant they were well into their drinking. She wouldn’t be welcome, but this might be their only chance.
When she opened the tent flap, a young soldier stood in the entrance. He smelled of mead ale and offered her a wry grin. It was that rare look of playful desire that some men would give her when, having never seen her before, they walked into the room and saw her sitting. For those few moments, the world was in balance, and she was immersed into the life her sister and so many other young women might live.
That look of adventurous longing would never last, though. The balloon would pop when they saw her stand and deflate completely when she was forced to hobble around with a crutch or on a stiff leg. Then she would again feel the burden of reality squarely on her shoulders.
She decided to deflate the balloon in this man quickly. She knocked her leg against the tent post, making her lack of limb apparent. The grin disappeared. “I wish to see my father, the king, please,” Aisha said.
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, Princess.” He led her through the entranceway via another flap. There were six men inside with a number of pitchers of ale in front of them, as well as some of Uncle Heward’s wine. Veckio and Pontrain were there, in addition to some of their high-ranking subordinates. The men paid her little mind, except for her father, who looked more than a bit annoyed.
“What is it now, Aisha? We’re trying to have a discussion here.”
“Father, I’m sorry to interrupt. If I could have just ten more minutes of your time.”
“Let’s talk tomorrow,” her father said.
“I’m sorry, Father. It’s important. I wouldn’t have disturbed you otherwise. May I have a few minutes?”
Her father’s jaw clenched. The others looked at him, wondering if he would rebuke her. He tempered himself, though, visibly controlling his anger, then laughed in the direction of the men at the table. “When you have three daughters, you’re never free.” The men laughed at his weak quip.
Her father led the way to his tent, offering her only his back. Aisha had to move double time to hobble fast enough. Nala trailed behind the two of them cautiously.
When they made it to Father’s tent, he about-faced. Aisha could tell he was livid. “This better be good, Aisha,” he said.
Aisha tried not to get flustered by her father’s anger. She sighed deeply and explained her plan, hoping he would at least listen, then pleaded desperately with him to at least give it a chance.
The Deep Well bridge was a precarious thing. It was made of rope lines and wood planks that often swayed with the wind. There was enough space on the gangway for one horse to go across at a time, but this was achievable only when there was little wind, since the horses panicked when the bridge swayed.
On this day the wind was light but blustery. On the advice of the Pomerian bridgehead guards, the king made the call that horses would be left on the Pomerian side and they would all walk.
They went across in small groups. Aisha and Nala happened to be with Veckio and some of his men, whom she watched cautiously. Aisha had to go slowly, her wooden leg offering her less stability, and more pain, than everyone else.
Mr. Veckio called out to her, “I’m glad your father agreed to meet with the Jawhari on their side. They were apprehensive about crossing, and this gesture of goodwill will be appreciated. What swayed him in the end?”
She chose not to answer his question. “That’s my father. An ambassador of goodwill,” Aisha said. But also difficult to convince, she thought.
Aisha stumbled, and pain shot up her leg for the umpteenth time.
Mr. Veckio called out to her, “My men can surely carry you, Princess. Your balance can’t be as good as ours. Please, don’t be stubborn.”
The last thing she was going to do was entrust a suspected traitor with carrying her across the Deep Well. “If I can balance the Pomerian budget, I can cross the Deep Well,” she said.
Mr. Veckio laughed and raised his hand up. “Suit yourself, Princess. Suit yourself.”
By the end of it, all the men had long since passed her by to reach the Jawhari bridgehead. When she finally did arrive, she was covered in sweat from the sharp pains and acute focus it required of her. The bridge guards on the Jawhari side looked at her curiously, but like the rest, they let her pass.
The Pomerians clustered in a ragged line, and some introduced themselves to the Jawhari, who responded with garish grunts and nods.
They would be staying for four days, at least according to what the king had conveyed to the Jawhari. The Jawhari offered them a small field to set up their tents just up the slope from the bridgehead. The Pomerians started pounding tent stakes in place right away.
The king, his Royal Guard, Veckio, and Pontrain made their way to the largest building on the Jawhari side. It was a bean-shaped building hanging from large crossed planks. The king insisted that Aisha not come with them. Despite being offended, it was probably best she stay in camp anyways. Her leg throbbed, and it was making her cranky. Besides, she needed to bathe.
As her retinue prepared her tent, she scanned the Jawhari countryside around the bridgehead. There was a grassy slope leading up to the Jawhari settlement that—like the Pomerian side—had tents interspersed among a few more permanent buildings. Beyond the arc of grassy slope, choppy hills covered in dry brush undulated upward.
Her biggest concern was that Veckio and Pontrain’s men could block off the bridge, surround Aisha and the king’s retinues, and kill them all. There was also the possibility that a force of Jawhari would run out of the nearby hills to surround the Pomerians and take the king. Then again, treason could take a much simpler form. Pontrain’s guards, who were supposedly watching for the Jawhari, could easily turn on them in the middle of the night and slit their throats without any help at all from the Jawhari.
Aisha didn’t know in what dish treason would be served, but as long as nothing was hatched before the middle of the night, she would have a chance for her ploy to succeed.
Aisha insisted on staying in her tent while they waited for the king to return. She ordered her entire retinue to stay awake with her and told them the plan without naming the specific suspects. The ensuing tension kept them alert while they waited for the king.
When the king returned from his talks it was late, and his face was ruddy with drink. She hoped he would still be willing to go through with her plan.
Thankfully drinking had put him in a jovial mood. “Well, Aisha, I’m all yours. I can’t say I think you’ll be right, but if you’re willing to cross that bridge again with that leg of yours, you must have a strong feeling about it.”
At midnight, Aisha and the king’s retinues left their tents and corralled before heading to the bridgehead. They had no wyg lamps, and the moon wasn’t as bright as the previous night, so it required careful steps. There were a few annoyed whispers about why they were doing this, but Aisha paid them no mind. This was the easy part.
They arrived at the Jawhari bridgehead. Two Jawhari sentries stood there, including one whom had spoken Belidoran to them earlier in the day. He looked nervo
us, although that seemed to be common for all the Jawhari they’d met. “Why are you up, Pomerians?” he asked.
The king spoke for them. “I must apologize. I was reminded of an urgent matter that has come up at the palace, and I need to return. If you could stand aside, please?”
The guard didn’t move. He looked uncertain of himself and spoke to the other guard in Jawhari. The other guard ran off toward the larger building on the escarpment.
The king wasn’t happy. “What’s the meaning of this? Let me pass immediately.”
“We aren’t to let you use the bridge without permission. Adel is going to get permission.”
The king looked to Aisha, then back to the guard. “I don’t need permission to reenter my own kingdom. Stand aside!”
The man shook his head and started to walk backward toward the alarm bell that was set on the top of the bridgehead post.
The king gestured to the sentry and said, “Remove this man from my path!”
Four of the king’s Royal Guard approached the man cautiously. Too cautiously, in fact, as it gave the man time to run back and start ringing the bell. Then he shouted something in Jawhari and drew his sword.
One of the king’s men moved toward the Jawhari man, trying to apprehend him without inflicting injury, but the Jawhari sliced hard, cutting deeply into the man’s arm. The others stopped being cautious. They charged and one took the Jawhari down with a slash to his thigh. Another took the guard’s sword away and held him to the ground.
The king had long since lost his joviality. He was looking uncertain of what to do next. Aisha reminded her father of the plan. “Father, this was the proof. We must get across the bridge. There may not be another opportunity.”
The king wrestled with the idea. “We don’t know for sure. This may have been a petulant guard. If so, we could be causing an international incident and throwing our nobles to the wolves.”
Aisha pleaded, “Father, this man was ready to attack us for good reason. The other guard is summoning reinforcements as we speak. Pontrain and Veckio never intended for you to set foot in Pomeria ever again!”
