The others listened in stunned silence. Such a quantity of meridium was beyond comprehension. To willingly place it in the hands of the Tritanese was ludicrous at best.
“And how could we possibly lift the embargo?” Haren asked. “Only Pryln has that authority, and I doubt he will bend to our whim.”
“Indeed,” Saladin replied. “But from what I am told he seeks a political truce between the two realms. What with little export leaving Tritan’s metal shore, and our own lands fouled beyond hope, what better time to merge our two concerns?”
“His intentions are true,” Uxer said. “I heard it uttered from the boy prince’s very lips. He plans to disband his father’s embargo and forgo further cleansing in the Waste. As long as the gobs think we played a hand in this, the atuan will be ours.” He lifted a cup to his lips and drank down a swallow of wine. Let them take that in, he thought as the bitter vintage warmed his belly.
“It is done then,” Saladin said. “If the gods favor us, Tritan will be the soil from which the new world sprouts.”
“The Circle’s new world,” Haren breathed.
Uxer nodded. But as he ran his hand through the dying flames, only one thought entered his mind.
My world.
27
A green mist hung heavy above the port town of Ix, concealing the many canted chimneys adorning its rotten, crescent shaped crown.
Another beautiful morning, Gorbin Grill thought as looked down upon the Bay of Smog. As always, its green surface rippled with trash, and near the docks dozens of rotting hulls jutted from the water.
As vile and cancerous a den as I’ve ever known, he thought. And since his exile from Tritan he’d known many: the jungle heaps of Dey; the sex burrows in northern Alg; the slave pits dotting Alimane. But none were as dangerous as Ix.
Beneath the poisonous smog, cries rang out as men and women awoke to slit throats and empty pockets. Along the decaying, draba-plagued docks, exhausted slaves pushed carts piled high with the night’s dead, which they dumped unceremoniously into the bay without prayer or tear. Within a call, the empty streets would be teaming with every criminal and black market trader Ix had to offer. And that’s when the real fun begins, Gorbin thought.
The gob prince yawned as he glanced across the table. Flies now covered the bodies of the three Ixian whalers he had killed earlier that morning. Each man sat slumped in his chair, his slit throat dripping gore down his chest. Gorbin turned away and sighed. They had been cheats and hustlers, much like he. Only I was the better, he thought with a smile.
“Here’s to ya, ya filthy scags,” he mumbled, raising a chipped mug to his black lips. The booze slid down his throat easy enough, warming his empty stomach. When he was through, he tossed the mug off the rooftop and kicked his boots up onto the table. He then leaned back and yawned again as stacks of coinage spilled across the blood soaked tabletop.
Exhausted, Gorbin closed his eyes and rubbed his throbbing temples. It had been a long night. And would be an even longer day. May the gods bring me good news this morn, he thought as bile percolated up his throat.
Below, a cry echoed across the bay, followed by the sound of something splashing into the acid. Probably another cheat, Gorbin thought with a laugh. Even in a city of thieves and scoundrels, discretion and subtly were traits best learned quickly. For those to arrogant or green to abide were quickly swallowed into the shadows. Gorbin had even heard of a tavern where the skulls of cheats were proudly displayed above the bar for all to see. A place I shall avoid, he thought.
Indifferent, the gob prince belched and wiped his bloody blade across the closest man’s jerkin. When it was clean, he returned it to the concealed sleeve-scabbard bound to his forearm and turned back toward the stinking bay.
Dawn had swept in like an unwelcome guest, the sun’s powerful rays stirring the bay’s raw stink like a bowl of rotten stew. Where are those buggers? he wondered as muted light reflected off the poisoned harbor. His head throbbed and his sinuses were beginning to burn from the smog.
Darkness is a far better sanctuary for me, he thought as he wiped his sweaty brow.
“Damn it!” he hissed.
In his foggy state, he’d forgotten about the fresh tattoo glistening on his forehead. Adreena chew and drink had all but numbed the pain the night before. But now it all came rushing back like a river of vomit.
I’m in, though, he reminded himself as he gently dabbed the raw flesh. The mark had cost him nearly three thousand coinage, plus a Tritan steam engine. A toll he would have gladly shrugged off before his exile from Tritan. But to a gob stranded in Ix, it was a king’s ransom.
No matter, though, he thought. The mark branded him a Shipman now, enabling him safe quarter in any harbor bearing the guild’s mark. It also meant freedom to begin a new life on the tidal markets lining every shore along the coast. Worth every stinking second spent in this hell hole, he thought.
Glancing down, he noticed his reflection in the blood soaked tabletop. A single black band stretched across both his eyes and nose like a grim, childish mask.
No longer the ladies’ man, he thought with a laugh.
A draba bird landed atop one of the corpses sitting opposite him. Without giving Gorbin a second thought, it began pecking at the dead whaler’s head, pulling great tangles of ropy hair from his sunburned scalp.
Gorbin watched disinterestedly as he rolled a blood stained coin back and forth across his knuckles. Where is that fattened sloth, he wondered as the bird took off with a satisfied squawk.
It had been almost three calls since he sent Minwar to meet with the scrap brokers. Probably passed out in a brothel, Gorbin thought as he scanned Ix’s many rotten, sun-bleached structures. Like dark sentinels, they towered above the docks, casting them in perpetual shadow even at the sun’s zenith. Gorbin’s heart sank at the sight. It was a hellish landscape, filled with every kind of death and anguish a man could think of. Organ hunters and slave traders prowled the alleyways and taverns, and most of the local whores bore either desert fever or the Itch. Even the so-called merchants preyed upon their clientele, selling their information to awaiting thieves and collectors.
Given enough time, any man, no matter his caste, will fall to Ix’s shadow, Gorbin thought. Minwar’s face came to mind. Had he, too, been swallowed up by the town’s darker shadows? He’ll return, he told himself. He has to. For no matter the lout’s faults, Minwar was Gorbin’s only friend now. His only ally since being exiled from Tritan.
More green clouds gathered above the harbor, a collection of elementals and acid vapors blowing in from the south. Gorbin tensed as a powerful gale swept acidic mist across his sun burnt face. It’s time to go, he thought.
In the distance, Ix’s storm bell began to chime. A few of the newer locals ran to the nearest brothel or tavern for cover, but the more grizzled residents continued about their business, hungry for the next deal. Gorbin sighed. Even as elementals swallowed their city whole, coinage was foremost on their minds.
Not one will leave something of importance behind, he thought.
Grabbing one of the dead whaler’s laptane hats, Gorbin dashed for cover beneath a nearby boathouse. Panting, he watched as several cats darted about in the open, hissing wildly as their fur curled beneath the acidic mist. I will not miss this place.
Orange fog soon descended upon the city. Gorbin coughed as the poisonous cloud worked its way into his lungs. Ten more turns of this and he would find himself floating in the Beggar’s Graveyard. Or sucking an adreena breather in some rat infested brothel, he thought.
A pudgy figure materialized at the edge of the wharf. As he ran toward the boathouse, clouds of steam trailed in his wake.
Relieved, Gorbin shook his head as he laughed. “Get over here you damn fool!”
The servant ducked beneath the overhang, wheezing like a lunger. “Damn it to hell,” he spat as he tore his steaming cloak from his body. “It caught me by surprise.”
Gorbin spit a wad of adreena chew
at his friend’s feet. “One of these days those fat legs of yours will cost you your life, Min.”
Minwar kicked the smoldering cloak into the harbor and gestured to Gorbin’s tattoo. “So it’s done, then?”
Gorbin nodded. “We’re free-roamers, my fat friend.”
Minwar smiled, revealing a set of black and broken teeth.
“Enough with me, though,” Gorbin said. “Have they anything of worth?”
Minwar nodded. “Their outrider claims a great bounty. . . a Karna-bara chamber.”
Gorbin coughed. “Bull flops!”
“No, it’s true. Apparently they found it lodged in the belly of a Tarnak worm.”
Gorbin’s heart began to race. A Karna-bara! Father would never turn away such a prize. Even if gifted from the likes of me. The thought made his chest tighten. Since his exile three turns ago, he had wanted nothing more than to gaze upon Tritan’s dome one last time, to hear the sound of machines and gears grinding away within the great clock tower of Kil. No whore or stack of coinage could ever replace the acrid whiff of oil and ventilated air lingering beneath that great silver dome. At least none that resides in this wretched town, he thought. For here, there was only sand and scrap, a beggar’s banquet in a world gone sour. But there…
“Where is Lyotane?” he asked.
“Brothel Tranquar,” Minwar replied. “And it would be best to fetch him soon. I fear he’s gone well passed his credit.”
“Fool,” Gorbin spat. He turned and removed a package from behind the boathouse wall. “Here. . . put this on and go fetch him.”
Minwar took the package and opened it. It was a fresh laptane suit, the flesh orange and free of burns. Smiling, Minwar tore off his weathered suit and pulled the fresh flesh over his body. “Might I ask what this is for?”
“We’ll most likely be leaving in a hurry. And upon the sea, if things go our way.”
“What of the brothel pimp? He won’t be happy to see Lyotane’s bill go unpaid.”
“If he gives you lip, give him a dagger for his troubles.”
Minwar nodded, his stringy hair slopping over his greasy face.
“And Min. . . take this as well.” Gorbin tossed him a bloodied purse. “Fetch us a laxore from their so-called fleet. No bellied up infants or floundering minnows. I want our return to draw as many eyes as possible.”
Minwar opened the sack and smiled. “Might I ask one thing, Gor?”
Gorbin nodded.
“Why such extravagance? Certainly there is a cheaper charter willing to dare the Straights.”
Gorbin grinned. “We’re not going to the Straights, Min. We’re going to Tritan.”
Minwar’s eyes widened. “Truly?”
Gorbin nodded as he spat out his chew and replaced it with an adreena stick. “Yes, my friend. It’s time I returned home.”
28
Michael sat down in the worm’s frozen track, watching as tiny snowflakes drifted past his nose.
It’s getting cold, he thought. Too cold.
A bitter chill hung heavy in the air, frosting the sand underfoot. All around them storm clouds gathered, ensnaring the desert in a shrinking net.
“This snow. . .” the voice said. “It is unlike any elemental I have ever known.”
Michael turned toward his companions, who sat huddled around a tiny fire several hundred footfalls to the south. There would be no laughter tonight, no talk of dreams or a better tomorrow. Now there was only the promise of sleep.
At least we avoided nagra, Michael thought as he glanced back at their lonely tracks. And there’s probably ten leagues between the outpost and us by now.
“Perhaps,” the voice said. “But the worm riders move fast. Even with such a burden, I fear they will reach their buyers soon enough.”
Lasasha stepped onto the dune, her slender body silhouetted before the distant fire. “You stray too far,” she whispered.
Michael relaxed, warmth spreading throughout his body. By the gods, if this woman doesn’t pull strings within me. . .
Lasasha halted only a few footfalls away. “The fire is a welcome blessing we may not see for some time.” She reached out and touched his shoulder. “You should not waste it.”
Michael closed his eyes, warming at her touch.
“She’ll protect us,” the voice whispered. “Even now, she guards your shadow like her own. Do not push her away. But keep your feelings in check.”
Michael took a step back and gestured to the comet. “Strange isn’t it?” he said as it glowed in the distance. “Like it wants us to see it.”
Lasasha drew her cloak tight over her laptane suit. “I don’t like it. Such omens are rarely pleasant.”
Michael took a deep breath, his nostrils freezing as icy air passed into his lungs. “What’s going to happen to us?”
Lasasha sighed. “Either we succeed. . . or we fail.”
Michael nodded. “And what of this?” He gestured to his head. “Am I never to be rid of him?”
“Your bonds will be broken,” she replied. “Once we find the chamber.”
Michael shivered, his skin prickling beneath the oily shark flesh.
“It’s strange,” he said, staring up at the night sky. “For the first time since I can remember, I want to see another sun.”
Lasasha inched closer, her warmth radiating against his flesh like an invisible blanket. “And you shall.”
Michael’s eyes trembled. In that moment, he felt farther away from home than ever before. Had it even been real? he wondered. Had his parents even existed?
“They did,” the voice whispered. “And you will see them again.”
Michael flinched at the sudden intrusion. Leave me be. It’s not for you to hear.
“I cannot be blamed for hearing that which is given so freely,” the voice replied.
Michael turned to Lasasha. “I always thought I would end my days slogging it out in the Waste. But now. . . “
“But now you shall,” she said. “Only it will not be a cleansing rod in your hand, but a sword.” She reached beneath her cloak and withdrew a small blade.
Michael laughed. “What’s this for?”
“You,” she said, holding it out to him.
Michael eyed the weapon curiously. He had never learned to fight. Never wanted to, in fact.
“Take it,” she said.
He reached out and reluctantly took hold of the pommel. When she let go, the weight took his hand down several inches.
“So what then. . . “he said. “We take on the Circle ourselves now?”
“I never said that,” Lasasha replied.
“So what’s the point then?”
“To keep hope alive.” She withdrew a rusty coin from beneath her cloak and held it up to her vulpine eyes.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“A whisper from the past. Proof of our people’s accomplishments. . . and failures.”
In the moonlight, Michael could make out a stallion rearing up before a massive gate, as arrows rained down on it from the swirling clouds above. It was an amazing piece of craftsmanship, far better than anything he had ever known.
Lasasha pressed it hard into his palm. “Our ancestors, men and woman of a thousand turns ago, faced a similar threat.”
“And how did it turn out for them?”
Lasasha ran a finger lovingly over the coin. “They were slaughtered and scattered across the seas.”
Michael laughed halfheartedly. “You’re not exactly building my confidence.”
“The point is they tried.”
Michael rolled the coin over in his palm. Both sides were worn smooth, no doubt from the countless pockets they’d known throughout the turns. He wondered how many bazaars and greedy whores such a coin had seen. How many men like his father had traded it for a flagon of wine or a simple night alongside a warm body? The thought made him shiver.
“My father tried as well,” Michael said. “People said there was work in the Culver, so he came here hopin
g to make a better life for us.” He clenched his fist around the warm metal. “While he was gone mother and I barely ate. I scavenged the scrap heaps surrounding our village, selling whatever I could to traders and the like. We waited for almost two turns for him to come home. But when he finally did he was as mad as a goat.”
“Many fall to the sands,” Lasasha said. “But there are those who rise above it. Remember that and perhaps your children will have the better tomorrow your father never found.”
Michael scoffed. “The only thing the future will inherit will be the elementals you see yonder.”
Lasasha grabbed his wrist, her eyes burning with rage. “Your words make me sick,” she hissed as her sharp, cat-like nails dug into his flesh. “A coward’s voice spitting pity and foolishness! Do you think you’re the only one who’s lost someone? What of my people? My home?”
“Let go of me!” Michael gasped.
Lasasha shook her head. “Maybe I erred back there. Maybe I should have let the council kill you. You found it, right? You brought this misery upon my home.”
Blood percolated around her nails, dripping down Michael’s wrist. He tried to pull away, but her grip only grew stronger. “I didn’t mean to cause your people harm!” he spat. “I’m. . . I’m sorry!”
“Now all our lives hang in the balance!” she hissed. “Yours and mine! And it’s because of you, Michael Carter! Remember that when the cries of my friends come to haunt you in the night.” With that said, she let go and pushed him to the ground.
“You’re just a coward, Michael,” she said, wiping sand from her cloak. “A lost coward without hope or cause.”
“I’m no coward!” Michael cried.
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