Almost directly below them a veritable city made up of multicolored tents surrounded the dragonspire. Hundreds of people moved around while heavily laden camels carried goods in and out of the city. According to the same experts that claimed there were no settlements, the nomad clans were constantly fighting amongst themselves, save for occasional temporary truces. Even from this height, Rondo counted the clan colors of four different groups. Whether that was a lot or not, he didn’t know, but it certainly argued that they needed better experts.
One thing was certain, there was no way they could quickly land, activate the tower, and retreat.
“The boss isn’t going to like this.”
Rondo nearly jumped out of his skin when Shade spoke right beside him. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in scaring years off Rondo’s life.
“How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?”
“I don’t know,” Shade said. “Unless it’s important, I don’t pay much attention to what you say.”
Rondo wiped sweat from his brow and swallowed his retort. Angering the assassin wouldn’t be good for Rondo’s long-term health. Not that he had ever seen Shade angry. He didn’t want to either.
“What’re we going to do?” Rondo asked.
Shade shrugged. “Tell the boss what’s here and see what he says. Dealing with this many people is outside my area of expertise. Now if there was just one guy down there, I could kill him in a blink, problem solved.”
“If there was only one guy,” Rondo said. “I could drop a brick on him from up here, problem solved.”
Shade barked a laugh. “Come on. Jax should have made contact with the boss by now.”
They retreated below deck, leaving the blistering sun behind for a few minutes. Shade rapped on one of the doors and pushed it open. Jax Umbra, the third member of their little crew, sat swathed in black robes before a floating window beyond which stood Lord Black.
“A city?” Lord Black’s incredulous question came through loud and clear. “How, by all the watching gods, did the nomads build a city without anyone finding it?”
“It’s not so much a city as a really big collection of tents,” Shade said. “The only permanent construction is the tower.”
“Regardless, we can’t fight our way past thousands of nomads. I don’t have the resources for a full-scale invasion.”
“So what should we do?” Shade asked.
Lord Black scratched his chin for a few seconds. “We need more information. Enter the city and find out if it’s possible for us to infiltrate and sneak inside the tower. Report back in twenty-four hours.”
The window closed and they were alone.
“I’ll be staying on the ship,” Umbra said. “I don’t exactly blend in.”
“How are we going to talk to them?” Rondo asked.
Shade cocked his head. “Why wouldn’t we be able to talk to them? Everyone speaks Imperial.”
“Not the nomads.” Rondo was relieved that some of the less-valuable information he’d picked up over the years was coming in handy. “One of the few things those very incomplete books I mentioned agree on is that the nomads made a point of retaining their own culture. They all speak what the scholars believe is a variation of the language of the Terran Empire. Not surprising given that they’re probably all distantly related to the survivors of the cataclysm that destroyed the ancient civilization.”
“That’s going to be a problem,” Shade said. “If I can’t understand what they’re saying, I can’t very well spy on anyone. You don’t speak the Terran language, do you?”
Rondo shook his head. “Sorry. I only speak Imperial and I can read a smattering of Water Empire runes.”
“The boss isn’t going to be pleased,” Shade said.
“Relax.” Umbra stood and shifted to face Shade. “I can put a spell on you that will translate their language into Imperial and yours into whatever bastard language they speak. It only lasts for eight hours, so you’ll need to be quick.”
“What about me?” Rondo asked. He didn’t want to play the part of some deaf-and-dumb servant.
“You will stay here with me.” Umbra couldn’t have said it with any more disgust. “In the city, you’d only be in Shade’s way.”
Shade clapped him on the shoulder. “He’s got you there, buddy. I meed to see what I can whip up for a disguise.”
“And I,” Umbra said, “need to move the ship far enough away that no one will see a man floating down from the sky and think he’s an angel.”
Both men brushed past Rondo without another word. Though moderately annoyed about being left behind, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about ape monsters or dragon hybrids. All in all, it could’ve been worse.
Shade adjusted the creatively slit blanket he’d converted into an approximation of the robes worn by the nomads camping around the tower. Jax had lowered him to the desert a mile out from the tent city and now he was slogging through the hot sand, sun beating down on him. Shade hated the cold, but this was a bit too far in the other direction. When the boss offered him a position in his personal cadre, he’d promised it wouldn’t be boring. So far that was turning out to be true.
Cursing the god of seamstresses, Shade yanked his makeshift robe into a more comfortable position. If he had to fight in this thing, he might be in trouble. Anyone looking would probably mistake him for a beggar, but that was okay. In Shade’s experience people tended to ignore beggars. They were regarded as scenery more than people.
At the top of a dune he got his first ground-level look at the tent city. It wasn’t terribly impressive. The complete lack of stone, wood, and walls made it seem less like a city and more like haberdasher’s shop exploded. Some well-placed oil and a spark should clear this mess right up.
Shade descended the far side of the dune and marched on to the edge of the city. The sudden babble of voices gave him an instant headache. Jax’s spell made everyone sound like they had two voices. First, he heard the native language, which was an incomprehensible collection of clicks, hard Ks and soft hisses, followed by the Imperial translation half a second later. He tried his best to tune the chatter out and weave his way between the tents.
As for the locals themselves, it was hard to get a read on them. Men and women both wore loose robes that covered them from head to toe. Only hard, dark eyes and sandal-covered feet were visible. He assumed the taller ones were the men, but it was only an assumption. Most people wore drab, off-white robes, but a scattering had a variety of colors woven into theirs. Perhaps it meant something and then again maybe it was just personal taste.
The scent of spices and roasting meat reached him and Shade angled toward the aroma. He was hungry and a food vendor might be a good place to listen to gossip. The only question was, would they accept imperial scale or would foreign coins get him spotted and killed. One way to find out.
He finally reached the source of the smell. It was a stall selling chunks of meat on skewers. Six locals stood waiting in line. More stalls selling everything you could imagine filled the area. It had to be a bazaar.
Not wanting to stare, Shade worked his way around, pausing now and then to look at something. First a silversmith selling a mixture of bells and utensils, next a weapon merchant with a table full of curved blades that flashed in the sun. The merchants all shouted about the quality of their wares. Some things appeared universal.
Ahead of him a dark-skinned hand and wrist emerged to drop round, white coins into a merchant’s hand when a woman bought a new scarf. The coins didn’t clink or shine like metal. Whatever they paid with, it wasn’t scale. Another transaction was happening at a fruit vendor. Shade watched closely as more of the strange coins changed hands. They looked like ceramic. Why would anyone trade with clay coins? They had no value.
His metal coins would certainly mark him as an outsider. Since he was only there to collect information, drawing attention wouldn’t be useful. No lunch today then. Swallowing a sigh, he left the bazaar to se
e what else he might learn.
The answer was not a great deal. The paths between tents were just wide enough to allow two people to pass. In any other city, Shade could have picked a passerby’s pocket and got a better look at their coins, but here, everything was hidden under those robes making it more likely he’d get caught. Not worth the risk. Not yet, anyway.
Raised voices drew him to the left, closer to the tower. The tents stopped at the edge of a small plaza. At the center of the plaza was a stone well with a bucket and dipper beside it. Two locals, one with red woven into his robe and a second sporting blue stripes, were shouting about something. The fight had grown so heated both men had the hoods of their robes thrown back giving Shade a look at their faces. They both had rugged features with heavy brows, narrow dark eyes, wide noses, and deep bronze skin. The only difference between the two men was a pattern of scars covering their right cheeks.
Shade focused on the argument in an attempt to get the spell to work better. Whether he was just concentrating more or what, he didn’t know, but at least he could make out what they were shouting about.
“How dare you yell at a water master at his own well?” Blue Stripe shouted.
“A son of Aqua should be grateful we let you live, much less control our water,” Red countered.
Blue snorted in disgust. “You don’t let me do anything. For all the Clan of the Sun’s big talk, without the Water Clan’s magic, this city would remain nothing but a dream. We bring life, and what we bring we can take away. So take your pitiful threats and arrogance out of my sight.”
Red opened his mouth.
“Not another word or so help me I’ll take my complaint to your clan chief. How do you think that will go?”
Red grumbled to himself and finally stalked off. Blue watched him until he was out of sight then wiped his brow. Clearly there were tensions in the city. On his walk he’d noticed green and black stripes as well as red and blue which argued there were at least four clans living in the city. Not to mention all the no-stripe people.
Shade slipped away from the well and followed the man in red. It was a simple matter to blend in when everyone was a faceless figure. It also helped when the person you were tailing was so angry he couldn’t think straight.
As they continued east, the number of people with red in their robes grew quickly from a few to the majority. Shade must have reached this clan’s neighborhood. Hopefully visitors wouldn’t be driven out at spear point.
His target finally stopped and snuck into a tent. A quick look around indicated he wasn’t drawing much interest. Shade slipped out of the path and squeezed between a pair of tents, forcing his way to the rear of Red’s tent. Surrounded on all sides by canvas, Shade crouched down and pressed his ear to the tent wall.
“The Water Clan devil dared threaten to report me to Chief Al-bin. Can you imagine the nerve? The Sun Clan rules this city.”
“Calm yourself, my love,” a female voice said. “Though we are the largest clan, the chief knows we can’t control the city on our own. All the clans bring something of value to the city. And whatever we think of the Water Clan and their past, their water magic is necessary to our survival.”
There came an angry huff then, “Perhaps, but it’s only a matter of time before they betray our trust and destroy our people, just as the enemy did in ancient times. Many of our clan believe as I do.”
“I know,” the woman said. “But despite their wizards’ ability to use water magic, the Water Clan is every bit as descended from the Kingdom of Terra as we are. They found the strength to set aside their prejudice and learn a skill that benefits all our people.”
“You are far too generous, my dearest one. Still, I hope you are right. Life is good here even if it means tolerating the hated Water Clan.”
Shade had heard enough. He worked his way out via a different route, just in case anyone was watching for him. A plan was forming as he strode down another of the narrow paths. These people’s mistrust was the key. A few well-placed daggers, and he’d have them at each other’s throats. Once they finished killing each other, the boss could step over their corpses into the tower.
Chapter 3
A shiver ran down Moz’s back when he crossed the border into Carttoom. After the war he’d sworn never to come back to this miserable country. And yet here he was, risking potential torture and death if captured. Ariel had really gotten under his skin. He couldn’t even say what it was about the kid that hooked him so deep. Maybe it was her helpless appearance. And it was all appearance. After seeing her call that giant dragon he knew for sure that she was far from helpless.
Whatever the reason, he was committed now. Moz tapped his horse’s ribs and nudged it around one of the pines that made up the bulk of the forests in this part of Carttoom. At least he didn’t have to spend much time in the area. Five days of hard riding should see him safely out of Carttoom and into no man’s land.
He nearly laughed at himself. No man’s land was just as dangerous in its own way as Carttoom. Moz had only passed through the wild land twice and only then for a couple days at a time to evade enemy patrols. This visit would probably last for weeks. The bandits didn’t concern him nearly as much as the monstrous beasts said to roam the area. Dire wolves and saber-fanged tigers were the most benign of the threats whispered about.
As was always the way on a mission, he’d deal with any problems when they popped up. Until then he’d focus on the task of finding the Dark Sages’ headquarters. According to Priscilla he needed to travel a good ways northeast of the border while still keeping south of the freeholds to find them. She didn’t offer the most precise directions, but hopefully he could find some locals to question. Most likely after they attempted to rob him.
Speaking of locals… He sniffed and caught a hint of smoke in the air. No one would build a homestead this close to the border, not after so many wars. Midday hadn’t even arrived yet so it shouldn’t be a camp. Moz shrugged and followed his nose. Maybe he’d find someone to talk to sooner than he thought.
Half an hour later he eased up to the source of the smoke, the remains of a merchant wagon lying on its side and smoldering. Arrows stuck from the boards and a pair of bodies stripped of anything valuable lay on the ground nearby.
Bandits for sure.
Moz dismounted and tied his horse to a handy pine sapling. Drawing his swords, he slipped out of the forest’s edge out into the open. He felt exposed, but there didn’t seem to be anyone nearby. He often sensed hostile gazes watching him and at the moment he was alone.
Nothing attacked him for a full minute. Feeling reasonably safe, Moz sheathed his blades and studied the site. Given how little remained of the wagon, the attack must have happened late yesterday, probably when the unlucky merchants stopped for the night to make camp.
He toed the bodies over. A man and a woman about the same age, probably a husband and wife. But what were merchants doing out here in the borderland? There were no settlements or border crossings so who did they hope to trade with?
A quick search of the churned-up ground revealed six sets of tracks leading east. That would be the bandits. The wagon came from the north. Now that he looked closer, there was a clear, if rough, wagon trail carved through the forest running north to southeast. He overlaid the wagon’s general bearing on a mental map of the area. Assuming it didn’t make any sharp turns, another day of travel would bring the merchants to the Rend border. Could they have been trading with one of the forts?
He shook his head. It didn’t make sense, but he had his own mission. Carttoom could deal with their own bandits. Then again, the tracks did lead in the general direction of no man’s land. He could follow them for a while and if he happened to run into a band of murderers, well, it wouldn’t be much of a problem to deal with such a group. Carttoom or Rend, innocent people didn’t deserve to end up dead at the hands of animals like these.
His mind made up, Moz collected his horse and set out after the bandits. Who could say, m
aybe they’d seen the Dark Sages’ base in their travels? Couldn’t hurt to ask.
Less than an hour of light remained when Moz spotted a trickle of smoke a few miles ahead. He had been following the bandits’ tracks for most of the day, not hurrying, not wanting to walk into a trap. The trail was so clear a first-year scout could’ve followed it. The bandits obviously expected no trouble. And why would they? This was the middle of nowhere. Neither Rend nor Carttoom would be foolish enough to build anything of value this close to the enemy’s border. Anyone living nearby might as well hang a sign that said “kill me in the next war” on their cabin.
Which dragged his thoughts back to the merchant wagon and what in the world brought it out here. He shook his head and reined in beside a clump of maple saplings. Soon enough the bandits would provide his answers, one way or another.
He dismounted and tied his horse to the biggest tree. In another half an hour it would be dark enough to make sneaking up on his prey easier. He pulled a strip of jerky out of his saddle bag and started gnawing. He hated hunting on an empty stomach.
Moz snuck through the purple sunset towards the bandit camp. They’d chosen a hidden clearing in the midst of a stand of maple. Every once in a while, he’d catch a flash of their fire and a whiff of their stew. A hundred yards out he heard people laughing.
He eased around a tree trunk and stopped.
“You’d think they’d take a hint,” a deep male voice said. “How many supply wagons have we burned this summer? Ten, fifteen? If the settlers had a brain in their heads they’d move on.”
“Don’t complain,” a different man said. “This is the easiest job we’ve had in years. They’re either too poor or too stupid to hire guards. Makes the job that much safer. Better than hitting caravans on the main trade routes.”
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