by Erik A Otto
Zahir had bid two thousand assuming he would be negotiated up to three thousand and would be left with change to spare for future bribes…but ten thousand? Zahir had six thousand notes given to him from Wahab, which was more than most wealthy men made in a year.
Zahir turned on the man and walked away, hoping his number was a bluff. Surely he would ask Zahir back to negotiate? But Zahir walked and walked, and the gate attendant said nothing to draw him back.
Their prospects didn’t look good for chartering a ship. And never mind forcing it to change course, evade the coastal forces and drop them off in Belidor. That would be a whole other challenge.
The third vessel had no clear markings or designation. At the gate there were two guards wearing oversized, ill-fitting clothing. One of the guards took out his sword when Zahir and Hella approached.
Zahir suspected these men to be smugglers or criminals of some kind, so he pinched Hella’s arm in warning. Still, they had to proceed; their options were narrowing quickly.
Zahir said, “Please put away your sword. We bear you no ill will. I’m a simple merchant fisherman seeking to survey the waters nearby. I can offer as much as three thousand notes for safe passage to tour the fisheries. It would only be a day’s journey.”
The one with the sword spoke. “I think not, merchant. Be on your way.” But the man next to him whispered in his ear, and he seemed to reconsider. “Wait here,” he said.
Zahir waited while the other guard hiked up the gangway onto the ship. The first moved his glance curiously over to Hella and looked her up and down. Zahir slowly shifted his weight and rested his hand on his hip, nearer to his sword.
Three men came out of the ship, all cloaked and hooded. One took his hood off at the end of the plank. This one had a long gray goatee that was tied together like a bail of white straw. The man spoke in Belidoran. “Princess, to what do I owe the pleasure? Or should I call you Envoy? Or maybe you have taken to the name most seem to be calling you. How fare you, traitor?”
Zahir tensed and withdrew his sword, baring his teeth menacingly. It would be hard to kill four of these men, but he might have no choice.
“Krish? Is that you?” Hella said, apparently recognizing this man.
“Can this man be trusted?” the man called Krish said to her as he inched his chin at Zahir.
Hella was speechless for a moment, then said, “Yes, yes. He’s with me. Please, can we speak in private?”
Zahir kept his eye out for an exit, and his sword hand ready, as Krish invited them into the hold of the Winter Solstice. The ship was damp on the inside, and cramped with boxes of goods. They turned down onto a skinny wooden staircase made out of oak beams and were led into a dank and musty chamber replete with scrolls and Fringe canisters.
Zahir had never tended to Fringe prisoners. His specialty had always been prisoners of war, and that made the Fringe out of scope. Any Fringe criminals in Jawhar were usually bought back by the Fringe or expelled under the agreements they had with Niknak. In fact, Zahir had only met a few Fringe folk in his lifetime. Kalianca was so far west of Niknak, north of the Jawhari Sea, that they never made it there to trade.
Of those few he did meet, mostly in passing on his travels, he learned quite a bit. He learned that many of the Fringe in Jawhar had underhanded dealings with Sal Habib, colluding on prices and circumventing national agreements. These heathens knew nothing of honor.
The Fringe on this ship didn’t attire themselves in the brown colors typical of their creed, nor did they speak flawed Jawhari like other Fringe he’d met. But this didn’t fool Zahir. They were still heathens. Also, they had the look of desperate men. He had seen many desperate men in Kalianca. Desperate men did desperate things, especially heathens.
He’d dealt with scum much of his life, so he shouldn’t have been bothered. Perhaps what irked him was that Hella seemed to have faith in this Krish man. Maybe it was a front. Maybe the Pomerians knew how to deal with folk such as these. Or maybe she was deluded by the fanciful talk of the Fringe. He couldn’t be sure.
Krish offered both of them tea and water. Zahir turned it down, but Hella accepted the tea. When Hella reached for hers, Zahir intercepted her hand and forcefully overturned the cup onto the floor. He frowned at her and shook his head.
Hella cast him a scornful stare. This was often the thanks he received for protecting her. Like the time she had taken off her cloak such that her bosom thrust out in the noonday sun. He had grabbed her from behind to wrap the cloak back around her just before a troop of militia passed by. She seemed to think him a pervert, yet all he wanted was to avoid an untimely death.
Zahir could be called many despicable things, but a pervert wasn’t one of them.
The man named Krish monitored Zahir’s spilling of the tea with careful curiosity. “Well, this is interesting; a Jawhari man protecting an infidel from Pomeria. First the Day of Ascendancy, and now this act of divinity.”
Hella cast a hard look in Zahir’s direction as if to say I will do the talking. Then she said, “Let me explain. I was framed by a conspiracy at the highest levels of Jawhari government. My cleric, Paykal, drank poisoned wine given to me by Sal Habib, but they blamed me for an assassination attempt on the Herald. I intend to vindicate myself when I reach Pomeria. Those who assist me will be richly rewarded.”
Krish shrugged, as if her words were meaningless. “Excuse me,” he said. He pulled out a hookah pipe from his drawer and lit the end of it. The thick meaty flavor of sahalum leaf permeated the room. Zahir’s father had smoked on occasion, and the scent of sahalum often saturated his clothes. It reminded Zahir vaguely of his youth.
Krish spoke with a measure of care, “Yes, I was sure there was some rich reward involved, Princess. That’s the only reason we’re talking, because everything else you said has little meaning. Whether you’re innocent or not, it doesn’t concern me. What concerns me is that most people believe you’re guilty. Business is business, and I cannot risk the Fringe treaty with Jawhar by harboring a traitor. Who knows, though, maybe there’s something we can do for you. I’m always willing to talk.”
Hella smiled and nodded. Krish then turned to Zahir and said, “Before we do, however, I need to learn who our other esteemed guest is.”
Zahir was unsure of the dynamic between this man and the princess. He looked to her to gauge what lie to use.
“Go ahead, Zahir, why don’t you introduce yourself,” she said.
He couldn’t help himself from wincing at the revealing comment. Zahir wasn’t a common name in Jawhar. He would try to say he was some other Zahir, but these Fringe men might know. The heathens had records of everything. Surely they had a file on the life of Zahir Farreya.
“I am Zahir Abdul. I worked in Judud Jawhar as an escort for the princess. I helped the princess because I know she is innocent.”
The man named Krish looked around the room at the other Fringe. Something transpired between the heathens—unspoken words in an unwritten language. Whatever it was, Zahir didn’t like it.
The transaction between them was only fleeting. Krish focused back on the princess again. “So let me guess, you’re looking for passage on a ship to get to…Belidor?”
Hella nodded.
“Well, I can understand. There’s no way you’re getting through a border crossing. There are sketches of you up all over the place, even up north in Yensun. If I were you, I would try to get to Belidor by boat as well.” He nodded thoughtfully.
Hella asked, “So will you take us?” She ignored Krish’s earlier denial, and rightfully so. It was obviously false, as the heathens had a price for everything.
“Ha! I remember your bluntness from that day many weeks ago. I liked it then, but I’m not so sure I like it now. Listen, we Fringe are a practical people, and need to be careful in order to survive, especially after the Day has taken its toll on us, arguably more than any other.”
The words sickened Zahir. They were paying the toll they deserved. Zahir said, “Thos
e that do not believe will be punished for their sins on the Day of Ascendancy.” It was a direct quote from the Usaim Doctrine.
Krish cast a knowing smile at Zahir. “I see that the Jailor of Kalianca is giving me a lesson in morality. This has been a bizarre visit indeed. Do you think that torture and deprivation sits well with Matteo, Jailor? Is it a passable offense as long as you tether your house with the approved mooring lines?”
A rush of anger overcame Zahir. He stood up and spat at the man’s face. The spittle missed, creating foamy rivulets that dribbled down a box behind him. Krish continued smiling, ignoring the trail of saliva.
“Enough of this, Princess,” Zahir said. “We can’t engage with these Fringe. They are greedy leeches without honor or faith. We will find better passage with other ships.”
The princess was looking cautiously at Zahir, uncertain of who to trust after the exchange. Eventually she nodded and stood up, but she still seemed tentative.
Krish laughed mockingly. His eyes were striated with veins like Zahir’s father’s used to be after a long hookah session. “Well, I admire your positive attitude, both of you, but really, look around. The Day has caused a profound change. There’s no longer moderation and compromise out there, only right and wrong—only good and evil—and you are most certainly painted evil my friends. The uncertainty after the Day, and the sorrow for those lost—that energy quickly converts to raw fear, or to bloodlust. The mayor of Managash should have rallied the people, told them it will be all right, or told them to rebuild. It would even have been better to tell them they will kill an enemy, any enemy. Blame the scourge the city is facing on the Belidorans. Tell them something, anything. But they didn’t…and we have this.” Krish gestured in the direction of the riotous city.
“Think of what you’re asking of me in this environment. The merchants or smugglers that would let some unknown, unaffiliated out-of-towners on a ship are the same merchants and smugglers who will just as soon take all your possessions and dump you in the sea. They may even violate the princess, but not you, Jailor. No offense, but you’re not pretty enough. On the other hand, if you tell them who you are in the hopes they see you as precious cargo, they will either kill you on the spot or deliver you directly to the authorities for fear of being caught aiding a kaifhur.”
Krish let his monologue settle for a moment before continuing, “So ask yourself, do you really think you can get to Belidor without us? I’m not saying we can help you, but us Fringe are your best shot. We are most certainly the only ones who would actually believe your story.”
Hella slowly regained her chair. Zahir had to admit that the heathen made some good points, but he wouldn’t sit down and lower himself to his level.
Krish continued, “And you seem to think you are the only one with problems. Let me tell you about ours. Even us Fringe who try to stay out of the line of fire have had to pick up camp when the rioters came. After losing two of our tents and one of our few ships on the Day, we also lost many colleagues in the attacks that followed. The governing militia has told us that they can no longer protect us. In fact, one faction of militia even looted our camp. There are only fourteen of us Fringe left here in Managash, dispersed on our two remaining ships where we can at least defend ourselves. Yet I worry these attacks will continue, especially when the Cleansing is just around the corner.”
Krish’s words were having an impact. Hella was nodding her head, trying to empathize. “I see your points, Krish,” she said, “and I’m sorry for your troubles. I do remember in our earlier conversation you were worried about the Internecion—the Cleansing as you call it. Perhaps you were right to be concerned.”
Krish sat back and fiddled with a silverstone orb on his desk, some heathen plaything, then peered at the princess in a quizzical manner. “Yes, we have learned to be fearful, but I would like to know, do you know why I was concerned? Tell me.”
The princess looked confused. She responded carefully. “I can understand your concern, given the Day’s impact on everyone’s…state of mind. Not only will they become more polarized religiously, but they may take the Cleansing more seriously because the Day was shown to be a true prophecy. The Fringe would be an unfortunate target of this energy, being um…less pious and not a true nation state able to defend itself.”
“Yes, yes, but have you heard anything else about the Cleansing, about other preparations that we should be wary of?” The three other Fringe men in the room seemed to stop breathing. There was something they were looking for in Hella’s response, something that they thought Hella knew, and would be obvious if you knew it, but not obvious otherwise.
“N…no, sir, but what you say about the attacks in Managash is concerning, and I could understand that these might continue for a while. Once I’m back in Pomeria, I will work with the king and queen to ensure all of Matteo’s people are treated fairly, including the Fringe.”
Krish’s expression gradually morphed into a smile. “Yes, yes, indeed.” He cast a glance at his Fringe colleagues, and again something transpired between them. What were these men worried about? Did they think there were Belidoran plans to eradicate them during the Cleansing? Why make the effort? They didn’t realize how little people cared about the Fringe.
Hella took a deep breath, composing herself. “Krish, I’m deeply sorry for your lost comrades, but if you deliver us to Belidor, you will be richly rewarded by Pomeria. And if you fear for your lives here, why not leave? We can give you five thousand Jawhari notes now and twenty thousand Belidoran Grosso once I reach Pomeria. Beyond that I can ensure a safe berth at a Belidoran port of your choosing. I can also vouch for you and your colleagues and even advocate for good relations with the Fringe for allowing my safe return.”
Krish smirked and shook his head. “Yes, we do fear for our lives here, but why take on the risk of aiding a kaifhur? We will be inspected before we leave Jawhari waters.”
“But Krish, I thought we had a good rapport when we last met. We shared tea, and you seemed willing to help me…”
He smiled thinly. “Just because I let the Jawhari insult me and abuse me, don’t think that I enjoy it. And here, you insult me by talking of things like rapport. The world has changed. Then we talked about abstract concepts like the Internecion, and I suffered only a few blows from the Jawhari. Now you come with the Jailor of Kalianca, spill my tea, speak empty words like rapport, and ask us to risk persecution and death.”
Hella was deadpan, her face an unyielding mask, but Zahir guessed that under that veneer she knew she was losing this debate.
With no response from Hella, Krish’s smile broadened. Brown, yellow, and black teeth revealed themselves. “So let’s talk about a more appropriate price.”
Hella looked to Zahir for some kind of support. Zahir would have preferred not to deal with these Fringe, but there might be no other choice. And maybe Hella knew this man. Maybe she was playing him the way he was trying to play her. Zahir doubted it, though. These were skilled negotiators, and it could be that half of Pomeria was owed to them once they were finished.
Zahir only said, “I would advise against taking up with these heathens.”
Hella grimaced, but she didn’t stand. He knew then she would ignore his advice. And so she did. After some reflection she began negotiating with the Fringe.
Zahir knew that whatever they agreed to shouldn’t be taken for granted. He recalled Wahab talking about the Fringe traders in Managash being heartless, in pursuit of only profit. This one here, the one named Krish, was too smooth with his words, too certain of the outcome of the discussion. Zahir had experience with people such as these, Fringe or not. These men spoke flowery words like the softest silks but at the same time wore knives on their belts that were sharp enough to cut through Matar bone.
In the end, it didn’t matter whether he trusted them, or even whether Hella did. Nor did it matter what words they bandied about or what kind of agreement they reached, for they had identified him as the Jailor. There could o
nly be one outcome, and it was only a matter of time.
Chapter 7
The Good Son
Babysitting his brothers wasn’t the only thing that troubled Baldric on their journey northward. There were a great many other things that weighed on him.
The army had swelled to twenty thousand strong, equally balanced between Thelonians and Belidorans. Baldric guessed they were eventually planning on besieging to the Sambayan city of Ghopal. Siege tower components and long supply lines followed the army up from the south.
As they entered Sambai territory, they were ordered to track down Sambayan squads and pillage the surrounding farmsteads. But since the border crossing they had come across no Sambayan military units. The only Sambayans they’d found were farmers. These were simply taken into custody and their farms razed.
It was a part of war Baldric disliked, but he understood it was necessary to take all steps to defeat the enemy.
Quite a few farms had already been razed. Often they would come across charred fields with lonely stalagmites of vulcanized bone, once proud building columns or archways. Henly explained that the Sambayans were responsible; they demolished the farms to limit the available supplies for the Thelonian-Belidoran army in the event of a long siege. It seemed a harsh move for a nation to raze the homesteads of its own people, even for savages like the Sambayans. What was also strange was that many of the inhabitants they met seemed to acquiesce to their farms being pillaged and burned without objection. They often put their wrists out for bondage willingly.
These concerns were mostly trivial to Baldric, a consequence of war that one had to accept. What troubled him more was the day they met the scout. That incident established that something was definitely not right in Sambai.
The episode began when one of Granth’s deputies was looking for someone who knew the local geography. There were no maps of Sambayan lands, so they had been mostly blind going into their forays. After a day spent trying to navigate through a broad swampland unsuccessfully, the deputy decided to ask the group if anyone had seen any maps of Sambai. It was surely a rhetorical question, born of frustration.
