by Thomas Locke
When he departed, Joelle leaned across the table and said, “Hyam has had a second conversation with Bayard and your father. They all agree that our best hope for drawing the enemy from Emporis is to set off across the yellow realm. You are not to go with us.”
“What?”
“They feel it is too dangerous.”
The same trapped feeling she had known for years surged up, accompanied by fresh bitterness. “I suppose you’re pleased.”
“Hyam objected strenuously. I also thought you should come. Already your abilities have proven of vital importance. But your father insisted. Bayard refused to intervene.” Joelle paused as the waiter returned bearing two cups and a ceramic pot. When he had poured their teas and departed, she went on, “Tell me what it is that most excites you about Hyam.”
Shona studied the woman seated across from her. Joelle’s eyes were flecked with traces of violet, evidence of her Ashanta heritage. Shona could find no hint of mockery, either in her voice or in her gaze. “His strength and his weakness. His joy and his sorrow. His . . .”
Joelle nodded and finished for her, “His mystery.”
Shona felt a tear course down one cheek. The words tumbled out of her, a plea that could not be held back. “I have a thousand little moments. They are with me always. He loves books more than any man except perhaps my papa.” She had not called her father that in years, and yet now it was the only word that fit. “He is part of my family. They love him as a brother and a son. We have our secret place, Hyam and I. At the top of the house is a garret that faces north. Hyam found it looking down from the castle walls. The door had been painted over . . . He goes there after a long day. He told me he loves the solitude and the way the sunset touches the mountains. We talk. I tell him how hard it is to be . . .”
Again Joelle finished the thought for her. “Ensnared by a family and a heritage and a love that has nurtured you since birth. Kept in a world that is too small to hold you and your dreams.”
She swiped impatiently at her cheeks. “How do you know this?”
“Because I know you and care for you,” Joelle replied. “And because I have endured my own share of unanswered yearnings. And because I want to turn you from a course that will only lead to heartache and—”
“Twice my family has invited suitors in to meet me. Twice I brought home young men I fancied. Four times Hyam has said they are not good enough for me. Four times.”
“He knows your potential,” Joelle said. “He wants you to soar with your dreams for wings.”
“No. He never said it, but I’m certain he told me to send them away because . . .”
Slowly Joelle shook her head, back and forth, each motion erasing Shona’s ability to object. “Hyam does not love you.”
Shona felt the words clench her heart.
“He cares for you deeply. He is protective of you. He believes in you. But he does not love you.” Joelle moved closer, her quiet words laden with a woman’s force. “He is my husband. And mine alone.”
Though tears veiled her vision, still Shona saw the woman across from her with a new clarity. Joelle was a woman complete in herself, a warrior vixen and a mage and a telepath with the ability to pierce the unseen. She was an orphan who had created a new family with this man. Hyam. Whom Shona loved.
The meal passed in a silent haze. Shona supposed she ate, but she did not taste a thing. Joelle did not speak again except to thank the waiter. When they finally rose from the table, Joelle took hold of Shona’s hand and offered her the silent gift of strength. As a friend would. They left the restaurant hand in hand, trailed by the guards captain, and continued to walk down one market lane after another. Joelle remained silent, granting Shona the chance to reknit her world.
Hyam left the castle in the company of Alembord and Connell’s assistant, Fareed. The acolyte was tall and skinny in the manner of a youth who had risen to man-height almost overnight. Fareed possessed a shy smile and the dark gaze of a gazelle, his features carved by sun and desert winds.
They headed south by west, away from both the bazaar and the wealthy residential areas. When the western wall came into view, they passed through barriers guarded by desert warriors holding pikes whose blades were as long as Hyam’s forearm. Fareed passed the guards and led Hyam into the Emporis caravansary.
The central square was segmented into corrals, all fed by a spring rising into a circular trough of yellow stone. The corral to Hyam’s left held a jet-black stallion that danced nervously against his lead, throwing up clouds of yellow dust. An auctioneer took bids from the jolly throng. Here on display was the clash of cultures that defined Emporis. Wild clansmen rubbed shoulders with city merchants and berobed travelers from beyond the yellow sea. Past the square rose the city’s outer wall, where guards lounged in the shadows of the western gate.
They passed a stall anchored by the stables, and the smell of roasting lamb reminded Hyam that he had not eaten since dawn. They feasted on flatbreads split lengthwise and filled with lamb and spring onions. They drank cup after cup of cool mint tea. Between bites, Fareed explained how the area beyond the western gate held the main portion of the convoys. This section inside the walls held only the most valuable animals, the auctioneers, the middlemen, the baths, the strong rooms.
Hyam asked, “Do you know the desert merchant, Jaffar?”
“I have never met him. Few have. He prefers the shadows, that one. Many say he has never set foot inside the Emporis walls, sahib.”
“My name is Hyam.”
“Yes, sahib. Here in the caravansaries, Jaffar’s reputation is very good indeed. Those who travel with him say he is the most honorable of men.”
“What of the trader you worked for?”
“He was not a good man, sahib.” Fareed dropped the remainder of his meal into the dust at his feet. “Wait here, please. I will search out Jaffar’s chief drover.”
Hyam and Alembord wandered across the plaza to the western gates. They stood in the shadows and gaped at the vast expanse of people and beasts and piles of goods that spilled down the hill. The slope was carved into seven ledges shaped like crescent moons, each over a quarter-mile wide. The caravans and animals and makeshift shelters stretched out to where they became lost in the dust and weaving sunlight. There were hundreds of travelers, perhaps thousands, and ten times that number of beasts. Cook fires created ribbons of smoke that lined the still air. The din was as ferocious as the heat.
Fareed slipped up beside him and said, “The chief drover’s name is Selim, sahib. He awaits you in the stables.”
They recrossed the plaza and entered a stable’s cool shadows. Man-sized blocks of hay were stacked like interior walls, segmenting the space and flavoring the air. Fareed led them to where a man knelt and wiped down a newborn calf with fistfuls of fresh hay. The mother was very tall, with gentle eyes and the most curious hooves Hyam had ever seen, great pads broader than a frying pan.
“What manner of beast is this?”
“The one who will save your life many times, if indeed you plan to journey upon the yellow sea.” The drover’s voice was barrel-deep and oddly accented.
“I must,” Hyam replied.
“And it’s true, you lost your magical abilities in the fight with the red lord?”
“That is correct.”
Selim lifted the newborn and helped it move upon unsteady legs to the mother. She nuzzled her offspring, sniffed it from tail to head, then began licking it with great strokes of her broad tongue. He said to Hyam, “If you are indeed weaponless against the desert mages, all those who travel with us should first consign their souls to the infinite. I shall tell them that as well.”
“What can you tell me of the wizards in the yellow realm?”
“Not a thing, sahib, not even if they exist. But you have seen the damage wreaked upon the banker’s home. And those traveling from the realm’s interior speak of dark troubles. Nothing overt. But perilous just the same.”
Hyam found himself liking
the burly drover. He discounted the man’s hostile gaze as merely part of the challenge ahead. “Jaffar is indeed fortunate to be served by such an astute chief drover.”
Something flickered in the drover’s gaze, but he merely sniffed and demanded, “Who are these two?”
“Alembord is a trusted soldier from the earl’s own garrison. Fareed is an acolyte serving in the Emporis citadel.”
“This one I have heard mentioned before.” Selim examined the young mage. “You served the trader Kasim?”
“Aye, sir. I did.”
“Is it true he sold you to the Falmouth mages?”
“Soon as I showed the first bit of talent,” Fareed confirmed. “Kasim dragged me into the earl’s palace at the end of a rope.”
“He is the worst of a bad lot. How old were you?”
“Eleven. The Mistress Edlyn paid him ten gold florins. It was the finest day of my life.”
“Careless with the lives of his charges, is Kasim. And a liar.” The drover shifted the newborn back to where it could suckle. He then rose to his feet and nodded to the servant holding the mother’s leash. “I’m surprised one of his own lot hasn’t done him in by now.”
Fareed kicked at the straw and did not reply.
The drover grunted and turned his attention back to Hyam. “I have served this noble house all my life. Many times I have lived with astonishments. But none like this.” He scowled at Hyam. “I am ordered to place my master’s caravan at your disposal! Have you ever trekked through desert?”
“I crossed the Galwyn Hills. Once.”
The drover spat. “They are nothing! Ripples across a gentle lake, nothing! Out there, the yellow sea waits to devour your bones! You think the fiends will hesitate because you once could call upon magic? The yellow realm holds mysteries beyond measure, dangers beyond count!”
“Do you share the merchant’s ability to speak with eagles?”
Again there was the flicker of something deep within that slanted gaze, but Selim merely replied, “I have more important duties. Like trying to keep my charges alive. The question you should be asking, effendi, is whether you are ready.”
“We’ll soon see,” Hyam replied. “I want to leave at dawn.”
“Dawn is not possible.” The drover gestured at the still-shivering newborn. “Three days, perhaps four.”
“We leave tomorrow.”
“Hurry breeds death, effendi.” He waited, clearly expecting more argument. But when Hyam remained silent, he grudgingly allowed, “Perhaps the caravan could be readied by noon.”
17
Shona walked through the market at Joelle’s side. With each step, her response to Joelle’s words sharpened. She grew ever more certain that Hyam would, in time, come to care for her. But just now that had to be put aside. Another issue had to be resolved first. Immediately.
Shona was determined to travel across the yellow sea. She would see the quest to its end. Her father did not know, he could not have any idea, what fury she was about to unleash.
All her life she had lived under the exquisite joy and heavy burden of being an only daughter. And yet ever since childhood she had chafed under the restrictions set upon her life. As she walked toward the market’s heart, Shona knew what she most wanted was the chance to prove herself.
The words that Joelle had spoken about Hyam not loving her had hurt badly. But for now she had to push everything aside, the pain and the yearning and the sorrow and the love. That was for later. There would be time for all that and more. Once they left Emporis behind.
The lane they followed took a sharp turn to the left, and they entered the spice market. The heat was gentled somewhat by the gauze draped overhead. But this also trapped the fragrances, which were pleasant yet overpowering. Great baskets of brilliantly colored powders rose to either side. The vendors called to them, their singsong cadence as old as the city. The merchants claimed their wares had the capacity to bring new joys to the table, ignite hearts, inflame passions.
Shona passed beneath a ceremonial arch. Faint carvings of vines wound up the pillars and around the stone overhead. Then something else caught her gaze, an image that flickered across the gaps in the translucent coverings. Shona realized it was an eagle, high above the city, hovering directly overhead.
She was about to comment on the bird when Joelle exclaimed, “I don’t believe this! Do my senses deceive me?”
The vendor was a woman, tall and heavy and draped in veils of red and umber and orange and russet. “The lady must be a child of the forest.”
“I am, yes. Or was.” Joelle stepped between the outlying baskets, drawn to an ornately carved wooden trough, an arm’s length long and filled with white blossoms. “Oh, how I have missed this fragrance.”
The woman proved to be very strong, for she lifted the trough effortlessly and held it up to Joelle’s face. “Wild white rose, the only bloom that defies the forest’s deepest shadows. Breathe deep, my lady. These flowers have traveled far, so that you might find pleasure in this moment.”
Joelle buried her face in the petals. “It takes me home again.”
The woman turned slightly, offering Shona the trough. “Here, my lovely. Indulge yourself and taste what few have ever known, the sweetest fragrance in all the world.”
Shona started to lean forward, but a fitful wind found its way down the narrow market lane, causing the colorful gauze overhead to toss like desert sails. She caught another glimpse of the eagle. Directly above them. Hovering with claws and beak extended. As though readying for a dive and a kill. “There’s something odd—”
“Well, never you mind. The forest perfume is not for everyone. Won’t you ladies come inside? Let me brew us a tea. I have forest honey, fresh as the petals here.”
“I would love a taste of honey, wouldn’t you?” Joelle’s gaze shone with rare ardor. She clapped her hands. “I know what to buy you for your birthday. Perfume!”
“This lovely maiden is celebrating her special day, is she? Then you’ve come to the right stall. For I hold the rarest of spices and oils inside.” The woman used an elbow to draw back the shop’s curtain, revealing an interior of silk carpets and cushions and wall hangings. “Together we’ll create a special scent, lovely as the dawn, beautiful as you are, my dear. Come!”
Hyam left the caravansary and headed toward the city’s wealthiest shopping areas. He sought a jeweler who might know of the heartstone mentioned in Jaffar’s scroll. Together with Alembord and Fareed, he entered the maze of cobblestone streets fronting the main bazaar, passing display windows showing off the finest goods that Emporis had to offer. Affluent patrons strolled the quiet lanes in flamboyant styles, bright as chattering birds. Young maidens wore silver bells fastened to wrist or ankle or neck, or all three, so that they jangled as they passed, signaling they were both rich and available. Their personal guards were as stern as the maidens were flirtatious.
Gemstone Lane was a stubby court that opened off the Street of Gold. The houses here were uniformly severe, with barred windows and guards patrolling in pairs. The shops had narrow façades, all just one door and one barred window wide. A fountain sang at the far end, fronted by two elegant teahouses. But as they approached the first jeweler’s doorway, Hyam caught a faint whisper, clear and precise as the maidens’ bells. “Wait. There’s something . . .”
“Danger?”
“No, I don’t . . .” Hyam turned from the shop and hunted farther down the lane, moving slowly, doing his best to ignore the gazes that tracked him from the teahouses. The farther he moved, the more intense grew the sensation. “There’s something here.”
Alembord touched the hilt of his sword. “What is it?”
“Sheath your blade. We’re not threatened.” Of that Hyam was certain, but little else. He knew he was making both men nervous, so he kept talking. “I sense the same thing I did when we found the Milantian scrolls. Some kind of force draws me . . . In here.”
Where the next house should have stood opened an alle
y, so narrow they could only pass one at a time. Whatever lay beyond the opening was sheathed in gloom.
Fareed protested, “Sahib, this place is forbidden.”
“What lies down there?”
“The students call it Enchantment Alley. All manners of legends bind this place, many of them laced with dark forces.”
“And yet I am drawn here.” Hyam slipped into the alleyway and felt a burning hunger fill him, strong as rage. Fareed hesitated, then signaled Alembord, and together they followed Hyam.
The alley broadened into a tight stone cove, where six narrow shops formed a semicircle. Hyam aimed promptly for the third door. When it refused to open, he resisted the urge to beat it down. He knocked. Again. The longing was so strong now he could scarcely breathe.
Abruptly the portal swung open. Hyam stepped inside and found himself facing a wide-eyed old man who offered a courtier’s bow. “The hero of Emporis is always welcome.”
Hyam’s voice rasped hard. “You have something of mine.”
The old man was bent slightly to one side, burdened by the uneven weight of many years. His eyes widened, but he did not seem surprised. “Perhaps, my liege. Yes, perhaps.”
“Something from . . .”
“From the battle. But of course, my lord. This way.” He moved swiftly for an old man. Hyam followed the merchant inside the shop, his entire being focused upon what lay beyond the swinging doors, somewhere inside this litter-strewn second room.
The old man opened a glass-fronted cabinet, pulled out a wooden tray, then swept a bundle of parchments and scrolls off the central table. “In the chaos that followed your triumph, sire, I walked the castle gardens and keep. Searching for some small element that might someday prove useful. For what, I had no idea.”
The tray was filled with charred fragments of Elven arrow tips and other metal items. Hyam’s fingers trembled so hard he needed three tries to lift the tiny shard of glass. His chest was pierced by a song of triumph, a lament of all he had once possessed.
