by A. C. Cobble
Lady Towaal sighed. “As I told you already, like this.”
She picked up the two sticks by her bowl and expertly scooped a bite of noodles. She bent over her bowl and slurped them up.
Milo clutched the little sticks like Towaal had and, with some difficulty, snagged a slippery bite. He almost made it to his mouth before the noodles slid off the tip of his sticks.
Rhys, faring slightly better than the others, managed to chomp sloppily down on a clump of noodles.
“I’d forgotten about this,” he grumbled around the mouthful of food. “It’s like they’re not even aware of the advances in utensil science.”
“Maybe we should open a business selling forks,” joked Ben.
“Enjoy the sticks while you can,” responded Rhys. “When we get to Qooten, you’ll only use your fingers.”
Ben frowned, unsure how serious Rhys was.
“It’s true,” advised Towaal. “Qooten is the same land it was five hundred years ago, or even a thousand. Exposure to Ooswam or Alcott through trade has not changed it or its people.”
“Have you been to Qooten?” asked Corinne.
“Long ago,” responded Towaal. “Before I joined the Sanctuary.”
“How long ago was that?” quipped Amelie.
“Long ago,” answered Towaal.
“That girl was right. You’re from Ooswam!” exclaimed Ben.
Towaal eyed him over another bite of noodles. “Where did you think I was from?”
Ben blinked. He’d never really thought about it. Everything he knew about her history was from the Sanctuary, so he’d assumed she was from the City.
“Is your family still here?” asked Corinne.
Towaal smiled sadly. “My family is long departed, girl. If any descendants remain, they would have forgotten me ages ago. Besides, my family is from the western side of Ooswam. We are several hundred leagues east of where I was born.”
“How did you end up in the Sanctuary?” inquired Ben.
He finally managed to pin a bite of noodles together with the sticks and brought it to his lips. They were good, a little sweet and a little savory. Then his teeth crunched something, and heat filled his mouth. His eyes began to water and his head swam. Perspiration popped out on his forehead. He exhaled through his nose. It felt like fire was blowing out his nostrils. He coughed and choked, scrambling to grab his ale mug.
Rhys chuckled and sipped at his own ale.
“Try this,” suggested Towaal.
She tapped a plate with chunks of some indeterminate stuff floating in a pea green sauce. It looked highly suspicious.
“It will cool your mouth,” she explained.
Ben drank his ale and took a bite of the mysterious mix Towaal suggested. She was right. It was like a soothing balm spreading across his tongue. His coughing finally came under control. He glared around the table, piqued that none of his friends warned him about the noodles. He thought it’d be bells or even a day before he could taste anything again.
“You should avoid the little red peppers,” advised Rhys. “There will only be a few of them. The rest of the dish has some heat, but those are fire.”
Amelie stared at the rogue coldly. Ben saw one of the tiny red peppers in the clutch of her sticks. She’d been heartbeats away from eating it.
“Didn’t you think you should warn us before we ate one?” growled Amelie.
Rhys shrugged. “It was funny seeing Ben’s face get red.”
Ben grunted and dumped a pile of safe-looking chicken and rice onto his plate. After a pause, he added a scoop of the green sauce too. Despite Rhys’ assurances that it was the red peppers, he wasn’t bold enough to try another bite of noodles yet.
“How did you end up in the Sanctuary?” Corinne asked Towaal, picking up Ben’s lost trail of inquiry.
Towaal sat down her sticks. “It’s a bit of a long story.”
“We’re not going anywhere until morning,” responded Corinne.
“You came from a wealthy family, didn’t you,” guessed Amelie. “Were you highborn?”
Towaal smiled. “I did come from a wealthy family, and they were highborn, you could say.”
The mage shifted in her seat and ate another bite of noodles while she thought.
“In Alcott,” she said after swallowing, “there are three types of power; military, political, and economic. Military power is what the largest cities and most powerful lords control. It’s how the lords determine standing amongst themselves. A more powerful lord has the ability to invade and control the weaker lords. Political power is gained through a fortunate birth into a highborn family, ideally, one that happens to control valuable geography. Even a minor lord has some measure of political power because a stronger lord will cater to them to gain loyalty and access to their military might. Powerful lords need allies to provide additional troops in times of need and a buffer against other powerful lords in times of peace. Witness the Alliance and the Coalition.” She ate another bite then continued, “In Alcott, economic might is the only form of power available to those born in the common class. It is valuable but tenuous. A wealthy merchant can buy a palace, jewels, whatever they desire, but they are still at the mercy of their lord. The lord has the swords and axes. With those, they could seize the merchant’s assets at any time.”
“Won’t the merchants leave if the lord takes their things?” asked Ben.
Towaal nodded. “Of course, which is why economic might is a legitimate source of power. An intelligent lord knows to feed and support the merchant class instead of starving or abusing them. If one merchant is treated unfairly, then others will see that, and they will leave. The heavier the ruler’s hand, the quicker the successful merchants depart. Before long, the lord’s tax base has disappeared, and he can no longer afford to feed his army.”
“The South Continent isn’t the same?” wondered Amelie.
Towaal sipped her wine. “Not exactly. In Ooswam, there is no practical difference between highborn and the very wealthy. Both own land, both can build a city on the land, and both can rule the people living in the city. There is an emperor, but he is largely a figurehead. He spends little time on the squabbling between the elites. He merely ensures it does not get out of hand. His primary concern is the relationships with other lands, which, given how inwardly focused most of those lands are, the emperor has a limited role.”
“Merchants can own land, build a city, and rule it?” questioned Amelie.
Towaal nodded. “The only real difference between a successful merchant and a lord in Ooswam is time. Over generations, a successful merchant family will build a business empire and pass it to their successors. They may build cities and then tax the people who move there. The younger generations are born into this wealth and pass it to their children. When the accumulated wealth transfers from generation to generation, they are essentially the equivalent of highborn in Alcott. Formally, many of the merchant families then declare themselves to be an official House, which entitles them to a place in the emperor’s court and the title of lord. That requires a substantial payment to the emperor, but many families consider it a business expense. They pay to join the emperor’s court, and then they have proximity to him to try and influence trade or laws within the country.”
Amelie pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly struggling to understand.
Ben tentatively took another bite of noodles, careful to avoid the tiny red peppers. The bite was hot but not the scalding burn he’d experienced earlier. He quaffed his ale and downed another bite of noodles. He thought he might learn to enjoy the spice if he could avoid the peppers.
“It’s not so different in Farview,” Ben remarked to the silent table. “We have no lord, so a man’s standing in town and on the council is really about what he’s been able to build or what his father built before him. If a man creates a successful business, then he’s likely to earn the respect of the others. If he fails at his business, then no one wants to hear what he says.”
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br /> “That’s so arbitrary,” argued Amelie. “Just because someone is good with commerce doesn’t mean they would make a good ruler.”
“More arbitrary than birth?” chided Rhys.
Amelie sat back frowning. “I just… I think there could be problems with a system purely driven by accumulating wealth. If that is the case, then the powerful will always be trying to improve their own standing and not that of their people.”
“I’m not arguing for it,” said Towaal. “I am just stating that is the law of this land. You are right. There are problems. Because the emperor pays little attention to the conflicts among the elites, they are free to play their little games to improve their position. Disputes amongst them are rarely settled in front of the emperor. Assassinations and even open battles among feuding lords can happen here. There is little law outside of the town walls or whatever valuable geography a lord decides to protect. When we see armed bands, we must assume they are hostile. They could be a lord’s guard patrolling the area, but they are just as likely to be bandits or raiders.”
Towaal glanced around the room and subtly gestured to one table in the corner. Ben saw it was the young girl who kept speaking to him. Her two guardians were dining with her, one eating and one watching the room.
“When we encounter an elite, be careful. On their own lands, they make their own laws with little oversight by the empire. They can be very dangerous. She’s taken an interest in you, Ben. Do not encourage it.”
“I didn’t do anything!” he protested.
“You do have a way of getting in trouble with highborn ladies,” mentioned Rhys.
“Highborns are crazy,” declared Ben. “I do my best to avoid them.”
Lady Towaal, Lady Amelie, and Lady Corinne all stared at him.
Ben swallowed. “Well, you three are different. You’re…” he trailed off, at a loss for words.
Rhys leaned close to him. “Sometimes it’s best to quit while you’re still able.”
Ben sighed and sat back in his chair. Rhys refilled his ale mug, and Ben cradled it in his hands, doing his best to ignore the withering looks from the ladies.
2
Blood and Fire
Ben drank his ale and remained quiet the rest of the evening. He listened closely while Towaal described the culture of Ooswam. He tried to memorize the subtle gestures and remarks which held particular meaning in the country.
“Precise,” described Towaal, “that is the word I would use for the social interactions here. Every word, every inflection is studied for meaning. Conversations can feel minimal or even rude because people do not rush to fill the silent spaces. That restraint is probably what makes the people so adept at poetry, painting, and even the sword. They are careful, and when they act, it has significance.”
Ben glanced at Amelie and saw her listening seriously. He gripped her hand under the table and she shot him a quick smile. He was glad she hadn’t been too offended by the highborn remark earlier. He didn’t think of her as a lady anymore. He just thought of her as Amelie. To him, that was a compliment.
Towaal stood and began demonstrating a range of non-verbal greetings, a short bow with hands pressed together or by her side, a nod, a tilt of the head, or nothing. They all communicated different degrees of familiarity and were intended to send a message to the recipient. Ben thought back to the serving girl when they first entered the Merlion. She’d pressed her hands together and given a shallow bow from her waist. It meant welcome and willingness to serve.
Ben was so engrossed with Towaal’s lessons that he jumped when he felt a presence at his shoulder. He turned to find the slight, black-haired girl watching them. Her men stood a pace behind her. Again, all three had approached without Ben or even Rhys hearing them.
“Good. I see you’ve taken my advice,” remarked the girl. She looked hard at the companions and then back to Ben. “Do you intend to remain in the prefecture long?”
Ben blinked. “Perfect what?”
“This region,” the girl said sharply. “Do you not even know you are in Lord Iyrron’s prefecture? Indo, Seawatch, Ayd, and Siind are all part of the lord’s domain. Will you remain here or leave?”
Ben forced himself to not roll his eyes. “We leave on the morrow.”
“It is good for foreigners to come here and learn our customs, but it is better when they leave.” The girl glared around the table one last time, turned, and strode between her guards. No bow, no nod. Ben didn’t need Towaal’s lessons to interpret that.
They watched the girl stride to the stairs. One of her guards smoothly stepped in front of her and went up first. The other followed behind, keeping an eye on the common room.
Their serving girl appeared at their table.
“More ale?” she asked.
Rhys nodded. “Keep ‘em coming.”
“Who is she?” asked Towaal, gesturing to the staircase where the girl and her men had just ascended.
“Lady O’ecca Iyrron,” answered the girl. “I saw her speaking to you. That is a high honor.”
“I don’t think she meant to honor us,” muttered Ben.
The serving girl’s lips twisted wryly. “She has a lot of pressure on her lately. Her father, Lord Iyrron, has suffered bad luck in commerce and at the gaming tables in Shamiil. The house has been weakened. The Lady is strong, though. She will bring House Iyrron to its rightful place in the empire and beat back the sniveling dogs that have been nipping at the edges.”
“We will be traveling on the morrow,” mentioned Towaal. “Should we be worried about unrest in the region?”
The serving girl shook her head and blushed. “I am not the one to answer that question. There have been bandits near Indo, but there are always bandits. There are always rumors of this House or that House having trouble. Those things are over my head. All I know is that I have lived in Indo my entire life, and I have seen the Lady coming to the Merlion since she was a little girl. She is strong and wise. I trust her and her brothers to keep us safe. We all do.”
“Thank you,” murmured Towaal. She flipped the girl a silver coin.
The girl offered a quick bow and retreated
“Bribes are frowned upon in Ooswam,” said Towaal, continuing her instruction, “but tips are appreciated. If you offer someone coins prior to them performing a service or giving you information, you will be viewed with suspicion, and it’s likely they will not do it. If you give them coins after, they will be grateful and be at your service whenever you need them. It is about perceived intent. Paying them implies they shouldn’t be doing the act. Tipping them implies thank you for what they provided. As I said, you must be precise in your interactions.”
* * *
Ben lay awake in his bedroom, listening to the deep breaths of his friends. The ale left him pleasantly loose but not fuzzy headed. He was awake because he couldn’t stop thinking about the differences between Alcott and Ooswam. Both nations had someone who made the rules and the common folk were lucky if they didn’t fall afoul of that person. There were little distinctions between the two, but those seemed only important to the elites. They were different paths to the same place, he eventually decided. Neither one was better.
Not that it mattered. He was common, a subject to the ruling class, not a decision maker. No one was ever going to ask his opinion on what form of government was best. He snorted softly. After this adventure was over, he’d probably never see another throne room in his life.
And that was why he was still awake. If they defeated the demons, he didn’t know what would come next. Would Amelie return to the hallowed halls of the highborn, or would she be content to be with a simple brewer?
As he lay there, half-drowsing, he noticed something else tugging at the edge of his conscious. A sound, just barely audible above the breathing of his friends. It could be the wind whipping under the eaves of the roof, distant surf, thunder from an approaching storm, or screams.
He sat up in bed, frowning.
Again, he he
ard it. It was far off, but now that it had his full attention, he knew somewhere outside, someone was screaming. Or maybe it really was thunder, he told himself. Dark clouds had been creeping in from the north all afternoon. The locals agreed a storm would hit sometime in the night and said it would bring plenty of rain and lightning. That’s probably what it was, just the storm rolling in.
He slipped out of the bed and padded over to the open shutters. They’d left them that way in hopes of catching a breeze to move the stifling air. Now, the air was cooler. It smelled heavy and damp. Thunder rumbled in the north. He heard it clearly that time. Rain was coming.
Ben moved to close the shutters, then paused. He couldn’t see any movement in the streets below, but it wasn’t just thunder he heard. It wasn’t the music from below either, or a drunk getting rolled in an alley. It was sharp, terrified. He leaned out the window, looking up and down the dark streets. In the distance, he heard the unmistakable clash of steel against steel.
“Rhys, Milo,” hissed Ben.
Rhys grumbled and rolled over in his sleep. Milo remained silent. Ben called at them again, louder. By the time Rhys was reluctantly acknowledging him, Ben was already back to his bed. He slipped on his boots and was searching for where he’d put his longsword.
“There are screams outside. Coming closer, I think. Someone’s fighting,” stated Ben.
Rhys muttered a curse under his breath then pulled his blankets up higher.
A clear, piercing cry ended in a strangled whimper.
Both Rhys and Milo jumped out of bed at the same time.
Rhys looked at Ben appraisingly and saw he was dressed. “Go wake the girls.”
Ben nodded and dashed into the hallway. By then, a few doors were opened. Bleary-eyed guests were peeking into the hall. Ben had to bang on the door of the girl’s room for several moments before a disgruntled Towaal answered.
“What is it?” she complained.
“Screams.”
She blinked and then glanced at her own open window.
