“But the Sisters–”
“Will also be far too busy. Also, they’ve just come back from spending over two months traveling. They deserve the chance to rest as well, yes?”
Oh, how she wanted to argue the point, but really, what could she say?
“I’m scared.” She looked at him with wide eyes, and trembling lips and Desh had no doubt that Andover Lashk would have killed for her in that moment.
He shook his head. “I’ve seen you handle worse situations and you know that if you have to, you can summon me.” He did not need to add that doing so would be meant strictly as a last possible option scenario. She knew that. They all knew that. Those that didn’t understand how much he preferred his privacy learned very quickly.
She wanted to say more, but one look at his face and the young girl knew better.
“You have time before you leave, Tega. Go, see your family again and prepare yourself.” His voice was not unkind as he sent her on her way. There would be no ignoring his orders, not if she truly wished to learn from him. He had taught her some things already, but she knew there was much, much more that he could teach her, would teach her if she obeyed.
She nodded her head and managed a smile before leaving them. The Sisters watched her go, but said not a word. Desh stood from the breakfast table and stretched.
“I suppose I should go have a chat with the Emperor.” He smiled as he looked at the Sisters.
“How long will you be, Desh?” Tataya pouted playfully. “We’re already getting bored.”
“I doubt that. You have new toys to play with.” He chuckled as he spoke.
Goriah shook her head and reached for one of the soft cheeses and the knife Desh had left impaling it. “Hurry. We don’t get to see you enough these days.”
“As much as I can, sweet.”
“Bring us back presents.” Pella’s voice was teasing. There were many, many rumors about Desh Krohan and the Sisters. None of them much cared what the rumors were, but from time to time they found them as amusing as they were inaccurate. Their relationship was… complex.
He waved and snickered as he pulled on his robe and headed for the door. There were too many strangers around, and too many familiar faces, in addition.
He walked quickly through the corridors and kept his silence. Really, a loud and boisterous magician held remarkably little air of mystery about him. Though a good deal of the staff and the servants knew that he could be bit sarcastic, and yes, even loud from time to time, they also knew better than to wag their tongues.
Pathra Krous was in his offices, behind the main area where he received guests and handled business. This was not one of his days scheduled for handling affairs of state, which meant that he was entertaining himself with paperwork and looking over the maps that had been delivered by the expedition.
That was good. The maps were exactly what Desh wanted to talk to him about. He came into the room without announcing himself and Pathra gave a half smile as he leaned back in his chair. “I was wondering how long I’d have to look these over before you came along.”
“I was nice. I let you play with them for a whole day.” He dropped his ceremonial robe across the back of the wooden chair where he settled and leaned over to look at the map facing the Emperor. The writing and images were upside down, but that was hardly an issue. He had been reading upside down since he could remember.
He touched the map at the entrance of the mountain range, at the base of what the Sa’ba Taalor called Durhallem. His mind tried correcting his casual nature and reminded him that the proper title was the Heart of Durhallem, but he waved the thought away like so much white noise. Really, he tended to fend off a lot of his own thoughts these days and found himself wondering if that was a sign of senility, or merely too damned many years walking the planet. Either way, he waved that thought aside as well.
Back to the maps.
“If these measurements are correct, we have grossly underestimated the size of the Forges. We have also never begun to consider that there might be a fertile valley here, or that it would be large enough to accommodate seven separate kingdoms.”
Pathra snorted. “They could be very small kingdoms, couldn’t they?”
“They could indeed, but from what we’ve seen, they have wealth and they have soldiers.”
“We’ve seen a few burly folks in armor. That hardly makes for an army.”
“By all the gods, Pathra, you’ve been hanging around me far too much. You’re getting positively snide.”
“I’m trying to be a realist. You said there might be people and we’ve seen that there are. You said they could be dangerous. That’s likely a given. They came offering gifts, and that’s a positive sign, yes?”
“Hopefully. Again, we don’t know much about them. By the way, what have you prepared as gifts for their return?”
The Emperor frowned. “I have no idea what to offer them? I mean, I hardly have any great trophies that I’ve earned in combat…”
“May I suggest an offering of emeralds from the mines of Canhoon? Perhaps a dozen of the Alacar eggs?”
“A dozen?” The man’s voice cracked as if he were an adolescent.
“Then make it seven, one for each of their kings.” Desh waved away the regret in the Emperor’s tone. Yes, the eggs were a rarity, but they were hardly impossible to get. “Honestly, Pathra, what the hell are you going to do with all of the eggs you’re already stocking up in your larders?”
“But they’re…” The Emperor sighed. “Fine.”
“Don’t be that way. Each of the seven kings offered you a treasure. You have to do the same in return.”
“A fruit basket isn’t enough?”
“They’re kings, not your relatives. You have to treat them with the proper respect. Maybe if you’re lucky they’ll let you have one of those great, hairy brutes they ride around on.”
“Gods! Wouldn’t that be lovely?” His eyes grew wide at the prospect.
“And if you establish a proper relationship it’s always possible that you could wind up visiting their kingdoms. So make sure you get a good friendship working here.”
That was really all it took. Pathra’s fascination with the Blasted Lands made him putty when it came to working out a proper accord with the inhabitants. Even if he wasn’t much of a statesman when he was in a mood, he was almost guaranteed not to get too moody if he was thinking about the unknown wonders from another land.
Desh looked at the maps again. Really, the area was much larger than he would have expected possible. At least assuming that the map was an accurate representation. There was little doubt in his mind. The craftsmanship and the attention to detail made him think that the map had been around for a while. There was no reason to assume that the people living in that valley would have time to draw a fake map, or for that matter good cause.
He studied the lay out, his fingers running over the multiple rivers that seemed most likely run off from the mountains themselves, and then working toward not one but five separate lakes within the massive valley.
“There’s nothing they couldn’t do here, Pathra. Do you see that?”
“What do you mean?” The Emperor leaned in closer, the oils in his recently restyled hair threatening to rain down on the map. Happily they didn’t quite saturate his tresses to that level.
“I mean they have forests, they have farmlands, they have clean water, and apparently they have food aplenty. There is no need for them to ever leave their valley. It’s small wonder we never knew they were there.”
“We’ve never been able to get to them. How could they get to us?”
“We never knew for certain that they were there, Pathra. There’s a difference. They either knew of us or at least suspected we existed, as best I can determine.”
The emperor rose from his seat and walked to his window, looking toward the Blasted Lands as if there were any possibility that he could see them from where he was. On particularly clear nights it was possible t
o see the glow from the Seven Forges on the horizon, but that was a rarity.
“Do you know I never really thought you’d find anything out there, Desh.”
“I didn’t spend my money on the sure bet that there was nothing, my friend.”
“True enough.”
Desh returned to the map again, looking even further to the north. The land seemed to continue on well beyond the valley of the Daxar Taalor, but the map itself ended. It was his curse that he was already wondering what was on the other side of that map and how long it would take him to arrange an expedition.
Pathra laughed, “You really need to work on one goal at a time, old man. First we establish a good relationship and then you use the valley as a starting point for the next expedition.”
“That obvious?”
“To me? Of course.” The Emperor looked at the map, leaning over the surface of the desk to study. “Do you suppose the scale is accurate?”
“I see no reason for it not to be. The details between where we are and where they are seem to follow a consistent scale.” Still he frowned as he spoke and looked carefully at the map. Even allowing for the violent storms and horrid environment, it seemed that more of the expeditions he’d sent over the years should have reached their destination.
But, again, sometimes the lands between the Forges and Fellein seemed to change. The distances seemed smaller now than they had. And there was a rather large icon on the map that, according to Wollis March was an affair called the Mounds. The man said the Sa’ba Taalor were forbidden to go there.
He’d have to look into both situations properly instead of merely considering them as possible causes of trouble. Mysterious ruins and shrinking distances were not the sort of notions he found at all comforting.
“What are the plans for today, Pathra?”
“I’m supposed to meet with Tuskandru and his retinue for a meal. I assume you’ll be joining me?”
“Of course.” He waved the very idea that he would be elsewhere aside. There were some things that were simply too important to overlook. “Have you ever known me to turn down food?”
“Not in my lifetime.”
Andover Lashk looked at the brutes around him and swallowed hard. Drask was a giant of a man, no two ways about it. The one next to him Tusk, was even larger. They were the biggest, to be sure, but none of the people facing him were small, and that included the women.
They were standing in the courtyard that had been set aside for the Sa’ba Taalor, and a dozen of the strangers were looking at Andover and his weapon, giving both a long and nearly silent scrutiny. He had not changed. The weapon was what they were examining most closely. The handle was a little over three feet in length, and on one end was a heavy barb for stabbing. On the other was the hammer head he had fashioned. One end was a heavy, blunt head. The other was a blade, more properly fitted to an axe. The challenge had been to make the two sides of the head balance out, as well as making the entire weapon balance out. He’d done it by adding iron rings along the base where the barb rested. When he was completely finished he would be able to balance the weapon in the palm of his hand without having to worry about it tipping one way or the other. The metal bands were also studded, allowing them to cause extra damage should they strike flesh. He’d made the bloody thing and now they were staring at it like it might be a lump of carrion he was holding instead of hours of intense labor and the cause of several small burns on his forearms from working the forge.
Tusk reached forward and plucked the weapon from his hands without asking, without warning and so quickly that Andover could not respond.
Drask looked at him with knitted brows above his veil. His expression said that Andover had just lost respect in the eyes of the newcomers by so easily forfeiting his weapon. There was nothing he could do. The man who had taken the weapon would snap him as easily as a twig.
Tusk whipped the weapon around between his hands, moving in fluid motions that seemed nearly impossible. The hammer head alone weighed enough to make wielding it a challenge to Andover, but to the man holding the weapon it seemed as light as air.
Drask stepped closer. He leaned down just a bit as the monarch from the Taalor Valley continued testing out the hammer’s balance and weight.
And then Tuskandru called to two of the surrounding Sa’ba Taalor. They nodded, came forward, and drew their weapons. The one on the left of him, a smaller man – which meant he was only enormous – swung a one-handed axe. The other was sporting a well-used and weathered sword.
“What are you…?”
Tuskandru ignored him and brought the hammer around in a savage arc, swinging at the swordsman’s head. The man deflected the blow, grunting with the effort, and immediately countered. Even as Tusk was knocking the attack aside – and continuing to swing the long hammer as if it weighed nothing – the axe-wielder swept his blade toward the monarch’s head.
Tuskandru ducked down low and brought the hammer in close to his chest before striking out with the barbed end, knocking the axe away from the wielder’s hands with a loud clatter. The axe man immediately stepped back, his arms held wide apart.
Two steps and a spinning motion that Andover could barely follow and the swordsman was on the ground, his weapon a few feet away and Tusk’s boot planted on his chest. The hammer came down and stopped inches from where it would surely have splattered the man’s skull.
All around them the horde of Sa’ba Taalor roared their approval.
“He seems pleased with the work you put into the weapon.” Drask’s voice was low, just barely audible. “That is good. Likely he will throw the weapon to you. Do not let it fall to the ground.”
Andover began to look toward the foreigner who had become his advisor, but stopped himself when, exactly as Drask had predicted, Tuskandru hurled the weapon in his direction. He did not throw it in an attack, but instead threw it with the head pointed toward the skies.
Andover moved forward and caught the weapon. The weight was almost enough to stagger him, but he braced himself and managed to keep his feet.
And found Tusk staring at him with scrutinizing eyes.
The giant bellowed out five words in the language of his people. His eyes were smiling behind the veil he sported.
Drask put a hand on Andover’s shoulder. “He likes your workmanship. He approves. Now he wants you trained with it.”
“Trained?”
The man nodded his head and looked around the courtyard. He seemed incapable of not looking around constantly. “Oh yes. You will be learning to fight with the hammer you forged. It is to be a part of you and you have… limitations.”
“What limitations?” He wasn’t sure, but suspected he should be offended by the comment.
“You do not know how to fight. You do not have years of practice. You must be readied for the journey to Taalor.”
“What do you mean ‘readied’?” He didn’t much like the sound of that, or where any of this seemed to be going. When he heard the term readied, he immediately thought of the rare occasions when his mother would make roasts and spent hours seasoning the meats and preparing them. It was not a comforting notion.
“You are meant to be an ambassador for your people.”
“Yeah?”
“That means you will need to know how to fight.”
“But, why?”
Drask sighed and pointed toward Tusk. The king was looking from one person to the next, talking softly and moving with the easy confidence that seemed afforded only the finest warriors. “Would you willingly risk a fight with him?”
“By the gods, no. He’d kill me.”
“Yes, he would.” Drask looked at him closely. “He would kill you with one blow. And that is the problem. Tuskandru, Chosen of the Forge of Durhallem and King in Obsidian does not negotiate with weaklings and those who cannot defend themselves in simple combat.” He paused to let that sink in. “Neither do the other six kings. Nor do their emissaries. If you would deal with these people on be
half of your Emperor and your Empire, you must be able to fight and defend yourself.”
“Are you saying I’ll have to fight the kings?”
Drask laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Not at all. They would not fight you. But their appointed representatives almost certainly will.”
“But how?” Andover couldn’t find the words to finish his question. “I mean, what, exactly is my job going to be?”
“We have never had ambassadors before. Almost certainly you will make arguments on behalf of your Empire.”
“Alright…” Andover worked that over in his head. “How does that lead to me fighting anyone?”
“You handled your dispute with the men who attacked you, yes?”
“Yes, of course. You made me do that. You told me I had to do that to keep my hands.”
Drask nodded his head. “That is how disputes are settled where we come from.”
“All disputes?”
“Yes. Though sometimes the fights are to the death.”
Drask called out to three of his people. Two women and one man came forward. All of them looked at him expectantly.
“Delil.” He pointed to the first of the women. She was younger, and carried herself with more swagger than half of the City Guard. Next was the male, a brick wall of a man, with scars that looked like one of the great monsters they rode in on had tried to chew him to pieces covering one arm and half of his neck. “Bromt.” The last of the three was a woman whose helmet bore great horns that curved down toward her shoulders. “And this is Stastha. They will be your instructors today.”
“My instructors?” He hated the way his voice broke when he looked toward Drask.
“Yes. They’ve been instructed to beat on you until you learn to defend yourself.” Drask stepped back and clapped his hands together. Delil came forward, dropping into a crouch as she started circling Andover. She carried no weapons. “Delil will go first.”
“Wait!” Andover stepped back, gripping his hammer fiercely and looking at Drask when he wasn’t keeping a wary eye on the unarmed woman facing him and moving slowly around him, assessing his movements.
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