by Guy Antibes
Sam wasn’t so sure since he had used it enough times already. Perhaps the wired grip had poison in it. He shrugged off the thought. With his leather covering, he was protected.
“I haven’t died yet,” Sam said. He didn’t know what Desmon was capable of, so he assumed a defensive pose.
Desmon bowed to the sultan. “Do we fight to the death?” At least he addressed their captor in Vaarekian, so Sam could understand.
“Not necessarily. I want to see if each of you can bloody the other.” The sultan frowned and then pursed his lips. “I have changed my mind. To the death.”
~
Desmon grinned at Sam, but it wasn’t a companionable grin at all. Sam thought it looked rather predatory. Desmon jumped to the attack. He knew Sam’s weaknesses and strengths. Sam had never held back when he practiced with the sailor.
Sam deflected attack after attack. Desmon possessed a speed Sam had never seen before. He tripped on the edge of a rug and rolled away from Desmon, his ear ringing from the clang of the sword against the stone. He got to his feet in time to jump over a low sweep of Desmon’s sword.
He stepped back. Desmon’s eyes narrowed as he paused, but Sam’s pause was a feint. He lunged, opening up a cut on Desmon’s leg, and was about to drag the point of his sword up when Desmon twisted away, letting Sam’s sword slice open the Wollian sailor’s trousers.
Desmon backed up, putting his hand on his wound and drew it back. His bloody hand surprised him. His eyes filled with anger as he pressed Sam back across the room, cutting the top of Sam’s wrist.
After another run of attacks and parries, Sam reacted to an opening and thrust his sword at Desmon’s stomach.
“Stop!” the sultan said just as Sam was about to plunge his blade into Desmon’s midsection. The Mandrim leader looked at the guards. “Take their weapons.”
The guard who took Sam’s Lashak sword produced a pollen cloth and covered the blade before taking it.
“Sit,” the sultan said, pointing to the rug at the bottom of the steps leading to his elevated chair.
Sam did so. Two women ran out and slathered salve on their wounds and bound them with pollen cloth. Sam didn’t object.
The sultan stared at the pair and then told the guards to vacate the throne room. He stepped down from his throne and joined them on the floor.
“I need your help,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. The sultan looked at Sam. “You are the pollen expert?”
“In some ways,” Sam said. “I have my own weaknesses, you should know.”
The sultan batted his hand as it to swat Sam’s comment away. “A Vaarekian in the camp has me under his spell. Whenever he wants me to do his bidding, he holds me by the neck, and I am compelled to obey. We are all under his spell whenever he wants.”
Desmon looked at Sam. They both looked at the sultan. “Green pollen.”
“What?” the sultan said.
“The Vaarekian uses a unique form of pollen that is absorbed into your body and makes you compliant to the applier’s every wish. If the pollen is put on your neck, it is absorbed, and you follow his commands. It eventually wears off.”
“As it is now,” the sultan said. “Another of your group was captured and is being interrogated by the man as we speak.”
Sam couldn’t help but look alarmed. The man would kill Banna if he asked her about her Toraltian activities.
“Please take me to him. I am your prisoner, after all,” Sam said.
“Guards!”
Sam raised a finger. “If I could get my spectacles back, I would appreciate it.”
Chapter Eighteen
~
T he wagon covers were now visible to a be-spectacled Sam, as they walked through the lines of wagons to a three-story building across the square. They climbed to the top and confronted two guards, taller and dressed quite differently from the nomads, guarding the door to the floor.
“Vaarekian guards,” Desmon said quietly in Toraltian.
“These are the woman’s companions. The Sultan thought they would help the interrogation,” their escort said.
A guard nodded and opened the door. “The woman’s companions.”
“Ah,” a reedy voice said from within. “Send them in.”
When they were told to stand in the center of the room, the man said, “Banna Plunk’s friends?”
“We are,” Sam said. The man knew her name, and that made Sam fear for her life. He rushed to Banna’s side and took her hand. Emmy was fast asleep in the corner of the room. Sam’s hands were restricted by pollen manacles that were already softening. Banna was definitely under the influence of the pollen. “Is she all right?” Sam said.
“I don’t need to torture people,” the Vaarekian said proudly in his native tongue. He was tall, thin, and emaciated-looking. The man had dark circles under his eyes. His hair was a greasy black mess. He leaned towards Sam, pulling a small amount of green pollen and slapped it on Sam’s neck.
“What have you done?” Sam asked. He put his hand to his neck and felt the pollen crumble under his palm, trying to relax as if the pollen began to work on him. He made sure he touched Banna’s skin and her own manacles.
“I don’t need to torture people. Did I already say that?” He laughed to himself. Sam disliked the arrogance. The Vaarekian put Commandant Ahman to shame.
Banna said, “Yes.”
Sam repeated her word.
Their captor ignored Desmon, but there were two more guards in the room with their eyes on him.
“So what is your story, young man? I didn’t get a chance to get very far with Banna, but she knows you, that is plain enough. Let’s start with your name.”
“Sam Smith of Cherryton in Toraltia,” Sam said, trying to keep the nerves he felt out of his voice.
“Why are you in Wollia? Are you a spy?”
“I am traveling to Tolloy after being exiled from Baskin.”
“Your Vaarekian is too good. Are you one of Baskin’s nobles?”
“No.” Sam tried to keep his responses as much to the point as possible.
He needed time for his touch to cure Banna.
His interrogation continued until the Vaarekian turned to Banna. “Is he telling the truth?”
“He is,” Banna said.
Sam had been totally truthful since the Vaarekian hadn’t asked any questions that even tempted Sam to prevaricate, another example of keeping to the truth as much as possible at all times, a principle Dickey Nail had often mentioned.
Sam finally felt a squeeze of Banna’s hand. He looked at her eyes, seeing the tension that he always noticed return. She was back, and Sam’s manacles were soft enough that he could pull his hands through.
“What is your name?” Sam asked.
The Vaarekian blinked. “My name? Why do you ask?” He looked alarmed.
“I would like to know whom I am addressing. I always like to know that,” Sam said in as even a tone as he could.
“My name is Harlik Bonkle. I am a pollen magician.” The man advanced on Sam and looked down at him with a mirthless smile. “I am familiar enough with Professor Plunk’s work to know that Banna, here, is a pollen magician, as well.” His smile widened. “Her position regarding Viktar Kreb is now known. It won’t matter shortly, nor will your impudence. How did you manage to ask me a question?”
“I am inquisitive,” Sam said.
Harlik blinked again. He reached for his pouch of green pollen, but Sam was faster. He grabbed the pouch and quickly slapped green pollen on the back of Harlik’s hand before his pollen aversion destroyed it.
The smile was gone.
“What happened?” a guard said.
“Nothing,” Sam said quietly.
Harlik nodded. “Nothing,” he said to the guards.
Out of the sight of the guards, Sam made the sign of four with his fingers and thrust his hand as if he had a sword in it. He hoped she understood, and he was relieved when Banna quickly made four swords, while Sam put the pouch
on Banna’s lap. Sam took one weapon. Banna put one in Harlik’s hand.
“Attack the guards when I say ‘four’ and stand up.”
Harlik nodded and gripped the sword tightly.
Sam took a deep breath and looked at Banna. She nodded to him. He stood up. “Four.”
Harlik turned around and ran the sword through the guard’s uniform. Sam wasn’t too surprised that Banna could make pollen weapons sharper than the average sword. The other guard converged on Harlik. Sam threw the next sword to Desmon, hilt up.
The Wollian finished off the second guard as Harlik fought with the first. He took the third sword and readied himself for the other two guards to come bursting through the door.
Banna tossed aside her pollen sword and grabbed one of the guard’s weapons. She ran Harlik through the back. The Vaarekian slumped to the floor.
“No!” Sam said. “We needed to talk to him!”
“Too late,” Banna said. She must have said something to Harlik that she didn’t want to repeat.
Sam gritted his teeth as the door opened, and the two guards fought three. Banna was much better with a sword than he would have thought and successfully fended off blows to her and to Sam. The fight was over in seconds. Desmon suffered a cut head, but his pollen sword held up long enough to defeat his opponent.
The weapon that Sam used was nicked and gouged, but he could see the edge Banna had put on the weapon still would do its job. One of the guards was injured.
“Here is your prisoner,” Banna said. She put a small amount of pollen on the guard’s neck. His eyes calmed, despite his heaving chest.
“Where are you from?” Sam asked.
The man remained silent. Sam looked at Banna.
“Where are you from?”
“Zoral.”
Banna looked at Sam. “It is a small town in the west part of Vaarek.” She turned back to the guard. “Why is Bonkle here?”
“To spread weapons among the nomads.”
Sam had figured that much out.
“Why?” Banna said.
“To soften up Wollia for the invasion.”
“When is the invasion to happen?”
“Next year,” the guard said.
“Do you know any details?”
The guard grimaced. “I don’t get told such things.”
“How high up was Bonkle?” Sam said. Banna repeated the question.
“He reports to the intelligence minister who reports directly to our beloved leader, Viktar Kreb.”
“How many pollen magicians does Kreb have?”
The guard blinked. The pain must have been getting to him. “Three others. Harlik always said he was the best.” He groaned. “The pain,” the guard said as he passed out.
“I think we know enough,” Desmon said. “I say leave them for the Mandrim if they let us take the weapons back to the armory.”
Sam thought furiously. In his opinion, they didn’t know enough. He looked at Banna. “Did the magician tell you how he obtained the pollen?”
“A boastful person doesn’t make a good agent,” Banna said. “He makes it using a multiple step process that he didn’t divulge.”
“Does he start with animal pollen?”
Banna looked at him sharply. “You know too much for a boy.”
“You have the pollen. I suggest one experiment,” Sam said. “Someone should take a small dose, and then after we’ve verified it is absorbed and working, they should hold onto a gold nugget. Perhaps, that might eliminate the poison.”
“You call it poison?” Desmon said.
Sam shrugged. “Then call it a drug. It works the same way. Sheep pollen does something similar. Maybe sheep pollen is the base. I don’t know,” he said. “We have to go back to the sultan’s quarters.”
Guards were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, but the sultan arrived as they reached the bottom.
“Is Bonkle dead?”
Desmon nodded his head. “They didn’t want us to leave alive, and Bonkle is dead. Now let’s do some talking.”
~
Sam, now wearing his Lashak sword and wand, stood in the sultan’s audience room. Banna had been allowed to freshen up, and Desmon had already had a private conversation with the Mandrim chief.
“I have agreed to give your wagons back,” the sultan said, “after we have taken our choice of weapons. Sandal has informed me that every Wollian might have to become an ally before Viktar Kreb’s ambitions are thwarted.”
“We will let you know how our experiments go with the green pollen,” Sam said. “I am hopeful gold can be used as an antidote.”
The sultan grinned. “It has ever been an antidote for me.”
Sam looked around the room. The sultan didn’t stint on his decorating, and he could probably furnish enough golden chunks to protect all the Mandrim in the village and its surroundings.
“The wagons are mine,” the sultan said. “You will free the nomads held captive in the fort, and they will help drive the wagons back.”
Sam didn’t think it was much of a negotiation, but he had to admit that the Vaarekian had overplayed his hand with the nomads, and Banna had one less pollen magician to deal with in Vaarek.
“You will leave in the morning, blindfolded. In the evening, my nomads will release you and guide you to Rakwall.”
Sam thought he could lead them back to the village if he needed to, but he remained silent. He guessed Desmon could as well, but he hoped they would be gone from Wollia before that was necessary.
A nomad led them back to Harlik’s rooms. The guards and the Vaarekian were gone, but Emmy still slept through it all. Sam found blankets and slept next to the Great Sanchian Hound with his hand on her fur, hoping to drain the effects of green pollen from his dog.
He woke up the next morning looking up at Emmy, with her tongue dripping on his face. “Are you okay?”
Emmy barked and moved off him when Sam pushed her gently aside. He sat up and listened for the others before peeking in the bedrooms, finding both still asleep.
Banna spent the night in the Vaarekian magician’s bedroom. She lifted her head and sighed. “It is morning. Time to leave?”
Sam nodded before closing her door. Desmon poked his head outside the door to the guard’s room. “I’ll be ready soon.”
Sam washed up at a lavatory down the hall and returned. Banna sat in the large sitting room Harlik had used to interrogate them. Sam poked his head in the magician’s bedroom and went through his things. He found a small folder filled with correspondence. He wouldn’t read it now but would wait until he was in Rakwall. As Sam looked underneath drawers, the bed, and between the mattress and the bed’s platform, he found a large packet of yellow pollen.
When he walked into the sitting room, he tossed it to Banna. “He definitely modified sheep’s pollen,” Sam said. “At least that’s what it looks like to me.”
Banna opened the packet and picked a few of the threads. “It is.” She frowned. Kreb has been more innovative than I gave him credit for,” she said.
“It is all yours,” Sam said, not mentioning the magician’s papers.
Guards took them across the square for breakfast with the sultan.
“I suppose we leave as friendly enemies,” Sam said.
Desmon said, “As long we can leave, you can call them whatever you wish.”
Chapter Nineteen
~
E mmy sat between a Mandrim driver and Sam as the wagon trundled in the twilight toward Rakwall. Sam could see riders approaching them on the dusty road. He put his shirt to his mouth to protect him from the billowing clouds raised by the riders.
Commandant Ahman led the soldiers who surrounded the wagons. He rode up to Desmon and talked in Wollian before motioning the party towards the settlement and its armory.
Sam and Desmon helped the soldiers unload the weapons. The armory had been cleared of debris, but the hole in the back hadn’t yet been repaired, so that simplified the return of the weapons.
>
Ahman pulled Sam aside. “So you gave away some of the Potentate’s weapons, Sandal tells me.”
Sam took a slow breath. That had been something Desmon had arranged with the sultan. He pressed his lips together to keep from getting upset. “It was that or have the Mandrim continue to hold us captive. Desmon told you about the Vaarekian pollen magician?”
Ahman shrugged. “He mentioned the Mandrim were in league with the Vaarekians.”
“Worse than that. They were more like slaves,” Sam said. “The man’s name was Harlik Bonkle. He was able to create the green pollen using some kind of advanced magic. If the sultan didn’t do as he was told, Bonkle threatened to turn all his men against him.”
“Could he do that?”
“I don’t know for sure, but the sultan didn’t want to test Bonkle’s threat. He thanked us for saving him, and that led to negotiations. The nomads being held are to be returned with the wagons.”
Ahman didn’t seem distressed by that. “How many weapons did he keep?”
“Less than half a wagon,” Sam said. “He wanted enough for his clan.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all,” Ahman said. “And what do you want for your efforts?”
“A bed for tonight and an escort to Port Hassin.”
“Nothing more?”
“I can’t speak for the others.”
Ahman shook his head. “Any reward Sandal gets will come from his people. The woman didn’t care for a reward either. It makes my job easier.”
Sam wondered if Ahman would claim a reward for Banna and him. Or at the very least, the return of the weapons might keep him from being reprimanded.
“Commander Ilsur?”
“Has returned to Port Hassin. He wanted me to send out a rescue party.”
Sam shook his head. “It is a good thing you prevailed. The Mandrim village has hundreds of nomads. If you had attacked, it would have been bloody.”
Ahman nodded with a faint smile. “That is what I thought.”
~
The sea appeared suddenly on the right side of the carriage. They were close to Port Hassin, and Sam couldn’t have been happier. The four-day trip had turned into over a week of constant travel. He looked forward to reacquainting himself with his cabin, which, at the present moment, seemed like home.
