by T B Phillips
This time, when the archers revealed themselves, he noticed the strange devices in their hands. Instead of holding the bow vertical this contraption was held flat and horizontal to the ground. Also made of metal, the bow made a ringing sound after firing the bolt. Once again, his men plummeted to their deaths with pieces of steel protruding from their bodies. He tried and failed to burn the weapons, and futility replaced his anger. He ordered his men back into the lodge so that they could prepare his other plan.
Taros rested with his back against stone. Though the tunnel was pitch black he could still imagine Flaya’s features, lying beside him with her head resting in his lap. He marveled at her beauty. Why did I take so long to notice her? He felt her breast rise and fall as she slumbered, unconsciously breathing in what little air remained in their tomb. Most of the miners slept as well, many having quietly accepted their fate in hopes that they could die without pain.
But sleep evaded Taros and he prayed to Felicima for the first time in months. I know that I am far from your sight and no longer feel your power course through my body. Please grant me one final gift with which to avenge your people. Grant me the strength to escape and free them from captivity. He closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing back silent tears. He slowly opened them to Flaya’s voice.
“I love you,” she said.
“And I love you.” His hand reached for her silky hair, stroking it carefully. “You should sleep while I find a way out of here.”
“I’ve slept enough.” She snuggled deeper into his lap with a smile. “I want to die knowing that you held me when I breathed my last.” After a while she touched the ground and added. “At least the rocks are warm. I expected it to be colder beneath the surface because we are so far from Felicima.”
Taros nodded, having wondered the same. “I’m surprised she can reach us this far.”
“Felicima can do everything, Taros. You know that. She is everywhere.” She sat up beside him, feeling for his hand and locking her fingers into his. “Daska says that our world came from her fire when she breathed out. What was once molten hardened into the stone around us, and her flame burns eternal beneath the surface. That’s why we’re not cold.”
The shappan also placed his hand on the ground, feeling the warmth. Like the caldera and the fumaroles, he puzzled. “I’ve seen molten rock spew from the ground. I saw it when I cast the bones of my father into the Caldera.”
“What was it like?”
“Flame lived everywhere, it flickered into the air and melted the ground around it. Rock flowed like rivers of fire before it cooled.” Thoughts of that day flooded back into his mind as trapped images were set free. He remembered praying to Felicima for strength on that day. Strength so that he could challenge Cornin and avenge his father. Tears rolled down his face at the memory. He had cried then as well, except those tears had fallen into the fiery river and sizzled when they made contact. “How large do you think the caldera is, Flaya? Beneath the surface, that is?”
“Daska says that Felicima’s river flows everywhere beneath the stone.”
An idea leapt into his mind and his eyes abruptly shot open. He stood up from the ground, releasing her hand. “Find a torch and light it, My Love.”
“The miners said that would waste the air, Taros.”
“Do it. I need to draw from the fire, and I need to be able to see the walls.” He heard the sound of striking flint as sparks flew in the dark. Soon the cavern was illuminated, and he recognized a sleeping miner nearby. He roughly woke the man with his foot, commanding him, “Get up. Lead me deeper into the mine and show me where you dig the coal.”
The laborer frowned at the open flame, then turned to lead the way. After a few minutes, they came to a place where the walls changed. Instead of pink granite, the walls were marbled with soft black coal. Taros reached and felt the dark substance with his hand. It was cooler than the rock around it. “I wonder if there are rivers of this?”
“The vein stretches everywhere, Shappan.”
“Does it reach the city?”
“Aye, we were told that we are digging toward Weston.”
Taros turned toward his lover and placed his hand on her shoulder. “What I am about to attempt is difficult, Flaya. I’m not sure how many of us will die in the process.”
“Do it,” she whispered, “so that we have a chance to die like Pescari.”
He nodded and faced the seam of coal running through the wall. He placed both hands against the stone and concentrated on finding Felicima. At first, he felt nothing more than the gentle warmth from before. Deeper and deeper he reached past the rock, searching for his goddess buried beneath the world. Regret over his earlier doubts brought forth memories of his many blasphemies as he felt for her power.
He finally understood that he was not a god. He was an agent of Felicima and nothing more without her glory. She will be there, he thought, slumbering deep in the Caldera. He remembered her fiery bed in which he had tossed his father’s bones and formed the image firmly in his mind. The torch puffed out and the tunnel darkened instantly, but Taros could see the fire deep within the rock. He pulled this toward him and channeled the flame into his body.
He heard Flaya and the miner gasp from behind, but he paid them no heed. More and more of the heat was drawn until two molten pools formed in the rock beneath his hands. “Run.” The words came out as a whisper, but Flaya and the laborer fled as fast as they could. Felicima guide my hand, he begged, groaning into the darkness against the pain. The air was quickly consumed around him as he directed magma into the river of coal.
At first it burned slowly, but the young chieftain funneled more heat until the entire vein burst into a raging inferno. The fire exploded past him into the shaft, threatening his people resting near the entrance. But Taros resisted the heat, catching and turning the flames. With great effort he pushed them deeper into the soft black substance, turning it shades of red, orange, and yellow. Somewhere deep in the rock ahead, another blast from trapped gases shook the tunnel and Taros saw the world through the eyes of Felicima.
Chapter Forty-Four
Alec Pogue stared in awe at the cliffs overlooking Cargia. The last time he had business in the harbor, he had done the same, filled with wonder and speculating what treasures lay atop the steep bluff. He never had the opportunity to solve that mystery, as the city officials had ordered his ship to leave as soon as cargo had been exchanged. Foreigners were rarely allowed past the docks.
Marita’s voice snapped his attention to the matter at hand. “The harbor master is asking for our bill of lading.”
Alec reached into his pocket and drew out a parchment, yellowed by the oil used to waterproof the expensive document. He handed it over to the tall man, whose dark skin contrasted his white beard. The top of his bald head beaded with sweat against the afternoon’s humidity.
“What is this,” the official asked, “some kind of joke?”
“Not at all,” the captain replied. “He asked for a security detail to ensure delivery and I must accompany the cask safely to the manor.”
“Absolutely not!” The man’s hands trembled with worry as he spoke, betraying his insecurity. “Law strictly forbids the entrance of foreigners into the city.”
“Except,” Alec instructed, “during rare deliveries of luxury items.”
“But a cask of this importance requires the attention of the local magistrate.”
“I think that Lord Charro Valencia outranks the magistrate, don’t you?”
“I can’t allow it,” the harbor master protested, “not without…” He leaned in close, “Not without certain assurances.”
“A bribe?” Pogue let out a chuckle and placed a satchel of golden coins in the outstretched palm. “Here are your assurances. Now, how do I get up to the manor house?”
“Follow the main road through the city until you reach the square. Turn
left and continue out the eastern gate. The road curves up the cliffside and leads only to Valencia’s estate.”
Alec placed another satchel in his palm and ordered, “Have a hitch and wagon ready on the pier with five additional horses at the ready.”
“I am not a valet, Captain!” The dark man blanched with disgust at his treatment as a domestic. Alec opened another purse and counted out six imperial talents, placing them directly into a pocket on the man’s waistcoat. The man nodded, “They will be ready within the hour, Captain Pogue.”
Alec smiled as the greedy man scampered across the brow to order about some idle slackers. “Gold is a funny thing, Marita.” The girl had rarely left his side on the voyage, glued to every conversation and watching him lead the crewmen through the driving of the ship.
“How so?”
He looked down at the sweet little girl with tender pride, the same given to a daughter by a father. “It can open doors.”
“What if the price is too high?”
“Then it buys the whole damned thing.”
She nodded agreement then shot him a smile and a thumbs up. Of course, he understood her mind much more deeply by now, and knew that she didn’t have a clue what he had just meant.
“Get your things, dearie,” he told her. “We’re going to get Mattie and the girls.”
The road to Valencia Manor curved up the steep bluff, making it a longer trip than expected. They had ridden more than an hour, backsides already sore from the rigid seat atop their wagon. The higher Alec and Marita climbed the smaller they felt. The vantage was perfect for gazing at the scenery, but the young girl focused mostly on the city below. All the people resembled ants, scurrying here and there as they lived their busy lives.
She asked a looming question that had been burning in her mind. “Why do they look so small?”
“I guess it’s just perspective. Everything looks smaller when you’re looking down,” he answered.
She slowly nodded, her trademark smile notably absent. “Just like people,” she mused.
“Yes. That’s why they look smaller.”
“No.” Marita corrected. “Just like people when they’re in charge. Like King Robert and all the others. The people below them look smaller, like insects, and they forget that they are really people.” She bit the inside of her cheek as she pondered something deeper. “That’s why nobody is getting along,” she insisted. “They can’t see things from everyone else’s point of view.”
Alec stared at his adopted daughter with surprise. “Yes. That’s exactly the problem,” he replied as he recovered from his shock. “That’s why Robert and Braen are having a difficult time getting along. That’s also why I want to take you, Mattie, and my other girls away from all the politics.” He glanced upward at the looming manor house as he mentioned his family, suddenly realizing how large it really was. Earlier it had seemed normal size from the road. Braen and Mattie are right, he thought, and, as soon as the girls are safe, I will retire. We’ll start a nice farm somewhere.
“Make way!” Shouting from behind broke his concentration and he pulled the wagon to the side of the road. Another carriage, just as elaborate as the last, ambled up the road at breakneck speed. The driver shouted as he whipped the horses, “Move out of the road for the lord!”
“How many fucking lords do they have down here?”
“Don’t use profanity, Marita.”
“I’m a pirate. Pirate’s cuss,” she responded stubbornly.
He didn’t press. Her words had echoed his own thoughts. It was the fifth to pass them and a procession of wagons could be seen further down the road. They had picked a good time to visit the manor; with all of these visitors he and Mattie could easily blend into the crowd.
“Alec.” Marita tugged at his sleeve and he turned toward her.
“Yes, dearie?”
“Why is Braen’s old ship here?“What do you mean?”
“Look out there.” She pointed off into the distance at the haze atop the blue ocean. “Don’t you see it?”
Pogue strained his eyes, unable to see anything in the distance. “No. I don’t. But it can’t be Ice Prince, he wrecked her in The Cove.”
“I remember, Silly. I was there with Eusari.” A gust of wind suddenly blew down from the cliffside, sweeping over the road and toward the sea. He didn’t know how she did it, but he knew that she was riding the breeze to get a better look. “I was wrong,” she finally admitted. “She isn’t Ice Prince. She just looks like her.”
Alec froze in place. “Fjorik longboat?” He shook his head. “They don’t venture this far south.”
“Well nobody told them that and there’s one rounding the bluff.”
“What do the crew look like? Pirates or northerners?”
“Definitely north men. Their beards are wild and not combed like Braen’s.” After a pause she added, “Ew!”
He pressed, “What is it?”
“Their teeth are really sharp. They look like they filed them down to look like wolves.”
Berserkers. thought Alec. Why are berserkers in Cargia?
Mattie fussed over the kitchen staff, ensuring perfection no matter the task. The soup needed salt, the smokers were too hot, and no one had adjusted the dampers. The stuffed eggs weren’t stuffing themselves and so she put Lexi on that task. So much rode on this banquet that the steward worried she would faint away from the stress.
Alexa looked up from the half-peeled potato in her hands. “Try and relax, Mother.”
“Try and relax?” Mattie whirled on her youngest daughter. “Every lord in the southern continent is arriving at our door as we speak. You want me to relax?”
“Alexa’s right,” Lexi agreed, “you’re all worked up over nothing. It’s only a big party.”
“Only a big party?” Mattie stared at her girls, marveling at their unified defiance. She walked to the window, threw open the shutters and pointed at the rows of elegant tents pitched in the yard. “Outside there are nearly one hundred lords competing with one another. Each of those tents cost a vast fortune and are filled to the brim with whatever luxuries would make the others envious. These people aren’t here to party, they’re here to show off their wealth and reinforce their political relevance.”
She returned to her girls, both of whom eyed the ground with humility. “If our lord doesn’t make the biggest display of wealth, then he loses importance in the eyes of the others. Our job is to put on that show, down to the tiniest detail.” She pointed at a bubbled crepe, “Like that.” She picked it up and flipped the pancake over in her hands, scrutinizing the obvious misshapen form. “This will not do.” In a single motion she flung it like a frisbee toward the waiting trash container. “Now get to work.”
Alexa finished skinning the last potato. She was stiff from hunching over the tub, so she stretched and yawned.
Her mother eyed her suspiciously, no doubt wondering if she would try and duck out of more work. “No time for yawning, dearie.”
“I’m sorry, Mum. I just need to walk around and do something active.”
“Well then, you can run these out to the men smoking the meat.” She gestured at a box of boar haunches and ribs. “Can you lift it?”
She knew that she could, but hefted it cautiously just in case. It lifted easily enough. “Anything else I can take?” She was thankful for her mother. Since they had been taken from The Cove, she had grown closer to the woman, bonding in ways that most teenage daughters don’t with their parents. But that wasn’t to say that she and Liza weren’t starting to crave their independence. Especially the older sister who was already of marrying age.
“Take these herbs and spices. Please and thank you, dearie.”
She smiled back at her mother, feeling deeply sorry for her earlier defiance. Of course the event was a big deal. She had no right to suggest otherwise. “I’ll h
urry back,” she promised.
“Please do. There’s so much more that needs done.” Her mother looked up from her chopping and added, “And Alexa!”
“Yes, Mum?”
“Stay near the manor house. Valencia said that we aren’t to wander from the grounds of the main property while his guests are camped.”
“Of course!”
The teen had no plans to wander near the camps. She had seen glimpses of the other lords through the kitchen window and wanted nothing to do with their flamboyance. She also saw the hard men who had accompanied them, hired mercenaries who would love a piece of a vulnerable young woman. She would be careful not to wander far.
She found the smokers fully manned and bellowing sweet smoke. She handed the crate to the lead chef and turned to leave when a figure caught her eye. Charro Valencia was clad in a garment as colorful as the peacocks currently meandering the front lawn. He walked with his hands in the sleeves of his robe, eyes forward as he made his way toward a dense grove of orange trees.
Two guardsmen, Jon and Petr, followed closely behind. They carried a large chest between them, swinging it as they walked. Alexa couldn’t help but notice the jingle of coins inside as they passed. She glanced briefly at the kitchen window and then back at the lord, suddenly forgetting her desire to stay close to the manor. Curiosity had already won over her feet and they carried her up the walk toward the orchard.
When she reached the trees, she found a place to hide out of sight. She ducked behind a bush and waited, watching as the lord stood unmoving in a clearing. His guards were less patient. They shifted their weight anxiously, eyes scanning for movement. Soon, two more men approached from the south. Alexa let out a startled gasp and clamped her hands over her mouth.
She had never seen a Fjorik raider until she had met Braen Braston. Her father had often brought him into their home to teach the girls about the land in northern Andalon. They had both been frightened at first, terrified that he would be true to the depictions in stories and paintings. They had expected a terrible visage clad in furs and with filed teeth that gnawed lustfully for their teenage flesh. Instead, he had been cultivated, educated, and refined. He was handsome instead of ugly, and he had quickly charmed the entire family.
