Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1)

by Allene Lowrey

  And yet…

  “Hey. New guy. You wantcher pay, or didya change your mind and decide to stick with us?” Ziya interrupted his reverie.

  “Thanks for the offer,” he smiled, “but I’m afraid I can’t. There’s too much I don’t know right now.”

  “Suit yourself. We’ll be in town a week if you change your mind.” Ziya tossed him his bag of coin, and Bahadur noticed from the corner of his eye that Gita was getting hers from Cook.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. You’ve got a good group here.”

  “’Course I do. I know what a fightin’ man looks like, and I know what a man who likes the fight too much looks like. And if you ever cross that line I’ll kill you myself.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, as well. But I never understood how a murderer could sleep at night, Ziya.”

  The other man nodded. “You just take care of that girl, then. She’ll keep you honest.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. May you ride the wind and keep the light of the sun for your bosom friend.”

  Ziya belly-laughed. “Poetry, man? Maybe you do belong here with the scribes and their dusty tomes… I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for, and I hope if your boogeymen are real you find it in time.”

  “Thanks. I’ll need the luck.” Bahadur looked around, trying to spot where Gita had gone off to now. Oh, there, over speaking with Manish. He gave a casual wave to Ziya and walked over. After some initial caution Gita had begun calling Manish ‘Uncle.’ “He’s outcast, which means he’s not a very good person,” was what she had said the first night, long after dinner. He’d asked again at the oasis the night before. “I guess he was stolen by a slaver when he was my age. Ziya paid his ransom, and after he worked off his debt he just stayed on. It’s sad, but I’m glad he’s here.”

  “So will you be coming to the conclave next year?” Gita asked as Bahadur came within earshot.

  “My family’s here, now. Besides, I’m sure they grieved for me long ago.”

  Gita nodded understanding. “Take care, then. May your crossroads always lead you where you wish to be.”

  “And may your path lead you ever home.” They grinned at each other, and he tousled her hair.

  “Are you ready, Gita?”

  Her head snapped around to look at Bahadur as though she’d been caught in the act of doing something wrong, and then immediately she blushed. She had relaxed around him a little, anyway. “Yes.”

  “Good. We need to find a place to stay, and then we need to find out how to get into the archives.” He took Gita’s hand and Amna’s reins, and then he looked up.

  Varti stood near the edge of the group, studying the situation with hard eyes and pursed lips, her sons at her side. There was that twinge of guilt, again, hollowing out his belly. I should at least say goodbye…

  “Ma’am.” Bahadur approached her slowly, girl and horse both in tow.

  “Bahadur.”

  “Have you decided what you and your sons will do?”

  “The caravan will include us in their entourage until we find a place to stay here in the city. Cydus saw to that.”

  “I see. I… I hope that somehow I will be able to be of service to your family.”

  “Haven’t you done quite enough?”

  Bahadur winced.

  “I’m sorry. That was unfair of me.” She may have been sorry for the words, but he couldn’t bring himself to fault her anger.

  “I owe you and your sons a great debt, Mistress Varti, and I will do whatever is in my power to repay it.” He could almost feel his wage from the journey slipping away, but the idea of cutting her adrift in a foreign city physically pained him.

  She exhaled a long breath. “I am not so ungracious as to refuse, I suppose. But see to Gita before you worry about me: my dearest may have sent us away, but he has not forgotten us.”

  Bahadur offered her a slight bow, then. “In that case, I’ll be off. I will contact the caravan at the end of the week for your whereabouts.”

  Varti nodded her acquiescence, and there was nothing left for him to do but leave.

  * * *

  The first thing Bahadur learned about Vidyavana was that there weren’t exactly apartments to rent, and the only inns to be had were caravanserai. Sometimes, though, a resident would rent rooms in their home for a visitor or a new student. Bahadur and Gita found themselves asking around among the food stalls and kafe shops for leads. When it came time for the afternoon sustana, the owner of one of those kafe shops let them shelter with him.

  “So what brings you to Vidyavana? You don’t look like the usual starry-eyed hopefuls.” The man went by Dara, and as they spoke they reclined on cushions in one of the private nooks of his keafkhan, sipping the man’s signature brew.

  “Starry-eyed hopefuls?”

  “Potential guild students.”

  “Do the guilds ever allow outsiders into the archives? We did come for information, but I don’t expect us to stay long past finding it.”

  “Never that I’ve heard of. Maybe if you were lucky you could find a student to make notes for you, but it’s sure to cost.”

  “Everything always does.” Bahadur already felt the coins he had been paid for his work with Ziya flowing away like sand through his fingers.

  Dara changed the subject. “Room and board is usually generous, but don’t pay more than a silver bit for a month for the both of you. I’m afraid I don’t have an extra room to offer, or I’d take you in myself.” A silver bit a month would eat up their reserves rapidly just on its own. “I know many people here in the city; perhaps if you tell me what you’re looking for I can be of help?”

  “Um. Well. For… various reasons, we’re looking into anything related to the old story of the Sealing of Tchraja.” Bahadur expected the man to burst out laughing or tell him he was foolish, but Dara didn’t even blink.

  “You’ll want the Loremaster’s guild, then.” Now he did chuckle. “They don’t get much interest. They might even try to recruit you. I think their last apprentice came on twenty years ago. She’s… a little eccentric, shall we say.”

  “I see. Are the other Loremasters also… eccentric?”

  “Generally speaking. You’ve got to be a little cracked to spend all your time studying folk tales and children’s stories, I figure.”

  The conversation wandered on to other topics, ranging from ideas on where to ask about rooms to rumors of increased banditry and if they were true. Bahadur offered payment as Dara was opening back up, but it was refused. “Good company is payment enough for today,” he said. “Make sure you come and see me again while you’re in the city.”

  As the sun dropped low in the sky Bahadur spoke with a bookish man of about fifty and his wife about room and board for the two of them. It took some convincing – taking in a child was not exactly what he had in mind – but the woman prevailed. Their rent was three copper bits and a silver penny, with the possibility for adjustment later if circumstances warranted.

  Javed, the man, was a member of the Historians Guild, specializing in the origin of the cities after the Migration. Every time Bahadur tried to draw him into conversation about the subject Sanaz, his wife, turned the conversation away from “the shop.”

  “So you never did say, Bahadur. What brings the two of you to this plainest and most beautiful of cities?” Javed reclined on a couch next to his wife, and Gita made a face.

  “Well, knowledge, of course.” He watched Sanaz with one eye, waiting for a sign that she was about to break in and divert the conversation yet again. “Specifically, anything even tangentially related to the Sealing of Tchraja.”

  Javed sat forward. “What a strange line of inquiry. You are certain you do not wish to join a guild?”

  “It was not my intent, but I will if I must. I am a soldier at heart, I’m afraid. Gita might do better, but I only recently learned she is illiterate.”

  “That is a curious circumstance, as well – how the two of you came to be traveling toget
her.”

  “I will teach her, if she wishes.” Sanaz’s voice was low and sweet, but Bahadur had already heard iron in it that night.

  “If you think it’s necessary.” Gita wasn’t sure why reading was so important to the city-dwellers. Apparently the Chèin’ii preserved their knowledge in songs and stories.

  “It is.” Bahadur looked at Javed and Sanaz and blinked as they all spoke at once.

  “So, what brought a soldier down here in search of legends?” Javed’s voice was calm, level, curious, but Bahadur had to take a deep breath before he could answer.

  “Because I think it might have really happened.”

  * * *

  Javed had laughed. Sanaz had scoffed. And then Gita began to tell her story. Much of it Bahadur had never heard, either.

  Javed listened intently, and when Gita didn’t know the answer to one of his questions Bahadur often did. Sanaz sniffed and glared at the two of them at first, but as Gita spoke of fleeing from Q’uungerab, her voice devoid of emotion, Sanaz’s expression turned first to pity and then to horror. When Gita had finished, and Bahadur had filled in a few more details that she had not seen, they sat in silence. It was a lot to absorb. Javed glanced at his wife, and Sanaz broke the silence.

  “You must be exhausted, Gita. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll get you settled in for the night?”

  Bahadur was surprised when Gita looked at him for approval. He just nodded, the fatigue seeping through his body making him wish he could also retire.

  “All right.”

  Javed watched the women leave the room before he spoke.

  “I cannot aid you,” he began. Bahadur felt his stomach begin to drop. “At least, not openly. But you have raised some interesting questions, and I can pursue some discretionary projects.” Javed rose and walked over to a small writing table against one wall.

  “Furthermore,” he continued, scratching something on a piece of parchment. “If you take this to the Loremasters’ Guild and ask for Minu, you may be able to learn something.” He folded the page carefully and sealed it before offering it to Bahadur.

  “Th-thank you,” Bahadur said, reaching out to take the document. His fingers felt weak. Did I stumble into some good fortune?

  “Now, you look nearly as worn out as the girl did, and as much as Sanaz hates it I do still have work to do this evening. I trust you remember the way to your room?”

  Bahadur nodded; it was not complicated.

  “Excellent. Well then, I really must get back to work if I’m to devote any attention to your knotty problem.”

  “Of course.” Bahadur felt like fortune had clubbed him upside the head. He started for the hallway leading to his room.

  “Oh, and if I may?”

  Bahadur paused and looked back over his shoulder.

  “Be careful who you share that story with. Ridicule is the least of your worries. Did you know that the city maintains a safe house for the insane?”

  “I understand.” Right now ridicule really was the least of his worries, but being locked up would help nothing. He retired feeling loose, disconnected somehow, and spent the night dreaming pleasant memories of Anahita and their boys. When morning came, greeting a world without her was almost too much to bear. Sanaz announced breakfast, and he wanted nothing so much as to roll over and ignore her. Instead, he groaned as he pushed himself out of bed.

  “Coming.” Dwelling on the lost was a luxury he still could not afford.

  Gita was already at the table, picking at her food listlessly. There was a large bowl of yogurt in the center of the table, with plenty of fruit and honey to mix in, and a pitcher of water. Food was the last thing on his mind, but he scooped up a bowl and began eating mechanically.

  “Morning, Gita,” he said in between bites.

  “Morning.” She sounded exhausted.

  “I’m going out today. Will you be all right here with Sanaz?”

  “Mmm.”

  “All right. Wish me luck.”

  * * *

  Bahadur considered simply wandering around the city until he found the Loremasters’ Guild – he’d have to learn his way around eventually. Memories of the twisting warrens in the Beggar’s District in Q’uungerab, where guardsmen only walked in squads of four, changed his mind.

  The easiest route from where he was took him out to the broad avenue cutting through the center of Vidyavana and into the heart of the city, then through a few side streets until he reached a building that was more than simple stone and a reflective white dome. The dome was still white, and the building still kept low to the ground, but the stone and shutters were worked into fanciful shapes like in the pages of a book. The door, too, was carved but not painted, although the signboard was almost as utilitarian as any other. Guild Hall of the Loremasters was inscribed in a flowing script. The door was shut tight. Minutes seemed to pass between when Bahadur raised his knuckles to rap politely and when the door creaked open enough to emit the head of a balding, bespectacled man.

  “Yes? What is it? We don’t want any.” The man’s gaze darted back and forth across the street, taking a moment to light on Bahadur where he stood.

  “I was told to bring this to Minu?”

  “A message, eh? All right, come in, come in. You’re letting the heat in.” The old man withdrew his white head from the space in the door, and Bahadur heard footsteps moving away. He had to duck as he stepped inside, although he had not been an especially tall man at home. The room he stepped into was easily twice the size of Javed’s front room, with couches lining the wall and a large central counter of fine wood. Lamps were carefully ensconced in the wall every few paces. The man who had opened the door was already rounding the corner to go back around the counter, coming uncomfortably close to one of the pair of lamps with brass bases and glass chimneys resting on it. There was no one else here. Bahadur pulled the door closed behind him and walked over to where the twitchy fellow was settling himself.

  “Now then. You had a message for… Minu, was it?”

  “Yes, that was the name.”

  The old man pulled out a ledger and began running over it, hemming and hawing under his breath for so long Bahadur began to wonder if it was all for show.

  “Is… there a problem?”

  “Hm? Oh, no, not a problem. I’ll just be one minute. Make yourself comfortable.” The man scurried off into the shelves.

  What an odd fellow. Bahadur took a seat on one of the couches. I guess Dara did warn me the Loremasters tend to be a bit off. Movement from back in the wings, in the shadows behind the counter, caught his eye. He looked again, squinting a bit, to see what looked like a pair of hands beckoning him back. He stood back up and looked around to see if there was anyone else around. The hands moved more urgently as he took a few steps that direction. Not seeing anyone, even the strange little man with the white hair, he let himself trot over to the beckoning hands.

  “Who sent you?” The voice was low, almost a whisper, but definitely feminine.

  “Javed, the historian.”

  “Show me.” She was plump like someone who spent most of her time indoors, and wore her salt-and-pepper hair pulled up in a bun.

  Feeling a little lost, he handed the woman the note Javed had given him the night before. “Are you Minu, then?”

  The woman ignored his question while she examined the seal on the back of the note. “This way. Quickly, please, and quietly.” Her footsteps were light as she hurried down the hall. Four paces down, she turned to beckon him on again. She still held the envelope, so Bahadur followed.

  The woman led him through the stacks of parchment scrolls and leather-bound tomes so quickly, and with such frequent turns, that Bahadur knew he was lost long before they emerged at a small wooden door in the back of the archive. She produced a key from somewhere – in this low light it was hard to see much of anything – and unlocked the door. Behind it was a stairway leading down. So that’s how the hall was only one story.

  “Whatever you
do down here, don’t dawdle.” And then she was descending, so he followed her down into the darkness of the stairwell.

  “Close the door.”

  His initial protest died on his lips. This could be my best hope of learning something about what destroyed my home. He closed the door, and the stairwell was plunged into blackness. Then there was the sound of a striking flint and a tiny spark of red-gold light caught the wick of a lamp Bahadur had not known she carried.

  “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

  “Soon enough, assuming you’re safe.”

  What is that supposed to mean?

  The stairwell curved downward steeply, with neither landing nor exit to tell how far they’d gone.

  “Are we nearly to the bottom?” The woman holding the lamp seemed not to hear him, but that was impossible. He tried again.

  “Where are you taking me?” Still no response. He growled and hurried around to place himself squarely in front of his guide.

  “Snake tongues, answer me! You can’t trust me yet, fine, but I’m not going to be led by the nose just to find myself on someone’s autopsy table!”

  The woman met his gaze with a look like stone. “I am taking you someplace safe until I can verify your identity and affiliation. That is all you need to know. Now come along.” She brushed past him without so much as another look and continued on down the stairwell.

  “Someplace safe. Wonderful. You know there are children out there who still need me, right?”

  “Immaterial. Now be quiet. The walls are thin here, and voices carry.”

  It was not many minutes later as one counts time in the darkness underground when she stopped without warning on the first and only landing they had come to, set with a door identical to the one at the top. He heard the click of the latch disengaging, but did not see her unlock it. The door opened wide to admit them to a room far larger and no brighter than the archives above. He noted that she did not extinguish the lamp as she strode forward into a room filled with rack upon rack of scrolls. Apparently they had not yet begun transcribing these to be bound into books. Before he realized it she was far enough ahead he had to trot to catch up.