“Fato.” Basha and Oaka both glared at the bird.
“All right. Mind you, there is a plaque in Coe Kiki, dedicated to the goddess: ‘She’s a woman not to be scorned.’” The falcon recited, “‘Tyrant yet merciful to the meek; Goddess queen and mother of all, Quela rules in these halls of law.’” He sighed. “She reminds me of that.”
Oaka shook his head. “I wouldn’t even have been in that fight if Basha hadn’t…why did we stay?”
The bird was strange, and he couldn’t trust it. But he should be able to trust his adopted brother.
“I didn’t want to leave without…I didn’t know what else we were supposed to do,” Basha sighed. “We can leave now if you want.”
“Can’t, I already paid for this room tonight.”
“Quibbling over money.” Fato muttered.
“Very expensive it was, much more expensive than in Coe Baba. But we needed this room, for Basha, and I dreaded to think how much they might charge at other inns.”
“How much do have?” Basha asked.
“We’ve six silver coins, forty-five copper coins, and thirty-eight bronze. That’s about a hundred and eight and an eighth copper coins.”
“Why is it that humans are so concerned with…”
“Shut up, Fato. That may last us a while.” Basha said. “A drink might cost one copper, a meal or a stay at an inn would cost five…”
“Telling me to shut up?” Fato muttered.
“Actually, here at The Walking Duck inn, our room cost eight coppers.” Oaka said.
“Eight copper coins a night? At this rate…that does it, we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Can’t spend too much money,” Fato rolled his eyes.
“Good idea, just what I was thinking.” Oaka glanced over at the bird again.
“We’ll have to buy some things here to make it to Coe Aela, perhaps beyond, and then hope that they might be generous.”
“What, Coe Aela?” Fato gasped, turning towards them. “We’re going to Coe Aela? We can’t do that, why are we doing that?”
“Or bargain a bit on whatever we might purchase from them.” Basha said, glancing over at Fato as well. He wondered what had freaked Fato out like this, what was so bad about Coe Aela?
“Why is it that…” The bird started to say.
“I miss Sir Nickleby.” Oaka said. “He was quiet, and I swear he had some gold coins.”
Fato frowned and shook his head, turning away from them.
“I miss him too,” Basha sighed. “He wouldn’t have walked us straight into that fight. He was smart enough to avoid such things.”
“Or he would’ve told us to stay outside, and gone in himself to break up that brawl.”
Fato opened his mouth, about to say something, but then decided to stay quiet. Instead, he flapped his way over to the shutters, and then waited for Oaka to open them so that he could fly out. Let them enjoy their reminiscing, or what not. He’d some business to take care of before it was too late.
Oaka watched Fato go, and wished that he could fly as well, back to Coe Baba and Sisila before returning. “Do you suppose we could ask him to deliver messages back home for us?”
“I don’t think we could,” Basha said. “He’s supposed to be a royal messenger bird, after all. That might mean he can only deliver messages for the king and his court.”
“What good is he for?” Oaka muttered as Fato disappeared.
“Fato’s flown off before, have you noticed?” Basha asked after a few moments.
“Once or twice, in the forest, but he came back within a few minutes.”
“Do you suppose he’ll come back?”
“Doubt it.” Oaka smiled, closing the shutters firmly. Let him go away, and never return. They were better off without him.
“Do you have paper, pen, or ink?”
“Um, I left that in our father’s desk at home. Do you suppose we should go back and…”
“Stop that,” Basha said, slowly getting out of bed.
“Are you sure you should be moving like that, so soon after you got hit?”
“I could ask you the same. I need to move before I get stuck here all night long, and find us a paper shop or a vendor who sells writing supplies so that we can write our letter home.”
“Not even two hundred miles away,” Oaka rolled his eyes.
“We need to send word back that Sir Nickleby is dead, and that we’re fine. I don’t think they expected us to make it even this far.”
“They were almost right.”
“I’m going!”
“Try not to get lost!”
Basha managed to find a vendor who sold writing supplies, and then returned back to the inn, where together they ate dinner and composed the letter.
* * * *
Early the next morning, Basha went out and found the post office of Coe Anji, which surprisingly wasn’t that much bigger than Coe Baba’s post office. “How much does it cost to deliver a letter to Coe Baba?” Basha asked.
A vendor down the road called out “Parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme!”
“Coe Baba? It depends.” The postmaster of Coe Anji said.
“On what?”
“Slow or fast. Slow means we throw your letter into this bag marked ‘Coe Baba’,” He held up a near empty bag, “and wait for the bag to fill up with letters and packages people want to send to Coe Baba before we deliver it. Could be, on average, somewhere between two to three months.”
“Three months?” Basha cried, and shook his head. “Fast?”
“We send it straight to Coe Baba by special courier, who will hand it over to the postmaster once he or she arrives there. Maybe even into the hands of the person the letter is meant for.”
“Price?”
“Five coppers for slow, forty coppers for fast.”
“Forty? Why?”
“We have to pay the courier, cover the expenses of their travel, room and board, food, horse. Extra expenses have to be paid by the receiver of the message.” The postmaster shrugged. “Frankly, it’s a loss of profit for us.”
Basha sighed. “Slow it is, then.”
He handed over the letter and the five coppers. It probably didn’t matter if the letter arrived two or three months from now. Perhaps it was for the best, because he suspected that he and Oaka were going to have an even tougher time from here on out, especially if the Black Wolves returned.
Perhaps their parents, receiving some word that he and Oaka were all right a few months ago, might forget their fears and remember that they were once happy together. Any sort of news was better than none, after all, and time softened the blow of loss.
* * * *
Basha and Oaka had wandered around after purchasing supplies, debating whether to stay another night. Outside the market was a port with sundry warehouses and businesses to supply and fix the ships bringing in trade. There were even sports arenas, theaters, and an amusement park set up near the beach, with a Ferris wheel and carousel amongst other attractions.
Basha and Oaka had wandered in that direction to see the port and amusement park. Fato hadn’t returned, and while Oaka was glad, Basha was worried they’d been too harsh.
“Too harsh? That falcon…” Oaka shook his head.
“Hey! Boys!”
They looked up at Fato perched on the ledge of a warehouse window. Had Fato tracked them? Oaka looked stunned and a bit green.
“Where’ve you been?” Basha asked. “What’re you doing?”
“I’ve been looking around, now quiet!” Fato hunkered, looking through the dirty glass, except for when he turned to them. “It’s that girl from yesterday, she’s in trouble.”
“Monika?” Basha asked.
“No thanks,” Oaka shuddered. “We don’t want to get involved with her again, right?”
“What’s happening?” Basha just had to know.
“She’s talking to a couple of guys, twelve of them.” Fato tensed. “They don’t look smart or friendly. She’s got a sword,
but she’s definitely outnumbered, they’ve swords too.”
He’d taken a keen interest. Basha wondered if Fato had been following Monika around.
“You don’t think we should…”
“Are they just talking?” Basha asked. If this was serious, he wasn’t sure they were ready to fight. He didn’t pay attention to Oaka just now.
“It looks like they’re talking, but it’s the type of talk where you’re sizing up an opponent’s strengths and weaknesses, where to attack first, that sort of thing.”
Fato seemed to be challenging them. Basha felt his hand slipping down towards the pommel of his sword in its sheath, fingering it.
“We don’t want to get in any sort of fight. We just got out of one!” Oaka said.
“Basha, she’s stepping back, reaching for her sword, saying something sternly.”
“But this could be important, trying to save somebody like Sir Nickleby saved us.”
“You don’t know anything about this. It might not break out into a fight, or be trivial.”
“They’re reaching for their swords, boys!”
“It could be her fault! She might deserve—”
“No one deserves to be killed, especially if they’ve done nothing wrong, nothing important, that is. She’s a person like any other.”
“They’re doing it, they’re attacking!” Fato cried, turning around. “Help her!”
“We will!” Basha faced Oaka. “Malakel it, it’s a matter of courage and honor to give her a chance!” He unsheathed his sword and opened the warehouse door.
Basha and Oaka charged in, Oaka convinced more by Basha’s action than by his speech. Someone needed to protect him from his ‘idiotic failings.’
The others looked up and turned their heads, surprised. Basha heard a hush descending elsewhere, were there other people here? The twelve smugglers toward the back of the warehouse stood at attention with swords drawn, as did Monika.
“What are you two doing?” Monika asked.
“Get them!” The leader of the dozen cried, and the others charged forward.
“We’re here to rescue you!” Basha yelped as they clashed, sword upon sword. Did someone scream?
“Oh, that’s sweet, now get down!” Monika shouted as the leader, having diverted them, knocked down some crates to obliterate them.
Basha and Oaka just managed to escape as Monika jumped out of the way. Another fellow got smashed by heavy debris.
Basha slammed against a wall, grunting, as Monika yelled, “You two should never have come in here!”
“We already figured that out!” Oaka was forced to defend himself again. “Fire! Fire!” He kept repeating, but nothing happened.
“Wait, you’re trying to use fire magic?” Basha suddenly realized.
“I don’t want to, but I’ve got to! Yet I can’t!”
“Follow me!” Monika advanced as Basha lied there, stunned and unable to move.
He wished he was somewhere peaceful, where he wouldn’t be disturbed. Where he didn’t panic or worry, and could feel safe, warm, and welcome.
He turned his head, and saw a crate had busted open. Something he needed was sticking out of it.
Basha crawled over, reached in, and grabbed a black scabbard, removing a sword unlike any he’d ever seen. The blade was curved like a fang, a saber-tooth thick in width even down to its tip with a broad sloping arc.
Though it was short, the blade was sharp with the finest quality of steel. Wavy lines seemed to be forged within the steel itself, though faded with age.
What was this thing? Despite its grim exterior and purpose, it comforted him, made him feel safe.
High above, Fato looked down as Basha unsheathed the new sword. “Is that…no way.”
Fato didn’t even realize what he was saying, but he knew this was wrong, it shouldn’t be happening. Fato closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sense he was reliving one of the worst moments in his life.
Basha dropped his old sword, which didn’t bother him. The old sword didn’t fit, didn’t feel comfortable enough or safe. There was a guttural sound, as if people were talking in the distance.
He beheld his new sword, which felt right to him. His hand grasped the black leather grip, and he felt something roar into life inside, like the first and last time he’d kissed Jawen.
“I’m Basha, and I bind this sword to me. I need help.”
He turned and struck the blade swung at him by one of the bandits with his new sword. He got up onto his feet and swung back, without much effort, with the skills Sir Nickleby taught, yet he was guided by something else.
His new sword slashed savagely through the air, cutting into his opponent, and soon the man was bleeding all over the floor. Basha gasped, looking down…was he dead?
Fato screeched. Another man…Basha defended himself again, this time not quite trusting the process. Yet the blade knew when and where to strike, not kill outright, but still severely wound, claw into him.
Basha saw the actions, and didn’t recognize one or two of them, advanced moves he hadn’t learned. What was this ferocious savagery controlling him?
Fato flapped his wings, and continued screeching. Why wouldn’t the bird shut up? Basha growled. It was getting annoying.
Two men down, several to go. Oaka was severely pinned down and surrounded, he could sense that even before he saw it. He turned and rushed over, attacking the men surrounding his brother, taking them down.
“Basha, what…” Oaka’s eyes widened as he saw his brother quickly, ferociously maul several opponents. “This isn’t you...” Oaka slowly backed away from a wild animal.
Basha gasped, recovering his senses, and turned to Monika, who’d already dealt with her own opponents. Now she studied him and his new sword with piqued interest.
“What have you done?” she asked.
“I needed help.”
He perceived there were other people here as the warehouse doors opened and a troop of Border Guards entered. Fato finally stopped screeching, a blessed relief, Basha thought as he lowered his new sword.
Their commander, a major, stormed forward. “Monika, you were supposed to trap them until we came!”
“You were late! You were supposed to come when I needed help, not leave me alone until I was about to be killed.” She pointed at Basha and Oaka. “Then these two burst in!”
Basha tried to concentrate on the conversation, but other things swam into his focus. The horrible smells, people crying or staying quiet, their breaths held as they tried not to move.
“We saw them come in, but we didn’t know if they were after you.” The major shouted at Basha and Oaka, “Drop your swords!”
They did and raised their hands above their heads as Basha hoped the guards wouldn’t take away his sword. He lost focus on everything else but what was happening in front of him.
“Get the others chained up.” The major ordered.
“They weren’t after me, they were rescuing me! Or so they said. One of them, Basha here, I met a couple of months ago in Coe Baba. Decent sort of fellow, or so I thought. But I didn’t expect him and his brother to follow me, and he did most of the damage!”
Basha was hurt, but he was also thinking…oh, Tau, what’d he done? Thinking of the men he’d dispatched, and how easily they’d fallen...
“We weren’t following you! We didn’t have a clue! A falcon…” Oaka groaned.
“A likely story for idiots!” The major paused. “Who’s laughing?”
“Me, major!” They looked up at the falcon perched on top of a crate. “My name’s Fato, royal messenger bird extraordinaire. I led these boys in. I followed Monika in the first place, not because of them. My oath as a royal messenger bird of King Sonnagh, their story is true. They just happened to be here, innocent bystanders who decided to give aid.”
Was this aid? Basha wanted to ask. Fato seemed calmer.
“Why does Fato always miss clashes?” Oaka whispered.
Basha felt like throwing
up; he did indeed swallow back some vomit.
“Do you vouch for these boys?” The major asked.
“I do. They’ve good character, even the cowardly one.” Fato smirked, yet uneasy.
Oaka grimaced and Basha shuddered as Monika said, “All right, they were helpful. But why didn’t you come in?”
“The medium here tried to observe the proceedings, but he couldn’t get a clear picture!” The major remarked as the guards relaxed.
“It was too blurry, something was interfering,” The ‘medium,’ a thin man who could barely fit his uniform, remarked. “There were too many people involved, you three, the smugglers, and the others. Then something disturbing showed up near the end of your fight.”
“What others?” Basha asked.
“The smugglers brought in human cargo.” The medium started to say.
Basha fainted.
* * * *
“The tiger, I felt him, if only for a brief moment,” Doomba hissed to one of his Ghoulmen lieutenants. “He has his claw and fang now.”
“The tiger?” The Ghoulman asked, curious.
“He’s alive, awake, stirring with an intensity that could sweep away kingdoms. It lasted only a brief moment before it faded. Yet I can just sense him out of my reach. I can’t control it.”
“Calm down, sire.”
“The impression lingers, yet there’s no distinction between him and the masses. It drives me mad.”
“We’ll find him.”
“Search far and wide, never give up until you’ve found him. I, too, shall never give up until I know he’s dead enough not to harm me.”
“Harm you?” The Ghoulman’s ears pricked up.
“Never mind!” Doomba flung his lieutenant aside with magical force. “He won’t harm me anymore than I allow. No mortal wound’ll strike me down. The tiger’s stirring, and we’ll find him!”
The lieutenant skittered off, perhaps to pass on the order or cower, it made no difference. Doomba slumped back into his throne. He’d waited so many years, not just for the tiger but for other things as well.
Servants and Followers Page 6
