Fires of Mastery (The Tale of Azaran Book 3)

by Zackery Arbela

  One of the porters pounded his club against the door. A slot opened at the top and the porter spoke briefly with whoever was on the other side. The slid closed and the door opened outwards. Armed men were on the other side, admitting them one at a time.

  "Your weapons," said a fellow in a faded yellow tunic with the appearance of an old servant. He waved at a box on the floor. The porters placed their clubs in it, along with a large number of knives. Telascar dropped his sword in, along with a dagger pulled from his boot. The servant then looked at Segovac.

  "I have no weapon but my mind," Segovac said.

  "Hmm." The majordomo did not seem impressed. "Follow me," he then said, bowing towards Telascar.

  The porters remained behind. They followed the majordomo through a house that grew more opulent with each room they passed by. The walls were painted with murals depicting ships at sea mingled with scenes of a more fanciful nature. Men unloaded cargo from a docked trading vessel, while women with the tails of fish where they legs should have been frolicked in the waves below, green hair streaming from their heads. Great sea serpents slithered through the waves, while the Mansion rose above all, its familiar green and blue face containing a great bearded man seated on a silver throne, glaring down at the mortal world below with terrible judgment. Lamps hung from brass chains on the ceiling, through only a few were limp as oil was expensive these days, giving the place a gloomy, ominous sense.

  Music wafted towards them. Fingers plucked a lyre with great skill, while a voice sang in harmony with it. They passed through an open door and into a central atrium, with a hole in the roof through which the night sky could be seen. It was a full moon this night and combined with the light of the Mansion it was bright enough that no lamps needed to be lit. Pale light came down through the roof, alighting on a young woman seated beside a shallow pool, strumming the instrument and singing a love song. Seated across form her was a man with a trimmed brown beard shot through with gray, wearing a simple brown tunic. His eyes were closed, his fingers tapping the arms of his chair in time to the music.

  The majordomo held up his hand, indicating they should wait. The woman glanced at the new arrivals, but did not stop, continuing her son until the last note. Only then did the man open his eyes.

  "Lovely. As always."

  "My master is too kind." She bowed her head, then glanced towards the majordomo.

  The man followed her gaze. "Return to your chambers. I may visit you after, so prepare yourself."

  "Yes, Master." The woman rose gracefully and departed, feet moving silently across the floor.

  The man stood, nodding slightly to the majordomo. "I have visitors?"

  "Master Telascar, coming at your request," the servant answered.

  "Have water and bread brought. And a cup of tashgul for me."

  "By your will." The majordomo bowed and left.

  The man indicated they should approach. Segovac got a closer look at the fellow. Somewhere in his fourth decade. There were scars on his arms that could have only come from combat. He was a man of wealth and standing but dressed plainly, suggesting an admirable sense of restraint...or a need to hide his status.

  "Most worthy Telascar," he said, nodding at the Eburrean merchant. "Be welcome to my home."

  Telascar bowed. "As always, an honor, most esteemed Shapurashi."

  The man glanced at Segovac, but said nothing. Instead a few minutes of small talk ensued, wherein both men inquired about their families (doing well, growing strong, a pride to their fathers) their business (could be better, but thank the gods it was not worse...) and their well being in general (various platitudes and meaningless comments that added up to nothing.)

  Then Shapurashi turned to Segovac. "And you are?"

  Segovac opened his mouth to reply, but Telascar gave him a warning look and spoke. "My lord, this is the man I spoke to you about."

  "A holy man from your homeland, with power to see the future?"

  "His name is Segovac," Then to Segovac, "This is the Esteemed Shapurashi, a lord of Kedaj and rightly ranked among the leading of her merchant princes..."

  "Among many other things." Shapurashi faced Segovac. "So," he said, "you have powers?"

  "I do not," Segovac answered. "The one I serve may, if it pleases him, grant me a glimpse of what the future will bring and let men make of it what they will."

  "Hardly a ringing endorsement," said Shapurashi. "But I suppose that's what I would say, when asked. Never give a straight answer, it can lead to disappointment."

  "That is a straight answer, my lord." Segovac hid his annoyance well.

  The servants returned, one holding a platter of food, the other a small carafe of dark glass. Shapurashi sat back down and indicated Segovac should do the same with the other chair. Telascar remaining standing and silent.

  "Refreshment?" he asked. He waved a hand at a few slices of bread laid out on the tray. There was nothing else. "I must apologize for the meagerness of my table. Even the great and good of this city must restrain their appetites these days."

  "Water will be enough for me," Segovac answered. A moment later a cup was placed in his hand by a servant.

  Shapurashi looked at him for a long moment, weighing and measuring. "I have known Telascar since the time he arrived in this city as a mercenary. I have watched him rise to a place of honor among us, despite his foreign origins. In all out dealings he has proven himself a man of honor whose word can be trusted."

  "He honors all sons of Eburrea with his righteousness."

  "Indeed. So when he says that a countryman of his has come to Kedaj and possesses unusual gifts that might be of use to me, I am inclined to listen. He says you have a friend who is currently a guest of our most honored king in the palace, a guest so highly prized that he is forbidden from leaving and confined to the dungeons." Shapurashi bowed his eyes for a moment. "A terrible fate by any measure. I myself once had cause to visit that place. I walked out. But I was the exception. Most men who enter the dark cells do not return. Those Enmer-Galila sends into the darkness are dead men even when they are breathing."

  "By your leave, sir, it was not by your King's will that my friend was taken."

  "Oh?" Shapurashi raised an eyebrow at that.

  "There is another, allied with your king. To your eyes he would seem like nothing, a shadow on the wall. But when he speaks, the men who wear crowns on their heads listen and obey. When he crooks his finger they come to heel like curs. He stood behind Ganascorec and whispered madness into his ears, and because of this Eburrea bled for twenty years. He visited Enkilash of Otossa in the night, and gave the Corsairs the power to control the winds."

  "Both those men are dead." Shapurashi leaned forward, now very interested. "Enkilash cut down even as a mountain collapsed around him, if rumors are correct. Ganascorec torn to pieces by a man who turned himself into a great dire bear of the north, ripped to shreds they say. Both the work of a single man, or so I have heard. A warrior of remarkable skill, nigh unkillable. More a god than man. And by the look on your face, you know of whom I speak. He is your friend."

  Segovac nodded. "Telascar said you were a man of wealth and influence. I now see how they were gained, You are correct. Azaran is my friend and comrade in arms. He was the cause of the downfall of both tyrants, though the actual events bear little resemblance to the rumors. Both men were allied with man of whom I speak. He is called Nerazag and he is the most dangerous man who walks beneath the Mansion."

  "What kind of name is Nerazag? Sounds like a a man clearing his throat."

  "I don't know what land he hails from," Segovac said. In truth, he suspected the man did not come from a land or place as commonly understood by most, that it was more complicated. "But he and Azaran are of the same blood. They are enemies. Azaran has foiled his plans in Tereg and Eburrea. No doubt he would do the same in Kedaj, which is why he was locked up the moment we stepped through the gates."

  Shapurashi thought on this. "This man, who is aligned with our
King...he is not unknown to me. There are whispers of nightly visits in the Palace, of gifts being exchanged and favors granted. The shamma plant, which is now the ruin of our city, was such a gift. One day it just appeared, with no word of where it came from."

  Shapurashi picked up the carafe sitting on the table and poured a small measure of reddish liquor into the cup. The smell that rose up was sweet and fruity...and familiar to Segovac from his vision. "Still," the merchant prince said, raising the cup to his lips, "it makes little difference from your end."

  "How do you mean?" asked Segovac.

  Shapurashi took a drink. "By the command of the king or by this...Nerazag, was it? Either way, your friend is still in the black cells. And it doesn't matter how good a fighter he is, he won't be getting out of there by his own will."

  "Which is why I am here," Segovac said. "Telascar tells me you alone of the lords of Kedaj might have the power and influence to help in this matter. That what is impossible for others is possible for you."

  Shapurashi smiled. "In my experience," he said, "Eburreans have little skill at flattery. You are people who value direct speech, which lesser minds night call barbarous. But you, Master Segovac, have learned something of the art. You might find a place for yourself here Kedaj."

  "I do not seek to flatter you, sir. I merely state the truth as I see it."

  "And you are correct. What is impossible for other men is possible for me, though it is still head-achingly difficult. But you have not answered the most important question; why should I do this thing for you? It would cost me much in wealth and entail no small risk to my person. I am a lord of Kedaj, a son of an ancient house. If things had gone different in the time of my great-grandfather, it might be me sitting on the Throne of Zinmar-Zaal instead of that sack of excrement currently defiling it. But more than anything else, I am a merchant and profit comes before all. To put in plain speech, what's in it for me?"

  Segovac rubbed his chin, meeting the other man's gaze. The fruity scent of the drink still lingered in the air. "What is that in yonder cup?" he asked. "In your hand."

  "This?" Shapurashi raised the drink. "It is called tashgul. It comes from the valleys of southern Gusannagar. Blended from several fruits and distilled. Something of an acquired taste, but quite popular among the great and might of our city."

  "So it is precious?"

  "It was. In a few days that will change. Word came this morning that three ships belonging to that shit Lugalzaeer will arrive in port bearing enough tashgul to slake the city's thirst for the next decade at least. Those who already own stocks of it are cursing their luck."

  "The ships will not arrive," Segovac said with confidence. "A storm will rise and sink all three"

  Shapurashi raised another eyebrow. "And you know this how?"

  "As said, sometimes my god will grant a glimpse of the future. In this case, it will be to your benefit."

  "I see. So you are suggesting then that I buy up all remaining stocks of tashgul in the city - at the moment they can be had for little more than a song - and hold them back in the expectation that the ships will not arrive. Once news of their wreckage arrives, the price of the drink will rise considerably and I will profit."

  "Saered grants me some knowledge of the future," Segovac said. "What men choose to do with it is their affair. But know that if you take words for the truth, you will profit. And you will know that I can be of use to you, in return for your help in freeing my friend."

  Shapurashi swirled the drink about in his cup, thinking it over. He looked at Telascar. "You vouch for this man?" he asked.

  "I do, my lord. In my homeland, men like him are known for their wisdom. Those who heed their words never fail to gain some benefit."

  "We will test this wisdom then. If you are correct and this venture ends with profit, then we shall talk. If not...well, you will not stand as highly in my esteem, Telascar. I trust you understand the consequences?"

  "I do, my lord." Telascar paled slightly at that.

  "Good." Shapurashi drained what was left in the cup.

  Later, as they left house, Segovac turned to Telascar. "What did he mean about consequences?"

  Telascar said nothing, waiting for his porters to form an escort. They ventured back out into the nighttime streets, eyes wary for any threat.

  "Telascar?" Segovac pressed.

  Telascar sighed. After a moment he answered, speaking in Eburrea, "If you are wrong, Shapurashi will no longer consider me a friend. Which leaves me vulnerable to those in this city who see foreigners as targets for pillage and worse. So don't be wrong, Segovac Rhennari. Or we all pay the price."

  ...The man screamed once as the sword cut into his flesh, the sound muffled by the gag tied around his mouth. Tarazal twisted the blade once, watching as the man strained against the chains binding him to the stone pillar. Then the man slumped down, eyes closing as the life fled his body.

  Tarazal pulled the sword free. He turned about and held it up with one hand, pointing with the other at the smear of blood covering the top third down from the tip. "Six inches," he said, looked at the line of boys standing before him. "That is all it takes. Six inches of the blade in the right place and your opponent is dead. Aim for the gut, the groin, the neck or arm pit, you will strike vital organs or sever a major blood vessel. Either way, you will kill. One strike is all you should need."

  Tarazal wiped the blade down with a rag. He turned back to the corpse hanging on the pillar. "Six inches," he repeated. "More than that is the mark of a savage, who kills for show." He stabbed the blade into the body, sinking it in to the hilt. "See here? It makes a fine display. But now my sword is caught on his spine. It will take me a few extra seconds to wrench it free and in that time I will be dead...at least, if I was a savage. But those who would serve in the Banners must do better. And you will do better."

  Tarazal left the sword in the corpse. He turned back to the boys, not a one past his thirteenth year, heads shaved, naked save for breech clouts, each holding a sword in his hand. Three runes were branded into their chests, glowing with faint light. Should they prove worthy, more would come in time. "Azaran," he said. "You will be first."

  Azaran stepped forward, moving past the man on the pillar. There were a dozen others in this room, on which hung other men still alive, their mouths gagged, their eyes filled with fear. He stepped towards one, raising the sword and stabbing his sword into flesh, his arm shivering as the tip scraped against something.

  "No no, the angle is wrong. You hit his pelvis." Tarazal came up beside him and helped the boy pull the sword free from the man, both ignoring the muffled screams of pain. "Here," he said, holding Azaran's arm and guiding his attack. "Strike up, like that! Right into his guts...ah, smell that? You penetrated his small intestines, he is a dead man...."

  "...Well enough,I suppose, though he was clumsy as a boy with his first fumble."

  "Perhaps he has never been with a woman before, my lady?"

  "I suppose. It doesn't matter, in truth. My father commanded me to be hospitable. And I won't deny myself some pleasure from the experience."

  "I don't think that's what your lord father had in mind."

  "But he will do nothing. None of them will."

  Azaran's eyes opened. His headed throbbed, pulsing with each heartbeat as though it were a drum. He blinked, trying to refocus his eyes. He sat up slowly, wincing as a ringing began in his ears.

  "What happened..." he mumbled. Sheets were tangled about his limbs, stained with sweat and other fluids. He was naked and felt lightheaded.

  "He is awake, my lady."

  Azaran looked towards the voice. Zeyaana stood some distance away, her naked back to the bed. A maidservant stood by her, holding up a blue dress.

  "No...the red one," Zeyaana said. She turned, looking at Azaran calmly, as if he was animal in a pen, unconcerned about her own nakedness. Her breasts glistened with some kind of scented oil and he noted how the area around the nipples has been rouged. The sight cause...
something to happen in him. Disturbing...yet somehow alluring...

  "Have him bathed and dressed," she said, turning back to the maid. "No...bring back the blue one. I suppose that will have to do..."

  He frowned at her tone...who was this woman to give him orders? Azaran was still pondering this question even as maidservants led him away from the princess's bedchamber and to a private bath. Part of his mind was screaming, telling him something was wrong, that he was not in control of his self. Mastery...without it you are useless...

  "Wash yourself," someone commanded. A sponge landed in the water beside him.

  Shove it in a dark place, Azaran wanted to anger. Instead he scrubbed his body clean, bemused at the sheer oddity of the situation. Like wandering in a pleasant pink fog where nothing mattered and everything was pleasant...

  Then he was walking down a hallway, dressed in a fresh tunic and pair of sandals. Zeyaana had her arm through his, and was exchanging pleasantries with people passing by, muttering explanations and cutting observations as soon as they were out of earshot.

  "Lord Zinmir-Din! You look remarkably handsome this day! And your wife is well, I trust? Do ask her to call on me, I do miss her conversation....good, he is gone. What a bore! If his cow of a wife knows what's good for her, she'll avoid my company. Not that she''ll bother, the woman is a slut who's been through half the royal guard and is working on the other half. Zinmir-Din can't say anything, he only married her for the money and he'd lose her dowry if the marriage broke apart..."

  "Princess Zeyaana!"

  "Why, Lady Qushaara, as I live and breath! Ten thousand blessings on the birth of your...son, was it?"

  "Daughter. My third."

  "Ah well, better luck next time then...I feel sorry for that poor woman, by all accounts her husband is an absolute brute..."

  "Why are you telling me these things?" Azaran asked, the fog starting to lift slightly.

  Zeyaana looked at him with surprise. "Were you actually listening?"

  "When someone speaks to me, I hear what they say..."