The Eighth Born: Book 1 of the Pankaran Chronicles

by C. Night

  As Cazing had promised, they received their first sight of the sea at the ridge of the hill just before Corna. Rhyen gasped as he took in the vast expanse of shimmering blue, the salty wind ruffling his hair, and the sandy sun browning his skin. The gulls cawed in the distance, swooping through the air. It was more than he had imagined, and far more than he had experienced through Ellis’ memories.

  The city walls had been visible before the hill, but now that their group crowned the top they could see just how massive the city really was. The walls towered in the sky, and would have dwarfed the Tower Avernade, had the two been next to each other. The walls were white and cast a relieving shade as the three rode into the assortment of houses, taverns, and shops that littered the slopes of Corna, just before the walls.

  When they reached the massive gates, easily ten times the size of the Academy gates at Ikha, Rhyen saw the green and gold uniforms of the Condenish army. They were standing ramrod straight, their faces composed and collected despite the heat of the day. They were monitoring all the movement in and out of the city.

  “This is the Southern gate,” Cazing told them as they neared the iron bars. “It is always open, except in time of war.” He looked meaningfully at Rhyen as he said this, and Rhyen understood that his master was reminding him that the war had not yet started. They nodded at the guards as they rode through the throng and under the gate into the city. Rhyen looked up as they passed through the walls. They were under the arch for quite some time, and Rhyen almost laughed as he realized that half of Avernade—and certainly all of Maypole—could have fit in the space that was the thickness of the walls.

  The city was divided into ovals, one inside the other until culminating in a small circle at the very center, which was the Palace. Each oval was marked with more walls, though not as high as the main wall, encircling each section. Cazing gave them a brief introduction as they trotted through the sandy streets. The first level, the docking oval, was directly inside the massive city walls. Half of the oval was comprised of the docks. There were shipmasters, fisherman, and the army fleet docked in the hundreds of thousands of fingers that floated off the port, just in the bay. The majority of the army, fishermen, and crews lived in the western oval of the first level, close to the sea. The other half of the first level was actually farmland, encompassed inside the city walls. The three did not see the farmland, which was in the eastern section of the oval and very far away.

  Their going was slow. Caliena was overwhelmed by the crowd of hundreds of thousands of people, and the sheer numbers of the houses and shops that were stacked on top of each other as far as the eye could see. She stayed very close to Cazing, almost clinging to his sleeve. Rhyen was overwhelmed as well, but more by the roughish stink that hung in an almost visible smog over the city. It was a mix of salt and sea, warm fish, thousands of unwashed and sweating bodies, different odors from countless vendors and cooking pots, and garbage. He grinned as he recalled what his master had said about Corna, all those years ago in Ikha, when Rhyen was voicing how much he’d like to live in the capital: I’d visit Corna first.

  The first ring of Corna was by far the poorest, especially down by the docks and away from the farmland, and brimming with shady characters with hooded heads and covered faces. Rhyen and Cazing mutely agreed to keep to themselves, and they rode protectively with Caliena between them. They had to stop for the night in the first level—so great was Corna that it would take several days to ride across the city to the third level where Thom lived. The stars were already winking in afterglow of the sunset sky before, at last and exhausted, they found an inn, barely inside the first oval.

  It was a dank tavern as close to the docks as possible. The wood was slimy and black and smelled overwhelmingly of fish and salt, but it was the only hostel with empty beds. They saw to their horses, because the inn offered no stable boy and, indeed, only a dark little shack with a few handfuls of hay for a stable. The rooms were situated over a dingy little pub, and although Cazing wrinkled his forehead at the filth and the stench, Rhyen loved it. The place was full to bursting with genuine seafaring articles: seaweed-encrusted fishing nets and lines, real ship rope, tied into sailor’s knots, and tabletops that might have once been ship’s wheels, though many of the spokes had been carved or knocked off. The authenticity of the tavern thrilled Rhyen, who had always desired to go to sea, and he reveled in it all.

  They had fish and salty chips in generous quantities, as well as huge tankards of strong ale called grog. Rhyen was a little worried about how the grog would affect Caliena, but, despite her small frame, a slight pink blush that spread across her cheeks was her only side effect. As soon as they were done eating, Rhyen grabbed Caliena by the hand and in his excitement almost dragged her to the door.

  “Want to walk along the shore with me?” he asked eagerly. He was looking forward to feeling the touch of the great sea and the sand under his feet. He remembered, through Ellis’ memories, the feel of sand and salty waves upon his feet and legs and longed to try it for himself.

  Caliena laughed at him, but went willingly. As Rhyen looked back, he realized that his timing was not a moment too soon. There were many hooded individuals seated around the pub, balaclavas seeming to be the fashion in this shady area. Many were cloaked notwithstanding the extreme heat, and nearly all of them engaged in various gambles. Seconds after they had left the table, one such stranger jingled a hefty purse and took the vacant chair across from Cazing, holding a pair of dice in a gloved hand. Cazing grinned cunningly through his smoke, eager for an opponent and another win. As they stepped out into the night air, the shanty door creaking shut behind him, Rhyen breathed a sigh of relief—had they stayed any longer, he was sure his master would have engaged Caliena in the game, and he wanted her company now as he took to the shoreline.

  It took them quite a while to weave their way through the dizzying maze of the docks before they found a little squat gate that gave them access to the beach. The moon, full, white, and huge, was hanging low, just over the water, and the wide luminous swath it cut in the ocean played upon the vastness of the sea. Rhyen was stunned—the water, blue even still in the blackness of night, was rhythmically crashing in upon the sand and sliding back, leaving a dark flush on the golden grains. He stood there, relishing the shore. Caliena ducked down next to him, and Rhyen saw that she was removing her boots and rolling up her leggings.

  “Good idea,” he murmured as he did the same.

  They tucked their boots under the dock and, fearing theft in this disreputable part of the city, Rhyen quickly wielded them into Invisibility. It was a rather complex spell, but Rhyen barely had to think to find the right words. He had been feeling so strong lately—stronger than usual. And it had been years since he had to make an effort to let the numbness seep over him. Just as Cazing had predicted when he first became his master, wielding was so easy to him now. The habit of emptying his mind was so deeply ingrained in him that he rarely gave it a second thought, and the right words always sprang to his lips as soon as he searched for them. Mostly, like his master, he didn’t speak when he wielded—there was no longer a reason to do so. He was disciplined now and focused as well as confident, and he rarely had to fight to overcome his Opposite, ignore the lust of the magic, or control his wielding.

  The sand was a dichotomy for Rhyen. Right on the shore, where it was wet, it was like silk, but where it was dry it stuck to him like sugar to a baker’s hands. The sea itself was pleasantly cool, and Rhyen walked right along the water’s edge, where the waves washed in regular swells to his knees. He was surprised by the strength of the current—even if the water was only to his ankles, he could feel the constant pull of the ocean, trying to drag him back with the foaming waves.

  Caliena did not enjoy the dry sand, but, like Rhyen, took pleasure in the water. Every so often, the waves washed in little sea creatures that Rhyen had only heard of: scuttling crabs, purple clams that somehow flipped on e
dge to wiggle back into the sand, and a incandescent clear creature that might have been a blob of cold, congealed fat but for the long feathery strands that trailed behind it. They studied this one with disgusted interest in the bright moonlight until an incoming wave washed one of the strands over Rhyen’s foot. He yelped in surprise—it had burned him! There was an angry red weal etched over the bony top of his foot, and they quickly withdrew their hands from the blobby creature. Caliena laughed at her friend while Rhyen, muttering good naturedly, healed the welt.

  They walked for perhaps an hour before turning back. Rhyen enjoyed the salty wind that caressed his face almost as much as the coolness of the water and the fascinating pulling motion of the sea. The ocean, he surmised, was like a live thing—swelling as though with breath, as constant as a heartbeat—and he only reluctantly left when Caliena tugged his arm impatiently.

  Chapter 22

  Eventually they found their way back to the cheap tavern with its slimy wooden door. Rhyen pushed it in, and he and Caliena entered, both wrinkling their noses at the stench of mold and old grog. The pub had emptied out, and even the bartender had retired, so the only occupied table was Cazing’s. He looked most unhappy, and it was easy to see why: The hooded stranger across from him had a heap of coins piled before him. Though they could not see his face, they could tell he was pleased, because he was lounging lazily back with rather small boots propped comfortably upon the table.

  As Rhyen and Caliena approached, both Cazing and the stranger upended their cups on the table, their dice hidden inside. Cazing first revealed his—a five and a one. He gritted his teeth in anticipation. The gloved hand pulled up the other cup—a five and a two. Cazing swore loudly.

  He pounded his fist down on the table. “You’re a cheat! Those die are loaded!”

  Soft laughter came from the hooded figure, and a surprisingly feminine voice taunted, “Prove it.”

  Cazing glared across the table, sizing up his opponent. The figure continued to lounge and went so far as to cup his hands and rest them behind his head. Cazing’s eyes narrowed at this, but then, to Rhyen’s surprise, he began to chuckle. His eyes gleamed with envious pride. “All right, all right, you win! And I’m impressed—haven’t seen cheating like that in a long time.”

  The hooded character laughed again, and moved his feet to the floor. He reached up with gloved hands and pulled the hood and balaclava away. Rhyen’s mouth fell open. It was a woman, a stunningly beautiful woman with clever brown eyes and luxurious auburn hair that cascaded down in waves over her shoulders. Her flashing eyes were framed by dark lashes and perfectly matched brows, and her full lips were pursed in a smirk. She was by far the most attractive woman Rhyen had ever seen, even more so than Soti, Rode’s third wife. She looked charmingly roughish and far more intelligent than most. She was also familiar. As she pulled her tempting lips into a smile, Rhyen suddenly placed her—it was the little girl he’d pulled from the well, all those years ago in Ikha.

  “Breya?” he gasped incredulously.

  She looked haughtily up at him. Her mouth opened in astonishment as recognition flitted over her face. “Rhyen?”

  Rhyen held up his hands. “What are you doing here?”

  He was startled to hear his question repeated in unison by a deep voice from behind him. He knew that voice. He quickly whipped around to the door and saw one of the biggest men he’d ever seen, a huge hulking figure bulging with muscles, sidling sideways to fit his bulk in through the tiny door and staring grumpily at Breya. His hands were corded and callused and so large they might have belonged to a giant. He too had brown eyes and auburn hair, and his face was serious and intelligent, though not so deviously crafty as his sister’s. Rhyen knew him very well.

  “Rorend!” he roared excitedly.

  The big man shifted his gaze from Breya to the sorcerer, and when he saw Rhyen he almost broke down the door trying to get inside.

  “It’s never Rhyen Hyldhem!” he yelled, grinning with delight and throwing a massive arm over Rhyen’s shoulders. “Breya! It’s Rhyen!”

  “I know, stupid, I was here first,” Breya replied. She leapt lithely from the ship wheel table and joined Rhyen and her brother.

  When Rorend finally released Rhyen from his bone-cracking embrace, Breya reached up and draped her arms over his neck, resting her face on his chest. Rhyen put his arms around her waist and beamed at her brother over her head. “What are you doing here?” he demanded again.

  “Working, of course. What are you doing here?” Rorend was still shouting in his excitement.

  After the incident with the well, Rorend and Breya Smith had become Rhyen’s best and closest friends during his childhood in Yla. Their equally enormous family lived just a street over from the Hyldhems, and their father was the most successful blacksmith in all the city. Rorend had evidently followed in his father’s footsteps. Blacksmiths were easy to pick out by their muscles, but Rorend topped them all. He was not nearly as tall as Rhyen himself, but so built and strong that he seemed to dwarf everyone around him.

  “What’s a blacksmith from Yla doing all the way in Corna? And at the shady end, too?” Rhyen asked.

  “It’s all Breya’s fault,” Rorend answered.

  She let go of Rhyen and slapped her brother on the arm. He didn’t even notice. Though Breya was of course much smaller than her brother, judging by her air and manners, one might have mistook her for ten feet tall. She was not a petite woman, for she towered over Caliena by half a foot, and she was strong and sturdy and everything but fragile or delicate, though appealingly so.

  She tossed her hair and rolled her eyes. “Rorend missed me,” she said by way of explanation.

  “What does that mean?”

  Both Rorend and Breya hastened to explain. They were grinning at Rhyen, who was smiling back so hard his face was starting to sting—did it really matter how they got here? He was just glad they were. Rhyen hadn’t realized how much he’d missed them until they were here before him, and though more than eighteen years had passed, all three were talking as if it had only been yesterday since their last visit.

  “Breya left Yla a little more than six years ago—”

  “Rorend took up blacksmithing like dad and there really wasn’t anything for me to do, and not enough room in the house because Falin had gotten married and his wife had already produced about a dozen kids—”

  Rorend looked at her, confused. Falin was their eldest brother. “Falin only has three kids.”

  Breya tossed her hair again. “Well, whatever, it felt like way more—”

  “Anyway, she came here and turned to a life of crime…”

  “It sounds bad if you say it like that!”

  “But it’s true!” Rorend turned to Rhyen and shook his head, glowering. “She took up with some con artists or something, filth of the earth kind of people—”

  “Hey, now, those filth of the earth kind of people taught me everything I know,” Breya chirped, grimacing at her brother.

  “Like what?” Rorend asked, rounding on his sister. “Lying, thieving, cheating, stealing?”

  “I had a good living before you came here!”

  “You’re good living was about to be cut short,” Rorend insisted. Breya snorted and looked like she might fly at her brother, so Rorend put an enormous hand over her face and held her at arm’s length. He turned casually back to Rhyen. “See, she’s been sort of making a name for herself here in the capital. No lock can keep her out, no person able to resist her charm, no gambler able to beat her, that sort of thing. Well, she finally managed to piss in the wrong cup, and one of the higher-end gang families took out a hit on her.”

  “A hit?” Rhyen yelped. “They’re trying to kill her? What for?”

  Breya was furiously trying to remove her brother’s hand from her face. There were muffled shouts coming from her direction, and her feet were lashing out, as wel
l as occasionally her hands, but Rorend’s arm was so long that it didn’t matter. He was as unruffled as if she were sleeping peacefully.

  He shrugged his big shoulders. “She stole a bunch of money from them, or swindled them in some other way. Who knows? She won’t tell me.”

  “Don’t stop now!” Rhyen urged. “What happened?”

  “Well, she’d been sending me letters and then a year ago I heard about this trouble with the gang. Salib had decided on blacksmithing by then, so I left him to help dad with the business and I came here to Corna to bail my criminal sister out.”

  Breya finally managed to free herself. She was breathless and red cheeked as she pushed her mussed hair from her face. “I didn’t need any help! I had a handle on it and was doing just fine on my own. Rorend just missed me is all, and he moved here to be with me.”

  Rorend laughed and slung an arm over her shoulders. “Keep telling yourself that, Brey.”

  She clucked her tongue at him and gave him a rude hand gesture. Rhyen was so delighted to see them, so happy to once again watch their bantering and hear their exploits. Even when they were very young, Breya was tricky and devious and always coming up with crazy plots and schemes which invariably got them all into a lot of trouble.

  “So are you ever going to tell me what happened with the gang?” he pressed.

  Breya casually waved a hand. “Oh, that was nothing. I paid what I owed and the whole thing was over. Rorend overreacts.”

  Rorend shook his head. “Who do you think you’re fooling? We barely got out of there alive, and we still can’t go in the northern side of the first level.”

  “Well, of course we almost got killed. You can’t just bring an unknown person to a closing deal with any mob family, Rorend! I kept telling you that, but you didn’t listen.” She sighed dramatically and turned to Rhyen. “He insisted on coming with me, which was a terrible idea. It was no wonder the DuFong family got a little…twitchy… about the trade off.”