by Raoul Miller
THE MERCHANT OF SANUKAWA
Book One of the Thieves of Askaria Novella Series
RAOUL MILLER
The dusty silence of the catacomb was broken by a distant rumble. In the deepest and dustiest chamber, a golden statue of an ibex stirred on its ancient stone altar. Twinkling in the sputtering torch light, the rubies that it used for eyes stared thoughtfully toward the sound, mildly irritated that its gaze couldn’t penetrate the heavy stonework. A thief. How will this one fare? As if eager to answer, the rumble came once more and then again a moment later, rapidly turning into a continuous sequence of crashes as the intruder drew quickly nearer—trap after trap triggered in their wake.
For centuries the brave and the foolhardy had journeyed to the jagged peaks of the Rohtengir Mountains to seek out the statue’s labyrinth. They were drawn by an old traveller’s tale, passed from caravan guard to sailor until it had found every land that trade could reach. The legend told that any who could broach the innermost sanctum of the maze would find there enough gold to make a king seem a pauper. It did not tell of the countless men and women who had instead found only their peril.
The booming and snapping of carelessly triggered traps continued unrelenting. How long has it been since one of them made it this near? After a moment the sound of footsteps, running hard, became distinct. No, not one. Two.
A final series of traps exploded all at once in a thundering cacophony as the thieves leapt through the last doorway. Incredible. Seemingly unaware of the lethal spikes and falling stones at their heels, two men ran unchecked straight toward the altar at the centre of the chamber. As they ran they shoved and struck at each other, each eager to be the first to reach the prize. Are they laughing? Two hands reached out and simultaneously found their quarry, the gleaming surface of the statue. Suddenly everything moved.
“Marvellous!” cried a jubilant voice. The thieves stood dumbfounded, blinking in the sudden light. The dim little chamber was gone. They found themselves instead on the summit of a tall peak, an endless blue sky stretched out above them. The voice’s beautiful owner beamed at them.
"I am Alunia, patron of the reckless,” she announced, “and I welcome you to my domain.”
Her hand swept around in a graceful arc. They stood on a little wooded plateau, a stone shingled roof visible through the trees. Behind them the cliff dropped off sharply, falling away into a dense bank of cloud. The view was breathtaking, but the thieves’ attention was elsewhere. Their host’s beauty had a suggestion of the divine. The enormous curved horns extending from her head left no doubt.
The goddess seemed to take pleasure in their astonishment. “I built the labyrinth as a trial—a tool to find the thief skilled and brazen enough to be my champion. I had not expected it to bring me two.” She laughed happily.
One of the thieves, a man with a bushy black beard, finally found his voice. “If you’ll forgive my impertinence my lady, what need would a goddess have of a thief?” he asked.
“I require a thief because I need something stolen of course,” she smiled. “The prize I seek is however not gold or jewels, but divine energy itself.”
She reached into one of the wide sleeves of her robe and withdrew a small gem. The light of the midday sun danced lazily along its polished surface.
“You mortals think the gods omnipotent, but verily our power is greatly constrained,” she explained. “The Creators moulded us each from a spark of their own essence, and so passed on to us too their mastery over reality. While their power was however boundless as the oceans, ours are more akin to a well. A well quickly drained and slow to refill. In fact even an act as small as conversing with a mortal is taxing.”
“Then how—,” the other thief, a tall, dark-skinned man, started to ask, but was cut short by a sharp look from the goddess. He decided it would be wiser to let her finish.
“This is pure divine energy; a crystalized fragment of raw potential,” she said of the gem. “It is an artefact capable of amplifying the power of a god to heights we might otherwise only dream of. These stones lie scattered all around the mortal realm, and have lain there since before even we gods came to be. Yet, despite this, only the barest few—god or mortal—have learned of their nature. Had we gods the power to travel to the mortal realm, I would seek them out myself, but alas, we do not. You shall gather them in my stead.”
The thieves’ faces fell, dismayed at the prospect of a long and arduous search. Alunia couldn’t help but laugh.
“Be not concerned. I have devised a way you may find them with ease,” she assured. “It is their retrieval which will be your challenge. Though mortals are unable to wield divine energy, the power within the stones calls to them. Prized as symbols of wealth and prestige, they have found their way into the hands of the mighty and powerful. It is for this reason I sought a champion with your talents. A bold thief may accomplish what even an army cannot.”
The goddess pressed her hands closed around the gem, her brow furrowing with concentration. After a moment she began to draw them apart, but instead of falling the little orb remained stoically where it was, seeming to float unsupported in the space between her palms.
“I shall imbue you each with a sliver of this stone. This will bestow upon you attunement to the energies that dwell within. I expect this will enable you to sense the location of stones nearby.”
The men shared a worried look, but said nothing. Neither was foolish enough to challenge the reasoning of a goddess.
Alunia’s hands began to glow faintly, the bluish light gradually growing brighter. The surface of the hovering gem seemed to turn suddenly liquid, and then it split in two.
“The energy that remains is sufficient too to grant you each a pair of boons. To lessen the rigor of your travels, I shall strengthen both your natural fortitude and the hand fortune deals you.”
The horned deity fell silent as she began to concentrate in earnest, a glowing fragment of the stone floating gently above each of her palms. The thieves looked on curiously, until the radiance grew too bright for their eyes to bear.
“What—,” the bearded man began to ask, but though his jaw moved, no further words came out.
“I can unfortunately hold you here little longer,” the goddess said. “Your questions will have to keep. I wish you success my champions.”
Alunia’s beatific smile faded from view as the thieves’ sight was lost to the blinding light. They felt her gently place a palm upon them each, the brilliant radiance seeming to shine right through them, intensifying ever more until it overpowered their every sense. When the thieves could see again they were back in their own world, standing atop a narrow ridge on the slopes of Rohtengir Mountains. For a moment doubt took hold of them, the men wondering if it had all been just a strange dream, but it was only for a moment. Something pulled at them, deep within their chests. It pulled toward the south.
Sanukawa was alive with activity. Where other cities merely bustled, Sanukawa writhed. The street outside the old riverside inn was a noisy press of people, animals and cycle-driven vehicles. There seemed no agreement about which part of the street should be used for what kind of traffic, or even which direction it should follow.
Rishi stepped out into the throng. Among his own people, the thief was considered to be of average height—perhaps just a little under six foot. Here he towered. There were a few taller Sanukawans dotted here and there throughout the crowd, but most stood only to his shoulder. They had dark hair, perfectly straight, and skin a few shades darker than his own olive complexion. Pausing to let a pedal-cart pass, he looked up at his ebon-sk
inned companion. The other man’s height surpassed his own by a full half foot. In Sanukawa he was no less than a giant.
“That’s one of Musa’s best-selling exports you know,” the tall man said, inclining his head toward the cart as it rumbled by, straining beneath a heavy load of citrus.
“Do you mean cycles?”
“Well cycles yes, but that one in particular. We’re the only city with the knowledge of building a two-person model. There’re even designs for three-person carts,” he said proudly.
“You were a craftsman, Adusa? I would never have said,” Rishi teased.
“Well, no. Not me,” the handsome thief laughed. “I did work for one of the firms though—as an enforcer.”
“Why should firms in Musa need enforcers?”
“We’ve no central rulers. No kings or patricians. Each firm sees to their own territory. If we didn’t protect our turf, we’d lose our factories to a rival.”
“How does a city survive with such a chaotic system?”
“It works real well actually. No city in Askaria has more industry than Musa,” Adusa told him, wiping the sweat from his face. “I wish this bloody sun would go down.”
Rishi was more accustomed to the heat than his northern friend, but the sun here was too cruel even for him. They had only walked a hundred yards from their inn and already his wavy, black hair was plastered to his skull. Beads of sweat glistened like jewels in his bushy beard.
“We’ve the wrong garb for this climate,” he said, watching the locals enviously. While he stewed in his leather vest, they looked cool and comfortable in loose-fitting trousers, wide, knee-length skirts or short trousers, and light shirts—all woven from a brightly dyed blend of hemp and cotton.
“I’ll stick to my armour,” Adusa chuckled. “You may be cooler in a shirt like that, but it’ll do nothing to turn a blade.” To the casual observer the thigh-length brigandine the man wore looked like a common doublet, but hidden beneath was a sturdy layer of interlocking metal plates.
Rishi had to concede the point. Armour was a necessity in their profession. His own mail shirt was of the lightest type, but even so, it had saved him more times than he could count. The only time he ever took it off was when he bathed.
“It’s strange,” his friend said after a few yards more. “We must stand out like an oak tree in the tundra, but nobody here is giving us a second glance.”
“We’re no rarity here,” Rishi replied. “Like my homeland, Sanukawa is a trade city. The citizens have grown accustomed to seeing foreigners.”
“Muziris is like this too?” Adusa asked, his gaze taking in the bazaar-like atmosphere of the street around them.
It seemed like every open space had been given over to trade. Countless stores and stalls lined the roadside, bright and cheerfully hued canopies sheltering the merchants’ goods from the sun. They had tools, trinkets and produce of every type and description. Even the road itself wasn’t exempt. Hawkers roamed through the traffic, baskets of snacks and refreshments slung over their shoulders.
“No, not nearly so lively as this,” Rishi chuckled. “Ours is an island city. Land is too scarce for street markets.”
The tool and trinket vendors began to gradually give way to food carts and roadside eateries. Tables and stools had been laid out along the sidewalk, and diners were being served bowls of spicy soup with noodles or rice. A few of the carts also sold refreshments—cool green tea and foamy beer, poured into small paper cups and cooled with ice from large, cork-lined chests.
Unable to resist the mouth-watering aromas any longer, Rishi stopped beside a cart selling barbequed meat. “It could be a long night. We should eat,” he said, ordering two servings.
Adusa nodded his agreement, hungrily watching as the vendor laid four beef skewers out onto the grill. A sign at the front of the cart gave their name as sosaties.
“It’s strange to think that we don’t even know what kind of dwelling our target lies in. It might be a palace or it might be a hovel,” Rishi mused, watching the meat sizzle.
“What does it matter? Wherever the orb is, we simply find a way in, grab it, and get out. We’ll be on the road out of town by dawn.”
Rishi chuckled. “You have the finesse of an ox, Adusa.”
With their sosaties in hand, they set off once more.
The sun finally beginning to set, they soon came upon a leafy plaza. It seemed a popular spot for a family picnic or an after-work drink with friends. The little gatherings were scattered throughout the park, sitting on wide benches or on blankets spread beneath broad-leafed acacias and star apple trees. In an ornate fountain at the centre of the plaza stood a fantastical, many-faced golden statue—streams of water pouring musically from its human and bestial faces.
Rishi noticed a trio of city guards standing beside a tall, stone pillar. Guards somehow looked the same in every city.
“Don’t drip it on me you dolt!” he heard one say. The potbellied man was holding a large poster up against the side of the pillar, while another messily lathered a thin glue onto it with a brush.
“Sorry Sergeant,” the other man stammered. “I’m trying not to. Honest.”
“Try harder!” the sergeant snapped. “We’ve only put up four and I’m already covered in more glue than your brush.”
Rishi strained to make out the picture on the notice they were hanging up. He hadn’t committed any crime in the city, at least not yet, but he was reluctant to get any closer. The instincts of a lifetime spent avoiding the watch were hard to overcome. His companion didn’t seem to share his hesitation however. Adusa immediately surrendered to his curiosity and strode straight toward them. Wolfing down the last of his meal, Rishi trailed along after him.
“There,” the sergeant said, admiring his handiwork. The third guard wordlessly handed him another poster. “Thanks Han,” he said to her, and then to the other guard, “Let’s get this one finished up quickly and get some tea.”
The two of them moved around to the other side of the pillar. Han remained where she was, quietly studying the poster as the two thieves stepped up alongside her. If she noticed them, she showed no sign of it.
Rishi saw a set of grim faces staring back at him. A group of perhaps a dozen men. It was obvious that they came from beyond the city’s borders. Faces so weather-beaten could not have been earned in the comfort of urban living. They each carried a long sword, the blades curving slightly at the tip.
“Pardon Officer. Perhaps you’d do us the kindness of settling our curiosity. What deeds have these men committed?” Rishi enquired politely.
“Treason!” the sergeant barked from the other side of the pillar.
“They’re called the Shen,” Han explained, her voice small and soft-spoken. “They inhabit the mountain foothills upriver, far to the north. For generations they’ve been sworn to protect our northern borders, and see to the safety of the farmers. But recently—”
“They turned against us!” the sergeant cut in. “The filthy traitors are plotting to kill the king!”
Ignoring the hot-tempered sergeant’s interruption, she continued, “Rumours of their plot to overthrow the rightful rule of his majesty began to reach us. Several of their number have since been spotted around the city, but our attempts to question them about their intentions here have all so far failed. They’ve run away each time they’ve seen the guard.”
“And they’ll keep running every time,” the sergeant said. “Cowards! Just wait though. We’ll corner one of them soon! Then we’ll force the details of their filthy plot from the dog’s mouth.”
Han motioned them toward the other poster, leading the way around the pillar. Rishi felt for a moment as if he were being guided around the displays of a museum. “The rumours say this one is the cause of it all. He’s their new leader—Ruang.”
An angry face with bushy black eyebrows and a matching moustache sneered back at them. Unlike the other fugitives, this one had the pleasure of a poster all to himself.
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bsp; “They say he’s grown tired of the Shen serving a distant throne,” she told them, “and has brought them here to further his own ambition.”
“He certainly looks menacing here,” the thief remarked.
“I think I did it pretty well,” she said. “The informants tell me it’s a great likeness.” A smile crept cautiously onto her face, dislodging her thus far impassive expression. Rishi didn’t think it was used to the intrusion.
“You’re the artist?” he said, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You’re much too talented to be spending your time catching criminals!”
Han’s cheeks coloured and she laughed happily. “It’s a steady income.”
“I wish I had a talent,” the young constable sighed, carelessly dripping glue all down his leg. “Then I wouldn’t have to patrol the streets every night. What am I going to do if I come across one of them?”
“What have I told you boy? They’re all cowards,” the sergeant said, beginning to walk across the park. The younger man trailed along beside him as he went on, “That menace is just a trick of Han’s brush. The traitors can do nothing but hide and run away.”
With a nod to the thieves, Han hefted her roll of posters and hurried after them.
Leaving the lively main roads behind, Adusa wandered into a network of quieter streets and narrow alleys. His bearded friend walked along silently beside him. The tall man didn’t have a clear route in mind, nor even an idea of what to look out for. He was following the compass-like sensation in his chest—a faint pull that led him toward where their target was hidden. The sensation was a strange one, but he had gradually become used to it during the journey down from the mountains.
He glanced over at his new partner. Tonight would be their first burglary together. Though they were now allies, their fates tied together by their experience in the labyrinth, he knew little of the other thief. They had met just prior to entering the tunnels, and that had been as rivals, not partners. Adusa felt no apprehension about their evening’s work however. He had already seen proof of the other man’s skills—and besides—he was not someone who gave in to worry easily.
