Made with love
— Halrana nursery rhyme
THE trader ship yawed in the strong wind, thrusting her great weight over the crests before plunging again into the troughs.
High above the decks, in the area the traders called the crow’s nest, Miro gazed out at the sea, enjoying the thrill of the ship listing first one way and then another. Here at the very top of the mast any movement was exaggerated. Miro felt like a bird caught in an unpredictable air current, tossed back and forth in the stiff ocean breeze.
She was what the traders called a storm rider — an armed cruiser, with a long range and enough firepower to hold her own against most enemies. Her name was the Infinity.
Two months ago, Miro could never have imagined life aboard the trader ship. It was like a complete community on the water, more than a house, something like a moving fortress.
Nearly every square inch of her was covered with runes, the structures among the most complex Miro had ever seen, particularly on the sails. They buzzed and glowed as they were activated by the Sailmaster, an imposing man named Scherlic. His calls as he activated and deactivated the runes were heard night and day, his voice had become so familiar on the journey that Miro no longer even noticed it.
So much had changed in the last two months. Miro almost felt like a different person — with the Pens, Sarostar, Brandon and Ella part of another life. He had now seen High Lord Tessolar in the flesh, along with several other members of the Alturan elite. It seemed everyone who was a name in Altura was a part of this delegation.
There were even ten bladesingers included in the group. They kept largely to themselves but Miro yearned to catch a glimpse of their zenblades. He’d thought they might participate in the regular sword practise on the listing deck of the ship, but they spent their time below decks in each others company, deep in discussion or reading books.
There had been some argument over the decision to make the journey to Seranthia by ship. Miro had only heard it second-hand of course, from the other guards, who had overcome their usual reticence in response to their new recruit’s endless questions.
Lord Marshal Devon was the named leader of the contingent, although from what Miro had heard about the High Lord, Devon would have a tough time telling Tessolar what to do. A stately, serious man with impeccable dress sense, Devon was a noble in every degree.
In charge of the men-at-arms was Captain Sloan, as different from Lord Devon as two men could be. Grey-haired, rough-voiced and hewn as if from a block of granite, Sloan was a veteran of the Rebellion.
Lord Devon had argued for the journey to be made by sea, his reason being that it would be difficult to protect the contingent over land. Not insulting Captain Sloan, he’d said, but over sea the traders of Raj Buchalantas held undisputed sway and to them a deal, once made, was unbreakable.
Captain Sloan had nodded politely at Lord Devon’s assertion, and then made the point that on land they passed through predominantly friendly lands and had the protection of many swords, while at sea if something went wrong they lost the entire leadership of Raj Altura at a single blow.
Lord Devon had made a brief comment about Captain Sloan’s description of the Azure Plains being "friendly lands" and won the argument.
Miro seemed to get along well with the older soldiers. For some reason he was able to avoid the sea sickness that affected many of his fellows, and his willing attitude made him few enemies.
It had been a long and eventful journey, filled with storms and clear days, arguments and late-night discussions. As they traveled south it had grown hotter, and many of the men, Miro included, had doffed their tunics to be bare-chested in the sun. At first the sailors had stared at Miro’s milk-white skin, but after a few weeks he had developed a deep tan.
Seeing the life of the traders, he sometimes wished he could be one, and leave his cares behind as he sailed the length and breadth of the world. He was amazed to see that many of the sailors were women. They looked similar to the men, wearing canvas coveralls much as the men did, and they had low, gruff voices.
One night he had asked a one-eyed soldier named Tuok where they were. Tuok shrugged. "We’ve gone beyond the limits of our maps, young lord." Miro frowned, he had no idea where the nickname had originated, but some of the men had started calling him the name and it had stuck. He sensed no malice in it and so let it stay. "Only the traders know where we are now."
Miro couldn’t believe people wouldn’t want to map these uncharted lands, or at least to purchase a map made by famous explorers like Toro Marossa. Surely, perhaps in the libraries of the Academy, they must have maps of these lands?
He resolved himself to ask one of the Buchalanti where they were. It was going to be difficult though; the Buchalanti sailors deferred to the Sailmaster, even to the point of fear. Miro tried striking up a conversation with one of the sailors but the man just looked at him blankly.
Then, without any action on Miro’s part, an opportunity came. It was early dawn, a time when most of the other members of the Alturan delegation were still asleep and Miro could walk freely around the deck without fear of getting in the way or overstepping his bounds.
Miro was at the ship’s port rail, gazing out at the strange landscape to the north. They had been following the yellow coast of this land for week upon week. The terrain was barren and devoid of all life. Not a single tree or even a plant could be seen. Heat waves rolled off the ground.
A man came up to stand next to him.
"The land of the desert tribes," said the man in a deep, heavily accented voice.
Miro turned slightly so as not to break the spell. It was the Sailmaster. He knew he had to say something.
"Such a fearsome land," he said.
The Sailmaster smiled. "They do not think so."
"You’ve met them?"
"Few people have, but yes, I have. A harsh people living a harsh existence. They fight each other, valuing only strength above all else. Survival is the word in these parts. But they love their land, much as I’m sure you love yours."
Miro had never thought about it before, but now that he was here, further from his homeland than he had ever been in his life, he knew he missed the rivers and lush forests of Altura terribly. He missed Ella, and the way Brandon always grumbled when Ella gave him his cherl but smiled with love to her departing back.
"Where is your land?" Miro said.
"My land is here," the Sailmaster gestured to the ocean. "Of course we spend some time in cities, but never too long."
"Aren’t cities like Schalberg and Castlemere trader cities?"
The Sailmaster looked surprised. "No, they are not. We spend time there, and many of the inhabitants are descended from Buchalanti stock, but they are not of Raj Buchalantas. They administer themselves, and earn their income from trade. They are traders, but we are the Traders — if you get my distinction? A Buchalanti’s place is here, on the sea."
Miro wasn’t sure if he’d insulted the Sailmaster. "I’m sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about, young man. I might add that you handle yourself well on the sails. If you are looking to join us, the only requisite is a love for the sea."
With a broad smile, the Sailmaster had left Miro gaping on the deck.
It was a good memory, one of many that he would take away from this trip. Miro hoped he would be sailing with the Buchalanti again on the return journey. In the time since he’d spoken to the Sailmaster he’d saved up many more questions.
The swaying of the mast brought Miro back to the present. Looking behind the ship, he saw a piece of wood in the ships wake. Over time he noticed more and more flotsam start to appear. Then he noticed a strange form in the cloudless sky.
He knew what he was supposed to do, but bade his time, waiting until he was certain.
"Land ho!" Miro bellowed with all his might. A great whoop came up from the deck, and Miro grinned down at the men below.
The men excitedly gathered themselves at the rail, waiting
until the land came into sight. They were looking forward to a hot meal, a warm bed, and plenty of time away from the sonorous changing of the Sailmaster as he activated the runes. Their luck had proven true, and they were about to visit a strange land far from home.
Over the course of the journey Miro had heard a lot about the land of Tingara, homeland of the Emperor, and its capital Seranthia — some of it fanciful, some of it outright bizarre.
It was said to be the biggest city in the world, bigger than a hundred Sarostars laid side by side. One of the men said it was so big that new professions had been created just to administer the city. Miro wasn’t sure if the man was telling the truth. Who would feed and clothe or give good gilden to a man who did a job like that? Perhaps it was something like the lords and marshals of Altura — men who were responsible for trade and deciding on military matters.
A small island barred the way to the massive harbour. Barely an outcrop, it jutted out only a few feet above the deep blue ocean. Miro’s breath caught when he saw the great marble statue of a man standing astride the island, as tall as five ships like the Infinity one on top of the other. The huge form seemed to be bursting out of the water.
The Sentinel, it was called, famous throughout Merralya. As the Infinity drew closer, Miro could make out more detail. The man wore a strange headpiece, like a raised crown, with a rune decorating its front; something like a raj hada, but simpler. The man’s expression was stern, but noble. His hair beneath the headpiece flowed down to his shoulders, and his features were soft, almost female. He had one arm raised, pointing slightly upwards, as if at the stars or the setting sun. Miro didn’t know what the man was trying to say — the other soldiers said he was ancient, old when Seranthia was just a small fishing town. Once again, Miro didn’t know what to believe.
He saw more ships ahead and behind them, and even a few Buchalanti ships. Seranthia was a busy trade port, with countless mouths to feed and a population hungry for exotic goods.
Passing the Sentinel, they entered the great harbour, passing rocky headlands to either side. Instantly the ocean smoothed, the ship’s motion grew calmer, and they slowed. Miro heard the chant of the Sailmaster increase in volume and some of the runes on the sails glowed as they were activated. The ship instantly picked up speed, whatever the Sailmaster was doing, it was working. They soon overtook the ship in front of them; the High Lord was paying the traders well for speed.
A straight grey line stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. Miro frowned, squinting and trying to focus his eyes. What was it? Then he drew back as he realised what it was — the Wall.
He saw the soldier Tuok moving about down below, carrying crates up from the hold. "Ho, Tuok! Is that really the Wall?"
"Sure is, lad. Soon you’ll be seeing much more than that. Now get down here and give us a hand."
Grinning, Miro gathered himself and leapt from the crow’s nest, catching hold of a spar as he fell.
Tuok winced. The sailors — men and women both — barely looked up from what they were doing.
Miro swung off the spar and slid down a yard, burning his hands slightly from the friction. Finally he landed on the deck triumphantly.
"Well done," Tuok said. "Now get to work."
7
They should have more young boys among their bladesingers. If you’re no good in battle, you might as well be pleasing to the ear.
— Emperor Xenovere V at the surrender of Altura, 524 Y.E.
THERE were so many new sights that Miro was constantly turning his head first one way and then another. Tuok said he was making him dizzy, and to please stop before he put his fist in Miro’s ear. Miro calmed — a little.
The harbour formalities had been lengthy. At one point Miro saw Captain Sloan discretely hand over some money to the harbour master, although Miro had no idea why. He decided to ask Tuok, who was busy hauling crates.
"It’s the way they are here in Tingara," Tuok grunted. "Everything comes at a price."
"But we’re an official delegation! Our High Lord is with us. Why do we pay?"
"We pay so that the harbour master does a good job, and promptly gives us our papers so that we can be on our way."
"But..."
"Enough, Miro. You’ll find out soon enough."
Now they were being led through the streets of the port district and into the city proper. Word of Raj Altura’s arrival had quickly reached the Emperor and an escort had soon arrived.
Miro didn’t like the look of the imperial legion.
The legionnaires were huge men with uniformly shaved heads., and rather than wearing their raj hada on their clothing, the sun and star of Raj Tingara was tattooed into their skin.
Some carried pikes, twelve feet long and razor sharp. These were Alturan-made, and the runes were familiar to Miro’s eyes. Their armour was also enchanted — heavy steel covered with arcane symbols, glowing softly. Miro was surprised, the essence cost meant it was standard practice in Altura to leave enchanted armour deactivated unless actually in combat. Either the Emperor was flush with essence, or he was showing off his power for the Alturans’ benefit. Perhaps it was both.
At their waist, each legionnaire carried a few prismatic orbs and one even had a mortar strapped to his back — weapons made and sold by the artificers of Loua Louna.
They were hard men, trained since birth, and armed with the best weapons money could buy. Miro felt vaguely resentful that some of his house’s finest work ended up here for the Emperor’s men. But then he looked at the bladesingers bringing up the rear and chatting quietly. Their armoursilk, blazoned with the Alturan raj hada, was light, and all they carried were their zenblades, yet they radiated power, deadly beyond belief. Miro noticed the way the legionnaires’ gaze kept moving warily to the bladesingers and felt his pride return.
Miro forgot about the legionnaires amongst the sights, sounds, and smells of this fantastic city. The buildings were old and grand — tall and intricately carved with fanciful figures. The streets twisted and turned haphazardly so that Miro was soon lost. For once he couldn’t simply climb a bridge and see for a good distance in all directions — the structures were so tall and close together that he couldn’t even see the sun.
The Wall stood above it all. Miro could see it close behind them and followed it with his eyes. It curved away into the distance until it became a grey blur, but it was so high that it never left his vision completely.
Miro couldn’t believe such a city could ever come into being.
The delegation passed through market after market, so that Miro wondered if the entire city was made up of markets. How could there be so many people, willing to buy so many goods?
The legionnaires led them through food markets, with strange vegetables and fruits Miro had never seen before. A man held a pumpkin half his size above his head, testing its weight. Not only was it the biggest pumpkin Miro had ever seen, it was bright yellow.
They passed through fish markets, where the fruits of the sea were lined up and sorted by size, colour, and type — from the smallest red shrimp to the most fearsome blue shark. Hanging from a balcony was a strange creature with dozens of tentacles, each covered in round suckers. The tentacles were so long they dragged on the ground three stories below.
As they walked, Miro began to notice other facets of life in Seranthia. Groups of youths were begging on the street, fighting each other for scraps of food. An old man slept in an alley next to a pile of garbage — at least, Miro hoped he was sleeping.
A ragged woman came up to them, ignoring the legionnaires. She tugged on Miro’s clothing. "Please, young sir, I have no job, no money, my daughter is ill."
Miro didn’t know how to respond. "What of your family?"
"My family is dead, killed by the imperials. For speaking out, for nothing!" She spat at the closest of the legionnaires.
"Get gone, hag!" the legionnaire growled, kicking her savagely.
She scurried away.
They passed th
rough spice markets and gem markets, and a section of money changers. For four blocks they passed only carpet sellers. Then it was tinkers, selling pots and pans, tools and knives. A vendor held up an old enchanted knife; Miro could tell it had once been a valuable piece, but it was scratched and the runes were fading.
"Please, only two deens!" the vendor called after them.
"Not so pretty after a while, is it?" Tuok said.
A litter jostled past, borne by eight swarthy men. Through the gauze of the litter Miro could make out a female silhouette. She spoke to an attendant, who at her request brought back items for her to inspect. When one took her fancy, the attendant handed over gilden without even haggling. The market vendors bowed and scraped as the litter swept past.
"Seranthia, Capital of the World," said Tuok.
"It’s a beautiful city, but why are there so many begging? Isn’t there enough food?"
"There’s enough food, but you have to pay for it. If you’ve got money you can buy anything in Seranthia. Anything. Trust me — you don’t want to know some of the things for sale here. On the other hand, if you’ve got no money, you’re out. The Emperor routinely rounds up anyone on the street and throws them over the walls." He looked at Miro with meaning. "It’s a long way down. But still people keep coming, looking for something, I’m not sure what. It’s often I’m glad to be an Alturan."
Hearing music, Miro turned.
A woman danced on top of a small stage. Men stood around, clapping and cheering, drinking and laughing.
She was the most beautiful woman Miro had ever seen, with long flowing hair the colour of gold and eyes bluer than the sky. She smiled as she danced, her body curving and writhing with her movements.
She wore a small skirt, ending high above her knees, almost at the tops of her thighs. A tiny piece of silk was crossed in front of her breasts, and as Miro watched, she removed the silk, throwing it out into the crowd.
The men yelled raucously as her breasts were revealed, heavy and crowned with rosy nipples.
The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress Page 7
