But the moment her muscles tensed to lash out, white-hot pain stabbed into her belly, nearly as excruciating as the ward had been. Helpless and screaming, she curled up, writhing on the floor.
“Thinking about escape, are you?” said the woman. “Or were you thinking about perhaps hurting me?” She clicked her tongue. “I’m afraid we can’t have that.”
“What have you done to me?” Mariyah said, once the pain had lessened enough for her to speak.
“Not a thing. You did it to yourself.” The woman pulled out a blue orb about the size of the end of her thumb, attached to a chain around her neck. “The anklet you wear prevents you from running or from hurting anyone. And this controls the anklet. The mere thought will produce a severe punishment … as you just experienced.”
The pain dissipated, allowing Mariyah to push herself up and lean heavily against the wall. Her eyes were fixed on the anklet. More magic, this as sinister as the wards. “Where’s Shemi?”
“You should rest now,” she said, disregarding the question. “It’s a long journey to Lobin.”
The woman exited, leaving the door slightly ajar. Mariyah leaned down to examine the anklet. It was outwardly unremarkable. How could something so common cause so much torment? She slipped the tip of her finger between the metal and her flesh, but this produced a sharp pain in her head that made her eyes twitch, so she quickly withdrew.
Mariyah could hear voices from outside. She thought to look, but feared what might happen. Even the desire to know what they had done to Shemi was not enough to test the power it held over her.
She rummaged around until she found a sack of grain to use as a pillow, and lay in the corner farthest from the door. Tiny spiteful reminders nagged at her each time her mind drifted to thoughts of escape, which also served to prevent her from sleeping. After a time, helplessness overwhelmed her until she could not hold back the tears and began sobbing fitfully. Her life was over. Hope was gone. And she would never see home … or Lem again.
11
LOBIN
It is impossible to stay clean when dwelling among swine.
Book of Kylor, Chapter Four, Verse Eight
So badly did the memory of Durst’s screams plague Lem’s conscience that he had still not spoken a word by the time morning broke. Equally disturbing was the fact that Farley appeared to be entirely comfortable with the act of murder. Had he simply traded one prison for another? Zara was a bad person by any standards Lem could imagine, but Farley might turn out to be just as bad, if not worse. For now, he would try not to dwell on the possibility. He was away from Harver’s Grove, and Farley had informed him that they were bound for Lobin, a city situated on the coast of the Sea of Mannan. Other than that, Lem had little idea what to expect—only that it was sure to be a far cry from anything he had seen before.
“So tell me,” said Farley. “How exactly did you end up in Harver’s Grove?”
With the previous night’s events still weighing on his mind, Lem only became fully aware of the question after it had been repeated.
“I thought to do some traveling,” he replied. This had been his standard answer to any of the townsfolk who asked. Knowing this would not be sufficient for Farley, he added, “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about my past.”
Farley smiled. “I understand. Many a young man seeks to reinvent his life. Take me, for example. I’m the son of a brickmason. By the time I was fifteen, I’d watched my father work himself so hard he walked like a decrepit old man. When I left home, I swore an oath that I would not repeat his mistakes.”
“So that’s why you became an actor?”
Farley laughed. “That’s why I became a thief.” Spotting Lem’s startled reaction, he hastily added, “No longer, mind you. But as a lad, I thought it better than working myself to death like my father had.”
“How does one become a thief?”
“By stealing. How else? Oh, I thought about joining a guild, but I was never much for taking orders. Turned out I wasn’t very good at it anyway. So after a short but most unpleasant time in a Sylerian prison, I chanced upon the former owner of the troupe.”
“So you didn’t start it yourself?”
“No. A man named Chen Lumroy put it together many years before I arrived. I bought it from him when he was ready to retire.”
Given Farley’s apparent openness, Lem felt a touch guilty about not being able to share details of his own life. It did not seem to bother Farley in the slightest to talk of being held in prison. Or, as the conversation went on, about virtually any other aspect of his past. An open book was how Shemi would have described him: someone comfortable with who he was and where he was going. What’s more, he didn’t press Lem to talk about awkward subjects, which consisted more or less of anything to do with his own past. He did, though, insist on knowing one thing.
Looking Lem directly in the eye, Farley said, “For someone so young, you don’t say much about yourself. Which makes me think I might be in dangerous company. So I have to ask if you have people pursuing you or if you’re in trouble of some kind. I need to know before I take you in. I have a responsibility to those in my employ.”
“There is no one after me,” Lem said, though as he spoke, he saw again the dark vision the stranger had shared and recalled the note in his pocket that predicted Lem would bring danger to all he loved. “You have my word on that.” Maybe it was a lie, but Lem would have to stomach that for now.
Farley nodded. “Fair enough. Then your secrets are your own.”
By the end of the day, Lem learned that Farley had left his troupe in Lobin while he came to settle some old business with a former associate in Harver’s Grove. What precisely that business might be, he carefully omitted. It was probably better not to know.
Lem had quickly grown accustomed to being on horseback, even rather enjoying it at times. It gave him a better perspective of his surroundings, for one thing. After a while he started to notice many similarities to his home, though it was still the differences that were most eye-catching. There were several species of flower and a few thorny shrubs that were new, along with a few sightings of a tiny squirrel with black fur scampering busily about. Those in Vylari were either red or gray and twice as large.
By late afternoon, they were beyond any houses or farms. On either side of the road, the forest was dense with gnarled oaks and towering pines, broken occasionally by clearings that, from the burned twigs and much trampled-down grass, were used by travelers as campsites.
Farley told him that if they pressed on, they could reach an inn. However, Lem said that he preferred to sleep under the stars. The stench of Harver’s Grove was at last gone, and the earthy aroma of the wild felt as cleansing as a hot bath.
After building a fire, Farley gave him a hunk of flat bread with tiny, unfamiliar nuts baked within, along with a few strips of jerky and a pear. After they had eaten, he asked Lem to play, and he was more than willing to do so, plucking out a half dozen tunes while Farley smiled with appreciation.
“You are going to be a real asset to the troupe,” Farley told him, as Lem put his balisari away. “They’re going to love you in Lobin.”
The week-long journey saw them pass through several small towns. Though most were not much bigger than Harver’s Grove, their streets had been paved with cobblestone and the buildings kept in much better repair. Also, the people themselves seemed cleaner and lacked the downtrodden quality Lem had come to think was typical in Lamoria.
By the fourth day, the relative wealth of Bulvidar was obvious. A good number of people were dressed in extravagant finery, their hands and necks festooned with jewelry, and were conveyed about in elegantly designed horse-drawn carriages.
Martha, Farley explained, had been unable to recover Lem’s coin from Durst, who had probably spent it the day he took it. Nonetheless, he was happy to pay for their rooms and meals.
“Call it an advance,” he said.
* * *
The night
before they were due to arrive in Lobin, they stayed at a small trading post. There were only a few buildings, mostly large warehouses, together with a livery and an inn. Farley explained that it was primarily a place where merchants sold their wares at a discount to avoid paying city tax or purchasing a vendor’s license. Lem pretended to understand what he was talking about, though from the grin on Farley’s face it was clear he’d seen right through him.
That evening, after procuring rooms and eating a hearty meal of lamb and grilled vegetables, they enjoyed a few mugs of ale in the common room. Compared to the swill served at the Oak and Amber, the brew was smooth and refreshing. Even so, Lem preferred wine and switched after his second mug. While they drank, a flautist on a small dais near a brightly burning hearth entertained the patrons. Though the musician was not one whom Lem would consider masterful, he listened carefully, paying special attention to which tunes the crowd enjoyed and those they ignored. Some of them were similar to Vylarian melodies, though not as complex.
Farley tipped the flautist a few coppers before they turned in for the night. Lem noticed there were at least forty or so of these coins in the jar near his feet—about a silver’s worth. This set him wondering. If a musician could make a whole silver over the course of a single evening in a place like this, how much might one be able to make in a large city? Of course, with Farley, he would only be required to play for about an hour each night to clear five silvers. In a tavern he would have to play markedly longer. Though never one to be motivated by wealth, he found himself increasingly eager to get to Lobin. It felt as if it would be the next step to his goal: finding the Thaumas and uncovering the truth behind the dark warning the stranger had issued in Vylari. And while the dream of returning home was little more than a fantasy, the idea could not be set aside as impossible. Nor could seeing Mariyah again.
He recalled experiencing similar feelings when first arriving at Zara’s tavern. But back then he had been completely ignorant of the outside world. He had learned much in a short time, though; enough to temper his anxiety. For now, Farley had been kind to him—perhaps he had even saved his life as much as had Martha. But Lem didn’t know enough about the man to fully trust him yet. After all, most people he had encountered so far, with Martha as a notable exception, were to his mind entirely self-serving. Ultimately, Farley might not prove to be any different.
Lem dismissed these thoughts as a waste of time. He would know soon enough. For now, he was just happy to be away from Harver’s Grove and have a chance to move on. He wondered how Zara had reacted on realizing that he was gone. He hoped Martha had been correct in saying she would not likely remember a thing. Which meant Zara would think Lem had escaped her clutches on his own. A vision of her screaming obscenities and vowing revenge drew a smile.
The night passed quickly by, and he awoke with the tingle of anticipation in his belly.
The trading post was only half a day’s ride from the city. Soon the forest gave way to flat grassland, enabling him to catch his first glimpse of Lobin.
Even when more than an hour away, he could see the buildings rising from behind a long wall spanning well over a mile from east to west. Five colossal black towers capped by gleaming silver domes climbed impossibly high, like fingers reaching up to the heavens from within a mountain of lesser but still impressively tall structures of white and gray.
“You’ve never seen the watchtowers before?” Farley asked, laughing at his opened-mouthed expression.
“I had no idea anything could be so tall.”
Farley simply nodded, offering no further explanation as to their function.
After passing through several intersections, the road broadened enough to accommodate six wagons abreast. Which was just as well, as the way ahead was now packed with hundreds of people traveling in both directions by wagon, carriage, horseback, and foot.
If this many people were outside the city, Lem thought, his excitement mounting, how many must there be within?
A few paved roads shot off from the main highway here and there, along which were built massive two- and three-story houses surrounded by elaborate iron gates. Nearly all boasted spectacular trimmed hedges, neatly manicured lawns, and flower beds that were a riot of color. Dozens of men and women could be seen laboring within the grounds.
“Maybe you can earn enough to buy yourself one,” said Farley, seeing Lem’s interest, though from his tone, he was not being serious.
“I would never need so big a house,” he replied. “How many people live there?”
Farley shrugged. “Depends on the size of the family, I suppose. I guess you could ride up and ask, but I doubt the servants would tell you anything. These are private estates owned by the wealthy and powerful of Lobin. This time of year, the owners mostly stay in the city until the end of the trading season.”
“Trading season?”
Farley laughed. “Were you sheltered as a child? From spring until late fall is when the markets open. The seas are too rough in winter.” Farley gave Lem a long, considering look. “You really were sheltered, weren’t you? Don’t go about saying things like this, or people will start to wonder where you’re from.”
“How do I know what’s the wrong thing to say?”
“If you don’t know, then best say nothing. I don’t mean to frighten you, Lem. Not everyone is a fanatic. But you never know who is. That’s the Archbishop’s power.” He relaxed his posture and smiled. “Just keep to yourself and to the troupe and you won’t have to worry. But if you’re really curious about Lobin, you could go to the library while we’re here.”
“That would be wonderful.” Realizing he sounded a bit too enthusiastic, he added, “I’ve always been interested in history.”
“And yet you seem to know so little about it.”
Lem averted his gaze. Farley seemed a man not easily duped. Surely, he must suspect that there was something different about him. Of course, no one in Harver’s Grove had considered for a moment that he might not be from this world. Thus far he had been thought a noble in hiding; a runaway from the north; from some tribe in the west; plus a few other far-fetched things. And as much as he would have liked to tell Farley the truth, for now he thought it best to stay silent.
The main city gate was flung wide and guarded by half a dozen men dressed in yellow-and-green uniforms, carrying short spears. Three of these were checking random wagons as they passed, though as they were allowing entry after just a quick glance and a few short words, this did not appear to be a particularly stringent process.
Beyond the gate, the street was oddly narrow. The buildings on either side had been built on slightly higher ground, with a low retaining wall placed between the pavement and the promenade. Shops with huge glass windows, their wares hung neatly on display to attract the attention of passersby, were in abundance. On the second floors were narrow balconies with wrought-iron railings, many of which were occupied by people sitting at tables, talking or eating.
“Apartments, mostly,” said Farley, gesturing upward.
Lem realized that he was craning his neck, ignoring the road ahead. “Yes. Of course.”
He needed to stop behaving as if seeing a city for the first time—even if that were the case. The truth was, he had never seen anywhere near so many people in one place. The entire population of Harver’s Grove could not amount to a small fraction of the crowd packing this single avenue.
The dress in Lobin was much more colorful and diverse than the villagers’ had been, mainly greens and reds, though some had shirts and dresses of gold and glimmering silver. Women wore wide-brimmed hats decorated with long plumes, together with sleek form-fitting dresses that had elaborate stitching all along the sides and back. For the men, waist-length jackets and baggy trousers appeared to be the predominant fashion. The residents’ skin ranged as much in variety as did their clothing—some as dark as tree bark, others as pale as milk, and there were a few who had intricate designs painted across their face and hands. These wore b
right blue-and-silver silks, with gold ringlet chains draped over their shoulders and hung around their waists.
Farley laughed over at Lem’s childlike fascination. “Men from the southeast. Nivania, mostly. The markings tell who their family is. Excellent bow-makers. And their wine isn’t bad either.” He pointed to a window of a clothing shop, where a pair of the loose-fitting trousers was hung along with a blue-and-red jacket. “You like those?”
“No,” he admitted. “I prefer my clothes to be better fitted.”
This caused Farley to laugh even harder. “If I was built like you, I would too. Don’t worry, we’ll get you some decent attire tomorrow. Just don’t be wooing the girls in the troupe. Business and romance don’t mix.”
Lem forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”
They threaded their way through the streets, guiding their mounts carefully between the wagons and the multitude of pedestrians. Lem continued to stare around him in wonder, though he tried to keep the gawking subtle at least. As he passed new sight after new sight, he found himself overwhelmed to near tears. There was so much beauty that he had never known, so many people in the world—and it made the stranger’s warning even more dire. Surely the warning was not meant only for Vylari. Which meant this would all be ash if he didn’t find the Thaumas, if they couldn’t stop whatever it was that lay ahead.
Farley cursed, pulling him from his thoughts, as he shouted angrily to those on foot that they should stay on the sidewalk. Most ignored him, though a few shouted obscenities back.
After half an hour, Lem felt completely lost. The buildings started to look the same, and the street signs on the corners meant as a guide were useless without a frame of reference. Ahead, the avenue curved left around a tall bronze statue of a man clad in nothing but a pair of short pants and high boots. In one hand he carried a sword, in the other an axe. His thick wavy beard fell down to the center of his chest as he gazed at the northern sky, mouth twisted into a ferocious snarl. Around the statue’s base had been placed myriad flowers along with offerings of various fruits and nuts.
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