Blood on Bronze (Blood on Bronze Book 1)

by Gillis, Anthony

  “Then I will bring the seers here so that they can place the mark upon you. Now that you have earned the right to know it, my name is Dahu’ud.”

  After what had befallen him, Arjun expected another painful or uncomfortable experience. But instead, the seers, two elderly G’abudim in mostly white clothes, simply traced designs along his forehead with jade wands, and he felt the tingling of magic. As they finished, he felt his eyes grow heavy, and he fell asleep.

  When he opened them, his cot had been moved to the larger room, where the seven seated G’abudim had been joined by seven more in front of them, at the base of the dais, and another twenty-one who stood. The seers and the one in the black-trimmed clothes were among the seated. The marks on their foreheads looked very different. Instead of the faint glimmer of unfamiliar magic, brilliant colors glowed. He saw those standing had the same basic symbol of gold light in a shape that resembled stylized hands holding a rising sun, and he felt, or somehow knew, that his was of that kind. Those seated had symbols of increasing complexity and more color as one approached the elder in the center. The elder himself had many-colored designs that covered his entire brow and the upper part of his face.

  Dahu’ud, whose mark was of gold, red, and green, spoke, “Welcome, Arjun dra Artashad. Tonight you are being watched by all who may need to deal with you, but will be introduced only to those who will give you training. Then, I will teach you some basic needful things. Then you will acquire further knowledge over time. For the first two weeks, do nothing but learn. After that, it will be yours to judge when the time is right to use what you know.

  Arjun bowed, and they began.

  ~

  For the next few days, Arjun crossed the city before dawn to train with the G’abudim in poisons, their use, and the techniques of stealth and self-discipline that went with them. Each night, long after the sun had set, he returned weary. Sometimes Inina was already asleep. When she was awake, she seemed withdrawn. They spoke little. One night, though, she wore a pained expression, intense and mobile, as if water was breaking through a dam.

  “Arjun, this is getting difficult to take.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Seeing you leave every day, gone all day, and I’m trapped here, powerless as to whether you live or die, whether WE are going to live or die!” she said, pain rising in her voice.

  “What can I do? With our baby, you shouldn’t be fighting anymore…”

  “I know! But why should YOU be fighting anymore?”

  “You know the answer to that,” he said, grimly.

  “Maybe I do, as you see it, but why do I have to accept it?”

  “We discussed it, and you agreed,” he said gloomily.

  “Things looked different then. In not long at all, maybe two months, we’re going to have a child Arjun, our child! I don’t know how much longer I can take living like this, hiding here in this little room out of fear…”

  Arjun gnawed at his own thoughts and plans. She did deserve better than this. And how, really, were they going to live like this with a baby? Since his failure rescuing his father, he’d been obsessed with training himself more, and more, for the moment of revenge to come. In the meantime, though, his enemies were also getting stronger.

  He knew too, that despite her love for him, and even if they’d had no child, this was his fight not hers, and there was some part of her, a growing part, that would be more than happy to flee the city and make a new life somewhere they didn’t have to hide in fear for their lives every day. And he couldn’t blame her.

  But… and he hardened his thoughts, there was no way, none, that he would run like that, not while Bal-Shim lived, and as the man was constantly under heavy guard, with magic, that wouldn’t be easy. Inina had finished speaking, and was waiting on him.

  “Two weeks, my love, give me two weeks, and I’ll finish this.”

  She looked at him with unhappy resignation, and curled up on their bed.

  As he sadly watched her drift off to sleep, Arjun considered what he could do. He had first to finish his initial training with the G’abudim. Then, he would need to search out Bal-Shim’s home, if he could. He’d been there before, but only to the audience hall, and there was much he would need to know, when the time came. While the specific path he’d have to follow would depend on what he found, he had no doubt of what would ultimately be required, and the tools he’d need. It was the reason, from the beginning, he’d wanted certain of the magics he’d asked Shirin to teach him. Soon, for good or ill, that time would come.

  ~

  It was a black night. Rain fell in scattered waves as heavy clouds hung overhead. The air was fresh and the wind blew. In the darkness, Arjun approached the house of Bal-Shim iru Shulggi. In the deep shadows of the alley, he had put on black clothes and darkened his skin with ashes. He carried a knife and a small kit of gear. Beings of darkness gathered round him in mute curiosity. From the darkness, he surveyed the back walls of Bal-Shim’s compound. There was a faint crackle of magic along the parapets. A guard in full armor walked above, with a spear at his shoulder.

  Arjun waited for the man to pass around to the other side, crept to the base of the wall. Bal-Shim had kept it well-maintained and too smooth to climb unaided. Arjun studied the enchantment on the parapet, saw it included Abjuration to disable magics of those trying to cross it, as well as Conjuration connected with sound, likely an alarm. He silently made the appropriate Words of Opening, and a section of enchantment vanished. He threw up a thin knotted rope with a hook. Like the rest of his gear, the rope was blackened with ash. He climbed up swiftly and pulled the rope up behind him as he crouched in the shadows. The guard stopped for a moment, looking around slowly, as if he’d heard or thought he’d seen something. Arjun pressed himself flat against floor along the parapet, deep in shadows. The guard started walking again.

  As the guard went around, Arjun dropped to the flat roof of a storehouse, itself piled with yet more goods, hid and got a look at things. As with many other homes along the Street of Flame, Bal-Shim’s was constructed with a great house in three stories, and a courtyard and outbuildings of two. However, Arjun could see that instead of the usual open air workshops, Bal-Shim now had storerooms with heavy bronze-bound doors lining his courtyard, and out in the courtyard itself were towering piles of goods stacked under tarps. The thief had acquired a lot of loot in recent months.

  Arjun could also see the glow of wards at every door, and more at the doors and windows of the great house. One of those doors was at the bottom of some deep shadowed stairs, and went into what must be the vaults under the house. There was a dim light coming from a first floor room next to what could only be the kitchen, it had open windows, and inside he could see a long table. Around it sat a few men in plain kilts, plates and cups before them.

  Arjun slipped to the ground on a narrow ladder between two storehouses, then crept from shadow to shadow among the stacks of goods. He found a spot where he could both see and listen. The dozen men inside were talking about work and events in the city. Arjun thought it was odd of Bal-Shim that in a group of servants that large, none were women. However, he then noted something more important. One of the servants, dressed a bit better than most, looked almost identical to him in size and build. His face was similar as well, looking like Arjun as he was… before, clean shaven and wearing bronze, though with a big higher bridged a nose and a broader forehead. Still, it was very strange. He studied the man’s mannerisms, his walk, and the way he spoke.

  “Dur-Enki… you’re always in the know. C’mon tell us what the old man’s got in the works!” said one of the others.

  A large man with a rougher look, and a kilt with bronze plates answered, “That doesn’t mean I can tell you, but don’t worry, doesn’t Bal-Shim take good care of his own?”

  The others laughed their approval, and raised their drinks. One of them spoke in a voice like gravel, “To good pay, easy loot, and Master Bal-Shim!”

  Dur-Enki and the oth
ers gave a rough and enthusiastic cheer, then gulped their wine.

  Then the one who looked like Arjun seemed to let curiosity get the better of him, and spoke again, “But you know you can trust us, especially me – I’m the master’s personal valet and food taster, don’t you think he trusts me? It won’t hurt to tell where they’re gonna hit next.”

  Dur-Enki made a rough chuckling laugh, “Hedu, those are different kinds of trust. And if Bal-Shim wanted you to know, he’d have told you himself. Besides, much as I like you and respect the guts it takes to do your job, it still mystifies me why he hired you on what I hear is rich pay instead of rounding up an urchin or some cheap reject from the slaver auctions.”

  He continued, sweeping his gaze around the room, “You’ll all find out soon enough, when the loot rolls in. If you’re lucky, we might get a girl to pass around before they sell her off. In the meantime, the master’s got something that should ease your minds… a big party in a week, for all of us in the crews, you in the household, and even a few of his favorites from the vigilance committees. Now, somebody pour me another drink.”

  Arjun’s skin crawled at the idea that Bal-Shim must have hired a personal servant, with the dangerous job of food taster, on the basis of looking like him. Still he thought, it was an important piece of information, and considered how to use it.

  Carefully avoiding the guard, Arjun scaled back up the ladder and the wall, then over the parapet where he reversed his Words of Opening and allowed magic to flow back through the gap in the protective enchantments. Then he slipped away into the night.

  18. The Tale of Bitter Fruit

  Crossing the city some days later from the G’abudim quarter, Arjun talked to one of Inina’s shady contacts. The man shared that he had heard rumors that the city believed Enlil iru Heb was connected with Arjun, whom he knew as Sharur, and thought that trouble would soon be on its way for the weapon master. Arjun thanked the man, paid him well, and walked as fast as he could without breaking into a run. Enlil had been a harsh trainer, and never one for words, but he’d taught Arjun well. That teaching had saved Arjun’s life more than once, and now he reflected on how much gratitude, respect, and even friendship he felt for the grim older man. However out of place it might seem to Enlil himself, wanted to tell him. But first he had to try to keep his trainer alive, and that meant warning him.

  At Enlil’s house however, something terrible had happened. Arjun saw the city guards from a distance, hoped that no one was around who might see through his beggar’s disguise, and continued forward as slowly as he dared with that many guards glaring angrily about. For in front of the house were a full dozen of them, some wounded. On the ground beside them they were piling, with the help of some of people’s watchmen, the bodies of eighteen more of their fellows. Next to them were the bodies of Enlil and his formidable doorman.

  “Filthy dog!” cursed one of the guards, as he kicked Enlil’s corpse. Other guards snarled and joined in, kicking the body or jabbing it with their spears.

  Another guard growled to their captain, who stood by with a gloomy expression, “They didn’t even say anything! Just fought us silently to the end…”

  Arjun’s mind reeled. His grim old master, who’d trained him tirelessly, mercilessly, and well, was dead. Killed, murdered by these men! Only by intense force of will did he keep himself from giving any visible sign of what he felt. He walked onward. There was another disturbing touch to the scene, one that it took Arjun a moment to recognize. That captain wore a whip at his belt. He’d never once in all his life seen a city guardsmen armed with the weapon of masters over slaves, and his blood ran cold thinking of what it might mean.

  “Hey!” yelled one of the auxiliaries, “I know that rat! See that beggar there, he’s actually a young man, calls himself Sharur! No way he’s up to any good sneaking around like that!”

  Arjun remembered the voice, one or another of Inina’s “friends” from her thieving days, who now must have another line of work. As he thought this, he was already accelerating into a run. Weary guards muttered curses, and some of them followed. The people’s watchmen, who looked and sounded too fresh to have been in the fight in Enlil’s house, enthusiastically chased after Arjun, howling like a mob.

  Arjun darted down a side street, then an alley. He could hear the sounds of pursuit, and someone was blaring a trumpet over and over. He muttered curses under his breath, knowing he’d have to lose these pursuers before he dared go home. He hoped he could. He made a winding course southward, away from Inina and toward the wharf district and the middle harbor. It went on for hours. Considering he hadn’t even been accused of anything in particular, it was a testament both the apparent fanaticism of the watchmen, and to the mood of fear and suspicion now hanging over the city.

  At last, however, far to the south of where he’d been, he escaped his pursuers and the other bands of watchmen who’d joined them. He found he was near the cape that divided the middle and east harbors, an area favored by sailors and ship captains. He forced down the pain he felt at the death and cruelty dealt to Enlil, let nothing show, and channeled it into bitter resolve. He crept back north parallel to the caravan road, then took the long along the fringes of the great bazaar and the plaza, then crossed the great road and in the narrow streets between it and the Street of Vipers. Hours more had passed, and it was now late on a cool night. The streets were nearly empty. Ahead was the House of Red, and his little home with Inina.

  But then he saw his miseries had just begun.

  In front of the House of Red was a pair of city guards, flanking the cramped doorway. He felt bitter cold entering his mind. There was only one reason they’d be there like that. Right or not, he went straight towards them. At first they ignored him, and he remembered he still looked like a dirty beggar in rags, a harmless fool at worst. As he kept coming, one of them looked at him curiously, hand at his belt and his sheathed sword. He had his shield slung on his back, and a spear resting against the wall.

  “Hey you, filth, get back! This place is off limits…” the man said, his speech cut off as Arjun’s sword pierced his windpipe. The other man wheeled in shock, drawing his sword. Arjun was faster, and lunged forward, running his sword clean through the guard’s waist, then pulling it out as he doubled over, bringing it round, and with a chopping motion from above nearly severing the man’s head.

  There was a shriek of horror from somewhere out on the street. Arjun ignored it and raced inside. Lurshiga was nowhere around, nor anyone else. Benches and stools were piled against one wall, and goods from the kitchen were assembled in a pile on the other. There was a lamp on the floor by the entrance. Three of Bal-Shims watchmen looked to have gotten the duty of hauling Lurshiga’s wine amphorae from their niches and to a pile near the door, but they’d stopped and were squatting in a little circle on the floor drinking some of the wine.

  Arjun kicked the lamp over, and it went out. The three men were already rising, but then stumbled blinded as their eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. But to Arjun it was all the same. As the watchmen clumsily reached for their spears and clubs, he cut them down like so much wheat. Without further thought of them, he ran toward the stairs. His heart raced as panic and rage battled for control of his mind. Down the stairs came two more guards with drawn swords, in a hurry as if they’d heard the shriek. One of them was a sergeant with silver and copper trim on his kilt and cloak. Like the captain from earlier, he had a whip at his belt.

  Seeing Arjun, the guards charged. He dove low, dodged the downward slash of the ordinary guardsman, and brought his own sword back around to sever the tendons of one of the man’s legs. The sergeant wheeled to face him, but Arjun brought up his free hand and loosed a gout of flame a foot long into the man’s face. The sergeant roared in pain and staggered back. Arjun glanced at the other guardsman. He was trying to rise, his head tiled forward and exposing a gap between his helmet and his armor. Arjun brought the point of his sword down into that gap, and the man dropped like a sto
ne. Then he turned again to the sergeant who was clutching his burned and blinded face. Arjun gave him another blast of fire through the neck, and the man fell dead.

  Before he hit the ground, Arjun was racing up the stairs.

  On the upper floors, rooms had been emptied and their meager furniture piled in the hallways. Arjun spared a half-second’s consideration that the place must have been searched from top to bottom. He didn’t slow or stop, and raced to his room at the end of the top floor hallway. The door was open. He felt his world go black. Inside, things had been ransacked even more thoroughly than the rest of the place. The window however was still closed and barred. There were signs of a fight, and blood.

  Arjun yelled in fury. He wheeled around the room, sword out, not knowing what to do next. Then he stopped, forced his terror and rage back down, and considered what he had to do next. First was to listen, he thought he could hear commotion downstairs. No doubt, he thought, guards were on the way in force. Second, he had to see if their secret had been found. He looked in the hidden corner alcove. It was open. He leaned in and checked the false floor they’d added, it was still there. He moved it aside, and there was the red granite seal stone, on its string. He grabbed it, put it around his neck, and immediately went to the window. He unbarred it. He could hear the sound of yells, clanking metal, and many running feet below on the second floor.

  He climbed onto the sill of the window, tensed himself, and made the desperate leap across the narrow alley to the flat-roofed building there. He almost missed, grabbed hold of the little parapet, pulled himself up, and raced across, then leapt, at full speed, over higher wall of the next building in line. Behind him, he could hear yells from the open window. As he raced from roof to roof away from the fading lantern light, the stars looked deceptively beautiful overhead.

  ~

  Arjun hoped he was right. Hoped the guards had prisoners and were taking them back to the citadel. There had been no bodies, and no trails of blood, so Inina, Lurshiga, and whoever else might be alive. He reasoned that if they were, they’d probably use a cart, maybe with a prison cage. That meant they’d go slowly. They would likely take the most direct route back, following the Street of Vipers to the great road, then across the plaza, but avoiding the bazaar and instead going through one of the two main east-west roads across the inn and tavern district.