by Jon F. Merz
“You’re rather quiet,” said Iqban.
“I’m just thinking about how many ways I could kill you,” said Ran.
Iqban laughed. “You won’t get the chance, I’m afraid. Once I’m rewarded by the Mung for my assistance in helping them initiate their attack on Zal, I’ll sell you to them and take my leave. I’m thinking this part of the world might be a little too violent for my taste for some time to come. Perhaps a journey farther west is advisable.”
“Why would you say that?”
“The Mung aren’t the only people with designs of conquest. There are others far more powerful than the Mung who have long eyed the southern realms with envy and desire. I’ve heard rumors of a massive army to the north of these very mountains that is massing as we speak.”
Ran’s ears perked up. Was it true? “Rumors are just that. You don’t know for certain, though, do you?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Iqban, “I have it from several reliable sources that the army is on the move already. The weather is against them, however. They will need access to the Passage of Harangyo in order to make their way south. At this time of year, the snows and ice may block the passage and keep them from coming. But such delays are only temporary. When the spring thaws come, they will be ready to pour south and decimate any that would oppose them.”
“Who rules this northern army?”
Iqban grunted. “A fair question, and one I do not know the answer to. If I thought they would be amenable to some type of arrangement whereby I sold them slaves, then perhaps I might go north myself and try to establish contact.” He paused. “But from what I’ve heard about them through bits and pieces of information, they do not seem as welcoming as the Mung.”
“Sorry you won’t have a chance to do business with them,” said Ran dryly.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Iqban. “I will be well paid by the Mung, doubly so when I sell you to them.” He paused. “Now turn to the right and head down that tunnel. We are arriving.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The entrance to the Mung kingdom looked nowhere near as grand as the iron door Zal had constructed for his own domain. The entrance was simply a rough-hewn opening manned by a trio of guards. Flickering torches of blue set into braziers nearby cast shadows over the guards and made them look, despite their small stature, more intimidating than they might otherwise appear. They wore bits of mail armor pieced together with leather straps and some sort of coarse tunic fabric underneath. Humanoid in appearance, their eyes were bigger and their mouths were full of teeth that were either naturally pointed or had been ground that way on purpose. Ran figured that they must look a sight when they smiled.
Iqban stopped a few meters short of the entrance when one of the guards challenged them in a guttural language Ran had never heard before. Iqban answered in kind, although it was obvious to Ran that the slaver had only recently learned the appropriate answer phrase, as he still struggled with pronouncing it. Regardless of his clumsy attempt, the guards seemed satisfied and allowed them to pass. As they did so, Ran felt their eyes roving over him and he wondered if they were trying to imagine what he tasted like. He shuddered at the thought, but then quickly pushed it out of his mind.
One of the guards assumed a position in front of Ran and led them down a narrow passageway that Ran and Iqban had to stoop a bit to get through. Farther on it opened up, but not until Ran realized they had just passed through a kill zone put there especially to force invaders into an uncomfortable position. He spotted ledges high above, no doubt there were archers who would be able to pick off invaders with ease as they struggled to get through the cramped confines of the tunnel leading inside.
“There aren’t many of the Mung about right now,” said Iqban. “I’m assuming most of them are helping with the invasion of Zal’s domain.”
“So we’ll be forced to wait?” asked Ran. He felt at the knots that bound his wrists. Iqban had done an admirable job of tying them together, and reaching most of the knots themselves would prove difficult. Certainly he wouldn’t be able to work himself free while Iqban was behind him. But if they got some time to rest somewhere, Ran would be able to work himself free. Even if the knots themselves were out of reach, he had other methods for freeing his limbs and regaining his freedom.
“I don’t know,” answered Iqban. “The king himself may be overseeing the invasion. Or he might have been inclined to let one of his generals lead the assault. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Once the Mung have finished killing Zal’s army, they’ll come back here for a celebratory meal. We’ll have an audience soon thereafter.”
“And what sort of food gets served at this celebratory meal?” Ran still had images in his mind of the Mung devouring the unfortunate souls they had killed.
“About what you’d expect,” said Iqban. “They are, after all, cannibals. I’d consider it a fair expectation that any prisoners they might have taken will be killed over the feasting fires and then served up to the Mung soldiers for their meal. They may also dine on live prisoners. I saw it happen once before.”
“And yet you have no qualms about being here to do business with these creatures.” Ran shook his head. “I can’t believe that you’re that much of a lover of money that you would do business with such a people.”
“Just because they don’t necessarily share my belief system doesn’t mean they don’t have the right to free trade.” Iqban laughed. “I think you’ll find that I am very pragmatic when it comes to the idea of making money.”
“Pragmatic?”
“Surely. I don’t care where my customers come from. I don’t care what they might do in my absence. If their business is good, then we can have a relationship. It’s that simple.”
“It’s rather nauseating,” said Ran. “That a man such as yourself would care so little about the people he does business with. Don’t you have any honor?”
Iqban nudged him in the back, and Ran felt his ribs ache again. “Honor is for fools. And I am no fool. I’m a businessman.”
“Thankfully, the world is not run by businessmen,” said Ran.
Iqban only laughed. “Of course it is. But the common people only see the what we want them to see. We give you your kings and queens and clerics and mages and other bastions of supposed power. But the real authority comes from those who control the flow of money. Without trade and commerce, even the strongest king will fall. Without the exchange of goods, no army can stand. Without the merchants, there is no life at all. We might bow and scrape before the figureheads we’ve installed in power, but we only do that to perpetrate the illusion of power. We control it all. We rule the world.”
“Only until the illusion is shattered.”
Iqban shrugged as they turned down a side tunnel to the left. “I doubt that will ever happen.”
“It will,” said Ran. “And your undoing will be your endless greed. The same greed that has brought you to this very point. If you lose sight of providing a service for others and only fixate on the end result—money—then you will certainly perish.”
“You know little of the real world, Ran from Nehon. While I admire your tenacity and attempts to sway my thinking, they are for naught. Shortly, we will be presented to the Mung king, and then your fate will be sealed. It is out of my hands even now. As soon as we entered the Mung kingdom, your destiny was no longer mine to control. I’ve made my deals already. All that is left now is for the Mung to live up to their end of our bargain.”
“And what if they don’t? What if they double-cross you?”
“It’s always a risk,” said Iqban. “But the Mung are always steadfast in their bargaining.”
“You’d better hope that’s true,” said Ran. “Otherwise you might end up on someone’s dinner plate.”
The Mung guard drew himself to a halt next to a room with an ornate door encrusted with jewels. He paused once, and then knocked. From inside, a guttural bark came in response. The Mung guard opened the door and then gestured that Iqban and R
an should enter. As they did, the guard waited and then closed the door behind them.
Inside the room, oil lamps blazed and illuminated the entire area. Iqban stepped forward and presented himself to the squat Mung seated on a simple carpet of lavish silken fabrics. With his legs crossed in front of him, and bedecked as he was in golden robes, it almost appeared that the little man was levitating. But the expression on his face was severe and anything but welcoming. Even when he saw Iqban, his demeanor did not change. Ran found himself wondering if the Mung had any intention of honoring their agreement. For the moment, he hoped they would, if only to give Ran more time to escape.
The Mung king, thought Ran, if this was even him, looked somewhat confused by Iqban’s appearance. The leader’s eyes rolled over Ran and did not stop. This didn’t surprise Ran at all. He had been trained to be as unremarkable in his appearance as possible. Unlike the dramatic stature of other warriors, Shinobujin were trained to be the type of people you might pass on the street and then forget five seconds later. That was where their real invisibility came from, not some mystical magic.
“Iqban,” said the Mung king.
Iqban lowered himself on one bent knee and bowed his head. “Zaqil.”
“I was not expecting to see you again.”
The Mung king did not appear to have trouble with the Common Tongue, although his speech was slower than Ran had expected. He wondered how a people that lived underground had come to learn it. Was Iqban their first contact with the upper world?
“I had reason to come back, Zaqil,” said Iqban. He turned and gestured to Ran. “I thought you might find some use with this one here.”
Zaqil’s eyes once more roved over Ran, this time stopping and pausing every so often. Ran felt like a piece of food being appraised for its taste. “Why would I have any interest in him, aside from possibly eating him? Is there something special about him?”
“Indeed,” said Iqban. “He is valuable to many of the lords that rule in the upper world. They would pay most handsomely for him.”
Zaqil shrugged. “So you take him then. What purpose would I have in retaining such a man? We have no need for money. We mine the earth’s deepest treasures and feast upon those who covet them. The ransoming of this man would hardly make us any wealthier or more powerful than we already are.”
“This man is what is known as a shadow warrior. He is an expert at infiltration and the gathering of secrets. He is a formidable fighter in combat. I believe you would find him extremely useful even if you did not wish to ransom him.”
Zaqil sighed. “Whose secrets do I need to steal?”
“Those of your enemies. As soon as you begin your conquest of the upper world, you are certain to run into many who would see you dead. A man like this could serve you well.”
“Or a man like this could be served well,” Zaqil laughed. “Frankly, Iqban, he looks far less impressive than you have described him thus far.” Zaqil turned to Ran. “Is what this man says about you true? Are you really one of these shadow warriors?”
Zaqil had no attendants with him. There were no guards, either. Ran found this fact unsettling. But he also figured that if he lied, it might simply make Zaqil more inclined to kill him and serve him up as dinner. Ran glanced at Iqban. The slaver was already dead in Ran’s mind. Zaqil, too, would not live to ever see the upper world or his dreams of conquest.
“I am known as a Shinobujin,” said Ran. “What the outside world calls a shadow warrior.” He took a breath. “I was captured during one of my missions and brought into the catacombs of the one known as Zal for the purposes of slave labor.”
“Zal,” spat Zaqil. “That damned fool. We still have yet to locate him. My forces have combed most of the tunnels and catacombs there and still he eludes us.” He sighed and looked back at Iqban. “So what do you want to do, Iqban, sell me this man?”
“Ideally,” said Iqban. “I also need safe passage back to the upper world. I do have other business to conduct up there.”
Zaqil eyed Ran again. “I will need proof that this man is worth any sort of money at all. I’m not foolish enough to take a slaver’s word, especially one who seems keenly concerned for his own wealth and welfare.”
Iqban bowed low. “I would not be much of a merchant if I was not concerned with my safety first. How else would I be able to serve my loyal customers?”
Zaqil shook his head. “Save your silly talk for those who would believe such things. I am not one of them. If we are to come to a bargain for this man, I will do so only after I see an example of his prowess. You say he is good at fighting? Then let us see that for ourselves.”
Ran frowned. With his ribs injured, his skills in combat would be a notch lower than normal. He placed one hand on his ribs and then winced. The injury was still tender. “I am injured. You may not be as impressed with me as you would be otherwise.”
Zaqil regarded him. “Your ribs are broken?”
“I was thrown against the walls of a tunnel fighting a large creature. Yes, they are broken.”
“I will have my doctors put a plaster on you that will lend some degree of support. And you will be given something for the pain. Otherwise, you will be expected to fight as normal. Do you have a preference for the type of weapons you will use?”
“No weapons,” said Ran. “I will fight the Mung of your choosing, but we will do so unarmed. Is that agreeable to you?”
Zaqil leaned back almost in surprise. “That is most agreeable, actually. I have not seen a contest of unarmed fighting skill in many years. I think it will be wonderful.” He turned to Iqban. “You will stay here until after the bout. If this man wins, then I will pay you for him.” Zaqil clapped his hands, and the door opened instantly. He looked at Ran. “You will be taken to a cell where my doctors will examine you and give you treatment, as well as food. You may also rest there for a short period of time. The contest will commence in half a day.”
Ran nodded. “Very well. Whom will I fight?”
Zaqil smiled. “You will fight me. As leader of the Mung, it is my responsibility. There are others among my troops who are mighty warriors, but as king, I surpass them all. You will meet me in the cavern of combat in twelve hours’ time. Then we will see if Iqban here is telling me the truth about who you are.”
“So, if I win, you buy me from him?”
“Yes,” said Zaqil. “You will serve me unless I decide to sell you to some lord in the upper world.”
“And what happens if I lose?”
Zaqil looked at Iqban and then back at Ran. “Then I will have no choice but to assume you are not who Iqban says you are. In which case, I will have you both trussed and cooked over a roaring fire while we feast upon your flesh.” He smiled at Iqban. “For your sake, he’d better be as good as you claim.”
Ran glanced at Iqban, but the slaver’s face looked white as a sail.
Ran almost smiled.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
One of the Mung guards led Ran away from Zaqil’s reception chamber and guided him down another tunnel for some distance. Ran tried counting his footsteps to get a vague measure of the distance, but his head was beginning to hurt from a lack of food. All day long he’d been getting energy from the spikes of adrenaline in his blood, but it was beginning to catch up with him. He felt waves of sleepiness wash over him and a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Still, the promise of food and medical attention lifted his spirits. It would absolutely aid in his escape plans, and the thought of being able to sleep for a few hours buoyed his spirits immensely. While he was going to be fighting for his life, Ran wasn’t too concerned about it just yet. As long as he bested Zaqil, he would live a little bit longer.
That was, if Ran even decided to go along with the bout.
There was an argument to be made for taking the medical attention and food and then making a break for it. With most of the Mung forces occupied with the invasion, Ran might encounter less resistance as he fought his way free. But the counter to that argum
ent was that he desperately needed rest and recuperation time. He was barely able to keep from nodding off right now as it was, and the number of fights he’d had already had taxed his system to its limits. The opportunity for food, medicine, and rest meant that he would be in much better shape for his eventual escape.
Of course, he still had to take down Zaqil. The confidence with which the king had chosen to fight Ran was a little unsettling, and Ran had never fought someone of the king’s stature before. But the same principles that had allowed him to survive as long as he had would no doubt prove useful in this contest as well.
The Mung guard drew to a halt in front of far less ornate door and bid Ran enter. As Ran ducked his head and entered the room, he saw that it was appointed with a large bed piled high with deep cushions. There were already two Mung attendants inside. One of them motioned for Ran to sit down in the chair nearby.
“I will tend to your injury,” he said in halting common tongue. Then he slid the bindings off of Ran’s hands.
Ran winced as he lifted the tunic and inspected his ribs, poking and prodding as he did so. But it wasn’t overly rough and Ran appreciated the apparent care with which the doctor checked him over. He made a few comments in the Mung language and then looked at Ran. “Only one is broken. The others are bruised.”
That was good news. One broken rib was a lot less serious than four. And while they would all hurt, Ran felt much better about his health than he had earlier.
The doctor ordered him to sit still as he applied a wet dressing of gauze and some sort of ointment over it. “This will harden and help ease some pain.”
“Thank you,” said Ran.
The doctor gestured for the other Mung in the room to hand Ran a draught of some type. “This potion will also eliminate any pain you are feeling. Be careful with your ribs and don’t forget to try to keep them as immobile as possible.”
Ran smiled. “I’m supposed to fight Zaqil in a few hours. I don’t know how immobile I’m going to be able to keep them.”
