Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity

by Scott Rhine

  The lieutenant winced as he explained, “I’m sorry, ma’am, we can’t get any messages to the Prefect; he’s at least three days west and a little north from here. The front is moving as fast as our men can walk.”

  Sajika blinked. “You know exactly where he is, but claim you can’t contact him? How is that?”

  The tall, skinny man to her right whispered in the ambassador’s ear and the garrison commander closed his eyes, waiting for the blade. “This town is home to many of the messenger birds carried with the army as it advanced,” explained Pinetto. “When released, they always know how to fly back here to their nests. However, the reverse is not true. They wouldn’t know how to take a message to someone at a random location in the countryside. Normally this isn’t charssue because the field commander travels with the battlefront, and he already knows what’s happening there. Everyone else just has to take orders.”

  Sajika raised an eyebrow. “That makes sense. But how do you know this?”

  Pinetto shrugged and said in civil tones, “The king of Zanzibos made the same sort of complaint to my father once.”

  Sajika seemed to take this in stride. The lieutenant risked opening one eye. “The king, you say? Who are you, sir?”

  The ambassador barked, “You’re not cleared for that information, soldier. If he told you, I could order you killed. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “What’s the farthest town west you can contact?” asked Pinetto.

  “Myrtlebridge was just secured yesterday,” responded the garrison leader without hesitation.

  Pinetto looked at Sajika and said, “It’d be faster than walking, Ambassador.”

  She nodded and snapped more orders at the cowering lieutenant. “Get me current charts of the shoreline between here and there, and send notice of our mission to that outpost.”

  “You’re leaving?” squeaked the lieutenant.

  “As soon as we get those charts and some decent food. Blast, I’m tired of dried fish.” After dismissing him, she turned her attention to the smith and Pinetto. “Next landfall, you will both wear your Kiateran dress uniforms and behave in a manner befitting honor guards of the Babliosian diplomatic corps.” Sajika then proceeded to provide them with a long and detailed list of what that responsibility meant. When the smith argued that shaving was not feasible on a boat, he received another long lecture about the structure of military command.

  When she relented, the two had to stand at attention while she availed herself of a moment of privacy in the officer’s latrine. As they accompanied her back down to the dock, the smith startled her by saying, “Ambassador, I’ve given a lot of thought to something you said earlier, and you’re right.”

  This stopped Sajika in her tracks, both because she had considered him incapable of much thought and because men rarely conceded her innate correctness.

  With both companions listening, the smith continued. “Pinetto has no weapons whatsoever. As far as I know, he has no training or inclination to use them. He’s a scholar who hasn’t raised his fist to another human being his entire life. While that’s a commendable characteristic for a human being, we’re heading into an active war zone. If we don’t do something to rectify this problem, one of us is likely to end up dead before we even meet the Prefect.”

  Sajika wrinkled her brow. “Did he just use the word ‘rectify’?”

  The astronomer nodded. “He uses a lot of big words. He saves them up sometimes to surprise you when you least expect it.”

  “Damn, that means he’s right, too,” said Sajika. Then she asked Pinetto, “Do you have any military expertise at all? Did any of your classes touch on the subject?”

  Pinetto rubbed his chin. “Well, I oncebuilt a scale model of a catapult. I got pretty good at aiming it. It relies on equations I learned in my celestial-mechanics class.”

  She interrupted him. “Have you ever harvested or threshed grain?”

  Pinetto looked puzzled as to why this would be relevant to a member of the court turned astronomer. “No.”

  “Fished?”

  The smith answered for him. “He doesn’t like to hit them on the head or eat anything he’s seen moving.”

  Pinetto added, “He was wrong about one thing, though. I did try to punch someone once—a bully. Of course, I broke my hand on the first swing, but he never bothered me again.”

  Sajika sighed and rubbed her right temple. “Have you ever successfully competed against a person in any physical way?”

  “Running.”

  “You’re a blasted officer and you can’t do anything lethal?” she shouted.

  Pinetto crossed his arms, offended. “I don’t remember a question to that effect in my entrance interview.”

  “He’s not totally useless,” the smith said.

  “As long as it doesn’t involve hand-eye coordination,” Sajika countered.

  “I’m quite good at skipping stones, I’ll have you know,” Pinetto said. To redeem his manhood, he found a suitable flat rock on the shore. “I’ll hit that sign over there, just watch.” At least five splashes later, they heard the faint sounds of rock hitting wood. “Ha, told you.”

  Sajika blinked, stunned. No one else had even seen the target.

  The smith explained, “He’s far-sighted with night vision. I thought you figured that out on the trip here.”

  Sajika said to the smith, “A natural forward scout. Can he move quietly?”

  The smith nodded. “With motivation. He could be deadly with oil, but that might be a bit hard on his sensitivities. Perhaps you could train him with one of those spinning weapons you throw. Those could be non-lethal but useful. Give him a staff and we could tell everyone he was the secret police officer.”

  “There’s a lot more to being a police officer than carrying a certain weapon,” she countered.

  “Like what?” the astronomer wanted to know.

  “Disguise, surveillance, religious mysteries, massage…”

  “Massage?”

  She nodded. “You’d be surprised what people will tell you after a good rub.” Both men bit their lips to avoid comment. She continued to explain. “There are many points in the body that can cause or alleve pain. A master can disable a suspect with a single touch and not leave a mark. Remember, soldiers kill. We’re interested in information.”

  The smith replied, “Or misinformation. His appearance might help draw attention away from you so that you can do your job more easily.”

  The ambassador allowed a small smile to escape. “Perhaps.”

  The smith suppressed a grin of his own. He attempted to make up for some of the ill will by giving the woman an excuse she had been looking for all along. “Of course, the downside is that he’d have to spend a lot of time with you training.”

  She took the idea under advisement as they resumed their walk. After a few moments, the ambassador said, “We’ve heard all my secrets and poor Pinetto’s. What about yours, Defender of the Realm?”

  Baran Togg scuffed his feet, unwilling to share anything embarrassing. Pinetto had no such qualms. “He couldn’t sneak up on someone if his life depended on it.”

  The officer turned her penetrating gaze on the smith. He mumbled, “I’m sure it’s part of the working of the blade of Miracles. Other people’s swords can’t come near me when I hold it. But I also can’t tolerate an enemy of Kiateros in my presence. It gets… ahem… agitated.”

  “A two-edged sword, is it? Useful information to have, but I’ll keep it to myself. I’ll keep all of your secrets, just as I expect you to keep all of mine. Understood?” Both men agreed. Eventually she decided that Pinetto’s education would be necessary for the success of the mission. The trio was quiet as they returned to the courier boat. The requested charts and a twenty-pound, smoked ham were both on the courier’s deck when they arrived. Rank did have its privileges.

  ****

  The trip to Myrtlebridge and their late-morning disembarkation there passed without incident. Neverth
eless, the group had to search both sea and land for some sign of hostile activity. They were now on the front lines.

  When the ambassador’s retinue arrived at the tiny, newly captured fishing village, they found only a handful of Babliosian guards. While the rest of the courier ship’s crew stretched and took advantage of the luxuries of land for a while, they sent the runner ahead with his message tube. The pilot was sorry to see them go, but without their aide and protection, he needed to return as soon as possible to the safety of Cardinado. He clapped Pinetto on the back as he said his farewell. “You’re a fine fellow for an officer. You’ll always be welcome on any vessel of mine or my family’s.”

  “That’s the most you’ve said since we met,” Pinetto replied.

  “Aye. I’m just sorry you’ll be spending all your time with that stuck-up harpy.”

  Pinetto blinked. “I don’t know. I think she smells nice enough.”

  After the pilot departed, the two men changed into full-dress gear. The smith conceded the necessity. “Our guide says it should be a seven- to ten-hour walk for us to catch up to the main body of the army. The runner should get there in about half the time. We’ll need to look nice for the men in brass buttons. I just hope we don’t get too muddy.” He nodded at the threat of dark clouds on the horizon.

  “It could miss us,” said Pinetto. The smith snorted at the misplaced optimism.

  The trio and their lone guide were ready to set off in short order. Before they took the narrow road into possible battle, Pinetto offered to make a poultice for Sajika’s raw neck.

  “No time,” she insisted.

  He took the black, silk sash from his old outfit over to the Ambassador. Shyly, he offered it to her. “If you wear this around your neck, it won’t chafe anymore.”

  Sajika looked at him and whispered, “Thanks,” as she donned it.

  Their guide said to the sword-bearer, “I thought it was the maiden that offered a favor to the knight.”

  Baran Togg didn’t laugh at his friend’s gesture. “You take point, and I’ll pull up the rear. No mouth to either one of them. She represents your kingdom, and he’s saved my life more times than I care to mention. You will show respect and you will stay alert. If anything happens to either one of them because you missed an ambush, worry about me more than the enemies.” The guide swallowed and took his place with no further comment.

  The ex-mercenary was in his element again, feeling in control of the situation for the first time in weeks. At the outset, they made fair time because Pinetto’s long legs enabled him to compensate for his lack of road experience. But Sajika was not accustomed to such a pace. Her new boots rubbed blisters on her feet, and they had to stop several times to try different padding. Pinetto sometimes added more breaks for her by asking for tips on how to throw the bolo. He had the basics down by lunch.

  To help make up time, the smith distributed most of her belongings among the men in the group. A few things she would not let anyone touch. Without a heavy load to carry, she moved faster. As darkness neared, Baran Togg was searching for a good place to camp for the night.

  His planning was interrupted by a cry from their guide. “Friend!” A hand of the Prefect’s soldiers had come back to escort them to the vanguard. Sajika took a formal message roll from their commander and read it. Reining in her exhaustion and pain she said, “We’re honored. For some reason, the generals have halted the army early for the day. I don’t know whether it was because of the bad weather or because he wants to meet us as soon as possible. Either way, the Prefect awaits our arrival.”

  “It’s only two hours more at a march, sir,” encouraged the commander.

  “I could go on ahead and…,” began the smith.

  Sajika silenced him with a chopping motion in the air and put on her best mask.

  As their guide turned back down the road toward Myrtlebridge, one of the soldiers asked him, “If she’s such an important diplomat, why did they only send one guard?”

  The guide’s eyes darted toward the bearer. “He’s enough. The skinny one said this guy took out an entire squad of Glass Daggers single-handedly. I sure as blazes wouldn’t cross him.”

  Chapter 43 – Dream of the World Maze

  Tashi found himself wandering the halls of the Fortress of Tamarind. H paid no heed to the fact that each room existed in a different season, at a different hour of the day, and was dev

  oid of people. These were the rooms as they were strung together in his memory. Once again, he felt the cold of the stone as he crept across a parapet in the night as he had a month ago. This memory was fresh and full of adrenaline. Everything was hushed. But the next room was a hallway from when he was twelve. Beyond, in the sunlight at the center, was the secret garden. Children couldn’t go there; only his stepfather, the guildmaster, had the keys. The room he kept returning to, despite the guiding voices urging him to finish mapping, was the hidden chamber at the bottom of the well. In the damp, stone chamber, a ten-year-old crouched in grim quiet while the madness of adults clamored overhead. He was one of the children hiding while brother fought brother inside the ancient fortress. There, the girl a year younger than he stood smiling and playing with her golden ball.

  She in her nightdress and the white flower in her dark hair became the only normal thing in his life for days. She became the beacon of all that was normal and right in his life. Tashi gripped tight the knife every time he heard the melee draw closer. He’d kill or die to protect her. When she dropped the ball and he handed it back, her smile changed his life. He could’ve stayed there in that well, in that moment, forever.

  The angry voices kept insisting, but it was a very deep well.

  As part of the game, she would drop the ball again. This time it rolled far away, down the back tunnel to the escape hatch. For some reason, the narrow exit door was open. He followed it out into a blind alley in Shady Side. Now, it was night, and he was an adult again. Tashi wore a kalura and the amulet from the abbey around his neck.

  Babu, the swordsman, sat on a low wall across the street, holding a scuffed and dirty ball with flaking gold paint. “This is a dead end,” the comedian advised.

  Shaking his head to clear it, Tashi remarked, “You’re dead.”

  The comedian smiled. “You should be used to ghosts by now.”

  Tashi looked down at the cobblestones as he walked over to his former companion. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a proper burial.” He began an explanation of everything that had followed the assault on the wizard tower.

  But Babu interrupted him, “You can’t stay here. You have obligations.”

  Tashi sighed.

  Babu pointed down the main road. Up ahead, all roads merged into a great city at the foot of an impossibly large mountain. As the roads and hedges climbed the mighty slopes, they became a kind of maze. The great city could have held every village he had ever visited and more, and Tashi had seen half the known world. The city twisted around the sides of the mountain, vanishing into the clouds above.

  “At the top, in the center, is a place where you can ask any question.”

  Tashi nodded, with his eyes threading a path up the slope. “The Stairs of Supplication. One petition to the gods per village per lifetime.”

  Babu laid a finger aside his nose and dropped the ball to the ground. Tashi’s eyes instinctively followed the movement. When he returned his attention to the wall, his companion had vanished. The sheriff sighed and bent to pick up the toy. Then he was struck a glancing blow by a wagon that crushed the ball under its wheel.

  The shock woke him from the drug dream. His physical body lay in the back of a gypsy wagon, dressed as he’d been in his dream. Outside the door to the wagon, the angry voices whispered about how to counter his resistance. As there was a window open on the side to let in the cool, night air, he crawled though it and dropped to the grassy ground beneath.

  The wagon sat just off the main road, camped for the night. Up ahead, he could see a lone mountain and points
of light decorating its side. This mountain was not as grand as the one in his dream, but he knew they were linked. Sleeping around the campfire were several guards and a certain actor. Without a sound, Tashi strode over to Nigel’s slumbering form, clamped a hand around his mouth, and dragged him into the bushes. The panic in the wandering actor’s eyes spoke volumes. Tashi removed the man’s own dagger and held a finger to his lips. Nigel nodded.

  “I require something from you,” Tashi whispered.

  Nigel nodded. “Anything.”

  “It must be of your own free will.”

  The old actor grew suspicious. “What?”

  “Give me the coin.”

  The actor fought inside for several moments before asking, “And what do I get in return? This has to be a fair trade.”

  Here, Tashi wrestled with himself, resisting the urge to apply force. “I’d grant you parole.”

  “You’ll give the coin back after you get where you’re going?”

  Tashi nodded. “I’ll leave it for you inside the Temple on the Old South Road.”

  Nigel suppressed a laugh. “You’re still going to storm the gates at the Temple of Sleep?”

  “I have a duty.”

  “Agreed,” said Nigel, reaching in his pouch.

  “And you tell no one,” commanded Tashi.