The Scorpion broke the silence. “We thank you for your concerns, Master Vordon, and we will consider your proposal with all the gravity it deserves.” Her smirk gave the lie to her words.
Vordon nodded and looked them all in the face, one by one. “You have made your decision already, I can see,” he said. “A pity. In any event, I will take up no more of your time.”
He walked toward the door. Before he reached it, though, he closed his left hand into a fist. Had he been turned toward the servants, he would have noticed a change in their posture, a shift in their stances, and the drawing of long knives. He abandoned the room to the laughter and arguments and walked into the hall beyond. The door shut behind him, though their mockery could be heard still.
Two guards, in House Vordon’s red and black, stepped away from the wall from either side of the door and followed their master, spear butts thumping on the floor as they walked. They crossed the short hall toward grand wooden doors, where two servants—dwarves, hairless and with brutish features—pulled them open. Neither dared to look upon the merchant or his bodyguards as they passed.
Once outside the estate, Thaxos Vordon found his guards already mounted on the large bipedal lizards called crodlus. With long necks, small heads, and striped, scaly bodies, they were bred for speed and agility. A few grumbled and chirped, stamping their feet and swishing their tails. The guards gripped spears, scanning the gloomy landscape lit by the twin moons Ral and Guthay.
“We are leaving,” said Vordon to the guards as he walked toward his own mount, where a short, childlike figure held its reins.
“I take it the meeting did not go well, master?” he asked.
“As expected, Watari, as expected. They are fools and refuse to see what is in front of them,” said Vordon. He swung up into the saddle.
“Humans lack perspective,” said Watari.
“And what would a halfling know of humans?” said Vordon. He extended a hand down to the little man, noting with some revulsion the leather thong around his neck and the withered strips of flesh hanging from it.
Watari took his hand and struggled into the saddle behind Vordon. He chuckled. “I know how they taste.”
Vordon smirked. Halflings were a feral people, wild, uncivilized, dangerous. They ate anything and everything, including sentient peoples. “I would have been surprised had they agreed to my terms,” he said, shifting the subject back to the matter at hand.
The halfling nodded. “I am sure you have a greater plan, master. If you knew they would not help, why reveal your plans? They will tell the king, will they not?”
“If I let them have the chance. Yes, I would be concerned.”
A scream sounded from within the estate. More screams joined the first.
Vordon looked over his shoulder to the halfling as he kicked his heels into the crodlu’s flanks. “Each of those fools has opposed Tithian in the past. They are no friends to the new king, and many opposed him when he claimed the throne. Others have voiced concerns about Tithian’s ties to the rabble. The nobles’ support and their soldiers would have made my next step easier, but they can still be useful to me dead, a state my assassins are ensuring even now.”
“How so?” asked the halfling, who looked back to the building.
“Rumormongers even now spread tales about how these fools were plotting against the king. The other noble families will believe Tithian was behind the attack. Such a naked show of force will unite those families against the king or at least keep them from interfering when we move against the king. Furthermore, it will make Tithian look like he fears for his crown and, thus, vulnerable. With Urik looming, the other nobles will support whoever brings stability to the city. I am certain.”
Watari was silent as the estate vanished in the distance as the group followed the road around a hill. Ahead, Tyr glowed in the night. The great Ziggurat, its tiers tiled in different colors, rose above the walls, almost eclipsing the Golden Tower beyond. All around the city, just visible in the moons’ light, were the farms and nobles’ estates, fruit trees and grain fields arranged in neat squares, each fighting a desperate battle against the encroaching desert creeping closer and closer every season.
After they had traveled a mile, Vordon turned to Watari, who fidgeted behind him in the saddle. “We can wait no longer. Call in our friends. Call them all in—every house, every dune trader, every mercenary in our employ. I want them in Tyr, and I want them now.”
The crodlu chirped when Alaeda Stel pulled on its reins. She leaned forward and patted its neck, offering it reassurance. It had served her well on her journey from Raam, and there was reason to push it as hard as she had. It cocked its head toward her, amber eyes blinking, then swung around, searching the dunes for predators.
Alaeda covered her eyes with her hand and scanned the way south. Dunes and more dunes extended until they vanished in the heat shimmers. She turned around in her saddle, careful not to disturb the packs, water skins, and other gear as she searched for the guards who followed her.
A crodlu-mounted rider slipped through a gap between the sandy hills, and one by one, weary riders, mounted as well, followed. One rider broke off from the rest, and she could see him lashing the beast’s flanks with a switch. She watched the rider’s approach until, a dozen or so paces out, he slowed.
She knew him by the easy way he sat in the saddle: Phytos. Her other guards were exhausted by the ferocious pace she set. They sagged. She didn’t pity them, though she felt for their steeds. Her mission was too important to rest them for long periods, and the dead mounts they left behind were an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice.
As Phytos maneuvered his steed alongside her, he blew out his breath. “We’re close, then?” He lifted the leather goggles with crystal lenses from his eyes and loosened the scarf from around his neck. Although Alaeda herself was drenched with sweat, Phytos showed no discomfort from the heat or the oppressive sun overhead. His striped tunic was dirty but showed no sweat stains. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a mul, an unnatural blend of man and dwarf, and his people’s stamina was legendary. They could work for days without stopping or fight endless battles in the deadliest arenas, even after being mortally wounded. She knew the legends about muls. The sorcerer-kings bred them for battle to raise armies of tireless slave-soldiers, and of all the muls Alaeda had met, Phytos was among the best.
Alaeda scanned the sandy wastes and pointed at a low hill a few miles ahead. She pulled her own scarf down from her mouth and said, “Not far. We should arrive sometime after dark.”
Phytos nodded and wheeled his beast, a massive crodlu with green scales. It was the one mount in House Stel’s stables able to bear his bulk.
Alaeda followed his gaze and saw he was watching the rest of the retinue make their way toward them. “How are the others holding up?” she asked.
“Thirsty, tired, but they keep their complaints to themselves,” Phytos said, turning back to her, “even if they don’t understand the nature of this mission.”
Alaeda studied the mul’s face. He was ugly, even by mul standards. Horrific scars lined his face, and Alaeda knew scores more crisscrossed his body. He had heavily lidded eyes beneath a pronounced brow, a bare scalp, and dark holes where he once had ears. She no longer shuddered when she looked upon him, and he looked far better than when she found him in the Black Pit of Death in Urik.
“I’m worried, Alaeda. I don’t trust those Shom bastards,” he said.
“Nor should you. They’ve never given anyone reason to trust them. But we need them,” she said. She had turned away from him to watch her warriors’ approach.
“I’m not questioning your judgment, Stel.” She had saved his life after the gladiator champion beat him in Urik’s arena. “I am concerned about your family and your place in it. This whole thing stinks like mekillot shit.”
She nodded. “I know. We’ve been chasing after the Shoms to make a deal for months now. I thought when the younger Shom refused to help, w
e’d be done. Apparently not. It would have been nice to have a few days away from the desert, but that wasn’t to be.
“I appreciate your concern and loyalty. You’ve more than earned your price, my friend, and had I known what I was going to get when I bought you from your handler, I would have paid three times the asking price.” She smiled at his discomfort created by her compliments.
He had been in bad shape when she found him. Most people didn’t escape the Black Pit without being maimed by the arena itself. The obsidian walls were barbed and jagged, and drawing too close to them risked a nasty cut. Such injuries often meant the difference between life and death in the contests fought there. The reigning champion Gorbin, on the other hand, was terrifying. He had won more fights than most could remember, and Phytos, for all his skill, didn’t stand a chance. He showed courage and gave almost as good as he got, at least until Gorbin cut him down. Alaeda had been impressed and paid for his healing. She bought him from his owner who had all but given up on the mul. Phytos’s loyalty, courage, and prowess more than made up for the investment.
He coughed. “So who are we meeting this time?”
“Some Shom lackey named Mordis. He’s a snake, treacherous and self-interested to a fault,” she said. “Still, he has Giovvo Shom’s ear, and my family believes he can be bought.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t know much about you merchants, but I can’t see how climbing into bed with Shom will bring about anything good.”
She frowned. “Between us, I agree. I don’t like them either. But we need this truce if we are ever going to get the iron out of Tyr.”
“What?” snapped Phytos.
“Nothing. I’ve said too much. I promise I’ll tell you more later. Look. This mission has to succeed. I’m nothing to my family, a minor relation with no standing, no power, no influence. I’ve spent the last years running errands and have nothing to show for it. This is my chance to prove myself, to earn my house’s respect. We will succeed.”
He ground his teeth, but before he could say anything else, the first of the guards reached earshot.
“Let’s go,” she said, and kicked her mount’s flanks. The crodlu chirped again, and its splayed, clawed feet kicked up sand and grit as it trotted off.
Alaeda endured Phytos’s frequent stares as they traveled through the afternoon in silence. Even the guards stayed muted during their infrequent breaks, sipping water and chewing dried meat without a word among them. Just as the sun began to set, Alaeda spied dark mountains rising into view, a line of sooty peaks known as the Black Spine, where banshees and gith and other foulness lurked. To the south, the dunes surrendered to a white expanse, a salt flat known as the Great Ivory Plain. In the failing light, she could see the Mekillot Mountains beyond, a low range named for its resemblance to the enormous horned lizard used throughout the lands as a beast of burden. Somewhere near those mountains stood Fort Inix, one of House Shom’s few remaining outposts.
Rock cactus sprouted from the ground nearby, and Alaeda wanted to avoid their nettles by keeping away from them. She dismounted and led her crodlu around the cacti. Phytos and her guards did the same. The rock cactus responded to vibration. Get too close, and they’d fill a person full of barbs.
“I hate these things. I got stung once,” Alaeda said. “It took me an hour to cut the barb free.”
“Seems a strange place to build an outpost,” said Phytos, pointing ahead. “Aren’t even any roads.” He watched the cacti. They quivered.
Alaeda examined the landscape. She searched for anything dangerous. A tiny black scorpion scuttled into the rocks. There was nothing else. “There used to be. A long time ago,” she said.
Phytos grunted. “Must have been. There are no signs of them now.”
“I heard there was once an oasis not far from Fort Inix. That’s why Shom chose the place,” said Alaeda. “The oasis was large enough to cover the land for miles around with green. And the fort wasn’t alone out here. Several villages and farms claimed this area too. They didn’t have to fear the sorcerer-kings or the merchants. They were free. Truly free. Shom made a good fortune supplying the outer settlements with lumber, foodstuffs, and, of course, inix.” The big armored lizards fetched a high price at the markets, for they were strong enough to carry several riders, some growing large enough to hold howdahs. They were temperamental creatures and could turn on their handlers with the slightest provocation.
“So what happened?” he asked.
“Waste, excess, foolishness, all the sorts of things you’d expect from Shom. The merchants bred so many beasts and staffed so many people here, they took more than the land could produce. Grazing wiped out the brush. The fort and the villages drained the oasis. It didn’t take long before what was considered a paradise looked like pretty much everywhere else.”
“So why keep the fort?”
“Pride? Delusion? I honestly don’t know. I’ve heard they cart water here all the way from Nibenay. I can’t imagine the cost.”
“They don’t still raise inix, do they?” he asked.
“No, not for years. Though I believe they still have stables and a staff of trainers stationed at the fort just in case Shom decides to start again.”
“Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head.
Another hour crawled by, and the sun had vanished behind the mountains. Purple shadows slid across the lands. The ground had become flat and rubble strewn. Ahead, the party could see Fort Inix perched atop an earthen mound. Watch fires burned atop its walls. Alaeda and Phytos slowed their pace.
She turned her mount, looking at the beleaguered warriors, their clothes salt stained, faces drawn and haggard. “Fort Inix expects us, but I don’t quite know what we’ll find. I don’t want any trouble while we’re there, so keep your weapons sheathed but keep them close. Show respect to our hosts for as long as we shelter in their walls. They might bait you. They might test you. Don’t answer and cause no trouble. Understood?”
Almost as one, the soldiers nodded.
She smiled. “One night. In and out. When we get out of here, I’ll double your pay.”
As they sped across the last mile to the fort, Alaeda could get a better sense of the place. Like most, it was designed to protect the goods and people inside. Square and simple, four forty-foot-high walls rose from the hillock’s crown, and in each corner stood a turret. A single ramp made from piled stones led up to a shadowed portal in which two wooden doors stood closed. Filth stained the outer wall, and rubbish littered the ground at its base. The closer Alaeda got to the fort, the clearer its neglect became. Pits and cracks covered the walls, and in places there were holes large enough to accommodate a mekillot. Fort Inix might have been strong once, but no longer.
At the ramp’s base, Alaeda called out to the sentries. She could just make out on the walls.
A voice drifted down to her from above. “Who calls?”
“Alaeda Stel of House Stel,” she answered.
Her crodlu stamped around. It was as nervous as she was, and the minutes spent waiting for an answer made it worse.
The doors opened. Alaeda could see two hulking half-giants pulling them inward. Past the doors, in a wide courtyard with a few buildings beyond, stood a tall, slender man and several armed warriors dressed in shabby armor made from bits of bone and wood.
Alaeda, having dismounted, led her mount through the gate. The half-giants waited for her retinue to pass before shouldering the doors closed once more. They had blank expressions, dull eyes, and slack mouths. As with the muls, the sorcerer-kings created half-giants from an unlikely pairing of human and giant to create obedient slaves and warriors for their armies. They were not known for great intellect.
Once inside, slaves came forward to take Alaeda’s mount and those of her soldiers. Alaeda gave hers a pat and a soothing word before the slaves drew the beasts to an empty pen across the courtyard.
She then turned to the man before her. That he wasn’t human did not surprise her. Many mercha
nt houses employed peoples from a wide variety of races and did not let bigotry blind them to any assets they might have. Still, she gasped when she realized what he was. He was belgoi. He might have passed for human in a dark room, but in the light of day his pale blue skin; his twisted, emaciated features and long spindly fingers were startling. They were a wicked people, a cursed race of desert vagabonds, raiders, and thieves. Any veteran traveler knew about the villains and their queer bells. Their merry chimes lured people into the dunes, never to be seen again. Some said they devoured their victims. Others claimed they ensorcelled travelers merely to destroy them. Belgoi were unwelcome in civilized lands, and dune traders, who endured the worst of their depredations, shunned them if they could not kill them.
He showed black teeth and bowed until his head nearly touched his knees.
Shaken, Alaeda returned the gesture with a nod. She did not trust him enough to look down. After the exchange, he beckoned her to follow with a curled finger capped with a long, black talon. Having little choice, Alaeda followed the belgoi with Phytos at her heels, leaving her warriors behind. Although the belgoi unsettled her, she was not about to let the thing intimidate her. She straightened her back and crossed the empty yard, walking toward the row of buildings standing opposite the gate.
There were few buildings nearby. Warehouses stood in a cluster in one corner. A barn, a vaulted longhouse, and a few smaller structures fronted a large and empty corral. Cracked walls with flaking paint and holes in the roofs reflected the same neglect. The place was dying.
The belgoi turned to look at her several times as they neared a two-story, square building with a flat roof and shuttered windows in its face. He grinned each time, and each time Alaeda’s stomach jumped. The blue-skinned guide clambered up the two steps leading to the wooden door and pushed it open. Alaeda nodded once more and moved inside. As she passed him, she felt him paw at her arm. She ignored it.
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