Quest Call

by Kirk Dougal

  “I won't go near Grol or those disgusting buildings.” Bree crossed her arms, and she glared, daring me to try to order to go.

  “That's fine,” I said. “You can go with Card or stay here at the Lion and the Lamb. I understand why you can't go.”

  Saleene nodded and stood, Bree following suit. “We've got a plan for tomorrow, and I want to eat and get an early sleep. But we've got to remember, we don't have much time before we need to be out on that sand dune again. We need to move fast.” The women walked toward the door.

  “Hang on, Card,” I said, stopping my friend in his tracks. “I want to talk with you before we eat.” I waited until the door shut behind Saleene and Bree. “I think I figured it out.”

  “Oshun's tomb?” Card tilted his head to the side. “Why couldn't you say so in front of the others?”

  “No, not the tomb. Dinas Farwolaeth. I figured out why the terrorists had to use Dinas Farwolaeth.” I stepped closer. “It's the dragon. I've hated fantasy, elves, and magic since I was a kid, but even I know the two things a dragon is famous for: breathing fire and collecting treasure.”

  Card shook his head slowly back and forth. “I still don't see what you're trying to say.”

  “It's the yooks. The e-money that allows you to turn in money from the games for money in real life. Yes, the meetings are important for the terrorists, passing information, coordinating plans. But, it's the transfer of money to fund their activities. That's where government tracking programs have really hurt them the last few years. But in here, in a dragon's hoard, they have nearly limitless amounts of money they can transfer almost anywhere in the world because of yooks.”

  “Oh, my god, you're right,” he said. “But what you just said, hoard. What if the Horde is also involved? Remember computer games back before you invented The Kindred? There were whole businesses that gamers could pay to level up characters and gain experience points. They were gaming the games. What if the players behind the Horde were hired to grab as much in-game money as possible and bring it to Dinas Farwolaeth?”

  I nodded, the idea making sense. “That would explain Pagul's fascination with getting every last piece of gold whenever we had a chance for some loot.” I wiped a hand over my face. “Card, I need you to leave the game as soon as we steal Oshun's heart and make it back to Maegdon. You've got to tell Tower about this so the FBI can begin tracking the flow of money through yooks. Get word to REM, too. She might be able to find out information from areas Tower doesn't even know about.” REM was my friend who worked on the shadowy side of the law, running a legal juice club with immersion game capabilities while also illegally operating a string of peeps and helping sleepers skirt the feds while staying inside the games beyond the regulations.

  Card walked to the bed and back, stopping when he stood near the door again.

  “No,” he said. “I need to stay inside.” He raised his hand, palm out, silencing my protest before it started. “Hear me out. Getting the heart is only the first step. We need to find the last dragon slayer and get him close enough to the dragon to kill it. You're going to need my power to do that. And I can't leave because I don't know if I'll be able to return. You saw how hard it was for me to fight off the owner of this avatar. There's no guarantee I can gain control again if I leave. I'm staying. We'll just need to find an oracle so we can get a message out.”

  He unlatched the door.

  “Now, let's eat and figure out a way to steal a heart and break a friend out of prison at the same time.”

  Chapter 36

  The sun was riding high in the sky by the time Saleene and I reached the prison outside Tsamib.

  I almost lost my breakfast at the sight.

  Mountains rose high above the desert floor, the bare rocky sides pitted with holes. Men entered the shafts and returned, some carrying baskets strapped over their shoulders, filled to the brim with ore. Others pushed carts into the open, dumping loads into piles and returning into the permanent night for more.

  At least these men worked in an area where they received some respite from the boiling sun overhead. The hard-packed valley was filled with more prisoners who baked in the heat, breaking apart larger rocks into what could be melted and made into useful items, swinging hammers over and over, the ringing reaching out for the surrounding hills and echoing back in mocking waves.

  As I watched, a man dropped to the ground, reaching with trembling hands for something only he could see, feeble fingers clutching air before they curled and did not move again. A guard walked to the man's side, his screams to get up rolling among the hammer sounds. He kicked the man in the ribs, nearly flipping him to his back, but the prisoner made no move on his own. The guard waved to two other prisoners and they dragged the corpse to a wagon loaded with other bodies, piled high with no movement, and tossed him on board, just more wasted material to get rid of like the useless bits of rock.

  “Jesus,” Saleene said, her voice a whisper that barely reached me.

  “This is as far as I can take you,” the driver said, turning on the buckboard seat. “You'll need to walk down if you want to talk with someone in charge.” He gestured toward several buildings along the valley wall.

  “Is that where the prisoners sleep?” I asked.

  “In buildings?” The driver laughed. “It'd be too hard to keep track of them all at night. Some of them might get the idea they could escape.” He pointed at a low part on the mountain wall. “They push them all into the played out shafts. Nothing valuable left inside, but there's only one way in, one way out. They've built iron gates over the openings. Makes it easy to keep an eye on the prisoners.”

  I stepped down from the wagon, sweat popping on my forehead the second I moved from under the buckboard's canvas top that had provided us with shade. Saleene followed me down.

  “You'll wait for us here?” I asked.

  The man shrugged. “I figured you'd be like most. See how they're treated and leave, knowing there was no hope for whoever they knew down there. But I'll wait if you're still set on going down.” He waved gnats away from his face. “Just don't be all day. It's hard on the horses and will cost you more.”

  Saleene and I followed the winding path down to the valley floor, switching back and forth, walking twice as far to take the steepness out of the trip. At the bottom, a handful of guards watched us approach, flat-faced clubs strapped to their waists on one side and coiled whips on the other.

  “They don't even bother with a fence,” I said.

  “Why should they?” Saleene asked. I could tell from the words she did not really expect an answer. Her voice dropped. “Look to the left, swinging the two-handed hammer near the next to last shaft.”

  I turned my head slightly, staring out of the corner of my eye where she had indicated. At least two dozen men were breaking up stones, hammers circling over their heads, and then crashing down, metal ringing, stone chips and dust flying in every direction. It took me a few seconds before I spotted DeBrest. He was not wearing a shirt and his body was covered with dust, plastered over ever inch as it mingled with his sweat. What little skin I could still see was bright red, sunburned in the open.

  “What do you two want?” one of the guards asked. He stood out from the rest of the group, the club already in his hand.

  “We're here to see about arranging for the release of one of the prisoners.” Two of the men in the group snorted as I spoke, apparently finding a lot of amusement in the idea.

  “You'll need to talk with Captain about that. What's the prisoner's name?”

  “Robert DeBrest.”

  The entire group broke into laughter this time.

  “His worship? It isn't often we get royals down here,” the lead guard said. “Of course, not a lot of people make it all the way down the hill into Kuzimu.” He waved at one of the guards behind him. “Daraja, go get the prisoner. I'll take them to Captain.”

  One of the men grimaced, but then headed down the trail toward the prisoners. We followed the
leader toward the nearest building. It was not until we were closer that I saw what I thought was a wooden structure was actually mud bricks mixed with straw but coated with so much dust the walls were the color of aged wood, gray and beaten down by the elements.

  The guardsman opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Captain, someone here about a prisoner.” He stepped back and the door swung open.

  I do not know who I expected to see walk out but the Captain was certainly not that person. This was no hulking brute who enjoyed the hell the prisoners were subjected to every day. Instead, a small man, a head shorter than me and at least fifty pounds lighter, stepped into the sunlight, blinking under the glare. A sweat-stained silk shirt was left open revealing pale skin on a smooth chest, the sternum covered by a tattooed bird, rising from a fire. When he spoke, his voice was high-pitched, reminding me of a young man whose voice had not completely changed yet.

  “Are you buying or selling?” he asked. I noticed his gaze wander over Saleene and the tip of his tongue shot out, thin pink stub licking his lips.

  “Buying,” I said. I did not like the way he was staring at my companion but greed was good. A greedy man could be bought. I felt Saleene move, and I placed my hand on her arm, stopping her next step forward. The little man just smiled in response.

  “Too bad,” he said. “I pay good prices for the right workers.”

  We heard footsteps behind us, and we both turned in time to see Daraja pushing DeBrest along the trail toward us. The duke was wearing a leather collar around his neck, and the guard jerked on a chain attached to it to stop him, nearly pulling him over backwards.

  “This is the prisoner you want?” Captain asked. “That's not good. He's strong, young, will probably last five, maybe six months of work before he dies. He's worth a lot of gold to me.”

  “Don't worry about me, Beast,” DeBrest said. “You've got a mission to complete.” Daraja jerked on the chain again, and the duke gagged.

  “How much?” Saleene asked.

  “Five hundred gold,” Captain answered.

  The last bit of moisture left my mouth. We probably did not have one hundred gold pieces between us in the group, let alone five hundred.

  “Will you trade?” I asked.

  “Perhaps. What do you have to trade?”

  “How about slaves?” The voice wafted through the open doorway. A second later, another man walked into view.

  It was Grol.

  “Hello, Beast. Saleene.” He tipped his head but never quite made eye contact with my companion. “It looks like you need my help after all.”

  “I need good workers,” Captain said, ignoring the greetings. “What do you have to trade me?”

  “Two Watians,” Grol answered. “They're good, strong men.”

  “Watians? No, no. Watians are small and weak. They make me look like a giant.” Captain rubbed his chin. “Four Watians.”

  Grol shook his head, throwing his hands up like he was begin attacked. I was too stunned to speak, listening to them haggling over the price of men in trade for DeBrest.

  “This is wrong,” Saleene hissed in my ear. I nodded once but still did not speak.

  “Two Watians and a Gargian,” Grol said.

  “And I have first choice on your next trip,” Captain said.

  “Done,” Grol said, sticking out his arm.

  “So shall it be.” Captain stuck his arm out as well, and they grasped forearms in a clasp. “Bring the three here tomorrow, and I will release him to you, Master Grol.” He bowed and walked into the building again.

  I heard DeBrest gasp, and I turned in time to see Daraja jerking the duke back towards the mines. “Come on!” the guard said. “You can work until tomorrow.”

  “He'll be okay,” Grol said. “It would cause Captain to lose his honor if something happened to him after the deal was agreed to.”

  “I can't believe you did that,” Saleene said, words escaping her tight lips. “They're men, not cattle to be bought and sold at your whim.”

  Grol ignored her and stared at me.

  “Come by my warehouse tomorrow afternoon when the streets come alive again,” he said. “We can discuss then about my giving your friend back to you.”

  “We don't have enough to pay you,” I said.

  “We'll think of something.” Grol's grin roiled my stomach.

  Chapter 37

  “I don't know what to expect,” I said. Saleene, Bree and Card were standing with me along the side of the street, a growing stream of people moving past us as the sun settled lower in the sky. Across the street from us was Grol's warehouse, the shutters still open to the weather, thick iron bars sitting across the openings like orange-rust sentinels in rows. We watched as men walked in and out of the building, pushing two-wheeled carts piled high with crates through the open door and then returning for more.

  “That's a lot more activity than we saw the other day,” Bree said. “Maybe he's preparing to sail to the Sand Sea.”

  “If that's the case, then we should move fast,” Card said. “It might also offer an opportunity for us to return to Maegdon if we miss Yemaya.”

  “I'll not sail with a slaver,” Saleene said. “No matter what our need. Who knows what could happen.”

  “Let's keep our eyes open,” I said. “And be ready for anything.” I noticed Card wrap the stone string around his hand, the edges tinted blue even in the bright sunlight. Saleene and Bree were carrying their bows for the first time since we entered Tsamib, and each had a full quiver attached to their waist.

  I led Card across the street, dodging the growing wagon traffic and weaving around other people. I glanced back once, just long enough to notice Bree had already set up station near the corner of the building where we had been observing the warehouse. Sunlight flashed off silver a moment later, and I looked up as Saleene settled on the second floor roof. Both had good views to make the front of Grol's headquarters a kill zone if Card and I needed to leave in a hurry.

  We followed an empty cart through the double doors, the two men pushing it not even glancing in our direction. I stared as they moved in front of us, their necks bare. They were not wearing the leather collars that appeared to denote slaves in Zamani.

  “Ah, Beast, Card, welcome.” Grol approached us from farther in the dark, my eyes not yet adjusted to the change from the sunlight. My stomach churned at the thought of the advantage this gave the man, and my armbands sent warm fingers down my skin. I did not know if Grol could sense magic, but I was glad they were hidden under my shirt.

  “Please, come and sit,” he continued, waving his hand forward. “We will talk business and drink arak, possibly not in that order. Ha!” He paused, head tilted to the side. “Ah, but you did not bring your other companions. Perhaps that is for the best.”

  A shadow moved closer, black silhouetted against the light of the barred windows. Another step forward and the apparition became Stitch. He leaned close to Grol and whispered into the man's ear before straightening.

  “Your friend arrived earlier this morning,” Grol said. “Tell me, is he really a duke?”

  “He is,” I said. “His lands lie far to the south of the Sand Seas.”

  “Yes, I imagined so, though someday I may hope to visit there.” The grin on Grol's face widened. “I have bought and sold many things through my business, but never one of royal blood. I will need to remember this day.”

  “Can we see him?” Card asked.

  “Yes, of course.” Grol turned and headed toward the windows.

  “You're very busy today,” I said, talking over the rumble of carts fading behind us. While the area near the doors had been bustling with activity, this section of the long building was quieter, with only a handful of men moving around. “Are you planning on returning to Maegdon soon?”

  “Yes, my time in Tsamib has been most profitable but it is almost done. In two days, we will take our wagons to the coastal city of Oti where my ship lies at anchor.” Grol laughed. “I must re
plenish my inventory if I am going to continue to trade.”

  “And what is it that you trade?” Card asked.

  “Ah, from Zamani I gather jewels, metals, spices, cloths—all the things we do not have on the other side of the Windless Sea.”

  “And what do you bring here to trade?” I heard the edge in Card's voice, and I moved closer, bumping him with an elbow to remind him of our first responsibility. I could not see him in the dark, but I felt his glare like it was a slap.

  “Whatever will bring the most profit,” Grol said, his tone never changing. If he felt Card's growing anger, he did not give it away. “There are some things that we have in Maegdon that do not grow in Zamani.”

  He stopped near a window. Light shined through opening, throwing a shaft across a straw-covered floor. I realized I was staring through a set of bars, squared into a cage with a wooden roof. I gagged as stench crawled into my nose and down my throat, soured sweat and urine mingling together until my eyes watered.

  “Get into the light so we can see you,” Stitch growled.

  Soft rustling followed. Three forms moved before the window, two women and an older man, each of them covered with filth-stained rags. The women were both short and stocky, long brown hair and big bones immediately reminding me of the dwarvish man who had offered me a job at the Red Boar at the beginning of my time in Quest Call. The man, however, was black-haired and thin, his slanted eyes set deep within high cheekbones and olive skin. I had not run into anyone who looked like him before so I had no idea what country he called home. He limped so badly he leaned heavily on one of the women, stopping with one leg cocked so only his toes touched the straw.

  “But even I am not a miracle worker,” Grol said. “These women do not fit what the pleasure houses want for workers here, but I still hope to be able to sell them for mine work in Zamani before I leave. As for him,” he gestured toward the man, “he tried to escape from the ship during our crossing and injured his leg. I would have fed him to the sea but that would have been a total loss against what I paid his family. I decided to keep him to see if he would heal. It's not working so far and my patience is running thin.”