by P. D. Kalnay
“Sorry for keeping you,” I said. “I got held up looking at a sword.”
“The Marielain blade?” Sharra laughed.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“Old Marhrl is a standing joke at the bazaar,” Sharra said. “Few newcomers avoid seeing the sword if they pass his booth.”
Falan had a bundle under one arm that I assumed held Sharra’s purchases, and I followed them back up the street we’d taken to reach the bazaar. I walked a few paces behind to give them more time together. Every nook and corner of the city was fascinating, and I was content looking around as we walked, examining the stonework, people watching, and enjoying the experience. I’d never liked crowded cities on Earth, and I’d probably grow to dislike the hustle and the bustle of the First World too, but the novelty was still enough to keep me happy.
Two thirds of the traffic moved with us away from the bazaar. Travel was made more chaotic because the people on the street didn’t have a predetermined side of the road. Jostling, stopping, and resuming one’s journey all played a part of moving along the streets of Gaan. I wasn’t paying close attention to those other people, so seeing the knife before it buried hilt-deep in my gut was a real stroke of luck.
A cloaked figure sprang from amongst the oncoming pedestrians, and a short dagger shot from the brown, threadbare cloak. My attacker shouldered Sharra out of the way, intent on reaching me, which provided a small warning. I caught the knife without thinking. Thankfully, the attack came from my left, and steel fingers closed around the blade with viselike strength.
That held my would-be killer at bay for a few seconds, until she released the knife and resumed her attack with clawed fingertips, snarls, and hissing. The noises told me my attacker was a woman well before I saw her face. She was slight, and with the knife out of play, posed no real threat. I stood two heads taller and must have weighed three times as much.
After taking a few scratches, I got a handful of cloak and threw her up against the wall of a shop. I glanced back to check on my companions and found the street empty except for the four of us. Given the crowded conditions of a few seconds earlier—it didn’t seem possible.
The woman ceased her struggles and went limp.
“Prince Jakalain, are you well?” Falan asked.
“I’m fine.” I handed him the knife.
“Who is this person?” Sharra asked.
“No idea,” I said.
I held on tight with my right hand and pulled back the cloak’s hood with the metal one. A delicate woman’s face, wearing a mask of purest hatred, stared up at me. I didn’t recognise her. Heck, I didn’t even know what she was. For half a second I thought dragon, but she had none of the presence that Sirean radiated. My attacker bore a resemblance physically to Sirean in her humanoid form. The woman had golden, scaly skin, and closely cropped hair that looked like spun gold. Arched brows, a straight nose, and high cheek bones filled out a face that minus the hatred would have been attractive (in a reptilian way).
“Who are you? Why did you attack me?” I shook her as I asked.
“She won’t answer,” Sharra said.
“Everybody talks,” I said. I’d picked that up from spy movies, and didn’t know if it was true. I wished Ivy was there. She was the only person on the planet who might have got the reference.
“She can’t answer,” Sharra added. “She has no tongue.”
The golden woman took that as an opportunity to spit in my face and hiss at me again. I’d had worse and continued to hold her tight. Sure enough, amid the hissing, I saw that her mouth was a dark empty void, and discovered her teeth weren’t sharp like Sirean’s.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“She is Shogaan,” Falan answered. “Imperials have their tongues cut out at birth.”
“They do?” Ivy had made it sound as though the Shogaan people had gone extinct when the Empire fell.
“Yes,” Sharra said. “We should leave. Word will have reached the nearest detachment of the city guard.”
“I don’t even know why she tried to kill me,” I said. That was true for lots of the people who’d tried to kill me, but I held this one prisoner.
“You’re fae,” Sharra said. She said it like that was as much explanation as anybody should need.
“And?”
“I expect she blames your people for her current condition, the fall of the Empire, and who knows what else. Prince Jakalain, do what you must with her, but we should leave before the guards arrive. Falan!”
“She’s right,” Falan added. “We should leave here, now.”
“She attacked me,” I said. “Shouldn’t I turn her over to the guards? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’re breaking Anubean law, right now,” Sharra said. “Although, with us standing witness, you’d likely avoid execution. It would be smarter to leave quickly and not stand trial.”
“Stand trial?”
“You’re in possession of crown property. The guards will arrest us if we stay. Please, trust me in this, Prince Jakalain.”
I didn’t want to deal with the city guards, and I wondered if Anubean trials were of the endless procedural variety or the summary execution type. Either way—it was time to go. My attacker couldn’t answer my questions which made deciding easy. I released her cloak and stepped back.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
“You’re letting her live?” Sharra asked.
She sounded insultingly surprised.
“If I killed everybody who hated the Fae, I’d have no time for anything else,” I said. “I don’t even have time to bother with the people who want me dead.”
The woman sank to her knees, sobbing, and I continued down the street. Sharra and Falan rushed to catch up.
“How could you tell she was crown property,” I asked, glancing back. The woman hadn’t moved from the roadside.
“All Shogaan are slaves, and the property of the crown,” Sharra said. “Few remain. I’d be surprised if ten live in the whole city. The bestowing of an imperial servant is a status symbol for nobility and high ranking officials.”
I was aware slavery existed on the First World, and had met plenty of indentured servants in Havensport.
“Why do they cut out their tongues?”
“It is commonly believed that the Shogaan have glamoured tongues,” Falan answered.
“Glamoured tongues?”
“The gift of persuasion,” Falan elaborated.
“Only the Imperial family had that gift,” Sharra said. “Or so I’ve heard, but the fear that their slaves might use it against them has led the Anubeans to… take precautions.”
Nice. Sightseeing had lost some of its charm. We dropped Sharra off at home and then Falan led me back to The Hanging Garden. It was dinner time, but I wasn’t hungry.
“Thanks for showing me around,” I said.
“You are welcome, Prince Jakalain, do you wish me to return tomorrow?”
Ivy wouldn’t want to leave, and I had nothing to do at the inn. If I let assassination attempts keep me inside, I’d never get to go out.
“Yeah, let’s meet up after breakfast.” I said.
“I shall be here.”
Chapter 14 – A Silver Shackle
I returned just in time for dinner, and Ivy had either come downstairs to eat or had sensed my aura and come to greet me. If it was the latter, she soon forgot me in the presence of another fancy florathen feast, spread across a table in the dining room. As many dishes filled the table as the night before, and, unless I misremembered, all were new dishes. For a second night in a row, we had the place to ourselves. Ivy dug into the closest bowl of green leafy something before I even got a hello.
“Hello to you too,” I said, sitting across from her.
She didn’t look up from the food, “How was your day?”
“Interesting, yours?”
“Relaxing, this place is soothing. Why don’t you tell me about what you saw today?”
> Which was really, ‘why don’t you talk while I eat?’
“Fine.” I’d eaten a big lunch, my appetite had diminished with our return to land, and the meal was meatless, again. “I poked around the bazaar in the square out front of the Empress’s Palace.”
“I’ve heard it’s one of the largest markets in the world.”
“It was big. There are statues of maigur around it.”
“Oh yes—the former captains of the Imperial Guard. They must have been a sight.”
“They were a lot bigger than the ones prowling the woods behind Glastonbury Manor.”
That was a massive understatement. While the oversized wolves behind Gran’s had been plenty scary, they were cute and cuddly next to the statues surrounding the square.
“I told you that we wouldn’t have survived long against them on this world,” Ivy said. “They protected the Empire, and formed a solid core at the heart of the legions. Over time, the Shogaan themselves became a peaceful, gentle folk, who spent their lives pursuing beauty and seeking knowledge.”
“The one who tried to stab me on the way back didn’t seem peaceful,” I said.
Ivy looked up from eating, set down her spoon, and gave me her full attention, “Perhaps that should have been the first event you recounted.”
I told her about the incident on the way home and what I learned from Sharra and Falan.
“The fate of those who survived the fall is tragic,” Ivy said. “I didn’t realise the Anubeans continued keeping Shogaan as slaves to this day. It was wise not to wait for the guards. Anubean law is as rigid as the laws of our people. Who is Sharra?”
That led to telling her about Falan’s girlfriend and my lunch with her family.
“You’ve had a busy day of sightseeing, Jack. Was there anything else of note?”
“Not really… oh yeah, I saw one of Marielain Blackhammer’s swords at a stall at the bazaar.”
“Are you sure it was real?”
“Pretty sure.”
“I forgot for a moment. There are so many counterfeits.”
“It was one of the Seven Silver Blades, same as the library sword. I don’t even think the guy trying to sell it believed it was real. He certainly acted surprised when I told him.”
“I hope you didn’t tell him too much.”
“I only told him it was real. Then we headed back.”
Ivy shrugged.
“Surely no harm can come from that,” she said.
If anything, I’d made that guy richer than he’d been when the day started. I nibbled at a few dishes that didn’t look likely to contain bugs, and Ivy returned to total immersion in her dinner.
***
Falan showed up the next morning as promised, and he looked eager to continue his role as tour guide. He led me in the opposite direction from the day before, towards and then past his family’s compound.
“We aren’t going to accidentally visit Sharra again?” I teased.
“Not two days in a row,” he said. “Her father doesn’t approve of me.”
“You have her mother on board, that’s got to be half the battle.”
“It doesn’t work that way. In Valanse, a father decides and approves his daughter’s suitors. He’s hoping for someone better for Sharra.”
Falan sounded resigned to his lot.
“The lady who owns The Hanging Garden said you come from a fine, old family?”
“Which is true, and why Sharra’s father hasn’t run me off, but we’re less wealthy than Sharra’s family, and I’m the son of the second Danar son. One of my cousins will lead when my uncle dies. I’ll never be more than a ship’s captain, like my father, and that would suit me fine, except…”
“Except it won’t be good enough for her father?”
Falan nodded.
“Unless, I can make my name, and my fortune, Sharra will stay beyond my reach.”
“She seems interested.”
“That isn’t a deciding factor either.”
“It probably won’t hurt when push comes to shove,” I said. “Where are we going today?”
“I noticed your interest in weapons at the bazaar. I thought I’d take you to the Smith’s Row.”
“What’s that?”
“A street where smiths, and others who craft metal, have gathered. If you’re looking for weapons or armour, the prices will be better than at the bazaar and the quality more consistent.”
Ivy needed arrows. She’d emptied her quiver battling the kraken.
“Do you know of a fletcher?” I asked.
“There are many fletchers and bowyers east of the Row,” Falan said.
“Let’s go there first, then.”
***
Falan led me along winding streets. The roads near the bazaar were straight, laid out in a radial pattern with the Empress’s Palace at the centre. Everywhere else they were more random and organic. Without Falan I’d have soon lost my way in Gaan. He stopped under a sign carved in shallow relief displaying two crossed arrows.
“Tabeen is supposed to be the best fletcher in the city, according to my uncle,” he said. “She isn’t the cheapest though.”
“I’ll take quality every time.”
The windowless shop was lit by a low fire and a single lantern, and it was full of arrows. Neat bundles of arrows lined the walls and filled shelves too. It looked like the shop was prepared to withstand a hundred year siege. The shop smelled of sappy, fresh cut wood, seasoned wood, oils, and of something else that reminded me of cinnamon. A satyr woman looked up from her work on the far side. She was carefully shaving what would become the shaft of yet another arrow. When we entered, she set the shaft and knife aside, scooped the shavings from her lap, and threw them into the fireplace beside her.
“How can I help you, young fellows?” she asked.
“I’m looking to buy arrows,” I said.
She glanced around at the thousands of arrows before smiling.
“You’ve come to the right shop. Can I offer you tea?”
“Yes, please,” Falan said, before I could decide. “Thank you.”
Tabeen swung a copper kettle away from the fire, put a few pinches of something into a tall cylindrical pot, and added boiling water before replacing the lid and leaving the tea to steep.
“I don’t get many newcomers to my shop,” she said. “Most visitors to Gaan frequent the bazaar.”
“My uncle Galan recommended your work,” Falan said. “And I recommended it to Prince Jakalain.”
“I see. I thought the riot might have driven new business my way.”
“What riot?” Falan and I asked together.
“At the bazaar yesterday,” she said as she filled three tiny, silver cups with a red tea. The tea hadn’t steeped for long, but it smelled pungent.
“We were at the bazaar yesterday,” I said. “We didn’t see anything.”
“The riot occurred near closing. A group of thugs attacked the northeastern corner where my second cousin sells, just as they began closing up for the evening.”
“Was anyone hurt,” Falan asked.
“Only one person—a miracle because those same ruffians set fires and several stalls burned to the ground. It might have been worse. I feel for Marhrl’s widow though, with her husband dead and his stock ruined.”
“Marhrl?” Oh, crap.
“Yes, he was the only casualty of the riot. Marhrl Longtooth was a fixture at the bazaar, and a real character. Still, a single death in the midst of rioting and fire is lucky.”
Unless you’re Marhrl. Chance it was all a coincidence—zero.
“The guard acted soon enough to keep the fires from spreading, but the instigators escaped, from what I hear. I shouldn’t talk your ears off with gossip.”
She handed us tiny cups of tea. I raised mine to my lips, and the smell was so sharp that my eyes watered. My tentative sip confirmed the tea’s epic bitterness. I’d never drunk turpentine before, so I can’t swear the tea tasted the same, but the sme
ll… One tiny cup was more than enough.
“What style of arrow do you wish?” Tabeen asked.
“What kinds do you have?”
I grimaced as she drained her tea in one shot, stood, and fetched an arrow from the nearest bundle. She handed me the arrow. It had a black shaft, fletched with bright blue and white feathers, and was tipped with a chisel shaped arrowhead. The shaft looked like one long, thin section of ebony bamboo, and the razor sharp arrowhead was forged from layered steel. I flexed the shaft and found it surprisingly stiff.
“What’s the shaft made from?” I asked.
“Dragongrass. It’s hard to come by now; though it was once standard for arrows used by the legions. That arrow will punch through a breastplate or an ogre’s skin if fired from a bow of sufficient power. Expensive, but those arrows are so durable that if they can be recovered, they can be reused, offsetting the cost.”
The arrow was a work of art, and the craftsmanship—flawless. I wondered if I’d brought enough money. Plenty of other, different arrows surrounded us.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “What else have you got?”
What followed was an hour-long tour through the world of arrows. Tabeen’s shop didn’t just have a large number of them; it also had an amazing variety. She showed me arrows made from different woods, metal, and bone. There were even springy arrows whose shafts comprised a single strand of hair from something called a boarag. That hair was a yard long and as thick as my middle finger. I sliced my hand, foolishly running it forward along the barbed shaft. When Tabeen told me those arrows couldn’t be extracted from their target, I believed her. She described each arrow’s ideal use, along with the advantages and disadvantages. It was fascinating.
Or at least, I thought so.
Falan stoically held in his yawns beside me. Tabeen had an arrow for every task, from thick ones that could punch deep into a stone wall creating handholds, to needle thin ones, filled with poison that would shatter with the least lateral movement inside a victim. She showed me the last without handing it over.
Who knew arrows could be so awesome!
