Rikar raised his eyes sullenly. “Who rules this place? We’re no servants…not in our blood.“
“Answer the lady!” The bald guard struck Rikar on the ear.
“None of that violence…get out of here, I can handle them. Go on, now.” She shooed the guard away, then turned back to Rikar as if measuring his worth. “A young prince? The lot of you from royalty… What are you doing here in Seraka?”
When no one volunteered an answer, the woman sighed, as if knowing it was a useless question. “How about I answer your question, young man. The Five Calazars rule Seraka…I serve these masters and manage their households. You are honored, brought here instead of the slave pens. Considering other unpleasant alternatives, be mindful of your words and demeanor. To the children of the Five Calazars, you will be called ‘guests’ and, depending on your knowledge and skills, ‘tutors’. If you fail to remain civil, you give me no choice but to recommend your service elsewhere.”
“And who rules the Island of Lorello?” Rikar said, tugging at his hair.
The woman paused, and narrowed her eyes at him. “We exist with the blessing of the greater powers of this ancient land. We do not fool ourselves for one moment. Beyond the walls, beyond the fields and factories, beyond the serenity of our city, lies a strange and dangerous realm.” She chuckled. “When slaves try to escape, they rarely try fleeing into the jungle.”
She pointed down a marble-lined hallway. “Let’s get you cleaned up…off to your baths. I can’t present you properly looking and smelling the way you do.” She lifted her head high, as if forgetting something. “Forgive my lack of introduction, my name is Madam Vesteria.”
After a long scrubbing, Talis soaked in a cedar bath, feeling the fatigue melting away. Seraka wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. If they planned carefully, they could quickly make their escape. But only after they had a chance to eat and regain their strength.
When he finished his bath, new clothes sat on a bench: white linen pants and shirt and leather sandals. His old clothes and gear had been taken away. Wearing the clean, new clothes made him wish he were back at home.
He looked up as Nikulo and Rikar entered the room, grinning and patting their clothes as if pleased. Madam Vesteria returned, smiled in approval, and led them to their room, a small simple room with two bunk-beds made of bamboo. Plates of black bread were brought in, with butter and honey. They ate, silent, and passed out as the candle burned low.
The next morning bananas, milk, and sweet rice were brought in. After breakfast, Madam Vesteria pursed her lips, and led them down a white marble hallway, broad and lined with statues of gods, goddesses, and mythological heroes and creatures. They came to the grand foyer, circular and open. One direction led to a massive carved mahogany door, and opposite, a spiral staircase wound up and around four stories high.
“You will wait here.” Master Vesteria pulled on a long, silken rope, sounding a bell. “Prepare yourselves to meet the young masters of the Five Calazars.”
Talis heard the slow clicking of heels down the staircase. Two boys, twins about the same age as Rikar, sauntered down, followed by a girl who appeared a year younger than Mara. She was petite and pale, shy to the point of almost being afraid to glance at them. The twins chuckled as they whispered, staring at Talis, as if caught up in some private joke. Their eyes held a proud, indifferent expression. They were also dressed in white, but their clothes were made of woven silk, layered with gold and some black metal.
“Just arrived?” a twin said.
“Let me introduce you to young masters from Khael,” Madam Vesteria said. “This is Talis, Rikar, Nikulo, and Mara. And here”—she gestured at the twins—”are Masters Killian and Kolray, and our lovely Celestia.” The twin who had spoken first, Killian, appeared haughty, the instigator of the two. Kolray was more subdued.
“Young Mara is lovely.” Killian reached out to hold Mara’s hand.
She snapped it back and bowed. “That isn’t customary where I’m from.”
“Oh…this one has spark to her…she’ll be entertaining, to be sure. Tell me, nanna, where did you dig these four up? Khael? Laughable. I’d say some vagabond outcasts from a Jiserian siege. This one”—he jutted his chin at Talis—”looks like he wants to strangle me. The fat one here seems eager to feast, and the insolent one…oh, I think I’ll get along with this Master Rikar. Dark and sullen…just like father. Tell me, where are you from?”
Rikar studied Killian for awhile, as if trying to decide how to proceed. “The city of Naru…in the great Nalgoran Desert.“
“Naru…that rings a bell…trading city, correct? Tell me, how does it compare to our illustrious city?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of touring your city. But on the outside, many differences. Naru is situated atop a jutting mountain with a two-layered defense, walls hundreds of feet tall. We have a university, many secondary schools… Our arena is renowned.”
“An arena! We also have a fighting arena… I must show you. Do you compete?”
Rikar chuckled. “Yes, in fact Nikulo and I are a team, as are Talis and Mara.”
“A girl warrior?” Killian’s amused eyes settled on Mara. “I have to see that.”
“The young masters are not here for the arena,” Madam Vesteria said.
“But of course…I err in my enthusiasm.” Killian flourished his hands, smiling sweetly at the Madam. “I volunteer to lead a tour of our city. Would it please Madam?”
Madam Vesteria frowned, and rubbed her chin. “I suppose that would be acceptable. You must return before lunch. Now look at me, you will behave yourself, am I understood?”
“Perfectly.” Killian bowed, his face serene and cold.
After Madam Vesteria left, Kolray whispered something into Killian’s ear that made a wide grin spread over his face. “My brother has a dreadful idea. Shall we go?” He gestured towards the front door.
Outside, fog hung low like a dense hand suffocating the city. The air smelled worse today, of pungent smoke and pitch and spoiled meat. Killian led them along a quiet, winding corridor, past several guard posts until they reached a maze of warehouses. Talis could hear the lashing of whips inside, followed by groans and cries for mercy. His skin tingled as if covered in ice.
# # #
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Fire Mage Page 14
