by Kris Kramer
* * * * *
After reaching the inn and waiting for Margis, Saalis and Hal to pack, Iago led them back through the Avis district into Ohvro until they reached Dyfin Way. They reached the intersection just inside the entrance to the city, where they stopped to make their goodbyes. Iago gave Saalis a few more tips on avoiding trouble spots on the way back while Galen told Margis what exactly to tell the Council. After several minutes of chatting, reminiscing and well wishes, the group split and Iago, Jonir and Galen stood on the side of the road, watching as Margis, Saalis and Hal stepped through the city gates. A moment later the three of them turned left through the crowd of people returning from Harbortown, and then they disappeared past the walls, and out of sight.
It was a bittersweet moment for Iago. Seeing the three of them out of the city and headed back to camp where they would be safe made him feel like he'd accomplished something. He had no doubt that they could get back without any problems; Hal and Saalis were more than capable of avoiding any danger on the way back. But it also made him sad to watch them leave. He'd grown used to spending so much time with them, after feeling so alone for so long. Working together like this, for a common purpose and for so many days, had created a bond. He'd known these people for a year, but the last nine days had cemented their friendships.
“Back to the Inn?” Jonir asked.
Iago shrugged. “No point just standing out here.”
“One more day,” said Galen as turned to go back the way they came.
“Will be nice to get back, and get out of this city,” replied Jonir. “I never liked it here.”
“I lived here maybe ten years, and not once was I ever happy to call it home,” Iago said. “Not one time.”
“How can you stand all the people? I feel like I’m being caged no matter where I go.”
“You get used to it," Jonir said.
Iago chuckled. “You want to see a lot of people? You should see the Trade Market. That’s a mess of Anzarins you don’t ever want to find yourself stuck in.”
“Yeah, that’s an image you won’t forget." Jonir laughed. "You’ve never seen so many desperate and loud people in one spot.”
Galen frowned. “I’d rather not.”
“Well, we do have the rest of today and tomorrow to get through,” Jonir said. “We should find something to do to pass the time.”
Iago sighed. Wandering around the city aimlessly was risky, especially when he could run into people who didn’t need to know he was back, but he also had to admit that they couldn’t just sit in the inn until tomorrow night. They would go crazy from boredom. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to find something to keep us busy. We might need to find another place to stay tonight anyway. Can’t hurt to keep moving.”
He had a notion to stay outside the city tonight, in Harbortown, which would ease their minds a bit. He felt like being a little more relaxed today than normal, and since they weren’t pressed for time, he didn’t take a direct route back to the Honest Soldier, instead cutting across a few streets on the way, just to see how time had treated some of the places he remembered.
This had been a far better trip to Tyr than his last one. Making this deal didn’t entirely redeem him, but he was proud of the fact that he’d taken these men to Tyr and struck a deal with Oln that made both sides happy in the process. Oln would make a fortune, probably making him wealthier than anyone else in the city other than the Clerics, provided he kept it a secret, and he would owe it all to Iago. He hoped that favor would come back to help him someday. And with purified crystals the Wind Riders could fly again without fear. They still had to do something about this powerful new Tyran airship that now roamed their skies but he knew the Pilot’s Council could figure something out, especially now that their lifeblood had been restored.
Iago stopped. He’d turned down a side street, moving back towards one of the main roads, but a crowd of people lined up along either side of the road ahead of him, blocking the way. The three of them approached carefully and Iago looked over their shoulders to see what the commotion was about. Most of the crowd stared off to the left so he glanced down the road in that direction, then groaned in annoyance.
“What’s going on?” asked Jonir.
Iago pointed down the left road, at the rows of horses and chariots approaching. “It’s a Cleric procession.”
Jonir sighed and shook his head. “Should we go back around another way?”
“It’s almost here. Might as well wait it out, now.”
“What’s a Cleric procession?” asked Galen.
“It’s when a Cleric-Major gathers his Clerics and guards, and marches them up and down the roads, to remind everyone in his district how powerful and important he is,” Jonir said, not really hiding his disdain very well.
“I don’t think this is a Cleric-Major,” Iago said, squinting at the oncoming carts and wagons. He turned to Jonir. “This is a procession for Dahral.”
“Are you sure?” asked Jonir, surprised.
“Look at the third cart coming up.”
Galen watched the scene with great interest now. “Isn’t Dahral the Cleric-Justicier?” Iago and Jonir both nodded. “So we’re about to see the ruler of Tyr?”
Jonir stared down the road, trying to verify Iago’s claim. Suddenly, he froze, and opened his mouth in astonishment. “That’s Girkax,” he said, barely getting the entire word out. Iago nodded in quiet fascination.
The first cart was an open topped chariot with some green-robed women standing in it, throwing red and yellow petals out towards the throngs of people on either side of the street. The second was a covered chariot, with several Clerics seated inside. Clad in their gold-colored robes, they did nothing save watch everyone they passed with dour looks. None of them seemed too interested in catering to the masses today. But it was the third cart, which actually was a cart, that caught everyone’s attention, and their cheers.
A huge metal cage sat snugly in the cart, easily ten feet tall and six feet wide in both directions, holding a strange and fearsome creature. It stood upright on thick, muscular legs that protruded out from either side of a broad, scaled body, and it had four arms, two on either side of a torso that looked human, except for the light-brown scaled skin, from the waist up. Below the waist however, right where the legs began, the torso turned into a huge tail, making the bottom half of the creature look like a snake with two powerful legs. The head was smooth and hairless, and the face resembled a mix between a human and snake. Two small, black eyes were lodged under a smooth, sloped forehead. There were holes where the ears should be, and the creature’s mouth was wide, and curved into an expression resembling a frown. It stood about seven feet tall, around the same size as a Garn, only much more menacing and lethal. Its head slouched down, making it appear to be sad, if it was possible for the beast to feel that way, but it turned every so often to watch the people on the street cheering at it. Its hands grasped the bars of the cage but it didn’t seem to be trying very hard to break free.
“What is that?” asked Galen, completely in awe.
“That’s a Malsohn," Iago explained. "They live in the Baran Desert.”
“I’ve never seen one before.”
“Not many have. They’re almost mythical because they live underground. This one is Girkax. It’s Dahral’s pet. He uses it to fight in the Pits sometimes, and it’s never lost. I’ve heard it tears people apart without even trying.”
“It’s a fearsome looking beast,” Jonir added.
“Aye. The only one ever captured, too.” They watched the cart pass by as the spectators yelled wildly. They seemed to revere the creature as a city treasure more than a spectacle. This wasn’t the first time Iago had seen the beast. He had been to the Pits before to see fights, and Girkax was brought out to liven up the crowds by tearing up pigs and cows, but he’d never seen it in an actual match. From what he heard, though, a Malsohn was a savage and cunning opponent, not the mindless beast some would ha
ve you believe.
After Girkax passed by, another chariot came, with more Clerics inside, each looking bored as usual. However, the fifth one, larger than the others, got the most cheers of all. Several high-ranking members of the Tyran Guard walked alongside, each wearing a gold sash over their normal red and brown tunics. Seated in the back of the chariot, waving at the crowds as he passed, was the Cleric-Justicier of Tyr, Dahral, one of the most powerful people not only in the Lore Valley, but the entire land of Leranon. The crowds were likely more excited to see the Malsohn, but they cheered nonetheless at their ruler, an old man who was still healthy and spirited. He smiled at his people, turning and waving to either side of the throng. He wore the gold robes of the Clerics but his had several dark blue sashes.
Iago stared at Dahral as the chariot passed by. He had never met the Cleric-Justicier, but he knew things about him, and many other Clerics, that would disgust most of the people here. How happy would they be to know about the torture and mutilation happening in the dungeons hidden below their feet? Or that the Clerics rounded up beggars and madmen to practice their Magics on? Dahral himself was known to enjoy particularly gruesome experiments on the very same Tyrans he’d been chosen to rule. Iago loved his people, but he hated the Clerics, and he only hoped Dahral was alive to see his own demise when the Wind Riders brought it about.
“So he just rides by with his pet to get everyone excited?” asked Galen, interrupting Iago’s thoughts.
Jonir nodded. A man standing just next to them, who had heard Galen’s question, leaned over. “The Clerics are rallying the people. They announced this morning that they’re sending the airship out again, to finish off the Wind Raiders.”
Galen, Jonir and Iago all stared at the man, then at each other, trying to cover their sudden surprise.
“When?” asked Jonir.
“It’s flying in two days,” the man called out over the crowd noise. Iago struggled to keep himself calm. The Wind Riders would be safe, he assured himself. There was no better place to hide than in the Lore Mountains, an area they knew better than anyone. The Tyrans found them once, when they weren’t expecting it, but the Wind Riders were more careful in their camp sites now. The Tyrans would have to be terribly lucky to stumble upon them again.
Iago stepped back down the cross street, away from the crowd. Jonir and Galen followed with solemn looks on their faces. “They’ll be safe,” he said.
Galen nodded. “Only from the disfavor of the Basarah would they find the camp again.”
“Aye,” Iago nodded in agreement. “Exactly what I was thinking. Let them wander all over the mountains for weeks, or even months. Let them use up their crystals while we rebuild our supply. We’ll be fine.”
“Let’s go back,” Jonir said. “I'm starting to get tired of these crowds.” Iago nodded and led them away from the procession. He would take the long way around back to the inn, then get them out of the city and find a place in Harbortown. He decided he’d had enough of Tyr to last him the rest of his life.
