The city of Whitecliff had three rings of defense: an outer wall, a fortress wall, then the fortress inner-wall. The fortress walls were made of stone. But the city wall was made of a steep embankment and timber palisades, like the many walled villages. A few years ago the clans had begun to replace that outer wall with stone, but it was far from finished. More than half of the seventeen towers were still made of timber.
As they approached the Farmer’s Gate, a guard motioned Da to pull the wagon into a separate line from the Mokaddians.
At least a dozen guards stood on the rampart with strung bows. From their colors, he could see they were a mixture of Fir-Noy and Burund. Down at the base and off to the side of the gate a guard held a dead rabbit up by its hind legs, baiting the two mastiffs chained to the wall. He tossed the rabbit between the two dogs. The result was a violent scuffle, but in moments the smaller dog had most of the rabbit and gulped it down, leaving only a tuft of fur and one leg that had flown off into the weeds.
“See,” said the guard. “That’s the one to watch. And now I’ll take your coppers.”
“They’ve posted double the men,” said Nettle.
“It won’t do them any good,” said Da. “Not against that creature of grass and stone.”
Two guards motioned Da to come down off the wagon. One told Da and Talen to strip completely.
“Do you not see the token of the Council?” asked Da. “I’ve been summoned.”
“Then we’ll have to be double sure, won’t we?”
“They’re not going to strip,” said Nettle. “I vouch for these men.”
“You little piss,” the second man said and reached out to strike Nettle, but the first grabbed his arm and stopped him.
“That one is Captain Arogth’s.”
The second man wrested his arm from the other man’s grasp. “Well, well. The Koramite-lover’s boy,” he said. “All alone out here while Daddy is in the fortress. Where’s your wet nurse?” He pointed at Nettle’s belt. “I see they’re letting you dress up like a man, are they? Good for you.”
Nettle clenched his jaw, but he didn’t say anything.
So Talen spoke up. “He’s man enough to knock one of your armsmen about.”
“Quiet!” said Da.
The second guard licked his bottom lip. “Our orders,” the first guard said, “are to search every Koramite. Now strip.”
“And you,” the second said to Nettle. “You may move along. Wouldn’t want you to get a hang nail.”
“Don’t listen to them,” said Nettle.
Da held up his hand. “Talen and I will satisfy the requirement.” Then he began to pull off his tunic.
Dozens of Mokaddians in the other line stood and watched. One wife stood with her arms folded and a scowl across her face as if this were his just desserts. Talen turned his back on her and gave her the bum. Soon the two of them were naked except for the poultice around Da’s neck and the dark godsweed braid around Talen’s arm. They stood in the sun, their legs spread and arms held wide, while the guards and flies came to investigate.
When the guards found no sleth-sign, they allowed Da and Talen to pull their clothes back on and bring the wagon round. But another guard stopped them there.
“It’s four coppers to enter,” he said. One of his ears looked to have been chewed off.
Da shook his head. “Every man who works on the wall has rights to enter.”
“Every Clansman,” said the guard.
“No,” said Da, “every man.” He pointed at the Sea Gate in the distance. “I helped build that tower.”
The guard looked over the contents of the wagon. “Four coppers, and I want that small sack of barley.”
Da did not raise his voice in anger; instead he enunciated every word. “I am here at the Council’s request.”
The man put his hand to his sword. “There are many who think we should just beat you on principle. I’m doing you a favor.”
“You’re robbing me.”
The guard shrugged. “Everything has its price.”
Da clenched his jaw.
The guard flipped open the basket with the smoked meat. “Ah,” he said. “This looks good.” He pulled out strip of salmon and took a bite. Then he grabbed another strip and tossed it to the other guards. “I’ve got to let you in,” the man said, “but I don’t have let your wagon through.”
“I’ll pay you four coppers,” said Da.
“No,” said Talen.
“Be quiet,” said Da.
“Very good advice,” said the guard.
Da reached into his purse and withdrew the coins. “The Council’s going to hear about this.”
“Give them my regards.”
Da picked up the reins and flicked Iron Boy on.
Talen hated the Fir-Noy. But he was beginning to hate some of the members of his own race. The smith and his wife—they had tainted all the rest of them. Brought down a load of grief. He was happy the smith died. He deserved it. His wickedness was treachery, a stab in everyone’s back. He thought about what Da was doing with the hatchlings. That was treachery too. Couldn’t Da see that?
Smoke from a multitude of city chimneys trailed into the sky, the wind blowing the smoke tails like a number of sooty smears toward the sea. Da, Nettle, and Talen followed the road. The farther they traveled, the taller and more closely placed the houses became. More and more were made of brick and stone. Yet, between roofs, Talen caught glimpses of the temple on its hill and the seven statues for the coming Festival of Gifts. At the end of the festival, the community would pull down the statue for Regret, tie it to a boat, and send it out to sea. And while it burned upon the water, thousands would sing the hymn of defiance along the shore lines. This same ritual would be repeated by the other Clans in their cities, but none would match the festival held here in Whitecliff.
Of course, this year it would not be the same. Usually, the reigning Divine would bestow gifts during the festival, including healings for man and beast. The festival was one of the regular times for people to offer the days of their life up for the good of all by letting the Divine draw quantities of their Fire. It was also during the festival that common men were raised to the ranks of the dreadmen. But none of that would happen this year.
Talen took his eyes from the temple and looked up the road. They were almost upon the lodger’s field. Not all of the merchants could afford to raise a booth or tent in the central square. And many of those slots went to many of the permanent families who held homes in the city itself anyway. But there were three other spots in the city where merchants paid to set up their business. This was the largest of those spots, a ten-acre field filled with tents of all colors—blue and white trimmed with yellow, scarlet and black, green and blue—each with pennants above them declaring who they were and what they sold.
“Look,” Nettle said and pointed. “The Kish.”
Talen looked and saw the black and white tent of the Kish bowmaster. He was surprised that merchant was here. In the last four years of Bone Face raids, many merchants had become wary of sending ships to the New Lands. And now with the sleth, it was a wonder those who did come would stay. Kish bows were the finest made. They were small and powerful, made of wood, sinew, and bone. And it came to him that one of those hatchlings would buy him the finest bow for sale along with a hundred bundles of arrows.
They passed by the lodger’s field, watching a merchant’s guard chase two boys away from a wagon, and then, with a bump, the road turned from a humped, dirt affair with weeds growing in the middle to a flat cobblestone street. What a fine arrangement for the rich to be able to step out of their houses in the middle of a rain and not muddy their boots.
Up ahead, people thronged the way. In front of them a man led an ass laden with bundles of dried hemp. To the side a young woman wearing a yellow hat pointed to a clay prayer disc lying on a holy man’s table. Each disc was engraved with some type of boon—the holy man would write your name on the disc in ink, then you c
ould hang it on the wooden statue in front of the temple and let the fires carry your request to the ears of the Creators.
A young boy carrying a yoke of water across his shoulders cut in front of the wagon, followed by a girl in a pale blue dress selling candles that hung from a pole fitted with a double cross.
The sound of a woman singing to a lyre wafted down from a window one level up on the other side of the street. Talen turned and saw it wasn’t a woman at all, but a girl. A tall Mokaddian girl who watched him as she sang.
A few minutes later, Da turned off the busy street, following the lane that led to Master Farkin’s. Farkin’s house stood three stories high and had half-a-dozen smoking chimneys. Talen wondered how it would be to have a hearth in almost every room. A lot of work or money in firewood. Perhaps that woodsman was on his way here.
A servant stood outside the door. Da went inside to see what price he could get for the pelts they had brought. Talen waited on the back of the wagon and watched two carriages roll by, their curtains drawn. When Da came back out, he had Talen and Nettle help him carry the pelts down an alley to the back of the house.
Master Farkin was, according to Da, one of the few merchants who bargained a fair price with every man, regardless of clan.
While they were making the exchange, Master Farkin said, “Have you heard the news about the Envoy?”
“Mokad has sent an Envoy?”
“Not only an Envoy, but a Skir Master. The message just came today. We’re saved.”
“Is he here to stay?” asked Da.
“Nobody knows. There was no word of his coming until the birds arrived today. But it bodes well. We can, at the very least, hope for a hunt.”
“Creators be blessed,” Da said, smooth as cream. But Talen knew he didn’t mean a word of that.
“And look at this one,” Master Farkin said of Talen. “I would suspect that the girls would find much to admire there.”
“If they do,” said Talen, “they have a funny way of showing it.”
“Oh?”
“They tend to run away,” said Nettle.
Master Farkin chuckled. He asked after Captain Argoth, told them he needed more mink, suggested they avoid the Dog Street tailors, then bid them good-bye.
Back at the wagon, Da said, “Kindness, boys. It’s irresistible. Don’t you think?”
“Some people are immune to it,” said Nettle.
“I don’t know,” said Da. “I believe that a sufficient quantity of kindness can renew the hate-salted field of many a man’s heart.”
“But people won’t see kindness if they don’t trust you,” said Talen. He was thinking of the lies they’d told the Bailiff. The small lie Da had just told Master Farkin. What if Master Farkin discovered Da’s treachery? And that’s what it was legally. How much kindness would he show then?
Da ignored his comment and asked, “How does your arm feel?”
Why did Da keep asking that question? “It feels fine,” he said. Then he realized it felt more than fine. His whole body felt rested and fresh, like he’d just woken up from a long and lovely sleep.
“Good,” said Da. “A little more patience, son. You’re almost ready.”
“You talk as if you’re waiting for a loaf of dough to rise before you put it in the oven.”
“That’s not a bad analogy.”
What in the Six was Da up to? “I don’t know that I want to be a loaf of bread.”
“I could do with a loaf of bread,” Nettle proclaimed. “I’m starved. Add a bit of cheese and hog fat and, och, that would be the summer’s breeze.”
“It would indeed,” said Da.
He invited them up onto the wagon seat with him, then flicked the reins and directed Iron Boy to pull out into the road.
They threaded their way down the street. When they came to the intersection that ended the street they’d been traveling and started the one to the fortress, Da stopped the wagon.
Da looked up and down the Fortress road. It was a relatively noisy spot with a number of vendors bellowing about their wares a few houses down, but there wasn’t anybody close by here. Da turned to them and pitched his voice low. “I had planned a good meal for us as well as a good chat, but Master Farkin’s news of this Divine has changed things. I don’t want you to wait for me. You must not. Deliver the goods we have left and take a message back to River. Tell her the news. Then tell her to prepare the garden for a frost.”
“But we’re weeks away from a turn in the seasons.”
“You want to be trusted?” asked Da. “Then do this thing.”
The way Da said that made Talen think there was more to the message than he supposed.
“We’re not going to the fortress?” Nettle asked.
“You’re leaving as quickly as you can without attracting any attention.”
Talen saw Da was serious. “I’ll take the message,” he said.
“Tell her not to delay,” he said, then opened his purse, fetched out a number of coins, and gave them to Talen. “Do not wait for me. They might keep me for an hour or a day. So get the supplies and make the visit to the widow Larkin. Now tell me the list.”
Talen recited all the things they needed. When he finished, Da said, “Don’t pay the smith one grain more than fifteen measures for the maul.”
Talen didn’t know how they’d fare without one of them wearing the token of the Council. “Are you sure you don’t want us to wait?”
“You’ll be all right,” said Da. “You’ve got Nettle with you.” Then he handed Talen five more coppers. “Purchase some honey; we’ll let your sister eat her own poison.”
“I’m just thinking that it’s not safe for you to travel back through the wood at night,” said Talen.
“I’ll be fine,” said Da. “Finish your business and go directly home. Remember: not everyone here is like the guard at the gate.” Then he climbed off the wagon, turned and reached under the seat, and retrieved the Hog. “Get moving,” he said.
Talen took the reins. “Are you sure?”
“Go,” he said. Then he swung the Hog up over one shoulder and walked up the road to the fortress.
Talen looked at Nettle.
“A bit ominous,” Nettle said.
“He took the Council’s sash,” said Talen. “We’re not getting through the gate we came in without it.”
“I’m sure we can fight our way through with our mighty whittling knives,” Nettle said in jest.
At that moment Talen realized that this was more serious than he thought. Which also meant that by giving him this task, Da was trying to tell him that he trusted him. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more sure he was of Da’s intentions.
Talen looked up at the sun. It was past noon. He would have to hurry to make it home before nightfall. He did not want to be out in the dark with Fir-Noy hunters and a monster running about.
And if he didn’t make it back home before dark? Well, he would. So he didn’t need the answer to that question.
20
Snake Games
TALEN FLICKED THE reins and drove the wagon away from the fortress. As he went, one fact pressed itself into his mind. And it was that sooner or later some over-vigilant Mokaddian would see Talen and decide he was sleth by association. Someone would decide he needed to be taught a lesson. It was common for such lessons to be delivered in the form of some thrown object—rotten food, dog turds, the ever-handy rock. But Talen didn’t think he’d get off so easy this time. So as they clattered down the lane he kept his attention on the corners of streets, on odd windows and sudden intersections.
Having Nettle along should dissuade some from molesting him. But while there were many even-headed Mokaddians like Master Farkin, there were others who were not.
He stopped at two houses to purchase harness rings and forty feet of tight hemp rope, keeping an eye out the whole time, but the owners of neither house would let him in. Nor would they allow Nettle in his stead. At the third house Talen sat back at the
wagon like a servant and sent Nettle to the door as his Master. Only then were they able to obtain the goods.
When Nettle came back, he asked, “What have I got to do to get something to eat?”
“People are giving me the eye, and all you can think about is your stomach?”
“What?” asked Nettle. “I can’t get hungry?”
Talen shook his head. But after stopping at the honeycrafter’s, Nettle walked over to the baker’s, one of Da’s old friends, to buy a small meal.
Talen waited again in the wagon. A group of men only a few yards down the road talked amongst themselves and kept looking up the lane at him.
He didn’t dare look at them directly, but it didn’t matter. They reached some conclusion and all turned to face his direction.
At that moment Nettle exited the baker’s, holding a number of items rolled up in the bottom of his tunic.
Talen was only too happy to release the brake and flick the reins and start Iron Boy. Nettle shouted, but Talen didn’t pull back.
Nettle caught up to the wagon, held his tunic between his teeth, then jumped in and sat beside Talen on the wagon seat.
“What are you doing?” asked Nettle.
Talen glanced back, knowing the men would be following. But they weren’t following; they stood watching him and Nettle go.
“One of these days,” said Talen, “your stomach is going to get me killed.”
Nettle followed Talen’s gaze. “Gah, those dogs weren’t about to do anything but bark. Besides, look what I got.” Nettle unrolled his tunic.
In it lay a disgusting half loaf of bread pudding next to some tempting, honeyed-almond small cakes. “Am I good to you or what?” asked Nettle.
The thin, almost wafer-like small cakes were one of Talen’s favorites—crunchy on the outside with a bit of honeyed almond paste in the middle—but now wasn’t a time to think of food. He glanced back once more. The men had not dispersed nor turned back to talking amongst themselves.
“Lords and lice,” Talen said.
Nettle took a fat, moist bite of his pudding. “I don’t think they like you.”
Servant: The Dark God Book 1 Page 24
