“There’s nothing I can do,” Broden said, holding his gaze.
“But, master, Ghazala is my sister!” Farida, one of the slave women present, cried.
“What would you have me do?” Broden held his hands out, palms up.
“Save her! I would have that you save her!”
Yasmin, the other slave woman, put her arm around Farida as she, once again, burst into tears. She stared at Broden all the while.
“Oh, I don’t know why you would expect him to do anything to help,” she said. “After all, they’re all alike, you know.”
Broden ground his teeth. “No, Yasmin, that’s not so.”
“Then do something,” she snarled at him.
Mouse grabbed Broden’s arm. “Surely, there’s something . . .”
He sighed. “You’re the only one over whom Zarek has given me full authority, Mouse. If I try to help Ghazala, I may put Yasmin and Farida in danger.”
“But things have improved for you since Brother Pestifere set off on his journey, haven’t they?”
Tapping his fingers on the table, Broden nodded. “I suppose, somewhat,” he conceded.
“Then use that to your advantage—before he returns,” Mouse urged.
Standing, Broden rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture common to him when he was confused or frustrated. Then he glanced up at the ceiling as though seeking inspiration. Sighing, he once again looked Striver’s way.
“You think that’s possible?” he asked him.
“Perhaps you could ask your father to put you to use,” Striver suggested. “What if you told him that you’re weary of studying and want to . . . I don’t know . . . prove yourself. Be of service to him.”
“But he doesn’t trust me yet.”
“Still, you could try.”
“You mean, suggest that I work with the slave traders or something?”
“Maybe. Or . . . What if you asked him to put you in charge of those endeavors?”
“Of the slave women? You mean, as they’re brought in?”
“Why not? Offer to prepare them for further shipment.”
Broden sat back down, folded his hands, and then rested them on the table. “I may have an idea,” he said. “Still . . .”
“I want you to save my sister before she’s sent away with the other slaves. Please, master!” Farida cried, sensing a weakness in his resolve. “Please, at least try.”
Mouse patted his hand. “Surely, there would be no harm in trying,” she suggested.
He nodded. “I guess.” He turned to Yasmin and Farida. “But you must understand that if I do this, and if anything goes wrong, Zarek may take the two of you from me. I’ve already managed to make an enemy of Pestifere—”
“Brother Pestifere,” Striver corrected him.
“Yes, Brother Pestifere,” he repeated. “In any case, if anything goes wrong—”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Farida said, holding his gaze.
“I understand that. But you need to consider that the price for the risk you’re willing to take, may be the safety or security of someone else.” Then he addressed Yasmin. “And what about you?”
She grimaced. “I guess. I mean . . .” She looked at her friend. “I’d want someone to do the same for me and for mine.”
“Very well then,” Broden said. “I’ll try.”
He marched down the corridor toward his father’s quarters, wringing his clammy hands even while reminding himself to stay calm. His heels click-clacked on the hardwood floor, seemingly keeping rhythm to his wildly beating heart.
Guards stood stationed every few feet along the hallway. As he passed them, endeavoring to portray a sense of confidence, he held his head high and his shoulders back. His arms swung freely at his sides.
Just before reaching the door that he sought, a succedunt soldier seemed to appear from out of nowhere. He held a thick chain. Attached at its other end, was what was unmistakably an underworld beast—a grut. Smoky black hair covered the creature, which sported a spiky spine and a razor sharp tail. Greasy black mucus oozed from its bulging red eyes, and its rank smell—the smell of death and decay—filled the air.
The sight shocked Broden, who’d never seen one before. Still, he recognized it for what it was, on sight. Stopping in his tracks, he took note of the spiked, heavy metal collar around its neck.
In that same instant, the beast lunged, displaying its three rows of teeth, curved slightly inward.
Broden jumped back—almost too late. Looking down, he found a tear in his pants on his inner thigh, just inches from his privates. Shocked, he looked back at the guard as he pulled on the grut’s chain, causing the spikes on the beast’s collar to bite into its hide. Drops of thick black blood seeped from punctures they made, ran down the grut’s coarse, steel bristle brush-like hair, and then dribbled to the floor, where they steamed.
The beast’s eyes seemed to pierce into Broden as it stood, prepared to attack again, and stared, its hackles up.
Broden took another step back. Then he crossed his arms and pulled himself to his full height. Fortunately, he was able to look down at the man with the grut, who was shorter than he. This one, like all the men in black who’d recently descended upon Zarek’s palace, unnerved him, but the beast was of even greater concern. A single drop of its blood or saliva on his skin would mean certain death.
He vowed he’d show no fear. “Let me pass,” he ordered.
The man’s full expression could not be seen through the black wrapping around his head. Only his eyes were visible. They sparkled. “Oh? Where are you headed?” he asked, a taunting smile in his voice.
“To see my father—Zarek.”
“He’s not expecting you.”
“No, he’s not.”
The man seemed to take his measure. “Wait here.”
He turned away and entered the room.
Broden bit his lip. He didn’t want to invite trouble, but more than that, he didn’t want Zarek’s men, succedunt or not, to think they could order him about. So, with a deep breath, he grabbed the door handle, flung it open, and then boldly marched inside.
Immediately, the grut, growling, lurched. Coming within feet of him, it pulled on its chain. Its claws scratched on the floor.
Meanwhile, a guard grabbed Broden from behind and then wrapped an arm around his neck in a vise-like grip while holding, in his other hand, a knife at his throat. Its blade glittered in the lamplight.
His eyes wide, Broden struggled to release his captor’s hold.
The knife came closer, grazing his skin. A trickle of blood dribbled down his neck.
“That’s enough,” someone ordered.
Broden’s eyes flashed up to find Zarek sitting, a grin on his face.
“Ha ha ha!” The gold and silver chains that the emperor wore jingled as he guffawed. “Oh, but I do appreciate your spirit!”
When the man in black loosened his grip, Broden pushed him off. Then he shook himself. Grabbing the sides of his vest and straightening up, he turned to the guard with the grut and glared at him.
“Take the beast away,” Zarek ordered the man.
Grinding his teeth, Broden turned to face his father. “Why the grut?” he asked.
“Just extra precautions that I’ve put into place here at the palace.”
“Precautions? Against what?”
He grinned, but said nothing.
“Huh. Well, you’ve been hard to connect with since our return from Darth. I decided I’d wait no longer.”
“Oh?” Zarek chuckled.
“There’s a matter of importance I’d like to discuss with you.”
The emperor sat back and slouched, nonchalantly. “And what matter is that?” His melodious baritone voice seemed to reverberate off the walls.
Once again, Broden glared at the man who’d attacked him before his eyes flickered back toward his father.
“I’d prefer to discuss it with you in private,” he said.
With
a grin and a shake of his head, Zarek waved his hand toward those in attendance, four regular guards, and two succedunt soldiers. One by one, they turned away and exited through a back door.
“What’s on your mind then?” he asked.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Broden approached. Then, recollecting that he didn’t want to portray any weakness, he clamped his jaw tight, squared his shoulders, and looked his father in the eye.
“I’m tired of wasting time, of studying and being of no use to anyone,” he said. “I’d like an assignment, and I’ve got just the one in mind.”
“Brother Pestifere said I was not to trust you.”
“Brother Pestifere!” Broden scoffed. “Because I question him, because I insist on answers to my queries, he belittles me.” His eyes held his father’s gaze. “But you are different. You can appreciate that I cannot make firm decisions without first possessing all the pertinent information.”
“Oh? You know me so well then?”
“I know what I see.”
“And what is that?”
“I see a man of power. I see a man who doesn’t accept things for what they seem, but for what they are. To do that, you must satisfy yourself that you have the necessary information before acting in any given situation. You don’t take things at face value. You— You prod at them,” Broden said, gesturing as though plunging a knife.
“Your flattery is—”
“I’m not flattering you,” he interrupted. “I’m stating facts. Just because a statement is complimentary, doesn’t mean it’s insincere.”
Zarek’s brow rose. He appeared to be stifling a grin. “Are you ready to make your decision then? To swear your allegiance to Daeva and the lords of the underworld?”
Broden rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. “No, I am not,” he said. “As I mentioned, I’ve still got questions.”
“Yet you think you might be of service to me. Well, I think not.” Zarek rose.
“Let me show you. Perhaps, in working for you, I might happen upon—”
“I need to be able to trust those who surround me,” his father interrupted. “That’s why I require that you study Serving Daeva. From it, you will learn all you need to be of service to me.”
Broden took another step forward. “I am studying. Now, let me show you how I can be of service.”
Zarek stared at his son. “What have you in mind?”
Sensing an opening in the man’s resolve, Broden nearly grinned. “I want to be put in charge of the slave program.”
Zarek pulled back. His eyes narrowed. “Of the women?”
“Yes.”
He scoffed. “Why would I trust you with them? I don’t even trust my regular guards with them. That’s one of the reasons the succedunt—”
“Excuse me,” Broden interrupted, “but who are these men in black anyway? These ‘succedunt’ guards? Where did they come from?”
“Perhaps if you studied a bit more, you’d learn the answers to your questions on your own.” Zarek stepped away. “They are an elite guard. They are—like me—descendants of the Hazarik.”
“Ahhh, yes . . . Brother Pestifere did mention them once. So, will I learn more of them from Serving Daeva?”
Zarek chuckled. “No, but you will learn of their origins.”
“I see.”
“Brother Pestifere will teach you the remainder of what you need to know of the succedunt, in due time.”
“Very well.” Broden shuffled his feet. “Is there some reason there are so many of them here now? I didn’t see any of them before we left for our journey. But since our return, they’re everywhere.”
“They’re overseeing massive changes for me here, in Chiran.” Zarek resumed his seat. “So, about this position you seek . . .”
“Yes?”
“I say we should try it out. The succedunt soldiers will oversee you. They’ll report to me anything you might try that is out of the ordinary.”
“Excellent. Now, about changes I’ll need to make—”
“Yes?” Zarek asked, grinning. Then, “Oh, never mind,” he said, waving his hand. “You go about your business any way you see fit, and I’ll get my reports as and when necessary.”
“I will need the services of some of the women to do my job.”
“Like I said, ‘you go about your business any way you see fit.’”
Broden fought to hold back his grin. “Very well,” he said.
Just then, the door opened.
Looking up, Broden immediately cautioned himself against showing any reaction—as there stood Brother Pestifere, himself.
As usual, Pestifere was clad in a robe with a belt of braided hemp about his waist. Also, as usual, his feet, dirty and with long yellow nails, were bare. His staff clacked on the floor as he entered.
Broden could smell the man, as he reeked of burned incense, old sweat, and dried blood, resulting from his self-flagellations. His heart pounded at the thought of having to bear the priest’s presence once again. He’d known respite since Pestifere had left the group, back when Zarek returned from Darth with the entourage that had traveled there to oversee the opening of a women’s brothel of slaves for the soldier’s benefit. But now, it seemed, Broden’s nightmares would return.
Still, if I could make peace . . .
He tipped his head at the priest in acknowledgement.
Pestifere scowled. Then he bowed toward Zarek. “I have returned.”
The emperor smiled broadly. “Ahhhh, yes, so I see. And none too soon.” He approached his chief advisor.
“Oh?” Pestifere responded.
“Well, it seems that my son,” Zarek motioned with an uplifted hand in his direction, “seeks to be of service.”
The priest’s eyes flickered from him, to Broden, and then back again. “Oh?” he repeated.
Broden stepped forward. “Welcome back, Brother Pestifere.”
He growled in response.
“Yes, he thinks I ought to put him to use.” Zarek said.
He looped his arm through Pestifere’s and guided him toward a table. After pulling a chair out for him, he sat to his side.
“I’ve decided to give it a try. As a matter of fact, we were just discussing plans when you arrived.”
“I advise against—”
“How was your journey?” Broden asked as he approached, cutting him off.
Scowling, the priest ignored him. “As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, I advise against that.” He held the emperor’s gaze.
Zarek laughed. “I’ve taken your thoughts into consideration, Brother Pestifere, but it seems that Broden has made a compelling case on his own behalf.”
The priest’s brow rose. His lips pursed.
“Brother Pestifere, as you know, I have questions,” Broden said. When the man appeared about to interrupt, he continued. “I know that fact troubles you. But as I’ve explained to my father, I need all the relevant facts before—”
“You need nothing!” Pestifere seethed between clenched teeth as he jumped to his feet. Unsteady, he grabbed the edge of the table and turned back to Zarek. “You know my position on this.”
“Yes . . . Yes, I do. But as I said, Broden has made a case for himself.”
A young servant woman entered the room. Lightly clad, she carried a tray upon which sat a carafe, one brass drinking vessel, two of stoneware, and a small wooden mug. Behind her came a boy, not more than ten years old. She poured some wine from the carafe into the wooden mug and handed it to the child.
Broden watched closely, then looked at his father. “You have children testing your drinks now?”
Zarek scowled. “It’s one way to put the little ruffians to use.”
“But—”
“Perhaps Brother Pestifere is right after all,” he said, leaning back. “You ask too many questions. Maybe . . .”
Broden’s jaw dropped. He held up a hand. “I just . . . was surprised, that’s all.”
“The succedunt have
rightly reminded me that there is a service that may be performed by even the least amongst the masses,” Zarek said. “Can you think of anything else that these vagabond, orphaned children might do to be of assistance?” When no response came, he shook his head. “I thought not. In truth, I’ve grown weary of their begging at the palace gates.”
Recognizing that this was not a battle he would likely win, Broden conceded it without further argument.
Inhaling deeply, Zarek turned back to the priest. “Broden will be in charge of the slave program,” he said.
“I see.”
“He’s explained to me his desire for understanding. In truth, I can appreciate his position. Let’s not forget that I had years of instruction and guidance before I swore to Daeva and later, came to power.”
Pestifere glared at Broden.
“So, effective immediately, he’ll oversee the program,” Zarek said, “and the succedunt will oversee him.”
The priest broke into a slow, malicious smile. “Perhaps you are right after all.”
Broden trudged back to his quarters. Upon arrival, he pushed the attending guard aside without a word. Then he entered.
“Master!” Farida jumped up to meet him.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Oh, Master Broden!” She dropped to her knees before him, grabbed his hands, and smothered them with kisses.
He pulled free of her. “Don’t thank me. I’ve done nothing yet. I’m to oversee the women, but the succedunt will oversee me.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “But Zarek did give me authority to see to my mission without interference, so I’m on my way shortly to get Ghazala released from the group that was prepared for shipment.”
Yasmin approached, her head bowed. “Master, I should not have lashed out earlier. I had no right. You should punish me.”
He looked at her, his eyes wide. “Really, Yasmin? Is that what I should do?”
“Yes, Master Broden.”
“Have you ever known me to do that?”
She opened her mouth as though to speak, then clamped it shut.
“Forget it. Now, go! The both of you.”
She and Farida shared a glance, then looked toward Striver and Mouse before heading to their room.
Ephemeral and Fleeting Page 9
