by Guy Antibes
“Papers,” one of the guards said.
Pol gave them to him. “Ramy and Abbo, right?”
The guard gnashed his teeth and took them to an officer sitting behind an elevated desk. He called across the room. “Weren’t you here looking after your foreign friend yesterday?”
“That was me,” Pol said.
“Come over here.”
Pol stood in front of the desk, looking up at the officer.
“What’s your story?”
Pol relayed everything that had happened, including his acts of magic. He wouldn’t hide anything since Ramy was a witness.
“Magician, eh? You made it in here just fine?”
“You mean the wards that cover the building? Not a problem,” Pol said, realizing that he might be sounding a bit boastful. He bit his tongue and would try not to sound arrogant.
The officer scribbled something on the paper. He said something to Pol, but they were terms Pol didn’t understand. “You were citing some rules to me? I’m sorry that I don’t speak Bossomian perfectly.”
“Violence isn’t permitted in that inn.”
“Is thievery permitted? Both Abbo and Ramy pulled knives on me. Am I not permitted to defend myself?”
The officer covered his face with his hands. “You even know their names?”
“I do. I have Abbo’s knife in my room. You will note that no blood was spilled. Abbo will have to have something removed from his thigh.”
“He is being worked on—”
Pol didn’t understand the rest of the officer’s sentence.
“Are you going to jail me?”
“Not quite yet. What’s this about a meeting with the Council of Citizens?”
“Our guide, Namion Threshell, informed me this morning to be prepared to meet with the Council tomorrow.”
“Are you someone important?”
“I am who I am,” Pol said. “I’m a magician with some skill with both spell and sword.”
“Sword, too?”
Pol nodded. “I could have killed both men on the spot, but I didn’t want to inconvenience the inn. Ramy should be able to verify everything I’ve said. Abbo, too, when he recovers from surgery.”
Mentioning the guards’ names again only made the officer cringe. They had obviously not been on official business. So much for the government’s absolute control in Missibes, thought Pol. With the Ring Guards so corrupt, Pol wondered what else went on in the city with those who chose to ignore bureaucratic regulations.
Namion staggered into the building. Sweat dripped from his face.
Pol leaned over to support him. “Wards. Thanks for coming through them.”
“What is this all about?” Namion said, breathless from his fight with the building’s wards. He presented the officer with a thin portfolio.
The officer looked at the paperwork and sighed. “A misunderstanding, Master Threshell. I suppose you — for this young man?” Pol didn’t know the word that was spoken.
“I do, and his friend Pakkingail Horstel.”
The officer looked down at the portfolio again and nodded. He rummaged around and pulled out a paper and spent some time filling it out. “Pakkingail Horstel’s release. These — are waiting for him.”
Pol’s vocabulary was tested, but all he could think of was heading north to the city of Fassin at that point. In a few minutes Paki walked through a door. He looked like he had been ill-treated, but his face beamed when he saw Pol and Namion.
“Thank you. Thank you,” Paki said as he embraced Pol.
“Your receipt, Master Threshell, for both of these boys.”
“I will try to keep them in line,” Namion said as he ushered them out of the guard headquarters. “Let’s get off this street. It’s giving me the shivers.”
Pol smiled and followed the other two, and as they made their way back to the inn, as the sun began to descend, and the shadows began to lengthen in the square.
~
When Pol unlocked the door to his room, he beheld everything in its place. Abbo’s knife had gone missing, but he took that as a positive sign since he wouldn’t be spending the night in jail.
He washed up and descended down to the dining room. The fare was different than the two other nights, but every plate still looked the same.
Paki grinned as he shoveled the food in his mouth. “This is a LOT better than prison food,” he said.
Namion joined them this time. “I didn’t joke about an audience tomorrow. You’ll have court clothes delivered in the morning.”
“But there is no king,” Loa said.
“Rulers are rulers.” Namion took a bite of the meat and winced. “They eat better elsewhere,” he said. “We will be asked about our encounter with the wards in Malcia. The Botarran threat has the Council upset and a few birds have arrived from Fistyra regarding the possibility of a civil war backed by the Pontifer. The Council wants more detail than a series of messages with a few lines each.”
“Then we can be on our way?” Pol asked.
Namion nodded. “You can be on your way.”
“We are on our own again?” Kell said.
“So?” Namion took another forkful of his dinner. “You can manage just fine with Fadden.”
“Where is Fadden?” Shira asked.
“He is helping you. That’s all you need to know. Perhaps he’ll tell more when you leave Missibes.”
~
Namion had brought them all, now dressed in more colorful clothes. The cut seemed to be identical, making Shira and Loa frown a bit when they walked across the square. Pol rubbed his hands together.
“Nervous?” Shira asked.
Pol nodded. “I don’t know these people. What if I say something the wrong way?”
“I’m here to explain,” Namion said, walking on the other side of Shira. “Just answer their questions as briefly as you can. If the Council wants more detail, give it to them, but keep the volunteering to a minimum.”
That sounded like good advice. Pol would accept it, even coming from Namion.
They sat outside the main meeting room for an hour, along with a lot of other people waiting for an opportunity to talk to the Council. The chambers looked spotless. Was there any other condition acceptable to the Bossomian bureaucracy? Not that Pol could see.
An aide walked up to Namion. “They are ready for you now.”
“Everybody up. You’ll likely be standing the entire time, but you all know that the story isn’t long,” Namion said.
He led them through tall doors into the council chamber. The back of the room was a semi-circle with the tall arched windows that made the cathedral in Bastiz so bright. Pol noticed that the Council members would have their backs to the light, so the supplicants wouldn’t be able to see the councilors faces very well if it was a bright day.
“Namion Threshell,” the aide announced, then bowed and exited the chamber.
“Master Namion, we are happy to see you again. You have brought your—” the councilor said, but Pol didn’t know the last word. He didn’t have the same problem in the other countries. Perhaps there were just more words in the Bossomian tongue. He looked at the faces of the seven councilors, three women and four men. All of them had gray hair, but Pol was sure one of the women wore a wig.
“I have. As you know, we came through Fistyra, and then these young people will be on their way to Fassin before returning to the Baccusol Empire. Botarrans and the merchant’s guild disrupted the Council of Malcia. We have already discussed the implications of that in other sessions. Pol Cissert was instrumental in stopping the attack. He is here to answer your questions. His friends are also here if they need to clarify anything.”
Pol took a step forward and began to answer simple questions about the events at Malcia. The councilors repeated most questions, and then they asked Pol about the aftermath.
“You had to leave Malcia quickly?”
“We did.” Pol still didn’t know what honorific to use with these people
. “We had an adventure in Botarra that wasn’t viewed favorably by the Pontifer and were pursued all the way to your border with Fistyra.”
“So you are an accomplished magician?”
“Some would say so,” Pol said.
“Did your adventure include a lot of magic?”
“Some. It certainly helped.”
“Can you describe it?”
“I’d rather not. The situation was a delicate one, and I’d rather not relate the details again.”
“Certainly. You may go,” the councilor in the center said.
Pol walked out of the Council Room sweating. He wiped his hands on the heavy silk trousers.
“I’m glad that is over,” Pol said.
“I hope it is, too. Do you mind if I tell the Council about your adventure at the Hole?” Namion said.
“As long as you don’t embellish,” Pol said.
Namion nodded. “Then I am sure your interview is over.”
Later, as they ate another bland dinner, Namion rose and let them know that they would be leaving tomorrow morning. He said he had things to prepare and left them.
“I’m glad he’s gone,” Loa said. “I don’t trust him.”
“Neither do I,” Kell joined in on the sentiment.
Shira just shook her head slightly. “He is a hard man to read. I don’t know what motivates him, and that makes me want to doubt him. He’s secretive, and you never know when he’s going to just leave you to your own devices.”
“Just like Valiso Gasibli!” Paki said.
Pol considered what Shira and Paki said. He thought back and tried to put everything in a pattern, and it worked when Namion was thought of as somewhat untrustworthy, but ultimately on the Empire’s side.
In the morning, they gathered their bags and let the inn’s staff bring them down to the stable yard. Pol hadn’t even realized it existed. He tied his saddlebags and other things to his horse.
Namion walked into the yard. He went into the stable and walked out with two additional saddlebags stuffed with something.
“Spread Pol’s possessions between you.”
“Why?” Paki said.
“Just do what I say.”
Pol shrugged and took the bags that Namion gave him and put them on his own horse.
“Is someone going to kidnap me?”
“Yes,” Namion said. “You are unique to their experience, and they want you as their creature. To them, nothing is more important than Bossom.”
“How are you going to protect me?”
“Me? I’m not going to do a thing. This is Fadden’s idea. The Prelate’s message that we brought with us had secret writing. Fadden noticed it and found that the Prelate suggested that you would be an outstanding addition to the Bossomian magician corps. Just do what I say when we ride out.”
“I’m not unique,” Pol said.
Namion looked at him sideways. “I beg to differ. If your planting a knife in the guard’s thigh didn’t convince them, shielding yourself from the guard building’s wards did. I was ready to slit my own throat by the time I made it inside when I rescued you. It’s built to repel magician attack and Shira and you walked right in.”
“What about Shira?” Pol looked at the Shinkyan.
“She’s a woman. There is male magician bias in Bossom.”
Pol had just lost control of his immediate future. He didn’t have any choice. He made sure he knew were his knives were and grabbed another handful made after the pattern of the Shinkyan ones, in case he had to fight his way out of Missibes.
~~~
Chapter Twenty-Eight
~
They exited the inn into an alley that deposited them on a side street. No wonder he never knew of the stable yard. No one stopped them as they proceeded along the road heading out of the Inner Ring. Pol guessed that it wouldn’t do to see anything messy in their enclave.
Pol loosened his swords and followed the group under the Inner Ring gate. Not far ahead, a cart suddenly turned over on the streets. Hay littered the roadway right in front of Namion. Pol was ready to draw his sword, thinking this was a diversion to kidnap him.
Fadden rushed to Pol. “Get off!”
A youth with the same general look and dressed the same as Pol jumped on his horse while Fadden yanked him through an alley. They ran through enough little streets and tinier alleys to get Pol twisted around, but they finally stopped. Fadden put his hands to his knees and gasped for breath.
“The switch won’t be noticed for long, but I think they intend to stop you at the city gate. We’re going a different way.” Fadden took off again. Pol had to stop to tighten up his weapons again. He began to see dirtier buildings, and the pristine Missibes began to take on the look of every other city Pol had visited.
They hurried around a building to a blacksmith shop. Two mounts and a packhorse were tied up at a hitching post. “We’re here.” He threw on his chainmail and tossed a light linen cloak to Pol. “Wear this.”
He gave Pol a broad-brimmed straw hat. It reminded him of something a farmer might wear. Fadden put on a similar cloak and hat, and then tossed a fat purse to the blacksmith.
“For your son and the trouble this may bring.”
“Don’t worry about me. Just get out of here,” the blacksmith said.
Fadden urged Pol to mount. Pol would have to adjust the saddle later, but for now, he’d have to endure the discomfort of short stirrups. Fadden nodded to the blacksmith, who just stared at Pol.
“I see why you picked Verro,” the blacksmith said as they both rode past him.
Fadden led Pol through more alleys and trotted across streets, arriving at a small gate. “Just wide enough for us.” He threw another purse to a uniformed guard who opened the gate and shut it quickly, just as the packhorse made it through.
Fadden picked up the pace as they galloped over bare ground and into a wood. It was then that Pol realized they were heading south, the opposite direction of Fassin. He shook his head and let Fadden lead, since the ex-Seeker had arranged Pol’s escape from Missibes.
They came to a wide, shallow river and slowed down.
“We will ride in the river for a few miles and then circle back north. You won’t be seeing your friends until we cross over into Gekelmar.”
“What about the patrols and checkpoints?”
Fadden grinned. “What do you think I’ve been doing while you relaxed in the Inner Ring?”
“It wasn’t a particularly nice experience.”
“Tell me about it on the way. We will be spending another week by ourselves.”
~
Even the trail food was better than the insipid meals he had eaten at the Missibes inn. The terrain had changed in the last day as they approached the Gekelmar border. There weren’t hills, but the terrain could be described as valleys cut into a plain. Rocks were all over the land. No one could farm northern Bossom.
They stopped for the night after Fadden finally slowed their pace to give the horses a chance to recover.
“There won’t be many patrols this far north,” Fadden said. “There aren’t many people. Most of Gekelmar is like this or worse. To the east are vast swamps. About all a body can do out here is raise cattle or sheep.”
“Or goats,” Pol said.
Fadden laughed. “Or goats, you’re right. The Penchappy Mountains are to the west and provide ore and precious metals to fill the Bossomian treasury. Fassin is too far from the mountains, so the King of Gekelmar is disinterested in mining at present.”
“Thanks for the geography lesson. Where will we meet up with Namion?”
“If he’s still with your friends, close to here. I think we may have already crossed into Gekelmar, so we should pick up their tracks tomorrow morning by heading west. The Bossomians don’t patrol up here as much as they do their border with Fistyra. There isn’t anything of value to smuggle in either direction between Bossom and Gekelmar.”
“What’s the deal with Namion, if I can change the su
bject?”
“In what way? Namion is a complex fellow,” Fadden said.
“He said that you engineered my escape. Didn’t he have anything to do with it?”
Fadden shook his head. “He switched out the boy with you and kept his mouth shut, hopefully. We’ll know for sure tomorrow.”
“Does he have any sense of…it’s not loyalty, maybe a feeling of responsibility or friendship or something? I feel like I can’t trust him.”
“Then don’t. Namion isn’t trustworthy. I mean, he’s not a traitor to the Emperor, but he plays his own game and disregards everyone else. That’s the real reason I gave up Seeking. I was given more assignments with Seekers like him and couldn’t stomach the attitude. There are Seeker missions that require a very hard heart.”
“I always thought I’d make a good Seeker, but now I don’t know. I want to protect those I know.” Pol wanted to say know and love, but he couldn’t let the word love slip out. Once they hit Eastril, Shira would be heading back to Shinkya, and he’d never see her again.
“That’s a good way to think of it. The effective Seekers, the spies, those that stir up trouble in other countries, and those that do some real dirty work for the Emperor, are an obdurate lot, as you’ve seen. I was, for a while. When my wife died, I changed. It didn’t take much for me to leave it all behind when I found my parents were ailing.”
Pol thought for a while. “So if a Seeker sees his mission as protecting others, he can’t be a Val or a Namion?”
“As much as I hate to say it, you’re right. I never thought of it as wanting to protect others. I know you’ve killed before and don’t lack for courage, but I’ve also seen you struggle inside.”
“I’ve been that transparent?”
Fadden chuckled. “I’ve been around a lot of men and know how to read people. I know enough that you aren’t suited for the kind of life that Val and Namion thrive on.”
Pol repeated the phrase in his mind, ‘the kind that Val and Namion thrive on’. He didn’t thrive on the tiny betrayals that seemed to mean nothing to either of the men. “Then what kind of life do you think I’m suited for?”
“I think you’d make an excellent ruler. No, I know you’d make an outstanding one. You can assemble a political pattern faster than anyone I’ve ever seen and let it all come together while you’re talking. You’d be a waste as a Seeker.”
