by Guy Antibes
They easily merged into the constant flow of travelers traveling north and south. Fassin received little traffic from Bossom, but that wasn’t the case with Duchary.
They had to wear their cloaks to keep from being devoured by all kinds of insects. Shira had taken one of her dresses and ripped it into strips for all of them to wrap around their faces. She looked at Pol’s eyes.
“I want to laugh at you, but I can’t,” she said.
“I know,” Pol said. Perhaps they would begin to talk. She kept telling them that they needed to, but somehow they never did.
She clutched her hands, enclosed in gloves. They were miserable having to wear their cold weather gear to keep the bugs at bay.
“Just what do you think you know?” she said.
“You’re conflicted.”
She poked him with her riding crop, but it had less effect through all of the garments that Pol wore.
“How am I conflicted?”
Pol turned his eyes towards her. “Do you really want me to tell you?”
He couldn’t see her face, but her body language pleaded with him to continue.
“Shinkyans think humans are animals,” Pol said.
“Some humans act like animals.”
“Good point,” Pol said. “But maybe we can call Shinkyans ‘shinkyans’ and humans ‘sub-shinkyans’.”
“I said that in the chamber, didn’t I?” she said.
“You did, and I noticed. I’ve been collecting what I call Shinkyan nuggets for months, and that was the biggest one of all. It put some of my suspicions about your culture into my pattern.”
“Patterns can be dangerous.”
“You are telling me that?” Pol said.
“Yes,” Shira said. Pol liked the sound of that yes. She didn’t argue with him. “But that isn’t all?”
“No,” Pol said. He kept silent for a moment.
“Go on.”
Pol took a deep breath. “I am half-human and half-alien, maybe more, for all I know. Aliens domesticated the Shinkyans and that makes me—”
“No. I can’t accept that you are better than a Shinkyan!” Shira said.
Pol had hit the nail on the head. “I’m not better than a Shinkyan. Do you really believe that I think that way?”
“You’ve got that alien bouncing around in your head.”
“There isn’t an alien in my head. He died when I told him that his wife was dead in the capsule. I think he gave up. He began to talk nonsense and just disappeared.”
“You didn’t tell us that.” Did he detect a pouting tone?
“It is personal,” Pol said.
“So is Shinkya’s regard for the human race.”
“I’m sure it is. Look, why don’t you add half a human and half an alien and divide by two. What do you think you get?”
Shinkya raised her forefinger in the air. “A Shinkyan!”
“Good as,” Pol said.
He let her think about their conversation.
“I’ll have to think about it a lot more.”
“You have the time.”
She steered her horse closer. “Do you still like me?”
“I do, my pet,” Pol said.
Shira screamed and began laying into him with the riding crop.
“You animal!” she said. Pol was almost sure she was grinning when she said it.
“That’s half of me,” Pol said.
She began to laugh. “We really are friends, still?”
“We were always friends, from my point of view. More than friends. I had an interesting talk with Fadden just before we fought the Hounds at the Bossomian border. Everyone is a tool for others. Fadden called it entanglements. That is how I think of Shinkyans and the aliens. Where would the Shinkyans be without the aliens, and where would the aliens be without the Shinkyans? In my opinion, they were the tools of each other.
“Humans can breed with Shinkyans, and aliens can breed with humans, so really, in my mind, we are all some definition of human. You might not accept that, but I do, and that means my feelings for Shinkyans are unfettered.”
“I don’t know if mine are or not,” Shira said. She gave him a smile. “But I’ve found I can make an exception in your case.”
She poked him hard with her riding crop, and that pleased Pol to no end.
~
They stopped at the Duchary border. There were no Gekelmar soldiers, but they had to stop at a large Duchary guardhouse.
“Purpose of visit?” the guard asked. The Ducharians evidently spoke Bossomian.
“We are from the Empire and are traveling through your fair land to Ducharl to secure passage home,” Fadden said.
“You will pay for your escort before entering Duchary.”
“Is Gekelmar coinage sufficient?”
The guard nodded.
“How much?” Fadden said.
Fadden and the guard spent half an hour negotiating a price. Pol felt like he was back in South Parsimol again.
They set out with three guards, bearing fatter purses. One led, and the other two picked up the rear.
Pol had never been to such a dreary place. Duchary was the opposite of Bossom in every way except for the heavy-handed bureaucracy. They did travel on good roads, and they sold one of their packhorses at the first inn. Pol hoped it was the last he would see of camping gear until he landed back in the Empire.
Actually, the three guards were pleasant enough when they were lubricated with sufficient alcohol. The drinking age was eighteen, so Pol was the only one to drink a rancid fruit juice after Shira claimed, rightly or not, that she was now eighteen,
A day out of the capital, Pol located a group of dots heading their way from the southeast.
“Soldiers are coming,” Pol said to one of the guards.
“How do you know?”
“I’m a Seeker and can see such things.”
“You’re too young.”
Fadden turned back. “Are you expecting a squad of soldiers to pass by us?”
“You’re a Seeker, too?
“We both are.”
“There shouldn’t be.”
“Will you fight with us or against us?” Pol said.
“We don’t want to fight at all.”
“Then ride away for a bit while we take care of the approaching riders, if they are who I think they are,” Fadden said.
“Hounds?” Pol asked.
“What do you think?”
“That means the border guards were bribed.”
The three guards had already headed across the fields without them.
“And the guardhouse probably had birds to send to Ducharl,” Pol said.
Fadden nodded and gathered all of them in. “I suspect more Hounds. Do you have your chainmail on? If not, armor up. We only have minutes.”
Pol dismounted and tied the pole he had taken from the alien chamber more tightly to his saddle. He grabbed the last of his metal splinters and put them in his pocket, and then he put on his conical hat and the colorful Shardian oilskin cloak over his chainmail tunic. He made a final check for his Shinkyan throwing knives and mounted again.
“Fighting in style?” Shira said, nocking an arrow in her bow.
“Just for the Hounds.” Pol rode up to Fadden. “ There might be a Circle magician from the Shards. I’m ready.”
“If they have a magician—“
“Take care of him first. I remember the headaches he gave you.” Pol put a shield on Fadden and then rode back and shielded the others, even Shira.
“I can shield myself.”
“Two shields are better than one,” Pol said.
She closed her eyes. “Now they are,” She nodded and gave him a grim smile.
Pol and Fadden had had all of them practice guiding their horses with their knees as they rode through the endless Gekelmar swamp. Now they would all get a chance to use their skills.
Pol counted thirteen riders. That was more than enough to get somebody hurt, especially if the Duc
hary guards who deserted had joined the Hounds.
Their enemy stopped in front of them.
“The Shinkyan is in the back,” one of the Hounds said.
Another Hound spoke directly to them. “Give up the girls, and we’ll let you go.”
Pol didn’t believe him for an instant. He rode next to Fadden, rolling a metal shard between his fingers.
“I gave some of your friends a warning. I’ll give it to you. If you want to stay alive, you’ll let us pass, with the women.”
The Hounds all laughed.
Pol didn’t hesitate and teleported a metal shard into the heart of the leader.
An arrow flew past his ear into the other Hound who spoke.
Pol felt the pressure of a spell from a Shardian magician who rode in the back.
He pulled out one of his knives and sent it deep into the magician’s chest.
Then their Duchary escorts attacked them from the rear. Fadden turned to fight them, as Pol grabbed all his shards and sent them into Hound after Hound. He only had seven left, so he had to make them count.
Pol pulled his sword and charged another magician, who thought his shield was a match for Pol’s magically-enhanced thrusts. Pol pulled out his short knife and sent it into the arm of a Hound getting ready to strike Loa.
He turned around, but it was too late. A Hound reared back and struck Pol from the rear quarter. Pol felt the blow. His hand went numb, and he nearly dropped his sword, but his shoulder was intact. He glanced at his shoulder, and the oilskin cloak appeared to be intact.
He feebly swung his sword to keep the attacker at bay, but that was the last swing of the fight as Fadden had taken out the same man.
Pol’s group surveyed the damage. Kell’s hand was badly damaged and Paki was struck off his horse. Loa had already dismounted and began wrapping Kell’s hand.
Shira looked down at Paki.
Pol took another look at his cloak and realized the colors were flat wards.
“What color is this cloak?” he asked Fadden.
“It’s a dirty white, why?”
“Nothing,” Pol said. He dismounted, and despite his aching shoulder, saw to Kell’s hand while Fadden took care of all their opponents.
Kell’s hand had been split in two. Loa’s first aid hadn’t helped at all, but Pol didn’t tell her that. “Get me some food,” Pol said.
He had to look at his own hand to reconstruct Kell’s. He began with the blood vessels and finished with his skin. The sun was setting when he sat back. Kell had fainted from the pain some time ago.
“How is Paki?” he called to Shira. His friend was still on the ground.
“I froze him for you. I think he’s all right,” Shira said.
Pol looked at the food on a cloth on the ground, but for some reason he didn’t feel hungry. He ate it anyway and walked over to Paki.
He had a scalp wound, which Shira had managed to work by herself. Pol had to cut into what she had done and repaired a crack in Paki’s skull. There was little swelling, and that might have been due to Shira’s freezing technique. Pol had to smile. That just might be a healing innovation that he’d talk to Searl about.
He unfroze Paki and worked on the inflammation in his brain. Paki woke up.
“I’m still alive?”
Pol laughed with relief. “No easy women for awhile. The Hound tried to split your skull.”
“Impossible,” Paki said. “Too thick.”
And maybe it was, Pol thought.
Kell had also awakened. He gingerly flexed his hand.
“It would be better if you put that hand in a sling for a bit, assuming we won’t be attacked again.”
Pol stood up, stiff from his healing. Fadden had already lined the dead men up at the side of the road.
“We wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for your little metal slivers.”
“I’m all out,” Pol said.
“Then make some more. We might need some in Ducharl. We’re certain to be picked up without an escort.
Pol looked at the dead soldiers. “Do you think one of those uniforms will fit me?”
“I’ll wear one, too,” Paki said.
~~~
Chapter Thirty-Six
~
The uniforms worked to get them to the coast. The soldier who carried their papers managed to get an arrow from Shira on the other side of his chest, so their papers weren’t bloodstained.
They didn’t waste any time entering Ducharl. The city was dirty and chaotic, as most port cities were. Pol smelled the sea and picked up the odor of freedom. He was ready to leave Volia behind him.
They split up once they found their inn. Pol presented their papers to the innkeeper as Nater Grainell, and then returned as Pol Cissert without the uniform. They didn’t stay at The Purple Pearl, since it had unpleasant memories for Fadden. Kell and Loa went to the docks to see about a ship. Shira decided to take a long bath and paid for the extra hot water herself. Pol lent her his warded cloak in case she was accosted and needed more protection than her bare skin afforded.
Pol and Fadden decided to give Namion a visit. Before they left, Pol grabbed a few forks. He made twelve more metal spikes, tied them up with a string, and stuck them in his pocket.
As they walked to the Purple Pearl, Pol noticed the filthiness of Duchary’s capital, but decided he’d rather live here than inside the Inner Ring of Missibes.
Fadden walked up to the end of the bar that served as The Purple Pearl’s front desk.
“I’m looking for Namion Threshell. He’s a—“
“I know what he is. He ain’t here,” the bartender said in an unfriendly tone. “Disappeared more than a week ago. No one knows where. He left all his things upstairs. I’m about ready to sell them. You interested?”
“We are Seekers, too. Can we look at his things?”
The bartender nodded and gave him a key. “I’ll be wanting that back. Room One.”
Fadden shivered as he walked past Room Three and tapped on the doorpost. “I stayed in that room for too long,” he said.
The key didn’t work. Pol bit his lip. “He did that on purpose,” he said.
Fadden smiled. “He will be wanting to know if we are real Seekers.”
Pol concentrated on the lock, found the pattern, and tweaked it open.
Fadden shook his head. “I don’t know how you can do that, but it comes in very handy.”
“It does,” Pol said, pushing the door open for Fadden to enter first.
The room itself looked orderly, but Pol could see that Namion had been abducted.
“They dragged him out of here by his heels,” Pol said, after he examined the floor.
Fadden ran his hand along the top of a chair. “This is new. They probably broke the old one over Namion’s head.”
Pol got down on his knees and examined the carpet and found a few silvers of wood. “Here.”
“I’m too old to go walking around on my knees.” Fadden said. “So where did they take him?”
Fadden gathered Namion’s bags and buckled the Seeker’s sword to his belt. He traveled light anyway, Pol thought. They walked back down to the main floor. Pol looked for drag marks on the stairs and perhaps in the stable yard but didn’t find a thing.
“Either they have a magician with him, or he’s still at the inn.” Pol looked up at the windows. “Shall we find out?”
“We shall.” Fadden said. “It’s a pleasure Seeking with you, Pol. I’ve taught you well.”
Pol laughed. “You have, but it hasn’t been Seeking that I’ve learned well.”
“But you’ve benefitted from my perspective.”
“I have indeed.”
They reached the upper floor again. Pol looked closely at the floorboards. “Scrubbed. Look at the difference in color. It starts right by the door to Number One.” Pol followed the cleaned floor. He could barely make out the difference, but they stopped at Number Seven.
“What do you see inside?” Pol said quietly.
“Four spots. Three minders and Namion?”
Pol nodded. He put, three metal spikes in his hand and used his power to tweak the lock.
Fadden pulled out Namion’s sword while Pol made sure they had fresh shields.
With a deep breath, Pol opened the door and noted Namion’s still form on the bed.
His head reeled at the pressure. Pol sent a shard into a Shardian magician. Fadden quickly dispatched one of the men, and the other fell to the floor and scrambled next to the wall, covering his arms over his head.
“Why is Namion here?”
“The Pontifer wants him.”
“You are Hounds?” Fadden asked.
The man nodded his head.
Pol looked at Fadden and shook his head. He couldn’t kill the man, but Fadden could.
He clapped Pol on the shoulder. “Let’s get Namion to our inn.”
Pol colored Namion’s hair gray, and he switched coats with Fadden before they took him out of the room. Pol jammed the lock and helped Fadden remove the comatose Seeker out a side door to the stableyard.
Pol entered the common room and tossed the key to Number One on the desk. “Thanks. It worked well.”
He walked out of the inn, feeling the bartender’s eyes on his back. Pol returned to the stable yard, where he checked out Namion.
“As far as I can tell, he’s been drugged,” Pol said. “I have no idea how to fix that.”
“No matter,” Fadden said. “We’ll take him up the back stairs to our rooms.”
That was easier said than done, thought Pol. Finally they dumped him on Fadden’s bed.
“If there are Hounds still in Duchary, that means…”
Pol ran down the stairs two at a time and knocked on the bathroom door. “Shira?”
“What?” she said from behind the door.
“Are you all right?”
“You may come in,” she said.
Pol had to step over two assailants. Shira was still in her bath, but had covered up with his cloak.
“How?”
“Does a lady need clothes to put a lad to sleep?”
“Sometimes she only needs to discuss her shopping trip,” Pol said.
He shut the door and stopped Fadden from opening the door.
“She used a sleeping spell on two men,” Pol said, still grinning.
“It’s not a laughing matter.”
“Not to the Hounds, no.” Pol said, sobering up a bit.
