Emissary- Beasts of Burden

by Silas Post

  “The lamia,” Jarah said.

  “Were ambushed on return from their patrol,” Redelia said, smiling. “They were victorious in resisting that assault, striking down a complement of five swordsmen. It is human blood, not forestkind, that darkens the forest water this day.”

  “Those girls are fearsome allies,” Rikki said.

  “They should not need to be,” I said. “For generations the forestkind and humans shared this continent. There is no rhythm to Greenloft’s ire. Why do they strike now at neighbors that dwelt in peace? And wage a war against the cyclopean race, quiet and unassuming on their home of Okkor’s Isle?”

  “Wait,” Redelia said. “A fire burns a hundred miles north. A grove of cherry trees smolders at the heel of the royal army.”

  “Kirsis!” Rikki yelled.

  “Is gone,” Redelia said. “Whether the god of cherry wine has escaped I cannot know, only that his throne sits empty. I have hailed his mind but my psychic call goes unheeded. The sun’s light falls upon the bodies of slain satyrkind. His servants have been slain and left to rot!”

  Redelia doubled over with an agonized whine and held her hands over her heart. Without thinking, I stepped forward and grasped her upper arms just as her knees slackened beneath the onslaught of imagery that played before her mind. Pain and loss, carnage and blood — these would only deplete the goddess of the power she worked so hard to build up.

  Her dark skin was warm against my palms. I helped her recover to her feet before I realized I had laid hands upon a goddess. A terrible sense of impropriety rooted in my gut.

  “Your reflexes again prove their value,” she said, dispelling my worry with a single breath.

  “Kirsis is quiet, but other gods are not,” Redelia said. “They chatter and gossip, idle in the face of the war that comes, but their whispering reveals the nature of our threat.

  “The king’s youngest leads this charge. Prince Wick. He does not pause to collect the horn or hoof of those he killed. Unlike Taron, he strikes swiftly to the heart of his foes. There is no escape once his blade is set.”

  Rikki’s face was ghostly white. We had eliminated one prince, only for her people to fall victim to the next.

  “So many satyrkind,” I said, voicing Rikki’s concerns for her, “left without a farthing on their tongue to pay the cloud carriers for passage to their next life.”

  “We will mourn for them in time,” Redelia said. “There are twenty more guards nearby. I see them, bickering over the path ahead. They followed the sound of battle until its clamor dissolved, but the escaped warrior captain tracks their movement now. He will lead them back here in time.”

  “If you direct our path we might spring our aggression against them unwitting,” I said.

  “No,” Redelia said. “I will ensure they do not return. You will leave the forest and travel west to the port city Telapa. The amulet Rikki carries is worth a hundred gold coins, and you will need much of that to hire a vessel across the open sea.

  “Take this as well, and protect it with solemn care.” She held out a ball of silk the size of Jarah’s fist. I took the item and found a strip of silk tucked into a snug fold, cinching the sphere tightly.

  “Inside this bundle is a fragile crystal,” she said. “It contains my soul.”

  I suddenly regarded the ball of fabric in my hands with fear and awe. “Goddess,” I said. “I am not a man worthy to hold such a relic.”

  “Go,” she said. “Now. Okkor’s Isle awaits.”

  “We should stay and fight,” Rikki said.

  “Victor will need you both,” Redelia said, “and so will I. A terrible battle looms on fate’s horizon, and I lack the power to fulfill the role I must. That power lies on Okkor’s Isle. Without energy, I will surely perish; without power we all will.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Rikki said. “Power and energy, are they not truly the same?”

  “Goddess,” I said, “our pace will not slow until your future lies safe. We shall dedicate a temple to your holy light at the island’s loftiest peak, where the land reaches most fervently for the heavens that praise your glory.” With a bow and a nod, we left Redelia and sped west through the forest, pausing only to assess whether nature’s reverberating sounds were instead the sign of royal warriors afoot.

  Each step of the way, Rikki found new ways to keep me in constant contact. She searched up my back and rested a palm on my shoulder. She curled her tail around my wrist and tickled my forearm with the puff of fur at its tip. She snuck her fingers into my pocket and realized that deep pockets allowed her to touch more than just my thigh.

  It was some hours before the rim of trees that formed the forest’s outer wall came into view. As we pushed back the last branches of the forest’s edge and waded into the knee-high grasses beyond, the peak of Redelia’s stone spire rose mighty above the trees. The sunstone I had placed gleamed as bright as the sun itself now, a searing orange sphere that burned my eyes after only a second of gazing in wonder. I blinked hard and turned away.

  “Look back,” Jarah said, squinting her large eye toward the forest’s canopy. The golden flecks that resided within her lavender iris swirled in excitement, reflecting back a small degree of the brilliant light atop the temple tower.

  Then the sunstone’s top half clouded in blackness, and the sun mirrored that miracle, becoming a floating orb of fire with a mirthless obsidian base. The trees shadowed beneath the black-bottomed sun, casting the forest into a twilight that quickly thickened to early night.

  “The sunstone’s second purpose,” I said. “She has captured the light of the sun and plunged the forest into darkness, even as the sun still lights the land beyond.”

  “Giving the forestkind an advantage against the encroaching enemy,” Jarah said. “The royal army will drop their speed in thick darkness, or perhaps abandon their quest altogether and cut the losses already incurred. She is a wise tactician.”

  “But the forest cannot thrive without light,” Rikki said.

  “Nor can Redelia,” I said, setting off toward the continent’s shore. “Come. Our journey only begins.”

  “Slow down,” Rikki said, struggling to trail behind. “My finger is stuck in your belt loop.”

  4

  The hours passed quickly, Jarah regaling us with stories of her home on Okkor’s Isle. The lively music and endless dance; the luscious flowers and lustrous palms; the warm embrace of a people who lived on a mountain surrounded by sea and loved to share their savory cuisine and delicate wine.

  “When do we try this Okkor booze and grub?” Rikki asked, distilling Jarah’s careful narrative to its bluntest detail. “After we press through the plant life and hike up a rock? After we dedicate a temple and stave off a war?”

  “The mountain’s peak is too long a trek to take at once,” Jarah said. “We’ll stop in my parents’ village halfway up the mountain to eat and rest. I’m eager to share you both with them, though their hospitality will be tempered by the tragic news I’m forced to break.”

  “I am truly sorry for your brother’s loss,” Rikki said. “We’ll dine and drink in his honor. Then we’ll dine and drink again. For our own honor. And then we’ll—”

  “There it is,” I said. “Telapa.”

  Telapa was a sizeable city, its stone walls high and its entry gates few. We approached from the city’s south, keeping the shoreline to our west. The sun’s slow descent toward the glittering ocean horizon cast the sky in a warm amber glow with indigo clouds puffing quickly by.

  Here, a day’s journey beyond the light-capturing force of Redelia’s temple spire, the sun escaped the divine pall that had darkened its face above the trees.

  “The bulwark walls that seal the city extend a mile into the ocean waters,” Jarah said. “We could disguise ourselves to slip inside the guarded gates, though the thought of it sparks a certain weariness.”

  “Nighttime approaches,” I said, “and with it the shielding embrace of long shadows. There will b
e no veil to hide your glorious face or torturous apparatus forcing shame upon your sensitive breast. I will find us a way.”

  “I am relieved,” Rikki said. “I worried we might swim the length of the ramparts and return on the other side. Fur takes longer to dry. How shall we sneak into the city and fetch us a boat?”

  “I will scout the situation and return an answer to that inquiry,” I said.

  “Very well,” Rikki said.

  “Which means…” I said, glancing downward.

  Rikki’s face flashed in panic and her grip on my belt loop tightened. “There could be danger. If you die, Victor Coin, I would rather go with you than feed your body to the earth and starve myself from lost affection.”

  “You would leave Jarah to tuck a farthing beneath both our tongues?” I asked.

  She reached for Jarah’s skirt and took a fistful of cyan fabric. “No,” she said. “I would take Jarah with us too. Forget the cloud carriers and their funerary toll. No fickle ferryman will keep us three apart.”

  Jarah tugged at Rikki’s arm until she released the loop at my waist and braced against Jarah’s body instead. The cyclopean woman pressed her palms onto Rikki’s shoulders and worked her thumbs in small circles at the base of Rikki’s neck.

  “No lurid death pact need ensnare us this evening,” Jarah said. “Victor is as human as every inhabitant in Telapa. He is the safest among us to enter their port.”

  A huff of air forced its way from Rikki’s flared nostrils, but reluctantly she acquiesced. “I will not spend this night without him. Tell Victor to return with haste.”

  “Gods willing,” I said, “I shall also return with a hundred gold coins, less the price of passage to Okkor’s Isle. But for this feat, I will require Redelia’s pendant.”

  “I know,” Rikki said. She unclasped the thin chain that held the glowing stone and placed it in my open palm.

  In exchange, I handed her the ball of silk that protected the crystal containing Redelia’s soul. “I’ll need you to protect this while I enter the city.”

  Rikki took the item and tucked it beneath the crimson scarf that wrapped around her chest, shifting and positioning her breasts so that the silken knot of fabric was invisibly contained.

  “I never realized how useful a second breast might be,” Jarah said, marveling at the vanished orb.

  “Kiss for the road?” I asked. Rikki and Jarah both obliged, though Rikki rubbed her cheeks in another protest against my new beard. I turned and trudged toward the nearest entry gate, chuckling to myself as Rikki called out behind me. She requested sticky buns on my return, as well as cherry wine from whatever vendor might have it at their disposal. And also, sticky buns, lest I forget.

  Rikki was a woman of fervent impulse, and I trusted Jarah could sate her many desires with mighty hands digging deeply into the satyress’s tired flesh, distracting her hunger and thirst with the promise of a massage finally renewed.

  My focus lay forward. As I walked, I kept the sharpened end of my staff pointing downward to avoid the appearance of approaching the city armed. I was just a regular man with a simple walking stick seeking the shelter of Greenloft’s western port city.

  The high grasses that grew wild between the city and the forest did much to shield Rikki and Jarah from view, but those dense green blades made for a slow pace. The sun was just touching the water’s edge as I strode toward the archway in the high stone wall, its solid metal doors both open to their fullest extent.

  “Aho!” I called to the guards posted beside the gate. I maintained a genial smile and continued my pace, leaning on my staff as I went.

  “Aho,” a guard replied. His face bore several days’ scruff and the bags under his eyes were puffy and wrinkled. “State your business.”

  “Just a traveler seeking a warm meal and a soft bed for the night,” I said.

  “A loyal subject of King Corrow and faithful servant of the kingdom Greenloft?” the guard asked. He sat on a small stool, as did his colleague. Both had large bellies that rounded past their waistlines and rested on their upper thighs, stretching their matching orange tunics so tightly that the dimple of their navels clearly showed.

  My smile twitched, but my inquisitor was too haggard and tired to take notice. “A hearty yes on both counts.”

  “Good,” he said. “Can’t have anyone rousing rabble in the city. Your name, good sir?”

  A memory surfaced in my mind’s ear. Victor? Is he the one that murdered our prince?

  “Humbert,” I said. “Humbert Carver.”

  “Welcome to Telapa, Humbert,” the guard said.

  “Thank you kindly,” I replied, then strolled through the gate as a new man. A man whose loyalty to a warmongering monarch was resolute and whose service to his country unassailable. A man I should very much like to punch in the head.

  The streets of Telapa might have been cobbled once, but the few stones that showed through the dirt and sea grime were polished smooth by the boots of a thousand passersby.

  The main road north from the southern gate led to a small plaza in the center of the city where another street intersected it, likely leading from the eastern gate to the open sea. Even these paths were narrow and cramped, leaving little space between the buildings on either side and littler still as the roads were full of people hurrying along.

  Vendors took advantage of this packed space, setting up stalls to sell their wares and forcing the men and women of Telapa to confront those goods head-on before skirting around each seller cart and absorbing the fanciful claims of the next hopeful peddler.

  Half of these carts belonged to fishmongers, bedecked with all series of fish strung up on twine. What had been a fresh catch that morning was now a stinking, slimy display drawing more flies than interested purchasers, but at least it was half-priced.

  Petty merchants were not the only ones served well by a crowded avenue. A small boy, his cheeks smeared with black grease, walked with his head tilted down and his eyes shifted up. He approached a man haggling with a very animated vendor and slipped his little fingers into the man’s pocket. He came away with a copper farthing and quickly scampered off.

  I tucked my hand into my pocket after that, thumbing the smooth surface of Redelia’s gem to reassure myself that this pocket would not be picked. Two silver shillings sat in that same pocket, the sum total of all the coins I had for the journey ahead.

  I scanned the goods sold by a handful of carts, most of them paltry and cheap. One cart held items with glitz and shine, appealing to a woman’s sensibility. Bracelets and bangles; rings and small gems. These were the closest match for the pendant I needed to sell.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Do you buy, or merely sell?”

  “Depends on what you’re selling,” the man said. “If you come to me with glass bead and tin ring, I can pay a few farthings to restock my cart. If you come with diamond and silver, I’ll suspect they are glass and tin in disguise. A few farthings either way.”

  “What I have is far better than diamond,” I said. “It is a holy pendant blessed by a powerful goddess, a resplendent gem that reflects its brilliant beauty upon all who behold it.”

  I pulled the amulet from my pocket and held it by its thin chain, allowing its allure to prove its own inherent value.

  The vendor frowned. “I would neither purchase nor even touch such an item.”

  The child thief I had seen earlier was stopped in his tracks, obviously attracted to the vibrance of my divine jewel. When my eyes caught his, he frightened and ran off.

  “Please,” the vendor before me said. “Put that away and move onward before you attract the wrong sort of attention.”

  “What sort is that?” I asked.

  “Any sort, at this rate.”

  Confused and dismayed, I pushed forward through the crowd and left that seller to his cheap and easy jewelry. He was a man with no appreciation for finer adornments anyway.

  The shops that lined this street were all closed and dark, so there
were no proper jewelers to appeal to. Even the carts began folding up their displays, reducing my likelihood of finding an appropriate outlet to exchange Redelia’s gift for coin. By the time I reached the city’s central plaza, I was running out of options.

  The statue watching over Telapa’s geographic center gave me a start. It was a grand metallic tribute to none other than King Corrow. The monarch had ruled over Greenloft’s realm for decades, yet this statue made him a man of young middle-age. His stoic face turned toward the sky while his body, covered in armor, stood proud. A great helm tucked beneath one arm and a splendid sword sat in his hand. A placard at the figure’s feet read: Our Lofty King Corrow, the Stalwart Statesman.

  Empty words engraved beside an empty metal shell.

  As I sat onto a wooden bench with my back to our king, a woman in tight green pants approached me with a skeptic’s glare. She wore a corseted vest, the laces that tied across her chest displaying the cleavage of breast against breast, pale skin that shined smooth and clean.

  “I have not seen you before,” she said. “Not properly, at any rate.” A cloak draped from her shoulders with a large hood pulled over her forehead. Her face was young and round, with a slight tan from the summer’s sun and a series of freckles on her cheeks that I suspected would vanish every winter.

  I stood and stepped closer. “Humbert,” I said. I extended my hand.

  She glanced at it but declined the invitation, perching her hands instead on her hips while the wind nudged at the hood that held her hair out of view. “That’s a terrible name.”

  “I’m so glad you think so,” I replied. “Is it your custom to approach strangers purely for insult, or am I an exception?”

  “You made a bold attempt at forbidden commerce,” she said. “You attracted my… awareness.”

  “There is nothing illicit about my offering,” I said. “This is a pendant crafted by the divine word of Redelia. It is no forgery.”

  “A forgery would serve you safer,” she said. “Maybe you haven’t heard, but the gods have fallen out of favor here. They are revealed for the witches and warlocks the king claims them to be.”