The man nodded. ‘I am Esqivel, First Jan of Kirek. I welcome you to the court of my master, His Magnificence the Khagan Raspa tai Kirek. Captain Barema tells me that you bring good news for my master.’
‘We do. One week past we met with the pirate Sancho Rui and defeated him. I bring to your master his head as he requested,’ Varrisher said.
Esqivel smiled. ‘That is excellent news indeed. His Magnificence will be greatly pleased. He will be finished with his current business in a moment and will grant you audience. Until then, might I offer you refreshment? We have a great many foods and drinks here that I understand to be delicacies in the North. Some iced lemon perhaps?’
Esqivel shouted an instruction to a servant who disappeared down a narrow stairwell at the side of the room as soon as his name was called. He reappeared a moment later carrying a tray with two large glasses filled with a solid, pale yellow content and two small silver spoons. He presented the tray to Soren and Varrisher, who each took a glass and a spoon. They were freezing cold to the touch, a sensation that instantly reminded Soren of his time in Ruripathia — and no doubt reminded Varrisher of his homeland.
‘The ice is brought down the river from the mountains as quickly as possible in large blocks packed in cloth and straw. Much is lost in transit, but when it arrives it is stored in a room deep under the palace that remains very, very cold no matter how hot it gets up here. The cook crushes it and mixes it with lemon juice, sugar and spices to produce this, which is a favourite of the Khagan. I think you will enjoy it.’
The Shandahari had something of a reputation for intrigue, the poisoning of rivals being a chief feature of that reputation. The thought was at the forefront of Soren’s mind as he held the glass and looked at Esqivel, who was watching him in anticipation. If the reward for killing Sancho Rui was indeed as large as Varrisher had indicated, then poisoning them would certainly have made sense.
Soren thought it unlikely that the Khagan would have them killed before the identity of the head in the barrel had been confirmed though. He brought the glass up to his mouth and scooped some of the contents in.
The bitter flavour made his mouth tingle, but the edge was softened by a sweet aftertaste of sugar and spice. The ice crystals nipped at his teeth and the back of his throat, which gave him a pain behind his eye, reminding him of his worries about poison. It was so good that Soren would have found it difficult not to eat it all even so.
‘It’s delicious,’ Soren said, as politely as possible. He had never felt comfortable speaking in the formal way necessitated by the requirements of etiquette as he had not been brought up with them; they had been rammed down his throat by a particularly unpleasant professor at the Academy and it was difficult for him to disassociate the two. The result was that he always felt stilted and awkward when presented with a formal situation. At least as a non-native speaker, Esqivel would be less likely to pick up on Soren’s clumsy manners.
Someone at the front of the room caught Esqivel’s attention. He nodded and turned to Soren and Varrisher. ‘His Magnificence will see you now.’
Chapter 46
The Khagan of Kirek
They approached the Khagan, who was sitting in the single chair on the dais. He was thin, bald and clean-shaven, wearing robes of finely decorated cloth. He had an air of unquestioned power that Soren found disconcerting.
‘My First Jan informs me that you have come to claim the bounty on the pirate Sancho Rui,’ he said. His voice was deep and resonant, oozing authority. He was obviously not a man accustomed to having his requests denied.
‘We have, Magnificence,’ Varrisher said.
A servant came forward and took the barrel from Varrisher. Joined by another servant, they prised the lid off and hesitantly peered in, their faces contorting in disgust when they saw what was inside. For some morbid reason, Soren found himself oddly curious as to what the head would look like after over a week in the heat of the southern climes and if the vinegar it was steeped in would have any preservative effect.
The Khagan was not a squeamish man. When his servants confirmed that there was a head floating in the pungent vinegar, they brought the small cask to him and he reached in and pulled the head out by the hair without hesitation. He inspected it closely for a moment, the vinegar dripping all over the floor and filling the air with its tang. He said something to First Jan Esqivel, who gave a series of commands to one of the guards. The guard strode purposefully out of the room as the Khagan dropped the head back into the barrel with an unpleasant plop.
‘It will take a few minutes to confirm the identity of the head you have brought us,’ Esqivel said. ‘We have someone who knew Rui and will be able to do so, as soon as the guards bring him here.
‘I noticed earlier that you were looking out over the city.’ He walked toward the balustrade and gestured for Soren and Varrisher to follow. ‘The city is built on the edge of the delta of the River Kirek. Several branches pass through the city, which provide us with the water used to fill all of the fountains and pools—’ There was a commotion at the door that cut Esqivel off mid-sentence. ‘Ah, the guards have brought our prisoner.’
The guard returned with a colleague and a man who looked as though he had seen far better days. He was shoved along the length of the room until he was only a few feet from the Khagan, who, once again showing his possession of an iron stomach, pulled the head out of the barrel of vinegar. He spoke in Shandahari, but Esqivel had moved to his side and translated his words into Imperial.
‘His Magnificence asks if you recognise this face,’ he said.
‘I do, sir, that’s Sancho Rui. Sure as anything and swear on my life,’ the man said.
Esqivel spoke quickly to the Khagan who nodded and gestured toward Soren and Varrisher. He spoke to the guards who dragged the wretch out of the room and turned his attention back to Varrisher and Soren.
‘His Magnificence is satisfied that you have indeed slain the pirate Sancho Rui and wishes to express his gratitude. We received word that he had been killed, two days ago, but we needed to be sure of his identity and that you were the ones responsible before paying the bounty. It is being put together as we speak, and His Magnificence wishes to offer his hospitality to the men who have done him this service. You will find there are a great many pleasures and comforts to be enjoyed in the court of His Magnificence and he wishes to extend these to you while you remain in Kirek.’
Soren cast a glance at Varrisher who seemed tempted by the idea; life had not been comfortable for either of them for some time, but for Soren it was not an option.
The question that remained was how they could refuse the Khagan’s hospitality without angering him. Soren had no desire to end up like the man that had just been brought before them. He could make it clear that his refusal stemmed from his own injury at the hands of Sancho Rui, in the hope that the common complaint would ease the slight of his refusal.
‘Tell the Khagan that I am most grateful for his kind offer of hospitality, but am unable to accept,’ Soren said. He could see the change of expression on Esqivel’s face and the one of disappointment on Varrisher’s, so he continued quickly. ‘I have also suffered injury at the hands of Sancho Rui. He attacked a ship carrying a friend of mine. I believe she may have been sold as a slave in Galat, and I need to go there to find her.’
Esqivel nodded, seemingly satisfied by the explanation. He turned to the Khagan and relayed the information to him. Soren tried to read his face, but the Khagan’s expression gave nothing away.
He spoke in a commanding tone, but in the unintelligible Shandahari language and he had to wait for Esqivel to translate before Soren knew whether or not he had caused offence.
‘His Magnificence says that he understands and sympathises with your position. He takes no offence at your wish to depart as soon as possible. He asks me to show you to the comfort and tranquillity of his courtyard while you wait for your reward to be brought to you. If you would follow me this way please.’
Nonetheless, he was uneasy remaining in the court of an all-powerful man who owed them a large sum of money. Perhaps to the Khagan it was merely a trifling amount and of no concern to him — this was the only comforting thought that Soren could muster and he wanted to get out of there as quickly as they could.
He picked up a few items from the trays that caught his eye, sat and began eating them. It would be as easy for the Khagan to have them killed by his guards as by poison. He had already shown that he wasn’t squeamish; having blood let in his palace was unlikely to bother him.
Esqivel returned a few minutes later with two guards who carried a wooden chest between them. He opened it, revealing the very attractive lustre of gold coins. Soren picked one up. They were too small to be gold crowns, and were minted with a design that Soren had never seen before.
‘Your bounty, as agreed,’ Esqivel said. ‘Please feel free to count it, although I assure you it is the full sum offered.’
Esqivel noticed Soren’s curiosity. ‘They are Gold Tremissi; we do not use Imperial currency in Shandahar, although there is a good deal of it in circulation. Each tremiss is worth roughly half an Imperial Crown.’
Soren nodded in appreciation and threw the coin back into the chest.
Varrisher stepped forward and ran his fingers through the coins. Faced with so much money, he seemed just as eager as Soren to depart as swiftly as possible. ‘It appears to be fine,’ he said.
Esqivel nodded and turned to Soren in the slow, purposeful manner that defined him. ‘His Magnificence wishes to speak with you again. Captain Varrisher may leave if he pleases. Or wait if he would prefer.’ He gestured for Soren to follow him.
Soren looked at Varrisher and shrugged. There was no reason to suspect danger, and the offer for Varrisher to wait or leave suggested that Soren would also be free to leave once he was finished speaking with the Khagan.
‘I’ll wait,’ Varrisher said.
‘He will not be long,’ Esqivel said, gesturing for Soren to follow him.
The Khagan’s hall had been cleared of people by the time Soren and Esqivel got there, with only the Khagan and two of his guards remaining. He said something to Esqivel when they reached the dais and then looked at Soren with his authoritative and penetrating stare.
It made Soren uncomfortable, and having denied the Khagan once already, he knew it would be dangerous to do so again.
‘His Magnificence believes you may be able to assist him with another matter and wishes you to listen to his proposal.’
Soren tried not to show any reaction, but he was cringing on the inside. ‘Of course,’ he said.
‘The reason that the Khagan placed a bounty on Sancho Rui was because Rui captured his ship, the Gandawai. The Gandawai was carrying, in addition to a great fortune in jewels, gold and cloth, the Rala of Serash, daughter of the Khagan of Serash. She was to be married to His Magnificence and the fortune on board represented her dowry. It was not pure happenstance that Rui came upon the Gandawai. He was given information of her voyage by the Khagan of Galat, His Magnificence’s sworn enemy.’
If the Khagan was looking for an assassin, Soren would have to come up with a reason as to why he was not the man for the job, fast. He wasn’t going to take on any job that would come between him and finding Alessandra.
‘The Rala is currently being held in Galat. His Magnificence is given to understand that Galat is trying to negotiate a treaty with Serash using the Rala as an incentive. This displeases His Magnificence. He has engaged several skilled warriors to secure her freedom, but none have managed to achieve his task. He believes that the warrior who killed Sancho Rui may be able to succeed where those others have failed and asks that when you go to Galat in search of your friend, you also free the Princess of Serash and bring her here. He asks me to assure you that the bounty you have been paid for Sancho Rui’s head will be but a drop in the ocean in comparison to the rewards he will bestow upon you should you succeed. Such is his desire for his betrothed to be brought to him that he bids me tell you that he will allow you name your price, and so long as it is within reason, he shall pay it. Land, titles, wealth, slaves, whatever you wish.’
Soren had to concentrate to stop his jaw from dropping.
Chapter 47
The Search Renewed
There was really no answer that Soren could give other than yes. He was thankful that the task would not interfere with his search for Alessandra, so he agreed and Varrisher brought him to Galat. On the voyage north, Soren had outlined the content of his conversation, through Esqivel, with the Khagan.
After all they had been through together, he felt that it was only proper to give Varrisher the opportunity to accompany him on what was in effect an extension of their original agreement. If he was being honest with himself though, he was hoping that Varrisher would decline. Soren had always been a loner, which he knew was a symptom of being an orphan and growing up alone through dire circumstances. While being part of the crew of the Typhon had been an interesting experience, living and working in such close confines with the same people every day all day was not for him.
It came as a relief when Varrisher had become uncomfortable when Soren brought the issue up. He had been at pains to avoid causing offence, but outlined how he and his crew had agreed that once the bounty was collected they would return to the Spice Isles to buy a cargo to bring north — and in so doing he would establish himself as a merchant. Once he had delivered Soren as agreed, that was the plan he would be pursuing.
Soren made it clear that there were no hard feelings, and the two parted as friends. It was with a degree of uncertainty that Soren clambered out of the jolly boat at the quayside in Galat and watched it being rowed back to the Typhon, alone once again. All he had for company was the sword and dagger strapped to his waist, a sailor’s duffle bag at his feet and a purse of gold tucked away inside his doublet, the remainder of the spoils from his previous adventure safely deposited with the Austorgas’ representative in Kirek.
Ferrata was confident he had reached the point where the man in front of him would be screaming loudly, were it not for the gag stuffed in his mouth.
In Ferrata’s experience, threats of torture were never effective when dealing with the type of men his profession brought him into contact with. It might work with someone unaccustomed to the harder aspects of life, a clerk or craftsman perhaps, but a pirate would be rightly scornful, and possibly downright offended by mere threats of violence.
That was why Ferrata always began his information gathering sessions with a statement of his bona fides. It was not necessary to inflict pain as such, but rather to demonstrate that he was comfortable with matters that might make someone else squeamish.
He finished removing the man’s second little finger — not as quickly as he might have, for pain did play a role — and cauterised the wound with the flat of a blade which was glowing a yellowy red colour.
Once the initial pain and then the stench of burning flesh subsided, Ferrata spoke to the man, a swarthy looking pirate by the name of Blasco he had abducted from outside a tavern.
‘Now, you’re probably wondering why I’ve brought you here, and why I’m doing this to you.’
There was terror in the man’s eyes, but also a sizeable portion of indignation. That might make things more difficult.
‘I’m going to ask you some questions in a moment, and if I feel you’ve answered them honestly and comprehensively, I’ll let you go, no worse but for the loss of a couple of
fingers and a bump on the head. Do you understand?’
Blasco glared at Ferrata for a moment, then nodded his head.
‘Excellent,’ Ferrata said. ‘Now. I’m going to remove your gag. There’s no one nearby to hear you if you scream, so I would advise against it. If you do scream, I’ll gag you again, remove another two fingers, and we can start over. Understand?’
Blasco nodded again, with no delay.
Ferrata gave the ropes securing Blasco to the chair he was sitting in a cursory check and then pulled the gag from Blasco’s mouth.
‘Now. I’ve been led to believe that you recently encountered a fellow called Soren. Tall, dark hair, good with a sword…’
Blasco said nothing.
Ferrata raised his eyebrows and lifted the gag up.
‘Yes, I did,’ Blasco said.
‘Excellent. I need to know where he went after you parted company. I know he sailed east again, but after that. Where was he headed?’
‘I don’t know— No wait. Galat. I think he’s going to Galat. There’s a girl. He’s looking for her. He thinks she might be there.’
A girl? There was a girl with a price on her head also. A small one, but a price nonetheless, and he had been told she might well be associating with Soren when he caught up with him. It was an insignificant sum compared to the one offered for Soren, but it would make the killing worth the effort if she was close at hand.
He stood and cut Blasco’s throat with the blade he had used to remove the two fingers. It was time to find a ship heading for Galat.
The Huntsman's Amulet (Society of the Sword Volume 2) Page 24
