“Excuse me, are you Yarro? The caravan master?”
The man frowned. “Well, I am the master of this caravan, but I don’t believe the title-” He shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, I am Yarro. May I help you?”
“My name is Feena Storvis-I was supposed to meet some people traveling with you-my brother, Gan Storvis, as well as Rol Mandred and Fehrd Anspah.”
Yarro’s eyes went wide. “Was that the other one’s name? Huh.” Again, he shook his head. “My apologies-they did travel with us on the Great Road up until the Dragon’s Bowl, then they continued on with the slavers to Urik.”
Zabaj barked a noise that made Yarro jump. Then he added: “Slavers? No.”
“Yes,” Yarro said, rather nervously.
“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” Feena said with a glare at Zabaj. “Please, tell me what happened.”
Yarro quickly-and with several furtive glances at Zabaj-told Feena about the caravan being menaced, the three men who saved them, one of whom died, the other two agreeing to protect the caravan the rest of the way to Raam.
“They said they were going to Raam?” Feena asked.
Yarro nodded. “In fact, your brother mentioned you specifically-not by name, but that he and Mandred were meeting with his sister. I guess the other one was too. They didn’t really talk about him much.”
That was typical of Gan and Rol-and of Fehrd, for that matter. If they were working a job, they said almost nothing personal. Feena was surprised that Gan even mentioned her at all, under those circumstances.
She also was stunned that Fehrd got himself killed by some Black Sands bandit. Yarro went on at great length about how fearsome the raiders were, but Gan, Rol, and Fehrd should have been able to take care of them in their sleep.
Then Yarro said, “And then they went off with the slavers.”
Zabaj’s grip on Feena’s hand tightened at that last word. “That’s not possible.”
Yarro swallowed audibly. “I’m telling you, that’s what happened.”
“No.” Zabaj was suddenly looming over Yarro.
Quickly, Feena said, “I’m sure that Rol and Gan did leave with the slavers-what isn’t possible is that they ‘went off’ with them. At least, willingly.”
“I–I can’t speak to that,” Yarro stammered. “I was asleep when it happened. I just know what I was told by one of the other people in the caravan.”
“Who?” Zabaj managed to cram considerable menace into that single syllable.
Frantically looking around the receiving area, Yarro’s eyes eventually settled on a woman wearing a brocade jacket. “Her-T’Kari. She told me that the two of them went off with the slavers.”
Zabaj immediately made a beeline for the woman, practically dragging Feena along. Turning back to Yarro as she half-walked, half-ran to keep up with the mul, Feena said a quick thank you to the caravan master.
Whatever response he might have made was lost to Zabaj’s determination to get to T’Kari.
“Slow down,” Feena cried.
At that, Zabaj did reduce his pace to one more suited to Feena’s shorter legs.
“Thank you,” she said. “Look, I know how you feel about slavers, but-”
“No,” Zabaj said very quietly, “you don’t.”
She moved in front of him, forcing him to stop walking, and reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. “Yes,” she whispered, “I do.”
They said nothing for a moment. Feena stared into Zabaj’s green eyes, and saw the sadness there, as well as the anger over what he went through in the arena.
Then Feena added, “And you and I both know that my brother would rather die than willingly go with slavers, and Rol wouldn’t be caught dead in the arena of his own free will. They had to have been kidnapped.”
“I know that your brother and Mandred are decent fighters. You really think they got kidnapped?”
“They’d lost Fehrd and fought an anakore. Gan was hurt, they were both tired-sure, it’s possible.”
Zabaj turned back to look at Yarro, who was consulting with a woman and several younger people-probably his family. “Assuming he told the truth.”
“He did.”
Zabaj turned back to Feena with a dubious expression.
She sighed loudly, her tiny nostrils flaring. “Look, I can’t always spot a lie, but someone like that? He was tired, had dozens of things on his mind-he didn’t have the wherewithal to lie. What he told is us what he believes happened.”
“Then let’s see what that woman believes happened.” Zabaj looked over Feena’s head at the woman in the brocade jacket. She was staring off at the entrance to the city.
“Excuse me,” Feena said as they approached her. “Are you T’Kari?”
“Unless you’re here to tell me where-” Then she looked at them. “No, you couldn’t be. Never mind, I’m not interested.”
“We need information,” Feena said insistently. “There were two men who protected your caravan. Yarro said that you saw them leave with the slavers?”
T’Kari shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t remember,” she muttered as she looked past them back at the city.
Zabaj stepped right into her line of sight and growled, “Try.”
She frowned. “Look, I don’t have time for this.”
Feena smiled. “Seems to me you have plenty of time, since whoever you’re waiting for hasn’t shown up yet. Until they do show up, you can answer a simple question, can’t you?”
Letting out a lengthy sigh, T’Kari said, “Look, I saw each of them go into the slaver carriage at different times, and they were both being physically supported by someone else when they went in-the first one by the slaver and his daughter, the other one just by the daughter about half an hour later. I got woken up by the slavers leaving in the middle of the damned night after that. Now, can I please get back to my life?”
Feena rolled her eyes. Zabaj just growled. Quickly, Feena said, “Thanks for your time,” and pulled on Zabaj’s arm so that they could walk away together.
“This is bad,” Feena said.
Zabaj nodded, his topknot waving back and forth. “Yes. We need to talk to the others.”
“Well, we need to get out of Raam before Belrik realizes we sold him a fake map. Urik’s as good a place as any to go, right?”
“We’re about to find out,” Zabaj said as they headed back to the bazaar.
Komir hated emporium meetings.
Generally, he preferred decisions to simply be made. Talking it over just gave him a headache. Take the Belrik game, for example. The nobleman screwed Lyd over, so it was simple: they would screw him back. They took a thousand gold and a hundred copper off him, gave Lyd a chance to start over, and the bastard would spend months digging in the wastes for a nonexistent treasure where-if the desert could be trusted-he’d get eaten by something with big teeth and chronic indigestion.
Regardless, forcing Komir to sit around the carriage with his sister, his parents, Feena, Zabaj, and Tricht’tha just meant they’d be going around and around and around for hours without actually doing anything. He was seated at the head of the carriage, near the reins of the crodlus. The mounts weren’t even hooked on yet-they were off at the stables being watered and fed before their journey to wherever they were going next. However, the carriage was packed and ready to go, awaiting only a decision as to what their destination was.
Komir liked it better when Shira and Torthal simply ran things. They told everyone what to do, and that was the end of it.
But they were aging, and they both thought it was important for Komir and Karalith to be able to make decisions for the emporium in the future.
Which meant that every decision had to be examined and discussed and dissected.
“It is possible that they went on purpose,” Tricht’tha said with a chitter of disapproval.
“No, it isn’t,” Zabaj said sternly. “They would never travel with a slaver.”
“They would if the slaver hired them,” Torthal said
quietly. “That is what they do for a living. And from what you and Feena were told, they were already protecting the caravan.”
Karalith shook her head. “Because it was on the way to Raam in any case. Gan even mentioned Feena to the caravan master. They were intending to come here.”
“Perhaps they’re running a game on the slavers,” Shira said. “I wouldn’t put it past either of those two to try something idiotic like that and leave Feena twisting in the sand.”
Komir finally spoke. “Why not just go to Urik and find out for ourselves? We have to go somewhere, why not there?”
“We’re far better off heading to Tyr,” Torthal said. “King Hamanu’s insane.”
Snorting, Komir asked, “Which makes him different from every other sorcerer-king how, exactly?”
Ignoring him, Torthal continued: “Besides, Belrik might have friends in Urik.”
Tricht’tha chittered something in Chachik, then said in Common: “It’ll be weeks before he even realizes he’s been gamed.”
“You hope,” Zabaj said.
The thri-kreen glowered at the mul. “I know.”
“Really? How?”
Komir smiled. He knew where Zabaj was going with this.
“I’ve been in this hunt for half my life,” Tricht’tha said haughtily. That much was true-by the standards of the short-lived thri-kreen, she was an old hand at the game, having been involved with the emporium for four years. “I know how the prey thinks, and this one bought into it. He won’t even consider the map to be false until he’s been out digging for weeks.”
Zabaj smirked. “Exactly.”
With a grateful look at her lover, Feena said, “I know my brother, Tricht’tha-as well as you know the game. And I’m telling you, he and Rol are prisoners of those slavers.”
Torthal scowled. “They’re not close enough for your mind-magic to work.”
“It has nothing to do with that, Father,” Komir said before Feena could defend herself. “You’re always telling us to trust what we know. Well-Feena knows Gan. And so do I. If he agreed to meet Feena, he’d have tunneled through the sand to get here. I’m with her and Zabaj, they were kidnapped.”
“And so what if they were?” Tricht’tha spoke up again. “We’re not their keepers.”
“He’s my brother.” Feena glared at the thri-kreen with her ice blue eyes. “But fine, if you don’t want to help, then I’ll travel to Urik myself. I’m sure I can find a caravan headed that way.”
“We saw one posted at the station,” Zabaj added. “The two of us will take that.”
Shira tut-tutted. “Come now, Feena, don’t be ridiculous. We can’t let you go off on your own like that. You’re one of us, and we look out for our own.”
“So’s Gan.”
At that, Shira’s face soured. “Hardly. And Rol and Fehrd certainly aren’t.”
“Fehrd’s dead,” Komir said bluntly. “And that alone is cause for concern. Besides which, Lyd isn’t one of ‘our own,’ either, but we risked getting blackballed in Raam forever, and possibly getting arrested, just to help her out.”
Torthal raised an eyebrow. “There was profit in that one.”
Komir glared at Serthlara. “A few hundred gold isn’t worth what we risked to game Belrik. But Lyd’s friendship was. Are you all going to stand here and tell me that Feena’s blood tie with Gan is less powerful than Lyd’s with us?”
“Yes,” Shira said bluntly. “We chose Lyd as a friend, and she’s been there for us in the past. We’re stuck with Gan.” Zabaj opened his mouth to speak, but Shira wouldn’t let him finish. “However,” she added quickly, “that doesn’t mean that Gan is unimportant. And, if it comes to that, it’s been a few years since we gamed a slaver.”
Torthal nodded. “That alone is worth the trip.”
“Very well, then,” Shira said with the utmost reluctance. “We’ll go. Let’s try to find out anything we can about the slaver who took them before we go.”
“Not us,” Feena said. “They know us there now.”
Komir hopped off the carriage. “I’ll do that.” Anything to get away.
Karalith smiled and rolled her bracelets up her arms. They always fell back down again, and Komir had spent most of his life to date wondering why she did that. “I’ll go with you.”
“Good,” Torthal said. “Be back by sundown.”
As they walked away from the bazaar-which was in shutdown mode, with all the merchants packing themselves up, and occasionally indulging a last-minute customer who just had to have one last item-yes, I know you packed it up, but could you please pull it out for me? — Komir stared over at his twin sister, who was the same height as he. “You didn’t participate much.”
She shrugged. “No point. We were going to Urik no matter what, I just didn’t feel like going through Mother and Father’s motions.”
Komir sighed. “This was another of their life lessons, wasn’t it?”
In a fair impersonation of Torthal, Karalith said, “ ‘Can’t just make a decision, child, you have to understand it.’ Gan is family-that’s all that should matter. But they decided to play devil’s advocate just so we’d all understand why we’re doing what we’re doing.”
“Well, they do have one point.”
Karalith stopped walking and glared at her brother. “You’re even more sick of their nonsense than I am.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Komir nodded emphatically. “But not every family member of someone in the emporium is going to be worth saving. I think they wanted us to make sure it wasn’t automatic in case someone’s related to a ne’er-do-well.”
“Gan is a ne’er-do-well,” Karalith pointed out.
Komir shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s our ne’er-do-well. And he’s a good guy, honestly, he just doesn’t shut up. If he could stay quiet-”
“And Rol could stop sleeping with anything that moves …”
With a grin, Komir said, “Yeah, they’d be a force to be reckoned with.” The grin fell. “I still can’t believe Fehrd’s gone.”
Karalith scratched her chin with her index finger. Komir leaned in to pay close attention, as Karalith generally did that when she had a good idea. “Yeah,” she said, “but Feena said that the two of them didn’t talk much about Fehrd to the caravan. That could work in our favor …”
CHAPTER SIX
Gorbin stood across from the stocky elf in the arena, bored to death as he punched him repeatedly in the stomach.
After ten years, it had become routine for the mul. He got into the arena. His opponent stood across from him, either looking very cocky or scared to death. The elf was one of the cocky ones. Unusually bulky for his race, the elf called himself Sehmet, and claimed to be the best fistfighter in Athas.
When he showed up in Urik, he stood in the town square challenging anyone who’d come to beat him, and he always won. He also ended each fight with the following statement: “I can beat anyone-even Gorbin. Especially Gorbin!”
Finally, he got his wish, invited by the owners of the Pit of Black Death-a tapped-out obsidian quarry that had been converted into the premiere gladiatorial arena in Urik-where Gorbin had been the main event for a decade.
“You’re done today, Gorbin,” Sehmet said. “This is the day you go down.”
Gorbin said nothing. He didn’t like to talk while he fought. Sorvag always told him that it wasted energy.
They circled each other for a minute or so, the way fighters always did, waiting for the other one to show some kind of weakness. The scared ones usually just waited for something to happen, but the cocky ones like Sehmet often got bored and attacked first.
The elf didn’t disappoint-he lunged for Gorbin with a massive overhand right punch.
Gorbin caught the punch in his left hand. The impact was impressive, but nothing the mul couldn’t handle.
Sehmet looked stunned, gaping at his fist lodged in Gorbin’s hand as if he’d never seen the like before. He probably hadn’t.
Then Gorbin flexed his hand
, breaking Sehmet’s arm at the wrist. The elf screamed in pain as he fell to his knees, and then Gorbin let go of the fist and just started punching.
About a minute later, Sehmet was dead. Had he been a fellow slave, Gorbin would have left him alive, but challengers like him deserved what they got.
Gorbin had yet to lose a single fight in the arena.
In fact, he was still waiting for his first real challenge.
It was really getting boring.
He was the biggest and the strongest, and he’d been training his whole life. Part of it was his being a mul, of course, but he’d known a few muls in his time, and none of them were as big and strong as he was.
When he thought about it-which wasn’t often, as thinking had never been Gorbin’s strong suit, and besides, it usually just got in the way of the fighting-he figured that he owed it to Sorvag.
Gorbin had been an infant when Sorvag found him in the wastes, apparently abandoned by his parents for reasons he would never know. Gorbin still had no idea why Sorvag hadn’t just left him there. After all, he’d been just a mewling half-breed infant. Over the years, Gorbin had seen hundreds of infants; they were small, smelly, noisy, and utterly useless in every way. Sure, they grew up to be adults eventually, but prior to that, they were just horrible. Gorbin simply could not imagine that anyone would willingly take a baby into his life the way Sorvag did.
Perhaps Gorbin should have asked Sorvag that at some point before he killed him.
It was Sorvag’s own fault. He’d trained Gorbin for longer than he could remember. Sorvag had told him that he’d found Gorbin as an infant in the wastes, abandoned, and took him in. Sorvag fed him special nutritional food, made him only drink water-never fruit juice, nor any alcohol-and had him exercise constantly.
At the age of four, Gorbin had his first fight, against a ten-year-old who made fun of his face. Gorbin looked different from the other children he met in Urik. He only met one other mul, but she was a sickly little girl who died a few days after Gorbin met her. The rest had different eyes, different ears, different teeth, and that made him reviled.
Under the Crimson Sun (the abyssal plague) Page 8
