by Daniel Casey
Tobin pulled the tent drape back and without looking back at them said, “Less than an hour.” The words hung in the air in his absence.
CHAPTER Three
28th of Samhain
Lappala Fleet
Unlike the cells aboard the Kwloon, the Lappalan flagship, the reception chamber was bright and warm. Umma designed it to mimic the cartel’s chamber. The only difference being its reduced size and Umma’s polished silver throne in the center. The blackened wood and metal of the fleet that gave it the distinctive forbidding presence when spied by distant onlookers disappeared upon entering the chamber. Umma had insisted that the reception chamber be bright and cozy, not to be welcoming but to add a sense of tender wonder to foreign entrants as they were lead through the ominous maze that was the great ship.
Umma had already cowed a Silvincian admiral. A drunken lout who looked as though he had finally sobered up enough to be confused by the world around him. If this was the man the Seven Spires thought worthy to command their great navy (a thought that always made Umma smirk), then its army must be led by a proper fool. She was sitting slouched, lounging almost, to one side on the tall silver throne when Rava entered.
Rava Din was a black scar in Umma’s bright room. He sauntered towards her with his face betraying no emotion. However, his gait said much. It almost appeared as though he was going to stop walking and slowly fall back the direction he came. He was so very languid, as though he cared nothing for the act. Yet she knew his movements were more deliberate than what anyone could suspect. Every footfall was silent. Cat’s envied Rava’s movements.
Taller than even most ensi, Rava was a lithe coiled mass of muscle, sinew, and deep wounds. While Umma had ambitiously rose to her position at a relatively young age, she was just now entering her third decade; Rava had been quietly serving the cartel for nearly five. Aside from his sober countenance and mass of scars, which could be seen on his shoulders, hands, and even creeping up from under his tunic along his neck, he didn’t look much older than Umma.
He came to an abrupt stop ten paces from the throne. His eyes looked wide and white, his black as pitch pupil hiding a mass of churning unknowable thoughts. Umma, rightly, feared him but also was desperate to best him or, at the very least, win his approval. This infuriated her.
“The Silvincian admiral has returned to his blockade. But he has sent several rather swift vessels east. Obviously carrying news of our arrival to these waters.” Rava spoke evenly without a trace of an accent.
His tongue wasn’t native Lappala. He didn’t sound Lappalan. He didn’t sound like anyone. His speech had no qualities. Umma knew he was originally from the far south, somewhere so deep into the high sands one really knew if it was real. Rava was the only proof of there being life that far south, where the sun had burned everything away. Even the people were darker skinned than anywhere else.
Umma refused to straighten herself keeping her repose. Almost immediately, she realized trying to look like she was relaxed required more effort than expected. She looked Rava up and down, “That comes as no surprise. We expected them to do so. Hopefully their cute little boats will quickly spread the word of our presence.”
“I realize that you’re eager to offload our cargo but there is no chance that these people will be able to amass the trade we demand in as short a time as you may expect.”
“The fleet,” Umma sat up and leaned forward, “Was designed to inspire awe. It was designed to stand secure and patient while these sovi get themselves in order.”
Rava nodded, “So it would seem.”
“What I need to hear from you,” Umma stood, “Is how much information have we gleaned from our guests.”
“I know all I need to know from those two.” Rava was dismissive.
“Do you?” Umma circled the throne. “Then you can recommend how they are to be deployed.”
Rava nodded but said nothing. Umma waited. Quiet filled the room, soon the only sound perceptible were the torch flames flickering and the uneasiness of the guards at the entrance as they shifted their weight. Finally, Umma spoke.
“Do tell.”
If Rava was satisfied in winning this small battle of wills, he gave no outward sign. Speaking again in his pristine neutral tone, “The pirate warrants no worries. He will adequately fulfill his purpose. The spy, on the other hand, he…” Rave paused. His yes looked down for a moment and he appeared to chew his tongue for an instant as he was lost in thought, “…he may be harboring us ill will.”
“Harboring ill will towards you, Inquisitor.” Umma said flatly.
Rava nodded, “I doubt he may be used as we imagined but a few minor adjustments and he can still be of service.”
“Adjustments to him or to our design?”
“Yes.”
Umma smiled and sat back down on the throne. “You have your instructions.”
“I do. I merely wanted to make you aware.” Rava bowed his head slightly, “As a courtesy.”
“Yes,” Umma shot back a humoring grin, “A courtesy.”
“There are now the Rikonese to address.”
“They are awaiting an audience. Will you stay? Or…”
“I would gladly stand at your side so to receive any revised instructions once they are heard.” Rava spoke quickly.
He raised his left foot behind him and tapped the steel toe of his boot down twice on the hard veneer of the floor. Umma was startled by just how resounding the knocks were. The doors to the chamber began to open and suddenly Rava was at Umma’s side. Although two steps below her, he was eye level from where she sat. He didn’t look at her rather stared straight ahead, as the two Rikonen emissaries were lead to the spot where he had stood.
A man in rather middling dress and a woman in what Umma assumed was meant to be armor entered. The woman was cocksure and when she saw Rava couldn’t help but puff herself out more. The man was neither craven nor haughty. He seemed almost lost in another world as his eyes darted all around the room then froze on a single invisible point as his expression glazed over. These were queer folk, Umma concluded, but they were necessary. They stopped before the throne. Neither bowed but the man began by making an open palm gesture as he gazed not at Umma but just off behind her shoulder.
“I am acting Prime Alder Soren Redding,” his voice was confident even if his demeanor was odd, “and this is my sister and sergeant-at-arms Qala Alvomar.”
“So glad that you have ventured forth to meet with us, Alder.”
“Prime Alder” Qala interjected.
“Acting, wasn’t it?” Rava replied.
Qala reddened and her jaw clenched. Umma noticed Soren make a slight settling gesture and glance out of the corner of his eye at his sister.
“Please, tell us how we can assist you.” Umma said returning them to the task at hand.
“Well, that’s issue… I’m sorry, you are?” Soren stumbled but regained himself.
“Wherever are my manners?” Umma said with mock embarrassment. “You’ll forgive me. I’ve had a rather trying time these past few days dealing with your admiral.”
“He’s no ally to us.” Qala grumbled.
“No?”
“Madam, if you would…”
“Quite right, acting Prime Alder.” Umma nodded and put on a more formal face for a moment. “I am Umma Myr-Sen, the chosen proxy of Amar-Sin, Dictant of the Cardinal Interest of Lappala. And this,” she made an open palm gesture to Rava, “Is Inquisitor Rava Din.”
Soren nodded to both, and then asked. “Since it has been so long since we’ve encountered proper emissaries from the Aral, I hope that you won’t mind me reverting to our customary honorifics.”
“Just so, acting Prime Alder,” Umma smiled, “these are after all, your lands.”
“That is exactly right.” Qala said.
“I can’t help but notice a bit of hostility in your bodyguard’s tone, acting Prime Alder.” Umma replied. Qala visibly tensed, she was about to take a step forward when Soren moved in front of he
r.
“She isn’t a bodyguard ambassador. She is in command of Rikonen’s elite guard so I would request you craft your address to her in the appropriate fashion and I shall ensure that there are no further outbursts or sour tones.”
Soren was being deferential and Umma saw no need to be difficult with him. She smiled, “So I shall ask again, acting Prime Alder. How may we assist you?”
“I suppose, firstly, you can explain to us the nature of your great fleet.”
“It had been decided that since so little had been heard from your great city that it might be in need of greater stores of bithumin. We have come to provide you with what we calculated you have been missing out on for the past… What was it Rave? Thousand days.”
“Eleven hundred and twenty-three days.” Rava said.
“We know how long it’s been.” Qala rasped between her teeth.
“But why now? You’ve not been lacking in trade. The Spires have been taking on your exports.” Soren asked, ignoring his sister’s griping.
“Our contracts with the Silvincians are not the same as our contracts with your city. One cannot simply subsume them at will. We make sure that our end of the exchange is always upheld.”
“Well, while we appreciate that, it appears that you don’t quite understand the situation…”
Umma cut Soren off, “That your city is under siege by Silvincia. That doing so is not necessarily legal or, at least, isn’t expressly illegal. That your city has no allies.”
“We have allies.” Qala asserted.
“Oh? Whom might that be?” Silence fell. Umma was in no rush to speak, she looked at Qala with an expected innocence. Qala again reddened. She broke her gaze with Umma, which then allowed Umma to turn back to Soren. “We cannot and will not take any side in this dispute. We look upon it as an internal matter for your lands to deal with. However, while we are maintaining the same volume of trade as before, only now with the Spires, we can’t help but feel we are being robbed of a partner.”
Umma rose from the throne slowly coming down to the level of the Rikonese. She gestured for the two to follower her as she meandered behind the silver throne. Soren shot Qala a confused look as they followed behind Umma. Rava stayed where he was pivoting as he watched the trio. When they came around there were two high, narrow consoles. One table held a bright copper bowl in which small cutouts were made to hold single drinking glasses. At the center of the bowl, was a deep basin filled with a cloudy liquid. On the other table rested a large object wrapped in grey cloth.
Stopping between the two consoles, Umma turned to face Soren and Qala resting her hand on each table. “We have surmised that this siege of Silvincia’s has caused a severe crisis in your city.”
Qala snorted, “Our city is a husk. Between The Blockade and the simooms, we’re being choked to death.”
“The simooms?” Umma asked.
Soren nodded, “Yes, The Blockade coincided with perhaps the worst drought we’ve ever experienced. I’ve not read about anything as bad in our histories and those go back to before the founding of The Cathedral.”
“We had not known.” Umma’s voice was softer as she took in this new information. “And it has caused huge dust storms?”
“The ground is poisoned.” Qala said offhandedly. Soren gave her an annoyed look, then turned back to Umma nodding.
“Our fields soured in quick succession. The soil drying out and turning to a fine grey dust. Some farmers tried to sow but it would just let loose a great cloud. We tried a more refined bithumin to dampen the fields and coax the crops but it didn’t work. Over the days, lack of rain, a withering sun, and the winds striped the fields. Where there were once leagues of cereal, there is now just greying dunes.”
“The people?”
“Some tried to stay the course.”
“They got a black cough, hacking up what looks like tar.” Qala added.
“Yes, the simooms make it nearly impossible to see or breathe. The dirt is in everything out there.”
“So they came into the city.” Umma surmised.
“It put more stress on our stores, and soon many didn’t have enough supplies to survive. With the fields fallow and the port cut off… Well, it’s been rather horrid.”
“But you two don’t appear to be suffering.” Umma said.
Soren blushed and Qala looked away. “We tried to bring as many as we could into the emergency shelters in the hills. They were designed as a last refuge, a place our leaders could go to.”
“So you’ve been hiding from the people, keeping yourself fat and healthy.” Umma had to test the two and her barb did just that. Again, the hotheaded Qala shot her a fierce glare. Umma concluded that if Rava hadn’t been present, Qala would have already tried to kill her. Soren, who had been rather meek thus far, twisted his face and his blushing from shame turned to a clear rage.
“We found all we could and shared all we had. Many and most in our city have turned to cannibalism. Or they are so desperate, they’re no better than animals. They root around in garbage; they’re fortunate if they can hunt sea birds, pigeons, or rats. My people are so twisted now that you’d be hard pressed to see them as more than vermin.” Soren’s voice rose and its timbre stuttered. His anger was choking him. “Because the Spires coveted our position, coveted our contracts with you. They want to wipe us out, watch us die and stand over our corpse with their hand out to you like nothing happened.”
Qala placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder. He shook her off violently but immediately came back to himself. He reached out and the two held hands for a moment.
Umma had seen enough. “That cannot be allowed to happen.” She said flatly.
“And what can you do about it?” Qala demanded. “This fleet no doubt terrifies them. You could break The Blockade. Help us get back to our feet.”
Umma shook her head, “We will not provoke Silvincia.”
“They what good are you? Why are you here? To watch us die and tsk tsk The Spires as you take their coin and given them what they want?” Soren made no attempt this time to temper his sister.
“We will assist you through indirect means.”
“Such as?” Soren asked.
Umma began to peel away the grey cloth around the object on the table. Both Soren and Qala watched hoping to have revealed to them some mystical cure-all. But when Umma was finished, all that sat on the console was a rock. Perhaps the blackest object either had ever seen, it looked as though it had the texture of charcoal but you could just make out some kind of liquid sweating out of the thin lines of the stone.
“This is raw bithumin. At the casual temperature, it appears like this. It is brittle but profoundly hard. When it is heated, as you may well know, it becomes more pliable. You Rikonese have done a fine job of purifying our great resource.”
“I’ve never seen it like that before.” Qala muttered.
Soren nodded adding, “We only ever get it as the thick slurry or ground powder.” He stared at the bithumin stone then looked at Umma, “So this then?”
“This fleet is laden with raw bithumin. We have decided to make a grand gesture and provide your peoples with enough of our precious resource to last you in Essia, Cassubia, and Silvincia for the next hundred years.”
“We can’t afford this.” Qala said. Confusion quickly overtook her anger.
“We know.”
“Then why bring it to us?”
“They aren’t bringing it to us.” Soren said quietly.
“What?” Qala demanded.
“Quite right, acting Prime Alder.” Umma continued, “We are presenting this to Silvincia.”
“For what?” Qala shook her head.
“For you.” Rava Din’s deep voice startled Soren and Qala.
“You’re ransoming us?” Qala looked horrified.
“Not exactly.” Umma replied.
“We can’t pay that back.” Soren shook his head.
“Can the Spires even afford it? Even with The Cathed
ral backing them?” Qala asked.
“We shall see.” Umma covered the raw bithumin back up. She then took one of the small glasses from the other console, submerged it in the milky liquid, and held it out to Soren. “I have let the admiral know of our offer. I offer to you, acting Prime Alder, not a truce or an allegiance, but a promise…”
Soren took the glass. Umma filled another and gave it to Qala, and then she filled a third for herself. “A promise that we shall do all we can to free your city and save your people. Even though we will not raise arms against Silvincia or speak ill of your precious faith.” Umma raised the glass and then downed its contents with a flourish. Soren and Qala did the same.
Soren winced in pain and brought his hand to his mouth to hold back his retching. Qala sworn, throwing the glass down to the ground where it shattered. “By the Light, what was that?” Qala spat several times, as Soren closed his eyes trying to keep himself composed. Umma stood in calm repose.
“We call it cyniss. It is imbibed to seal agreements.”
Soren’s voice was scratchy, “We apologize for our reaction.” He coughed and shook his head. “We mean no disrespect.”
“Poison would have been sweeter.” Qala muttered.
“It usually is.” Rava added smiling at her.
“Worry not, acting Prime Alder,” Umma smiled, “It is a rancid drink and your reaction is perhaps the most honest one I’ve ever seen.”
Soren nodded slightly, his face still twisted from the cyniss and his eyes watering ever so slightly. Qala seemed to be attempting to wipe the taste off her tongue by scraping it along the back of her hand.
“What exactly,” Soren asked “is our agreement?”
“Our fleet will secure the release of your people.” Umma said plainly. “Now I shall allow you to return to your city.” The guards came forward to escort the two out. Although both looked rather dissatisfied with Umma’s answer, they put up on objections and departed.
Rava stepped down from beside the throne to come down to Umma. “The pestilence is upon them. I did not think it would happen so soon.”
