Banshee’s Honor
Part Twelve
by
~Chapter
Twenty-Three~
“She’s coming, Mistress Tellyn! The Queen is coming here!” Gyp shouted over the ringing noonday bells, as he ran into the shop.
Tellyn looked up from grinding her herbs, and chuckled. “Yes child, I know. I had a visit from her page this morning.”
Biting her tongue at the news, Kyrian softly asked, “Is there a reason why she comes, Tellyn?”
“Lyssera always has more than one reason for her actions, Kyrian. Her page informed me that she wished to purchase some of my restorative teas, but I believe she is using this as an excuse to meet you. It could also be that a certain mule-headed warrior has grown tired of playing nursemaid to the queen’s soldiers and has recalled that she has other friends,” the herbalist said gruffly, laying aside her mortar and pestle. With a rustle of skirts, the old woman moved across the room and began gathering a sampling of her unguents and potions, packaging them for transport.
Kyrian was silent, absorbing the information. She had not seen Azhani for weeks, and the only word of the absent warrior had been that she was now in the employ of the queen, much to the disgruntlement of many of the nobles. It hurt the stardancer deeply that Azhani had yet to come back for her. The warrior hadn’t even sent a note. What news she had heard came from the gossip of customers.
The stardancer’s gut churned painfully. Once again, she considered packing up and leaving. Y’len wasn’t far, and she knew that Tellyn would be happy to provide her and Arun with supplies. While stuck with the herbalist, Kyrian had gladly given of her healing knowledge, teaching Gyp various medical techniques while Tellyn dealt with the business.
Only her oath of friendship kept her from fleeing. Heart hammering in her chest, Kyrian took several deep breaths to calm down. The hurt flowed out of her, leaving behind the sharp sting of anger. She would stay in Y’Syria and help Azhani, even if all she were allowed was the sidelines.
Angry, healer? a tiny mental voice asked.
Just a touch, she answered, sighing softly. Lyssera is Ylera’s sister – there’s no mystery in why Azhani would rather spend her time with the queen. The “rather than with me” was left out of the thought, but deeply felt.
The muffled thud of mail-covered fists knocking on the front door, filtered into the room. Tellyn barely twitched an eyebrow as Gyp raced out of the stillroom to greet their visitors. Gyp’s breathless voice announced the arrival of their expected royal guest.
“Mistress Tellyn, Lyssera of House Kelani is here to see you.” The boy tried to make his voice sound as schooled as a court herald’s, causing Tellyn to wince at the shrillness in his tone.
Shaking her head ruefully, she looked at Kyrian. “Never stuff your patients heads with false praise, even by virtue of your respect, stardancer. Treat all equally and leave the poppycock to those who have the taste for it!” said the herbalist grumpily as she scooped up her skirts and made her way into the reception area.
Kyrian chuckled and began grinding another bunch of herbs.
%%%
Lyssera beamed happily, noticing that her old friend looked as cantankerous as ever. “Mistress Tellyn, it has been far too long,” she said, taking the old woman’s hands in hers and brushing a fond kiss on her wrinkled cheek.
“If those idiots in the high court would get their heads out of their collective asses, you’d have more time to visit, Lyss,” Tellyn griped, returning the queen’s embrace brusquely.
Lyssera’s tinkling laughter filled the room as Tellyn turned to greet the others who had accompanied the queen.
“Allyndev! Astariu’s tits, boy, you’ve been getting some sun! Is it a miracle? Has Astarus himself come to drag you from your dusty old library?” the old woman asked incredulously, accepting the young man’s strong embrace heartily.
Allyn blushed, his tanned cheeks flaming a deep scarlet. “Nah, nah, Gram, I’ve been tutoring under Master Azhani these past weeks. It has been a most illuminating experience. I have never felt so invigorated!” He spotted Gyp and let go of Tellyn, flashing a brief look at Lyssera before running over to the herbalist’s assistant. “Gyp! I have to show you this thing Master Azhani taught me...” The two young men immediately exited out a door that led to the rear of the house.
“Mind the gardens, boys!” Tellyn called after them, as the door slammed shut on their excited babbling.
Standing
but a pace behind the queen was Azhani, who searched the room eagerly,
hungry to see her friend. When
she did not see the stardancer, she quietly asked, “Where is Kyrian?”
Tellyn’s
eyebrows rose as a disapproving grimace perched on her lips. “Hello to you too, warrior. Your friend,” she emphasized the word, ”is
working in the stillroom.” The
herbalist lifted the flap to a belt pouch and removed several packets,
handing them to the queen. “I
believe this is what you’ve come for. If
you’d care to stay a bit, I’ll see what I can scare up in the kitchen
for us to drink while Azhani visits Kyrian.
In fact, why don’t you tell your men to come in too –
they’re probably cluttering up my porch with their armor.”
Gamely,
Lyssera opened the door and motioned to the guards who had accompanied
them. The men entered the
herbalist’s house respectfully, easily taking up relaxed positions
against a wall. Tellyn
vanished into the kitchen, where much clattering and banging of pots
could be heard.
Squaring
her shoulders, Azhani took a deep breath, steeled her courage and went
to face Kyrian. Now
remember, warrior, this isn’t a fight. Don’t
attack; let her lead the discussion. Be
honest. She’ll know if you’re
lying. She silently coached herself as
she walked across the reception area to the little door that led to the
herbalist’s stillroom.
A
myriad of herbal scents swirled around the warrior as she entered the
room, the most pungent being freshly ground mint leaf.
Kyrian’s back was to the door, and she took a moment to
admire the stardancer’s well-developed arms as she stirred a large,
bubbling cauldron.
Okay,
warrior, open your mouth and say something.
You can do it, just don’t shove your foot in too deeply at
first. Azhani searched for something to
say, stalling for time. She
continued to stare at her friend’s back, hoping for inspiration. Wavy locks of Kyrian’s reddish gold
hair escaped a loosely tied ponytail, curling up and brushing her jaw. Perspiration soaked the fabric of
her short-sleeved tunic, and as Azhani watched, Kyrian reached up and
wiped her face with the back of her arm.
Here goes nothing... “Try this. It might help.” Azhani offered quietly, hanging a skin full of cool wine over the stardancer’s shoulder.
“Thanks,”
Kyrian replied absently, taking the skin and drinking deeply before
handing it back.
Well,
I didn’t get it dumped on my head. That’s
a good start, right? The warrior thought as she hung the
skin on her belt.
Licking
her lips, Kyrian said, “That stuff’s pretty good.
They must treat you pretty well in the dungeon.” She looked up and over her shoulder
at the warrior. Though
lacking any rancor, there was a hard edge to the words that matched a
similar gleam in the stardancer’s eyes. Azhani’s
heart thudded painfully and she winced.
Ouch. I guess I deserved that. Okay, don’t say anything yet. Let her keep talking. Azhani silently coached herself.
Laughter
breezed in from the reception room and Kyrian raised an eyebrow,
listening as the queen and the herbalist exchanged bawdy jokes.
“You
must be here to say good-bye before she has you hung.”
Again, the words were free of anger, yet they struck
Azhani like the sharpest blades.
Uh...
oh shit! How do I fix this? I don’t want her to hate me. I don’t know what I would do if she
hated me... “Kyrian,
I-“ the words stuck in the warrior’s throat and she looked at her
friend helplessly.
“Hmm?”
Kyrian turned around fully, facing Azhani for the first time since she
had entered the room. “You
what? Are you here for some
other reason? Are you telling
me that you weren’t a prisoner; that wild dogs weren’t keeping you from
visiting? That your hands
weren’t broken beyond repair? Because
that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking, even, goddess forbid, hoping
had happened.” Now, acid
etched the words as deep green eyes began to glisten wetly. Stubbornly, Kyrian held the tears
back, clamping her jaw shut and gazing into Azhani’s face.
What? Flash fire anger sang in the
warrior’s veins. Fuck
this. I’m out of here. It
was on the tip of her tongue to scathingly tell the stardancer to take
her accusing looks, her teary eyes and wild speculations and stuff them
up her ass. Fuck
friends. Friends are for ...
but the thought faded
away when Azhani saw the minute quavering of pale, pressed lips. The tiny flicker of hurt that had
manifested as flippant anger, broke through Azhani’s defenses,
drenching her ire. Astarus’
balls, I have truly screwed this. I
need to say something, anything...
“Kyrian
– Oh Kyr, gods, I’m sorry. I
should have told you what I was planning, but I didn’t know what to
expect.” She began pacing the
room, but caught the narrowing of the stardancer’s eyes. “Not from you... never from you,”
she said, forestalling the angry words she could almost see forming on
the stardancer’s face. “No,
from Lyssera and her people – I couldn’t know that she would not accept
Arris’ story. If you had been
damned with me, I could have never forgiven myself.”
Please believe me.
Please understand... she silently begged.
“But
that’s the problem. You never
even gave me the choice. I
never had a chance to be damned or not. You
took that away from me, and that hurt,” whispered Kyrian, pain lancing
her statement. “I swore my
friendship to you, Azhani Rhu’len – and my oaths don’t come lightly! I must have been imagining it when
you returned that oath.”
Azhani
flinched over the bitter words. Stepping
forward, she gently placed her hands on Kyrian’s shoulders and said,
“You did not dream it, my friend – and you are my friend. I-“ she shook her head regretfully. “There’s nothing I can say that will
repair the hurt I’ve caused you, and I knew that when I made my
decision. I will not regret
keeping you out of danger, but I will always regret that what I did
pained you. Please forgive
me, Kyrian. Though I do not
deserve it, I ask that you give me a chance to mend those hurts that I
can.”
Ducking
her head to avoid the warrior’s eyes, Kyrian bit her lip as her breath
came in shuddering gasps.
“Kyrian.” Softly, yet commandingly, Azhani
spoke her friend’s name. The
stardancer looked up, meeting eyes so blue, they were almost purple. “Please, I need you.
I don’t want to go back to Oakheart without you.”
Timeless
seconds passed as the two friends shared their gaze, each trying to
read the other’s soul.
Astariu,
if ever there was a time for me to pray to you, it’s now. Please don’t let her leave, thought the warrior.
“I’m
still mad at you,” Kyrian said, cracking a tiny smile.
“Okay,” Azhani replied, a grin breaking out over her face and lighting her eyes. Thank the twins! I wonder if I should do a dance of victory?
“I
reserve the right to chase your butt around the practice field every
morning,” the stardancer added. “I’m
tired of beating up motionless pells.”
Maybe
not. Ah gods, it feels good
to know she’s coming home with me.
“I’m all
yours,” the warrior said happily. “Maybe you can even show my student a
thing or two.”
“Student?” Two ruddy eyebrows shot up. “You’ve got some stories to tell,
I’ll bet. Now, why don’t you
introduce me to this woman you conned into giving you an army.”
Linking
her arm with Kyrian’s, Azhani turned to head into the reception room. “Well, it’s not exactly an army...”
%%%
As
Kyrian prowled her new room, Azhani stifled a grin.
The stardancer’s face was a wash of pleasure and
consternation. She
looks so adorable! The thought fluttered through the
warrior’s consciousness before she could stop it.
Huh? Where’d
that come from?
“But... this is just so huge, Azhi! I don’t need this much space, I-“
“Am grateful to the queen for her generosity?” Azhani interrupted when Lyssera opened her mouth to suggest a new placement. She gently enforced her statement by stepping on the stardancer’s toes. Come on, my friend, please don’t offend the elven queen in her own home on the first day.
Lyssera
had given Kyrian a room that was near the warrior’s and Azhani liked
the thought that her friend was only a few short steps away. At night, she pretended that she
could hear the stardancer’s soft snores and the image lulled her to
sleep. Come on, it’s
a nice room, Kyr. Just take
it. Please.
Closing her mouth, Kyrian nodded in agreement.
“All right, then if everything is fine, I’ll leave you to unpack. Afternoon court begins shortly. It would not do for the queen to be late,” Lyssera said, winking at Azhani. “You, on the other hand, have the freedom to stay and help your friend acclimate herself to Oakheart.”
Azhani sketched a short bow. “As your majesty commands,” she said, smiling wryly.
Light, airy laughter followed the queen out of the room.
Alone with her friend, Kyrian continued to look around the chamber, amazed at the simple beauty of its construction. As a part of one of Oakheart’s massive trees, the room was all of wood. Tapestries lined the walls, acting as decoration rather than insulation. On the floor were soft, thickly woven rugs from Y’skan, their brilliant hues giving Kyrian the impression she was standing on a field of wildflowers.
The room was actually three chambers linked together by short halls. One was a bathing area, another was where she would sleep and the third was a covered balcony that led to a private garden, which she shared with Azhani. Stepping outside, Kyrian inhaled deeply of the fresh fragrance of growing things.
“It’s magical,” she said as she felt her friend’s presence behind her. “This place, this city – it’s nothing at all like I imagined it to be.” Kyrian strode to a balcony and looked out to the lake. Two ships passed as she watched, their bright white sails catching the wind and taking them to new ports. “Y’len is not of the trees - not like it is here.”
Azhani joined Kyrian at the balcony rail. “I remember. There are more ground dwellings there – places where there are no stairs at all,” she said, smiling at the memory.
“The temple was like that – all one story, so that the acolytes could hurry, hurry, hurry to wherever the masters needed them to be,” Kyrian said, with a far away look in her eyes. “I remember having to hustle to make it to classes because inevitably, one class was always on the other end of the school from the others.”
Azhani chuckled lightly. “Do you miss it? Do you miss Y’len?” she asked. She bit her lip, waiting for the stardancer’s answer. Please... Azhani prayed, trying not to flinch under her friend’s searching gaze. Please say you want to stay. I need you, Kyr, though it pains me to admit it.
Kyrian
turned, cocked her head to the side and looked up at the warrior’s face. Shadowed by the balcony overhang,
Azhani’s eyes glittered brightly when she stepped forward and into the
light.
“I do,” said Kyrian finally, keeping eye contact with the warrior. Just as Azhani opened her mouth to speak, the stardancer covered the warrior’s lips. “No, I don’t want to go back – I’m here, with you, and that’s where I want to be, Azhi.
“Bu-“ Azhani’s voice burred against Kyrian’s fingertips.
The stardancer giggled over the sensation. Lowering her hand, she twined her finger’s with Azhani’s. “When are you going to accept that I like you, Azhani Rhu’len?” Kyrian asked, a tinge of exasperation coloring her voice.
Shaking her head, Azhani shrugged and replied, “I don’t know, Kyr. I guess I’m just so amazed because you’re still here. I forget that you actually want to be around me.”
“Well, stop it, because it’s starting to piss me off.” The stardancer admonished, shaking the index finger of her free hand at the warrior.
Azhani’s eyes sparkled merrily, and she snapped her teeth at the offending digit teasingly. “Yes, Kyr,” she said, when she’d caught the tip of the stardancer’s finger between her teeth. Mm, tastes like sweet bread...
Kyrian laughed and gently withdrew her finger from Azhani’s mouth. Inwardly, she trembled, hoping that the flush of excitement she could feel creeping across her face, wasn’t visible to the warrior. Ah gods, I started this, now how do I finish it?
“So,” the stardancer said as she turned away from the view to look back into her room. “How about we get my stuff unpacked?”
%%%
As
the ancestral home of the elven monarchy, Oakheart Manor was an
astonishingly beautiful place, filled with the greatest treasures of
the seven kingdoms. It was
also, unfortunately, crawling with courtiers, diplomats, pages and
hoards of other personnel that ran the machinery of the kingdom.
Okay,
so maybe I should have stayed with Tellyn after all, Kyrian thought as she struggled
to keep up with Azhani. Then
she considered the alternative. No, wild dogs
couldn’t make me leave Azhi’s side. The stardancer had moved into
Oakheart the day of the queen’s visit to the herbalist.
Years of working with small village councils and governors
of larger cities did nothing to prepare the stardancer for the sheer
mass of bureaucracy that filled the halls of the Lyssera’s castle.
At
any given time of the day, the halls of the manor were filled with an
amalgam of noble and servant that flowed in a dance that seemed ever
changing and amorphous. For a
person used to small towns and villages, it was utter chaos.
Factions
controlled various members of the Queen’s Council, which were a group
of men and women who had either inherited or been chosen for the
position. Each advisor
represented a group of towns and villages in Y’Syr and they were each
convinced that their particular district was the heart of the kingdom. Loud arguments between the different
groups could be heard peppering the halls, as delegations jockeyed and
parlayed to get audience with their representatives, or most
desirously, the queen.
As
a member of Lyssera’s retinue, Azhani had access to all parts of
Oakheart Manor, and she took it upon herself to familiarize Kyrian with
the best ways to maneuver the large, maze like structure. For three days, they had been
roaming the castle at all candlemarks, while Azhani kept up a running
commentary about the different sections of the massive structure.
Built
thousands of years before humans had ever set foot upon the lands that
would become Y’myrani kingdoms, Oakheart Manor was a staggering complex
of buildings and bridges, constructed in and around nearly fifty
ancient oak trees. The
highest rooms belonged to the queen and her family, but the lower halls
and rooms teemed with life from every corner of the kingdoms.
In
one alcove, Y’droran dwarves diced with Y’skani desert men, wagering
bags of pure white sand against bags of gold and gems.
Music from Y’Tolan lutenists blended with Y’Noran pipers,
creating a pleasant, if somewhat jarring harmony that wove around the
everyday sounds of people walking and talking in the halls and pathways.
Azhani
and Kyrian were on a middle level, working toward the kitchen area that
was located near the ground. Barely
heard above the bustle were Azhani’s descriptions of the halls,
pointing out which doorway lead where. Kyrian
was grateful to the builders who had cleverly used various bits of wood
and shell to create mosaic tapestries along the walls and ceilings. Each major hall had at least one
unique work of art, and nearly everyone who lived in the manor learned
to navigate by these mosaics.
The
two women were in the Hall of Trees, passing a colorful mosaic of
trees, birds and animals that surrounded a peaceful, functioning
fountain. Seated on a bench
in front of the fountain, was Prince Allyndev, the young nephew of
Queen Lyssera. He jumped up
upon seeing his instructor and her friend, standing at a smart
attention as the two approached him.
“Master
Azhani, Stardancer Kyrian, did you hear? Ambassador
Kuwell challenged Ambassador Iften to a duel!”
Azhani
groaned and Kyrian frowned, trying to place faces to the names that
Allyndev had spouted off. Finally,
the craggy features of the Y’droran Ambassador came into her memory,
but the face of Iften evaded her.
Changing
direction in mid stride, Azhani began fighting her way through the
stream of people toward the ground level, and the courtyards. Traditionally, dueling was
considered legal, but the queen frowned upon such actions, preferring
diplomacy to blades.
Allyn
easily kept up, leaving Kyrian to once more duck and dodge her way down
the hall.
“Do
you think they’ll kill each other?” the young man eagerly asked,
seeming to relish the thought of bloodshed.
“Will there be a lot of blood?”
“Not
if I can help it,” Azhani growled.
Stairs
were taken two and three at a time, and several banisters would never
be the same, as three half-elves scandalized half of Queen Lyssera’s
court by sliding, slipping or otherwise skidding down toward the ground. Finally, they reached the great hall
and burst out the doors and into the main courtyard.
A crowd had gathered, surrounding the two men who were
loudly shouting epithets at each other.
“You
dirt grubbing dwarf! I’m
going to take a strip of your flesh for every one of these fake stones
you tried to pass off on me!” Ambassador Iften’s menacing shout could
be easily heard above the noise of the gathering courtiers. An ominous shattering sound echoed
in the courtyard.
“Lies! You’re the thief, Iften! I bet you’ve stolen the real stones
and switched ‘em out for glass. Just
like a sand-eating desert raider to try and pawn his fakes off on a
good, honest dwarf. Run home
to your Cabal masters with your tail between your legs, dog!” the
dwarven ambassador replied gruffly.
Iften
screamed something incoherently, and charged the dwarf.
Rolling her eyes and sighing heavily, Azhani easily leapt
up and over the crowd, landing in front of the dwarven ambassador. The thud of studded leather was loud
as Iften bounced off of the very solid body of the former Y’dani
warleader. Dazed, the Y’skani
man staggered back, shaking his head woozily.
“Is
there a problem here?” Azhani drawled, turning to wink at Kuwell.
“Well,”
Kuwell replied, hooking this thumbs in his belt and peering around the
warrior’s elbow at the still stumbling desert man.
“Not so’s you’d notice, m’friend.
Though, that gentlemen there’s gonna need a red-robe soon,
or like as not, he’ll be making an intimate acquaintance with them
there cobbles.”
“I
can’t leave you alone anywhere, can I Ku?” Azhani said aggrievedly, as
she reached out to grab Iften and steady him.
By this time, Kyrian had made her way through the crowd
and gently took Iften’s arm and led him to a bench, where she sat him
down and began examining him. Azhani
watched, able to just catch the light yellow glow of the stardancer’s
magic at work as her friend calmed the older man down.
After
a few moments, she gave the dark-skinned man a bundle of herbs to chew
and swallow along with a swig from a wineskin.
Three other desert men approached and she spoke to them
quietly, before stepping aside and allowing them to lead their now
complacent leader to his quarters.
The
stardancer made her way back to Azhani, who was slapping the dwarf on
the shoulder and laughing uproariously at something he had said. The warrior looked up at her
friend’s approach and her mirth immediately died at the expression on
Kyrian’s face. Troubled, she
moved to speak to her friend, but was forestalled by the stardancer’s
upraised hand.
“No,”
she said softly, so that only Azhani’s sharp ears could hear her. “Everyone should hear this.”
“All
right,” Azhani said softly, stepping aside to allow her friend to take
the center of the court.
Kyrian
smiled grimly and faced Kuwell, who waited expectantly.
“Good day, Ambassador Kuwell. I
am Stardancer Kyrian of Y’len,” she said formally.
“Good
day, Stardancer Kyrian. I am
Ambassador Kuwell Longhorn of Shale Valley,” the dwarf replied, bowing. “The gods honor me with your
presence.”
“Thank
you. I have come to tell you
that your friend, Iften Windstorm was not
in his right mind today. His
food had been poisoned by krill dust.”
A
collective gasp filled the air. Krill
dust was a very powerful hallucinogenic drug, outlawed in all seven
kingdoms. The effects were
random, always harmful and often, deadly.
Kuwell
snorted in disgust, and said, “Figures that the old rat would lick the
poison of his masters.”
Prince
Allyndev pushed forward, loudly asking, “Are you accusing Ambassador
Iften of collusion with the Cabal?”
“Allyndev,
get Lyssera and ask her to join us in the swan garden,” Azhani ordered
quietly, her voice brooking no argument. The
young prince’s lips twisted to argue and then he visibly took hold of
his temper, stiffly turning and walking back toward the manor.
Pointing
to one of the many lurking pages, the warrior said, “Go to the kitchens
and bring refreshments for,” she mentally tallied who would be there,
“six. Bring them to the swan
garden.”
The
boy nodded and said, “Aye, Master, t’will be done as you say,” and then
ran off.
Adjacent
to Lyssera’s sitting room, the swan garden was about as private as they
could get within the manor. Curious
ears would find it hard to sneak into the heavily guarded residential
floor of the Kelani family. Quickly,
Azhani, Kyrian and the dwarven ambassador, made their way up the
various levels until reaching the guarded doorway that led to the
queen’s chambers.
The
warrior was easily recognized and allowed in.
Pausing, Azhani quietly gave the guard some instructions
and then entered the Kelani residence. Queen
Lyssera was waiting for them. The
reason behind the name “swan garden” was immediately evident when the
trio entered the treetop greenhouse. Beautiful
ornaments from around the kingdoms, all depicting swans in one form or
another, liberally littered the garden.
Letting
out a low whistle of appreciation, Kyrian stared at the chair where
Queen Lyssera sat. Made of
white ash, the chair curved up behind the queen, cradling her in a
cloak of painstakingly carved wings.
The
table was another priceless piece, having a base of burnished copper
depicting three swans arranged in a circle.
Topping the table was a slab of rock crystal. As the sun streamed down overhead,
millions of rainbows danced off the fracture lines in the quartz,
bathing the small group in color. Not
far away, the tinkling sound of a fountain could be heard, and above
them were several overhanging tree branches, heavy with leaves
providing welcome shade from the mid afternoon sun.
A
page liveried in Lyssera’s personal colors, pulled out chairs for the
arriving group of people, waiting patiently as each of them sat. When they had all arranged
themselves comfortably, the young man turned to a cart and began
serving drinks.
“So,
a little bird tells me that Ambassador Iften suffered from krill
poisoning,” Lyssera said, not bothering to dissemble as the rest of the
small group settled into their chairs. Trays
of finger foods were laid out on the table and then the page backed
away, leaving his elders to their conversation.
Kyrian
nodded, folding her hands in her lap and looking right at
Vice-ambassador Kirthos, who was the Y’skani desert man that had come
to represent his fallen leader. “Yes,
he was. My cursory
examination tells me that it is something that is long standing. I asked him if he knew he had
ingested the substance, and his reply convinced me that he was as
surprised by it as I was. Therefore,
I would assume that he was unaware of the poison.
Someone must have put it in his food.”
“Which
leads me to wonder, Vice-ambassador, if anyone else knew of the
Ambassador’s new spice?” Azhani asked, leaning forward.
Her gaze was so pointed, the desert man flinched.
“Honored
Master Azhani, I assure you that neither I, nor any members of
Ambassador Iften’s clan, would dream of such a vile act! Krill dust is anathema to those who
follow the Serpent – we would rather eat glass!”
The Y’skani’s dark green tattoo – a coiled snake that
wrapped the length of his arm with the head coming to rest on the back
of his right hand – pulsed as he pounded the table emphatically.
Azhani
nodded, accepting the man’s words. She
looked to Queen Lyssera, who raised one dark blonde eyebrow and turned
her gaze on the dwarven ambassador, Kuwell.
“My friend from Y’dror. Would
your honor be satisfied if I put the skills of Master Azhani to
ferreting out who caused this debacle?”
“Aye,
Lyssera. I have no doubts in
the skills of our friend,” the Y’droran said simply, folding his arms
and nodding in agreement.
Eagerly,
Kirthos jumped up and began pacing the garden.
“Yes, I too agree! Master
Azhani is the only one who can fairly find the heinous poisoner!” His eyes darted from the warrior to
the queen. “I am right in
assuming that she is not a member of your court – that your
relationship is that of an employer and employee?
She holds no allegiance to Y’Syr?”
Turning
her face so that the dark brown scar adorning her cheek flashed in the
fading afternoon light, Azhani said, “You assume correctly,
Vice-ambassador.” Her voice
was hard-edged and Kyrian inwardly sighed, wishing once again she could
reach the wound that had so deeply hurt her friend.
“Excellent! I accept then, that you will have an
open mind and will not make assumptions based on political alliances.” He sat down, folding his hands on
his lap and looking expectantly at the rest of the group.
He’s not as dumb as he looks, Azhani thought, impressed by the
desert man’s savvy. Naturally, he will be the first suspect. Of course, I would be surprised to
find that he is the poisoner – they tend to like the shadows. Turning
to look at the Queen, Azhani sipped slowly at her drink.
“Good. I only ask that the results of this
meeting not be spread. I’d
like Master Azhani to have the freedom to move about without having to
dodge arrows.” Everyone
nodded. “Vice-ambassador
Kirthos, I suggest you find someone that you trust to prepare the
ambassador’s meals from now on.”
“Of
course. I will speak to
Starseeker Vashyra immediately. She
will undoubtedly know someone who is qualified,” the desert man said
arrogantly.
Azhani
watched him as he spoke, trying to ferret out clues that might tell her
whether or not Iften’s second reached for a higher position. After only a few heartbeats, she
dismissed him as a suspect. Kirthos
was young, brash and ambitious, but he spoke the truth when he voiced
his distaste for the poison. Serpent
clansmen revered the snake, including the tiny yellow creature found
only in a mountainous region on the eastern coast of Y’skan. Krill dust was made from the
desiccated corpses of these tiny snakes, which was an act so atrocious
that it was unthinkable.
Kuwell
too was ruled out. His clan
and the DaCoure house had been friends for many years and she trusted
the stout blacksmith implicitly. Barring
Kyrian and a few others, this left the warrior with an impressive list
of suspects to weed through.
“I’ll
be happy to take care of the ambassador’s meals,” Kyrian offered
quietly. “He shouldn’t eat
anything really strong for a while, anyway.
The krill needs to be cleansed from his system.”
“Bless
you, Stardancer. You do my
clan much honor,” the vice-ambassador said stiffly.
Azhani
stifled a snort of laughter. At
least Kirthos was one less pig-headed courtier she would privately want
to smash for being rude to her friend.
“Since
we are in accord, then I see no further reason to discuss this matter. Master Azhani, when you have your
results, please let me know. Thank
you,” Queen Lyssera said, dismissing the group with a wave of her hand.
They
all rose to go, until the queen’s voice halted Kyrian.
“Stardancer
Kyrian, would you mind staying?” asked the queen.
“I have a matter to discuss with you.”
Shrugging
her shoulders when Azhani looked at her curiously, Kyrian turned away
from the door and said, “Of course, my queen.
I am at your discretion.” Easily
resuming her chair, Kyrian watched as Azhani, Allyn, and the two
ambassadors exited the garden.
When
she was sure that they were alone, Lyssera nodded toward the tray of
snacks that sat, mostly untouched, in the center of the table. “Go ahead – you must be starving, I
can hear your stomach from here!”
Chuckling
ruefully, Kyrian reached for the tray, grabbing a handful of raw
vegetables and a couple of meat-stuffed pastries.
“Thank you. I am
very hungry, though I think Azhani was ready to start chewing on the
foliage. She hasn’t had
anything since yesterday, while I managed to get in a bit of breakfast.”
“Well,
then I’m surprised our warrior friend didn’t just start eating the
vice-ambassador,” said Lyssera, a droll grin brightening her features
as she spoke.
Kyrian
giggled, envisioning Azhani leaning over and taking a chunk out of the
supercilious desert man, and then said, “I don’t think she would have
liked the taste. A bit too
dry for Azhani.”
“True,
she is much fonder of moister meat.” Lyssera
observed suggestively. Her
grin blossomed into a full-throated laugh when Kyrian blushed.
Politely,
Kyrian coughed and asked, “You wished to speak with me about something,
your majesty?”
Lyssera
sighed heavily. “Don’t tell
me she’s quashed your sense of humor already, stardancer?” Smiling sadly, she said, “I meant no
offense. I, perhaps better
than any, know how lonely Azhani is without my sister’s company. Ylera was one of those wonderful
individuals who are larger than life. Everything
she touched blossomed, and those whom her affections were directed at
came willingly to her side.
Azhani
has never been the kind of woman I would consider to be an aggressor in
matters of the heart. If
Ylera had not wanted to love her, then not even altering the course of
the wind would have brought my sister to the warrior’s side.”
Nodding
slowly, Kyrian said, “I know, your highness.
Ylera was my friend. We
were classmates at temple.” She
sighed and smiled wistfully. “The
princess’ conquests were stuff of legend among the acolytes.”
Lyssera
sat forward, even more interested to know the enigmatic young woman who
chose to side with Azhani Rhu’len. “Were
you one of the ‘princess’ conquests’, Stardancer Kyrian?”
Taken
aback by the boldness of the queen’s question, Kyrian stared,
dumbfounded while her jaw worked to answer the question. Finally, she blurted out, “Not
unless your sister was into children!” Seeing
that her harsh words had wiped the good-natured smile from Lyssera’s
face, Kyrian hastened to explain, “I was very young for an initiate, my
queen. You could not have
known. When Princess Ylera
and I shared teachers, I was only thirteen summers old.” Closing her eyes, Kyrian allowed
memories of that precious time to surface. “I
think I might have gotten a crush on Lera, if I hadn’t had the chance
to know her.” The stardancer
smiled sadly. “After hearing
her snore, tell bawdy jokes and belch louder than most of the boys, it
was impossible to see her as an untouchable beauty.
Ylera was more than just a flighty princess, she was a
charming, friendly young woman.”
Opening
her eyes, she smiled brightly at the queen.
“She wanted so badly to make you proud of her, your
majesty. She always knew she
would be your envoy to the kingdoms, and she worked hard to learn
everything she could about diplomacy. I
suppose that was another reason why any tender feelings, I might have
had, vanished. Ylera was very
selfish. Not in a bad way,
but everything she did was in furtherance of her aspirations.” Kyrian sighed sadly.
“I wish I could have known her when she was with Azhani. From what Lady Glinholt tells me,
Lera had changed – had started to allow her heart to lead her choices,
rather than her political goals.”
Lyssera
listened intently, shaking her head ruefully when Kyrian finished. “I suppose one more person should be
added to the list of those who understand what Ylera’s loss means. Tell me more, stardancer. My sister spoke often of Y’len, and
of the things she learned, but she rarely mentioned the people.” The queen’s jaw dropped, and her
eyes widened as if a torch had just been lit inside her head. “You’re Kyr!” she blurted.
“Yes,
that’s my name,” the stardancer laughed.
“No,
no, Lera used to talk about a dancer initiate named Kyr all the time,”
Lyssera explained, scooting her chair closer to Kyrian.
“Unless there’s two Kyrs, it has to be you she was talking
about.”
Wistfully,
the stardancer said, “It’s nice to know she remembered me.”
“Oh
gods, you are her. It’s your
fault that my sister developed an unhealthy addiction to oatcakes and
honey in the middle of night watch, isn’t it?”
Holding
up her hands, Kyrian said, “Guilty as charged.
It was the only thing we could make on the open fire while
doing our last minute studying. The
nights before a final exam were long and hunger-inducing.”
“I
have never seen anything as funny as my sister trying vainly to
recreate a recipe, all while soaking wet and covered in a thick coat of
mud and moss! I nearly
injured myself, I laughed so hard. I’m
fairly sure it woke several of the initiates,” the queen said, going
into a long description of one of Ylera’s many crazy outings. “I don’t know how she managed to
convince me to leave the temple and go exploring the forest, but every
time I visited, we had to see what new things were growing in the
forest. I can only hope she
didn’t drag poor Azhani out into the rain for mushrooms and mint
leaves.”
Uncomfortably,
Kyrian shifted in her seat mumbling, “She’s never mentioned anything to
me.”
Lyssera
nodded knowingly. “Me either,
my friend. Our Azhani is as
tight lipped as a moneylender’s purse when it comes to discussing my
sister. I get bits and
pieces, but never whole cloth.” The
queen shook her head sadly. “We
talked a little, but I can’t seem to get beyond the surface. Sharing our grief only seems to dull
the edge of pain for her. I’m
worried about her, Kyr. I’ve
known Azhani for years, and though everything seems to be okay with
her, something is missing. There’s
an emptiness in her eyes that haunts me. I
want to help, but I know how hard it is for her to be around me.”
Leaning
forward, the queen took Kyrian’s hand in hers and stared earnestly into
the stardancer’s eyes. “When
I saw the two of you exit Tellyn’s stillroom, I thought my old friend
had finally returned. The
spark of life was in her eyes again, Kyr. It
was having you by her side that unlocked her heart.
I’m so very glad you’re here now.”
“So
am I,” Kyrian whispered. “I
missed her, and I worried about her.”
“I
worried as well,” Lyssera said, getting up and pacing around the garden. “Before you came, she talked only of
revenge, of seeking the head of Arris Theodan and presenting it to me
on a platter, as if the bloody gift would somehow ease the loss of my
sister!”
“It’s
a goal,” the stardancer said, though her words were tinged with sarcasm.
“I
hate it. Kyrian, I loved my
sister dearly. She was my
twin, and there’s not a moment that goes by that I don’t wish she were
beside me, ready with an insightful piece of advice or witty comment.”
She stopped pacing and slumped into her chair again.
“She would never have wanted this single-minded plan for
vengeance. Ylera would not
want our countries to go to war over her.”
“Then
what...”
“What
am I going to do? I don’t
know. Before you came, Azhani
threw herself into every task as though it were ordained by fate. Now, I don’t know.
I gave her the task of finding Iften’s poisoner, to see
just how she handled it.” Lyssera
rubbed her face wearily. “Tell
me, stardancer, how can I give men to a woman I’m not sure wants to
live to see the dawn, after the death of King Arris?”
“I
don’t...” Kyrian shook her head and sighed.
“I don’t think she has a death wish, majesty. I think she’s just very determined
to have justice for Ylera.”
“Why? Why is it so important that she be
the one to kill Arris? When
she speaks of his death, it’s always in terms of his body on her sword.”
The queen said the words as though she had heard them
hundreds of times.
“Wouldn’t
you want to be the one to deal the blow of vengeance, if it were your
fiancée that were murdered?” Kyrian asked simply.
Surprise
colored the queen’s face. “Fiancée? No, Kyr, I don’t think their
relationship would have gone that far, had Ylera lived.
My sister, bless her, was far too conscious of her place
in Y’Syran society. The
nobles would not have tolerated an Y’dani/Y’Syran match of that nature. The ink on Theodan’s treaty was
still too wet.”
“Azhani
does not know that. And who
knows, the princess might have had a change of heart,” Kyrian pointed
out rationally, inwardly cringing. I will forget this conversation; I will
forget that I ever heard anything about this.
Azhani never needs to know how lightly the queen views her
sister’s relationships.
“You
think me unkind,” Lyssera said solemnly. “Perhaps
I am. I am a queen, Kyrian,
and that means that I cannot forget for one moment that every word I
speak, every action I take, will have infinite repercussions. This is why I must – I must,” she emphasized the word, “be
sure of those in whom I have placed trust. I
trust you, stardancer, because I know you love Astariu wisely. Therefore, I will trust your wisdom
about Azhani. Reassure this
queen that she has not let her own anger and grief cloud her judgment –
tell me that the warrior’s desire to murder a king is not lunacy!”
“I
wish I could ease your concerns with a word or two, majesty, but I can
only offer the memories I carry up here,” Kyrian said, tapping the side
of her head. “I cannot, in
good conscience, speak words said in confidence, but perhaps I can
share the tale of how I came to know Azhani Rhu’len.
Maybe you will find something in the story to soothe your
fears.” Calmly, the
stardancer began to tell the queen of her adventures since leaving the
village of Myr, up until the moment that she and Azhani had left the
stillroom at Mistress Tellyn’s.
Lyssera
listened, avidly clinging to any clues that gave her hope. They were few, but before Kyrian
finished, the queen had heard enough to ease her mind for the time
being. Azhani’s goals may
seem single-minded, but the warrior still had a very strong sense of
honor and duty. Perhaps she
would not self-destruct, after all. I swear Ylera; I will not let your beloved go down
the path of vengeance. Not
that way, not like Father did...
Forcing
herself to listen to the stardancer, Lyssera shoved away the painful
memories of her father’s mad quest to avenge her mother’s death. Nothing would ever take away her
last sight of King Ylesril chasing a badly mangled demon off a cliff. He had never even slowed down as the
rocky escarpment crumbled away beneath him, just kept trying to hack at
the creature’s bleeding body as they fell.
The queen
would do most anything to see Azhani avoid such a fate.
~Chapter
Twenty-Four~
Azhani
tried not to fidget. She had
crammed her tall frame into one of the tiny booths in this dockside
tavern that she had frequented for many years.
The Captain’s Hook was the most disreputable spot on
Y’Syria’s harbor, and she had found that it was the best place to
gather information.
Within
moments of arriving, she had overheard enough clandestine talk
regarding a lucrative smuggling operation, to keep the queen’s navy
busy for weeks, if not months. Grimly,
the warrior kept a mental tally of faces and names, intending on
passing on the information to the captain of Lyssera’s guard. She had also seen two murderers and
a moneylender wanted for graft, hiding in the tavern’s shadows. For those men, she had written notes
to the commander of the dockside guard and sent them by messenger. One of the fugitives had already
been apprehended as he tried to board a ship bound for Y’mar.
The
warrior had a neat system in place. Three
dock rats – children she had befriended three years ago on her last
visit – sat by the door, ostensibly begging for coins.
By using simple signals, they kept her apprised of those
folks she should bend her ears to and those she should ignore. The kids happily performed the duty
and Azhani made sure that some of the queen’s largesse made its way
into their small pockets.
She
nodded as one of the boys pointed to a newly arrived customer. Examining him, Azhani was not
impressed. Typical of all
sailors, he was barefoot, the soles of his feet so toughened from years
of working on the decks of ships that he didn’t even notice the
roughness of the straw-covered floor. He
carried himself in a stoop that was indicative of a man who had spent
many years rowing, and as he moved into the hazy light cast by a nearby
torch, Azhani could make out the gnarled hands of an oarsman.
A
voice whispered in her ear, “That’s Zekk. He’s
with the Wave Queen.”
The
warrior leaned back, letting the informant know that she had been
heard, and watched as Zekk worked his way through the tavern, loudly
greeting friends and strangers alike. Finally,
he reached her table, staring into the darkened cowl of her hood as if
trying to see into her soul.
“It
likes me that you be seekin’ a bit o’ taste,” he said, in a rambling,
lilted accent that was pure Y’maran docksider.
“Nef’
tay crawl the holes yonder,” she responded, mimicking the twisted
vowels perfectly. “Take chair
and yap; sup ye a bit o’ Jonny B’s blood and chew words,” she said,
nodding at the pitcher of warm ale that rested in the center of the
rickety table.
Deciding
her offer was genuine, the sailor eased into the opposite chair and
poured a large helping of ale into his own mug, then drank gustily. He belched and poured another. This one he drank slowly, seeming to
savor every drop of the harsh, bitter beer.
Azhani
calmly waited for the sailor to drink. It
was no use to force the man to talk – Y’marans were notoriously
close-lipped until they felt they had been adequately greased.
Three
cups into the pitcher, Zekk set his mug aside and nodded. “Chew, woman, it likes me not to sit
long.” His eyes roved the
room, settling finally on one of the more obvious light skirts that
dominated the end of the bar.
“Aye. Tis bitter shame to lay waste to
time better spent. Short o’
it is – taste me dreams, I have. Flavor
likes me and would it is have more. Landies
call it wrecked though, leave me clinging to short sail. Likes me not,” she explained,
putting just enough need and outrage in her voice to stimulate any good
smuggler’s greed.
Zekk
stared at her as though she had gone daft. “Lightening
struck you are, woman. Dream
dust taste demon’s filth!” He
stood suddenly, making the bench creak ominously.
Shaking his head, he cursed, “Kraken take you, I’ll not
rot for hell’s droppings!” Angrily,
he stormed away from the table, causing no few glances in Azhani’s
direction.
The
warrior shrugged and ignored the stares. After
a while, the patrons turned their attentions elsewhere, finding more
interesting things to amuse them.
“Zekk’s
the last of ‘em, lady,” said a youthful voice.
“All
right, what about the gambling hall? Is
it still held in Tarvik’s warehouse?” she asked.
“Not
since old man Tarvik went down in a squall two seasons ago. Yannev Ironfoot runs it out of an
old sawmill outside of town now.”
“Great,
I’ve had a hankering to go riding. Gather
your friends, Skye, we’re going for a picnic.”
The warrior untangled her body from the bench and
gratefully made her way to the door.
A
tow-headed child leapt down from her hiding place behind the warrior’s
former seat and laughed. “A
picnic? Azhi, I haven’t done
that since last time!” Grinning
hugely, the girl sped off to gather her friends.
Smiling,
Azhani thanked the gods that her old contacts had not left the docks –
it would have been twice as hard to gather the information she needed
without them.
%%%
The
sun had long set when Kyrian drained the dregs of a large pitcher of
water and finished telling Lyssera about her life with Azhani Rhu’len.
“It
hasn’t been boring, but neither have I seen any signs of the soul-sick
madness of one who wants to die, your highness.”
For
several minutes, the queen was silent, contemplating her words. Fastening her gaze on a point some
yards beyond Kyrian’s head, she said, “You love her.”
The statement fell out into the air between them, echoing
madly in the stardancer’s ears.
The
garden was silent as the words played over and over again in Kyrian’s
head. Finally, she quietly
said, “How could I not? I
have tasted the color of her aura and swum in the energies of her
essence. More than that, I
have laughed with her, cried with her, saved and been saved by her.”
Lyssera’s
eyes closed slowly as she said, “I wonder if that’s how Ylera felt? Her heart was so eager to love, that
she was drawn, moth to a flame, to those whose energies were strong.” The queen didn’t ask if Azhani
returned the stardancer’s feelings. The
question would have been ridiculous – Lyssera wasn’t blind, and it was
no secret that the warrior rarely left Kyrian’s side.
If she did not love her, she would.
Even a sense-blind human could see that destiny had
written itself neatly into the women’s lives.
The
questions that remained were – trivial, at best.
Of course, she would give Azhani the men to destroy Arris’
hold on Y’dan. Whether that
entailed a war, an assassination, or some other mission that had yet to
be revealed, she was certain that the warrior deserved her support. To do otherwise would be to dishonor
the memory of her twin.
With
that settled, all that remained were personal, less political
meanderings. Lyssera burned
with curiosity. Would the
warrior allow love into her life again? Elves
were known for their passions and the queen’s was matchmaking. Not surprisingly, she had never had
the chance to practice her skills on her sister, but perhaps, by
helping her sister’s beloved, she would have some sense of what it
would have been like.
Lyssera
gave Kyrian an appraising gaze, wondering what could be done to make
the half-elven stardancer appeal to Azhani’s tender side and whether or
not she would be amenable to her plan. Imperceptibly,
the queen nodded. Yes, a plan
was definitely necessary, if she were going to get the stubborn warrior
to crack the careful mask of non-emotion she had donned and allow the
budding feelings underneath to flourish.
Fleetingly,
the thought passed that she should, perhaps, let the gods choose whom
Azhani’s affections would fall upon, but one look into Kyrian’s dark
green eyes decided the queen. If
she had anything to do about it, Azhani Rhu’len would be with Kyrian.
“Well,
it’s no matter now. As to
more political issues – will Ambassador Iften be all right? I understand that krill dust is very
dangerous if taken too long.” The
queen signaled, and her page drifted out of the shadows to refill their
cups with a fresh bottle of wine.
“Now
that the poisoning has been detected, so long as no more krill gets
into his system, he should recover. In
fact, I’ll be checking on him when you’re finished with me. Would you like me to send a page
with a report?” Kyrian sipped at the chilled wine, licking her lips
appreciatively over the fine vintage.
“I
would appreciate that, thank you,” Lyssera said, turning to look out
into the garden.
Kyrian
set her goblet on the table and quietly left the queen to her musings.
It
took some time to locate the ambassador’s quarters, but eventually, the
stardancer was by the older man’s side, calmly assessing him when he
woke. Pale hazel eyes blinked
rapidly, and then he looked up at the red-robed young woman who was
tending him.
“I
am truly blessed, to have the honor of one of the Goddess’ Own, by my
side,” he said, his voice sleep-roughened.
Smiling,
Kyrian handed him a glass of cool tea, urging him to drink. Slowly, the man sipped at the sweet
beverage and then tried to sit up. The
stardancer gently assisted him and asked, “Are you hungry, Ambassador?”
For
just an instant, a frown appeared on the old man’s face, then he cocked
his head as if listening to something. A
shy smile crept over his face. “My
fears wish me to say no, thank you. However,
my stomach has other ideas.” Sheepishly,
the ambassador asked in a small voice, “Would you do an old desert rat
a favor, Honored One? Would
you see that whatever meal you allow me, is prepared properly? I fear that I can not trust even my
own servants.”
“Actually,
Ambassador, I will be making your meals for the next few days, if
that’s acceptable?” He
nodded, smiling gratefully. “Good. Would a bowl of grain cereal satisfy
you? I can prepare it over
your hearth, right here.” Kyrian
offered diffidently, rising to seek a page.
“Please,”
Iften asked humbly.
Standing,
she stuck her head out the door, catching the sight of the ambassador’s
page. Quickly, she asked him
to fetch her what she would need to make the meal.
Once he was gone, she turned back toward the ambassador’s
room, grateful to see the slowly returning color to the man’s
unnaturally pale skin. Several
candlemarks of sleep, as well as a few doses of an antidote, had done
wonders for him.
Crackling
wood from the fire filled the room with a peaceful sound. A light snore echoed from the bed,
as the ambassador dozed. Quietly
drawing a chair close to the fire, Kyrian waited for the page to return. When he did, she softly hung the pot
from a hook in the fireplace and filled it with water.
Soon,
she had a thick, filling cereal cooking. The
smell must have woken the ambassador, because his voice broke into her
concentration.
“Was
it Kirthos?”
“Pardon
me?” Kyrian asked, dishing up a bowl of the thick grain cereal and
adding healthy dollops of butter, maple syrup and dark brown sugar.
“The
poisoner – was it my brother-in-law Kirthos?”
A coughing spell shook the ambassador’s frame. Kyrian set the bowl down and rushed
to his side, easing him to a sitting position until the spasms stopped. Reaching for the teacup, she
carefully spooned in a grayish-blue powder and stirred it swiftly.
“Drink
this,” she advised the older man, who was breathing in short, uneven
spurts.
Slowly,
he drank, wincing at the now sour taste of the drink.
“Thank you,” he said, laying back against his pillows and
taking longer, more even breaths.
The
stardancer inclined her head. “No,
I don’t believe it was Kirthos... but the truth has yet to be fully
determined. The queen has set
Master Azhani to seeking the information. I
imagine she is doing so right now.”
Another
light spasm of coughing shook the old man’s body, causing her to frown
in consternation. Krill
should not affect his system like this.
“Ambassador,
may I read you?” she asked formally.
A
sad smile crossed the old man’s face. “Nah,
nah, child. ‘Tis nothing. You don’t need to waste your talent
on me – I know that my time is short. ‘Tis
the sand-lung, not anything you can help.”
Desire
to help the ailing man warred with the knowledge that what afflicted
him was incurable. Sand-lung
- a disease that many desert dwellers suffered from – was painful, but
not disabling. Yet, the
respiratory sickness was always fatal, stealing years from the ends of
Y’skani lives. The desert
dwellers were otherwise healthy, hearty folk.
Seeing the swarthy ambassador suddenly made pale by
wracking coughs saddened the stardancer deeply.
Iften
relaxed against his cushions, watching the emotions that flickered
openly across his caretaker’s face and felt something wonderful stir in
his old heart. She actually cares that I’m dying? Astarus bless me - I feel storm
blinded! Before accepting the mantle of
ambassador for his tribe, Iften Windstorm had lived the solitary
existence of a Desert Walker – one of the hearty few who prowled the
dark sands of the Great Y’skan, seeking clues to the massive
wasteland’s creation.
The
Serpent clan was the largest single group of the Y’skani nomads. Because of that, the other tribes
looked to them to represent the clans to the outside world. Iften had come to Y’Syria to broker
trade agreements between the elves and the desert men, as well as to
learn about the other cultures that dominated the seven kingdoms. He longed to return to the land of
shifting sands, but knew he would probably never study the ruins that
dotted the desert again.
Eyes
glistening with moisture, Kyrian cleared her throat and said, “I may
not be able to cure you, Ambassador, but surely I could ease your
discomfort.” The young woman
didn’t understand why she was so drawn to this old man, but she had
served Astariu long enough to know that when people touch your heart,
there was always a good reason for it.
The
old man’s face crinkled up in a bright smile.
Shaking his head, Iften said, “Child, you go ahead and do
what you can – I’ll not say no to a little coddling from the Goddess’
Own.”
Gently,
Kyrian laid her hands against the ambassador’s chest.
Softly, she began to chant, calling upon the goddess to
attend her and open the inner eyes that allowed her to see into the
bodies of her patients. The
room tunneled away, replaced by the energy streams that pulsed with the
life of Iften Windstorm. Kyrian’s
trained mind quickly scanned the flowing lines, easily picking out
where the foreign substance of the krill poison had entered and struck
the healthy energies, burning and blackening the pathways that lead to
the older man’s cognitive functions. Easily,
she called lances of cleaning energy into being and began attacking the
krill, burning it out of the ambassador’s system.
Lulled
by the soft chanting, Iften fell into a light doze, watching the flames
in the hearth dance merrily.
%%%
Oily
smoke from dozens of torches scattered about the large warehouse,
settled about the casino’s patrons. Azhani
slowly worked her way through the room, losing and winning enough coin
to keep the bouncer’s suspicions down as she listened to the thread of
conversation that flowed around her. It
didn’t take long to learn which of the men and women in the
establishment would, for the right price, fulfill her every wicked
desire.
Not that I have any wicked, wanton needs, the dark haired warrior thought,
half sorrowfully, half in amusement. Azhani’s
gaze flicked from whore to whore, measuring them against the remembered
beauty of her Ylera, and found them wanting.
Against the memory of her new friend Kyrian’s cheerful
smile and lusty laugh, even those memories began to pale.
When
she realized that little bit of personal information, the warrior stood
stock still, staring down at the handful of copper coins she just won
from a dice game and tried not to shake. Guilt
wracked her, pushing her to just chuck the money and go running to the
nearest temple to beg the goddess’ forgiveness.
Sanity intruded at the very last moment, smacking her
upside the head in the form of a drunkard who vomited loudly, narrowly
missing her boots.
Disgusted,
the warrior pushed around the gathering crowd and headed for the back
of the gambling area, where the real action was taking place. A small pit had been dug and then
surrounded by a thick, short wall. Inside
the pit, two warriors would square off, each trying to beat the other
bloody – all for a pittance in coin.
Standing
around the pit, were several men and women, all clamoring for their
favored fighter to smash his or her opponent into the dirt. Moving in and out of this crowd like
well-oiled snakes, were boys who gathered bets and paid off winners. On the other side of the crowd was a
cluster of tables. Men and
women of varying size, pitted their strength against others, betting on
who could lay their opponent’s hand down first.
Azhani skirted past the pit fight arena and calmly slipped
into a chair recently vacated by a very disgruntled man. Seated across from her was a bear
casually masquerading as a man.
Bare
from the waist up, muscles bulging and gleaming with sweat and oil,
Eskyn Dowser was one of Yannev’s best arm wrestlers.
Once an oarsman in the High King’s navy, the dusky-skinned
native of Y’skan had broken his back during a storm and was useless
aboard a ship. Yannev
Ironfoot had seen profit in the sailor’s disability, and had encouraged
the young man to build his upper body muscles until he was as he now
appeared.
Sailors
and soldiers from all over, lost and won good money either betting on
or wrestling against the muscled man. Eskyn,
not being dim, used his own profits from the scheme, to become head of
a well-known smuggling operation, working just outside of the law to
bring in otherwise illegal goods.
All
this Azhani knew from her time as Y’dan’s warleader, having dealt with
Eskyn many times over the years. Though
a crook, the big man had some morals – and he would be her best lead to
discovering who was behind the ambassador’s poisoning.
The
wrestler was in the middle of a long, lusty kiss and paused only long
enough to grunt, “Be right with ya, bud,” before returning his
attention to a scantily dressed woman who eagerly leaned in for more
kisses.
“Don’t
fall in,” Azhani purred, hiding a smile when Eskyn suddenly shoved the
flustered girl away from him and pounded his fists on the table.
“Astarus’
balls! Azhani Rhu’len!” he exclaimed loudly, a huge smile spreading
across his dark skinned face. He
looked up at the woman he had been kissing and said, “Why don’t you
grab us a couple of beers, hon? And
tell Yanny that I’m off for a while – I need to refuel.”
“You
want something to eat, Essie?” the woman asked, running her fingers
lightly over his bald head.
A
deep, rumbling chuckle emerged from the man’s chest and he nodded. “Yeah, I think I’d like that –
breaking bread with the former warleader of Y’dan isn’t
something I do every day.”
“Bad
news travels faster than Astarus’ hounds, old friend,” Azhani said,
settling into her chair and sighing heavily.
“Ah,
but good news flies on the wings of owldragons, no?
Whispers come to me that our fair queen knows quality when
she sees it.” The big man
leaned back in his chair, cracking his neck and shoulders loudly.
Shrugging
nonchalantly, Azhani said, “Well, I’m not exactly claiming poverty at
the moment.”
“Ah,
good. I am pleased to hear
that.” He smiled at her, then
turned his brilliant white smile up at his lady friend when she
delivered a large tray of food and beer. “Beautiful,
my sweet. Thank you. Why don’t you go and enjoy the bard,
my dear?” he suggested, giving the woman a push in the direction of a
shadowed stage. When she had
gone, Eskyn lifted his mug of ale and said, “Now then, what is it I can
do for my old friend? Unless
you have brought the queen’s guard here to arrest me?”
He made a show of peering into darkened corners while the
warrior rolled her eyes. “Ah,
but I do not see any trees about,” he said, using the docksider
nickname for the warriors who served as the city guard.
“Krill,
Eskyn, I need to know where I can find it,” the warrior said, not
wasting any more time.
Surprised,
the smuggler rolled his chair away from the table and over to Azhani’s
side. A massive hand reached
out to brush the skin of the warrior’s face before she could flinch
away. “Hmm, not sick, no,” he
said, searching her eyes briefly before adding, “and ye’ve not gone
daft.”
“I’m
not sick and I’m not crazy, Es – I just need some information.” Blue eyes glittered in the dim light. “I take it personally when my
friends become ill,” she added, hoping that he would think she was on a
personal vendetta.
Eskyn
rolled his chair back to his side of the table, marveling again at the
ingenuity of the gnomes his partner had hired.
The chair was a simple construct.
Sturdy and well built, it had two large and two small
wheels that allowed him a freedom of movement he though he had lost
forever when the mast had snapped and crashed into his oar box, pinning
him to the deck.
A
particularly loud cheer from the crowd around the pit arena gave him
the moment he needed to gather his thoughts.
Eskyn’s conscience and years serving in the navy urged him
to spill all he knew about the seedy individuals that controlled the
admittedly small drug trade in Y’Syr, but his hard-earned business
sense cautioned him to silence. Earning
the enmity of any one of those men and women would make doing his
business that much harder.
The
noise level faded down to its normal roar. Grasping
his cooled sandwich, Eskyn took a big bite, chewing and swallowing
slowly.
Azhani
tapped her foot, waiting for the big man to wrestle his conscience into
submission. It was like this
every time – the dance the two played out echoed back to the very first
time a young desert rat and an equally young landlubber had crossed
paths at an Y’maran dock.
Finally,
Eskyn said, “What’s in it for me?”
“Funds
or favors?” Azhani offered, knowing the man’s greatest weaknesses.
Dark
brown eyes scanned the warrior from head to toe.
One thick brow rose challengingly.
“Favors? Are you
finally admitting that you find me irresistible, Azhani?”
“In
your worst nightmares, Es,” the warrior replied, leaning forward, her
glittering blue eyes boring into his face. “Look,
I know that you’ve got a shipment coming in tomorrow – what if I could
convince the trees to stay in their forest, instead of shading the
lake?” It was a bluff – her
position in Lyssera’s household was tenuous and undefined at best and
no better than that of the commonest of servants at worst.
Eskyn
put his elbows on the table and leaned his chin on his fists. “You’re lying,” he said without
preamble. “You could no more
tell an owldragon not to shit on a rock, as send the trees to leaf. Show me the color of your money, or
show me your backside.”
A
pouch heavy with coin appeared on the table.
Eskyn reached for it, but was stopped by a powerful hand
grasping his wrist.
“This
one, and two more if your information pays out,” Azhani said, her voice
steely with determination.
She
released him and he gathered up the pouch, mentally tallying its
contents. Azhani Rhu’len had
yet to stiff him; he trusted her not to start now.
The leather bag vanished under the table, sequestered in a
specially built compartment in his chair.
“All
right, this is what I know,” he began carefully, telling her as much as
he knew about the city’s drug trade.
%%%
When
the big man had finished his low voiced report, Azhani closed her eyes
and rubbed her forehead. What a goddess damned mess,
she thought, standing
and stretching to work out the kinks that sitting for over a candlemark
in one position had put in her back.
Clasping
Eskyn’s hand, she said, “Thanks, Es. I
won’t forget this.”
The
dusky skinned man laughed, covering her hand with his huge paw. “Nah, nah, forget it or not, just
remember to be sending me my gold!”
“If
I don’t, I’m sure you’ll be happy to send me a reminder, old friend,”
Azhani said, smiling at the smuggler.
“Oh,
aye. If’n your mem’ry heads
the way of shark bait, I’ll not be slack-sailed in gaffing you,” he
said, falling into the cant of his sailing days.
“Fash
not, board man, ye’ll have yer butter,” she replied, using the same
style of speech, though she spoke with a different accent.
Nodding
in approval, Eskyn let the warrior’s hand go.
“Good hunting, my friend,” he said as she turned to leave
the casino.
Only
the die-hard gamblers remained – the rest had won or lost what they
could and had gone home. Azhani
slowly made her way through the thinning crowds, knowing that it had to
be approaching dawn.
Gray
light filled the sky, promising a foggy dawn.
Azhani paid Skye and watched as the urchin scrambled off
toward the docks. I wish she would let me find a place for
her and her friends... Wearily, Azhani began the long
trudge back to the city, and the sprawling tree house that Queen
Lyssera called home.
Chapters Twenty-Five and Twenty-Six
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