TenThousandBrokenDreams/Session31

Mother Cypress speaks:

“Welcome, my little starlings. Come here and hear a tale. What tale shall I tell tonight? Shall I tell you of how Ovin-Bareth outwitted the Queen of Flies, and of the curse she laid upon him? Or perhaps a tale of how Dandra Dinesh struggled with the Silver Kings, and of the thing she was forced to leave behind? No? Would you hear, then, of the return of the Sun’s bright children, and the end of the Second Age?

“Well then. Come closer, my children. Gather round, spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, and their adventures in the Scavenger Lands.”

* * * * *

The river barge Pride of Marita creaked its way heavily south along the River of Willows. Its sails were spread to the winter wind. Sailors and slaves pressed heavily upon their oars, so that the barge might reach the Yellow River swiftly. The month was unseasonably chill; the captain feared that the River of Willows might ice over.

Thorwald of Stonehold stood atop the high forecastle. Despite icy winds and flurries of snow, he scarcely noticed the chill; he had swum naked in the ice-rimed lakes of his Northern home, and this weather seemed tolerably warm to him. But a thing had been troubling him, and now it took hold of his mind, so that he descended to the main deck, and thence into the bowels of the barge, the great central hold wherein resided its cargo of slaves.

He ducked low beneath tarred beams as he made his way into the dim hold. Only a few rush lights gave texture to the darkness. It reeked of stale sweat and urine, rotting food and human waste, which the smells of river water and smoke could not conceal nor disguise. Dozens of men and women of all ages sat upon rowing benches or huddled in corners, shackled at wrist and ankle with bronze chains. The oars creaked in their hands; the sounds of wood and wave mingled with coughs and groans and the occasional squeak and skitter of a rat.

The slavemaster came forth to confront Thorwald’s intrusion into his domain. A green-haired Easterner, the man bore a well-worn whip and a flock of scars. “What do you want?” he growled.

Thorwald looked, not at the slavemaster, but at the chained men and women. “Are these slaves?” he asked.

The question took the slavemaster aback. Was this massive Northerner mentally deficient? “Yeh,” he finally replied.

“I have never seen slaves before.”

The Easterner frowned. “Well, you can look all you like. Just don’t touch.”

“If you don’t mind, I want to row down here for a while.”

“What? Why?” sputtered the slavemaster.

Thorwald shrugged. “I just want to do this. I will not touch or impede your slaves.”

The slavemaster shook his head. This made no sense; nonetheless, the man was a paying passenger, and strong enough to pull an oar. Strong enough, too, to make trouble if his addled nature led him to violence. So why not spare a slave for a while? Less wear and tear on the merchandise.

“This,” said the slavemaster to a bearded older man whose shoulders bore the dark stains of the lash, “is your lucky day.” He dragged the slave up by his chains, then shoved the fellow into the bilges with a splash. Thorwald settled himself onto the bench in his place and, his broad shoulders shifting with muscle, began to row.

* * * * * 

Fetek and Zera leaned upon the rail, watching the dark water go by. Now and again, a scaly shape glinted beneath the water's surface. The Lunar sighed. The urge to change shape was like an itch that could not be scratched.

“Where do you think Thorwald is?” he asked eventually.

The archer pondered. ”Wherever he is, he's probably getting into trouble.”

Approaching a sailor, Fetek inquired after their Northern comrade. Shaking his head in exasperation, he returned to their spot by the rail. ”Apparently, he went down into the slave hold a while back.”

“What's he doing there?”

“Probably getting into trouble. Isn't that what you said?”

So the pair of them descended into the slave hold. There they found Thorwald heaving impassively at an oar. He sat alone at the bench, his former oarmates having been moved away to make room for him to use his full strength. The slavemaster stood over him, looking puzzled and disgruntled.

Zera walked straight past the slavemaster. He leaned companionably over Thorwald. ”Getting some exercise?”

Thorwald nodded. He kept right on rowing.

“Why are you doing this?” asked Zera.

“I want to know what it's like to be a slave.”

Fetek stared incredulously. ”Why?”

“I am curious.”

“You won't know what it's like to be a slave. You're doing this of your own free will. All you'll know is how to row.”

* * * * * 

A pallid, pudgy slave shook himself from his stupor. His skin hung loosely upon him; bruises festered along his flanks. He looked up at Thorwald with a glint of recognition. Gaps showed among his teeth as he raised a tremulous voice. ”Er… excuse me, hello…”

“Shut up, slave!” snarled the slavemaster.

“He is talking to me,” said Zera coldly.

“He's not allowed to talk to anyone!”

The archer shook his head. “This is none of your business.”

“This is my business. He's a slave. He doesn't talk unless I want him to.”

“Well, he's talking to us.”

“He's my property,” the slavemaster blustered, “and he'll talk when I say he does. Now get out of here.”

Fetek raised an eyebrow at Zera, who nodded sharply. Impassive, the young Lunar stepped over to the slavemaster and grabbed him by the throat, lifting the larger man up into the air.

“You'll let us talk to him,” said Zera conversationally to the purpling, kicking slavemaster, “or you'll find yourself overboard in the dead of night.”

The slavemaster gasped out something resembling acceptance. Fetek tossed him casually into the stinking water. He rubbed his bruised throat as he rose shakily to his feet, making rude gestures that our heroes ignored.

“All right,” said Zera Thisse to the slave. ”Now you have our attention. Tell us why we should waste any more time with you.”

“I…” The fellow stuttered nervously. “Your friend… he, he knows me, I think. I… My name is Heaven Turtle. I, I was once seneschal to the great lord Ledaal Vir…”

Thorwald nodded. ”I remember you.”

Despite the darkness, Zera's eyes narrowed. ”How much for this slave?”

“You mangy dog!” The brawny slavemaster was still busy wiping filth from his wild green hair. ”This one will cost you six hundred dirhams.”

“So much?” Thorwald wrinkled his nose in confusion. ”He's so frail, he can barely row.”

“He can read and write. He does figures. He will be worth much as a desk slave or tutor.”

“Who do I talk to about buying him?” asked Zera.

“Talk to the captain,” the slavemaster spat.

“We will,” said Zera, leading the others to the hatch. ”Don't touch him, or you'll regret it.”

* * * * * 

The captain stood in the bow. Her ankle-length coat billowed with the wind of the barge’s passage; a tricorn cap concealed her hair. She consulted a cargo manifest as she spoke with a pair of merchants and one of her officers in clipped, hard tones. Eventually, she deigned to notice the Circle. “What do you want?”

“We want to buy one of your slaves,” said Thorwald.

“Did you have one in mind?”

“His name is Heaven Turtle,” said Zera. The captain regarded him blankly so he continued, “He’s a heavy fellow, though he’s lost a bit of weight in your care. From the Realm. Missing a few teeth. Fruity voice.”

“Yes. I know the one.”

“We’ll be glad to take him off your hands. Shall we say three hundred dirhams?”

“I am not going to bargain with you,” she said flatly. “Let us continue this in my cabin.”

They followed her to her cabin, where she settled herself behind a spartan desk. “That will be six hundred dirhams,” she said. “Do you have the money now?”

Zera tossed a heavy purse onto the table. She emptied the heap of silver coins and jade bits onto the table, where she sorted and stacked coins with efficiency. Grinding a bit of ink onto her inkstone, she scribbled a few characters onto a slip of rice paper, which she pushed across the table with the few coins that remained. “Your receipt,” she said coldly. “Go and get him. He is your concern now.”

“He had better be in the condition in which we left him,” Zera shot back, “or I’ll be wanting a refund.” She did not reply.

As they turned to go, Thorwald spoke. “Captain. If I were to be sold as a slave, how much would I be sold for?”

She glanced up. “I’d have to do a more thorough examination.”

“Based on what you see,” he said.

The captain looked him up and down. “Turn around,” she said. When he had done so, she continued. “You’re big… fit… strong. Probably illiterate and unlearned. Four hundred and fifty dirhams. Possibly more, if you have any appropriate skills.”

Thorwald nodded and turned away.

“What was with that question?” asked Zera outside.

“Aekino says that I must learn to understand. So I am trying to.”

“Understand slavery? If you figure it out, let me know.”

“It is simple. Men sell other men and treat them as property.” Thorwald frowned. “I do not like it.”

“Neither do I. I’m still trying to resist the urge to tear this ship apart piece by piece and free everyone on board.”

They returned to the slave hold. Zera looked Heaven Turtle over and nodded approvingly. “It looks like your head isn’t totally full of rocks,” he said to the slavemaster.

“Did you buy him?” the man replied, surly.

“Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t.”

“Do you have his paper?”

Zera handed him the receipt. The man gave it a cursory glance, then handed it back. “Take him and go,” he said. “I don’t want him in my hold anymore.”

The Circle led Heaven Turtle out of the hold and up into the starlit air. His bronze chains clattered as he walked. He sighed happily. “Ah... This reminds me of the time when I was first coming here… but never mind. I won’t bore you with that tale.”

“Do whatever you like,” said Zera Thisse. “You’re a free man.”

“I, ah…” The man licked his lips. “Well, I must ask, why are three… Anathema buying me?”

Zera looked sharply about. Fortunately, none of the sailors above deck were close by, nor did any appear to be listening. “Don’t bandy that word about.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Heaven Turtle muttered obsequiously. My apologies.”

They brought him back to their cabin, where they sat him down near the door. The barge creaked. Not far away, their traveling companions Bamboo Purple and Brant snored upon their cots. Zera pointed their way, then placed a finger to his lips. “I think we can be candid,” he said softly, “without being candid.”

Heaven Turtle nodded. “I understand,” he whispered back. “What is your name?”

“Zera Thisse.”

“Thank you, good master Zera Thisse.”

“Zera’s fine. Now, how did you come to be here?”

“Well, there was a terrible uproar in Tul Tuin –”

“Yes, and all the new construction.”

“Oh, no, no…” The former seneschal shook his head and gestured as he spoke. “First, there was a lot of rabble in the street, and the lord’s soldiers, and then the new construction, and more battle, and I was very concerned at this point, so I… left the Tower of Winds. I found myself in the company of a very unpleasant fellow who made some remarks about my parentage being uncertain, and that I was now his to do with as he wished… and… I’m boring you, yes? Sometimes I have that way. May I have some water?”

“Yes.” Zera passed him a canteen. “And assume I want the short version.”

“You were enslaved,” interrupted Thorwald.

Heaven Turtle shook his head. “Oh, not yet, sir. I fell in with these… men, who were engaged in … um… highwaymanry… and they forced me to be a cartographer. I know the territory around Tul Tuin very well. When Longcorner came, they attacked the highwaymen, and I was captured and enslaved. I won’t bore you with the details of this, but suffice it to say that it was unpleasant.”

“Right.” Zera nodded. “I have something for you to do. Something considerably less dangerous than ‘highwaymanry.’”

“Do you know what happened to my master, by the way? My old master, the Prince Vir.”

“Last I saw him, he was alive and well.”

Turtle displayed the gaps in his smile. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“We’re going to Nexus now.”

“Nexus. Oh, yes, an excellent destination,” Turtle said uncomfortably.

“Yes. We’re looking for a Dragon-Blood there.” Zera looked him in the eyes. “I want you to help us, and when that’s done, you are free to go.”

“Oh, ah… wonderful. Capital. I would be happy to help.”

“You shouldn’t be,” said Thorwald. “We’ll probably be tracked by the Wyld Hunt. We may all perish.”

Turtle laughed nervously. “How droll.”

“I was not joking.”

The man blinked; his mouth moved, but no words came out. Zera put a hand on Thorwald’s shoulder. “Let’s talk more about this later,” he said. “I think that’s enough for now.”

“I’d love to rest now,” agreed Heaven Turtle.

Fetek tilted his face away. “Iron Wolf, can we bathe him first? He stinks.”

* * * * *

As they sluiced river water over Heaven Turtle at the rail, they watched lights approach from the fore. One after another, three shallow-bottomed Realm junks passed them by, their sails filled with elemental wind. Their hanging lanterns shone on scrubbed planks and on snapping banners marked with the Ledaal mon. Heaven Turtle sighed heavily and leaned on the rail. Thorwald grabbed him by the collar before the man could clamber over the side in some foolish attempt to rejoin his countrymen.

“I can’t spend much longer on this boat,” Fetek groused.

Zera nodded. “I think that applies to all of us.”

“What if your woman is on one of those ships?”

“Then I’ll go back, oath or no.”

“Now you start choosing to break your oaths,” grumbled Thorwald. “You could have done this earlier, before we freed Cessair.”

Shivering from the cold, Heaven Turtle said, “What’s this about freeing the queen?”

“She rules now in Tul Tuin, alongside Vir.”

“That’s… a… novel approach,” the slave replied, scratching at a flea.

Thorwald shook his head despondently. “To think I could be with Li and Aekino,” he muttered, “teaching someone the true way to fight.”

* * * * *

A bird cried over the plain near Mokuren. Monk’s robes flapped in the wind. All else was silent, but for the tense breathing of the Immaculates and the northern half of the Circle. They glared at one another over a fence of staves and blades.

Tepet Aekino stepped forward. A pale, ennobling light gleamed upon his features. He drew every eye. “Abbess Shima,” he said, his voice clear as a flute.

Disgust distorted Shima’s dark features. “Anathema,” she replied.

“We must speak, noble elder, of what is to come.”

“I cannot imagine that we have anything to say to one another.”

“We must remember,” Aekino replied, his voice enthralling, “that there are in this world some things that must remain sacred. The geometry of the minutes and the custom of the place we happen to be at the moment. By such customs it is inappropriate for us to engage in battle, much as we are about to at this time. Let me speak plainly. We go to the tournament. It would be an appropriate manner in which to settle our differences. Unfortunate deaths would be averted, and we can see the sentiment of the area, for we will not hide our natures.”

Shima shook her head. “I am not concerned about the sentiments of the people. I am concerned with the truths of the Dragons. I know well that your kind are deceivers; there is no truth in you. I know the customs here, and I acknowledge the possibility of death should we break them. But my people are willing to die to put an end to you.”

“It would be well for us to understand each other. I understand and respect your conviction. I admire it. But I cannot surrender my liberty.” He paused. “Also, I might point out, with all due respect, that there are creatures that are not part of creation, and we have destroyed such things. Is that not meritorious?”

“Demons may kill demons if they choose,” scoffed Shima. “What is it to me if one evil devours another? That is no mark of virtue. You are not capable of righteousness.”

“I am as capable of righteousness as any man.”

“You are no man, creature. It is written in the Sutras of Sextes Jylis of how the Anathema hollow out the bodies and souls of mortals from within. You may wear a human face and speak with a human tongue, but I am not deceived. I recognize the demon within.”

Aekino refused to budge. “Whatever you may consider us to be, you may recognize our worth through our actions. We have endeavored to do good in our travels; surely you must see that.”

“I cannot assume to know the motives of a creature like you.” Her mouth twisted as though she tasted something bitter. “Enough. No more talking. You may accompany us to the Blessed Isle, or perish.”

They stared at one another. The air seemed to smolder between them. Then a white egret cried overhead; they looked up to see it fly overhead, breaking the tableau.

“Shima!” snapped Tepet Aekino. “I will ask you once more, and it shall be the final time. Reconsider your actions. Your decision is ill conceived. Furthermore, I will point out that I –”

The Immaculate abbess tore her gaze from the egret. Beneath her black Aspect markings, her skin had taken on an ashen tint. “You are as long winded as Vir,” she said acerbically.

Breaking off his staring contest with his brother, Ledaal Martin stepped forward and placed a hand on Aekino’s shoulder. “I have an idea,” he said. “With all due respect, Shima, you are a powerful woman. But not all of your followers can say the same.” He directed this last statement at the youngest of the disciples, a girl scarcely out of puberty. She shifted uncomfortably.

“Do not interfere, boy,” said Shima. “I am here for a purpose, and you are not a part of it.”

Martin shrugged. “That’s a whole lot of not my problem.”

“Why are you traveling with the Anathema?”

“Why don’t we make an agreement,” continued Martin, ignoring the question. “You face one of them, one on one, within the rules of the Tournament. If one of our champions should win, you call of your dogs. If you win, we will all go back to the Blessed Isle, and none of your little idiots get killed.”

“Why don’t you stay with us,” she retorted sweetly, “so that we may inform your father that you are safe?”

“Vir knows I’m safe. And I’m not stupid.”

Shima looked offended. “Unless you’re an Anathema, you have nothing to fear from me.”

“I am not an Anathema. But I’m also not a zealot.”

“What you are is a heretic.”

Aekino drew Martin back. “He is also under my protection. Do you need time to ponder this?”

The elder Immaculate looked up again at the white egret. It continued to circle, watching what occurred below with preternatural intelligence. She had dwelt in the Hundred Kingdoms for many years; she knew what the bird portended. Her mouth contracted to a thin, tight line. “Your terms are reasonable, Ledaal Martin,” she said, deliberately snubbing the Twilight. “Can you hold your companions to them?”

“He does not need to,” said Aekino. “Do you wish to proceed first, or shall you follow us?”

“After you.”

* * * * *

Our heroes traveled through the day, enjoying the unseasonable warmth despite the discomfort of a dozen armed and unfriendly monks at their back. They congratulated one another on preventing a battle; they did not notice the white egret that continued to soar above, now so high that it showed as a mere white fleck upon the blue sky. They spent much time discussing the prospect of battling Shima. While Martin offered to fight the Immaculate, saying that he’d never seen her do anything but talk, Aekino preferred to allow Li to accept the challenge; he knew enough of the Immaculate Order to feel certain that an elder monk would be quite advanced in the study of her Essence, and no pushover.

Soon they reached a dirt road that ran from Mokuren into the hills. There, they joined with a long, sporadic stream of pedestrians, riders, carts and wagons traveling away from Mokuren. By nightfall, they were well into the hills, where the road debouched into a great walled encampment aglow with firelight.

“Are all the people there fighters?” asked Martin.

“Probably not,” Alac Doren replied. “Most are probably merchants, prostitutes and other type of hangers-on.”

“Should all of us enter the tournament?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m thinking… if I don’t enter, I can keep an eye out for the Immaculates from the sidelines. Help out from the outside.”

Doren nodded. “What about gambling?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we do have some inside knowledge. Look at Li. She looks just like a little Western girl, right? Who is going to take her seriously? The odds on her will be long. We can stake a good bit of silver on her and come out rich as Dynasts.”

Martin grinned slowly. “I like the way you think.”

Sometime after full dark, they stood in a long line of people and carts leading to a gatehouse. The line moved swiftly; each pedestrian handed over a single coin to a gatekeeper, while carters counted out a few coins each, depending on the quantity of their goods. Off to the side, however, a single figure negotiated from horseback with a handful of guards and clerks. He wore armor of rainbow glass, as did his steed, and a blade of adamant rested at his side. As our heroes approached, he cocked his elegant head to witness their approach. He smiled. “Li of Orchid!”

She recognized him. A year ago, they had fought along the River of Tears. “Galarach!”

“It is good to see you here,” said the cataphract. “Have you come to fight?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yes, as long as I can negotiate payment. My kind are charged more than others for entry.”

“That’s hardly fair,” said Martin.

Galarach smiled. “This is a feast, and our hosts scarcely care to share their meal. I must make it worth their while. It has been a pleasure to see you, Li of Orchid, and a pleasure to meet your companions. I look forward to facing you in battle.”

* * * * *

Upon entering, they found the tournament grounds packed with tents, pavilions, huts and lean-tos of every description. A few low buildings emerged from the sprawl, their signs advertising lodgings of quality. A maze of stalls spread out inside the gates, where merchants sold food and drink, ornaments, and all manner of weaponry. Hundreds of people wandered through the bazaar, their voices mingling into an empty buzz. Many carried themselves as warriors, but they seemed outnumbered by the merchants, nobles and servants that thronged the place, eating and drinking as they gossiped about the tourney.

“It seems finding proper lodging will be difficult under these circumstances,” said Aekino.

“Under these circumstances, Tepet Aekino, I think finding lodging that is devoid of parasites would be considered being ahead of the game,” Doren replied.

“I am confident that you will find us appropriate quarters. After all, you are here to see to our safety and security, are you not?” Aekino added pointedly.

Doren smiled. “Just so.”

“It seems to me,” said Aekino, “that there is much between us that remains unsaid. Who told you to come and protect us, and why?”

Doren shrugged artlessly. “I have an arrangement with certain parties, and they expressed an interest in your achievements. I do not know the details of their organization; I work through intermediaries. I took the job because I thought it would be entertaining. You are quite well known in many circles.”

“What circles are you speaking of?” asked Aekino suspiciously.

“I don’t think I am being cryptic. Your exploits in Tul Tuin are well known. Perhaps not the specifics… but among those of power and influence, the gist of your activities is widespread.” Doren led the group down a narrow aisle between wine stands, and into the thick of the bazaar. “In any event, I did not come solely for coin. I was also curious.”

“Curiosity seems an unlikely wage.”

”So far I’ve battled a demon, faced down an ancient, embittered god, and squared off against an abbeyful of Immaculate monks.” Doren’s teeth gleamed. “You can’t pay for this kind of entertainment!”

* * * * *

They pressed through the crowds that milled about the hawker’s stalls and sizzling barbecue pits. As they approached a low, massive wooden structure, they were distracted by cries from the milling throng: “Look! Dynasts!” and “Ha! I saw them first!”

Doren rolled his eyes as two young Easterners dashed up to them, their gray leathers adorned with coppery talismans and medallions. “Greetings, great lords of the Blessed Isle!” one shouted. “I am Jorak Meru.”

“And I am Jorak Nezha!” declared the other. “We are skilled warriors, and we wish to enter into your service!”

Aekino blinked. “That’s… very interesting,” he replied.

“Believe me, masters, you cannot go wrong with us!” The second youth gesticulated wildly. “My brother and I are the finest swordsmen this side of the Shichiyas. At ten obols a day, you will obtain an unbeatable fighting force!”

The other nodded vigorously. “We’re a real steal! If you need captains or palace guards, you’ll find no one better than the brothers Jorak!”

“I appreciate your attentions,” said Aekino, spreading his hands diplomatically, “but I’m afraid that I have no need of such services.”

“Surely not!” gasped Jorak Meru. “A splendid lord such as yourself cannot go without bodyguards, at the very least! For a mere eight obols a day, we shall protect you from all harm, morning, noon and night!”

“Ha!” A beefy woman swaggered up, a massive naginata resting upon her shoulder. Her red hair sprawled out like a thorn bush. “Pay no attention to these young louts. They are barely competent to guard rocks in a gravel pit! It is I you want, Jaidi of Chao Su, and my strength and skills are at your service.”

“Why would the noble lord want a thug like you?” snapped Jorak Nezha. “He wants honest swordsmen, not a jungle ape with breasts!”

“There’s no need for this,” said Aekino. “I’ve already said that I’m not hiring.”

“You see!” called Jorak Meru triumphantly. “He doesn’t want you, Jaidi, or that big stick of yours. So why don’t you shove off?”

“You want to see something shoved?” Jaidi waggled her naginata threateningly. “I’ll show you where I can shove this.”

“We’re not afraid of you! You can’t intimidate us that way!”

Aekino leaned close to Doren. “They really aren’t listening, are they?”

“No,” smiled the Earth Aspect, “they really aren’t.”

“Princes of the Earth!” shouted a short, stocky fellow, leaning on a heavy yew bow. “Don’t bother with these weaklings. I, Ku Ru, am the man you want! I can put an arrow through a gnat’s eye at a hundred paces. They have nothing to offer that compares to my skill. I would be honored to serve in your retinue!”

The Jorak brothers rounded on the newcomer. “You should be honored to get a job shoveling shit,” said one, while the other laughed, “A gnat’s eye? You couldn’t hit the broad side of a yeddim!”

“Men!” snorted Jaidi. “You’re all cut from the same cloth. I could kick all your asses at once, with one hand tied behind my back!”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that!”

Aekino and Doren edged away. They ducked away, allowing the sounds of argument to recede into the distance behind them.

* * * * *

The Pride of Marita continued south for many days. The banks of the River of Willows had frozen by the time the barge reached the confluence of the Yellow River. There it approached the quays of its namesake, the city of Marita where the Council of the Concordat met. The docks were thick with vessels that day: barges, courier boats, yachts and warships of every description.

“It looks like a full meeting of the Council,” said Heaven Turtle. He had been cleaned up somewhat, and Thorwald had struck his chains away, but he still bore the marks of his imprisonment. “Ha ha. Friend Zera, I do hope… oh… perhaps I shouldn’t speak…” He looked about nervously, as if expecting the lash.

“You should calm down,” murmured Fetek.

“In this company? Not likely. Ha ha.”

Zera sighed irritably. “Look, you. I’m going to display some trust.”

“That frightens me.”

“My companions need information. You are a man of the Realm; you know politics; you can move about pretty freely in this city. I have every confidence that you’ll be able to find out what’s going on.” Leaning close, Zera added, “I know you’ll have the motivation to go to the first authority figure you can find and tell them everything about us. Let me make something clear. If you do this, I will kill you, and you will never see me coming.”

Heaven Turtle shuddered, but said nothing. The barge drifted closer to the docks, where the stevedores swarmed like ants, loading and unloading. Then he shuddered again. One shaking finger pointed at a black ship, a dark blot among the brilliant panoply of vessels. “Oh, dear,” he quavered, “those can’t be good.”

“There is another,” said Fetek, pointing. “I recognize the wood of their make. It’s very not good.”

Thorwald gawked. “What is it?”

“Exactly what you think it is,” said Zera.

“There is a kind of tree, Pillar of the Sun, that only grows in the shadowlands,” Fetek replied.

Zera glared at the Lunar. He had thought the boy had more discretion. “Pillar of the what?”

Fetek coughed, embarrassed, and said nothing further.

The barge slowed to a crawl as it sought a place among the docks. They watched the black ships, whose crew went about their duties with odd, slumped postures. Guards lined those quays, keeping watch on the black ships.

“Why are they here?” asked Thorwald. What possible reason could they have?”

“Even the dead have their emissaries and their politics,” said Zera. Nonetheless, he swept his eyes across the black ships, as if seeking some unpleasant truth in them. One, he saw, flew a banner blazoned with the mon of the old ruling house of Thorns. He stiffened.

Thorwald, attentive to his brother’s moods, asked, “What is it that you are seeing, Zera Thisse?”

“Oh, just thinking of home.”

The barge thudded ungently into the wood of the quay. Lines were cast and tied, a plank lowered. Sailors and stevedores set about their work; the ship would finish its transfer of cargo and depart by nightfall, and there was much to be done.

“If I might make a suggestion,” proffered Heaven Turtle nervously, “perhaps another ship would be available?”

“Why?” Fetek asked.

The former seneschal rubbed his wrists, where the marks of the shackles had yet to fade. “This one is somewhat unpleasant.”

“We already paid for this ship,” snapped Zera, “and spent the rest of our money on you.”

“Oh… I see.” Heaven Turtle shifted nervously. “Well, I suppose I had better… go be about my business.”

The Circle watched as Turtle went out into the dockside crowds. Thorwald went out after, seeking a tavern where he might recoup Zera’s investment with a bit of discreet gambling. And Fetek found a quiet spot to take the form of a bird, whence he glided out over the halls and domes of Marita to spy.

After a quick circuit of the city, Fetek sought out Heaven Turtle. The man slowed as he approached the great marble concourse surrounding the Council dome. Furtively, he drifted off to the left, then made his way to a blocky, imposing building, fortress-like beneath its ornate façade. Scarlet banners flew above its gates: this was the Realm embassy. Taking mouse form, Fetek followed the man into the building, where he hid and listened for a time. Then he returned to the air and flew toward the Council dome.

* * * * *

The sun shimmered just above the western horizon when Turtle slunk out of the Realm embassy. His eyes were on the flagstones; he did not notice the figure in his path until they had almost collided. Looking up, he all but jumped out of his skin. “Oh – eh – oh!” he gasped. “Fetek! I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“I’m aware of that.” The Lunar stood athwart his path, arms crossed, bristling with distaste.

“Why don’t we just walk to the docks?” Turtle shuffled furtively. “It’s getting to that time…”

“Yes, it is.”

“I, ah, just had to make one last-minute stop –”

Fetek smirked. “So tell me what you learned from the council.”

“Well,” Turtle sputtered, “that’s rather complicated. I had a lot of trouble finding out anything…”

“It’s a terrible shame that it took so long for the ambassador to see you. After all, he was in council all day.”

“What? Er…”

“The slow crawl of the bureaucracy is terrible. I can’t believe it took you so long to get to where you were from the front door.”

Turtle had turned a trembling scarlet. “You, um… I’m terribly sorry. I want to go home. Can you blame me?” His eyes watered. “Put yourself in my shoes!”

“Your shoes would still be in the hold of that ship, rowing, if not for Zera.”

“I know. I am somewhat ashamed.”

“Fortunately for you, I did hear what the council was saying. I’ll tell him.”

* * * * *

The barge pulled slowly from the dock. Wind-spirits filled the sails, carrying it west into a dying sunset. Fetek led Heaven Turtle to the cabin, where Zera sat fiddling with a dagger.

“Welcome back,” said the archer. “What did you find?”

“Ah, er…” Turtle mumbled and stammered.

“I observed the council,” interrupted Fetek, to Turtle’s immense relief. “They are very long-winded. But I think I understood enough.” There were hundreds of representatives there, he continued, who spent the day arguing more about details than about matters of substance. The appearance of the Anathema and Amalion had stirred interest and fear, but for the most part, the territorial expansion of He-Who-Walks-In-Darkness, a shadowland monarch who rules south of Great Forks, had monopolized the debate. The representatives from Great Forks and the cities nearby protested the Walker’s activities, while the Walker’s envoy justified his actions by pointing at the Mask of Winter’s invasion of Thorns. The Mask’s own envoy argued that he had only claimed Thorns on behalf of one of his vassals, the rightful lord of Thorns by blood, who now sat upon the throne of that city.

Zera frowned at the unwelcome reference to his homeland. He regarded Turtle. “And what did he learn?”

“He found out the bureaucracy of the Realm has a very long arm.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Fetek hesitated. “He spent the whole day in the Realm embassy.”

Heaven Turtle stuttered as Zera’s withering glare fell upon him. “Admittedly, I wanted to try and return to my lord in Tul Tuin, but without revealing anything of your nature… but I couldn’t… um... I never told them anything. I never saw the ambassador.”

“To his credit,” Fetek added, “he did start back. He never asked the embassy for sanctuary.”

Thorwald chose that moment to arrive, beaming. He didn’t even notice the tension in the cabin. “Look!” He held up a heavy money-pouch; it jangled pleasantly. He tossed it to Zera. “I made back some of the money we spent on this one!”

“Good.” Zera accepted the pouch, but gave his Circle-brother no further attention. He stared at Turtle for several seconds. “Isn’t it nice up on deck?” he said at last. “The wind, the fresh air.”

“Oh, this doesn’t sound good,” mumbled Turtle.

“It’s much better than below decks, isn’t it.” Zera continued to glare; Turtle could not meet his eyes. “I saw you down in the hold and I spent all of my money, because I don’t like to see people being hurt. I gave you a gift, and asked something simple, within your power, to return. That’s what people do from where I am. I guess not from where you’re from. The next port of call we make, you get off the ship, and you do whatever you want to do.”

Zera stalked out of the cabin and up to the deck. Thorwald shook his head. “Why didn’t we just slap these back on him?” he said, gesturing to the broken chains that lay heaped in the corner. He rounded on Heaven Turtle. “I don’t know what you did! But he had better be in a good mood later!”

Turtle scuttled out of the room.

* * * * *

The moon glowed above. Zera leaned out over the rail to watch the passing cliffs, the gleam of moonlight on water. He muttered curses steadily under his breath.

Fetek approached. “I have been watching the air,” he said quietly. “There are raitons following us. There is something unwholesome about them. I fear that Forty-Four Devil Blossoms is tracking us again.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Zera. He picked a splinter from the rail and tossed it into the water. He shook his head. “I can’t believe he did that.”

Fetek took the abrupt subject change in stride. “He is weak. That’s why he was enslaved. He thinks of nothing but himself.”

“It’s funny. I forget sometimes that people think that way. Most people do.”

“You’re not most people. None of you are.”

“It’s not even him so much. I feel like I need to be doing something about the Thorns mess, and I’m wasting my time.”

“You are doing something. You’re growing stronger, and so is your Circle. Throwing yourself against a stronger enemy is foolish. Patience is your greatest asset now.”

“I did make that deal…”

“Which one? We’ve made so many.”

“I slept a few nights and didn’t dream.”

“I’m not… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Zera Thisse.”

“Then suffice to say that I made a deal and was given something that may help.”

“Well, good. With whom did you make this deal?”

“A merchant named Makarios.”

Zera’s vision darkened for a moment. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a heavy book lay open before him: the Sage of the Lilac Garden’s register of secrets. A passage lay scrawled therein, written in his own hand: ‘I sold three nights of dreams to Makarios for a means of revenge.’ As he watched, a brush blotted out the words with black ink. He felt a darkness settled over his soul.

“Makarios?”

Zera had grown pale. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Fetek regarded him, puzzled. “Is this a part of your deal?”

“No. A different deal.”

“Oh.” The Lunar realized then what had transpired; the archer had revealed a secret that he had sworn away to the god. “We should tell the Pillar of the Sun. This could be very difficult.”

“Hopefully, it will just be my problem.”

“I doubt it.”

“Me, too.”

* * * * *

Zera led Fetek across the windy chill of the deck, to where Thorwald sat gambling with three of the crew. “Ah! I saw you coming here,” he called merrily. “Perhaps you should play some dice with these sailors. I’m not that good, so I’ve lost some money.”

“We need to talk,” said Zera, pulling at the Northman’s arm. “Come on.” He dragged the other away from the sailors, to a quiet spot along the rail. “I spoke a secret that I swore away. In the book.”

Thorwald chewed on that. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure it’s not good.”

Fetek said, “Iron Wolf, we are going to the City of Temples. There may be a temple of the god there. If there is such a temple, we should find it if his vengeance has not already fallen. Even if it means giving up this boat.”

“What will happen?” asked Thorwald.

“We are dealing with the Court of Secrets. They will probably retaliate by spreading a secret that Zera Thisse doesn’t want known. And to complicate matters, Forty-Four Devil Blossoms may be following us.” Fetek pointed to the dark outline of a raiton sweeping across the starry sky. “We need to be doubly, even triply, careful. Heaven Turtle may still decide to play his hand.”

Zera’s face twisted unpleasantly. “He doesn’t have a hand to play,” he sneered. “The next stop we make, he gets off the boat, or I will throw him off. Is there anything else? No?” Not waiting to hear from his companions, the archer stamped off toward the cabin.

Thorwald watched him go. “We should keep Heaven Turtle away from him for a time,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve seen a mood like this come on him once before. It isn’t pleasant.”

“I will warn him,” said Fetek. He went away, leaving Thorwald alone with the cold wind, the splash and smell of the river, the circling raitons, and the moon and stars.

* * * * *

Weeks passed in the tourney grounds. Warriors and nobles and merchants continued to trickle into the encampment in increasing numbers. Aekino spent all of his money ensuring decent lodgings for himself and his comrades; the expense exceeded that of similar housing in the Imperial City, and he thought sourly of the luxuries denied him by his unDynastic penury.

Our heroes spent their time practicing their martial skills and gathering information. They gleaned the ground rules of the tourney quickly enough: participants might use any weapons, armor and magic at their disposal to defeat their opponents, so long as they did not strike a defeated opponent or a noncombatant, either of which would result in expulsion.

They studied their opposition, watching the relentless parade of practice matches and duels that occupied the tournament circle at the center of the grounds. Several stood out as dangerous and worthy opponents: the laughing deathknight Zephyr; the dour sorcerer-swordsman Ikeda Seljan of Iehachi; half-blind Master Hark; the stolid Eastern barbarian Essereth; the enigmatic Blood Red Knight; quicksilver Sesus Kasei; the Immaculate prodigy Lyta; the estimable cataphract Galarach; and the delicate, soft-spoken martial artist named Swan. There were others who did not enter the circle, yet bore themselves with a master warrior’s reflexive grace, and Li noted them for the future.

Martin and Doren spent their time placing bets on the performance of Li and Aekino. In particular, Doren subtly spread the word that Li lacked the skill necessary to compete in the tournament, allowing Martin to bet on Li at extreme odds. The pair chuckled gleefully at the profit they stood to make on the venture, not thinking too much on the consequences.

Rei spent much of her time fraternizing with other attendees, in the process of which she encountered a couple of the Circle’s old friends. One, the scavenger lord Kurokami, sought adventurers to explore an ancient ruined city in the Southeast. The other, old Master Ro, whom our heroes had rescued from sacrifice atop a Yozi-altar, sought aid in reclaiming his Manse, the Well of Ashes, from the demons that had claimed it. Of more interest to the Solars, she learned that Shima had been circulating among the other Immaculates and Dynasts in attendance, warning them of the presence of Anathema at the tourney. It seemed that once the tournament ended, escape from the grounds might prove difficult.

The days wound down toward the end of the month, the end of the season of Air, and the beginning of the tournament. A chill settled on the grounds as cold winds swept down from the mountains in defiance of the region’s unseasonable warmth. The merchants responded by redoubling the size of the cooking fires, and the smells of roasted meats wafted up to Heaven.

Li walked past the dueling circle, where a swordswoman was helping her gut-stabbed sparring partner to the healer’s tent. A hiss of indrawn breath caught her attention. A huge woman confronted her, body covered in tiger-stripe tattoos, bearing a crude spear. Strings of animal teeth and claws dangled, jangling, from her few concealing scraps of leather and fur.

“Hey you,” shouted the woman. “Let’s fight!”

Li cocked her head. “What is your name?”

“My name is earned, not given!” The barbarian woman gave Li a desultory poke with her spear, a blow that the Dawn evaded with casual ease. The woman growled. “Let’s see how good you really are!”

With a shrug, Li stepped into the ring. She raised the sword named Radiance, still bound in its scabbard, and held it before her.

The woman raised her spear. Lifting her head, she let out a terrible howl, a scream like a dying wolverine. In response, lightning crackled across the clear sky above. Blue fire burned in the woman’s eyes. When she spoke, her voice rumbled like thunder. “Katsuro. Ah Chün remembers.”

Li of Orchid sighed. “You again,” she said. She drew her blade.