SWNOVELS Fireblade: Chapter 3
INSIDE, THE HUGE ROOM is even more crowded than the yard. I elbow my way cautiously through the jostling throng of customers and servants trying to connect with food and drink. Alcoholic drink mostly, if the loud and slurred voices of the clientele are anything to go by.
It takes a few minutes to locate the bear-like build of the trader-spy even though he has chosen exactly the kind of spot I expected, wedged in a dark corner where he can watch everyone coming and going. He is talking and drinking with someone who has his back to me, so I edge closer and stand behind the stranger’s shoulder, staring at Shan’domir until he notices me.
I watch the stages of recognition work swiftly across his face, from wondering who is trying to interrupt his private conversation, to remembering who I am… to a frown that says my presence can only mean trouble. Still, I’m getting used to that sort of reaction. It has been all too frequent since I took the Blade’s powerful gift.
The big man turns his attention back to his companion with the broad, careless grin I remember well from our previous meeting in a gloomy cellar beneath the streets of Corinium. A few words in a language I don’t know, neither Samarian nor Annubian, but the meaning is clear enough.
Thanks for the chat, but a friend has just arrived and I have to deal with this.
Well, maybe the word he actually used was something less endearing than friend, but I’ll have a better idea after a few minutes of talking with him. I turn away as the stranger gets up to leave, figuring that the fewer people around here who notice my face the better.
When I turn back, the stranger has gone and Shan’domir waves me to occupy the vacated seat. His deep-set dark eyes scan me with a searching look over the top of his tankard. He keeps his voice low.
“Ariel. I did not expect to see you here, of all places. And I would wager it means trouble. What do you want?”
“I tried to assassinate the Usurper and failed. I have to try again or my countrymen will be forced into a battle for freedom against overwhelming odds. Thousands will die, soldiers and civilians.”
“And you are seeking my help because our two countries are allied? You believe that removing the Rapathian Emperor will help Annubia?”
“Probably. But I came to you because I need to train as a Nishan. A real assassin.”
His frown darkens. “I thought you already had the fighting skills you need from your… association with the Samarian Elemental?”
“That is not enough on its own. I heard that the Nishan teach mind-control skills as well. What defeated me was the persuasion of the tyrant’s voice. He has gained a terrible power of words by his association, his binding with Nagal.”
Shan’domir leans back in his seat with a long drawn-out breath. Seems he had not known about Nagal. I can almost hear his mind working that new piece of information into what he remembers of the Emperor and his military conquests.
“So that is where his power comes from. I wondered how their Elemental had become revered as a war-god and at the same time, how the Usurper had succeeded in so many conquests. It is suspected he has no skill in fighting or in strategy. Yet somehow he controls his army commanders. You have seen this control at work?”
“I can confirm first-hand that he can’t fight properly. Yet he almost killed me in the confrontation. He was able to distract me so completely with his words that he caught me off-guard. I have never experienced that before. I don’t think it would be hard for him to manipulate and control his most aggressive and competitive military leaders in a similar way. Especially if he could turn them against any individuals who are more resistant to his persuasion.”
Shan’domir glances around, presumably double-checking we have not been overheard.
“We had best continue this conversation elsewhere. Come.”
I pull the hood further over the all-too conspicuous tangle of bright hair that dropped me in so much trouble just now, and keep my head down as I follow him through the inebriated crowd. Out in the searing blast of heat and sunlight of the street I try to maintain a mind-map of the route we are taking but the maze of twisting alleyways makes it hard to keep a sense of direction.
“Shan’domir, why so many curves and corners? Corinium doesn’t have much in the way of straight lines but this is feels like it must be taking us back the way we came!”
“Sandstorms. High walls and sharp angles to cut the wind so that business can continue except in the worst of them.”
He doesn’t slow his pace until we reach another arch leading to an inner courtyard. There are the same accommodations for animals as at the Hawk and Scorpion, but this place speaks of far greater wealth and opulence with its well-appointed stables and shady colonnades. The inner door is closed and flanked by two enormous guards with long spears.
Shan’domir gives a perfunctory wave and the guards step aside respectfully. The breath of cool air inside is a welcome relief after the oven-like streets and the long marble corridor is deserted so I push back my hood and look around. The place is decorated with carvings and frescoes, the curved stone staircase lit by a tall carved window at the top. Another wide corridor leads back into the interior but my guide stops at the first door.
The carved portal leads to a suite of rooms lavishly furnished and carpeted, a mix of deep blues and greens forming a restful backdrop to the bright yellow light streaming through the carved lattices of the windows. The trader’s business must be successful indeed to afford luxury like this. The country manor where I stayed for a few days back in Samaran was far grander than anything I had seen before––but this is another level entirely.
“Shan’domir, is this your house?”
He breaks into a deep belly-laugh of amusement.
“You think humble traders like myself can aspire to such elaborate appointments?”
“You tell me. First time I have ever been in Annubia.”
“Sit.” He waves me to a cushioned couch next to a low table enticingly laden with bowls of fruit and sweetmeats. “Eat.”
I don’t need a second invitation and reach for a rosy ripe nectarine, twice the size of anything I ever saw in the merchant caravans I encountered in happier times.
“Well?” It’s all I can manage without dripping juice into my lap.
“This,” the trader says, waving a careless hand at his surroundings, “is just the humble guest wing of the winter palace of our illustrious ruler, may the sun shine forever upon his name.”
“So… you’re a permanent guest of his?” It had not occurred to me that Shan’domir’s association with the Khalim might be quite so high-level.
He shakes the street dust from his flowing red and orange robes. “No. Not exactly permanent. And that is not something I would aspire to. It is known that the closer one gets, the more precarious one’s life and health can become.”
That is the second time I’ve noticed the way he runs his fingers down the two diagonal scars across his face at the mention of the Khalim. Enough to convince me that this is a relationship I hope I don’t have to aspire to either.
“So how does it work?”
He settles himself heavily on the couch opposite, plucking fat purple grapes off a bunch with careful fingers and popping them into his mouth between sentences.
“There is a royal palace in each of the seven cities of Annubia. Persons who are able to provide a useful service to the Khalim are invited to stay for as long or short as is convenient for the fulfilment of their task. And of course it enables his agents to conveniently spy upon them. You may have noticed we came in through a humble side entrance. Easily watched.”
“So you are being useful in following-up the alliance you recently brokered with Samaran?”
“Precisely. Information-gathering is essential at this delicate stage. I assume you are aware that the letter your friend Marin wrote, that I delivered, was also accompanied by a formal letter of his appointment from King Tandarion himself, but that Marin’s letter had no Royal seal upon it?”
“Um, no. I was a bit preoccupied by other things at the time.”
“Hm. So I recall. Suffice it to say that Tandarion’s letter delegated responsibility for the war effort to Marin and his commander Jantian. However, arranging a foreign alliance is going well beyond a military remit and into the realms of politics.”
“Sorry. Politics not my area of expertise. I would have thought an alliance would be so useful to both sides that worrying about a Royal Seal would be unnecessary.”
That belly-laugh again. “Ah, if only things were so simple! Of course you are right on one point. There is considerable advantage to Annubia in immediately attacking our long-time enemy while half its army is stuck in Samaran. Its fleet is now a mess of charred embers floating off your shores, courtesy of your own southern militia I believe.”
Now it is my turn to frown. “I heard that was the condition the Khalim put on the alliance. We had hoped the death of the Usurper would send the invaders back to their homeland while they sorted out their internal struggles for succession. The requirement to sink the fleet made that impossible. Now the best we can hope for if I succeed, is that the death of Purmut will cause division and infighting between the Rapathian nobility as they compete to fill his place.”
Shan’domir is not sympathetic. “It is not in our interest to let the Rapathians call for reinforcements now that Annubia has invaded their country. Even with half their army stranded, we are fighting a force that outnumbers us two to one. Reinforcements returning from Samaran would spell disaster.”
It makes sense, but it means that even if I succeed in my next assassination attempt, it will at most serve to create chaos in the ranks of the invaders. My mind must be sharper at understanding this kind of thing than it used to be, because I notice that Shan’domir has avoided answering my initial question.
“So the problem with the Royal Seal is what?”
He gives me a mock salute. “You are remarkably persistent. Maybe you are worthy of Nishan training after all.” He pauses. “When a King places his seal on a legal document by his own hand, in front of witnesses, he cannot renege on the agreement without proving himself a liar and a dishonest cheat. From then on, he will find it impossible to win other deals and alliances because no one will trust his word. A mere letter can be disavowed. Tandarion could claim the subordinate went beyond his appointed remit without the King’s knowledge.”
“So the Khalim gambled on that risk because the advantage of an immediate attack was too good to miss?”
I almost add, And the chance of getting someone else to burn the enemy fleet for him, but I don’t want to appear rude.
“Indeed. An ambassador has already been sent to acquire a properly signed and sealed agreement directly from your King. I fervently hope and pray the mission is successful. Relations between Annubia and Rapathia were never good, but they soured even further some years ago when the Usurper reneged on an agreement and thus earned the perpetual wrath of the Khalim.”
There is a sinking feeling in my stomach as I work out the implications of this. If anything goes wrong with this alliance before it gets officially sealed, there is only one way Tandarion can avoid being seen internationally as a liar and a cheat like the infamous Emperor Purmut. He would have to blame Marin for exceeding his authority and claim that he committed treason.
Being accused of treason tends to have a really bad outcome.
A serving girl walks in holding a bowl of spiced kebabs that steam enticing aromas into the cool air. Her movements are sinuous and graceful and I find myself watching her curiously as she places the bowl on the low table and turns to whisper something in the trader’s ear. I don’t understand her words or his response, but the effect on him is alarming.
He springs to his feet, switching back instantly to flawless Samarian for my benefit.
“The Khalim has arrived unexpectedly. It will look suspicious if I am seen colluding with an Eldrin associate while this alliance is so fragile. You need to be out of sight and your weapons well hidden! Falina, get Ariel dressed in some of your clothes and make sure those weapons cannot be found.” He scoops up the bowl of food and gives me an anxious shove toward the door. “You can take this with you.”
Falina gives a polite little bow as she takes my hand.
“Of course, my Lord. I will arrange it.”
I am being dragged hastily out of the door before I have time to think about what this interruption might do to my plans.