The Bastard’s Pearl Page 2
“We should have a party to send you off with good wishes.”
“That sounds very nice. Shall I leave it to you?”
“It would please me if you’d let me host the party for you.”
“Just don’t invite my parents. I’ll have dinner with them before I leave.”
“I doubt they’d attend a party at my house.”
“True.” Sheyn took off the ring. “I should go now.”
“You can stay the night if you like.”
“I don’t like.” Sheyn put the piece of jewelry carefully back in its box and slipped the box into an inner pocket. “But I’ll see you tomorrow evening, and we can talk about the party.” He offered his cheek for a kiss.
Aeriq kissed Sheyn’s cheek and stood aside to let him walk out the door. He smiled fondly as he indulged in watching his beloved, who had no equal for beauty in his eyes. He loved the shining cape of pale hair that fell to Sheyn’s waist, his willowy frame, and the haughty carriage that proclaimed his royal blood faster than he could. As though he owned each patch of ground he stepped on, Sheyn strode out of sight, and Aeriq called to the servants to lock up for the night.
Sheyn went directly to the Eastern Coach Station, where he dropped his voucher in a rubbish bin. He approached an agent and purchased a seat on the next passenger carriage leaving Dey Larone. After shopping for a weatherproof oilskin bag and a few essentials to go in it, it was time to leave. He boarded the coach and rode out of Dey Larone, alone and unencumbered as he had planned. He supposed that Aeriq and his family would be upset he’d tricked them, but he didn’t spare much sympathy for them. They’d simply have to accept that he was an adult and that he made his own decisions about his life. Meanwhile, he had a three days’ journey ahead. He would travel through marshes, green meadows, and tame forests. The road would take him past Dey Larone’s sister city-states of Dey Danys and Dey Phorynt, across the countries of rolling hills, orchards, and planted fields that fed the people of the Protectorate, and thence to the rocky rising lands and desert plains of the buffer states. Sitting back against the well-padded seat, he daydreamed about the adventures that awaited him beyond the Deysian Protectorate.
Chapter 2
SHEYN GOT down from the carriage and waited for the Eastern Coach porter to fetch his bag. After pressing a small coin into the man’s hand, Sheyn put the pouch’s strap over his shoulder, patted the little bag of gems under the neck of his tunic, and looked around. This was the last stop on the longest coach route in the Protectorate, and when his boot had touched the ground, he was on foreign soil. He let the feeling sink in before calling out to the driver.
“Where will I find someone to give me directions?” he asked.
“You’ll find an Eastern Coach agent in the building behind you.” The driver touched the brim of his hat in an abbreviated gesture of deference. “He’ll be able to help you, sir.”
Sheyn parted with another coin, tossing it up to the driver as he turned to go into the building. The agent inside was polite and happy to help but also puzzled.
“Lord Merisolle, may I ask why you need this information?” the agent asked.
“I journey eastward, and I need to hire a guide.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you do such a thing?”
“You don’t understand why I’d travel east?”
“Exactly, my lord.”
“I’m curious.”
“Curious?”
“Don’t you wonder what’s beyond the Greiwoll?”
“No. Never. Forgive me for saying it, but only someone very foolish or very brave—”
“I’ve heard this speech before,” Sheyn said as he stood. “All I need from you are directions.”
Stiffly, the agent told Sheyn where he might find what he was looking for. “But won’t you consider a safer—?” His words were cut off by the closing door as Sheyn left.
SHEYN RETURNED to the dusty square and looked about. He recognized the building on the corner from the agent’s description and walked toward it. At the cross street, he turned right and soon found what he was searching for.
The market was a hive of activity that sprawled across the apron of beaten earth outside the city’s western gate. Sheyn had seen bigger markets, but none so busy. The air was thick with the buzz of myriad languages being spoken, shouted, and sung. Pulling his hood up to block out some of the noise, he picked his way through the maze of stalls, tents, and wagons laden with all manner of goods. Cloaked in the confidence born of a sense of superiority, he haughtily ignored the calls of the vendors as he headed for the northeast corner.
Sheyn stopped when he reached the open area where caravans formed to take the Trade Road east across the buffer states or west to the shores of the Sunset Sea. A line of packhorses and oxen was moving out to take advantage of the cool early-morning air, and Sheyn watched them for a moment before turning his gaze on the small groups of men standing idle. According to his information, these were bravos looking for hire as guards, and they certainly looked the part, if one could judge from the number of weapons on display. Choosing one who looked a bit less disreputable than the others, Sheyn approached him and broke into his conversation.
“A moment of your time, mercenary.”
The dark-haired man turned from his red-bearded companion and gave Sheyn a measuring look. “What do you want, boy?” he asked.
“As I said, a moment of your time.”
“What’s your business here?”
“I want to hire you.”
The mercenary glanced at his friend and both men smirked. “Now what could I possibly do for you?” he asked.
“You could show a bit more respect for someone who’s offering to pay for your services.”
“Where are you from, pretty boy?” Redbeard asked.
“I’ll wager he’s a Laronese aristocrat,” said the other man.
“I am from Dey Larone,” Sheyn said. “If you’d care to step away from your colleague for a moment, I’d like to discuss business.” He jingled the bag of coins in his hand. “It will be worth your while.”
The chiming sound awakened a gleam in the dark man’s eyes. “Please forgive me, my lord. I’m Captain Merlan, at your service.” Merlan flapped a hand at his friend as a signal to clear off.
Sheyn cleared his throat. “I wish to travel as far east as you’re willing to go. I don’t want to haggle with any caravan chiefs, and I want to feel safe against bandits. The less contact I have with other travelers, the better.” He lifted his chin. “I can pay well.”
“My road ends where the Kurais begins,” Merlan said, giving Greiwoll its Eastron name.
“Then arrange to take me there.”
“The fee would be steep. Not as steep as the mountains at the end of the world, but steep enough.”
“I’m sure I have enough gold to satisfy you.”
“You probably shouldn’t tell a stranger something like that. Fortunately for you, I’m not a bandit. If you ask around, you’ll find I have a good reputation.”
“How much will it cost to hire you as guide and bodyguard?”
“What coin are you paying in?”
“Laenir.”
Merlan’s eyes gleamed. Laronese was the most desired currency in the Protectorate and the Buffers. The small, thick oval coins were made of highly refined gold and never lost their value. “Twenty and we have a bargain.”
“Twenty! I could buy horses and a carriage and servants to drive it for twenty laenir.”
“Then perhaps you should do that.” Merlan smiled. “It’s not an unfair price, and I’ll pay any caravan fees out of my pocket.”
Sheyn bit his lip in thought. Twenty laenirs represented nearly a quarter of his coinage, but he still had the bag of gems. “Very well,” he said. “We have a bargain.”
Merlan noted the gesture when Sheyn reflexively patted the front of his tunic. “When did you wish to travel?” he asked.
“As soon as you can arrange it.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m not leaving your side until we reach the end of the Trade Road. And don’t think of robbing me.” Sheyn pulled his dagger with a speed that made Merlan blink. “I’m not as helpless as you might suppose.”
“So I see.” Merlan smiled. “You’ve got more pride than a hundred kings, but you’ve got heart as well. Come. It’s time for midday meal, and I know a place that makes a stew to put hair on you.”
“That sounds repellent, but I am hungry.”
“This way, my lord, and try to keep up, will you?”
“You won’t lose me.”
“I won’t try. Let’s go.” Merlan glanced at Sheyn’s hair. “And pull your hood back up. No one here has hair like that, and you don’t want to be singled out.”
Sheyn uncharacteristically did as he was told and followed Merlan. This was to set the pattern for the next few weeks as Sheyn chafed at what he saw as Merlan’s high-handed manner. The self-described captain seemed to delight in giving Sheyn orders and watching Sheyn get annoyed. Somehow, Merlan always had a good reason and a reasonable explanation for his orders, but Sheyn found him disrespectful. On the other hand, Merlan did as he’d promised, dealing with the caravan leader and the local merchants in the towns they passed through. It was hardly ideal, but Sheyn reminded himself of his goal and let the foreign landscapes distract him until they reached the end of the route in the lively town of Orasei, largest city in the buffer state of Orasin.
Chapter 3
MERLAN LED Sheyn a short distance away from the caravan. “This is it,” he said as he tapped his staff against a pillar of stacked rocks. “This marks the easternmost boundary. On this side, Deysia, on that side, the Kurais, or Greiwoll as it’s known to civilized folk.”
“A maze of barren peaks, and beyond it, Kandaar the unknown.”
“You’ve been here before?” Merlan’s voice was sharp with surprise.
“Of course not. But I’ve read every book I could find that mentions the lost tribes of Kandaar. Did you know that the continent of Ondey was once one nation? But two thousand years ago, the Great Division—”
“Yes, yes,” Merlan said quickly. “Every schoolchild knows that story. A goddess grew angry and gave birth to the Kurais, forever dividing East and West. Religious rubbish.”
“Of course it is. The Great Division was a natural occurrence, but wouldn’t you like to take that road and see what lies on the other side of those mountains?”
The captain made a sign of warding off evil. “No. Even if you survived the Kurais, beyond that are tribes of barbarians who eat human flesh. No thank you. If I want to trade goods with the Utmost East, I will sail around the bottom of the world like everyone else.”
Sheyn smirked at the man’s ignorance. “I think it would be fascinating.”
“I think you’re moon-touched. If you’ve seen enough, I’d like to get into Orasei before the sun sets. This is smuggler country.”
“What is there to smuggle and where would it be smuggled to?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Sheyn slipped a small gem from the pouch under his tunic. He held it out. “Tell me about the smugglers,” he said.
Merlan took the jewel. “Not very many people know this, but there are those who travel to Kandaar.”
“And?”
“That’s all I know.”
“If there are people who know a route through the Greiwoll, I want to hire them.”
“No, you don’t. These are the kind of people who stop at nothing to gain a bit of coin.”
“I pay well, as you know.”
“These people would kill you and take your money and save themselves the trouble of taking you to Kandaar.”
“I think I can find someone at least as honest as you, Captain.”
Merlan snorted and walked faster.
MERLAN BROUGHT Sheyn to the caravan wayhouse in Orasei. They arrived as the evening meal was being served and were pointed toward empty spaces on one of the long benches. Clay bowls of stew and wooden spoons were set in front of them, and they began to eat the gray-brown, gravy-coated lumps.
Sheyn spit his mouthful of food back into the spoon and dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clatter. “This is slop!”
“You don’t care for the food?” Merlan asked mildly.
“I just told you it was slop. Pigs eat slop. Are you saying I’m a pig?”
The captain ground his teeth and reminded himself of the gold he’d been paid and the gold he’d been promised. Into his thoughts crept a reminder that his employer carried something of value around his neck. Perhaps it was time to satisfy his curiosity. Once he knew for certain what was in the pouch, he could decide what to do with his employer. “Of course I’m not calling you a pig. Come with me, and I’ll take you to a tavern.”
Sheyn followed Merlan out of the wayhouse, blinking in the torchlight after the gloom inside. At least the hanging reek wasn’t any stronger, just different. Inside, the air was an amalgam of old sweat, cooking grease, and stale smoke. Out here, a miasma of piss, manure, and sour vomit rose from the gutters to hang over the narrow streets. Sheyn pulled a fold of his cloak over his nose and mouth, and Merlan turned to look at him.
“Pull up your hood,” Merlan reminded Sheyn. “That hair draws too much attention.”
Sheyn drew the hood up over his head, putting his face in shadow. Feeling quite daring, he trailed the captain deeper into the warren of noisome alleys. The walled city was no different from a dozen the caravan had stopped at, but its status as a border town gave it an alluring aura of lawlessness. It was likely that the colorful characters they passed were engaged in nothing more sinister than seeking a glass of whatever passed for wine here, but in Sheyn’s eyes they took on the aspect of smugglers and brigands. Behind each dilapidated door, he pictured a stolen chest of exotic gems or cache of rare spices.
“In here,” Merlan said, gesturing to a small structure built of fieldstone and salvaged boards. He passed between the two torches that marked the entrance, and Sheyn followed him inside.
The only light in the tavern came from gaps in the walls and an open hearth between the main room and the kitchen. The air was thick with smoke and the guttural sounds of the local dialect. Sheyn could feel a layer of grease forming on his skin as soon as he stepped inside. A man in a leather apron pointed Merlan to a table. Sheyn and the captain sat down on unpadded benches at a rough plank table with several other patrons.
“Keep your voice down and your hood up,” Merlan told Sheyn. “Food will be here soon.”
The man in the apron returned with a large platter of sliced bread, roasted meat, and two bowls of something that looked like chowder. Sheyn started to ask what it was, but instead, he picked up the wooden spoon and tasted it. The thick liquid was blandly sweet but left a lingering burn on the back of his tongue. The chunks were some sort of pale meat, but whether fish or fowl, he could not discern. The bits that had the texture of vegetables were likewise pale and boiled to a consistency that did nothing to satisfy the tooth. However, it was hot and filled his belly, and he was soon swallowing with the same gusto as the peasants around him. His bowl commanded the greater part of his attention, and he simply nodded when Merlan expressed his need for the privy. It wasn’t until the food was gone and he looked around for a servant that he realized the captain had been missing for quite a while.
“What a bother!” Sheyn said under his breath as he rose and went to find the man in the apron. He knew a few words of the local tongue, enough to find food or a place to relieve himself, but certainly not enough to convey the complicated ideas that his guide was missing, he was lost, and needed directions to the wayhouse. As he’d feared, the man either had no idea where Merlan had gone or had no idea what Sheyn was saying. Sheyn gave up and decided to check the privy himself.
He went to the door, where he was accosted by the owner with his hand out in the universal sign for payment. S
heyn reached for his purse, but it was missing from his belt. He assumed Merlan had robbed him, and his desire to find the guide doubled, particularly since Aeriq’s ring was in the pouch. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he found a few coins and tossed them at the man before walking quickly away. Certain he’d entered the tavern from the left, he turned down the first cross lane he came to. Behind Sheyn, Merlan came out of the alley with another man at his side. The gray-clad man accepted a small ruby from the pouch Merlan held, nodded his understanding of Merlan’s instructions, and set out after Sheyn. Merlan went back the wayhouse and retrieved Sheyn’s bag. He took the pouch of gold laenir and a very valuable-looking ring, which he later sold to buy his way out of imprisonment. The rest of Sheyn’s belongings were tossed on an offal heap, and the last traces that Sheyn had been in Orasei left town with Merlan.
SHEYN SEARCHED his robes as he walked and confirmed that his purse was gone as well as the bag of small jewels he’d worn around his neck. When he found the local authorities, he would report the theft, but right now, it was of paramount importance that he find the caravan as quickly as possible. He had more currency in his oilskin pack, but it did him no good until it was in his hands. He only hoped the caravan guards would hand over his bag without Merlan there to act as go-between.
Sheyn emerged from a winding street into a square lit by tall torches. A crowd had gathered to drink and dance to the music of a group of men sitting on the steps of a fountain. Jostled and assailed by the fumes of some noxious local drink, he made his way around the eastern edge. As he entered the alley on the opposite side, a man spoke from the shadows.
“Are you lost?” the stranger asked in the tongue Sheyn knew as Ondey.
Sheyn had studied the rustic version of Deyrien, the Protectorate’s official language, and the lessons came back to him as he concentrated. “I don’t converse with strangers,” he said slowly. “Show yourself and give me your name.”