Birth of a Mortal God (11 page)

The city had three successive portcullises, each half the height of the walls. Their width was only two feet wider than a heavy wagon, making it good for funnelling an invading army should they manage to break them down and survive the several archers posted on the gate tower.

Each guard was armed with the ewienian trademark, the katana. They seemed somehow more majestic now that Jessica knew the swords were actual living beings. Back in Mistveil, she had heard stories of how an ewien and his katana shared a soul, and that the wielder would die should the sword be broken. She had always thought it nothing but the typical embellishment found in the tales of soldiers, but now she wasn’t so sure.

The guards wore their city’s tabard, a red eagle with a white serpent in its talons upon a field of emerald. One of the eight at the gate noticed the darkly dressed couple. “You there, would you mind accompanying me for a moment.”

Killmar turned and headed towards the guard. “Jessica, stay quiet. I’ll handle this.”

The guard was tall for one of his people, standing at about five feet, half a foot shorter than Killmar. “Evening, travellers, mind telling me what business has brought you to Larin?”

“We are just passing through.”

The ewien admired Jessica’s beauty a moment before examining her suspicions companion. “What is your relation to this woman?”

Killmar answered without hesitation. “She is my wife.”

The man narrowed his eyes as he clearly noticed Jessica’s sudden intake of breath, despite it having been very faint. “Your wife, you say? Kind sir, I am going to have to ask you to remove your hood.”

“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

The guard reached for the hood. “I am afraid I have to insist.”

Killmar caught his hand a few inches from his hood before tilting his head backward; just enough so their eyes could meet. “Don’t touch me, insect!”

Jessica instantly recognised his tone and felt a chill run down her spine. She didn’t judge the guard for quaking like a frightened child.

He released his grip, and the guard fell to his knees, his trousers becoming more moist by the second. “If you don’t mind, we have business to attend to.”

The poor man could only nod as they turned and started towards the gate. A few guards had noticed the exchange and were about to intercept them when their frightened comrade, cried, “Wait! Stop. Let them pass!”

The group turned in surprise as their comrade sprinted to meet them. “They are just passing through. We have kept them long enough; let them pass.”

Jessica had thought for sure they were going to disregard the man’s suggestion and mock him for wetting himself, but they seemed to understand something in the man’s wide terrified eyes.

Killmar turned slightly. “You have my thanks.”

The guard stiffened. “Yo-yo-you’re welcome. I am tr-truly sorry for my boorish behaviour.”

Without another word, they moved on and passed through the gate into the Merchants’ Quarter. Buildings glowed in the failing light as crowds of people from numerous races moved from shop to shop. The smell of perfumes and the calls of merchants filled the air as they made their way down the street.

“First, we need to find you some clothes. I can’t have you wearing mine all the time.”

Jessica only nodded, too distracted by the throngs of people and wagons passing them by to give any real reply. It took her a moment before she realised that, except for the guards, none of the other people were ewien; mostly she saw humans, with a few odd individuals in the mix. She wanted to ask Killmar about it but knew it was not a good time to do so.

He took her hand and led her to a store with a sign portraying a golden needle. “It would be really bothersome if I were to lose track of you in this crowd.”

The store clerk looked up as they entered. “Welcome to the Golden Weaver. How may I be of service?”

“I would like to buy eight sets of fine clothing.”

The old man squinted at the couple with his rat-like eyes. “For yourself, or your companion?”

“My companion.”

He scampered out from behind the counter, elongated ears flapping as he made his way to Jessica’s side and started taking measurements. “Any particular style you had in mind, Milady?”

Killmar interrupted. “They should not restrict her movements and be comfortable to wear during long periods of travel. Also, one of them should be appropriate for noble courts; it does not need to meet the other requirements.”

The store clerk regarded him a moment. “I see. I think I might have what you are looking for.” He scurried into the back storage area and returned with a wooden box. “These were made for female adventures, but I haven’t met any to sell them to yet. You’ll be the first.”

He regarded the clothing. “They will do. How long will it take to weave a court dress for my companion?”

“That would depend on the material and the amount you are willing to pay,” he answered greedily licking his lips.

“I see. Well, Master Weaver, gold is of no concern, but time is. I want the finest dress in the shortest amount of time possible.”

The old man silently regarded him for a long moment. “Sir, I could have a masterpiece like no other finished in three days, but . . . it would be extremely costly.”

“How much?”

“Sir?”

“How much would it cost?”

“One hundred gold pieces for the dress, and thirty silver for the other garments,” he said indicating the wooden box.

Jessica gasped. “Are you mad? That’s enough to buy an estate with several servants.”

He turned to her. “My dear lady, I have to close down my shop for three days just in order to finish the dress as well as—”

Killmar reached into his robe and retrieved a heavy coin pouch. “I’ll give you seventy-five gold pieces for the dress and other garments.”

The shopkeeper’s gaze never left the pouch as he said, “Sir, surely you do not expect me to believe you carry such vast riches on your person?”

“Do we have a deal or not?”

Beads of perspiration dotted the man’s face as he considered his options. “We do.”

Killmar placed the coin purse in his hands. “It’s all there. You better not disappoint me, Master Weaver.”

The old man opened the pouch slightly, then scampered into the shop’s back room.

“Jessica, make sure everything fits comfortably. You can choose the colours to be used for the dress. I’ll be back soon,” said Killmar as he walked to the door.

The old weaver returned just as he left the shop. “Your companion is quite a cold character.”

Jessica watched the door and smiled. “He’s just different.”

He smiled at her badly disguised glances at his hairless ears and tail when her attention returned to him. “Your first time seeing a rotementa?”

Her cheeks turned slightly rosy. “I’m sorry, yes.”

“Don’t worry about it, my dear lady. I’ve seen more than thirty winters in Larin, and still people stop and stare. My people rarely venture on the surface, and we are commonly believed to be a fabrication to scare children. Would you believe that when I first arrived here, the Mages’ Guild offered me a large sum to allow them to study my anatomy? That’s how I earned the money to open this shop!” he said with a laugh.

She stared into his bulging eyes, not only were his irises pink, but the pupils as well, though a slightly lighter shade. She had thought she’d gotten used to strange eye colour during her travels with Killmar over the last few months, but she still found the pink eyes unnerving. Now she understood why the rotementa were a favourite among wet nurses. Regardless of whether their tales were true or not, a mere accurate description of the creatures was certain to scare even the most unruly child into obedience.

“Do I frighten you? Are you afraid that I’ll drag you into my underground lair where my kin and I will ravish and consume you like mindless beasts?” he asked as if having read her mind.

The bitterness in his tone was not lost on her. “I apologise if I have offended you. I can only imagine the hardships you have endured living here when you are the monster people scare their children to bed with. Please forgive me, I truly did not mean to offend you,” she said taking his cloud-white hands in her own; the taut skin much softer to the touch than she would have thought.

His eyes softened. “It is I who should apologise. I have thought myself long past such outbursts of resentment. But as they say, emotion can be as fickle as Nekt. As recompense for my horrid behaviour, I will give you some advice. You and your partner best be careful during your stay here in Larin.”

“Why?”

“I’ve lived among you sundwellers for long enough to recognise that you are an exceptionally beautiful human woman, and your partner is obviously a man of impressive wealth, hence it would not be peculiar if the Blue Rose takes notice of you two.”

“The Blue Rose?”

He regarded her with an expression of disbelief. “Why, my dear girl, don’t you know who Killmar the Blue Rose is?”

She kept a straight face and shook her head.

“I don’t know where you are from, milady, but in the Empire, Killmar is a living legend. A man unlike any other, some believe him to be the oldest being in Cortast and worship him like a god. It is said that no task is beyond his capability to complete. The only trouble is making an enticing enough offer, for he has no interest in mundane things like gold or gems. They say that he only lends his aid to those who offer something unique and of great power.”

“Like what?” she asked, doing everything in her power to not seem too eager.

The master weaver ran his hand over his long bald head. “His most famous exploit in Larin was one involving a very successful human family, the Gassquils. They say that Killmar appeared before the head of the family and offered his services. But in return, he wanted the family’s heirloom, a magical pick capable of transforming any ore into gold. The family head laughed at his proposal, since the pick was the reason for their family’s success.”

“No wonder. A pick that can turn any ore into gold? Who in their right mind would let go of such an item?”

The storekeeper nodded. “The head of the family was of a like mind until Killmar told him that he could sack the Diamond Maw, their rival’s fortress that protects the largest gemstone mine in the Empire. However, it was also common knowledge that it was impregnable. Believing it to be an impossible feat, the family head agreed that if Killmar sacked the Diamond Maw, he would hand over their heirloom. Killmar said he would return for the payment and left.

“Weeks turned into months, and months into years, until the Gassquils ultimately forgot about the contract. Then one day, word reached the family that the Diamond Maw had fallen to an unknown force. Though no one had held it, and it was retaken before the Gassquils could reach it. Killmar appeared before the family head a few days later to collect his payment.”

Jessica smiled. “I imagine the Gassquils weren’t all that keen on giving up their prized heirloom?”

The old man nodded. “They claimed that it was the Blue Rose’s fault that they did not gain the Diamond Maw and refused to pay. Killmar pointed out that the contract was for him to sack the Diamond Maw only. They never specified when it should happen or that he should relinquish it to them. They still refused. This displeased him. He then massacred the entire household, taking the heirloom by force.”

“That seems . . . a bit extreme.”

“It is one of the reasons he is called the Blue Rose, because like the scarce Eranian blue rose, it might seem a marvellous gift at first, but prick a finger on its thorns and the poison will kill you almost immediately.”

“I’m confused. You said that Killmar might take notice of us due to my partner’s wealth. But from what you just told me he has no interest in gold.”

The storekeeper said disappointingly, “Well . . . he didn’t. A year ago, he started recruiting men and women for his Sapphire Wolves. They are one of the most feared mercenary bands in the Empire, and they protect storekeepers like myself . . . for a price. They have also been known to relieve the wealthy of the burden of a heavy coin purse.”

“They rob people?! Why don’t the city guards do something?” she said, a bit appalled.

“Killmar has done great things for the ewiens, so they overlook his questionable activities.”

“But he isn’t even the real Killmar! Err, I mean, how do they know he is who he claims to be?” she said, hoping he would take her words as nothing more than a surprised outburst.

He seemed to do so. “This is not a city of fools. When that giant of a man entered in the city a year ago, proclaiming to be Killmar, many thought him just another cutthroat with magically altered hair, trying to pass himself off as the legend. The ewiens were on the man faster than you could say fraud. He killed eight of them before they realised their mistake, after which they begged him to spare the city. No, Milady, everyone is quite certain he the real Blue Rose.”

“Interesting. Could you tell me more tales of him?” she said keeping calm, silently wishing she could find this man and crush his balls with a rock.

“Certainly, but perhaps we should start discussing your court dress as well?” said the old man as he handed her a book filled with hand-drawn sketches of dresses.

The boy watched
the robed man break away from the throng of people moving through the street and turn into a nearby alley. Cautiously, he followed, taking extra care not to walk into a trap.

An empty alley greeted him; not a single trace of the man was left. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. He felt a surge of panic. “Shit! Where did he go?”

Then a hand seized his throat and pushed him against the wall. “You have been following me since I entered the city. Why?”

Fear gnawed on his heart as he looked into the man’s yellow eyes. “Don’t know what you mean, sir. I’m only heading home to me mum.”

The man smiled and, in one swift movement, threw him into the opposite wall, seizing his throat again before he could even fall to the ground. Pain screeched at his muscles. “Why have you been following me?” repeated the man as his grip began to tighten.