Blood on Bronze (Blood on Bronze Book 1) (3 page)

Arjun frowned,
looking ever so slightly abashed.

“I explore life
in my studies and work. Every tale on an old tablet is a new world to discover,
every manifest from one of our shipments is a new puzzle to be solved,  each
thing that I forge in bronze is a new piece of life, made real in my hands, I…”

“Boy,” she said,
with the tone she’d used with him when he was being contrary as a child, “you
need a girl, and a little music and song wouldn’t hurt you either.”

“But…”

“And that bit of
poetry you just shared with me about your work and creation, if you ever tried
putting that kind of energy into the things you said to young women, you’d have
the most beautiful and brilliant ones in all Zakran lining up for the chance to
be your bride.”

“Bride!”

“You’re getting
old enough to at least begin the search, my handsome boy, and if you start now
you’ll have some time to enjoy the courtships with them before the pressure
really starts for you to settle down.”

Arjun, normally
confident and polished, looked for a moment like the scolded boy he’d once
been.

“I know, Keda. I’ll
make the time, I promise,” he said with some hesitation, “There is just so much
to do…”

“And so many
things to cling to in your heart, Arjun,” she said, “Your mother was one of the
most wonderful women I ever knew, and the best I could ever imagine serving.
There is not a day that goes by that I don’t miss her. The only thing I could
ever fault her for was being so tiny, and so depriving you of your father’s
height, though you seem to have his strength.”

Arjun smiled in
a way that was almost sheepish. Keda hadn’t seen it in years.

“But,” she said,
“she is now in the land of the dead, and you are in that of the living. It is
time you started acting like it.”

“Yes, Keda,” he
said with more earnestness, “I will.”

~

It was late at
night, and the scent of incense and spices mingled with that of copper, tin,
and fire from the houses of the bronze makers. The larger silver moon and the
smaller red one shined full and brightly in the starlit sky.

Ashur sat with
Eb-Sim in his private office at the back of his audience chamber, between the
stairs to the second floor hallway on the left, and the ground floor hallway on
the right. He had the curtains pulled open and looked out across the chamber to
the bronze-bound wooden doors at the main entrance.

Naram-Enki stood
guard in his breastplate and helmet, with his shield slung on his back and a
sword at his waist. He was patient and calm, as always. Keda had just left, and
was to be on her way back with a pot of water and another of dates. The other
servants had long since gone to sleep.

In the office,
Ashur discussed the latest disturbing news with his longtime major-domo.

“If that is
true, Eb-Sim, then they are deep in affairs they ought not meddle with, and
which they will find most difficult to undo. Unless it were not their goal to
undo them, but to acquire sufficient power that none would dare question…”

“My sources
swear by oath that it is true, master Ashur, and can produce proof.”

“Then we must
act swiftly, and let the others know,” replied Ashur.

They heard Keda’s
footsteps in the hall.

The doors came
smashing in as two dozen armed men entered with a battering ram.

Naram-Enki drew
his sword and moved to block them.

3.
The Tale of Gems Amidst Dross

Arjun crawled
forward in complete darkness, his left hand on the rim of the gully, his right
holding as steady as he could. He felt his skin prickle at thought of the
thing, cold, silent, and patient that followed him in the darkness.

It was in no
hurry. In a way, it would have felt better if it simply walked along after him,
but instead it would scurry forward, in motion told only by the slight rush of
air, then pause to wait for him as he passed. He could feel its eyes on him.
Arjun prayed to all the gods he knew that it would not reach out its cold
long-fingered hand to touch him again.

Then, at last,
there it was.

The bridge, the
small footbridge across the gully, barely two feet wide and three long, spanned
a gully he could easily jump across. But in the darkness, it was his only guide
to the passage he needed, to the passage out of this cold, black waking
nightmare, to escape…

Escape!

Fast as he
could, he stood up, drew his sword, and flashed it around him. Whether or not
he’d momentarily driven off whatever it was, it made no sound. Arjun crossed
the footbridge and ran as fast as he could go, shifting the sword to his left
hand and skimming his right along the wall for guidance.

He still
couldn’t see a thing, but something that could see him was following, back
there in the seemingly infinite dark. Its presence was revealed only by the
motion of air and the lightest patter of what sounded like anything but human
feet.

Arjun ran, his
bare feet slipping on the foul stone. He hit a patch of wet slime and water
dripping from some unseen culvert. He fell, hit the stone hard, and the sword
went clattering from his hand. For the briefest painful fraction of a second he
waited for the splash that would tell him his sword was lost forever. But there
was none. He jumped up and desperately felt the ground before him, found nothing,
gave up and ran only to stub his toe against the pommel of the sword. He winced
in pain and silently cursed, reached down and grabbed the sword, spun round and
slashed wildly.

The blade hit
something. It yielded in a way that didn’t feel right, didn’t feel like flesh,
at least not living flesh. Something leapt backward with a silent gust of air.
Arjun ran on.

Finally, up
ahead, Arjun came to a place where a small shaft allowed light to filter down.
He must be past the large manors lining the Street of Flames now, and into the
densely populated neighborhood beyond. That meant more shafts, but smaller.
Little beams of faint light became more common. His heart leapt, and his legs
flew.

He looked behind
him.

Back at the very
edge of visibility, in the shadows beyond the last culvert, was something in a
shape like that of a man, but its proportions were wrong. The legs and arms
were too long, the head was odd shaped, and at an angle no man’s could be while
he still lived.

Arjun turned
back around and tried, if possible, to sprint even faster. He was young,
strong, and healthy, but his breath began to run short. The shape behind him
kept pace, but showed no sign whatsoever of becoming tired.  Sooner or later,
Arjun thought, he would give out and collapse on the ground, however briefly,
but in that moment it could catch him with no further nasty surprises from his
sword.

Ahead on the
left, across the gully, was the pile of rubble marking one end of the final
passageway. What a joy the simple act of seeing had become! He ran to it, and
leapt across, nearly lost his balance on the rocks on the other side, then kept
going as he drew on reserves of energy provided by fear and hope.

He ran down the
passage, clambered up some broken stairs and a pile of more rubble, and there
at the end was the narrowest crack at chest level, between two brick walls. He
jumped for it, grabbed hold, and clambered precariously on the narrow lip. The
space was so small he thought a bigger man, like his father, would have to
expel every ounce of air from his lungs to squeeze through.

But then he
thought grimly, his father wasn’t coming.

Arjun squeezed
through the gap and out onto the broken pavement of a dark, filth-strewn alley.
Nothing followed him. Light came from a street at one end, and the stars
twinkled overhead. After the sewers and the pitch darkness, it seemed like a
heaven made real.

He slipped out
of the alley and into the street. It was busy even this late at night, and full
of an amazing array of characters. There were thugs and drunks, vendors and con
men, performers and courtesans. There were folk of many lands, and of kinds
other than human. There were no guards visible anywhere nearby. Lights hung
from posts in front of dens of drinking, gambling, or worse. In this part of town,
the city itself maintained no lights on the streets.

Arjun was
suddenly and acutely aware of his situation and appearance. He was on a filthy
city street, barefoot, in robes that were rich but now dirty and tattered. His
hair was wild, dirt and sweat shaping it to a crazed sort of halo around his
head. But he had a bronze signet ring on his hand, and a fine bronze sword
along with two beautiful bags on his back. Bags that he knew, and an astute
observer could tell, were full of heavy and possibly valuable things. He
probably looked like a madman, but potentially a rich madman.

And he realized,
painfully, how little he knew about life on the streets.

Before too many
eyes could take notice and focus on him, he ducked into the next alley. It was
full of broken pottery and furniture. Arjun thought it might be next to a trash
peddler’s shop, or maybe it was just a convenient place to stow unwanted
things. An immense chest-high rain urn sat cracked diagonally along one side,
about twenty feet in from the entrance.  Arjun crept around behind it, cleared
out a pile of rags there, and sat his back to the wall. He folded the tatters
of his robe around him, and rested his sword across his knees, one hand
gripping the handle tightly.

He intended to
wait things out until just before dawn, when even here, crowds would thin. Then
he planned to make his way to an inn, some vile one around here where he hoped
they wouldn’t ask questions, and get cleaned up. He might take the tatters of
his robe and make a kilt, but as soon as he could, he would buy clothes and
some sandals.

Instead, he fell
asleep in his hiding place, cheerless as it was.

~

Inina walked
casually along the Street of Vipers in the predawn darkness, her shining black
hair bouncing in three large braids down her back, and her hips swinging freely
below her slender waist. A little bag was slung across her shoulder. It had
been a good haul tonight.

She turned the
corner to the alley where the closest of her caches was hidden. There was the
big urn, and behind it the loose tile under the comfy pile of rags she’d
collected for the benefit of the drunken beggars that haunted the dens along
this street. They slept off their drinking on any handy bit of softer-looking
rubbish, and in doing so guarded or at least hid that spot from more observant
eyes, the eyes of those with occupations like hers. If one was there at the
moment, she’d move on to the next cache. No worries this early in a night’s
work!

There WAS
someone there, but not like anyone she’d have expected!

A young man, not
much older than herself, sat there asleep with knees folded and his back
against the wall. He was in the remains of what once would have been some very,
very nice robes. He was filthy, but the filth looked recent and he didn’t
smell. In fact, under it all, and even from a few feet away, she could detect
perfume. For all its disarray, his wild hair looked like it had been washed and
oiled at some point in the recent past. In his lap, dropped from a loose hand,
was a very fine engraved bronze sword. Red stones studded the pommel and hilt.
On a finger of that loose hand was a perfectly fitted signet ring of bronze,
and on his half-bare chest was a heavy bronze amulet, carved with strange
symbols.

Who was he?

Or, even more
importantly, would he wake up if she reached for the sword?

She stepped
forward and leaned over him, far more tentatively than usual. Her hands reached
toward the sword. This close, she noticed the spiced scent of him and saw the
dark heavy lashes of his eyes.

They fluttered,
and opened.

Too late and too
hastily, she pulled back! Her feet skittered and slipped as he rose with
lightning speed, the sword in his hand.

~

Arjun woke from
dreams of death and endless cold darkness to see a beautiful girl before his
eyes. The sun had not yet risen, and for a brief instant he thought he was
still dreaming. Then, she pulled back and drew her hand with a slender gleam of
obsidian.

He started awake
and rose to his feet with all the speed natural grace could muster. Dream or
not, sleeping through the arrival of an obsidian dagger might mean he’d never
wake up! He raised his sword and pointed it at her.

Then he got a
better look.

She was around
his age, or more likely a year or two younger, of average height, with a bare
slender waist, rounded hips and high full breasts. She wore a light slip of a
kilt around her hips, hitched up a bit too short for decency, at least as most
people saw it, and had a band of decorated cloth around her neck and across her
chest in common Zakran fashion. She had dark flashing eyes, full lips, and
black hair in braids down to the small of her back. He decided she was one of
the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen.

She also had
that obsidian dagger, drawn and at the ready.

“Are you done
staring at me?” she said.

“My apologies,”
he replied, “You startled me. Thank you for trying to help, I am sorry I
frightened you.”

She looked at
him, momentarily wide-eyed. “Ah… help. Yes, of course, I, um, was worried you
might be injured. You aren’t the sort of man I usually see around here. And…
who are you anyway?”

“I am Arjun dra
Artashad,” then he remembered he would be a fool to go by his true name now,
“But… you may call me Sharur.”

Her expression
changed from surprise to what might be quizzical skepticism.

“dra Artashad?
DRA you say! Of the lineage of Artashad? Well good morning, eh… my lord.” she
said with a tone that started sarcastically, but then trailed off in
uncertainty.

She then
appeared to work up her curiosity, and asked “What does Sharur mean?”

“Hunter, in old
Hayyidi,” he replied, “but what is your name?”

“Inina, of the
lineage of no one.”

“I am honored to
meet you, Inina,” he said with a solemn expression and a small nod.

She smiled, but
there was confusion in her eyes.

“Honored? I
can’t remember the last time someone was honored to meet me! I think I’m
starting to believe your name. What are you doing out here on the streets?”

“Nothing I can
speak of now.”

“Then go home,
because you’re going to get hurt out here.”

“I’m unsure if I
can go home, though I have reason to think not. It is now my task to find out,
and that will guide what I must do next.”

“What? Trouble
with your parents, your father?”

“Not with him.”

“But trouble!
All right then, Arjun, or Sharur, how do you expect to make it here?”

“I suppose first
I must obtain lodgings, a bath, food, and some sandals. After that, I’ll begin
investigating.”

Inina laughed,
“Obtain lodgings! If you go asking an innkeeper around here that question that
way, she’ll have shady friends jump you in hours. If you’re lucky they’ll only
take your bags and your sword, but leave you alive. Then again, someone like
you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t hiding from someone ELSE rich and powerful
who is on the right side of the city guard while you are probably on the wrong
side. In which case, an innkeeper likes rewards for fugitives as much as anyone
else, and might send someone with a little message of her own for the guard.”

Arjun hadn’t
thought about any of that. He thought uncomfortably about the idea of a reward
out for him, and whether she, Inina, would want to claim it herself. He decided
to take a chance.

“Very well, what
do you recommend?”

She smiled,
“You’re asking ME for advice? What makes you think you can trust me?”

“You’ve already
been giving me advice, good-sounding advice, and unasked.  Therefore in that
regard I do think I can trust you.”

“Hmm… eminent
logic, I suppose. But this isn’t some school by the great plaza.”

“Since you are
so determined that I NOT trust you, Inina, let us put this to the test.”

Her eyes
narrowed, and she took a step back.

“No!” and now it
was his turn to smile, “I mean I will call upon you to swear an oath.”

“An oath? We
don’t generally give them round here, Arjun. Bad for business! Besides, why
should I do that?” a hint of suspicion crept back into her voice.