Eastward Dragons (6 page)

“So it’s prisoner again?” Rajin asked, coming up to the door. “And here I thought that I was an honored guest in the palace.”

The guard pointedly ignored Rajin’s jab and instead waved down the corridor to where the first guard now stood waiting.

Neasa and Rajin stepped into the corridor and, lead by the foremost guard, walked in silence through the corridors of the castle. A mere ten minutes brought them to the antechamber outside the royal dining terrace. It was a tight space, designed as much to form a choke point where two or three guards could hold off a larger force of attackers as it was to provide a comfortable area for visiting dignitaries to wait until they were granted entrance to the dining room. The doors at either end were crafted of thick oak planks, banded together and surreptitiously reinforced by curling swaths of ironwork, which formed the starkly sketched outline of a cargo ship with billowing sails. There they found Sunil Diventru, an officer in the royal guard who Neasa recognized from her days living in the palace as a child and her brief period of service in the New Tower, waiting on a padded bench beside the inner door.
 

Sunil was a man of nearly six feet with light brown skin and flat, dead eyes. In his years of service he had seen everything that he imagined possible in a royal palace, and some of those experiences accounted for the prematurely white hair that he wore cropped close to his head. He was dressed in the formal uniform of an officer of the royal guard: a high-collared tan shirt of stiff linen and matching trousers, with a narrow white sash embroidered with his insignia of rank and service decorations slanting across his chest from his right shoulder. Though he was seated, he was in no way relaxed or slovenly. His back was straight. His eyes looked directly ahead, except for brief flickers to one side or another as he repeatedly checked the room for potential threats. He was, Neasa thought, the consummate image of a dedicated officer of the royal guard.

Which was one reason they had never been on good terms.
 

“Sir Diventru,” Neasa said, nodding her head in acknowledgement as they approached.

Sunil turned his head, keeping his shoulders completely still as he did so, and nodded to the new arrivals. “Neasa Veatro. Kelven told me that you were to accompany us on this expedition. He said that your new contract contained some… interesting runes. I trust that you are as troublesome as always.”

“I am. And I trust that you are as stiff as always.”

“Undoubtedly. Fortunately for both of us I have been informed that, while not released from your term of service, you have been removed from the standard command structure and assigned to report solely to the king.”

“That’s what the new runes say,” Neasa said. At the reminder, the swollen skin on her left shoulder and back began to itch again. She tried to ignore it, saying, “King Berech thought it wise to have a member of the expedition who was beholden only to him.”

“Do you question my vows?”

“Certainly not. I merely state the reason I was given for my inclusion in the delegation.”
 

Rajin chuckled and shook his head, looking from Neasa to Sunil, then to the two guards who had taken up their positions at the exit to the antechamber, across from those guarding the entrance to the banquet terrace.

“What are you laughing at, heretic?” Neasa asked, turning to Rajin.

“The likely fate of this expedition. Your king is a greater fool than I had thought.”

Neasa raised her eyebrows at that, while Sunil’s face remained impassive. He had heard far greater insults heaped upon the king, and himself, in the course of his service.

“This is precisely why I left the Commonwealth. The backbiting. The political maneuvering. I find it all quite distasteful.”

“As I recall, Va-Rajin, you left the commonwealth with your tail between your legs, leaving behind a trail of lifeless husks that were once the bodies of the people whose souls you consumed,” Sunil said.
 

It was then that a knock sounded on the doors to the dining terrace. Sinul jumped upright and stood, back straight, arms at his sides, watching for the doors to open. One of the guards standing beside the doorway turned and pushed against the doors. The iron wrought outline of the ship split at the center and the double-doors swung into the dining room.

⫛

“Esteemed ambassadors of Commonwealth, we present to you now the captain of your guards, Sir Sunil Diventru,” King Berech announced, extending an arm to the open doorway. “Sir Diventru needs no introduction to those of you who are familiar with the palace guards, but we will say that he is one of the finest fighting men to ever have an iron rod for a backbone.”

Sunil gave a sharp, courteous nod and stepped across the threshold into the dining room.
 

“Please take one of the empty seats around the table, Sir Diventru, and the servants will bring you a plate.”

“You are most gracious, your majesty,” Sunil said. He strode stiffly across the room and settled into the chair between Tracha and Zlata.

“Next to join our luncheon, we have our half sister, recently reassigned from patrol service on the western frontier, Neasa Veatro. Please, Neasa, take a seat here,” King Berech said, waving to an empty chair between himself and Biho Erdenech.
 

Neasa set her jaw and strode to take her seat without acknowledging the introduction. If she was to be the king’s private minder on this expedition, she thought it wise to remain aloof and give the impression that she answered only to her royal brother, at least until her authority had been firmly established and they were some distance from the capital.

“We should explain that Neasa has been removed from the formal command structure of the Commonwealth Army and thus has no official rank, though she is still bound to serve like any other soldier. She is to be our personal representative on this mission.”

“Your majesty…” Biho interjected.

“Silence, guild master. You are not going on the expedition yourself, so any perceived slight that you may feel is irrelevant. As for those of you who are traveling, we will make it clear now to all of you: Neasa may not command any of you, any more than Sir Diventru can command her, or you for that matter. Think of her as an advisor, and know that any message that is purported to come from us and is confirmed by both Neasa and master Oppen is likely true, as they will have independent means of communicating with us.”

“You have given her…” Biho started again, but stopped as he was transfixed by sharp looks from the king, Oppen, and Tracha. He bowed his head and said, “I apologize, your majesty. I am merely excited at the prospects of the upcoming expedition.”

“Your eagerness is understandable, guild master. As we were saying, Neasa will be an advisor to the expedition. Additionally, she is a skilled warrior with special talents and experience in facing gythrals, so we expect that she will be a valuable asset.”

King Berech allowed silence to settle around the table for the space of nearly a minute as he looked at each member of the delegation in turn. While he was concerned about the poor health of Jarom and Oppen, and did not know how well such a cultured woman as Zlata might hold up to the rigors of such a long journey, the king was pleased with the leadership of the expedition that he had so rapidly pulled together. Even the presence of his half sister was a comfort as, for all of her faults, he knew that she was at heart loyal to the nation.

Then he turned his eyes back to the doorway, where the heretic Rajin stood. Even in the bright light of noon the man seemed to draw gloom about himself like a cloak. The king steeled his resolve with a deep breath, then said, “The final member of the expedition, discounting servants and hired guards of course, stands before you now. Gentlemen, ladies, we present to you the heretic Rajin. Please, Rajin, take a seat at the table. We assure you that your food will be safe to eat.”

Rajin nodded, his thick black beard scratching against the front of his coarse shirt, and took a seat near the foot of the table, between Havil and Zlata. He leaned back in his chair and studied the assembled dignitaries with a skeptical gaze.
 

The king and his guests waited silently, as if anticipating the thunder after witnessing a lightning strike.

Finally, Rajin said, “I never thought I would see the day that I would dine with a king of the Trader Commonwealth. On, perhaps, but never with.”

King Berech’s face flushed as the faces of everyone around the table, except for Neasa, stiffened and grew pale.

“Wandering souls, people, can’t you take a joke? I never actually ate anybody, whatever the stories might say.”

Neasa laughed aloud. As much as she despised the man on reputation, she had to admit to herself that Rajin was no fool. He was fully aware of his reputation and not afraid to play into the expectations of his audience. She would have to watch him carefully, Neasa decided, because this was exactly the sort of innate charisma that had so frustrated her own commanding officers.

Berech gave a forced laugh, more out of a desire to break the tension that had settled upon the table than genuine amusement, and raised his glass in toast. The others reached for their glasses as well as the king said, “Now that the leadership of this expedition has been fully assembled, we must thank you all for agreeing to undertake this bold and potentially valuable journey. When I was a boy, the priests of the high sanctuary tried to fill my mind with tales of the Wanderer and his dealings with mankind. Being a youth more inclined to war than piety, I must confess that few specifics of the tales remained with me, but if there is one thing that I do recall from those tales it is this: The journey of discovery is a sacred act. Only by pushing the bounds of our maps are new lands called into existence. And so I ask the blessing of the Wanderer on this expedition. May each of you discover something new on your journey.”

King Berech raised his glass in salute, nodded to the assembled party, then brought it to his lips and drained it.

⫛

Oppen Ralva glared at the woman sitting opposite him, and let loose a string of crude insults in the native language of the Coldwater fishermen.
 

Across the table, Zlata Comac blushed and whispered, “Keldvas. I would say a rather crude dialect, perhaps dockworkers or miners?”

“Damn!” Oppen snapped. He lifted his glass held it up in salute to the woman sitting across from him, then downed the harsh brown liquor in a single mouthful.

Zlata settled back to think, one finger of her left hand pressed to her temple. Around them, the other ambassadors and their various friends, family, and hired companions began to whisper. Before the babble could rise to a clamor, Zlata smiled, sat forward, and spoke a string of melodious tones, which suggested Oppen engage in some rather unspeakable acts with his parents’ farm animals in the common tongue of the Tesni desert.

 
Oppen covered his mouth with both hands and started giggling so hard that soon his eyes were watering. He spluttered, “Tensi. Tens. Tennasi.”

Zlata delicately lifted the small glass of liquor from the table in front of her, nodded over the rim at her opponent, and downed the contents in a delicate sip that belied the astringency of the liquid. Oppen watched her through heavy eyes. He tried to think of another language in which to insult Zlata, but he was so befuddled that he was beginning to forget words in Trader Common, let alone other languages. He raised his hands in surrender and the crowd around the table broke into uproarious laughter and applause.
 

Zlata nodded politely and rose to her feet, tottered slightly, then regained her balance, straightened her shoulders, and walked back to the high table where her meal sat unfinished. The others followed, two of them supporting Oppen. More wine and liquor flowed. Stories were told and promises were made.

The leadership of the expedition had gathered on this, the final night before their departure, in a large tavern known as the Leaning Timber. It was situated along the docks in lower Tal Albahi, within sight of the ship that would carry the expedition northward up Brackwater Bay at the break of dawn. The location had been Zlata’s first choice, though Havil and Jarom had both protested that it would be more seemly for the noble delegation to gather in a wine house or theater in the upper city. As the cultural ambassador, however, Zlata had convinced her companions that there was no place in Tal Albahi that more thoroughly represented the culture and values of the Trader Commonwealth than the Leaning Timber.
 

From the outside, there was little to distinguish the Leaning Timber from the countless other taverns, warehouses, boarding houses, and brothels that lined the docks, except for the weathered old timber that leaned against the front of the building. It was said that the timber had been destined to be the mainmast of a ship that was undergoing a refit, but the owners of the tavern had hired a crew of longshoremen to steal it from the shipyard and install it on the face of the building in the middle of the night. Behind the salt-soaked face of the structure, the interior of the Leaning Timber was divided into two levels which were open to all paying customers, as well as third level that the proprietor’s tax records indicated was used exclusively for storage, though it included several opulently decorated rooms that catered to the private desires of the establishment’s most exclusive customers. The second floor consisted of a wide balcony populated by large tables and padded chairs, exclusively reserved for those customers who could afford to dine and speak in the relative privacy afforded by separation from the rabble below. The ground floor of the Leaning Timber was crowded with rough hewn tables and benches, their wood stained by grease and soaked by continual waves of spilled beer.
 

At the center of the tavern, rising from an elevated stage at the ground floor up to the joists that supported the floor of the third story, was the elegant tangle of wood, iron, and cloth that made up the circular vertical stage which had made the Leaning Timber one of the most famous, if not most respectable, taverns in Tal Albahi.