Harbinger of Doom ( Epic Fantasy Three Book Bundle), page 42
Artol smiled a wicked, toothy smile. “Trust me, they told me all they knew.” The long knife spun between his fingers.
“Who were the men you questioned?” said Theta.
“A petty merchant and two common sailors. Each was from parts foreign, and set to sail today or tomorrow.”
“The locals?”
“Had nothing to say, despite my gentle urgings. I could be more persuasive, but then things would get messy. That wouldn’t be neighborly, and probably just a waste of time. Someone off The Rose made threats and spread some coin to keep their passage secret; that much is clear. Of course, there’s no quicker way to gather attention than to pay people to say they didn’t see you, which is the only reason those three even heard of The Rose. It’s doubtful they told anyone where they were going, so we can bash as many heads as we want and we’ll get nowhere. That’s how I see it anyway.”
Artol turned to Theta. “Thanks for the warning about the monks. They’re everywhere and the people are scared snotless by them. We had to dodge them more than once. I thought slavers and pirates ran this city, not monks?”
“They did until a few years ago,” said Ob. “Then the Thothians took over. They wiped out the slave trade and the corsairs but what they put in place is even worse. Look at them wrong and they’ll stone you, I hear. Insult their religion or whatever and they will kill you dead on the street, and go after your family too. Hell, that stinking monk hit me just for being a Gnome. What’s that about? Same kind of nuts like The Shadow Leaguers. Who knows, maybe they’re even in with them.
“Had I known all that, I would have been a bit more subtle,” said Artol, his expression and tone now serious. He sheathed his knife.
“Sorry,” said Ob. “Sometimes I forget not everyone is as up on these things as me.”
“Just what we need,” said Tanch. “Now you’ve drawn attention to us. More crazies will be after us. I just can’t take this, it’s all too much.” Tanch walked stiffly over to a couch and laid down, wincing, as if his back plagued him.
“Did you ask if any men from The Rose stayed behind here?” said Theta.
“They didn’t know,” said Artol.
Theta turned to Ob. “To what ports and what direction could they have been headed?”
“Minoc,” said Ob. “Though it’s less than a week’s journey northeast along the coast. But if they wanted to go there, they should’ve taken the Emerald River, which leads straight there.” Ob walked over to the mariner’s globe, spun it to the right angle, and pointed to each place he named. “Boreundin is farther to the north; farther still is Vinland. Along the coast to the southwest is Piper’s Hold, then comes Thoros-Gar, and other towns and cities beyond that. South, the lands stretch endlessly as far as any have gone, far beyond any semblance of civilization. There are islands too, far to the south off the coast. Bardin’s Rock, Treeskull, Tekla, Radu-Mal, Tardin-Gar, Revit, and many, many more.”
“They could be headed anywhere,” said Claradon. “We have to find out what direction they went at least. If not, we’ll never catch them. I will not abandon my brother to those maniacs.”
Ob looked over at Theta. “Any ideas?”
“We’ve only one ship and not enough men to split our force. Given that, we must find someone who saw the ship leave. We must discover what direction they went.”
“Or take our chances by choosing east or south,” said Ob. “Another coin toss?”
“If we choose wrong, all could be lost,” said Theta. “We must find another way.”
Par Tanch sat up on the couch. “There’s a seer,” he said. “Azura the Seer, she’s called. Exiled hereabouts years ago, or so I’ve heard. Trained in the Tower of the Arcane and gifted with far sight and prescience. She may be able to point the way for us.”
“I put little stock in so-called seers,” said Theta.
“Her powers are real enough, my lord,” said Tanch, “or the tower wouldn’t have passed her through.”
“Hogwash and horsefeathers,” said Ob. “They’re nothing but charlatans and mummers.”
“Let’s try it,” said Claradon. “If she knows nothing, we will have lost little but a bit of time.”
“Where do we find her?” said Theta.
Tanch shook his head. “I’ve heard her tower resides in the western district, but I don’t know where.”
“Western district, you say?” said Ob. “Near the Raging Giant Inn, there’s a tall tower. Could be that’s it.”
“Perhaps,” said Tanch, nodding.
“Let’s try it,” said Claradon.
“Why don’t we just ask someone for directions?” said Dolan.
“You start asking folks and the entire city will know within the hour,” said Ob, “unless the harbormaster has already told them. We don’t need any more attention.”
***
“Slaayde—keep your men close, no shore leave,” said Theta. “We may need to leave with speed on our return.”
Slaayde smiled a wide smile with his mouth but not his eyes. “Bertha and her men are still out collecting supplies.”
“Have them back before we return.” Theta turned to Seran and Glimador who stood nearby. “Keep a watchful eye for The Grey Talon. She could be here any time. Keep our men on the ship. See that Slaayde’s men don’t stray either. Post a strong guard on deck. Be ready for trouble.”
“What trouble are you expecting?” said Slaayde.
“The troubling kind. Just keep your men close.”
The group set off and made their way down the long pier past Tragoss trawlers and heavy Minoc merchantmen, a trireme out of Kern and exotic sailing vessels from the southern islands. At the pier’s end, a broad avenue stood before them, stretching as far as one could see in each direction along the water’s edge, filled with wagons and carts, seamen and citizens, in transit in all directions. Though the way was wide, the group could walk no more than two abreast due to the throngs of dockworkers and teamsters. Claradon and Theta walked side by side at the vanguard of the group, Ob and Tanch behind them, and then Dolan and Artol.
Despite the crowds, nearly half the storefronts they passed were closed—abandoned and boarded up. Many lots were piled high with debris, stone and brick, wood and tile, the remnants of demolished buildings, long past their time.
“Last I was here,” said Ob, “Tragoss had more brothels than bricks and more pubs than peddlers. Next to trading or slaving, those have always been their biggest businesses. All these abandoned storefronts were pubs. There on the corner was a place called The Great Mug. They’d been in business a couple centuries at least and sold more than a hundred kinds of beer from across Midgaard. Best tavern south of Lomion City. I will miss it. Stinking Thothians.”
“What of the buildings torn down?” said Claradon.
“Gambling halls and brothels mostly. Guess even the buildings offended the monks. Reminds me of one time when me, McDuff, and Red Tybor were down here and—”
“Not now, Gnome,” said Theta over his shoulder.
Ob replied only to Theta’s back with a crude gesture.
Despite the changes, the streets still burst with inns and eateries, tackle and bait shops, food stands and fruit carts, and souvenir shops beyond count.
Sprawling warehouses of stone and brick and wood also thrived here, some of good repute, others ramshackle and abandoned—husks of past glories and finer days. Nearly all the buildings, save for the warehouses, were two stories, mostly built of tan-colored brick and mortar. They had flat roofs and wood-railed parapets. The citizenry were far more varied. There were tall Lomerians, dusky sailors from Minoc, short, yellow-skinned men from Tragoss Gar, colorful traders from Piper’s Hold, and many more.
The women all wore long gloves extending from fingertip to elbow on both hands. The gloves, some in cloth, others in leather, varied in color, style, and pattern, and were universally worn by all women, even young girls. “In the inner city, the local women only wear white or black gloves,” said Ob. “Last I was here, foreigners didn’t need to wear the gloves at all. Guess that has changed.”
“Need to?” said Claradon.
“The Thothians consider it improper for women to go out without gloves. “If you do, they will stone you.”
“To death? For not wearing gloves?”
“Yup. And they call us northerners barbarians. They say ungloved women are unclean whores, or some such nonsense.”
Everywhere were the Thothian monks, in groups of two or four and sometimes more. Stationed here and there and everywhere, watching every move, marking every word and glance. Besides the monks, and some of the merchants, few Tragoss Morians moved about the harbor district. It was a land of sightseers and seamen, tourists, traders, and foreign laborers.
It took almost an hour for the group to make their way on foot to the thirty-foot-tall wall that separated the Harbor District from the Western District. Iron portcullises barred passage from the wide gravel-filled avenues of the Harbor to the narrow cobblestoned lanes of the West. A guard post stood behind the iron, manned by a group of city watchmen.
“The Harbor District is all most visitors see,” said Ob. “Once we pass this checkpoint, you will see the real Tragoss Mor. She’s a beauty, except for the sewers. I expect we will have to pay to get through.”
Ob stepped up to the gate and banged on it with his axe handle. “Open up.”
Two uniformed guards stepped out of their shelter and approached the gate. One was middle-aged and tall, with bright eyes. The second was average height, lanky, and vacant.
“Who seeks to enter the Western District?” said the first guard.
“We do, bucko. Open up.”
The guard looked down at Ob and wrinkled his nose. He looked up at the others. “Is this imp yours?”
“My servant,” said Tanch. “Kindly pass us through.”
“Your names and business?”
“I’m—Par Sinch of Kern,” said Tanch. “I am on a pilgrimage to visit the great shrines of the Thothians. These others are but my servants and bodyguards.”
The captain looked surprised, even taken aback. He looked around, as if to see if anyone was listening before he spoke. “Did you say, Par Sinch?”
Now Tanch looked surprised. “Yes,” he said, uncertainly.
The captain studied the group for several moments. “If I didn’t know better, I might mistake you for a wizard of the Tower of the Arcane and these bodyguards for church knights. But since any fool knows that months ago the Thothians issued an edict ordering the arrest of wizards and church knights on sight, you must, of course, be joking.”
The second guard nodded knowingly, but gripped the hilt of his sword.
“Well said, sir,” said Tanch without missing a beat. “A joke, it was. A bad one at that. I trust you will forgive me my foolishness. I am but a simple spice merchant seeking new markets for my wares. I hoped that if people thought me a wizard, I would garner more respect and more customers. I had no idea that magic users had come to disfavor in this fine land. What a fool you must think me.”
The captain looked relieved. “Don’t let it trouble you. A man must feed his family after all. Note well that the guardsmen of the 4th Gate,” he said, looking at his comrade, “could not be fooled by your charade. We knew at once that you were a fraud.”
The lanky guardsman nodded. “That’s right, you can’t fool us. We’re no dummies,” he said, and then hacked up a wad of phlegm and spit most of it on the ground by the gate, the balance dribbled down his beard.
“The toll for foreigners to pass this gate is one silver piece or ten bronze rings,” said the guard captain. “I trust you will be heading straight to the spice market on Brick Street.”
“Where else?” Tanch turned to Dolan. “Pay the good Captain.”
Dolan pulled out a Lomerian silver star from his pocket and handed it to the guard through the bars.
Theta stepped forward. “Where on Brick Street might we find the best spice dealer?”
The captain smiled and nodded ever so slightly. “There are many spice dealers there and I know little of them.” He glanced at his comrade who was busy stomping an ant. “I heard once though of a good one on the ground floor of the building just past the red awning about midblock. But I could be mistaken.”
The captain turned to his comrade. “Open the gate. Let them pass.” As the guard pulled out the keys for the gate, the captain stepped closer to Tanch and lowered his voice. “Keep your staff quiet in Tragoss, Par. The Thothians do arrest wizards on sight. Go carefully.”
Tanch nodded. “Thanks.”
The group filed through, and proceeded down the narrow alley. At its end, it seemed as if they had entered a different city entirely. Here, the sprawling warehouses and wide lanes gave way to narrow alleys winding betwixt one and two-story brick or stone residential buildings, some more hovel than home.
Beggars lined the streets. They extended cups or bowls as the men passed, entreating them for spare coin or scraps of food, though they kept themselves at arm’s length from the armed men. Each side of the street held gutters that served as open sewers that flowed with filth and foulness. Rats, some small, some as large as cats scurried fearless along the gutters and swarmed over the occasional corpse, fallen and forgotten amongst the muck. Along each street, some men and women lay unmoving. They seemed dead, save for when a passing rodent took a nip at them—then they would curse and stir and sometimes strike out. The people ignored those sorry creatures. Only that they stepped around them, told they even saw them at all.
“Dead gods, what has become of this place?” said Ob through the cloth he held to his face to keep down the stench. “When I’ve been here before, much of the inner city was poor, but nothing like this. I heard that the Thothians promised that if the people followed their god and obeyed their edicts there would be an end to poverty. They said they would restore dignity to the downtrodden and fairness for all.” Ob stumbled over a body fallen in the street, and barely kept his feet. “They seem to have mucked that up a bit.”
“They’ve destroyed these people, and their culture,” said Claradon.
“The price of stupidity,” said Theta.
Tanch looked down in horror at the bodies and the beggars they passed. “Is it a plague? What ails these people?”
“Hopelessness and despair,” said Ob. “And with that came smoking of strange plants and eating foul powders of foreign make. All stuff that muddles the mind and sours the spirit. That much had started when I was last here.”
“No one seems to care,” said Claradon. “They just walk past the fallen.”
“Can the authorities do nothing?” said Tanch.
“They are doing something,” said Ob. “They’re letting them die. Some say the Thothians are the source of these poisons. That they brought them in to keep the people docile.”
“Will we pass Brick Street on the way to the tower?” said Theta.
“I don’t know,” said Ob. “You think there are more than spice merchants there?”
Theta nodded. “Dolan, buy some fruit, and ask that merchant.”
Dolan was back in a few moments with a small bag of apples. “Six blocks north, and two or three east.”
“Not on our way,” said Ob.
“The tower first, and then Brick Street,” said Theta.
***
People crowded along the low stone wall that surrounded a well-appointed house of brick and stone, watching a group of monks drag an elderly man from the house. Other monks and guardsmen threw his paintings, books, and other belongings from the windows.
“You’ve no right, no right,” shouted the man. “I’ve done nothing.”
“Nothing?” said a monk. He grabbed the man and pushed him to his knees. “Yes, fool, you have done nothing. There are people starving in the streets and yet you live in a rich house. Do you care nothing for your fellow citizens?”
The man stared up at him, confused.
“You’re a greedy, evil, pathetic blasphemer,” said the monk, slapping the man across the face after each accusation. He grabbed the man by the hair and pulled back his head, forcing the old man to look at him. “What portion of your income do you give to the church, to the poor? Speak quick and true, or I will cut off your evil head.”
Tears streamed down the man’s face. “I pay my taxes, and I pay the tithe of Thoth. You can check, I always pay.”
“A pittance,” said the monk.
“What more do you want from me?”
“It’s not what I want, fool. It’s what justice demands. You give no more than the minimum and begrudge even that. By what right do you live in this decadent place when others sleep in the gutter? You think you’re better than everyone, don’t you, you bastard?”
“I’ve earned everything I own. I’ve worked fifty years, selling silks and linens, an honest living. I’ve hurt no one my whole life. You’ve no right to do this.”
The monk grabbed the man by the chin and punched him in the face, breaking his nose. Blood poured down the deeply lined face, eyes filled with tears.
“You’ve earned nothing, blasphemer. You’ve hoarded wealth, stealing from those more deserving. No longer. Now we will take back all that you’ve stolen. You will pay your fair share at last, merchant.
The monk kicked the man in the ribs, a sickening crunching sound. Other monks joined in, kicking and stomping. “Kill the evil bastard,” they spat. “Praise Thoth,” they yelled. “Praise Thoth.”
“Look,” shouted the monk at the gathered crowd. “Behold Thoth’s justice, citizens. All those like this evildoer will pay. All the enemies of god will be brought to justice and they will pay with their blood.”
Some in the crowd looked shocked and disgusted. Others cheered each blow, each kick, each whimper.
The monks gathered the old man’s books and artwork into large piles on the lawn and set them ablaze.
Other monks dragged several people out of the merchant’s house. By their dress, servants all. They lined them up against the manor’s wall.
The lead monk plucked a pretty young girl from the line. “What does that old bastard do to you?”
